Gilded Latten Bones gp-13

by Glen Cook

  I faded into a nap wondering if he was more than a ratman. He might be a living metaphor for his whole race.

  80

  Business rolled along while I snoozed. People came, people went. General Block, Belinda, and Saucerhead all left. Some beer and a nap were all Tharpe needed. Singe and Jon Salvation got their heads together, scheming something. Morley woke up and turned crabby because he had missed Belinda. Salvation left after his confab with Singe.

  Tinnie dropped in and spent some quality time with Singe, their banter getting heated. First, Singe would not let her wake me up. She used the words "too much drama" more than once. Then the overdue dividend came up. The exchange went from heated to icy. Tinnie refused to believe that our shares had not been paid.

  Singe said, "I have received no deposit receipt from our bankers. Produce evidence that payment was made."

  This was when Morley entered and saw the actual exchange.

  Tinnie replied, "We have not failed, ever, to meet our obligations, on time and in full. What you claim is impossible."

  Singe countered, "You handle the fiscal paperwork for Amalgamated. Even when you don't authorize payments you keep records of them. So I say again, show me proof of payment. Our bankers would have given you a receipt, too. Produce it."

  Morley was impressed by Tinnie's self-control. By this point most Karentines would have launched a vile rant about uppity vermin.

  "Tinnie saves her bile for me."

  Evidently Singe's grim, firm, confident, no-nonsense attitude got the best of the redhead. She scribbled a note, then roared out of the house.

  Morley said, "I expect somebody at Amalgamated is hanging by his short hairs now. If what Singe claimed is true."

  Having seen Typhoon Tinnie Tate in a category-four rage I was glad the bad weather was headed elsewhere.

  I read her note.Sorry I came when you were resting. I had a wonderful time at rehearsal. Never felt so happy. Thank you, Malsquando. Love you, and always will. X O X

  It was not signed.

  Had anyone read it?

  Singe? Almost certainly.

  Morley? No. His odd sense of honor would forbid it.

  Dean might have done had he known about it and been inclined to think being aware of the contents would help him protect the household.

  Penny appeared while I brooded, bringing tea. She saw the unfolded note. She reddened.

  So.

  Why would she be nosy?

  Did she have some vague notion about getting back at Tinnie for having fed her so much slime about me?

  Morley watched Penny leave. He chuckled.

  "What?"

  "You missed some real excitement."

  "My head hurts."

  "It ought to. And you did it to yourself."

  Not only did my head hurt, it was still wobbly from the dizzy water. "What did I miss? Besides Tinnie?"

  "Winger. She came looking for her pet playwright. He was gone by then. She was hammered. She wouldn't believe Singe. Singe and Dollar Dan got her under control. She went away, then."

  "Bad shape, eh?"

  "Blitzed pathetic. She's too old for melodrama."

  "Aren't we all? But still it happens."

  We shared a moment of silence, reflecting on the absurdities of our relationships.

  Morley asked, "Is it even possible for men to get past adolescence?"

  "Maybe not. I'm missing Old Bones big-time right now. He could share centuries of observation."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning he could answer your question. Me, I think we can't help but act like juvenile idiots till we can't contribute to the continuation of our tribes anymore."

  "If we were well behaved and thought with our heads. ."

  "We're slaves to our little best friends. But the gods had a reason for making us that way."

  "A disgusting digression, Garrett. But you're probably right. And the gods made sure that girls are dim enough to believe anything we tell them until they're old. Nature wants that next generation's boots on the ground before anything else."

  "Because we do think, though, we make it more of an adventure by coming up with ways to get around Nature."

  Morley lost interest. He asked, "Where are we going, Garrett?"

  "Nowhere. I'm going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. My head will be ready to explode in a couple more hours."

  "I meant in our relationships."

  What? We were men. We didn't get into stuff like that. Not seriously. Did we?

  "You and Tinnie practically announced to the world that you were going to tie the knot. You moved in together. Then the invitations never came. After a while people forgot. And now you're involved with a totally delicious confection off the Hill. Who must have a love-me spell on her. Even Dean likes her better than he likes Tinnie."

  "I'm not involved. Not yet."

  "You're sleeping in the same bed. One of you doesn't care who knows. She moved a trunk into your room. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as involved."

  "Where did you hear. .?"

  "Singe let it slip. Accidentally on purpose, I'm sure. She says the woman has no shame."

  "In private. But she does have a sense of propriety. She wouldn't hurt someone deliberately."

  This stuff was a lot less complicated when I was younger.

  Singe came in. She gave us the fish-eye, favoring me with the magnum variety. "The ladies are here for your evening treatment, Mr. Dotes. And you, Mr. Garrett, need to reacquaint yourself with the bathtub. A change of apparel would not be amiss, either."

  She had to be channeling my mother.

  "I took a bath last week!" With a vintage eight-year-old whine.

  A bunch of stuff happened at once, starting with Dean's announcement of a late supper as the ratwomen closed in on Morley. Dotes got a chance to gobble a few mouths full, then participated in the customary rituals in my former office. Singe went and worked hard in her office. I drank a mug of beer, then took myself up to bed. I had a full belly and the world wasn't going to let me do anything else anyway.

  I just wanted to escape to dreamland before my hangover set in.

  "I'll be responsible next year, Ma."

  When I woke up because I needed to commune with the chamber pot I was no longer alone. Strafa stirred but did not waken. When I climbed back into bed she snuggled against me like a second skin. I found it amazing that she could get so close and still leave me comfortable. I did not stay awake long. I spent those moments wondering how Strafa had gotten in. I didn't remember leaving the window open.

  It was open now. The air was cool. Strafa's warmth felt good.

  81

  Pular Singe was not pleased with her boss, master, partner-whatever she styled me in secret.

  She blundered into my room at an inappropriate moment. She gasped something like, "Now I believe it," and went away.

  Strafa didn't care. She was preoccupied.

  Going downstairs told me, quickly, that the new order had become established fact. Dean greeted Strafa warmly, with perfect manners and no hint of disapproval. Singe was more formal but had put her personal feelings into a locked box. She did not dislike Strafa, she just had problems with all the changes.

  It would be hard for anybody to dislike Strafa when she wasn't being Furious Tide of Light. Except for Penny Dreadful. Penny had issues of some kind.

  Morley reported that. I didn't see it.

  "The girl glares daggers at the woman when she thinks no one will notice."

  "That makes no sense. She doesn't know Strafa. Strafa is no threat to her."

  "You never know. You up for a physical workout today?"

  "You aren't ready for that yet, are you?"

  "I'll pace myself. It's you that needs to get busy. You're a tub of goo."

  That exaggeration was unkind in the extreme but not far off the mark. I was still weak from my cold but the worst of that had passed. If I used Dean's breather occasionally, my nose stayed open and I didn't cough up chunks
bigger than my fist.

  Morley said, "It will be fun, getting ready for our personal war."

  I doubted that the rest of the world would leave us much against which to execute even one tactical move. Scores were out there trying to make an end to the horror.

  I was sure that fear of widespread panic and a breakdown of order were heavy on the minds of movers and shakers everywhere. If fear of a witch hunt did have some basis it made sense for the powerful and privileged to keep the worst quiet.

  "We may be fooling ourselves, old friend."

  "Doesn't matter. Whatever we do to prepare our bodies and purify our souls won't be a waste."

  He was in a martial-arts-philosophy-of-life kind of mood.

  I smiled and promised, "I'll do my best!"

  "You prick. Now you're making fun."

  "I don't like people who say things like that."

  "I knew it. You have the intonation perfect. Every word from the little dying girl in the comedy Skuffle."

  "Damn. You got me. How did you know?"

  "I see everything they put on at the World. Good and bad."

  "Who stuck you full of holes, then? What did you see that made somebody decide it was time you took a dirt nap?"

  "All right. You got me. I suffer memory lapses. I wish I had one where that play was concerned. Alyx Weider and her pals stunk it up, trying to play kids Penny's age."

  "I enjoyed it. Once I got over the old maidens factor. It was fluff."

  "You're a sentimental, romantic idiot. Which, my marvelous memory reminds me, Singe was generous enough to point out not that long ago."

  "My equally peerless memory allows as to how she included you in that base canard."

  "Would that be a musical instrument? Might we find it in the orchestra pit? What kind of musician plays the bass canard?"

  "Are you all right?"

  "It must be the medication. Or I might just be relieving tension by turning it into silliness. You think we could slide out of here if we did a really quiet sneak?"

  "Singe hasn't put a bell on the door yet but I don't think we'd get far. She'd be on our trail. With her nose. Then the Windwalker would swoop down and make us break out in boils, or something. If the Dead Man didn't wake up and freeze our brains in our heads."

  "You're probably right."

  "I am right."

  "He is one hundred percent right," Strafa said from the doorway.

  From behind her, Singe said, "Pular Singe agrees."

  Just to be difficult, I said, "It's times like these when I miss Melondie Kadare the most."

  Singe was a grown-up woman. She proved it by having to have the last word. "It is times like these that I miss the God-damn Parrot. And him we could get back. Could we not, Mr. Dotes?"

  "Might be a chore. He went away with the sky elves last time they were here. You could pray that he'll be obnoxious enough for them to bring him back."

  I did not comment. I wanted no crazy ideas getting stuck in anybody's head.

  82

  I sat down with Strafa in Singe's office, a stack of handkerchiefs close by. Singe was at her desk, hard at it pretending to be disinterested. "I'm betting you found a whole lot of nothing yesterday."

  "You're psychic. I did get to spend time with my daughter and Kip. As did Barate."

  That did not sound like the kids had much fun. "You didn't spank them, did you?"

  "No. I was gentle as could be. Before Barate got there I hammered Kevans about them having to stop being bedroom friends. They have other commitments, now."

  "I wondered if you saw that."

  "I expect even Kyra saw it. I don't know if I got through. She didn't want to get it, probably because it's been them against the world for so long. And Kip may not be involved with Kyra physically, yet."

  "Don't tell me. He respects her too much. And doesn't see the inconsistency."

  "That would be my guess. And, then, there is you and me. Kevans threw that in my face."

  "Ouch. What did Barate say?"

  "He wasn't there yet. Kevans settled down fast after he showed up."

  Singe wrote and pretended to be deaf. I could imagine her thoughts about our personal lives becoming ever more complicated.

  I said, "We aren't in a good position to argue, 'Do as I say!' "

  "True. But there is a difference."

  "About the warehouse."

  "Barren. Not even dust or cobwebs. People and elves around there won't talk about it. Ratpeople will. Palace Guards took everything away. Some stayed around to chase off Director Relway's Specials and General Block's forensic sorcerers. The ratpeople say there's a plan to demolish the building, now."

  I muttered, "That wouldn't be legal. The Lifeguards can't tell people what to do outside the Palace."

  It shouldn't be hard to trace where that much stuff went.

  Strafa had the answer already. The ratfolk had told her.

  "It went into the Knodical underground."

  "What?" The Knodical was a Royal house well separated from the Palace. Over the past few centuries its main function has been to house the Royal mistresses.

  "Hired ratpeople broke stuff up into firewood, cullet, and landfill. Human bits went to a crematorium. The rest went into the Knodical."

  "I see," I said. "Everything but the sense."

  "It doesn't make any, does it? You don't create dozens of witnesses while trying to destroy evidence."

  Not if you can't get rid of the witnesses.

  "So something else was going on."

  "Maybe it was about purification."

  Strafa got up, stepped over, eyed my lap like she was thinking about making herself at home.

  "Not in here, please," Singe said without looking up. "General Block thinks we are brushing up against a conspiracy against the Crown."

  I waited expectantly. Strafa dropped her snuggle scheme and joined the wait.

  "Well?"

  "His goal may be to destroy wealth."

  Strafa and I leaned toward her. "Whose goal?"

  "Gods, think! Rupert! Suppose there is a plot against the Royals but it's well hidden. The patchwork men are part of it. Maybe they are supposed to create panic and make the people in charge look incompetent. But Rupert doesn't have to know who the bad guys are to break their toys. If they want to stay in business, they have to buy more. So they risk exposing themselves making purchases. Which will cost a lot of money."

  All of which sounded weird but might make sense in a context where the Crown came down hard and hogged everything.

  Strafa said, "They don't think they can trust anyone."

  "Say that's right, Singe. So what?"

  "I was speculating. It won't make a lick of difference to you or me."

  "You think?"

  "I think. In fact, I think we should forget the whole thing. I think we should concentrate on business. Morley, I smell you. Come in."

  Dotes entered, not the least chagrined.

  Singe said, "The Grapevine is a class restaurant. Cherish and nurture that. Let the professionals dance with the devils and deal with the rest."

  Odd stuff coming out of that girl's mouth.

  Morley deadpanned, "You're right, Singe. I have The Palms to worry about, too. It made a comeback after the wine snob set moved on."

  Singe's whiskers twitched. She knew Morley was messing with her.

  He said, "And I had openings planned near two other theaters. One would do seafood."

  I played along."You're talking seriously upscale there, brother. Hard to keep that stuff fresh all the way up the river."

  He looked past me. "I was going to ask your lady friend to come in as a partner. She could fly in shrimp and crabs, scallops, sea bass, squid, octopus, prawns, that kind of stuff, fresh every day."

  Strafa chuckled. "Entrepreneurship comes to the magical realm. Let's reduce everything to the commercial and mundane."

  "What about it?" Morley asked.

  "It wouldn't be practical, Mr. Dotes. I can neither
fly that far nor can I lift the masses that would be required."

  "It was a thought. My other idea would be an ethnic foods place."

  That caught Singe's interest. "That would be better. More people can afford pork buns or curries, or something they ran into once while they were doing their five, than could possibly want to put out a fortune so they can brag that they ate a squid."

  "Easier to get the ingredients, too," Morley said.

  "What is a squid, anyway?"

  Dotes said, "That's one for you, Garrett."

  I explained about squid, great and small. "Some are littler than your pinkie. Some are big enough to brawl with whales. I think the whales usually start it."

  "Ratfolk aren't famous for being picky eaters, Garrett, but I would have to be damned hungry to chomp down on something like that."

  "Batter it and fry it in butter, it's not so bad."

  "What are we even talking about this stuff for?" Morley demanded.

  "You brought it up. Going to make Strafa rich, remember?"

  "I'm going crazy here. I have to get out. I need to start doing something."

  "Right behind you, boss. Here's how we'll start. You go run down the hall to the kitchen, turn around and run to the front door, then charge on back in here. All without resting. I'll time you."

  "Will you ladies kindly cover your ears? I'm about to say bad things about Garrett."

  Singe snickered. "That means he knows he'll collapse before he completes the first lap."

  Morley did not disagree. He couldn't. And he wasn't happy about it.

  For the first time in the epoch that we had been friends I was in better shape than him.

  Singe asked, "Are you done, now? Can I get some work done before the outside world butts in again?"

  "You can," I said, more curious than ever about what was taking so much of her time and required the use of so much paper and ink.

  Singe shook her head as though she despaired of seeing us survive to enjoy our tenth birthdays. She commenced to begin to ignore our very existence.

  I grumbled, "Go ahead. Be that way." I thought about sampling some dizzy water, or maybe some premium beer. But what was the point if I had to go it alone? And if I was going to make myself sick all over again?