Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  “We pretend not to see each other poking around. Communication between foot soldiers will be overlooked.”

  “Last time our paths crossed, Relway was putting together teams of specialists. One was supposed to do forensic sorcery.”

  “The Specials. There are a dozen squads, now, and more to come.”

  “If the forensic sorcery group is up, maybe you can get Relway to check out this place when you visit it.”

  “I’ll suggest it. But the red tops don’t give a shit about Morley.”

  I eyeballed Dotes. What secrets would we prize forth once he could sit up and talk? He looked more relaxed. The drops in the water must have been working.

  “There is one obvious answer to why Morley was missing for ten days.”

  “He was a prisoner.”

  “Fits what we know. And might explain why someone tried to kill him, assuming he escaped.”

  “He showed no signs of having been restrained.”

  I picked up a hand, looked at the wrist. Nothing, of course. “Meaning he wasn’t kept in chains.”

  Belinda stood at the window and watched the street, likely not seeing anything. “I’m considering changing my mind.”

  “About?”

  “Moving Morley to your house.”

  “Really?” Warily.

  “Two birds, I think. He wouldn’t be safer anywhere else. And your partner could find out things we need to know.”

  Belinda is ever-capable of doing the startling thing.

  “One problem. Old Bones is dead to the world right now.”

  “You always say that.”

  “This time it’s true. Actually, it’s almost always true.”

  “And you’re here. The one man able to stir the relict out of his dreams.”

  Marginally true.

  Crush and DeeDee arrived.

  23

  As mistress of an empire spanning the full underbelly of TunFaire, employing more than a thousand people, Belinda had obligations outside Fire and Ice. And she had digging to do. Yet she just sat there staring at Morley, muttering, while seated on a hard folding chair, courtesy of the genius of Kip Prose and the production acumen of the Amalgamated Manufacturing Combine.

  Miss Tea had brought four chairs. They took hardly any room when folded. No doubt they cost a fortune. And cheap knock-offs would be available within weeks if I remained unavailable to fight for Amalgamated’s intellectual property rights.

  There are laws but we have to enforce them ourselves.

  “Belinda?”

  She did not respond.

  “Hey. Girl. Listen up. Investigator working here. Let’s get on with the questions and answers.”

  She turned weary eyes my way.

  “A long time ago, two days and a few hours, you told me some things about Morley’s situation. There have been changes since, all moving toward the less specific and more ambiguous.”

  “That can happen when you talk to witnesses.”

  “True. You had an eyewitness. Now you don’t?”

  “Like I told you, he disappeared. His story didn’t hold water, anyway.”

  “A ringer.”

  “Looking back, I think he was fishing for a trace on Morley. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t hide the fact that he was alive.”

  “Could he have been the villain himself?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sergeant Berry insists that we’re up against a sicko. Could he be one of those who feeds on the action around his crimes? Some even try to get in with the tin whistles so they can tag along during the investigation.”

  “Could be. I’ll bet this one is sick in more than one dimension.”

  “Remember what he looked like?”

  “If I was an artist I could paint his picture.”

  “You have trouble drawing stick figures.”

  “I do.”

  “We could recruit an artist.”

  “I don’t think... Hell. I know my powers of description aren’t good enough.”

  “I was thinking we could have the Dead Man capture the image and pass it to a skilled painter. We have some good portraitists in TunFaire.”

  Belinda glared like she meant to cause spontaneous human combustion through sheer willpower.

  “I thought you’d be too paranoid to do it the easy way.”

  “Paranoid? Me? You’re the loon if...”

  “Suppose he did rummage through your head?”

  She did not answer. The idea terrified her.

  “He’s done it before. You survived. What would he do with anything he found? Besides sit around radiating smug because he’d gotten a peek up your skirt?”

  She had no ready answer. The arrival of a flustered Miss Tea saved her the need. Miss Tea gushed, “You better come down, ma’am. The bloody, frigging Crown Prince his own self is here.”

  Belinda said, “Looks like I’m needed.”

  “Want me to come with? I know the man.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t even ooze between the toes in his circle, let alone run.”

  “Bet that and you’d be wrong. He asked me to be his own personal, private investigator one time.” And I turned him down. I like being my own boss. As I have been since I told him, “Sorry, no.” The job had gone to a clever rascal called Lurking Felhske instead.

  Felhske was sure to meet a bad end. So I told myself while stalking the floors of Amalgamated’s manufactories, hoping to intimidate the rare fool who would steal from his employer at a time when people starved if they lost their job. Amalgamated and Weider Brewing were the only employers creating jobs, these days. And I worked for both.

  Sitting there in the waning hours with the queen of crime and a best friend who couldn’t show me his mocking smile, I had no choice but to look at who and what I had become. Which left me a little embarrassed.

  Belinda told me, “You stick to your job. I’ll charm Rupert.”

  “Try not to hit him. If you do, though, try to pull your punches.”

  “Wiseass. I keep telling you I’m not that girl anymore.”

  Yes, she was. She just hid it better. And she was about to go into the presence of an abrasive and condescending personality.

  For all his high-mindedness and determination to do right for Karenta, Rupert was a dork. He was a hard case about his good works but did not have a ghost of a concept of royal subjects being anything but social and mental inferiors.

  He was a shepherd oath-bound to shield his dumb animals from danger.

  “Good luck then, darling,” I told Belinda.

  24

  Crush came up late, bringing water and a pound of salt. “We had to send out. The cooks wouldn’t give theirs up.” She moved gingerly. “You probably won’t see me or DeeDee in the morning. We need time to recover. Those Guard assholes all want the young stuff. And they’re lousy tippers.”

  What could I say? That you have to deal with assholes whatever your line of work?

  I did try to look sympathetic. “Next time you do come, I could use something else to read.”

  “If I can still walk. Or you could go down and get something.”

  Wonder of wonders, the excitement faded away. However bold they were, the baddies figured out that it wasn’t cost-effective to come after Morley at Fire and Ice.

  Night after night I sat there waiting for him to do something more than drink water and poop. It was like having a newborn, only I wasn’t the one who had to change his diapers.

  I wondered about Singe’s tracking expedition. I wondered what Relway was doing, what the Crown Prince was up to, and what Belinda had found out. And, more than anything, I worried about Tinnie. I hoped she was better posted than I was. The only people I saw were Miss Tea, Crush, and DeeDee. Miss Tea helped some while the other ladies dealt with the upswing in demand for the house’s principal product. Miss Tea did not pitch in with that. Nobody said anything about anything happening outside the house.

  I did get all the dirt on those who made
Fire and Ice special.

  I sat in that room with that man and slipped ever nearer the bounds of explosive lunacy.

  I needed to rediscover patience. There would be a long training period once Morley climbed out of that bed. It might take him a year to get strong enough. Then we would go get whoever hurt him.

  Crush came in. “This is the last book we’ve got. And the most boring.” She passed me a ragged old thing from the last century, well into its senior years. It was tied round with ribbon to keep loose pages from getting away.

  “What is it? Maybe I won’t need to figure out these knots.” Crush had decided I wasn’t that awful after all. I was unthreatening. Avuncular. The kind of uncle who keeps his hands to himself. We could talk about stuff. Bookish stuff, but not for long. She was a popular girl with an extended list of regular clients.

  This book was a history of TunFaire’s early years, up to the establishment of the monarchy. It was a copy of a copy. It was a slow read because the language was old-fashioned.

  I was excited because several chapters covered times when the Dead Man was still alive. He might get no mention but I could peek through a window into the age that shaped him.

  “Crush, how long you figure on staying in the life?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Instantly defensive.

  “A serious one from somebody who thinks your mind is wasted here.”

  “The mind may be. That’s not the business we’re in. The body is getting pounded so hard I mean to walk on my twentieth birthday. I shouldn’t ever have to work again. If my investments are good. I might take DeeDee with me — if she can learn to live without the attention.”

  DeeDee was the star of the house. Normally, she dealt only with select private clients. She was a blonde, none too bright, part elf, extremely sensual when she was so inclined, and, rumor said, thoroughly enjoyed her work. That was unusual in her trade. She craved approval. She got all she needed here. Crush was afraid she would refuse to give it up.

  Crush was brighter than she pretended. In time I realized that all of our conversations came round to what we were working on at Amalgamated.

  Why? Amalgamated is a company but you can’t buy in. Different people have different percentages but every fraction is fixed. If a founding partner wants out he has to offer his points to the other investors first. So far nobody has shown any inclination toward getting out.

  Amalgamated was designed to make us all rich by bringing the fruits of Kip Prose’s genius to market. The big shareholders are Kip and his family, the Tates, and the Weiders of Weider Brewing. I have a few points for having kept Kip alive through hard times, and for having had the wit to put him into the company of rich people content to let him tinker and fiddle and make them far richer than they already were.

  Subjectively, I spent half a lifetime at Fire and Ice. On the calendar it was four days. My best pal kept on sleeping, waking up for water ever less frequently. I wondered if his medication didn’t do more than just manage pain. Keeping Morley in Nod seemed like a good idea, medically. It was less optimal for those of us who are naturally impatient.

  I kept thinking that if that was me I would have been up and running already — if somebody didn’t fix me so I couldn’t.

  Belinda’s doing. Had to be. She thought it was more important for Morley to heal than it was for us to get out and mix it up with villains.

  I was thinking stupid and knew it. And was afraid that just sitting watch over Morley would end up with me hating him.

  Miss Tea invited herself in occasionally. She did not become less antagonistic. Finally, though, she turned up in a less gloomy mood. “The Capa says it’s time to move him. After his supper and evening cleaning. If you need to make special preparations, tell me now.”

  I mentioned a lamb-and-rice dish that I liked, chattered about how I would miss the place that had been home for so long.

  “You’ve been here less than a week.”

  “It feels like so much longer.”

  “It did to us. But you’re just being a wiseass. I have the Capa’s promise that I don’t have to put up with any crap.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Exactly. Get your stuff ready. I especially want that arsenal under the bed gone before somebody takes legal notice. The books stay home.”

  “I’ll see if I can’t send up a few that are more interesting.”

  “Now you’re being a dick.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s being cooped up in here.”

  “Now you’re going to blame your personality defects on us, too?”

  Ouch! “Good thing we still love each other.”

  Ghost of a smile. “Will where you’re going be any better?”

  I restrained myself. Maybe not. My responsibilities wouldn’t change. “I don’t know. Come by some time and see.”

  25

  As promised, Belinda turned up with several burly henchmen after supper. DeeDee and Crush got Morley back into the rags he was wearing when he showed up. Most of the blood had been scrubbed out. The holes hadn’t been mended. Mixed feelings floated around. DeeDee and Crush were sad to see Morley go, though neither ever exchanged a word with him. Despite all the attitude, Miss Tea was unhappy, too. She turned out the off-duty staff to move Morley and my stuff.

  “A hearse?” I asked Belinda when I got down to the street. “You’re taking him away in a hearse?” Where did she even find one? There can’t be ten in the whole city.

  “Yes. Put on the hat and coat that Joel has for you. Then climb up and take the post position.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Get up on the seat beside the driver. Try to look like a professional.”

  “A professional what?”

  “That’s always the question with you, isn’t it? Move! We don’t have time for games.”

  Four men emerged from the back door of the hook shop. They behaved exactly like men sneaking a corpse out of a place where it shouldn’t be found. I considered leaving Miss Tea with a buss on the cheek and Crush with a promise to visit soon, decided to be more mature, walked away from what would have been signature behavior a few years back. My best pal was on that litter, under that black woolen blanket, and several people, including me, were counting on me to get him where he needed to go with no damage added.

  I hustled over for a costume fitting.

  Joel was a slim hard case with zombie eyes. He put me into a long black coat and a semierect black hat, like a soft cone, nearly a foot tall. With the hat I acquired the long, twisted sideburn curls of the morticians’ guild. The hat had wig elements built in. Joel said, “Quit grab-assing and get up on the post. And, yes, the hat is real. Move!”

  Maybe that was why you never recognize a mortician when he isn’t on duty. He wears a disguise at work.

  The coat cramped my shoulders. It hung to my ankles. The climb to the seat was difficult. The goofy damned hat slipped down into my eyes.

  I settled to brood and nurture my resentment of the man who had overturned my life by getting himself all stabbed up. If the damned fool could’ve skipped that I’d have been snuggling with my favorite redhead.

  The hearse was not a tall wagon, though the seats were high. The driver, seated to my left, asked, “You heeled, Slick?”

  “Lightly.” I showed him my head knocker. “The character with the ratty ginger hair put my heavy equipment in with the client.”

  The man chuckled. He was an old, long drink of water who looked like this might be his true calling. “Client. I like that. Nice stick, too. Good enough for tonight. Won’t no resurrection men mess with this mob.”

  Two mounted men led, followed by Belinda’s coach with thugs all over it. Then came another armed rider, the hearse with the mighty Garrett in the post and an armed thug on a running board to either side. One of those was my new pal, Joel. Behind the hearse were two more horsemen.

  “What might resurrection men be?”

  “Body snatchers. It’s a proble
m lately. Somebody is buying youngish corpses that’re in good shape. Where you been, Ace? Out of town?”

  “So to speak. Stealing corpses, eh?” This was the first I’d heard about that. But there had been no reason for the subject to come up while I was babysitting. And less so before that. Nobody had a reason to keep me posted. My business was to protect Amalgamated from the larceny of its workers and the predations of intellectual pirates. Ditto for the Weider breweries.

  The hearse jerked. I slammed against the back of my seat. The driver said, “You got to pay attention, Stretch. You’re supposed to be looking out for me and him inside. Him being dead and all, he probably won’t come back on you if you nod off and the boogie boys get him. But your old pal Cap’n Roger, here, he’s gonna come back hard. Especially if’n he gets kilt.”

  “I have problems paying attention.” Problems I had not had in ante-Tinnie times. “You notice me getting glassy-eyed, give me an elbow in the ribs. I’m hell on wheels when I am paying attention.”

  “I sincerely hope I don’t get to see you in action, Bud.”

  I guessed Roger to be about sixty. That meant he had done a turn in the Cantard and had made it home. Which meant he remembered guys who couldn’t focus. All of us who made it back remember guys who couldn’t focus. Their bones decorate the desert down there.

  The convoy headed south, swung onto Grand, then took that down to my home neighborhood. The streets weren’t busy. We didn’t attract an unusual amount of attention. I strove valiantly to stay alert, for the sake of my best pal and my new friend Cap’n Roger. It took about half an hour for Roger to decide I was ready for an elbow.

  I could not turn off my mind. Calm just would not come.

  Cap’n Roger’s elbow wakened me as the parade neared my place in Macunado Street. I settled into reality with the suspicion that I’d had an epiphany that I could not now recall because I was too dumb to pay attention at the moment of revelation.

  Since I mostly worried about how Tinnie and I were getting along, I guessed that I must have lost a surefire means of dealing.

  The hearse stopped even with the steps to my stoop. As I dismounted I noted the neighbors coming out. The door opened. Singe and Dean came outside. Then I felt the reassuring presence of the Dead Man, awake and deeply interested.