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"I'll owe-"
"No, we don't work that way. No favors, no bargains, and you needn't come back with a crate of brandy. If you want, we can put you up for a night or two on campus."
"I know the town. I'd rather not be behind wire. I'll look up the Copley, if it's still around. Maybe try for a bass in the reservoir lake."
She and Tess both made notes. "You might at that. No one was doing much fishing while Solon was running things."
* * * *
Few pursuits can compare with fishing for a man looking for peace and quiet.
Two days later, enjoying his leave more than he'd enjoyed anything since parting with Malia, Valentine brought in a nice three-pound bass. As he tied up his aluminum shell he mentally inventoried the seasonings he'd picked up at the market after catching that catfish yesterday but had saved at the last minute in the hope of a better future catch: some green peppers, garlic, cloves, and a tiny bottle of what the spice merchant swore up and down was olive oil.
This particular lunker would be worth it.
He'd grill it over charcoal and hickory within the hour, and enjoy it with a syrupy local concoction everyone in town called a coke.
"Hey, Valentine," he heard a voice call. He looked up. "Reservoir Dan," the man who'd rented him the boat and tackle-and who accepted money only for bait " 'cause that's an actual expense" after seeing his Southern Command ID, stood at the pier, stubbing out one of the ration cigarettes Valentine had insisted that he accept. "Got a message for you-hey, you did good."
Valentine held the fish a little higher. "Got it near the stumps on the north side."
"You try that spinner?"
"That's what got him. What was the message?" Dan would go all afternoon about local fishing with the tiniest prompt.
"Some girl on a bike from the Ark. Said they ran your paper down and that you could come by anytime."
"I hope anytime includes after lunch," Valentine said. "Join me?"
"I'll bring the sweet potato pie," Dan said, smacking his lips.
Half a bass and a thick wedge of pie heavier, Valentine caught a lift on a military shuttle horse cart to the SEARK campus. Everything went faster this time, from surrendering his weapon at the gate to admittance to the Miskatonic.
This time Zhin brought him back to her office. The researcher had a deft hand at indoor gardening; assorted spider plants shot out tiny versions of themselves from the top of every file cabinet and bookcase, taking advantage of the window's southern exposure.
A young man she introduced as Peter Arnham, who seemed to prefer rumpled clothes two sizes too big for him, stood up nervously when Valentine entered.
"This isn't a trial, son," Valentine said. "I'm just doing legwork for a man who's missing his."
"I didn't know Hunter Staff Cats--Cats with the rank of major, anyway-did their own legwork," Arnham said.
"I'm not staff yet," Valentine said.
The Miskatonic researchers looked at each other and shrugged. He knew as little about their world as they did his.
"Everyone just sit," Zhin suggested. "This isn't a formal briefing, nothing like it."
They did so.
"Val, you're free to ask Peter here whatever you like. We don't know much about this; we're holding nothing back."
Valentine sensed an edge to her voice that hadn't been there before.
"You think I'm on an assignment?" Valentine asked.
"We know you work with cover stories and so on."
Valentine leaned forward. "No. It's really what I told you. I'm inquiring for a friend, a fellow officer, William Post. This isn't prep for an operation, not by a long shot."
