by Glen Cook
John Stretch put that together quicker than I did. He stopped. I bumped into him, not hard.
Singe returned to the office, headed straight for the cup she had given her brother. Had she been human she would have been pale and grim.
The reason was a step behind her. A fine looking redhead hove into view. .
That was Kyra Tate, Tinnie's teenage niece, at first glance a dead ringer for her aunt. In the instant it took me to realize that Kyra was not my dearly beloved, the master redhead herself materialized.
Kyra was just a little older than Crush. She came with manifest teen attitude. She did not want to be here-though it soon became evident that it had been her idea to come. Behind her, Tinnie slowed down, jaw descending, as she took in the size and makeup of the crowd.
General Block lifted his mug to Tinnie. "Good evening, Miss Tate. May I say how very handsome you look tonight?"
He could get away with talking to her like she was an old lady. If I said something like that I would regret it for months.
Behind Tinnie came her uncle Oswald. Behind Uncle was cousin Artifice, who had a reputation as a brawler.
I nearly laughed, watching Tinnie's reaction to each presence. Strafa should have fallen down whimpering and crawled under something. Crush should have collapsed into a pile of ash. "Wow. And you still have to meet DeeDee and Mike. And to see how Penny has grown." Which I did not say out loud.
She wouldn't have heard me anyway. She had taken on a glazed look. In a faraway voice she announced, "I have to see the Man Across the Hall."
Said entity touched me ever so lightly, without a word, offering the gentlest of reassurances.
Tinnie had arrived primed for a knock-down, drag-out, once-and-forever showdown but had been, from the moment Singe let her in, thrown off stride. There were ratpeople everywhere. There were numerous human people, too, including the commander of the police and a highly placed sorceress off the Hill. And now she had been summoned to the presence of His Nibs, where she would encounter yet another crop of amazing guests.
Singe collected herself. She asked the other Tates if they would like refreshments. Uncle Oswald nodded.
Never looking up, Crush said, "I'll throw a tantrum if you let her have anything tastier than tea."
"The same rules apply," Singe said.
Kyra knew she was the subject but had no idea why. I explained. "Underage drinking. Singe doesn't approve. Singe, you better check and make sure Penny isn't sneaking anything."
"Your sense of humor never improves."
She and Old Bones both really liked that kid. I never got why. But, so what? I have foibles of my own.
I asked Kyra, "How come you're down here slumming?" She was giving Strafa a suspicious look. She remembered the Windwalker.
No need to explain Artifice and Uncle Oswald. The old man was looking out for the Tate family dignity. Artifice was there to get his butt kicked if Tinnie tried to make her points physically. Also, to make sure she got around safely.
Those streets out there were getting mean again.
Blatant amusement slithered through the ether from the Thing Across the Hall, no cause apparent.
Block recognized Oswald. They were involved in some charity together but only as distant acquaintances. They engaged in a clumsy exchange.
Strafa moved closer, as though to protect me. Kyra and Artifice overlooked that because they had become fascinated by Crush-Kyra maybe because she thought someone her own age had to be as unhappy to be here as she was. Artifice was interested for the reason any man would be. Crush just standing there begged for solicitous male attention. So toothsome was my little Hellbore.
There was, of course, no way Artifice could know that the bloom was gone from that rose and what remained was mostly thorn. Crush was not wearing work clothes.
"Kyra?"
"Sorry, Garrett." She forgot Crush. "It's kind of embarrassing."
"I don't remember you being long on shy." She could be more forceful and straightforward than her aunt. She hadn't had as much practice pretending to be socialized.
Many killers are sociopaths but only a small percentage of sociopaths are killers. Tinnie was the nonlethal sort.
So far.
60
Kyra told me, "I'm not used to having an audience."
Ha! Her problem wasn't Strafa, the General, or John Stretch. Her problem was Artifice and Uncle Oswald. "Bend down here. Whisper."
Crush murmured, "He wants to look down your blouse."
"Humorous, Hellbore, but unfair. She isn't showing a neckline."
Furious Tide of Light tried wilting Crush with her stare.
Crush went back to her book.
Singe arrived with more mugs, more beer, and muffins. That distracted the male Tates.
Kyra dropped to her knees beside me. "I'm having trouble with Kip. That's really why I talked Tinnie into coming. You know Kip. You can give me some advice."
"Amazing," I said in a conversational voice. Strafa had now posted herself behind me, leaning on the back of my chair. Singe was not pleased but her disapproval was so mild that only I got it. "There's a huge chance that I'm the last guy you should ask for relationship advice. But I'll give it a shot."
"I'm seventeen now, Garrett. Kip and I have been together. . Well, what it is? I don't want to be like you and Aunt Tinnie. Going on and on and on and never. . Oh, I don't blame you. What's wrong between you and Tinnie is mostly Tinnie's fault. She could've wrapped everything up years ago if she wanted. Now she might lose you."
Crush made some snide remark about here's your chance under her breath. She got the hard-eye from Strafa. Kyra ignored her. "Anyway, I decided I don't want her advice anymore. I want Kip, not the satisfaction of sitting alone in my room feeling smug about how I showed him. No games. Now and forever."
Way to go, Cyprus Prose! You got one of the hottest girls on the continent bewitched. Amazing, nerd boy. How the hell? But it looked like he was close to losing her, probably without realizing there was a problem.
"Kyra, I'm on your side. You're the best thing that ever happened to that boy. So what's the problem? Is he just being his usual dim self? Can't see what's there in front of him unless you smack him between the eyes?"
I tried mentoring the boy, back when. We had some things in common.
"It's sort of like what's going on with you and Tinnie. Only I believed him when he said a friend of his is in trouble and needs his help. My problem is, he shuts me out of that whole side of his life."
Kyra ran out of steam. She had said it all, for the moment. But Tate women seldom stay silent long. I tried to work out what she meant.
Kip did not have many friends.
Strafa still leaned on the back of my chair. Her knuckles were white. Kyra avoided looking at her even though she should have been curious.
Oh. It was the Faction again. The friend in need must be Kevans, a friend Kip had helped, despite all, back when the Windwalker and I first met.
When Kevans and Kip got their heads together technical miracles happened. They invented strange and wonderful things.
Kyra's concern fed Strafa's. Strafa was hard-pressed because she was still afraid that Kevans might be the girl in the tight black leather. Despite believing that Kevans had an alibi for. .
She did think Kevans was capable of behavior this foul. That was the key.
Oh, my. My new ally, who might become a special new friend, could end up an enemy because the thing she feared most might turn out to be true.
Alibis can be manufactured, before and after the fact.
I had no trouble imagining Kevans dealing with resurrection men, either. I'd never gotten to know her well but I recalled a sociopathic personality. Yet that had been true of most of the Faction. And she had not been the worst.
That might be an angle worth pursuit.
So. Maybe Kevans had been living in that warehouse up north, making new men out of the best pieces of the old.
Where would she get mo
ney to pay the resurrection men?
Kip?
I rested my right hand on Strafa's where hers lay on the back of my chair. "She can't afford it."
"What?"
"Think. Where would Kevans get enough money to set up what you saw on the north side?"
Kyra became intensely interested in my hands and dialog. No doubt Tinnie would get a detailed report.
And I, being Garrett the wonder fool, had to ease Strafa's dreads by saying, "Kevans could never look as good in black leather as. ."
Maybe. Maybe not. When I knew her Kevans had been pretending to be a boy. If she took after her mom she could make that leather smolder. Taking a wild shot at making Strafa feel better because her kid was weirdly built was one of those special moments that make me uniquely me.
An instant after it was too late to avoid getting shoe leather caught between my teeth I had no trouble imagining a dozen voices telling me what an insensitive dumbass I was.
One was not imaginary. It came from the Thing Across the Hall and was heavy with exasperation. But that morphed into a vague apology. If I understood right he was taking out on me frustrations developed while conversing with the redhead. Tinnie had shown complete disdain for reality.
I was amazed. He had lost patience and pushed her out, a tactical error for sure. Even today's more difficult Tinnie is amenable to reason if you put in some time. You do need to be patient, to avoid preaching and rational argument. You need to be intense while you present your position. Worried or scared works best. Then you should shut up and go away. You need to have it end up looking like her agreeing with you was her idea.
Which is more work than most guys are willing to do. It's been getting a lot like involuntary overtime for me, too, lately.
Old Bones thought facts and figures should trump emotion. He was a little out of touch with the raw intensity of the living, yet could get irked by a stubborn woman. He wasn't fond of that sex to begin with. It had taken him an age to warm to Tinnie as much as he ever did. It had taken him time to get used to Singe but they were at peace now.
He'd never had a problem with Penny Dreadful, maybe because Penny came to us before puberty came to her. He had few reservations about Strafa Algarda, who was, for sure, simmering, past puberty.
His ability to be amused by my obsessions and angst remained undiminished.
I heard Tinnie talking in the hallway, presumably to Morley. She wouldn't know DeeDee or Mike. Her tone wasn't hostile.
I was able to exhaust her reserves of venom.
Too many eyes were watching. I couldn't get into a conversation. Old Bones found that amusing, too, because half the current population of the house thought he was snoozing.
I focused on Kyra, though Uncle Oswald and Artifice might be more trouble. And, while I obsessed about Tates, never-so-drunk-as-he-pretended Westman Block committed every nuance to memory. Singe and her brother exchanged significant glances. And Crush went on being every man's sweet young fantasy, pretending to be oblivious while she appreciated Singe's literary treasures.
Kyra and Strafa continued to measure one another.
I grumbled, "What can we toss into this to add a little flavor? How about some hot spice?"
Hot spice debuted, her advent entirely civil.
I wore her down.
One quick glance told me that nobody but Ma Garrett's ever-loving, blue-eyed baby boy was intimidated.
Tinnie stopped in the doorway. She eyed each individual, recognizing everyone but Crush. Crush didn't do her the honor of turning to see who had come in. Tinnie frowned when she looked at Strafa, whom she had seen briefly before.
She was impressed. In one room she had found the commander of the police forces of the greatest city in the world, the chieftain of a major underworld operation, a major player off the Hill, and me.
Clever Strafa had relaxed the intimacy of the distance between us before Tinnie arrived, though not by much.
After visiting the Dead Man and Morley, Tinnie could not help but understand that what was going on here was not just a conspiracy to inconvenience her.
She is starting to get it. Take her out on the stoop and explain it.
I hoisted myself out of my chair. Mug in hand. With murmured encouragement from the Windwalker.
And, for the gods' sake, do not make yourself a sacrificial victim on the altar of let us all just get along.
What did he mean by that?
I mean do not just give her her way because you do not like arguing. This is important.
There followed a psychic echo of a kitten crying, then the crack of a whip.
Hey!
He showed me letting myself be bullied by persons of the female persuasion, all the way back to my mother, but specializing in incidents that gave a certain redhead the hold she had gained over the course of our relationship.
Well.
You are standing there with a dumb look on your face, practically drooling, while a dozen people stare and start to wonder.
Oh. Right.
Old Bones was staging plays inside my noggin. I wondered if he was doing the same thing inside hers. I did hope.
I said, "Let's you and me go out on the stoop where we can talk."
61
It was a quiet night. The sky was clear. The moon would not be up for a while. There were a trillion stars. In some parts of the sky there was more silver dust than darkness. None of the watchers in the shadows made themselves obvious. The men who had accompanied Block had gone to find a tavern. We had the night to ourselves.
Neither of us said anything till a shooting star blazed across the firmament, headed west in a hurry. Then it exploded. For an instant TunFaire was bathed in pallid light.
"This may be the most important night in our lives, Tinnie."
She responded with an inarticulate sound that seemed weighted down with sorrow. She pushed against me like she was cold. She was shivering.
I told her, "We've known each other for a long time. I can't imagine my life without you in it. But I can't go on the way we've been. I can't be what you want. Those people in there are important in my life, too."
The last light of the dying star glistened off a tear. She said nothing.
My heart sank. Old Bones had failed. She would remain stubborn till the end.
Proceed gently, Garrett. All is not lost. Even though he liked Strafa Algarda better than this woman whom he knew so much better.
Tinnie said, "Garrett, I love you. You know that. I have forever. I could say something corny like you complete me. I can't imagine myself with any other man. Whatever I said, however I behaved, whatever else happened in our lives, that's been true since I was a kid and you used to come around to see Denny. Ever since then I've tried hard to understand the Garrett who operates outside the closed field of you and me. But I can't, anymore. I know I shouldn't be so selfish. I know I'm twisting away into a darkness that some people might consider insanity. But I'm obsessed. I can't share you anymore. I can't. The monster inside wants to push it to the point where there is no one but you and me. No work. No distractions. Just us. I know that's crazy. But I can't stop it."
Now she had me scared.
What she says is true but right now she is trying to manipulate you through exaggeration. Nevertheless, that exaggeration is being built on a truth from a level so deep it has never emerged before.
"Can you help?" Tinnie was a major part of my life. I had loved her, maybe too often from a distance, almost as long as she said she had loved me. But I was not obsessed. I had been in love before. The rational side of my mind told me I would survive-if the pain insisted on coming.
The adventure called Strafa Algarda waited on the other side. I knew that. Strafa offered a chance for an adult, cooperative relationship.
I looked at Tinnie and wondered how she had gotten to this point.
She said, "The Dead Man has been inside my head, trying to show me things. He says you're part of a network of friendships and obligations. He say
s there is a fine woman who wants to be important to you but you still look only toward me. ."
What game was Old Bones playing?
Tinnie surrendered to wracking sobs.
The problem here is that a part of her mind does remain fully rational. That fraction knows she is crazy. It knows that obsession drives her. But it has no control. It remains a prisoner inside the growing obsession.
"I can't believe it. How could it happen? Could Kolda come up with an herb? Can you do some kind of surgery?"
I might be able. But you will need to convince Miss Tate that she wants to have the corrective work done. And there is the further question of the strength of your own emotional commitment.
I ignored Strafa, thought a question about working Tinnie and this case in parallel.
That might be possible. Assuming she agreed.
"Curses."
I would have to search her mind memory by memory and hurt by hurt to find tipping points in need of adjustment or cauterization. Each such tipping point will have affected every other that followed. It is a three-dimensional problem. The surgery would be far more subtle than an abuse victim like Miss Algarda needs. She is content with the life she has lived. And there would be no guarantees.
Tinnie said, "You and him are talking about me, aren't you?"
"We are." I pulled her into my arms. As always, she felt exactly right, being there. Designed to fit. She cried. I cried. I told her, "We can work this out. If you let it work out. If you let Old Bones make some minor adjustments. . I'm going to let him work on me."
That was off the top of my head and next to a bald-faced lie. Any refinements my mind needed he would have made already, without mentioning it. Maybe.
Scary thought, that.
Nobody wants to be told that they need fixing. Even when they know it themselves. Tinnie's natural first reaction was rejection. I kept on holding her tight. I said nothing. Talk would not help. What could be talked about had been talked about.
Changes in us would lead to changes in the conversation.