by Glen Cook
I thought there was a chance. I thought we could find a way.
Uncle Oswald opened the door, checking up. He had a mug in hand. The rosy glow in his cheeks said he was hard at it, enjoying my hospitality. He didn't see any guts strewn about so he grunted and shut the door.
The clinch went on. Tinnie relaxed slowly, surrendering to need. We had to go on. She had to fight the obsession that would make it impossible to do so.
I was confused, for sure. I had this, familiar and mostly comfortable though always freighted with emotion and drama. I had Strafa in the background, exercising a surprisingly powerful pull-not the way it used to be with any female between seven and seventy. That draw was there, too, absolutely. But there was more to it. An intellectual intrigue and a certainty that Strafa Algarda would involve a lot less drama.
Thou foul beast, Temptation!
I felt the amusement of the invisible observer.
It was a classic tough situation.
Tinnie had the lead by a furlong, at the moment. She was as comfortable as an old shoe once she relaxed against me. But Strafa could pull even, or push ahead, with very little effort, if Tinnie wasn't there to rattle my reason.
The invisible observer suggested, It is time to come inside. Something is moving in the darkness. You do not want to be out there should it come this way.
62
The Dead Man's big party rolled on. I led Tinnie into his lair. The temperature had risen there. The air had begun to smell because of the crowd. Penny and the Bird worked on their art. Jimmy Two Steps and Butch's little brother occupied a couple of folding chairs, out of the way, eyes closed, maybe unconscious. Old Bones might be picking their brains.
There is not much there to pick. In any sense.
The lighting was better than usual, on behalf of the artists. The lamps contributed to the rise in temperature.
Playmate's color had improved. It had more depth and sheen. Still, he would be a long-term project, and would demand a lot from the Dead Man at a time when all the rest of this was going on.
Old Bones was a miracle in defunct flesh but he did have limits.
When would he have time to work on Tinnie?
A complication that I am pleased you recognized before I had to bring it up myself. A scheduling problem I will be happy to leave in your keeping.
"Meaning?" I looked over Penny's shoulder. She had several sketches going, all of a very attractive girl. She was doing a sheet of full-body images in different orientations and hairdos. I could say nothing but, "Wow!"
Tinnie failed to poke me. She just looked astonished, and envious.
You are allowing imagination and expectation to carry you away. It is the daring choice of costume that makes the woman so striking. Miss Tate and her niece would appear equally impressive in that apparel.
I said nothing but thought the younger Miss Tate might have an edge on the elder.
Amusement.
"I'm not dead. I notice things."
I watched Penny work. She was talented and quick and had no trouble being close to me while she used charcoal and a variety of Amalgamated's writing sticks to shape her squad of fantasy girls.
The Bird had a color portrait going. It made an ugly, lazy-eyed son of a bitch look like he was about to bark, lean forward, and take a bite.
Tinnie seemed at a loss. I caught the edge as the Dead Man asked her to step back and stay out of the way.
I asked, "Who is this wad?"
A composite of details from many minds. I am not certain but he may be the boss of the resurrection men.
"How did we get to that?"
Mr. Bird, under my direction, is creating a portrait composed of bits taken from the minds of everyone who has come into range since I awakened. Resurrection men are part of what is going on and an angle going unexplored. They gather the bodies that get reengineered. This man could be of special interest. If we can find him.
He was right. It was an approach that had not occurred to me.
Most of our visitors never heard of him. A few have, under the singleton name Nathan. None of our friends, or anyone else, know that they have actually met him but some may have done so without realizing it.
And that, with his wondrous ability to make unlikely connections click, was why the Dead Man was so valuable. I said, "He looks a little like Barate Algarda."
It felt like the warmth went out of the room. His Nibs took a seat behind my eyes, studied the painting through my prejudices.
Not Barate Algarda. The eye. The nose. The scar. The man had a burn scar on the right side of his head, including part of his ear. Ask the Windwalker to come in here.
Tinnie started to follow me. She stumbled, stopped, turned, found a folding chair that she opened and carried back into the shadows.
Damn! Maybe I could get Old Bones to teach me that trick.
Strafa stared at the Bird's masterpiece. The artist himself was on break, nursing a bottle of spirits. Strafa said, "I don't know him. He does look familiar." Unaware that green eyes smoldered in the darkness behind us, she held on to my left arm with both of her hands. Those were shaky.
"I thought he looked like Barate Algarda." I could not call the man her father.
She started. She squeezed harder. "He does, a little! That's weird." She let go. She moved to view the painting from different angles.
I have what I need. You may take her back, now.
I asked Strafa, "So what do you think?"
"I think it's weird."
"Too bad. Well, that's all we needed." Crossing the hallway, I asked, "Do you know anyone who calls himself Nathan?"
"No." Two steps. "Wait! I think Dad's grandfather's name was Nathan. He died when I was four. I remember pulling myself up by the edge of his coffin so I could look." In the doorway to Singe's office, she added, "He didn't have a burn scar."
"Thanks."
Back in the Dead Man's room, I asked, "Any chance this guy could be a vampire?"
Miss Algarda was truthful. She does not know him. I doubt that he is a vampire. His face does resemble that of the man Miss Algarda saw in a coffin when she was a child, though.
Vampires did not last around TunFaire. Their suspected presence will unite classes and races like nothing else. Just a suspicion could lead to a frenzied hunt.
This situation has the potential to turn as ugly as a vampire hunt. Which argument may lie behind the Hill's go-easy attitude.
Vampire hunts always got out of hand. Innocents ended up with chopsticks through their hearts. The last full-blown vampire hunt had happened when I was nine. It had done more damage than any natural disaster since.
"Let me ask the General about that."
Ask him to come view the painting.
Block did not recognize the villain. He did concede that dread of an outbreak of mass hysteria might be the motive behind the hands-off orders being passed around. Might be.
He was, innately, almost as suspicious as Deal Relway.
Block having returned to his firewater, the Dead Man mused, We need to see Barate Algarda and his daughter, here. That is a task the Windwalker will have to undertake.
"That might be a tough sell."
Hardly. She will be compliant to any request so long as you are a gentleman when you present it and you explain the reason for it.
I'd never had that kind of power in a relationship. It was scary.
Miss Algarda is ceding that power in trust. If you breach her trust you will reap a whirlwind more cruel than you can imagine.
"Way to build me up, Chuckles."
It might be valuable to interview your intern, too.
"Intern?"
The boy. Cyprus Prose. I will ask the Miss Tates to bring him in. Making the elder Miss Tate a part of a race against time might go a long way toward improving her attitude. The younger Miss Tate will want to look out for her man.
I was skeptical.
63
I had to reach an understanding with Old Bones about our
priorities. Once we acknowledged the most desperate three or four things, there would be, still, time-intensive tasks like honing the ten thousand quirks that defined the mind of Tinnie Tate, all while he kept a sharp watch outside.
You understand.
I understood that everything would take precedence over reconfiguring my special redhead's mental works.
"Your judgment is better than mine. I can't take the emotion out of my choices."
The Dead Man employs profanity infrequently. In a long-winded way he informed me that I was a bone-lazy, backsliding purveyor of mushroom fertilizer determined to avoid even the appearance of contributing anything useful to the conversation.
"Damnit, Old Bones! Life shouldn't ought to be this hard."
Avoid responsibility now, if you like. Do not whine when you face the fattened consequences later.
The change was sudden. For an instant I thought the end had come. The apocalypse. The Twilight. The Rapture, sudden as a dagger in the night. Morley shrieked. Playmate screamed. Tinnie moaned and collapsed. Penny Dreadful and the Bird followed her to the floor. I blacked out for an instant.
I found myself clinging to the frame of the door to the hallway after that instant. I had to concentrate to keep my supper down.
Others had less success.
The light had gone bad. Everything had turned sepia. Those moving did so jerkily. Bad smells developed as folks lost more than their suppers.
Confusion reigned. Dread grew so powerful I knew it had to be artificial. The screaming ended. The screamers had passed out. But chatter waxed amongst the still conscious. None of it made any sense.
No one panicked.
Odd, that.
The initial shock came when the Dead Man dropped everything to focus on one problem. Something that demanding had to be a threat both powerful, lethal, and immediate.
And I, ever-lovin' blue-eyed boy genius that I am, I stumbled up and opened the door for a quick look outside.
Action was developing.
A dozen people in gray wool costumes, their heads inside combination helmets and masks, were headed for the house. Most carried torches. A few were armed. One pair lugged a mini-battering ram that would have dented my door good. Illegally armed ratmen closed in on them from behind.
I found my head knocker and charged, partly because I suspected that a swarming attack would come from other directions, as well.
The attackers kept advancing because the Dead Man was not strong enough to stop so many. He did slow them till their charge looked like it was happening underwater.
His situation would improve as the number of vertical villains declined.
Fine theory, amply supported by the available evidence, but more easily thought than executed.
The grays did not respond well to my initial efforts. My club just bounced off. Lesson learned at the cost of getting dinged a few times.
I shifted to kneecapping. The ratmen started hamstringing. Their efforts were more effective.
Most of my male guests became involved. At some point Jimmy Two Steps and Butch's brother realized they were under-supervised and the door was open. They took advantage.
I pushed through the grays. They did not turn on me. They wanted to turn the house into a bonfire.
Then I was face-to-face with a woman in skintight black leather gifted with the most stunning shape I'd ever seen. Penny's drawings didn't do her justice. She had a mountain of wildly curly white hair. A fierce former Marine bearing down did not rattle her. She seemed inclined to flirt.
So beautiful.
And the face of deep evil. She deserved neither quarter nor amnesty.
We had not met before but we had been at war from the moment those idiot brothers took money from Jimmy Two Steps.
She thrust what looked like a stage magician's wand my way, ever so calmly, all in a day's work, slicing sausage at the butcher shop.
Something hit her like a black lightning bolt to the right shoulder just before I knocked the wand out of her hand by running into it with my big, manly chest. She wore the most wonderful look of incredulity.
The wand delivered enough energy to make me bark and spin, flailing for airy handholds that had not yet been installed. I got one goofy, unforgettable snap view of Furious Tide of Light straddling the front peak of my house, legs dangling, kicking, a ten-year-old up to mischief. She wore a big, happy grin. She flung another dark bolt. Just a kid having fun saving her special friend from a villainess built to torment his fantasies.
That nonsense rattled around inside my gourd for the few seconds it took me to fall asleep on those comfy Macunado Street cobblestones.
I was out only briefly. Still, the excitement was over when consciousness came creeping back. Furious Tide of Light was there with me, now. My head was in her lap. That hurt like I had the mother of all hangovers. Her right hand was hot on my chest, over my heart, maybe delivering the strength I needed to push back the darkness. The agony in my head faded steadily.
Ha! Had I discovered the cure for the common hangover?
I flashed back to that incredible shape in black leather. That was one way somebody could have gotten close enough to stick Morley. That body would have distracted him. A touch of that wand would have left him unable to defend himself, though I suspected the Dead Man would have excavated the evidence if that had happened.
"That wasn't Kevans." Only a liquid weakness kept me from shoving my foot farther down my throat by offering a qualitative comparison of physiques. Kevans didn't bark but there was no way she could make leather look that good.
The time I needed to work up strength was time enough for me to see that I was about to munch a filthy shoe. "She did seem familiar, though. I must've seen her somewhere."
She had been wearing rain gear at the time, or old feed sacks. Otherwise, the moment would be seared onto the backs of my eyeballs.
"Hush, love. The danger is over. Your friends are cleaning up."
It was true. The action was done. The street was carpeted with bodies, not a one twitching. Several torches still burned on the cobblestones. I was awed because tin whistles were not shrilling. General Block was studying the scene carefully. He was both grim and puzzled.
The neighbors began to come out. I heard both negative and laudatory comments. The consensus was, this stuff didn't happen when I wasn't around.
Tin whistles did begin to arrive, from the direction of the Cardonlos house. That old biddy owed me. I was home and she was back in business.
Sleep returned. Whatever the bad girl hit me with, it drained me.
I missed my opportunity to see Tinnie spot me amongst the fallen, being tended by my sorceress friend. I missed the cleanup, too. The red tops carted off nineteen stiffs in gray wool. The lethal blonde and twenty grays got away.
Strafa should have chased them instead of fussing over me.
Tinnie did not head home in high dudgeon. She couldn't. Uncle Oswald and cousin Artifice both had been injured. Oswald could not travel except by coach. Singe sent a runner to the Tate family compound.
64
They tossed me in with Morley, to start, onto the cold, hard floor. Injured people were everywhere, especially against the walls in the hallway. Given the chance to do more than brood and fuss, Westman Block showed us why he had Prince Rupert's confidence. He sent people flying around everywhere. He roused the Guard across the city.
He came by to tell me, "They were all dead, the things in the wool tights. They were made from pieces of dead people."
That did not seem possible. Not in such numbers. Where had the bodies come from? That many people disappearing, dead or alive, should have become a major public issue.
We knew, now, beyond doubt, that there was a connection with Morley and with the break-in on Factory Slide. We knew that several people had to be involved: two women, one old, one young, and, possibly, a stuffed-bear-loving kid. Plus the resurrection men.
I wanted to ask questions but could not. Strafa was not t
here to ease my suffering. The hangover was back. And I felt like a bad flu had hold of me. I felt naked in a blizzard cold. I couldn't stop shaking.
Speaking of dead. . Where was Old Bones? I got no sense of his presence at all.
That sparked a moment of panic wasted because I couldn't talk.
The chaos in the house settled out without my input. Singe and Strafa went off to stalk the blonde. The delegation from Fire and Ice headed home after taking a moment to say good-bye. Crush told me, "You have great parties. Remember me for the next one."
I couldn't say anything. I tried to wink. The effort was pathetic. I decided to send her a book.
Miss T understood. She touched my cheek. She was more of a mom to Crush than DeeDee was. DeeDee was one hundred percent self-involved. Mike thought my crowd would be better company than the folks Crush encountered in a sporting palace.
I could not disagree with that.
Jon Salvation and the Bird took off. Bird would come back. The supply of spirits was unlimited and free.
Uncle Oswald kept waiting for a coach that must have needed new wheels before it could leave the Tate compound. Kyra visited me. She didn't have much to say. After watching me shake and drool she fled to Singe's office to baby her male kin.
Dean appeared, armed with chicken soup. I could not imagine him being up so late. He considered me and Morley and found himself at a loss. His heart and mind were in the right place but he was physically unable to follow through.
I made some noise that, after years of seeing me come home tipsy, he understood. "He's asleep. It took all he had to resist long enough for the rest of you to get busy." He tried to sound positive but could not conceal the fact that he was extremely worried.
This was not a good time to lose the Dead Man.
Dean was still trying to figure out what to do when Tinnie pushed him out of her way. She brought blankets and two of the heated stones Dean used to warm his feet during winter's bitterest nights. She was calm and businesslike. She placed the rag-wrapped stones against my chest and back, then buried me in blankets. She told Dean, "I can feed them."