Cash wanted to know if there was something in his pocket. He could have meant any pocket — suits had around seven, usually, and then adding coats and cloaks and things there were even more — but he didn't mean any pocket, he meant Ford's breast pocket. Ford was certain of this immediately without being sure why he was certain of it. He reached up to press his hand against the outside of it, to confirm that it was empty — but he'd already know it was empty, because it was lighter than it should have been.

"There was something in my pocket," he said slowly, as though he were trying to work out an arithmetic problem. A second ago he'd thought he'd pulled the stone from his pocket, but that didn't make sense. He wouldn't have put a stone in his pocket, but there had been something there, and though he didn't know what it had been he had somehow instinctively realized its absence. Cash knew it, too. Ford looked at Cash, brow furrowed.

"What were we just talking about?" he asked. "I said we don't have to talk about it, but I don't — I don't know what we were talking about." He glanced at the lake, frowned. "Did something just happen?"

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