Chapter 11

           `Case,what’swrongwithyou?’Armitagesaid,asthewaiterwasseatingthemathistableintheVingtimeSicle.ItwasthesmallestandmostexpensiveofseveralfloatingrestaurantsonasmalllakeneartheIntercontinental.

           Caseshuddered.Brucehadn’tsaidanythingaboutaftereffects.Hetriedtopickupaglassoficewater,buthishandswereshaking.`SomethingIate,maybe.’

           `Iwantyoucheckedoutbyamedic,’Armitagesaid.

           `Justthishystaminereaction,’Caselied.`GetitwhenItravel,eatdifferentstuff,sometimes.’

           Armitageworeadarksuit,tooformalfortheplace,andawhitesilkshirt.Hisgoldbraceletrattledasheraisedhiswineandsipped.`I’veorderedforyou,’hesaid.

           MollyandArmitageateinsilence,whileCasesawedshakilyathissteak,reducingittouneatenbite-sizedfragments,whichhepushedaroundintherichsauce,finallyabandoningthewholething.

           `Jesus,’Mollysaid,herownplateempty,`gimmethat.Youknowwhatthiscosts?’Shetookhisplate.`Theygottaraiseawholeanimalforyearsandthentheykillit.Thisisn’tvatstuff.’Sheforkedamouthfulupandchewed.

           `Nothungry,’Casemanaged.Hisbrainwasdeep-fried.No,hedecided,ithadbeenthrownintohotfatandleftthere,andthefathadcooled,athickdullgreasecongealingonthewrinkledlobes,shotthroughwithgreenish-purpleflashesofpain.