[This story takes place during the Fiver's eradication campaign against the "Dancing Man"]

The smell of strong coffee drifts out of the broken third floor window of the abandoned building on Sandstone Street. The smell drifts slowly downward to street level before it disperses in the acrid stench of the gutters. It is strong enough, however, to waft in delicate traces through the open door of the bakery two doors down.

The Baker's large nostrils pulse as they draw in the scent. The smell of coffee in the Hive is unusual at any hour, save for his shop. The smell of coffee at five after antipeak is even more remarkable.

He furrows his heavy brow and returns to his work. He has ten more loaves to slide into his oven. Three of them are special loaves -- loaves containing the enspelled leaven from his master's recipes. There were murders on the street yesterday and the day before. Murders right on Sandstone Street. The Baker had not been prepared -- but today is a new day. He has his suspicions as to the origins of the coffee smell. But he does not dwell on it as he bends to his work over his pastry board.

Lilah leans back into Killraven's chest and breathes in the scent of her coffee. She is nestled on his lap, sitting on his crossed legs, with her own pulled together and drawn up to her chest. Her toes dig into the leather of his pants and her tail hugs him around his middle.

He is on their bed and leaning against the wall. His own mug of coffee is resting on his thigh. He snuffles at a few stray strands of Lilah's hair that tickle his chin and lips. He turns his face away from her hair and takes a sip of his mug.

For a moment, there is peace.

"Killraven?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have to go out today?"

He sighs heavily. A similar conversation had been started yesterday. He did not want to finish it. He does not answer.

Lilah twists so that she can face him. Her eyes meet his.

"You don't have to explain it again. I'm not a rube. You think you have to kill the Dancing Man's followers before they finish the pentagram, or bad things will happen to us," Lilah continues.

She reaches for his face with her free hand and traces a line from his cheekbones, to his lips, to the corner of his mouth.

"It's just that it makes you so . . . sad."

Killraven catches her hand in his and kisses her fingers. Her concern warms him more then his rationalizations.

"Sad? I do not enjoy this task. There is no honor, only blood."

"Then why . . ."

This time he puts his hand to her lips. "Because if I do not, and we fail because of it, I . . . we all, will be far beyond 'sad'".

Deeper into the Hive, in the place called only "Black Boot Alley", a filthy boy pries loose a three foot shard of wood from a pile of ruin.

"And he went. . . Yah!" says the boy, thrusting the shard like a spear. "Skewered the barmy berk good, he did. Right through the gizzards! And let the body lay, too!"

"That's the dark of it. That's how Tooth and me got these!" adds a greasy little girl. She holds up her trophies - a set of dancing shoes with the feet still in them.

"And how me and the Gimp peeled these!" adds a grossly obese boy with black teeth, holding up similar prizes.

Two other sets of youths display more booted feet. The demonstration is being made to the royalty of the Black Boot Alley gang, who are sitting on beaten and broken chairs on the second floor of a wall-less building.

One of the royalty, a gangly boy with dirty yellow hair and rotted leather armor, turns to his neighbor. "What d'ya think, Rhymer?"

Rhymer studies the display for a moment. His expression is thoughtful at first, then blank, then fearful, and then manic. He leaps from his chair, nearly toppling to the street, and starts dancing and shouting. He flits around his empty chair, avoiding the throne of the gangly youth and also that of the third leader, whose head droops as if asleep.

"Takes to the air and never can get beat; gotta be the master of the motha-fucking street."

He spins in a circle with his arms outstretched like a giant bird.

"Gonna stick the grumpies and break their piking teeth; leave 'em in the alley for the kids to get some feet!"

The gang of children on the street cheer Rhymer's antics. The tall gangly boy frowns and stands up. He pulls out the hilt of a broken longsword from his belt and waves it menacingly.

"Shut yer bone-boxes, titmice! We aren't going to let the grumpies stake us and let us dangle just for a bite at dancing feet! No ma'am. Got to think it through. Got to think it through . . ." The youth rubs the peachfuzz on his chin as if deep in thought. He is not about to let his gang take up after the raven-man that runs every day through their alley.

Rhymer continues his dance, flapping and soaring. "Slapped down ol' Hilt, so he'll never get his due; we wanta fly like him but Hilt will say 'pike you'."

"Shut up, you piking barmy sod!" snaps the gangly youth, threatening Rhymer with the broken blade of his sword. "He wouldn't have taken us if I hadn't slipped on the ooze . . ."

The two leaders circle each other, Hilt swinging his sword wildly while Rhymer easily dodges out of the way. The children on the street start calling and chanting for "Rhymer" or "Hilt." As the little combat starts to get serious, the third leader suddenly stands up. He is clothed in soiled rags that hang from him like a mummy. His skin is ashen pale and rent with sores and lumps. His rheumy eyes pop open, and he raises a hand to his mouth.

Instantly, Rhymer and Hilt stop fighting and the urchins in the street quiet down. "Stitch! Stitch is gonna talk ..."

The third boy clumsily reaches for a black stitch of rawhide that cinches his lips together. He fiddles with the knot for what seems an eternity before he works it loose and pulls the bit of cord through the holes in his upper and lower lips.

He flexes his jaws for a moment. The youths around him are so still they can hear each other breathing with excitement.

Stitch bends down and picks up a black feather from the floor -- a souvenir left by their enemies, the executioner ravens. He holds the feather aloft for all to see.

"Boogey-man," he croaks. "Boogey-man."

The children explode with gleeful cheering. "Boogey-man!"

A few hours later, the wan light of early morning struggles to penetrate the cloying mists of the Hive. Lilah looks out of the broken window as she threads her belt through the loops of the waistband of her leather leggings. The street traffic is increasing slightly. Mostly beggers heading for their corners and a few merchants and clerks heading for their jobs.

[Not a bad neighborhood for the Hive. On the other hand, the best neighborhood in the Hive is a poor place for a body to have to bed down -- and this place isn't the best neighborhood either}

It is seven after antipeak -- time for the dancers to start down the street. Lilah cinches her belt with a sharp tug and places two throwing daggers on the sill -- just in case. She watches the mists patiently, waiting for the appearance of either a dancing man or her lover.

Right on schedule, a dancer prances out of the mists. This one is female. She bounces whirls and twirls her way down Sandstone street in the general direction of the bakery.

Lilah picks up her daggers, but decides not to throw them.

[Killraven might appear at any second. Besides, a murder right in front of the kip might not be a very good idea.]

She waits a moment, expecting to see the mul follow the dancer out of the mists.

Instead, something else emerges from the fog. Small dark shapes -- children? They skip and caper down Sandstone street, some of them teasing the beggars and others randomly striking the buildings or throwing rocks. As they approach her building Lilah recognizes some of them. A grossly obesese boy, with cheeks so fat his eyes are hidden in the folds -- another boy, seemingly normal except for a single three inch fang that pokes out of his grimey lips -- a little girl with mismatched pigtails that stick out of her head like little spines -- Black Boot Alley kids. Even as she registers her dismay at this development their chatter rises to her window.

"He's gonna get you . . . . he's gonna get you . . . . . he's gonna get you . . . the boogey man is coming!"

[Bast. Why can't anything be simple?]

Lilah sheaths her daggers, and quick as lightning and sprints for the steps. The appearance of the grotesque children bodes ill and she wants to get closer in case they try something. As for the boogey-man -- that does not concern her.

[Raven feathers. Figures.]

With his morning baking done and cooling, the Baker is finally enjoying his own cup of coffee. His meaty arms are folded on top of his pastry case as he awaits the early customers.

His shop is a modest affair. He puts his fare behind the glass of his pastry case or leaves them to cool behind him on the bread racks. He has coffee for his customers, and a few teas. He tries to entice customers by allowing passersby to look into his savory shop through a huge plate glass window at street level. Not glass really -- glassteel. A present from his master. He even has two small, sturdy wood block tables in case someone cares to have a seat and a breakfast bun.

The Baker takes a sip of coffee as he spots his first potential customer through the window. A woman --- dancing.

He sighs. Every morning one of those dancing fools come by his shop. Mostly they just trip on past, blathering nonsense and disturbing the peace. Sometimes, like this time, they stop for a while and dance in front of the window. He guesses they do it just to annoy him, or possibly to admire their reflections in the glass. It doesn't matter really. They never buy.

He downs the rest of his coffee and then nearly spits it out as an urchin pushes through the door into his shop. The child is fat almost beyond belief and moves with surprising grace. At his heels, another chid, and then another. Soon his shop is full of them.

Had they been ordinary children, he might have been pleased to at least test whether they had any jink. But he is not pleased, he is frightened. The children are hideous.

He reaches into his pastry case for one of the special loaves of bread -- the egg bread with lightning baked in to it. Could these children be the killers?

The obese child press his fleshy hands into the glass of his pastry case, and then his face, causing it to spread out like flattened dough.

"Go on. Get out of here!" the Baker threatens, raising the lightning loaf defensively.

One of the taller children jumps up on a wood block table.

"I had a dream last night. At least I thought it was a dream . . ."

"What? What did you say? Get out of here!" The Baker starts around his counter to shoo off the intruders but recoils at a little girl, who smiles wickedly at him, baring her filed teeth.

"I had a dream last night. It must have been a dream . . ."

The Baker retreats to the safety of his pastry case and his enchanted breads. Barmies are common in the Hive, although they don't usually seem this bad. He groans as the fat boy tries to punch through the glass of the case to get a danish.

The Baker gives the boy an open handed swat on the top of his head. The boy looks up stupidly. The other children start chanting in a cacophony of disunity -- taunting him.

"He's gonna get you . . . he's gonna get you . . . he's gonna get you . . ."

The children frighten the Baker to the marrow. He doesn't know who is going to get whom, but the rumors of murder are fresh in his mind. He takes the magic pumpernickel from the case and breaks the crust, releasing the spell within. He is bathed in a soft glow of magic as an armor spell covers his body.

"He's gonna get you . . . he's gonna get you . . . he's gonna get you . . ."

The children file out of the door, most of them looking back at him malevolently. The barmy one lithly skips off the table and follows them. Only the little girl is left in the shop. She looks at him with innocent baby blue eyes, her horrible teeth temporarily hidden behind her cherubic lips.

"The boogey man is coming," she promises.

The Baker's eyes widen. Then the girl turns her back to him and skips out the door.

The Baker, now completely unnerved, breaks another loaf, releasing a shield spell. He wishes he had baked something stronger but lacks the skill. His hands shake as he reaches for two bagguettes with magic missile baked into them. But he drops them both when the air is rent by a shriek and a heavy thump on his plate glass window.

The back of the dancer is plastered against the window. Blood soaks her harlequin shirt as something jerks her body once, then twice. He cannot tell if her assailant is invisible or just out of his field of vision. He does not care to look just yet. He dives to the floor for the magic bagguettes.

There is another thump and a heavy groan. The Baker peeks over his counter top and watches in horror as the dancer's body, now pinnioned high up on the glass, slowly slides down to street level, leaaving skid marks of blood behind.

The Baker's eyes nearly pop out of his head as he sees the murderer for the first time. A brawny blood -- with a Baatoran green breastplate, stands above the body. His brow knits into a frown as he bends slightly, sets a booted foot on the dancer's back, and yanks free a trident, also of green metal.

The Baker cannot tear his eyes away -- and for that he pays a price. The killer looks through the glass and sees him, sending cold waves of fear through the hapless merchant. He holds his breath as their eyes meet. Then the killer adjusts his grip on the trident, walks past the window, and into the shop.

Lilah watches Killraven work from her vantage point in a debris-strewn alley across the street from the bakery. The gladiator had emerged from the fog, his cape puffing up in the breeze generated by his rapid stride. He went right up to the dancer and skewered her twice on his trident. He had not checked for witnesses, he did not try to conceal himself, and he did not try and be quiet.

[You are a poor assasin, love].

Lilah frowns. As far as she can tell, the Baker was a likely witness, as well as a handful of the Black Boot alley kids who watch from hidey holes. It does not appear that Killraven has even noticed them. Even though this is the Hive, open murder in broad daylight in front of witnesses did not seem to be a good idea.

[I'd better do something about the Baker. He might have some credibility -- and reason to complain about a barmy taken a chiv on his doorstep . . .]

Before Lilah steps out of the shadows, she sees Killraven go into the bakery. She bites her lip, [what's he going to do?] and tacks to the left and into a vacant shop more directly across from the crime scene. She peeks through the doorless opening to the street, but still cannot see into the shop. She pivots to look for another vantage point and nearly trips over a boy.

The boy is pockmarked, blistered, and grey skinned, wearing only ribbons of filthy rags festooned here and there with raven feathers. His watery eyes are wide with fear or wonder, or some other emotion. His lips are sown shut with a single thread of thick rawhide.

Lilah recoils from him and pulls a dagger. [Aaack! How did this thing get behind me, or even close to me, without me noticing?]

The boy does nothing but look at her, wide eyed. It is unnerving.

"Move!" Lilah hisses. The boy has not taken any offensive action yet, but her memory of Black Boot Alley is still sharp and she does not consider this creature to be anything other than hostile.

The boy still does not move. He looks at her curiously, and then sends his voice directly into her mind.

<Flame head mother>

[Mother????] Lilah is not in touch with maternal instincts. The mere thought of mothering such a monster is enough to send her screaming. She backs into the doorway.

A snaggle-toothed boy's head pops through a hole in the ceiling.

"Mother?" he asks.

Lilah steps back again and bumps into someone who grabs her behind roughly.

Lilah cuts blindly at the perpetrator. She is fast, almost faster than thought. Her dagger strikes something solid, meets slight resistance, and then cuts through. Lilah spins and ducks past the wounded boy into the street.

"Get OFF of me, you barmy creeps!" She gathers that a tall boy with a broken sword was her assailant, for he is now looking at a deep gash in his left arm. She does not wait for any more assaults -- she starts calling to mind a sleep spell to slow them down.

Her tail starts circling and she begins the evocation, still holding her dagger ready in one hand and still backing further into the misty street. Before she can finish, she feels a sickening coldness seep over her. She slows, then stops.

[HELD?? I'm being held! Oh BAST!]

The mummy-boy comes out into the open, followed by several others. Lilah feels the coldness slowly give way to panic and the heat that it brings. The emotions come faster as she notes a doll-like girl with filed teeth smiling and looking at Lilah's feet.

The voice comes into her head again. <No. Boogey has her. No.>

The children stream past her, some looking at her evilly, others ignoring her altogether. Only the mummy-boy stops.

[I'm going to get you for this, you piking barmy twerp]

<Go mother. Don't hurt your children>. The mummy-boy walks past her and out of her field of vision.

Lilah is suddenly free from the hold spell. She exhales and whirls, her dagger ready to throw. There are no nearby targets. The children have crossed the street and a milling about the body. There is no sign at all of mummy-boy.

Lilah wipes the cold sweat off of her lips and then catches sight of Killraven. He leaves the bakery, throws a loaded sack toward the corpse and the scavengers working it over, and then strides back into the mists. Some of the children pick up the sack and pull out loaves of bread.

Lilah considers following him and leaving the mess behind, but there is still the matter of the Baker, whom Killraven apparently did not kill. She cautiously crosses the street, giving the malevolent children a wide berth. This time, they ignore her completely, engaged in the task of cutting off the dancer's feet.

She stops to watch them for a moment. She squints with disgust, then steps around the pool of blood spreading near the bakery door, and then steps into the shop.

[The Baker clearly saw too much. But he is a man. I'll make him forget all about it and we'll be in the clear - no one is going to be asking any questions of these little . . .]

Lilah pulls up short three steps into the bakery. There are children in here also, quietly gorging themselves on bread and pastry. There is no sign of the Baker.

One of the boys spots her and jumps up on a woodblock table. He has wild black hair and a rusty hoop earring. He starts rapping out a rhyme.

"I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove; I had a scream last night, it was really kinda fun.

Lilah tries to ignore him and moves to take a peak behind the pastry case. Before she can get there, the little doll- girl emerges, her mouth bloody, holding a gorey foot stuck in a soft padded leather shoe.

[Oh! Dead? Acck!] She can't help curling her lips back with disgust. She walks up to the case and peers through the glass.

"Seven after antipeak, we were trippin in the Hive; Following the Boogey of the mother-fucking Five;"

The Baker is dead. He is sitting upright propped against the cooling racks, footless, glassy eyes wide and staring, and his mouth sewn shut with a single stitch.

Another chill wave clutches at Lilah. She braces herself against the glass of the case to avoid sinking to the floor. [Oh. By the gods . . .]

The children look at her wickedly and start filing out the door, skipping and chanting . . . . "He's gonna get you . . . he's gonna get you . . ." Only the rhymer is left behind on his tabletop stage. He is grinning at Lilah, as he continues.

"With a big red fork that was stickin' in the meat, killing everything that he sees in the street; Don't you know yet that if you're messin with the Five - Better keep your piking hat a mile from the Hive."

He leaps off the table into the doorway.

"Or you'll get SHOT! SHOT right down!" he yells.

Lilah glumly watches the little monster pick up a half-eaten loaf of bread.

"Yeah!. Rock on," he adds to himself. "Whatever."

He skips out into the street.

Lilah takes a last look around the shop. It has been trashed, and it is empty.

[Pike the cash box. I am outta here.]

She slips through the door and ducks into the shadows. The rhyming boy's shape is fading into the mist on Sandstone Street, but his voice still carries to her ears with a distant, ghostly ring.

"That's it. That's my rhyme," he says, jumping up and doing a spin into the mists. "Take it to the street . . . peon."

Lilah slips into the alley next to the Bakery, and then starts behind the buildings in the general direction Killraven took.

[I don't care what he says. I'd rather go to blazes then let him do any more of this screed. This is the LAST day Killraven murders anyone. And we are NEVER, EVER going to that hell-blasted Black Boot Alley.}