She was in a small, windowless room whose walls, floor, and ceiling were of bare concrete. Her chair, in the center of the room, was the only furniture. Three men stood around her. Two she recognized at once: Knife-Edge, still wearing his semi-military uniform, and the cadaverous, fetish-festooned shaman who’d put her out at the Roundhouse. The third figure was a small, weasely-looking woman who stood well away from the others, watching with a kind of emotionless curiosity that made Sly very uncomfortable. Knife-Edge and the shaman both had pistols holstered on their belts; the woman was apparently unarmed.