Whispering Nickel Idols gf-11

by Glen Cook

  Tinnie is the contrariest person I know. Excepting my partner. I expected a big ration. Being contrary, she fooled me for the thousandth time. She didn’t argue at all.

  Maybe she was learning to listen.

  It could happen. Even with a redhead. Sometimes the dice do come up snake eyes.

  I suffered an inspiration as I walked Tinnie to the door, where a peek revealed nothing untoward. As we exchanged sweet sorrows, I suggested, “Go over to the Cardonlos place. There’ll be police types all over. See if you can’t get a couple of them to walk you home.”

  Right. A wiggle, a jiggle, and a giggle and the herd would take off carrying her on their shoulders.

  “That might be a good idea. While I’m at it, why don’t I borrow a couple to babysit Dean?”

  Truth be told, I’d thought of that before I thought of looking out for her. But a certain minimal cunning has infected me lately. “Why didn’t I think of that? I guess you distracted me.”

  “I’ll distract you permanently if I find out you’ve got something going with Belinda Contague that isn’t just business.”

  How do you spank a rat? The tail gets in the way.

  Not Miss Pular’s fault, Garrett. All mine, I am afraid.

  Ah. Just as well, probably. Tinnie wouldn’t listen to anybody else. Especially not some clown named Garrett.

  After a final bout of nuzzling, the professional redhead moved out. And could she move. She passed through the crowd oblivious to the drooling, staring, and stumbling.

  She’s never been conscious of how strikingly attractive she is. If I say anything, she figures that’s just me being me.

  I watched her sail boldly into the Cardonlos harbor, where she disconcerted the crowd. And was on her way again in five minutes with a big, brave, alert policeman on either hand. While another headed my way.

  “Scithe.”

  “Garrett.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Miss Tate suggested that you might be able to get my wife’s name bumped up the waiting list for three-wheelers.”

  “She did, did she? But she put it on me when she has a bigger piece of the pie than I do?”

  “She said to remind you that she isn’t the one who needs the favor.”

  “She would, too. All right. I can get her moved, but not all the way to the top. I don’t have that much juice.”

  This stuff started the minute our three-wheels became the hot novelty everybody had to have, demand dramatically exceeding supply. The waiting list is two thousand names long. My ethically challenged associates pad corporate income by taking bribes to move names up the list. They’ll harvest every loose copper in the kingdom if they can.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” I told Scithe. And wove an elaborate scheme that used Dean for bad-guy bait. “All I’m interested in is having my man get his shopping done safely. If somebody messes with him, the credit, the collar, and any info bonus is all yours. Unless it has to do with me. Then I’m majorly interested, of course.“

  “Of course.”

  We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then I went inside and told Dean he could go marketing now. “And be sure not to forget the new keg.”

  Then back into the Dead Man’s room. “How long before I get enough poison out of me so I can go outside?”

  You have just begun detoxification. And you are not taking your fluids.

  Sullenly, I reported, “Penny Dreadful is watching us again.”

  Let her. It means nothing. Except that she is worried about her kittens. We need to get Bittegurn Brittigarn in here. By whatever means necessary. He was the one who took your roc’s egg. While spinning a tale meant to get you to fling the substitute into the river. Which would eliminate any suspicion.

  “You really think he’s a villain?”

  He may be. Given the chance to interview him, I could deliver a definitive answer. He may just be weak.

  “And what I get for my troubles is sarcasm.”

  42

  Saucerhead dropped in. “They done forgot me already out there, Garrett. Nobody yelled nothing about there goes the guy what tried to rape the little boy the other night. Speaking of which, that nasty little critter is sitting on Elmer Stick’s steps, bold as brass, eyeballing your place. Was I a betting kind of guy, I’d put money on she’s trying to figure out how to bust in here, then make a getaway. The big guy still awake?”

  “Once he wakes up he tends not to go down again till he drives the rest of us buggers. Unless him going to sleep will inconvenience somebody in some really huge way.”

  “I need to see him. See if Dean’s got-”

  “Dean’s out shopping. On account of we’re out of everything, especially tea and beer.”

  “Damn! I need something liquid.”

  The Dead Man let an implied sneer ride along on my shoulder as I headed for the kitchen. Drink some water. Water is your only reliable antidote. There wasn’t an ounce of beer in the house.

  I grumbled and mumbled but did as I was told. He was right.

  I handed Saucerhead his water. Muttering about Bittegurn Brittigarn.

  Excellent. Though you have to grant the priest his due. His sleight of hand was so fine I cannot pinpoint the instant when he made the exchange.

  The more I reflected, the more I wanted to spank BB till he gave up something useful. The roc’s-egg story was a bushel of salamander dust. But the stone must have some bizarre, rare quality. And value.

  He must be lured here somehow. Although unlikely to be part of the puzzle, he may hold the key.

  I considered Saucerhead. Tharpe was babbling a report that was a waste of breath. The Dead Man was sucking info straight from his head.

  Old Bones was impatient.

  Saucerhead had been out getting the skinny on human combustions, the when, where, and who. The latter being the most difficult because the victims hadn’t been anybody anyone missed. Too bad we don’t have connections on the Hill anymore. One of the heavyweights up there might be able to save me tons of work.

  Good work, as always, Mr. Tharpe. Miss Pular will pay you. If you wish further employment, there is a man in the Dream Quarter I want to see. Chances are, however, that he will not come here voluntarily. Explain, Garrett.

  I told Tharpe about Bittegurn Brittigarn.

  “Drinks a bit, eh?”

  “Like a school of fish.”

  “Then he won’t be that hard. He passes out down there. He wakes up here.”

  “He does have a guardian harpy,” I explained.

  “Maybe you could get Morley to go with me.”

  “I doubt that we’ll see Morley for a while. Too much excitement in the underworld. He’ll want to stay out of the way.”

  “Best thing, till it settles. I reckon. Guess I’ll have to sweet-talk her myself.”

  I said nothing. That wasn’t easy. For Saucerhead sweet talk means hitting things with a smaller hammer.

  Singe paid Tharpe and recorded the outlay. Saucerhead cooled his bunions for a while, grumbling about his love life. It was the usual story. He had him a woman who treated him bad.

  “Pity there’s nobody in our circle who’s musical. We could set your life to music and create us a tragical passion play.“

  “It ain’t funny, Garrett.”

  “So you keep telling me. Then you go pick the same kind of woman and make the same dumb mistake all over again.”

  “Yeah. Only I never see it out until it’s too late. I’m on my way. Do I got any expense latitude?”

  Just bring the man here.

  “Hey!” I protested. “That’s my money you’re throwing away.”

  Cost it out in your Keep On Breathing account.

  “This puzzle really grabs you, eh?”

  Your cases always wander the tombs of chaos. This time more than most. Good luck, Mr. Tharpe. Help us create order out of incoherence.

  I said, “It only looks chaotic because there’s a bunch of different things going on at the same time.”


  True. But those things keep banging into and tripping over one another because they have you in common.

  A couple of kittens grew bold enough to enter the Dead Man’s room. Tentatively, though. “That’s kind of scary.”

  It is, indeed.

  43

  I snoozed. My partner kept me breathing. Next thing I knew, Singe was shaking me. “Dean needs help bringing stuff in.”

  I grumbled but dragged the loose parts together and headed for the front door. This was TunFaire. Somebody had to watch the goods while somebody else lugged stuff inside.

  Dean probably planned to deploy his skills as watcher, yielding to me as a journeyman lugger.

  He fooled me. “You stand by the cart and look ferocious. Mr. Sanderin and I will get the kegs installed. Singe, will you help? Or are you just going to stand there looking pretty?”

  Singe scooted down and loaded up.

  I spied Scithe and a pal across the street, headed for the Cardonlos place. Scithe waved.

  Dean had conned a beer delivery guy into going out of his way. A Weider brewery guy. They’re hard to distract, normally. But this Mr. Sanderin had let Dean pile on a bit of everything we needed around the house, including a sack of potatoes and a bushel of apples, which wouldn’t last long once Singe got to stewing.

  Sanderin had a case of nerves, probably because I’m the guy who checks up on Weider brewery employees. “Relax, Sanderin. I didn’t even see you today.”

  When Dean came back after moving the first keg inside, I said, “Your pal Penny is hanging out across the street again.”

  “She’s worried about her kittens. But she’s afraid to come across and find out how they are.”

  “So you told her, eh?”

  “I told her they were all right. They’re getting enough to eat. Nobody is hurting them.”

  “Which would be why she suckered you into taking them aboard in the first place. Right?”

  “She wanted to take advantage of the Dead Man’s reputation. Without having to deal with Himself. But he woke up.”

  “Pity.”

  “No need to be sarcastic, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Maybe not. But it sure feels good. She’s welcome any time. We don’t bite. Well, I might. But I promise not to leave scars.”

  “You need to see the situation from her viewpoint.”

  “Dean, don’t bullshit me. You don’t get to bullshit me. That’s no child. She’s not twelve years old.”

  Dean sighed. “You’re right. She’s just small for her age. And she’s been on her own since she was twelve. She’s sharp as a knife about some things and stone naive about others. And I want it to stay that way.”

  I got the message. “I should feel hurt by your underlying assumptions. How about you tote a barge or two? Lift a bale? Singe is on her third load.”

  Dean got Mr. Sanderin to help him. Once they couldn’t see, I blew Penny Dreadful a kiss.

  Relway’s boys noticed. Maybe they’d give the kid a hard time and she’d come looking for shelter.

  Singe caught me. “You are a black-hearted villain, Garrett.”

  I grinned. “Ain’t life fun?”

  She just said, “Looks like more rain.”

  Yes. It did, actually.

  44

  The rain started in the afternoon. It began gently, but cold. After a round of thunder, it turned to freezing rain. Lucky me, I didn’t have to hazard streets gone foul and treacherous.

  I was in with the Dead Man, halfway napping, feeling restless. Like I never would have if I’d been free to go out. The Dead Man was having fun needling me about my sudden surge of ambition.

  Somebody came to the door.

  Dean clumped on up there. He was tired of playing with kittens and trying to manage an intelligent conversation with Singe. He can’t ignore what she is for long.

  Voices rattled but got lost in the clatter of the rain. Which fell with great enthusiasm, coating everything with ice. Morley came in looking as bedraggled as ever I’ve seen. He had ice on his head and shoulders. I said, “I’m speechless.”

  “If only that were true.”

  “What’s a dog like you doing out on a night like this?”

  “It wasn’t bad when I started. I was two-thirds of the way here when it turned awful. I huddled in a doorway with refugees until it was obvious it wasn’t just weather god whimsy. Here was closer than home, so I came ahead. I fell several times. I may have sprained my wrist.”

  I chuckled, picturing him huddled up with a bunch of street folk. “I suppose I ought to sit on my mirth until you tell us what you’re up to.”

  Morley told the Dead Man, “Your little boy is finally beginning to develop social skills.”

  Enough contusions and abrasions eventually wear the corners off even the roughest blockheads, given time.

  “I can’t argue with that,” I confessed. I started to lever myself out of my chair.

  Never mind. Dean and Singe are coming. They are eager for something to do that does not require them to be good company to one another.

  Dean arrived carrying a chair. Singe was equipped to dry Morley out and wrap him in a comforter. Dean said, “We’ll get something warm inside you as soon as can be.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Morley said. “I just hope those idiots at The Palms don’t burn it down while I’m gone.”

  Morley is a micromanager. He isn’t comfortable giving his people an assignment and letting them run. I said, “You went off to the Cantard with me one time and it was still there when we got back.”

  “That was in the old days. You couldn’t hurt the place when it was the Joy House.”

  He went on, but I listened with only half an ear. I was marveling at the Dead Man. He’d dropped “Miss Pular” in favor of the informal “Singe.” He had accepted her into the family.

  Such as it is. Strange as it is.

  Maybe I ought to recruit a dwarf now.

  I asked, “What’s become of all the dwarfs?”

  Which question garnered bewildered looks.

  I said, “It just hit me. I don’t see dwarfs anymore. Come to think, there aren’t many trolls around anymore, either. Even elves aren’t as common as they used to be.”

  “Members of the Other Races are leaving TunFaire,” Morley said.

  I gulped me some water. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, but I seemed thirstier all the time. “You saying all that human rights racialist stuff is working?”

  “It is. Though not quite the way you’re thinking.”

  “Eh?”

  “You don’t really think a bunch of drunken yahoos with ax handles would intimidate a troll, do you?”

  I had to admit it. That didn’t seem likely. “We’re getting old.”

  “Speak for yourself. What brought that on?”

  “We’re sitting around a fire talking instead of being out in the weather having adventures.”

  “And I’m just as happy. If I’m careful, I’ll last for centuries.”

  “Then how come you’re out when even the mad dogs have crawled under the porch?”

  “I didn’t plan it.”

  “I got that much. Thanks, Singe. Pull up a chair. Listen to the master tell tall tales.”

  “I wish,” Dotes said. “What did you do to Teacher White?”

  “Nothing. Just chatted him up. What you’d expect. Why?”

  “He’s gone insane. He hit Merry Sculdyte. You don’t mess with Merry-unless you catch him with his pants down. Which is what Teacher must have done. Rory will have smoke coming out his ears.”

  “So Teacher did something stupid. Is that a major departure? You got any more details?”

  “No.”

  I noted the Dead Man’s absence from the conversation.

  “What got into Teacher?” I mused rhetorically. “He was pissed off because two heavies he borrowed from Merry croaked Spider Webb and Original Dick on him. But he didn’t seem suicidal when he left.”

  The Dead Man
said nothing. I’m sure he wasn’t feeling guilty, though.

  I admitted, “We did ask him to get a couple people to come by. I didn’t think he’d go start a war.”

  Dotes mistook me. “Your name isn’t in it. Yet.”

  “Not entirely reassuring. But good to know.”

  Dean seldom takes an interest. But he had no work and it was too early for bed. He brought a chair in and nurtured the fire while he listened. He kept quiet.

  I told Morley, “Interesting stuff, but why come out in this?”

  “I was concerned that Rory might think you had something to do with his brother’s misfortune.” Friendship and the showmanship involved in being a manly man lead us through dumb contortions, sometimes.

  “What do you think, Old Bones?”

  Nothing.

  “Come on. I know you’re not asleep.”

  Indeed not. I am monitoring the approach of the grand villain Teacher White and his merry men. Including a man named Merry, whose appellation seems singularly inappropriate.

  “Headed here?”

  Five minutes. Teacher White knows the truth, but Merry Sculdyte will come in blind.

  I felt him get busy telling everybody else what to do.

  He’s a take-charge kind of guy.

  45

  Though Morley was bedraggled, he was his old svelte self compared to Teacher White, his crew, and their prisoners. That whole gaggle was on the far marches of the drowned-rat category. Though Singe would have bristled at the cliche.

  Teacher told me, “Here you go, asshole. Green Bean, Squint, Brett Batt, and Merry Sculdyte. This’ll probably get me killed. And here’s what Kolda told me was your friggin’ antidote when I bought the samsom weed. Now have your monster get this nightmare outta my head.”

  I stood around gaping like a yokel while Teacher’s henchmen piled bodies in the hallway, and halfway wished my monster would get the whispering nightmares out of mine. The black murmurs just wouldn’t go away. Dean sputtered about the water being tracked in. The captives were bound. They were all bloody. Some were still leaking. That did nothing to make Dean happy, either. I couldn’t imagine what White’s bunch must have done to pull this off. I had more difficulty imagining what the Dead Man could’ve done to Teacher to get him so motivated.