Gilded Latten Bones gp-13

by Glen Cook

  "Good luck then, darling," I told Belinda.

  24

  Crush came up late, bringing water and a pound of salt. "We had to send out. The cooks wouldn't give theirs up." She moved gingerly. "You probably won't see me or DeeDee in the morning. We need time to recover. Those Guard assholes all want the young stuff. And they're lousy tippers."

  What could I say? That you have to deal with assholes whatever your line of work?

  I did try to look sympathetic. "Next time you do come, I could use something else to read."

  "If I can still walk. Or you could go down and get something."

  Wonder of wonders, the excitement faded away. However bold they were, the baddies figured out that it wasn't cost-effective to come after Morley at Fire and Ice.

  Night after night I sat there waiting for him to do something more than drink water and poop. It was like having a newborn, only I wasn't the one who had to change his diapers.

  I wondered about Singe's tracking expedition. I wondered what Relway was doing, what the Crown Prince was up to, and what Belinda had found out. And, more than anything, I worried about Tinnie. I hoped she was better posted than I was. The only people I saw were Miss Tea, Crush, and DeeDee. Miss Tea helped some while the other ladies dealt with the upswing in demand for the house's principal product. Miss Tea did not pitch in with that. Nobody said anything about anything happening outside the house.

  I did get all the dirt on those who made Fire and Ice special.

  I sat in that room with that man and slipped ever nearer the bounds of explosive lunacy.

  I needed to rediscover patience. There would be a long training period once Morley climbed out of that bed. It might take him a year to get strong enough. Then we would go get whoever hurt him.

  Crush came in. "This is the last book we've got. And the most boring." She passed me a ragged old thing from the last century, well into its senior years. It was tied round with ribbon to keep loose pages from getting away.

  "What is it? Maybe I won't need to figure out these knots." Crush had decided I wasn't that awful after all. I was unthreatening. Avuncular. The kind of uncle who keeps his hands to himself. We could talk about stuff. Bookish stuff, but not for long. She was a popular girl with an extended list of regular clients.

  This book was a history of TunFaire's early years, up to the establishment of the monarchy. It was a copy of a copy. It was a slow read because the language was old-fashioned.

  I was excited because several chapters covered times when the Dead Man was still alive. He might get no mention but I could peek through a window into the age that shaped him.

  "Crush, how long you figure on staying in the life?"

  "What kind of question is that?" Instantly defensive.

  "A serious one from somebody who thinks your mind is wasted here."

  "The mind may be. That's not the business we're in. The body is getting pounded so hard I mean to walk on my twentieth birthday. I shouldn't ever have to work again. If my investments are good. I might take DeeDee with me-if she can learn to live without the attention."

  DeeDee was the star of the house. Normally, she dealt only with select private clients. She was a blonde, none too bright, part elf, extremely sensual when she was so inclined, and, rumor said, thoroughly enjoyed her work. That was unusual in her trade. She craved approval. She got all she needed here. Crush was afraid she would refuse to give it up.

  Crush was brighter than she pretended. In time I realized that all of our conversations came round to what we were working on at Amalgamated.

  Why? Amalgamated is a company but you can't buy in. Different people have different percentages but every fraction is fixed. If a founding partner wants out he has to offer his points to the other investors first. So far nobody has shown any inclination toward getting out.

  Amalgamated was designed to make us all rich by bringing the fruits of Kip Prose's genius to market. The big shareholders are Kip and his family, the Tates, and the Weiders of Weider Brewing. I have a few points for having kept Kip alive through hard times, and for having had the wit to put him into the company of rich people content to let him tinker and fiddle and make them far richer than they already were.

  Subjectively, I spent half a lifetime at Fire and Ice. On the calendar it was four days. My best pal kept on sleeping, waking up for water ever less frequently. I wondered if his medication didn't do more than just manage pain. Keeping Morley in Nod seemed like a good idea, medically. It was less optimal for those of us who are naturally impatient.

  I kept thinking that if that was me I would have been up and running already-if somebody didn't fix me so I couldn't.

  Belinda's doing. Had to be. She thought it was more important for Morley to heal than it was for us to get out and mix it up with villains.

  I was thinking stupid and knew it. And was afraid that just sitting watch over Morley would end up with me hating him.

  Miss Tea invited herself in occasionally. She did not become less antagonistic. Finally, though, she turned up in a less gloomy mood. "The Capa says it's time to move him. After his supper and evening cleaning. If you need to make special preparations, tell me now."

  I mentioned a lamb-and-rice dish that I liked, chattered about how I would miss the place that had been home for so long.

  "You've been here less than a week."

  "It feels like so much longer."

  "It did to us. But you're just being a wiseass. I have the Capa's promise that I don't have to put up with any crap."

  "Uh-oh."

  "Exactly. Get your stuff ready. I especially want that arsenal under the bed gone before somebody takes legal notice. The books stay home."

  "I'll see if I can't send up a few that are more interesting."

  "Now you're being a dick."

  "I can't help it. It's being cooped up in here."

  "Now you're going to blame your personality defects on us, too?"

  Ouch! "Good thing we still love each other."

  Ghost of a smile. "Will where you're going be any better?"

  I restrained myself. Maybe not. My responsibilities wouldn't change. "I don't know. Come by some time and see."

  25

  As promised, Belinda turned up with several burly henchmen after supper. DeeDee and Crush got Morley back into the rags he was wearing when he showed up. Most of the blood had been scrubbed out. The holes hadn't been mended. Mixed feelings floated around. DeeDee and Crush were sad to see Morley go, though neither ever exchanged a word with him. Despite all the attitude, Miss Tea was unhappy, too. She turned out the off-duty staff to move Morley and my stuff.

  "A hearse?" I asked Belinda when I got down to the street. "You're taking him away in a hearse?" Where did she even find one? There can't be ten in the whole city.

  "Yes. Put on the hat and coat that Joel has for you. Then climb up and take the post position."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Get up on the seat beside the driver. Try to look like a professional."

  "A professional what?"

  "That's always the question with you, isn't it? Move! We don't have time for games."

  Four men emerged from the back door of the hook shop. They behaved exactly like men sneaking a corpse out of a place where it shouldn't be found. I considered leaving Miss Tea with a buss on the cheek and Crush with a promise to visit soon, decided to be more mature, walked away from what would have been signature behavior a few years back. My best pal was on that litter, under that black woolen blanket, and several people, including me, were counting on me to get him where he needed to go with no damage added.

  I hustled over for a costume fitting.

  Joel was a slim hard case with zombie eyes. He put me into a long black coat and a semierect black hat, like a soft cone, nearly a foot tall. With the hat I acquired the long, twisted sideburn curls of the morticians' guild. The hat had wig elements built in. Joel said, "Quit grab-assing and get up on the post. And, yes, the hat is real. Move!"<
br />
  Maybe that was why you never recognize a mortician when he isn't on duty. He wears a disguise at work.

  The coat cramped my shoulders. It hung to my ankles. The climb to the seat was difficult. The goofy damned hat slipped down into my eyes.

  I settled to brood and nurture my resentment of the man who had overturned my life by getting himself all stabbed up. If the damned fool could've skipped that I'd have been snuggling with my favorite redhead.

  The hearse was not a tall wagon, though the seats were high. The driver, seated to my left, asked, "You heeled, Slick?"

  "Lightly." I showed him my head knocker. "The character with the ratty ginger hair put my heavy equipment in with the client."

  The man chuckled. He was an old, long drink of water who looked like this might be his true calling. "Client. I like that. Nice stick, too. Good enough for tonight. Won't no resurrection men mess with this mob."

  Two mounted men led, followed by Belinda's coach with thugs all over it. Then came another armed rider, the hearse with the mighty Garrett in the post and an armed thug on a running board to either side. One of those was my new pal, Joel. Behind the hearse were two more horsemen.

  "What might resurrection men be?"

  "Body snatchers. It's a problem lately. Somebody is buying youngish corpses that're in good shape. Where you been, Ace? Out of town?"

  "So to speak. Stealing corpses, eh?" This was the first I'd heard about that. But there had been no reason for the subject to come up while I was babysitting. And less so before that. Nobody had a reason to keep me posted. My business was to protect Amalgamated from the larceny of its workers and the predations of intellectual pirates. Ditto for the Weider breweries.

  The hearse jerked. I slammed against the back of my seat. The driver said, "You got to pay attention, Stretch. You're supposed to be looking out for me and him inside. Him being dead and all, he probably won't come back on you if you nod off and the boogie boys get him. But your old pal Cap'n Roger, here, he's gonna come back hard. Especially if'n he gets kilt."

  "I have problems paying attention." Problems I had not had in ante-Tinnie times. "You notice me getting glassy-eyed, give me an elbow in the ribs. I'm hell on wheels when I am paying attention."

  "I sincerely hope I don't get to see you in action, Bud."

  I guessed Roger to be about sixty. That meant he had done a turn in the Cantard and had made it home. Which meant he remembered guys who couldn't focus. All of us who made it back remember guys who couldn't focus. Their bones decorate the desert down there.

  The convoy headed south, swung onto Grand, then took that down to my home neighborhood. The streets weren't busy. We didn't attract an unusual amount of attention. I strove valiantly to stay alert, for the sake of my best pal and my new friend Cap'n Roger. It took about half an hour for Roger to decide I was ready for an elbow.

  I could not turn off my mind. Calm just would not come.

  Cap'n Roger's elbow wakened me as the parade neared my place in Macunado Street. I settled into reality with the suspicion that I'd had an epiphany that I could not now recall because I was too dumb to pay attention at the moment of revelation.

  Since I mostly worried about how Tinnie and I were getting along, I guessed that I must have lost a surefire means of dealing.

  The hearse stopped even with the steps to my stoop. As I dismounted I noted the neighbors coming out. The door opened. Singe and Dean came outside. Then I felt the reassuring presence of the Dead Man, awake and deeply interested.

  Thank you Singe, you wonder child.

  In moments I felt more at home and more relaxed than I had for a long time.

  26

  I would like to say that the depth of Belinda Contague's commitment to Morley was reflected in her willingness to walk into a place where her thoughts could not be kept secret, but. .

  Her willingness is tempered by a cautious application of technology.

  "What?"

  Once upon a time a band of junior sorcerers, amongst other sins, created a mesh able to keep me from seeing their thoughts.

  I remembered. I considered Belinda more closely. "She isn't wearing a wig."

  I was in the hallway, adding to the congestion. People were everywhere, getting in each other's way. Morley was supposed to go into what had been my office, back in antiquity. Singe had cleared it out, then had installed a bed, chairs, and a few other bare-bones amenities. The guys with the litter couldn't figure out how to make the turn through the doorway.

  This room was smaller than the last but here I would not be confined to one space. I could roam from room to room and floor to floor, and even go down into the cellar. Wide open spaces, compared. And Singe would be more interesting company than the surly folk at Fire and Ice.

  I backed into Singe's office while the litter boys twisted and shoved and argued. Joel and Belinda barked advice that only added to the tumult. I wondered what the neighbors thought. You don't often see the morticians make a delivery instead of a pickup.

  The mesh is next to her scalp, embedded in her natural hair.

  "That's a lot of work gone to waste." If any of these brunos knew something Belinda wanted kept secret.

  Too much was happening at once. I couldn't keep an eye on it all. The Dead Man had to make sure nobody collected souvenirs or hid in a closet.

  It all worsened when Belinda went from the advisory to the imperial edict stage.

  "Hey, woman! Yes. You. The pretty lady who forgets where she's at. Calm down. And get those extra bodies out of here." Her thugs had gotten Morley into his new quarters and established in his new bed. At which point I realized that we didn't have Crush and DeeDee to feed and change him anymore.

  Belinda gave me the hard-eye. Then she did remember where she was, what she was doing, and who was there behind her, out of sight but maybe not quite out of mind. "Yes. All right. Joel, get the hat and coat from Mr. Garrett. The rest of you, go to Durelea Hall. Wait there. Joel, pay Roger and thank him for the use of the hearse. Worden, tell my coachman to wait at Durelea Hall, too."

  I said, "I hate to give up the coat. I like the look." But I handed it over.

  Joel said, "See Cap'n Roger. There's always openings in the mortician trade."

  "I left some tools in the hearse. I'll need them. Would you be so generous as to run them up to the door?"

  Belinda inclined her head slightly. Joel took that as an order. Off he went. The Dead Man touched me lightly, confirming my suspicions. I asked Belinda, "You spend much time around Joel?"

  "Not really. Why?"

  "He's got the bug bad. And he smells like the kind of guy who could get weird."

  Belinda stared like I was a raving lunatic. Like I had accosted her on the street, insisting that she hear my theory about the royal conspiracy to conceal the truth about the mole people who lived in caverns deep under the earth. "You saw something that I missed?"

  "I could be wrong. But the way the man watches you, when you don't know he's watching. . I'd say it's close to obsession."

  "Good to know. I think."

  Truly a human shark.

  "You can still get a solid read?"

  Not if you ruin it by talking about it.

  Always a problem, me verbalizing my half of our conversations. "I'm out of practice."

  An understatement.

  After his appearance out front Dean had fled to the kitchen. He remained in hiding whilst the old homestead swarmed with villains, not out of timidity but to avoid being trampled. He emerged now. "Is the rush over?"

  His great dread had been being told to feed the horde. He was irked enough because Belinda and I were still on scene and special needs Morley was lurking in my old office. "I'll need to do some serious shopping if there are going to be extra mouths to feed."

  Singe told him, "Make a list. I'll have John Stretch deal with it. None of us should go out. It might not be safe."

  Dean shrugged. He did not ask my opinion. He was used to Singe taking charge.


  I caught on. Danger wasn't relevant. Singe was giving an old man an excuse to let someone else do his running.

  Dean's years were catching up.

  I said, "We need to decide how to handle Morley. Belinda, you'll be busy back in the world. Singe and I can, maybe, muddle through an occasional feeding, sponge bath, or linen change, but we aren't qualified to do it regular. We'll need somebody trustworthy." Because he or she would not be live-in. There was nowhere to put anybody.

  Singe said, "Taken care of, Garrett. Some of John Stretch's women will handle it."

  Singe had everything covered already. There was no need to fuss.

  Belinda said, "I'm not needed here anymore."

  "Don't go," I said. "We haven't talked about what you found out the last few days."

  "Nothing, basically."

  I waited for an opinion from the Dead Man. None came. "Nothing at all? That's hard to believe."

  "What you believe is up to you. I'm going, now. I'll check in occasionally. If the lazy dick does wake up, send a message." She headed for the door, striding manfully.

  The Dead Man touched me lightly-just a gentle suggestion that I keep my mouth shut till she was out of the house.

  27

  I shut the door, did a quick mental catalog of the faces I had seen watching. There were dozens, still, even with the hearse and coach gone. Some were Belinda's bodyguards. None of the others tripped an alarm. None made the Dead Man wonder, either.

  Mr. Dotes' presence will not remain secret. A clever questioner could pluck a detail from this dim witness and that and assemble an approximation of our situation.

  "And? So what?"

  That was me being too sure that I was untouchable inside my own house. My watchful partner brought my overconfidence to my attention.

  I am ever most effective when my presence and abilities are unknown. One would think that you had worked that out for yourself by now.

  I was about to spin a big argument. He cut me off. How would you deal with me, given the knowledge you have?