فصل 28

PART THREE

Lady Vengeance

Her strong enchantments failing,

Her towers of fear in wreck,

Her limbecks dried of poisons

And the knife at her neck,

The Queen of air and darkness

Begins to shrill and cry,

“O young man, O my slayer,

Tomorrow you shall die.”

O Queen of air and darkness,

I think ‘tis truth you say,

And I shall die tomorrow;

But you will die today.

—A. E. Housman, “Her Strong Enchantments Failing”

28

AND SHADOWS THERE

It was cool in Brocelind Forest; encroaching autumn added a cold metal bite to the air that Emma could taste on her tongue.

Quiet had come suddenly after the rush of Portal travel, the setting up of tents in a cleared space among the ancient trees and green earth. They were far from the blighted areas, Diana promised them—in the distance, over the tops of the trees, Emma could see the glimmer of the demon towers of Alicante.

She stood on a rise overlooking where they’d made camp. There were about a dozen tents, set up in rows, each with two torches burning in front of its flap door. They were cozy inside, with thick rugs on the floor and even blankets. Alec had given Magnus a sharp sideways look when they’d appeared out of nowhere.

“I did not steal them,” Magnus had said, looking studiously at his fingernails. “I borrowed them.” “So you’ll be returning them to the camping store?” said Alec, hands on his hips.

“I actually got them from a warehouse that provides props for movies,” said Magnus. “It’ll be ages before anyone notices they’re gone. Not,” he added hastily, “that I won’t be returning them, of course. Everyone, try not to set your tents on fire! They’re not our property!” “Does one normally set them on fire?” said Kieran, who had his own tent—Mark and Julian were sharing one, and Emma was sharing another with Cristina. “Is that a tradition?” Mark and Cristina both smiled at him. The oddness going on with the three of them was growing more intense, Emma thought, and resolved to ask Cristina about it.

The opportunity came sooner than she’d thought it would. She’d been restless inside the tent alone—Cristina was helping Aline and Julian, who’d put themselves in charge of cooking dinner. Everyone was muttering around maps and plans, except Jace, who’d fallen conspicuously asleep with his head in Clary’s lap.

Emma couldn’t concentrate. Her body and mind hummed with energy. All she wanted was to talk to Julian. She knew she couldn’t, but the need to tell him everything was painful. She’d never made such a life-altering decision without telling him before.

She’d ended up throwing on a sweater and taking a walk around the perimeter of the camp. The air smelled so different here than it did at home—pine, green woods, campfire smoke. Inland, no scent of salt or sea. She climbed the small rocky rise over the camp and gazed down.

Tomorrow they would ride out to challenge Horace Dearborn and his Cohort. Very likely there would be a confrontation. And her parabatai, the one who always fought by her side, would be lost to her. One way or another.

The sun was setting, sparking off the distant shimmer of the demon towers. Emma could hear the night birds chirping in the woods nearby and tried not to think about what else was in the forest. She felt herself shivering—no, she was shaking. She felt disoriented, almost dizzy, and her cognitive process felt strangely diffuse, as if her mind were racing too fast for her to concentrate.

“Emma!” Cristina was walking up the rise toward her, her dark eyes full of concern. “I looked for you in the tent but you weren’t there. Are you all right? Or are you on watch?” Pull yourself together, Emma. “I just thought someone should try to keep an eye on things, you know, in case a party of Cohort members decides to take a closer look at Brocelind.” “So you’re on watch,” said Cristina.

“Maybe,” Emma said. “What’s going on with you and Kieran and Mark?”

“Ay ay!” Cristina sat down on a rock, knocking her forehead gently against her hand. “Really? Now?” Emma sat down next to her friend. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She pointed her index finger at Cristina. “If we both die in battle tomorrow, though, we’ll never get to talk about it ever, and you’ll never get the benefit of my enormous wisdom.” “Look at this crazy girl,” Cristina said, gesturing to an invisible audience. “All right, all right. What makes you think anything new is happening, anyway?” “I see the way you all look at each other. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emma said.

Cristina sobered immediately, her hand going to the angel medallion at her throat as it often did when she was nervous. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I love both of them. I love Mark and I love Kieran. I love them both in different ways, but with no less intensity.” Emma spoke carefully. “Are they asking you to choose between them?”

Cristina looked off toward the sunset, stripes of gold and red above the trees. “No. No, they’re not asking me to choose.” “I see,” said Emma, who was not sure she did see. “Then . . .”

“We decided it was impossible,” Cristina said. “Kieran, Mark, and I—we are all afraid. If we were together, the way we want to be, we would bring misery on those we love.” “Misery? Why?” Emma’s hands were shaking again; she shoved them between her knees so Cristina wouldn’t see.

“Kieran fears for Faerie,” Cristina said. “After so many terrible Kings, after so much cruelty, he wishes to go back and take up a place in the Court and see to the welfare of his people. He cannot turn away from that, and neither Mark nor I would want him to. But for us—we cannot know the future. Even if the Cohort is gone, it does not mean the end of the Cold Peace. Mark is afraid for Helen, for all the Blackthorns, that if he were involved with a prince of Faerie and everyone knew it, his family would be punished. I fear the same for my family. So it would never work. Do you understand?” Emma twirled a piece of grass between her fingers. “I would never judge you,” she said. “First because it’s you, and second because I hardly have the right to judge anyone. But I think you’re letting your fear get in the way of what you really want because what you really want is what you’re afraid of.” Cristina blinked. “What do you mean?”

“From the outside, here’s what I see,” said Emma. “When Mark and Kieran are alone together, they get pulled into their difficult past. It consumes them. When Mark and you are together, he worries that he isn’t good enough for you, no matter what you say. And when Kieran and you are together, sometimes you can’t bridge the gulf between Shadowhunter understanding and faerie understanding. Mark helps you bridge that gulf.” The sun was nearly down, the sky a deep blue, Cristina’s expression lost in shadow. “Does that seem wrong?” “No,” Cristina said after a long pause. “But it doesn’t—”

“You’re afraid of what everyone is afraid of,” said Emma. “Having your hearts broken, being made miserable by love. But what you’re saying, that’s what the Cohort wants. They want to make people afraid, to make them stay apart because they have created an environment of fear and suspicion where you could be punished for being with someone you love. If they got their way, they’d punish Alec for being with Magnus, but that doesn’t mean Magnus and Alec should split up. Am I making sense?” “A little too much sense,” Cristina said, pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve.

“I know one thing for sure,” Emma said. “Cristina, of all the people I know, you’re the most generous, and you spend the most time thinking about what makes other people happy. I think you should do whatever makes you happy. You deserve it.” “Thanks.” Cristina gave her a shaky smile. “What about you and Julian? How are you doing?” Emma’s stomach lurched, surprising her. It was as if hearing the words “you and Julian” had set something off inside her. She pushed down on the feeling, trying to control it. “It’s really hard,” she whispered. “Julian and I can’t even talk to each other. And the best we can hope for after all this is over is some kind of exile.” “I know.” Cristina took Emma’s hand in hers; Emma tried to still her own shaking. Cristina’s reassuring touch helped. For the millionth time, Emma wished she’d met Cristina earlier—that Cristina could have been her parabatai. “After the exile, if it happens, come and stay with me, wherever I am. Mexico, anywhere. I’ll take care of you.” Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sniffle. “That’s what I mean. You’re always doing things for other people, Tina.” “Okay, well, then I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”

“What? I’ll do anything. Unless it makes your mom mad. Your mom scares me.”

“You want to kill Zara in the battle, if there’s a fight, don’t you?” Cristina said.

“The thought had crossed my mind. Okay. Yes. If anyone else takes her out, I’m going to be really angry.” Emma mock scowled.

Cristina sighed. “We don’t even know if there’s going to be a fight, Emma. If Zara is spared or imprisoned or escapes, or if someone else kills her, I don’t want you to dwell on it. Focus on what you want your life to be after tomorrow.” After tomorrow I’ll be exiled, Emma thought. Will I see you again, Cristina? Will I always miss you?

Cristina narrowed her eyes in concern. “Emma? Promise me?”

But before Emma could promise, before she could say anything at all, Aline’s and Helen’s voices cut through the evening air, calling them down to dinner.

“Has anyone ever tried ketchup on a s’more?” Isabelle said.

“This is why you’re a bad cook,” said Alec. Simon, bundled up in a sweater and leaning back against a log, slunk down as if he hoped to become invisible. “You actually like disgusting food. It’s not, like, an accident.” “I like ketchup and s’mores,” said Simon loyally, and mouthed to Clary, I don’t like them.

“I know,” Clary said. “I can feel through the parabatai bond how much you don’t like them.” “Julian is an excellent cook,” said Emma, spearing a marshmallow. Magnus had produced bags of them along with the requisite chocolate and graham crackers. He gave Emma a dark look that seemed to say, Stay away from Julian, and also his cooking.

“I am also an excellent cook,” said Mark, putting an acorn onto his s’more. Everyone stared.

“He can’t help it,” said Cristina loyally. “He has lived with the Wild Hunt for so long.” “I don’t do that,” said Kieran, eating a s’more in the correct fashion. “Mark has no excuse.” “I never pictured Shadowhunters eating s’mores,” said Kit, glancing around the fire. It was like a scene out of dreams of camping he’d had when he was a little kid—the fire, the trees, everyone bundled up in sweaters and sitting around on logs, smoke in their eyes and hair. “On the other hand, this is the first s’more I’ve ever had that didn’t come out of a box.” “That’s not a s’more, then,” Ty said. “That’s a cookie. Or some cereal.”

Kit smiled, and Ty smiled back at him. He leaned against Julian, who was sitting beside him; Julian put an absent arm around his younger brother, his hand ruffling Ty’s hair.

“Excited for your first battle?” Jace said to Kit. Jace was sitting cross-legged with his arms around Clary, who was creating a massive s’more out of several chocolate bars.

“He’s not going!” Clary said. “He’s too young, Jace.” She looked at Kit. “Don’t listen to him.” “He seems old enough,” said Jace. “I was fighting battles when I was ten.”

“Stay away from my children,” said Magnus. “I’m watching you, Herondale.”

Kit felt a brief jolt before realizing Magnus wasn’t talking to him. Then another when he realized he’d reacted unconsciously to the name Herondale.

“This is great,” said Helen, yawning. “I haven’t been camping in so long. You can’t go camping on Wrangel Island. Your fingers will turn to icicles and snap right off.” Emma frowned. “Where’s Cristina?”

Kit glanced around: Emma was right. Cristina had slipped away from the group.

“She shouldn’t be walking around the edge of the forest,” Magnus said, frowning. “There are booby traps there. Quite well hidden, if I do say so myself.” He started to rise. “I’ll get her.” Mark and Kieran were already on their feet.

“We will find her,” Mark said hastily. “In the Hunt, we learned much about traps.” “And few know more about the ways of the forest than the fey,” said Kieran.

Magnus shrugged, but there was a knowing spark in his eye that Kit didn’t quite understand. “All right. Go ahead.” As they vanished into the shadows, Emma smiled and placed another marshmallow on a stick.

“Let’s make a toast.” Aline raised a plastic cup of water. “To never being parted from our families again.” She gazed at the fire. “Once tomorrow comes, we’re never going to let the Clave do that to any of us again.” “Not to be parted from family or friends,” said Helen, raising her glass.

“Or parabatai,” said Simon, winking at Clary.

Alec and Jace cheered, but Julian and Emma were silent. Emma seemed bleakly sad, staring down into her cup of water. She did not seem to see Julian, who looked at her for a single long moment before wrenching his gaze away.

“To never being parted,” Kit said, looking across the campfire at Ty.

Ty’s thin face was limned in light from the red-gold flames. “To never being parted,” he said, with a grave emphasis that made Kit shiver for reasons he did not understand.

Maryse could no longer return to the Inquisitor’s house, as Horace and Zara had moved into it. Instead she took Dru and the others to the Graymark house, the one Clary said she had stayed in when she’d first come to Idris.

Dru had gone to bed as soon as she politely could. She lay with the covers tucked up to her chin, looking at the last bits of sunlight fading from the circular windows. This side of the house faced onto a garden full of roses the color of old lace. A trellis climbed to the windows and circled them: At the height of summer they probably looked like necklaces of roses. Houses of old stone fell away down the hill toward the walls of Alicante—walls that tomorrow would be lined with Shadowhunters facing the Imperishable Fields.

Dru burrowed farther under the covers. She could hear Maryse in the room next door, singing to Max and Rafe and Tavvy, a lilting song in French. It was strange to be too old for singing to comfort you but too young to take part in battle preparations. She started to say their names to herself, as a sort of good luck charm: Jules and Emma. Mark and Helen. Ty and Li— No. Not Livvy.

The singing had stopped. Dru heard footsteps in the hall and her door open; Maryse stuck her head in. “Is everything all right, Drusilla? Do you need anything?” Dru would have liked a glass of water, but she didn’t know exactly how to talk to Max and Rafe’s imposing, dark-haired grandmother. She’d heard Maryse playing with Tavvy earlier, and she appreciated how kind this woman who was basically a stranger was being to them. She just wished she knew how to say it.

“No, that’s okay,” Dru said. “I don’t need anything.”

Maryse leaned against the doorjamb. “I know it’s hard,” she said. “When I was young, my parents always used to take my brother, Max, with them to hunt demons and leave me alone at home. They said I’d be frightened if I went with them. I always tried to tell them I was more frightened worrying they’d never come back.” Dru tried to picture Maryse young, and couldn’t quite. She seemed old to Dru to even be a mom, though she knew she wasn’t. She was actually quite a young grandmother, but Dru had gotten used to people who looked like Julian and Helen being like mothers and fathers to her.

“They always did come back, though,” Maryse said. “And so will your family. I know it feels like what Julian is doing is risky, but he’s smart. Horace won’t try anything dangerous in front of so many people.” “I should go to sleep,” Dru said in a small voice, and Maryse sighed, gave her an understanding nod, and closed the door. If she were home, a small voice said in the back of Dru’s mind, she wouldn’t have had to ask for anything—Helen, who knew she loved tea but that the caffeine kept her up, would have come in with a mug of the special decaffeinated blend they’d bought in England, with milk and honey in the mug the way Dru liked it.

She missed Helen, Dru realized. It was a weird feeling—somewhere along the way her resentment toward Helen had vanished. Now she just wished she’d said a better good-bye to her older sister before she’d left the Institute.

Maybe it was better that she hadn’t said the right kind of good-byes to her family. Maybe it meant she was definitely going to see them again.

Maybe it meant they’d be more forgiving when they found out what she was planning to do.

The light blinked out in the hall; Maryse must be going to sleep. Dru threw off her blanket; she was fully dressed underneath, down to her boots and gear jacket. She slid out of bed and went over to the circular window; it was stuck shut, but she’d been expecting that. Taking a small dagger with an adamas blade out of her pocket, she started to jimmy it open.

Kit lay awake in the darkness, counting the stars he could see through the open flap of the tent.

Emma and Julian had said the stars in Faerie were different, but here in Idris they were the same. The same constellations he had looked at all his life, peeking through the smog above Los Angeles, shone above Brocelind Forest. The air was clear here, clear as cut crystal, and the stars seemed almost alarmingly close, as if he could reach out and catch one in his hand.

Ty hadn’t come back with him from the campfire. Kit didn’t know where he was. Had he gone to talk to Jules or Helen? Was he wandering in the forest? No, Simon and Isabelle would have stopped him. But maybe Ty had found an animal he liked in the campsite. Kit’s mind started to race. Where is he? Why didn’t he take me with him? What if he can’t tame these squirrels the way he can the ones at home? What if he’s attacked by squirrels?

With a groan, Kit kicked off his covers and reached for a jacket.

Ty stuck his head into the tent, momentarily blotting out the stars. “Oh good, you’re already getting ready.” Kit lowered his voice. “What do you mean, I’m getting ready? Ready for what?” Ty dropped into a crouch and peered into the tent. “To go to the lake.”

“Ty,” said Kit. “I need you to explain. Don’t assume I know what you’re talking about.” Ty exhaled with enough force to make his dark fringe of hair flutter above his forehead. “I brought the spell with me, and all the ingredients,” he said. “The best place to raise the dead is by water. I thought we’d do it next to the ocean, but Lake Lyn’s even better. It’s already a magic place.” Kit blinked dizzily; he felt as if he’d woken up from a nightmare only to discover he was still dreaming. “But we don’t have what we need to make the spell work. Shade never gave us the catalyst.” “I thought he might not do it,” said Ty. “That’s why I picked up an alternate energy source last time we were at the Shadow Market.” He reached into his pocket and took out a clear glass ball the size of an apricot. Red-orange flame blazed inside it as if it were a small, fiery planet, though it was clearly cool to the touch.

Kit jerked back. “Where did that come from?”

“I told you—the Shadow Market.”

Kit felt a wave of panic. “Who sold it to you? How do we even know it’ll work?” “It has to.” Ty slipped the crystal back into his pocket. “Kit. This is something I have to do. If there’s a battle tomorrow, you know we’re not going to be part of it. They think we’re too young to fight. This is the way that I can help that isn’t fighting. If I bring Livvy back, our family will be whole for the battle. It will mean that everyone will be happy again.” But happiness isn’t that simple, Kit wanted to cry; you can’t rip it apart and put it back together again without seeing the seams.

Kit’s voice was ragged. “It’s dangerous, Ty. It’s too dangerous. I don’t think it’s a good idea to mess around with this kind of magic, with an unknown power source.” Ty’s expression closed down. It was like watching a door shut. “I’ve already scouted for traps. I know how we can get there. I thought you would come with me, but even if you don’t, I’m going to go alone.” Kit’s mind raced. I could wake up the camp and get Ty in trouble, he thought. Julian would stop him. I know he would.

But Kit’s whole mind revolted at the idea; if there was one thing his father had brought him up to understand, it was that everybody hated a snitch.

And besides, he couldn’t bear the look on Ty’s face.

“All right,” Kit said, feeling dread settle in his stomach like a rock. “I’ll go with you.” * * *

Shapes danced in the heart of the fire. Emma sat on a log nearby, her hands thrust into the sleeves of her oversize sweater to keep them warm. The group had drifted away from the fire when the meal was done, retiring to their individual tents to sleep. Emma stayed where she was, watching the fire die down; she supposed she could have gone back to her own tent, but Cristina wasn’t there, and Emma didn’t feel much like lying alone in the dark.

She glanced up as a shadow approached. It was Julian. She recognized him by the way he walked, even before the firelight illuminated his face—hand in his pocket, his shoulders relaxed and his chin upturned. Deceptively casual. The damp in the cool air had curled his hair against his cheeks and temples.

Julian hid so many things, from so many people. Now for the first time she was hiding something from him. Was this how he had always felt? This weight in his chest, the pinching pain at his heart?

She half-expected him to pass by her without speaking, but he paused, his fingers toying with the sea-glass bracelet on his wrist.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low.

Emma nodded.

Sparks from the fire reflected in Julian’s blue eyes. “I know we shouldn’t talk to each other,” he said. “But we need to discuss something with someone. It’s not about you or me.” I can’t do it, Emma thought. You don’t understand. You still think we could get my Marks stripped if things went wrong.

But then again—her rune hadn’t burned since they’d left Los Angeles. The black webbing on her forearm hadn’t grown. It was as if her misery were holding the curse back. Maybe it was.

“Who’s it about?”

“It’s about one of the things we learned in Thule,” he said. “It’s about Diana.” * * *

Diana woke from dreams of flying to the sound of scratching at the door of her tent. She rolled out of her blankets and caught up a knife, rising to a crouch.

She heard the sound of two voices, one rising over the other: “Octopus!”

She had a vague memory that this was the code word they had all chosen earlier. She put her knife away and went to unzip the flap of the tent. Emma and Julian stood on the other side, blinking in the dark, pale and wide-eyed like startled meerkats.

Diana raised her eyebrows at them. “Well, if you want to come in, come in. Don’t just stand there letting all the cold air in.” The tents were just high enough to stand up in, unfurnished by anything but rugs and bedding. Diana sank back into the nest of her covers, while Julian leaned against her pack and Emma sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Sorry for waking you up,” said Julian, ever the diplomat. “We didn’t know when else we might get to talk to you.” She couldn’t help yawning. Diana always slept surprisingly well the night before a battle. She knew Shadowhunters who couldn’t get to sleep, who stayed awake with pounding hearts, but she wasn’t one of them. “Talk to me about what?” “I want to apologize,” Julian said, as Emma worried at the frayed knee of her jeans. Emma didn’t seem like herself—hadn’t for a while now, Diana thought. Not since they’d come back from that other world, though an experience like that would change anyone. “For pushing you to be the head of the Institute.” Diana narrowed her eyes. “What brought this on?”

“The Thule version of you told us about your time in Bangkok,” Emma said, biting her lip. “But you don’t have to talk about anything to us that you don’t want to.” Diana’s first reaction was a reflex. No. I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.

Not on the eve of battle, not with so much on her mind, not while she was worried about Gwyn and trying not to think about where he was or what he might do tomorrow.

And yet. She’d been on her way to tell Emma and Julian precisely what they were asking about now when she’d found out she couldn’t reach them. She recalled her disappointment. She’d been determined then.

She didn’t owe them the story, but she owed it to herself to tell it.

They both sat quietly, looking at her. The night before a battle and they had come to her for this—not for reassurance, but to let her know it was her choice to engage or not to.

She cleared her throat. “So you know that I’m transgender. Do you know what that means?” Julian said, “We know that when you were born, you were assigned a gender that does not reflect who you actually are.” Something in Diana loosened; she laughed. “Someone’s been on the Internet,” she said. “Yeah, that’s right, more or less.” “And when you were in Bangkok, you used mundane medicine,” said Emma. “To become who you really are.” “Baby girl, I’ve always been who I really am,” said Diana. “In Bangkok, Catarina Loss helped me find doctors who would change my body to represent who I am, and people who were like me, to help me understand I wasn’t alone.” She settled back against the rolled-up jacket she’d been using as a pillow. “Let me tell you the story.” And in a quiet voice, she did. She didn’t vary the telling much from the story she’d told Gwyn, because that story had eased her heart. She watched their expressions as she spoke: Julian calm and silent, Emma reacting to every word with widened eyes or bitten lips. They had always been like this: Emma expressing what Julian couldn’t or wouldn’t. So alike and so different.

But it was Julian who spoke first when she was finished. “I’m sorry about your sister,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” She looked at him in a little surprise, but then of course—that would be what would strike a chord with Jules, wouldn’t it?

“In some ways, the hardest part of any of it was not being able to talk about Aria,” she said.

“Gwyn knows, right?” Emma said. “And he was good about it? He’s kind to you, right?” She sounded as fierce as Diana had ever heard her.

“He is, I promise,” Diana said. “For someone who reaps the dead, he’s surprisingly empathic.” “We won’t tell anyone unless you want us to,” Emma said. “It’s your business.” “I worried that they’d find out about my medical treatment if I ever tried to become Institute head,” said Diana. “That I’d be taken away from you children. Punished with exile.” Her hands tightened in her lap. “But the Inquisitor found out anyway.” Emma sat up straight. “He did? When?”

“Before I fled Idris. He threatened to expose me to everyone as a traitor.”

“He’s such a bastard,” Julian said. His face was tight.

“Are you angry with me?” Diana said. “For not telling you before?”

“No,” Julian said, his voice quiet and firm. “You had no obligation to do that. Not ever.” Emma scooted closer to Diana, her hair a pale halo in the moonlight streaming through the tent flap. “Diana, these past five years, you’ve been the closest thing I’ve had to an older sister. And since I met you, you’ve shown me the kind of woman I want to grow up to be.” She reached out and took Diana’s hand. “I feel so grateful and so privileged that you wanted to tell us your story.” “Agreed,” Julian said. He bent his head, like a knight acknowledging a lady in an old painting. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t understand. We—I—thought of you as an adult, someone who couldn’t possibly have problems or be in any danger. I was so focused on the kids that I didn’t realize you were also vulnerable.” Diana touched his hair lightly, the way she often had when he was younger. “That’s growing up, isn’t it? Figuring out that adults are people with their own issues and secrets.” She smiled wryly just as Helen stuck her head in through the still-unzipped flap. “Oh good, you’re up,” she said. “I wanted to go over who’s staying behind tomorrow—” “I’ve got a list,” Julian said, sliding his hand into the pocket of his jacket.

Emma got to her feet, murmuring that she needed to go find Cristina. She slipped out the door of the tent, stopping only to glance back once at Julian as she went, but he was deep in conversation with Helen and didn’t seem to notice.

Something was going on with that girl, Diana thought. Once they’d gotten through tomorrow, she’d have to find out what it was.