Grace

as a base for his activities on the grim world.”
Alastair nodded. “And the child he stole, and sent back here, is Darig MacDuncan. Who calls himself the Changeling . . . even though it was Duncan who was actually the changeling.”
“Raised by Angus,” Doc said. “No wonder he’s as twisted as he is. He’d no chance to be otherwise.”

The captured gangsters were long gone and Doc’s asso­ciates were gathering to leave when Eight-Finger Tom arrived. He was a short, slight man with quick mannerisms, a restless eye, and a gold tooth. He carried a small bag made of carpet. He had all ten fingers. He shook hands with Doc and said, “The usual?”
“Worse. It’s a deviser’s safe, an old one.”
The other man grimaced. “Show me.”
Doc took him into the office where they’d done the interrogation. Harris, waiting with the others in the hall, heard them pry up a panel from the wooden floor.
Tom’s tone was curious: “What a strange design. And the handle—ouch! Who’d make a safe out of unsheathed steel? Bugger. Give me the gloves out of my pack, would you? The thin ones.” There was a long wait. “Oh, yes. It’s warded, all right. It’s not enough to divine the combination; I’ll need to mimic the timing, too.” He raised his voice: “The rest of you stay out. We may be blowing up in here.”
Doc chuckled.
Long, long moments of silence. Then, suddenly, Eight-Finger Tom appeared in the doorway, his bag in hand, his manner cheerful. “Not too bad,” he told Jean-Pierre. “Blast would have sent the whole building front out into the street, but the thing was used enough that the combination and timing were imbedded all over the place. You know where to send my fee.” He tipped his cap to the others. “Grace on you.” And he jauntily marched out the door.
Gaby asked, “Why ‘Eight-Finger’?”
Jean-Pierre said, “When he was a strongbox cracker, he robbed a gang boss. The gang came after him. He took a finger from every one of them he killed. Keeps them in a jar. The guard could never make a case against him, as they couldn’t find the rest of the body. But Doc did, and gave him a choice: retire from his old life and do work for the Foundation, or . . . ”
“Right.”
Doc stepped out