The Don slipped himself (as best he could) into Inspector Brick's tank. Shuffled his bum and tail into a surprisingly cramped compartment upon which was strewn empty coffee cups and half eaten pastries. He pulled himself out again and brushed his check trousers down and used a hanky to brush the flaky debris away.

Brick observed him from over the high bonnet, his moss-brows deepening into a v-shaped statement of 'Something the matter, pal?'

The Don cleared his throat, clearing any deep-rooted intimidation that had decided to lodge there.

Brick casually walked around ol' war horse and stood opposite the Don of Varosium, glancing at the crumbs on the floor. The v shape of his moss-brows now turning opposite, resembling the Fiz'pah tabernacle.

'You really the cleverest man in Testament?'

The Don cleared his throat again, a tickle of adulation fluttering in the confines of his larynx. A dry cough that needed to flower with a slight heave of the lungs.

'Well, that's quite a statement, I, eh-'

'It's not that hard a question god dammit,' the Krazzi remarked.

'Yes. Yes. I am.'

Brick nodded. 'You think this Mapper can solve the case?'

The Don's whiskers twitched. 'You think he can't?'

The Inspector reached into the breast pocket of his tight linen shirt and pulled out a DeGrassa. 'I know he can. It's what they do. I just wanna know if he is going to step up to the mark when we find the piece of shit that did this?'

'Of course he will step up to the mark. It's his job. His calling.'

Brick lit the cigarillo, nodding emphatically. 'Yeah, I got the whole duty malarkey, fox man . . .' The Krazzi looked about. Looked for wanton ears. 'I heard you both in there. You think the Watch could be breached?'

'It's perfectly plausible. They're could be a snark. A turncoat.'

'Any ideas?'

'Have you?'

'Diddly-shit.'

'I don't know what your grievance is with Mappers, Inspector. But he can do this. I've known this man for a long time. Before he became a Mapper. Saved my life. And a thousand others. I have seen his humanity,' the Don laughed. 'Although at times it seems you are seeing it through a frosted window. But it shines, every now and again, like a spring day waiting in the wings. Like birdsong on a winters night. He's my friend and he crazes my behind. Angers me to an inch of losing my marbles. Drives me up the wall and down the other side. But the world is a better place for him being in it. He has seen the evil in men and the monsters that lurk in the darkness and he does not waver in its grip.'

The Krazzi breathed out a flume of smoke. 'Bold words from the Tatterfox. Let's just hope he lives up to the hype.'

Brick walked back round the other side and slid into the driver's chair. 'Let's go. Mind the doughnuts.'

The Don slid back into the chair, albeit rather sheepishly, hoping his tail wasn't touching the congealed days-old texture of a custard tart.

Brick took ol' war horse along the embankment and along the thoroughfare, passed the Fiz'Pah Tabernacle and its baying brethren of Wanoo. Their muscular pink bodies writhing in the dirt, dancing and cavorting in the eyes of their god.

The Don looked at his watch. It was early. Too early for dancing. Coffee, probably. Maybe a chocolate croissant from Hemp's patisserie and a double expresso. He then looked down to the floor of ol' war horse and noticed his shoe was planted firmly square in an apple strudel.

Perhaps not.

Maybe the good Inspector would call into Stapleton's for breakfast and then thought against it. The clientele of that particular eatery probably wouldn't approve of a burly Krazzi with a penchant for havoc and colourful language.

Honestly, the Don didn't mind the fellow. He was a Watchman. Dutiful and direct. He had a job to do and didn't care who got in his way. He had a grievance about Mappers for some reason but that hadn't stopped him in gaining new insight into the case. He was brash, brazen with a hint of arrogance but his determination and conscientious aptitude was proving a valuable asset.

'You don't talk about yourself much, Inspector.'

'There isn't much to say, Fox-man.'

'Oh I'm sure there is. Life, I think moulds us and we carry its weight like blemishes, scars that bear the fruit of our exploits.'

The Krazzi smiled behind the wheel. 'And what do I carry, Fox-man? Tell me?'

'I was just making conversation. I didn't mean to offend-'

Brick pulled a cigarillo from his breast pocket and lit it, using ol' war horse's lighter from the dash board. The interior of the car enveloped in smoke and the Don discreetly pulled the lever down on the window.

'Go ahead, pal. You're the brightest guy in the universe. You could probably deduce what I had for breakfast, right?'

'A cigarillo?'

Brick smiled through the smog. 'Clever guy. You're wasted at Varosium, pal.'

The Don smiled. 'You are an orphan. But you have a surrogate mother who loves you dearly. She isn't very well. You try to fob it off as nothing but it's tearing you apart inside . . .' The Don sniffed the air. 'Disinfectant and the faint aroma of methane on your coat suggest she is in the infirmary at Gas Town. Its degenerative, has been for many years now but you work your fingers to the stone because you know it's what she wants you to do. Don't dwell.

'You served as a sergeant in Darklands before resigning your commission and becoming a merc where you operated in Salt and Baal. You lost a lot of friends on your last assignment. A rescue mission off the coast of Cooz went awry. You lost four friends and the ambassador to Frica.

'It's when you came home to Frugalmeyer. To join the Watch and protect its streets, never letting anyone in.

'You are a good man at heart, but never let anyone in. You love your job but would never admit it and the one thing that scares you in this world isn't the creeping dark but saying goodbye to your terminal mother.'

Brick hit the brakes, completely regardless if there was anyone behind them and grabbed the Tatterfox by his lapels. 'WHAT THE HELL! How you know this shit? The old man let you look at my file?'

The Don didn't flinch. Like he knew this was going to be the outcome. 'Just reading your canvas, Inspector. Remember, I'm clever.'

A car behind revved its engine and blasted out a siren call that resembled a dying animal. Brick gave them the finger and they drove around him, realising his size and stature they thought it prudent to go around and move on.

'That's a tub of shit. No one can know all that.'

The Don carefully placed the Krazzi's stone hand back on the wheel and continued.

'You bear an insignia on your chest, the emblem of the Darkland Wild Dogs. You receive another after twelve years' service. Which, you don't have. I had to deduce why you left. I went for resignation, as your next job as a merc took you to Salt and Baal, notoriously hot countries even stone can get a tan in. You have a discoloration on your neck from the intense heat from the white continent. The army tries not to venture too far into those places. Only highly paid mercs would run operations in that inhospitable tundra.'

'Cooz?' asked the Inspector.

The Don swallowed hard. 'Well, I read about that one in the paper. It didn't hit the Testament newsstands but I was doing a placement at the University of Ressala in southern Frica at the time. I remember reading about it over morning coffee and a rather large hangover.' the Don smiled.

Slowly, but surely, so did the Krazzi Watchman. 'Shit, Fox-man. You really are a clever-dick.'

Brick laughed and started the ol' war horse again, driving over the bridge of Yu-ran-taa and passed the Bone Trees and the flea markets, early morning traders shouting their wares. Along and down the Brentish Boulevard and its two tiered sleek houses of grey granite, ornate shells being cleansed from the early morning downpour of rust rain by programmable lichen.

Early risers jogging along the banks of the Lillius, some with their Nelly-Dooses in tow. Brick shifted it into fourth gear as they made their way passed theatres and closed restaurants and then turned left onto a slip road which headed toward the grand opulence and architecture of Parliament Hill.

The Don and Inspector Brick waited in ol' war horse for an age. A couple of security guards had greeted them on their arrival with raised eyebrows and inquisitive hips, their hands resting on the pistols to their collective lefts.

Brick had greeted them to the Watch badge and a quick flash of Brenda to which sated their curiosity. He returned to the car and picked a couple of doughnuts from the dashboard and devoured them.

The Don's thoughts turned to Gustaf Felstrom and his part in this murderous fiasco. Brick and Xindii had seen the footage first hand. His apparent murder attempt on Gwendolyn Pendragon from years past. The ghost-like wraith tainted by Ravnor. This man, this monster was holding out to be sure. Ravnor devoured you from the inside. A disease that consumed the body with time, aged the heart and accelerated the organs. One day you had the heart of a nine year old, seven hours later it changed to that of a ninety year old. The vessel of flesh constantly at flux to the point where the body would give out to dust or blood.

Those who had been diagnosed with Ravnor had an undetermined life span. Some lasted years. Others lasted minutes. On learning they had the disease ninety percent of people decided to commit suicide. The pain too great.

Gustaf Felstrom had the disease and yet he still waited for something. Unfinished business? A chance to repent his sins? Something told the Don that this child of House was not the repenting type. Yet he battled the Ravnor where most people would have given up their numbers.

Gustaf was waiting . . .

Why were you waiting?

Did the answer lie with Gwendolyn?

A spattering of rust rain showered the windscreen of ol' war horse and Brick lit a cigarillo. A faint wind seethed through the cracks of the car, seeking entry. The Don's eyes lulled. His consciousness slipped. The night had been long but his day was proving longer. His mind stretched, his body itself experiencing a bizarre cohesion of displaced time.

He drifted.

Danced with the silky embrace of sleep.

'Hello.'

'Excuse me?'

'Fox?'

'Fox?'

He pulled his long nose out of the book and looked up at Phillipa Crowe, her face a cracked picture of disappointment. Crow's feet and lines of a once laughter-filled face riddled by the ravages of time.

'Yes?' the Tatterfox asked.

'Josiah is in the snug. He wishes to speak with you.'

'Oh, right. Thank you.' He said, closing the book as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

'If you do wish to keep loitering here at the back of the stacks I do hope you would find the time to maybe, possibly, keep the tomes in order. And please,' she asked, somewhat politely; placing a firm sensual hand upon his, 'If you have the time, could you catalogue the Nelka Compendium. Time, I'm afraid is a valuable commodity I seem to lack at my age.'

'Of course, Miss Crowe. Think nothing of it.'

'Oh you are a treasure,' she remarked, heading off to the front of the Booktique.

The Tatterfox stood and placed his recent tome back on the shelf, A well-thumbed and battered edition of an ancient book called simply, IT.

He slinked through the back to see Josiah Kahn, a man who he owed a great debt.

He had been a citizen of Testament now for over five months, in which time he had enrolled at Varosium to study fortean mechanics and medicine. A bizarre concoction but he liked to shake up the syllabus. Besides, they were only entry requirements. The real fun would begin when he had passed the two. Quasi Ethics, Gene splicing. Dimensional engineering and three dimensional mathematics. The world was truly his oyster.

He shared a flat with Xindii. The same one that Josiah had so kindly loaned them. In payment the Tatterfox would offer the occasional shift at the Booktique, growing close with Phillipa Crowe and the illustrious Mapper.

Life was good, any somber thoughts about his previous life in Tattermovish were saved for his hours of privacy where he would quietly weep for his mate, pups and pack.

Times changed.

Over the course of these months he had grown to love the city and the varied populace, eaten and shared of its bounty, wandered its streets and talked to its varied denizens.

Testament. The spire of learning. The last glimmer of light before the dark. The very idea had a bouquet of romance about it.

He approached the door and knocked gently, waiting for the Mapper's word.

'Enter, please.'

He did so and saw the fellow sitting comfortably in his arm chair, a roaring fire beckoning the augment forward to share of its blistering heat.

The Mapper took a gentle sip of his wine and then poured the Tatterfox one to which he took graciously.

The augment turned his eye to the window and the flurries of rust snow that was now covering the capital. The dark red covering Testament like a heaving clot.

An unexpected cold front had moved in across the Crawling Sea bathing Frugalmeyer and the city especially, to an onslaught of cold red. The Tatterfox actually enjoyed it. He had read about the cold but this had been a first-hand experience, watching the children playing in the parks, building rust men and firing rust balls at eager and playful Nelly-Dooses, catching the balls in their trunks and rolling in five foot drifts. Besides it made you appreciate the warm fire and sensual wine, its very taste creating a temporary coma to hide and sleep in.

'Thank you for coming to see me, Tatterfox.'

'It's no trouble, Josiah.'

The Mapper smiled and the augment saw a part of him fall away into the dark, shadow claiming the flesh. 'I feel I have let Xindii down! The coming months will be incredibly difficult. For me and for Xindii.

'I stood as his advocate in court and failed,' the tired Mapper confessed. 'Watched the boy leave for shores unknown not knowing, no, knowing that he isn't going to return. That boy defied all the odds and he said that he would return. I brushed it off as no more than a child's dream . . . a flight of fancy. The innocence of youth is a cast iron beast, dear Tatterfox. Unblemished.'

Josiah sat in shadow, the dancing flames of the fire illuminating the man only when his glass was raised, the light reflecting of the surface of his modest glass.

'It seemed the day I met Heironymous Xindii my very life started to unravel its self. I should off seen it coming there and then. A sign, a foreshadowing. The very powers Xindii had immersed himself in were beyond those of even a practiced Mapper, yet this waif from the Isle of Jeppa stood and looked into the eyes of the Kraken and walked away unscathed, and yet I . . .'

The Tatterfox took another sip and then placed it on the table to his left, scrutinizing the shadow around Josiah, sensing a cloud of jealously hovering above the inebriated Mapper.

'Perhaps he carries his scars on the inside, Josiah?'

'Maybe so. Maybe so,' he replied, finishing the wine and then reaching for another by the side of his chair. The Tatterfox had not seen it and was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable.

'Drink up, my friend. The night is still young.'

He held out his glass and the Mapper poured.

'That boy was a catalyst, the start of my demise. Standing as his advocate, ridding him of the filth that Hadigan smuggled into his veins. Housing his Kraken Brood whore . . .' the Mapper's eyes glazed over, '. . . has proven to be my undoing. Hadigan laughs at me from beyond the grave. All I hear is his inane laughter and apotheosis! It grows louder with every day, as if Hadigan stands with the Auditors ready to take my number.'

The Tatterfox couldn't resist the preposition. 'What apotheosis?'

The Mapper smiled. His eyes still closed. 'Xindii was a wanted criminal. Responsible for the deaths of four people. After an arduous few months of tracking the boy down, I eventually succeeded. Xindii was on the run, he and two others – now dead – had led an assault on Jango Fey to procure enigmatic cargo. That cargo, happened to be a creature of myth. A solitary Kraken Brood. The price of her blood would have been enough to start and finish wars.

'I housed them both for months and came to the realisation that our refuge in the Crackets would soon be breached. I was right. Dom Janus made it abundantly clear that the girl was to be handed over to the Guild.'

'The Guild?'

'The Guild. No one really knows who or what they are. But rumor has it it is made up from the elite of society. Politicians, scientists, Mappers, high-brow dignitaries who have bought themselves in with questionable dealings. Their law is the law. Above Mapper or Watch. Always striving in their belief of self-interest. Toiling and dabbling to outwit the dark.'

'How so?' asked the Tatterfox.

'They say the universe should of ended centuries ago. That we live on borrowed time and that time is waning, rapidly. How they have prolonged the universe remains to be seen. Some say they have punched holes in the world, leaking the entropy away from creation. Some say that this is the ultimate dream. That the waters of the dream pool have runneth over.'

'Gossip?'

'Stories. Stories stick. If we love them enough they can haunt us, for good or bad. Stories and darkness go hand in hand. Lovers.'

The Tatterfox took a long swig of the wine, snared by Josiah's story.

'The Kraken Brood? Did you hand her over?'

The Mapper smiled. 'No. No of course not. She may be the offspring of a god-like leviathan but she was nothing more than a child herself. I have spent many a day and night wondering what torment the Guild would have subjected her to. And I doubt it involved afternoon tea and sundrenched holidays.'

'She ran didn't she? You told her to run?'

'Although, not unaccompanied.'

The Tatterfox raised his eyebrows and his whiskers followed suit.

'My man-servant, Basquiat. A once denizen of the white continent, primarily Baal. He is a remarkably astute and resourceful fellow. I left her in his charge.'

'Her bodyguard?'

'Her everything. He will not leave her sight.'

'Where are they?'

'I have no idea. And I hope it remains so.'

The Tatterfox took a sip of his wine, lost in thought. 'The Guild? They warned you? Dom Janus warned you? Yet you disobeyed his orders?'

'They raised the Crackets to the ground. And now, seven days prior to Xindii's arrival in Testament I am diagnosed with terminal Ravnor. The same disease that befell my nemesis. A disease that affects one in ten.'

'You think they can wield diseases like that?'

'I am not a great believer in coincidence, Tatterfox.'

'You regret it?' remarked the augment.

'Regret? No. I will stand by Xindii's side until my lungs turn to dust or mulch.'

There was something in Josiah's face that the Tatterfox disliked. There was bitterness there. A deep cut to his self-esteem.

'You would kill that girl now wouldn't you? The Guild left you high and dry. The Great Mapper, Josiah Kahn. They shit on you from a great height and rubbed your nose in it.'

The Mapper sunk into his chair.

'Hadigan's apotheosis. Her blood would have saved you yet you send her to who knows where.'

'I saw them both that night. Xindii thought I had returned to the house but I followed him into the folly. Watched them make love and paw at each other. Just a boy, a boy who had looked into the eyes of a god and took the flesh of its kin. A part of me raged inside, wanting to take of her myself. Hadigan's words burning into my brain like molten magma, "WE could take of her, Josiah."

'You did the right thing, Josiah.'

'Then why do I have the feeling Hadigan had the last laugh?'

'Hadigan is dead. Xindii is alive and without you he would be just a number. Remember that.'

'Stout words from the augment. I can see why Xindii befriended you. He always had a penchant for the charismatic individual.'

'As I can see,' remarked the Tatterfox, pointing at the Mapper. Josiah smiled.

'He picks his friends diligently, augment. You should feel blessed.'

The Tatterfox raised his eyebrows. 'Indeed. Weary I think is the word. Though I must admit, life hasn't been quite the same since his entrance into my life.'

The Mapper suddenly hunched over, a deep contortion of rapid time making his stomach bleed, the lining stretched and frail. Scared to move in case it detached itself or seeped.

'You should tell Xindii.' remarked the Tatterfox. 'The Ravnor is keen.'

'I will tell him soon enough. But I need your promise. An oath from you.'

The augment leaned forward. 'What do you ask of me, Mapper?'

Josiah looked up from his pain. 'Xindii will need a friend. A good friend. His path will not be easy but I have cleared his debt with the courts and the Guild.'

'What are you saying Josiah? What have you done?'

'Xindii will have his placement. It will be hard. Harder than anything that has come before. They will try to deter him. Mock his blood, smear his name.

'I need you to fuel his fire no matter how bad it becomes. There will be dark nights. Choices that will scar him on the inside. Trials that will rip his conscience asunder. Xindii will need a confidant. A friend. Will you do this, Tatterfox?'

'I think Xindii can look after himself, Josiah.'

'Will you deny a dying man his last wish?'

'Trust me. That man needs no friend.'

'You needed him!'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Where would you be now without that man? Wandering the Iron Dessert looking for you kin. Afraid, segregated from your pack.'

'I never asked for this. This augmentation.'

'None of us ask for things to happen to us. It's how we behave in lieu of the tasks ahead that mould us where we are judged.'

'Very poetic.'

The Mapper ignored his hollow jape. 'Will you do this, augment?'

'I must admit. I have no prior plans for the next hundred years or so.'

'You are most kind.'

The Tatterfox started to pull himself up from the chair and watched the Mapper cough up a black handkerchief of blood. The light from the fire then illuminating the black liquid and showing it as a deep crimson stain.

'You need to tell Xindii, Josiah. Quickly. I will do my part. Make sure you do yours.'

The Tatterfox cast his gaze back to the window and noticed the red rust snow slowly forming a barrier against the pane, sticking to the frame, steadily dousing the room in dark shadow, diminishing the once valiant and dashing Mapper into a black deflated memory.