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over the world, or something, I forget what. Crazy idea, but it might work. I’ll be
irredeemably dead by then, though.”
“He ingested a Cornerstone?” Finch said, and from his voice, Marla couldn’t tell if he
was horrified or impressed.
Marla nodded. “Yeah, Ballard was a prick, but it’s not like the Cornerstone was doing
any good under the British Museum before he got hold of it.”
“No, but it wasn’t doing any harm, either, which is just as important. How do I know
you don’t want it for…something horrible? I had another visitor some weeks ago, who
wanted to use the Cornerstone for his own ends, and I turned him down, too—don’t take
it personally. You aren’t as clearly insane as that man was, but still, I’m hesitant. Why
should I trust you?”
“This crazy guy,” Marla said, sensing the edge of a hunch. “Was he an older man,
carrying a cane and wearing an old-fashioned beaver hat?”
Finch frowned. “Very much no. He was young, and he wore snakeskin underwear.”
Crap. So much for hunches. “Got him down to his underwear, did you?” She grinned.
“Hardly. He didn’t wear anything else, except for an odd cape.”
“Really.” That sounded like the same person who’d been seen arguing with Lao Tsung.
“What was his name?”
“It was something improbable….” Finch looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Mutex.
He called himself Mutex.”
“Sounds like the name of a third-string super-villain.”
“I expressed a similar opinion. He assured me it was a very old family name. He’s
Central American, I think. Why do you care about him?”
“The guy in Chinatown told me Lao Tsung was seen arguing with a guy in underwear
and a cape, and if that same guy was here asking you about the Cornerstone, it’s
reasonable to assume he was asking Lao Tsung about the same thing—”
“I am aware of the connection, Marla, and we are investigating. This Mutex came to me
first. When I rebuffed him, I suppose he somehow discovered Lao Tsung was the
keeper of the Cornerstone, and went to him. It’s possible he was somehow involved in
Lao Tsung’s death. As I said, we’re looking into it. There’s no need for you to involve
yourself in our civic affairs. We’ve dealt with rogue sorcerers and inspired lunatics
before. This Mutex, if he’s more than a simple madman, will be dealt with as well.”
Marla gritted her teeth. She didn’t trust these people to wipe their own asses, let alone
avenge her friend, but she knew that wasn’t a rational reaction. She just liked taking
care of things herself. She found delegation difficult. “You’re right. It’s not my place, or
my business, and I don’t intend to get involved. I just want to protect my city—that’s