"Steel," I said.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"Your, uh, other eye. It was steel before."

"I'm sure it looked like steel," he said. "The disguise is necessary when I'm not here."

"Your job is so secret, your false eye gets a disguise?" I asked. "Guess I see why you miss Council meetings."

He inclined his head and ruffled his fingers through mussed, tousled hood-hair. "It can be quiet for years here, sometimes. And others . . ." He spread his hands. "But they need a good eye here to be sure that the things that must remain outside do not slip in unnoticed."

"Inside the wounded," I guessed. "Or returning troops. Or medics."

"You've become aware of the adversary," he said, his tone one of firm approval. "Excellent. I was certain your particular pursuits would get you killed long before you got a chance to learn."

"How can I help?" I asked him.

He leaned his head back and then a slow smile reasserted itself on his face. "I know something of the responsibilities you've chosen to take up," he said, "to say nothing of the problems you've created for yourself that you haven't found out about yet. And still, in the face of learning that our world spins out its days under siege, you offer to help me? I think you and I could be friends."

"Wait," I said. "What problems? I haven't been trying to create problems."

"Oh," he said, waving a hand. "You've danced about in the shadows at the edge of life now, young man. That's no small thing, to go into those shadows and come back again-you've no idea the kind of attention you've attracted."

"Oh," I said. "Good. Because the pace was starting to slow down so much that I was getting bored."

At that, Rashid tilted his head back and laughed. "Would you be offended if I called you Harry?"

"No. Because it's my name."

"Exactly," he said. "Harry, I know you have questions. I can field a very few before I go."

I nodded, thinking. "Okay," I said. "First, how do you know if the adversary has . . . infested someone?"

"Experience," he said. "Decades of it. The Sight can help, but . . ." Rashid hesitated. I recognized it instantly, the hiccup in one's thoughts when one stumbled over a truly hideous memory gained with the Sight, like I'd had with-

Ugh.

-the naagloshii.

"I don't recommend making a regular practice of it," he continued. "It's an art, not a skill, and it takes time. Time, or a bit of questionable attention from the Fates and a ridiculously enormous tool." He tapped a finger against his false eye.

I blinked, even though he didn't, and looked up at the massive gates stretchingoverhead. "Hell's bells. The gates . . . they're . . . some kind of spiritual CAT scanner?"

"Among many other things," he said. "But it's one of their functions, yes. Mostly it means that the adversary cannot use such tactics effectively here. As long as the Gatekeeper is vigilant, it rarely tries." The horns sounded again, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. "Next question."

I hate trying to be smart under time pressure. "This," I said, pointing up at the gates. "What the hell? How long has this attack been going on?"

"Always," he said. "There are always Outsiders trying to tear their way in. There are always forces in place to stop them. In our age, it is the task of Winter to defend these boundaries, with the help of certain others to support them. Think of them as . . . an immune system for the mortal world."

I felt my eyes get wide. "An immune system . . . What happens if it . . . you know, if it breaks down for a bit?"

"Pardon?" the Gatekeeper asked.

"Uh, it gets a glitch. Like, if somebody new took over or something and things had to reorganize around here . . ."

"Most years, it would pose no major difficulty," he said.

"What about this year?"

"This year," he said, "it could be problematic."

"Problematic."

"Rather severely so." Rashid studied my face and then started to nod. "I see. There are things happening back in Winter. That's why Mother Summer brought you here. To show you what was at stake."

I swallowed and nodded. "No pressure or anything."

Rashid's face reacted at that. I couldn't say what the exact mix of emotion on it was, though one of them was a peculiar kind of empathy. He set his staff aside and gripped my upper arms with his hands. "Listen to me, because this is important."

"Okay," I said.

"You get used to it," he said.

I blinked. "What? That's it?"

He tilted his head to look at me obliquely with his good eye.

"I'll get used to it? That's the important pep talk? I'll get used to it?"

His mouth quivered. He gave my arms a last, maybe affectionate squeeze and released them. "Pep? What is needed in the Warden is far more than pep, Harry."

"What, then?" I asked.

He took up his staff and poked my chest with it gently. "You, it would seem."

"What?"

"You," he repeated firmly. "What we need is you. You have what you have for a reason. Unwitting or not, virtually your every action in the past few years has resulted in a series of well-placed thumbs in the adversary's eye. You want to know how you can help me, Harry?"