“Oh, Balkey, boy I only guard the club hole. All sorts of crisscross
types do business here, like you said. But nothing ‘bout Rags,
and I ain’t seen a knight near –”
Oro was starting to ramble and Balkey had no time for it. A hand
held up silenced the geezer. “You fine and dandy old Oro,” said
Balkey, “but if I smell this scheme correct, I need you out on the
street. Go. Get to finding Helen Bluesock, and bring the good
woman here.” And Oro flew out the club hole door, into the bright
yet fading light. Felt like dusk was coming on fast. Oro, old guard
who’d never abandoned a post: not in the Orange Cloth Wars
and not in Coral’s back door ill den. But that was the demeanor
of Balkey. It was the blood of his father, Bix the Brawler what
gave him a mean eye, a powerful eye; and those fists of stone.