"This place smells."

In three words, Terence summed up Firty Duck Alley perfectly. It smelled like a diseased skunk ate a trout omelette then died on the toilet ... Possibly, another skunk then ate that skunk and also died in similar circumstances. Accompanying the intimidating presence of the odour was a continuous sloshing that managed to sound slimy - like snail snot coating a urinal. Buildings leaned in drunkenly above as though trying to choke anybody unfortunate enough to risk traversing the alley. My feet suctioned to the ground with each step, slurping at my boots as I lifted my heels. The view ahead revelled in grime-soaked dinginess - probably because nobody dared light a lantern.

"Who lives here?" asked the barbarian.

I smiled and tried to keep my mouth closed while talking. "People who've drunk so much, they've forgotten they have nothing to live for." I pointed to the far end of the alley. "And one aristocrat so eccentric, she writes instructional tomes about how to fit into society, just to prove she doesn't."

He blinked. "That don't make sense."

"That's because she's madder than a misanthropic missionary. When she was born, the midwife smacked her and, instead of crying, she ad-libbed a sonnet about the brutality of parenthood. When others laugh, she screams. When she laughs, it'll be because the world ended. She's a loony, Terence, but a loony with a purpose, even if she doesn't realise it."

"I still don't understand."

"You won't, but trust me - she might be able to help."

I smiled to myself as we proceeded along the alley. I enjoyed telling Lady Lipton's story - it was mad to begin with and got progressively more elaborate the more I told it. One of those people who never fitted in anywhere, she existed as a bold example of somebody who did and said exactly what came to her, at all times. That's a rare beast in any world.

As we neared the alley's end and Terence looked around, wearing his perpetual expression of perplexity, a heap of mouldy rubbish shifted.

I spotted a mop of lank, grubby hair emerging from between two brown dish cloths. "Loony Lipton!"

"Huh?" The hair flipped on an axis and two eyes fixed their gaze on me. "Rancid Rozzer!" In several shuffling steps, a short Elf emerged from the rubbish. She was so skinny, a stiff breeze could have snapped her. The fluff on her head was either a scruffy wig or a dead poodle, and it complemented her collection of grub and stains nicely. She was wearing a bright, azure blue night gown that must have cost more than The Companions make in a year. All her features drew the eye towards a tight, pinched mouth like a cat's backside beneath an intimidating wedge of a nose.

"Long time, no see," I said, offering a fully extended arm.

She cradled my fingers in her skeletal hands and kissed them. "Welcome to her day boudoir, Rozzer. To what does she owe the pleasure?"

"You have to tell me," I indicated the alley with an arm. "What makes you choose this place?"

"The lady enjoys the company." She cocked her angular head to one side, eyes fixed on an indeterminate point. "No. The croissants are not ready yet. This one? The lady knew her at another time. She thinks of her fond things, although she suspects the connection is more one of convenience on Rozzer's part. She will let you know. Put them back in the oven at gas mark four for another six minutes. They should be a gentle golden brown colour and smell like kittens giggling in a bread factory."

I blinked. "Some company you have there."

"She is quite mad, and believes herself a baker in an alien society with bizarre customs. The Lady indulges her because her tales of things called boyfriends, BMWs and the Internet are highly entertaining. Over there," she pointed to the very corner of the alley, "the Lady speaks to Xatican of the Bixx Dynasty. He is a perfectly vile lizard but his threats are very imaginative." She coughed a line of phlegm onto her chin and sucked it back in distractedly. "On cold nights, the Hive of Peace nests its consciousness in my thoughts."

Okay, so perhaps 'mad' was an understatement.

I didn't dare look at Terence for fear his expression might spread. "I'm hoping you - that is, the Lady - might care to speak of what's happening here in Pennylast."

Her nose twisted almost sideways, as though she finally smelled her boudoir. "You mean ... this world?"

"It's the only one I know."

"So ... lonely." She shuffled forwards and her odour shunted me back. Her hand reached up and, with a supreme effort, I let her touch my cheek. "To have one's eyes so completely focused, one's mind so locked." She squinted, glaring into my eyes. "You know not what you have, Rozzer. Treasure it!"

I nodded.

She moved a few more steps before sighing a huge gust of rancid air. "Ah, the chilly silence of Pennylast." Her eyes closed for several moments. When they opened again, a clarity had settled in their depths. "Damn you, Rozlyn, why did you have to drag me back here? This place stinks!"

"You chose it."

"Not the alley!" She lifted her arms out to their sides. "This stupid reality. I'm only here when I'm elsewhere, you know that."

I put a placating hand on her shoulder and tried not to flinch at the jutting bone I felt through the nightie. "I'm sorry, Lipton. I wouldn't come if I could think of another way."

"Your friend looks like a mountain carved in flesh and violence. I approve. He will bring you strong, healthy children." She leaned forward and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "Be careful though - they may be psychopaths."

I held up my hands to cut off that line of conversation. "Definitely not why I came here, Lipton."

"Are you sure? The unconscious mind drives us more frequently than we care to admit."

"Quite sure." I checked behind us to ensure we weren't being observed. "I'm investigating the murder of a hard-up couple, name of Miller. I was hoping someone you talk to might have insight."

She gasped, one bony hand sweeping up to cage her lips. "The Boatman wasn't lying!"
I shared a look with Terence before turning back to her. "You may have to elaborate, my old friend."

"If I position myself just right, by that alcove behind the brothel, I speak to a presence who calls himself The Boatman. Never figured out if it's his name or occupation, but he believes the latter. Last time we conversed, he was very agitated. He told me two souls passed before their time, and their deaths would bring my cloister sister to me." Tears escaped her eyes, running down to frame a broad, full smile. "It seems he was correct."

I smiled back, feeling a surge in my stomach. I either needed to find a toilet quickly, or my old friend was raising up emotions. Perhaps both. "I'll always be your cloister sister, Lipton, and I'm sorry it's been so long since I visited. Tell me, though - what made your Boatman friend so agitated? What was different about this couple? Death can't be unusual in this town."

"Death is not unusual, no. Death by sorcery, however, is a rare occurrence indeed. And this .. this was dirty sorcery. He told me the magical fallout attached to their souls was so strong, they damaged the gateway as they passed, threatening the integrity of the barrier. It was not a gentle spell that stole their breaths, sister Rozzer." She closed her eyes, no longer smiling. "Not gentle at all. No Gnome ever hated any creature that much, and few but Gnomes wield such force."

She shuddered and I felt myself follow suit. "They didn't stand a chance."

Lipton backed up a few steps. "The Lady bids you good day. She must find her rest in oblivion for now, and ensure the croissants do not burn." She reversed her original route, settling into the manky rubbish heap until she disappeared.

"I do wonder, my friend," I said quietly, "if somebody didn't burn your croissants a long time ago." I looked at Terence. "This doesn't fit. I never met a poor wizard, and the other Belly Row folk wouldn't have the money to hire one. There can't be many magic-users with ammunition that strong and a corresponding lack of conscience."

The barbarian shrugged. "Simple men fight with fists."

"Yes they do."

We headed towards the light at Firty Duck alley's entrance and I tried to ignore the squelchy screams of protest from my boots.

"You didn't need me for intimidation," said Terence after a few moments.

"Not for her, no. I will need you for our next visit, though. Promise me no hesitation, okay? Follow my lead and don't think." We shared a glance. "So yeah - your usual approach is fine. And Terence?"

"Yep?"

"I don't know where you sheathe it and I don't want to, but I hope you have your Broadsword of Bashing with you."