Gilded Latten Bones gp-13

by Glen Cook

  Singe gave a grudging nod. She may have gotten advice from the Dead Man.

  "Sure. Come on. They aren't mine, though, so don't touch."

  Some kind of joyful reunion commenced in the other room. Morley Dotes and Miss Tea were old friends after all.

  Crush asked, "Are they the witch's books?"

  "The witch?"

  "The woman at the end of the hall. It's obvious."

  "She might resent being called a witch. She's a lot more. Height of the Hill. A Windwalker. No. The books are Singe's. The one who let you in."

  "Really?" Amazed.

  "Truly. She is the smartest person I know, human or rat. I couldn't survive without her." No need to mention the Dead Man.

  He had to be in heaven, slithering through the secrets buried in all these fresh minds. He'd never use what he found, likely, but he would feel good knowing.

  He had to be in heaven, complete with this whole mess. He was learning a lot of the secrets of this dark old city. Or so it must seem after a long dry spell.

  Be careful, Garrett. That crumpet will fall in love with you for Singe's books. More amusement.

  I asked Crush, "Didn't you want to see Morley?"

  "Not so much. DeeDee is enough competition for Mike."

  I didn't follow. I heard the front door open and close. Now what? I went to look. Crush crowded up to peek past me.

  Penny Dreadful had arrived. She was loaded with artist's stuff. She froze when she saw me looking. I couldn't resist. I winked. Her gaze shifted to Crush, who wasn't much older than she. She scowled. Crush glared. Penny headed for the door to the Dead Man's room. Kolda opened it. I asked Crush, "Do you know Penny?"

  "Only by type."

  "Kid has lived a rough life." I sketched it.

  Crush was not impressed. She had some background of her own.

  "Singe, how did Penny know we needed her help?"

  "I have skills, partner. I sent a message." She gave Crush a look that should have caused bone bruises.

  She was not feeling charitable toward any female today.

  The Dead Man finally clued me to something he should have mentioned as soon as I came into range. It is her estrus time and today is its peak. She has taken drugs to suppress the effects. Those are not entirely efficacious where the psychological indications are concerned. I do enjoy these newcomers. I had quite forgotten how colorful some of your acquaintances can be.

  Crush said, "She was jealous when she saw me."

  "What?" The Windwalker? Singe? Penny?

  That roused the logic beast and got it shambling. It fed on things that had been happening the past few days.

  Singe no longer consciously entertained the adolescent fantasies she had suffered when first we teamed up but I was top rat around here. She might have formed a deep down attachment that got the salt in the raw wound treatment when she was in heat.

  Time to be careful.

  She was taking some potent drugs. The rat thugs who were in and out never responded to her. Dollar Dan had been nursing a yearning for Singe since John Stretch took over as number-one rat gangster. Dan would be watching for an opportunity.

  All right. Singe didn't like anyone female right now because they were competition for the boss rat's attention. Tinnie must be way up on her transitory list. But Tinnie wasn't here. Strafa Algarda was. And Crush, who was just a kid.

  Crush slipped past, stepped down the hall, glanced back, gave me an unwarranted "gotcha!" look that I would have expected from DeeDee first.

  That had to be for her own benefit. She thought she had proven that I could be manipulated even when I was trying to be a good guy.

  Singe smoldered.

  How long would this last? Would this be her worst day? I hoped.

  I then realized that she had not left the door.

  Oh, God and all His Saints defend me! All I needed was for the redhead to walk into this menagerie. The only female in the place Tinnie would trust might be Penny. And that would change the instant she got a look at how Penny had grown.

  Someone knocked. Singe started undoing bolts.

  56

  Kolda sort of half whimpered. "You don't got any more need for me, Garrett, I better get on out of here." Body language screamed that he was a liar. What he really wanted was to dive into the visiting mob. Team Fire and Ice could have their way with him till the stretcher bearers carried him away. "Trudi don't like it if she has to wait up."

  Who was Trudi?

  Fiancee.

  That old devil time playing tricks again. Did Kolda have a wife back when he was trying to poison me? I thought so but couldn't remember for sure. Well, he didn't have one now. The woman he did have scared him, though not as much as the fantasies tormenting him here.

  "If you got to go, you got to go. You wouldn't want to miss supper on account of these beasts. Are you having trouble, Singe?"

  "That idiot out there keeps pushing on the door. This bolt won't slide if there's pressure. I had it made that way. Ah. I've got it now." She let the door swing.

  In came Jon Salvation and a companion recently escaped from a homeless shelter. The latter lugged gear similar to what Penny had dragged in. His was seedier. He was seedier, by an order of magnitude. He needed to discover soap and water. He needed to steal some clean clothes. And he maybe ought to forego the next dozen bottles of ardent spirits.

  His hair was a wild, gray tangle. I shuddered to think what vile livestock he was importing into my house. He was shorter than Salvation and a whole lot dumpier. He was the epicenter of a fierce medley of smells.

  Jon Salvation said, "This is the Bird, Garrett. Bird, this is the guy who needs your help." He turned. "Singe, can you show the Bird where to set up?" He nudged me a few steps toward the kitchen, whispering, "You have any hard liquor? The Bird has a problem inside his head. He needs the stuff to keep the voices quiet."

  I opened my mouth with intent to remind the Remora what he was known to be full of. I received a gentle cautionary brush from the Dead Man. "Voices? Really?"

  "You need to see it to believe it. This guy is a genius. When he has just the right amount of firewater in him, so the voices are softer, he paints like an angel."

  I believed Salvation. I had run into something like that before.

  I asked Salvation, "You have any idea what Bird's real feelings about his madness are?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Does he want the voices to go away?"

  "Wouldn't you?"

  "I would. Yes. But would you? If that meant that you wouldn't have the magic to be a playwright anymore?"

  "You're thinking that the Dead Man might be able to shut the mental doors on his demons."

  "Might. Come down here one more step." I looked into the room where Morley was taking the attentions of several beautiful women as his birthright. "Crush. Got a minute?"

  Young Hellbore turned away from her mother and Madam Mike. She showed me a teen's practiced expression combining boredom, embarrassment, and disgust. "What?" Her expression did not improve when she glanced at my companion.

  "I told you that if I got the chance I'd introduce you to Jon Salvation. This is him." I told the Remora, "Crush likes your plays."

  The kid got mad. Of course. But she didn't make a scene.

  I couldn't see the big deal. This here was Pilsuds Vilchik, the Remora, a weasel who tagged along behind a friend of mine. He whined a lot, got underfoot, and had a twist in his brain that left him unable to see what Winger really was.

  I considered Winger a friend but had no illusions about her character.

  The idea that this noxious squirt could become a major celebrity was entirely ridiculous.

  Singe came out of the Dead Man's room. The Bird delivered. He should have no problem with Old Bones. He was used to having voices inside his head. She looked at me, Salvation, Crush, leapt to some evil conclusion. Shaking her head, she told me, "I'm going to have a cup of tea before any more complications come up. Guard my office."

/>   I didn't get that, unless she was concerned for the sanctity of her books.

  Crush and Jon Salvation got along like Hellbore and Pilsuds Vilchik. He was not the giant she had sculpted in her imagination. And she was just another empty-headed kid who asked the same nimrod questions he had heard a thousand times before.

  Singe came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a teapot, sandwiches, and cups. "Join me." Inside her office, she said, "This place is turning into a zoo filled with human exotica."

  "You got used to the quiet life."

  "I did. And I find the habit hard to break. Eat. This is likely all we'll get for supper. Dean is exhausted. The sorceress is going to help him get upstairs."

  "She's good for something, then."

  "Don't do that when I'm starting to not like her a whole lot less. I'm stressed enough. And it will only get worse. We have no hard liquor."

  "Old Bones ask for it?"

  "He thinks he may be able to create a similar effect but wants the real thing handy."

  "We could send Salvation out."

  "Winger drinks, doesn't she?"

  "Yes. Do I need to have Belinda get us out of your hair?"

  "She couldn't get here in time."

  The poor girl sounded like she was about to slide away into despair.

  "You want to head upstairs yourself, Singe?"

  "I'd better stay."

  "I can handle this crowd."

  "Maybe now. How about half an hour from now? You're too far gone. I still love you but you aren't the man you used to be."

  The Windwalker joined us. Singe neither protested nor betrayed any distaste. In fact, there was a cup for Strafa on the tray she had carried in. Was peace about to break out? Or was Singe just too tired to fight?

  I asked, "Everyone out there still being civilized?"

  Strafa said, "A woman and two girls are fussing over your injured friend. There are three men and a girl in with your dead friend. The three of us are here. And the poisoner is missing."

  Singe said, "I let Kolda out after Jon Salvation got here."

  So. Crush was in with Morley and Salvation was with the Dead Man. That was a brief romance.

  Poor Remora. He couldn't be what his fan wanted him to be.

  57

  Though there was babble from next door and some sort of foreboding from across the way, all was calm and relaxed in Singe's office. Tea got sipped. Not much got said. Strafa, Singe, and I relaxed.

  After a time, Singe said, "The caretakers and night guards should be here soon. I expect John Stretch will come with them. I'm going to draw a pitcher of the dark."

  The dark was the most potent beer we had. I had been unaware of its presence till now. The cold well must have been modified to handle multiple kegs.

  Singe's tail vanished round the edge of the doorway. The Windwalker said, "She doesn't like me."

  "No. But she's mellowing."

  "Why doesn't she like me?"

  "She thinks you're trying to push into our lives. She feels threatened. She's fragile." I made no mention of her season. Maybe the Dead Man could explain that later in a way that made sense to a human woman.

  The Windwalker sipped tea and frowned delicately. She seemed waiflike and vulnerable. "How could I injure her?"

  I gave Old Bones a few seconds to caution me before I said, "She sees all women in the mirror of Tinnie Tate." The redhead had to come up sometime.

  "The abrasive woman who was there for some of the excitement at the World Theater, back when."

  "That would be Tinnie."

  "You're still involved."

  "You know my situation perfectly well."

  She smiled a wan, forlorn little smile. "I might have looked into it."

  "Singe never liked Tinnie much. She feels guilty about that. She thinks she should like Tinnie because I like her. So now she feels like she needs to be a voice speaking for Tinnie because Tinnie can't speak for herself. Today she found out that both Dean and my partner across the way approve of you. So she feels more pressured."

  "I see." She glowed like a kid who had just won a tough race against outstanding competition.

  "I was surprised, too."

  "Yes?" The glow waxed stronger. The woman was amazing. She might be who she was, one of the dozen most powerful mortals living, with potential for growth, but she was as naive as a ten-year-old in some ways. She was starved for approval.

  Strafa said, "She's right about one thing. I mean to steal you away."

  She said that straightforwardly, without a hint of the fierce sensual aura she had used to taunt men, back when she was daddy's girl. She stated a fact and left it for me to digest.

  "You're going too fast. ."

  Singe returned with two pitchers and four mugs. She meant to do some drinking and did not plan to do it by herself. I sniffed a pitcher. "I'm in." She had brought summer ale as well as the dark.

  She told me, "You pour. I have to get the door."

  My stomach plunged to the deck.

  58

  My panic went to waste again. Singe did not admit redheaded doom. Neither did she bring in her brother and the lady rats who nannied Morley Dotes. What she did admit was General Westman Block and two nervous villains so obviously low-life that they might as well have it tattooed on their foreheads. One was the younger of the pair who had come after me and Tinnie. The red tops had tracked him down. Reason suggested that the skinny, shaky little weasel must be Jimmy Two Steps.

  Singe came back, took her seat, drank some beer. Crush came in. "Is it all right if I hang out in here till DeeDee and Mike get over that guy? I'll stay out of the way."

  "Fine by me. Singe, all right if she looks at your books?"

  Of course it wasn't all right. And any animus she felt toward Strafa she was willing to dump on tasty young Hellbore. But she said, "Please be gentle. And make sure your fingers are clean."

  Then the General joined us. "Garrett, I hate to beg but, gods damn! I need to drink something."

  Which reminded me, "Singe, how about fuel for that lunatic artist Jon Salvation brought?"

  "Something will arrive soon."

  How did she know that? She hadn't left the house and Kolda went before the Dead Man put in his request.

  Old Bones must have sent word to someone outside. That was the only thing that made sense.

  She continued, "General, would you like to try the Weider Dark Reserve? It's a limited production brew that few outside the Weider family get to taste."

  "How can I resist? Count me in, Miss Pular."

  Singe, Singe, you wonder child. Even the head of the whole damned tin whistle tribe considers you a real person. Which thinking I masked with a stone neutral visage.

  Block was impressed despite having been around Singe since her adolescence.

  It felt good, seeing my baby treated like one of the gang instead of a freak or half-wit vermin.

  Big thumping at the door. I had heard the wolf cry so often that Tinnie and all the freckle speckled redheaded Tates in the world could be out there and I wouldn't raise more than a half-assed whimper.

  Nor did I need to. Singe opened up for her brother, Dollar Dan, and two ratwomen. They brought distilled spirits enough to keep the Bird fueled for weeks. Singe hijacked a bottle. She poured a half mug for the General. "There's a real drink."

  Crush volunteered, "I'll take some of that, please."

  "No," Singe said. "You're too young for dizzy water."

  Crush was startled. Then she laughed. Then, shaking her head, she went back to looking at Singe's books.

  John Stretch joined us, looking Block askance. Dollar Dan and the ratwomen took up space in the hallway outside the room where Morley was holding court.

  Singe told me, "I suspect that pretty young girls who ask for something that will impair their judgment seldom hear the word no."

  Crush raised a hand in a gesture of agreement. She had found something to fascinate her. She handled the book reverently.

 
; Crush fascinated Westman Block. But he would not cross that line.

  Odd. Women definitely interested the General. I never heard of one getting close. No doubt there was a sad old story. There were plenty of those around.

  He emptied his mug quickly and did not refuse a refill. He said, "The resurrection men are back at work." Like that dovetailed into the conversation.

  Singe gave her brother her mug, filled with summer ale. He lifted that to me.

  Strafa generated a squeak that drew the attention of everyone but Crush. I didn't find out why because, after another pull of the water of life, Block said, "Those men in the gray wool tights and pullovers with the wooden headgear from the incident on the north side? They were fix-ups made from pieces of dead people."

  Jaws dropped. Crush let her book fall to her waist. Strafa made gurgling noises.

  "Way to introduce a subject," I said. My mug was empty. I decided to give the dizzy water a try.

  "Blame the drink," Block said. "I'm not supposed to let that get out."

  Interesting. More Civil Guard disobedience.

  Clear as iron, Block and Relway were way not happy with outside pressure. Their scorn for the rules suggested that they had gotten quiet assurances from Prince Rupert that he would notice nothing if somebody did babble too much after a mug of beer.

  Somewhat nimbly, Singe moved into the hallway again, headed for the door. She needed to be nimble to get through the crowd.

  I took a long sip of firewater and tried to run a census. I couldn't come up with a firm number but there had to be seventeen or eighteen warm bodies cluttering the place.

  I was way out of practice for the social life. A little beer, a few sips of ardent spirits, and I was totally relaxed. I no longer had a care. Nothing troubled me. I looked at Strafa without a professional thought in my head.

  She looked back. One eyebrow lifted slightly. Her small mouth betrayed a ghost of a smile of invitation, agreement, or triumph.

  59

  Singe said something out in the hallway. I didn't catch the words but her tone was troubled. John Stretch and I both got up and headed that way, me wondering where I had left my stick and how trouble had gotten close with the Dead Man on the job.