Fire and Dust

      «Time for a strategic withdrawal?» Yasmin suggested.
      «I'd prefer to run like a son-of-an-orc.»
      So we ran, an army of undead at our heels.

* * *

      «Out the back!» I shouted to the others as Yasmin and I hurtled into the kitchen.
      «What's the problem?» Hezekiah asked, his voice thick with sleep.
      A wight stuck its head through the door. Yasmin cut it off.
      «Oh, them again,» Hezekiah said. He heaved Wheezle into his arms, and nudged a yawning Zeerith with his foot. «Time for us to go.»
      «Perhaps,» said the naga, «I should stay and fight. If I have magic…»
      I looked down at her sleek body, now coated in a flouring of the white dust that layered the whole kitchen. «The magic's gone,» I told her. «Wheezle will explain on your way out.»
      Two more wights charged at the door. I took left, Yasmin took right, all the while yelling to our companions, «Run!»
      Then there was no time to think about anything but the undead surging toward us like a hissing ocean.

* * *

      Within seconds, we had six wight carcasses piled in front of the door – enough to form a rampart that kept the other monsters at a disadvantage. They still shuffled forward, trying to push down the wall of bodies and shove their way inside; but with a flurry of jabbing and stabbing, Yasmin and I held the line against them.
      Minutes passed: long, tiring minutes of constant fighting. I didn't know if wights felt fatigue, but I was on the verge of exhaustion. My swordplay had turned sloppy… and my mind was clear enough to recognize the degradation in technique, without being able to sharpen up. Claws whisked by my face, coming close enough to tear at my jacket; and the smell of rotting flesh filled the kitchen, biling my stomach with nausea.
      «Maybe…» Yasmin panted, «we should try… to escape after all.»
      «You think… you can move enough… to run?»
      «No.»
      Her reply was almost drowned out by the hissing of wights. They could smell victory.
      «Yasmin…» I began. «If we're going to die… let me just say —»
      «Don't!» she cried. «You'll break my heart.»
      I closed my mouth and found enough strength to lop off the arm of a wight reaching for me. The amputated stump spurted red dust; the arm, dropping like a dead-weight, continued to clench its fingers, futilely trying to grab at something. «I know how you feel,» I told the fallen hand.
      Yasmin's mouth turned up in a small grin. «Sentimental berk,» she said, trying to hide the smile. Then she tucked a toe under the cut-off arm and kicked it back into the scrum of undead…
      …which for some reason had eased off their mob action at the kitchen door. Indeed, they were snarling up a storm of hisses, but not aimed at us – every wight had turned to face the street, and some were already shuffling in that direction, brandishing their claws in a ready-for-business way.
      «What now?» Yasmin whispered.
      «Now the wights try to kill whoever's coming down the street, while we sneak out the back.»
      «But if it's Miriam and her friend out there —»
      «They have a fair chance of outrunning the wights,» I interrupted, «while we have no hope of fighting through thirty undead to help them. Let us hie ourselves hence, good woman, before the monsters remember we're here.»
      Yasmin didn't look happy about leaving the fight before all the enemy was dead – typical Doomguard – but I nudged her gently toward the door and eventually she started moving. Part of her resistance may have been simple fatigue; she could barely keep her swordpoint off the floor.
      We both held our weapons at weary ready as we backed into the garden and the chill Plague-Mort night. Frost was beginning to whiten on the grass, making it easy to see the slithering trail from Zeerith crossing the yard. I wondered how she would react to the cool weather… if she hibernated like other cold-blooded animals. For the time being, however, she was clearly moving fast and strong; I couldn't guess how she climbed over the garden wall, but the marks in the frost showed she had succeeded without fuss.
      Yasmin and I weren't fresh enough to scale the wall so easily – it was six feet of solid brick, topped by a row of spikes – but we found enough footholds to clamber over awkwardly and lower ourselves down the other side. Hezekiah was waiting for us, a beaming smile on his homely face. «You made it!» he cried. «Did you kill all the wights?»
      Yasmin gave a snort of a laugh. «They let us go,» she told him. «Something else grabbed their atten —»
      The wall stood between us and the house, but we could still see a sudden flare of crimson light dazzle the sky. A moment later came the muffled of an explosion. After our experiences of the past week, I had no trouble recognizing a fireball blast… landing, I would guess, in the midst of the wights who filled the house's living room.
      «What was that?» Hezekiah gulped, eyes wide.
      «Someone must be fighting the wights,» Yasmin replied. «Maybe the Hounds have finally shown up.»
      «Can the Hounds shoot fireballs?» Hezekiah asked.
      «They can now,» a new voice said.
      Miriam stepped from the shadows, accompanied by a gray-skinned woman in her mid-twenties: a striking beauty with high cheek bones and glossy red hair, the kind a man would be happy to bed if he could figure out how to work around the scaly wings that sprouted from her back. The wings were tiny in comparison to the rest of the woman, less than two feet high, with an equally short span; but I had no doubt they could carry her far and fast if the need arose. The Planes are like that – out here, even the most vestigial wings can fly.
      «This is the guide I told you about,» Miriam said, gesturing toward the winged woman. «Her name's November.»
      «And what race are you?» Hezekiah piped up cheerfully.
      His question was greeted with frosty silence from November, and embarrassed shuffling of feet from the rest of us. Finally, November said in a chilly voice, «There are some things you don't ask strangers, unless you like floating face down in the nearest sewage pond.»
      «I was just trying to learn,» he protested. «How will I learn if I don't ask?»
      November's eyes narrowed. «The multiverse does not care whether or not you learn. The multiverse does not care whether or not you live. Only people care, and precious few of them. Do you hear me?»
      Hezekiah gulped. «Okay. Sorry.»
      «Apology accepted,» November answered evenly. «And because I know you will make a nuisance of yourself, constantly staring and wondering what I am, I shall tell you I was born the child of a human man and a hell-spawned succubus. Some like to call my kind alu-fiends, but I do not want to hear that word cross your lips. You will call me an alu; my father raised me to suppress the fiendish aspects of my soul, and his spirit would grieve if I were forced to kill you over mere terminology.»
      «Alu,» Hezekiah nodded. «A good old alu. Got it.»
      He continued bobbing his head like a berk until a scowl from November stopped him.

* * *

      On the other side of the wall, another explosion raked the sky, followed by a cracking of timbers. Any second, I thought I'd hear the entire house collapse; but the carpenters of Plague-Mort had clearly surpassed themselves in building the place. After two fireballs, an army of wights, and the earlier invasion by Hounds, the house remained standing – on fire now, but still mostly upright.
      «What is happening?» Zeerith asked, an edge of panic in her voice.
      «Hounds versus wights,» Miriam replied. «Pity we can't go out front and watch.»
      «I've seen fireballs before,» I said. «Unless, of course, the Hounds have some new, more interesting kind…»
      «Standard stuff,» Miriam answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. «I happened to know where the Fox stashed a few firewands, right here in town. They came in handy for bribes.»
      «Not bribes,» November bristled, holding up two wands of her own. «Payment for services to be rendered.»
      Miriam shrugged. «You got payment, the Hounds got bribes.» She turned back to me. «I gave the Arch-Lector's doggies some fire-toys in exchange for fighting your wights.»
      «You knew we had wights?» Yasmin asked.
      «November and I came by a while ago when that sod albino was just setting up her attack. Rivi had stationed a few wights out front, and a lot more around the corner, so I knew you were going to need help. I bribed the closest detachment of Hounds to come and give you a hand. It took all the wands I had left, but they did come through.»
      November gave a small snort. «They just wanted a chance to shoot fire at moving targets.»
      «Probably,» Miriam admitted, «but they did what they were paid to and mounted a frontal assault. I knew you'd be smart enough to run out the back. That's why we're here.»
      «And now we should go,» November said. She gestured at the red flicker of flames on the other side of the wall. «We only have minutes before that fire engulfs the whole quarter. Besides, I'm sure you want to see that gate to Sigil as soon as possible.»
      Despite her exhaustion, Yasmin insisted on carrying Wheezle; and so we hurried away, following November's lead. Miriam fell in beside Hezekiah and the two of them began whispering to each other, heads close and the ghost of giggles in their voices. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I didn't need to: they weren't saying anything, they were merely talking… pleased to have the worst behind them, pleased that each step took us closer the portal home.
      Zeerith slid along beside me, a stricken expression on her young face. She was leaving the only world she could remember, her adoptive family butchered by Hounds. Some cynical part of me didn't believe the family had been quite so kindly as Zeerith maintained; but they were all she knew, the center of her life. Now she was fleeing in the company of strangers, abandoning everything familiar.
      For a time, I tried to reassure her – Sigil had a small community of nagas, a few of them Sensates whom I knew personally. We'd find someone to care for her until she was ready to fend for herself. Zeerith nodded politely and said she was sure Sigil was a fine city… but then she lapsed into silence again, her face wracked with grief.

* * *

      Plague-Mort had no city wall, no definite edge at all. The raggedy shacks housing citizens outside of Rich Man's Row simply grew farther and farther apart, and their yards increased to the size of small fields. Perhaps they were fields, and I was just too much the city-dweller to tell. It was, after all, late autumn in Plague-Mort, with the chill of winter in the air. Whatever crops might have filled these fields in summer were harvested now, leaving nothing but stubble.
      We kept walking, down a dark dirt road with ankle-deep ruts. The fields came right up to the road, with only a thin strip of weeds separating the two. On a larger scale, the fields were just a thin strip themselves: a few hundred feet of cleared land on either side of the road, and beyond that, the Bush… virgin forest, walled with shadows. No doubt, local hunters ventured into the woods often enough, following the game trails and daring the underbrush; but hunters tended to camp where their ancestors had camped, to stake out the same watering holes, to lurk outside the same lairs. I was sure the trees concealed wilder places, a deep heartland where humans had not penetrated in all the lifetime of the multiverse.
      And then the fields ended.
      I could see the end coming: the point where the forest closed in around the road. The trees were tall and rustling in the wind, mostly elms and oaks and maples; in daylight, their leaves might be the vibrant reds and oranges of fall, but in the darkness they looked jet black. Branches reached across the road, choking off the slight glow of the overcast sky. As we approached, the way ahead looked like the mouth of a cave.
      «Honored alu,» Wheezle said in a low voice, «is this truly wise? The trees provide perfect cover for bandits… or perhaps more fearsome threats.»
      «I'm hard to surprise,» November answered. «Besides, this road runs spikeward and very little traffic comes this way. You may find the occasional barmy out here, living on nuts and berries, but the caravan routes run east-west around the rim. That's where you get bandits.»
      She said nothing about other lurking things; and the Outlands were surely filled with dangerous beasts, especially near a cursed town like Plague-Mort. I looked at the blackness of the woods, drawing nearer with each step we took, and asked, «Where is this portal anyway?»
      «Not far,» November said. «The gate is just a short way into the forest, inside a small chapel… built long ago by a group that worshipped the snake people.» She nodded toward Zeerith. «The nagas claim a huge tract of land spikeward from here, but they seldom come this close to town. According to legend, the nagas were embarrassed by the snake cult's form of worship, so they left the area in distaste. The cult faded away soon after; some say they all committed suicide in the hope of winning back the nagas' attention. All I know is, the chapel has been abandoned for as long as I've lived in Plague-Mort, and probably centuries before that.»
      Hezekiah cleared his throat. «Have you, uhhh, ever been to this chapel at night?»
      I could guess what was on the boy's mind. Abandoned chapels do not qualify as safe places for nocturnal visits, especially if all the former devotees killed themselves. But November said, «It's not haunted, if that's what you mean. Do you know how many do-gooders come through Plague-Mort every year? And can you imagine how they drool when they hear of a deserted chapel not far from town? If there were ever ghosts in the place, the poor shades got cleaned out generations ago. And don't worry about other kinds of trouble either: a party of adventurers toured the place just last week, and the worst they found was a squirrel who bobbed a crust of their bread.»
      The others smiled at that, but not me. My father once listed for me a dozen lethal creatures who could magically disguise themselves as squirrels.

* * *

      The road through the forest was dark enough; but soon November led us off on a side-path that was positively Stygian. Only a hint of light could struggle through the dense cover of autumn leaves, making our trail as dark as a mineshaft. Occasionally something would dart across the ground, stirring up a racket through the crisp fallen leaves; then November would call out «Rabbit» or «Badger» to calm our startled nerves.
      I had thought rabbits and badgers were field animals, not the sort to prowl through thick woods.
      We made an unconscionable amount of noise – I defy the stealthiest of forest rangers to walk quietly along a path covered with crinkly dry leaves – but no monsters attacked us in the ten minutes it took to reach the chapel. Tree roots tripped us, nettles pricked us, and a pair of crows cawed indignantly at having their sleep disturbed; still nothing happened. In time, we walked into a clearing wide enough that the trees could not block a large patch of sky… and there in front of us was a square stone building perhaps ten paces on each side.
      «The portal is the door to the inner vestry,» November said. For some reason, she was whispering. «The key is anything shaped like a snake. I've got a little talisman in my pocket, but frankly, your friend Zeerith would probably…»
      Her voice trailed off. Speaking of things shaped like a snake, an enormous serpent had just emerged from the door of the chapel. It measured more than fifteen feet, almost twice as long as Zeerith; and although it had a male human head, it had no hair. Instead, it flared out a cobra's hood with menacing intent.
      «Honored naga,» Wheezle shouted quickly, «we come in peace!»
      «Do you?» His voice was iced with hostility. «When you hold my daughter captive?»
      «Daughter?» Zeerith whispered.
      «She isn't a captive,» Yasmin put in quickly, «she's a refugee. If we hadn't helped her out of town —»
      «She should not have been in town!» the male naga roared. «Do you think we approve of leggers stealing our children? I have missed this daughter for years. I have sought this daughter for years. And only tonight, in the moment of her molting, could I finally sense her awakened soul. It is a gift our kind possess, to locate kin. Now she has been found, and her kidnappers will pay!»
      «They didn't kidnap me,» Zeerith protested weakly. «They saved me from a fire —»
      «Silence!» the other naga commanded. «You have known nothing but slavery, since the day of your birth. It has confused you. You think of your captors as generous people who gave you food and attention; but all leggers are exploiters, child, and they want you to do their bidding. If these particular leggers have not hurt you, it only means they are more subtle than most – they snare you with honey, rather than violence. You are too young and trusting. I know better.»
      «You know fizz,» said November in disgust. «If this is your daughter, take her and be piked; but save the sermons for someone with a stronger stomach. I'm not getting paid to put up with such barcardle, and I certainly won't —»
      A beam of red light lanced from the naga's forehead. It struck November in the face, splashed out, and wrapped around her head like a veil. She lifted her hands as if she could pull loose the weaving scarlet; but the glow swept down her body like a wave washing over the shore, speeding down to her toes and out to her fingers in less than a second. Her arms jerked to a stop. Indeed, her whole body froze as stiff as rigor mortis, and she tumbled to the ground like a statue knocked from its pedestal.
      After a few seconds, the red light faded. She looked no different – still flesh and blood, not turned to stone – but if she was breathing at all, it was too thready to tell.
      Yasmin slid her sword from its sheath. Reluctantly, I did the same. «Sir,» Yasmin called to the naga, «whatever you believe, we've done nothing wrong. The truth is, we've only known your daughter a few hours, and in that short time, we've saved her life from three separate threats. Of course, you'll just dismiss my claim as another lie. However, I'm not lying when I tell you this: the fate of thousands depends on us reaching Sigil before disaster strikes. You stand between us and the portal we need. We don't want a fight, but we'll do what we must with a clear conscience – you struck the first blow.»
      Miriam raised her fists into a fighting stance, but whispered out of the side of her mouth to Hezekiah. «Why don't you just teleport us inside?»
      «I can't,» the boy grimaced. «Rivi blanked me back at the house.»
      «You've had a sleep since then,» I reminded him, but Hezekiah simply glowered.
      «Not enough sleep,» he muttered, «and not the right kind.»
      «We're waiting,» Yasmin called to the father naga. «Get out of the way, and we'll leave without a fuss. We're fond of Zeerith and would hate to hurt you for her sake; but we will if you leave us no choice.»
      «You never had a choice, leggers.» The naga's voice was venomous… not a pleasant word to consider while confronting a giant snake. «When I sensed my daughter's molting,» he continued, «she was still inside the town. I thought I'd need an army to rescue her. As it turns out, you've conveniently brought her to me… but I still have the army.»
      Suddenly, we were surrounded by scratchy rustling sounds. More than a dozen serpentine heads lifted from mounds of fallen leaves scattered around the forest – a platoon of nagas emerging from camouflage. Yasmin sprinted for the door of the chapel, but beams of scarlet light shot out from three directions and brought her down like a lassoed steer. She had time to curl into foetal position before the rays froze her as solid as November.
      Miriam cursed and threw herself on top of Hezekiah. I dropped to the ground and rolled in the general direction of the chapel, aware that snakes were probably better at dirt-hugging than I was. Out in the darkness, Zeerith sobbed, «No, please, no…»
      …then my world went scarlet, rapidly followed by black.

18. THREE TESTS, COME WINTER

      Magic spells have many different aftereffects. Some leave you feeling as if giants have diligently clubbed every bone in your body; others cause no direct pain, but make you painfully sensitive to loud noises; a few put you into a state of insatiable arousal; and one I ran into in Ysgard left me unable to see any shade of green for three days.
      I paid the mage double for that one.
      When I awoke from the naga's spell, my throat was ragged by a raspy dryness, as if some frenzied clawed creature had crawled down to my epiglottis and was now digging its way out. There was a marble floor beneath my cheek, and lying on it had stiffened most of my muscles; but I was alive and relatively undamaged, a condition I certainly hadn't expected after the nagas coldcocked me.
      Blinking, I sat up. The space around me was huge and very white, with marble slabs on the floor, walls, and even ceiling. In front of me, a row of unglassed windows opened onto a grayly overcast day, its sky displaying that muted fluffiness that always promises snow. Narrow marble benches ran under the windows, situated so that you could lean back and prop your arms comfortably on the window-ledge behind you.
      A man was doing precisely that, sitting casually, watching me gather my senses.
      «Hello, Britlin,» he said at last.
      «Hello, Father,» I answered.

* * *

      Niles Cavendish had aged considerably since I'd seen him last. His black hair was now amply salted with streaks of white; his moustache had turned completely gray, and every line on his face had deepened. Laugh-lines they were called, and Father Niles had obviously laughed a great deal after walking out on his wife and child.
      «How are you feeling?» he asked.
      «Physically or emotionally?»
      «Let's go with the physical for starters.»
      I shrugged, then silently chided myself – if I reverted to a sulky adolescent at the first glimpse of this man, I'd soon despise myself. Being able to act like a grown-up was something that set me apart from him… wasn't it? «No broken bones,» I said. «I'm fit to fight a pit fiend.»
      «With my sword.» He nodded down at my side, where the rapier still hung from my belt. «I'm glad it wasn't lost.»
      «You can have it back any time you want.»
      I began to unbuckle the sheath, but he waved at me to stop. «Keep it. I haven't handled a blade in twelve years; I'd probably cut myself. If it comes down to hack and slash, I'll leave that honor to the next generation.»
      «Honor,» I muttered under my breath. Then more loudly, I said, «Can you tell me what's going on here?»
      «You've arrived at the Court of Light,» Niles Cavendish replied. «The Holy of Holies for the entire naga race. Their Supreme Goddess Shekinester lives here somewhere, though I've never seen her. Not knowingly, anyway. I've seen one sodding lot of snakes over the years, and maybe one of them was divine… but who knows?»
      «Are we still in the Outlands?»
      «Indeed,» he nodded. «Only about twelve hours from Plague-Mort. I gather that's where the nagas bagged you.»
      «You know about what happened?»
      «Oh yes, they told me everything. They intended to kill you, but your young friend Zeerith begged so touchingly for your lives, they decided to bring you to Shekinester and let her judge the case.»
      «My companions are all right?»
      «As far as I know. Of course, Shekinester judges everyone individually, and it's possible she's already passed sentence on some members of your party.»
      «That's no problem,» I told him. «A goddess must be able to tell we're innocent.»
      He smiled a rueful smile. «Shekinester is not just a goddess, Britlin – she's a naga goddess. You may not have committed the specific crime you're accused of, but that doesn't mean she'll let you walk away intact. She weighs your soul in its totality; and she weighs it on her own scale. A few years ago, Shekinester judged two men who stumbled in here after deserting some Prime-world army. She killed one man for cowardice, and congratulated the other for renouncing an immoral war. You see? Maybe another deity could second-guess dear old Snake-Mother, but to mere mortals like us, it all seems pure whim.»
      I stared at him curiously. «Is it her whim for you to sit here, smugly telling me all this?»
      «It must be. I'm still alive, aren't I?»
      «So you're working for Shekinester… is that why you never came home?»
      He looked away quickly, then tried to make it into a more casual gesture, turning to gaze out at the bleak gray sky. «I'm not working for the goddess; I'm here on trial, just like you.»
      «For the last twelve years?»
      «Maybe… I lost track of time long ago. Shekinester's tests take as long as she wants them to take. At present, I think she's studying how patient I can be. Or perhaps that's over and she's moved on to a new phase… seeing how I'll react to your arrival. You may not be real at all, boy: you may just be an illusion sent to taunt me.»
      I smiled grimly. «You may be an illusion sent to taunt me.»
      He nodded. «That's the way it is when you find yourself in a deity's back yard – it becomes hard to believe in anything.»

* * *

      I climbed stiffly to my feet and took stock of the situation. The room where I stood was a long hall, stretching as far as I could see in both directions. It seemed to be an outer promenade around a much larger building; how big I couldn't tell, but as home to a goddess, it might extend for miles.
      Outside the window, fat quiet snowflakes had begun to drift on the air. It surprised me Shekinester allowed such weather – it couldn't be good for her cold-blooded devotees. On the other hand, it wasn't cold here in the hall, despite the open windows; obviously the goddess kept her palace at a suitable temperature and let the surrounding environment take care of itself.
      «Are we supposed to stay put?» I asked my father. «Or can we look around?»
      «Do what you like,» he answered. «When Shekinester wants to test you, she'll start wherever you are. I wouldn't go far outside though.» He gestured through the window. Now that I was standing, I could see that the building was surrounded by winter-dead gardens, and beyond them, dense forest. «Bad things happen to people out in the trees,» Father said. «You're lucky the nagas carried you through to the hall. If they'd left you in the woods, you'd soon become something's dinner.»
      «I'll stay inside,» I assured him. «I just want to stretch my muscles.»
      «Is this a way of saying you want to get away from me?»
      «You can walk with me if you like.»
      He must have realized I was only making the offer out of politeness; but he rose from the bench and dusted a few stray snowflakes off his shoulder. «After you, son,» he said, waving vaguely to let me decide which direction to go.

* * *

      We walked in silence for several minutes. Considering how little our surroundings changed, we might have been walking on a treadmill that kept us in the same place. The walls and floor remained pristine marble, with no distinguishing features. The scenery outside the windows continued to be gardens and trees, slowly accumulating a cover of white. Nothing grew closer. Nothing grew farther away.
      Finally, my father said, «They call this place the Hall of Tests. Today it must be testing our boredom threshold.»
      «You said Shekinester was judging your patience.»
      «Perhaps.»
      He made a face and continued walking. When I was young, I could remember him striding with the grace and power of a tiger: master swordsman, hero of forlorn hopes, a legend in Sigil and many other corners of the multiverse. Now his feet slapped ponderously along the marble floor and I was forced to slow down so he could keep up with me.
      After a few minutes, I cleared my throat. «You haven't asked about Mother yet.»
      «No. I haven't.»
      «Guilty conscience?»
      «Britlin,» he sighed, «I was abducted. Something I'd done must have caught Shekinester's attention – I still don't know what. One night, five nagas simply came out of nowhere, hit me with five separate paralysis spells, and dragged me here. I know you must have suffered when I didn't come back, but there was nothing I could do.»
      I didn't answer for several seconds. Then I said, «Mother is healthy enough, but she never leaves the house.»
      «That was true long before I left.»
      «If she had a husband at home to help her —»
      He cut me off. «Anne had a grown son at home. What could I do that you shouldn't be doing yourself?»
      «I do what I can,» I snapped. «It's mostly her father's fault, I know that, but you didn't help: filling her head with stories about the horrors you've faced…»
      Father looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face. At last he said, «She already knew the world was full of horrors, Britlin; what I told her was that the horrors could be defeated.»
      «You could have stayed with her, instead of traipsing off on so many adventures…»
      «She wanted me to go!» he growled. Then in a quieter voice he said, «Anne wanted me to go, Britlin. She wanted to be a good wife, but under the surface she feared me, just as she feared everyone else but you. Whenever I walked into the room, she just… tensed like a frightened rabbit. She worked so hard to hide it – sometimes I heard her chanting to herself, He saved me, he saved me, he's not like all the rest. But she was always relieved to have me out of the house.»