Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  “That might be cumbersome, socially, if you’re making introductions, especially in your circles. But it won’t be a problem much longer.”

  “Huh?” Caution: Giant Intellect at Work.

  The Windwalker’s shy little girl voice piped, “My name is Strafa. Strafa Algarda.” She moved very close as she came for tea of her own. She bumped me gently, at the hip. I was pretty sure she’d overheard everything.

  Dean grinned almost lecherously. He’d never done that with Tinnie. He’d always been frowns and disapproval when he thought we might be playing grown-ups.

  I was in it now, definitely and deeply, riding it without reins or a saddle, at a gallop, straight into one of those narrow places every man hates to go: a time of decision.

  How could I get out of this without somebody getting mangled?

  The Dead Man was amused in the extreme. He didn’t have the imagination I did. He couldn’t picture a future where the Tate clan hunted me down and staked me out on a termite mound. Or where one of the top dozen operators in a city renown for black-hearted and cruel sorcerers had a bone to pick with a man who done her wrong.

  Do not become hysterical.

  And I couldn’t respond because we were still pretending that he couldn’t read the Wind... Strafa’s mind.

  I wished I could get in there and look around myself. I had questions. Chuckles hadn’t given me much, yet. Too, I wanted to know what he learned from that thing in the street. He should have given me that a long time ago, unless it was too scary for somebody as young as me. And, as long as I was feeling left out, how about what he had gotten out of my best pal?

  On cue, sourpuss Singe stuck her head into the kitchen. “You said ten minutes an hour ago, Garrett. He’s fading now.”

  “I’ve told you a million times not to exaggerate. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour.”

  “The point remains. You are ignoring your most important task while you indulge in flirtation.”

  What was this? My cheeks got hot!

  I headed for the cold well, grabbed a pitcher.

  Singe took it away. “I’ll handle that. You go see Morley.”

  54

  They had him propped up in a chair. He wore clean clothes. Belinda must have had those brought by. He was fading when I arrived, but he brightened some. “They’re promising me a real bath soon.”

  “Be like heaven on earth.”

  Strafa had followed me. Morley’s eyebrows rose. The hunter light sparked in his eyes. He tried on his girl-killer smile, then looked at me, curious. His face collapsed into a mild frown.

  “Morley, this is Strafa. She’s helping find out what happened to you. Strafa, this is Morley Dotes, purported restaurateur and genuine crime victim.”

  Would he recognize her?

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He had made that fast a read.

  More politely than seemed plausible considering her feelings, Singe eased the Windwalker aside so she could deliver my pitcher. Then she herded Strafa somewhere else.

  Dotes asked, “Something special there?”

  “Might be.”

  “Uhm.” He asked none of the questions my conscience primed me to expect. “Interesting.”

  “Frightening. I’m getting lost. This shouldn’t happen to me. I’m a big boy, I’m a good boy, and I’ve been in the same place a long time. The place I’ve always ended back at since way back when we went to the Cantard to fight vampires. But now this. And I don’t know her that well.”

  “It happens, Garrett. How well did you know Maya? Or Eleanor? Eleanor wasn’t even alive. And what about Belinda?”

  “Belinda was the other way around. I was mostly trying to keep from getting my throat cut.”

  He didn’t call me on that, probably because he didn’t want to talk about Belinda. “Not to worry. You being you, you’ll mess it up out of some compulsion to do what you think is the right thing. You’ll end up back where you started even if it isn’t what you want.”

  Not what I needed to hear. “Let’s talk about you.”

  “My favorite topic, but why? Hasn’t the Dead Man drained me dry?”

  “No. He says you’ve got a brain like a rock.”

  “What can I say? When he’s right, he’s right. If I had the brains of two rocks I wouldn’t be in this condition.”

  “You starting to remember things?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Truly. It’s like whole weeks have been cut out of my memory. I have a vague recollection of waking up in a bed somewhere with you and Bell hovering. Or was that...? Now that’s getting murky.”

  “That could’ve been four different women. Belinda had you hidden upstairs at a classy hook shop.”

  “Yeah? That’s murk. Before that, though, it’s all a dark place. Not just vague but a big black obsidian chunk of nothing. Then murk before that. I know I was walking. Not sneaking but being unobtrusive. I don’t think I was following anybody. I don’t know where I was coming from. Something caught me from behind.”

  Morley, taken by surprise? Wow.

  He jumped as though pricked. His eyes lost focus. He started speaking fluent incoherent.

  Old Bones was feeling benevolent. He filled my head with Morley’s recollections of what had set him off.

  There was a woman, vague, becoming clearer as she approached. She was tall and slim and wore black leather. She moved with natural sensual arrogance. Her hair was big and almost old lady gray. She was far from old, though. She might be just starting her twenties. Her mouth was small but her lips puffed a bit. They were an intense red.

  Those lips held the only stark color in the picture.

  The vision faded. Morley’s mind slipped into the murk, then plunged into the obsidian oblivion.

  I collected myself. “I didn’t recognize her.”

  Old Bones fed the vision back to Morley, who said, “Me neither. And I wouldn’t forget those lips.”

  The one task I gave Jon Salvation, because he was desperate to be included, was to recruit an artist unafraid to work with me. Once we develop portraits we may be able to make identifications.

  “Portraits? Plural?”

  General Block has generously agreed to lend us Jimmy Two Steps.

  Singe proved she was being included by calling from her office, “Why hire an artist? Let Penny do it. She has the talent and the materials. She lives close by and she could get started right now.”

  She is also insanely timid around Garrett.

  “I will promise her to defend whatever virtue she pretends to have left.”

  Oh, catty!

  Singe had a problem with Penny Dreadful, too? This was news to me.

  Of course, after being away so long, everything was news to me.

  “Do both,” I suggested. “At least once. We’ll see if two different artists see the same thing. And, while we’re borrowing the King’s property, why not take a look at Butch and his brother?”

  I tendered that request. It came too late. The younger man was released because he cooperated fully. The other received a minimal sentence to the aqueduct project.

  Then, Oho! This could be interesting. Singe, please stand by at the door.

  55

  My heart jumped into my throat. There was only one person this could be. Despite all my thought, I wasn’t ready.

  So while I headed into panic mode, the Windwalker contributed by coming down to see what was going on.

  The amusement exuded by the Dead Man was overwhelming.

  Singe opened the door. Kolda came in. “Hey, Garrett, I think I found remedies for both your friends.”

  “Good on you, Brother Kolda. Tell me about it.” My relief was so huge I was about to pee my pants.

  More amusement.

  Kolda produced a half dozen small bottles. “These brown ones are for your poisoned friend. The one with the green stopper will help his memory. The one with the red stopper will work on the poison. The one with the clear stopper will
make him piss. A lot. He’ll want a lot of water. Let him drink as much as he wants. It’ll flush his body out. The blue bottles are for your sick friend. I wrote the instructions out so you don’t have to remember them.”

  Kolda was pleased with himself. I would have to give him some strokes. He had done good.

  Singe was still standing by the door. I said, “You want to take these instructions? I’ll lose them just going down the hall.”

  “Put the paper on my desk. I’m busy.” She began sliding bolts back.

  I panicked all over again. And with no more need. When I shambled back from putting the medicines and instructions on Singe’s desk, with the latter carefully weighted down by the former, I found Kolda pressed back against the far wall of the hall, completely rattled. DeeDee, Crush, and Miss Tea filled the hall with bounce, beauty, and chatter. DeeDee was in a blood sport mood. She had Kolda picked for the weakest game on the plain and thought he needed tormenting.

  I blurted, “What are you three doing here?” Ever the boy with the golden tongue. “I’m glad I made a good impression, but...”

  Miss Tea moved into my personal space. I cringed back into Singe’s office. She chucked me under the chin. “We have the evening off. We couldn’t stay away.”

  Crush came in close, too, but she was just looking past me.

  Strafa Algarda descended the stair again, drawn by the hubbub. She began to glower. Likewise, Singe, from the doorway end of the hallway. I said, “Morley is in the room on the left, right there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Crush asked, “This is where you live? You must do pretty good.”

  “I was lucky on a couple of jobs. And I work with people who are the best at what they do.”

  Singe kept scowling. She was seriously irked about something.

  Crush looked at her, Kolda now getting his breath and color back, and the Windwalker. She saw something I didn’t. She said, “I see books. Can I look?”

  Singe gave a grudging nod. She may have gotten advice from the Dead Man.

  “Sure. Come on. They aren’t mine, though, so don’t touch.”

  Some kind of joyful reunion commenced in the other room. Morley Dotes and Miss Tea were old friends after all.

  Crush asked, “Are they the witch’s books?”

  “The witch?”

  “The woman at the end of the hall. It’s obvious.”

  “She might resent being called a witch. She’s a lot more. Height of the Hill. A Windwalker. No. The books are Singe’s. The one who let you in.”

  “Really?” Amazed.

  “Truly. She is the smartest person I know, human or rat. I couldn’t survive without her.” No need to mention the Dead Man.

  He had to be in heaven, slithering through the secrets buried in all these fresh minds. He’d never use what he found, likely, but he would feel good knowing.

  He had to be in heaven, complete with this whole mess. He was learning a lot of the secrets of this dark old city. Or so it must seem after a long dry spell.

  Be careful, Garrett. That crumpet will fall in love with you for Singe’s books. More amusement.

  I asked Crush, “Didn’t you want to see Morley?”

  “Not so much. DeeDee is enough competition for Mike.”

  I didn’t follow. I heard the front door open and close. Now what? I went to look. Crush crowded up to peek past me.

  Penny Dreadful had arrived. She was loaded with artist’s stuff. She froze when she saw me looking. I couldn’t resist. I winked. Her gaze shifted to Crush, who wasn’t much older than she. She scowled. Crush glared. Penny headed for the door to the Dead Man’s room. Kolda opened it. I asked Crush, “Do you know Penny?”

  “Only by type.”

  “Kid has lived a rough life.” I sketched it.

  Crush was not impressed. She had some background of her own.

  “Singe, how did Penny know we needed her help?”

  “I have skills, partner. I sent a message.” She gave Crush a look that should have caused bone bruises.

  She was not feeling charitable toward any female today.

  The Dead Man finally clued me to something he should have mentioned as soon as I came into range. It is her estrus time and today is its peak. She has taken drugs to suppress the effects. Those are not entirely efficacious where the psychological indications are concerned. I do enjoy these newcomers. I had quite forgotten how colorful some of your acquaintances can be.

  Crush said, “She was jealous when she saw me.”

  “What?” The Windwalker? Singe? Penny?

  That roused the logic beast and got it shambling. It fed on things that had been happening the past few days.

  Singe no longer consciously entertained the adolescent fantasies she had suffered when first we teamed up but I was top rat around here. She might have formed a deep down attachment that got the salt in the raw wound treatment when she was in heat.

  Time to be careful.

  She was taking some potent drugs. The rat thugs who were in and out never responded to her. Dollar Dan had been nursing a yearning for Singe since John Stretch took over as number-one rat gangster. Dan would be watching for an opportunity.

  All right. Singe didn’t like anyone female right now because they were competition for the boss rat’s attention. Tinnie must be way up on her transitory list. But Tinnie wasn’t here. Strafa Algarda was. And Crush, who was just a kid.

  Crush slipped past, stepped down the hall, glanced back, gave me an unwarranted “gotcha!” look that I would have expected from DeeDee first.

  That had to be for her own benefit. She thought she had proven that I could be manipulated even when I was trying to be a good guy.

  Singe smoldered.

  How long would this last? Would this be her worst day? I hoped.

  I then realized that she had not left the door.

  Oh, God and all His Saints defend me! All I needed was for the redhead to walk into this menagerie. The only female in the place Tinnie would trust might be Penny. And that would change the instant she got a look at how Penny had grown.

  Someone knocked. Singe started undoing bolts.

  56

  Kolda sort of half whimpered. “You don’t got any more need for me, Garrett, I better get on out of here.” Body language screamed that he was a liar. What he really wanted was to dive into the visiting mob. Team Fire and Ice could have their way with him till the stretcher bearers carried him away. “Trudi don’t like it if she has to wait up.”

  Who was Trudi?

  Fiancée.

  That old devil time playing tricks again. Did Kolda have a wife back when he was trying to poison me? I thought so but couldn’t remember for sure. Well, he didn’t have one now. The woman he did have scared him, though not as much as the fantasies tormenting him here.

  “If you got to go, you got to go. You wouldn’t want to miss supper on account of these beasts. Are you having trouble, Singe?”

  “That idiot out there keeps pushing on the door. This bolt won’t slide if there’s pressure. I had it made that way. Ah. I’ve got it now.” She let the door swing.

  In came Jon Salvation and a companion recently escaped from a homeless shelter. The latter lugged gear similar to what Penny had dragged in. His was seedier. He was seedier, by an order of magnitude. He needed to discover soap and water. He needed to steal some clean clothes. And he maybe ought to forego the next dozen bottles of ardent spirits.

  His hair was a wild, gray tangle. I shuddered to think what vile livestock he was importing into my house. He was shorter than Salvation and a whole lot dumpier. He was the epicenter of a fierce medley of smells.

  Jon Salvation said, “This is the Bird, Garrett. Bird, this is the guy who needs your help.” He turned. “Singe, can you show the Bird where to set up?” He nudged me a few steps toward the kitchen, whispering, “You have any hard liquor? The Bird has a problem inside his head. He needs the stuff to keep the voices quiet.”

  I opened my mouth with
intent to remind the Remora what he was known to be full of. I received a gentle cautionary brush from the Dead Man. “Voices? Really?”

  “You need to see it to believe it. This guy is a genius. When he has just the right amount of firewater in him, so the voices are softer, he paints like an angel.”

  I believed Salvation. I had run into something like that before.

  I asked Salvation, “You have any idea what Bird’s real feelings about his madness are?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does he want the voices to go away?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I would. Yes. But would you? If that meant that you wouldn’t have the magic to be a playwright anymore?”

  “You’re thinking that the Dead Man might be able to shut the mental doors on his demons.”

  “Might. Come down here one more step.” I looked into the room where Morley was taking the attentions of several beautiful women as his birthright. “Crush. Got a minute?”

  Young Hellbore turned away from her mother and Madam Mike. She showed me a teen’s practiced expression combining boredom, embarrassment, and disgust. “What?” Her expression did not improve when she glanced at my companion.

  “I told you that if I got the chance I’d introduce you to Jon Salvation. This is him.” I told the Remora, “Crush likes your plays.”

  The kid got mad. Of course. But she didn’t make a scene.

  I couldn’t see the big deal. This here was Pilsuds Vilchik, the Remora, a weasel who tagged along behind a friend of mine. He whined a lot, got underfoot, and had a twist in his brain that left him unable to see what Winger really was.

  I considered Winger a friend but had no illusions about her character.

  The idea that this noxious squirt could become a major celebrity was entirely ridiculous.

  Singe came out of the Dead Man’s room. The Bird delivered. He should have no problem with Old Bones. He was used to having voices inside his head. She looked at me, Salvation, Crush, leapt to some evil conclusion. Shaking her head, she told me, “I’m going to have a cup of tea before any more complications come up. Guard my office.”