Angry Lead Skies gf-10

by Glen Cook

  "And he knows that if he does not keep his word to me he will soon wish he was enjoying the torments of one of his human hells instead of basking in my displeasure." Singe staggered under the weight of a tray of hastily assembled sandwiches. She set that on the little table, began to help herself. John Stretch and his ratmen waited only long enough to get a nod from me before they assaulted the pile.

  Singe brought her muzzle within inches of John Stretch's. With her mouth full and crumbs in her whiskers, she demanded, "What the hell do you think you are doing, Pound Humility? I am not a pawn in your game. I will not be a pawn in your game. I will not be a quiet, obedient little ratgirl who lets herself be passed around like a weed pipe." John Stretch and his henchmen glared daggers at me. This was all my fault, this ratgirl getting uppity. "If Garrett will not whip up on you and throw you out of here I will kick your mangy tail up between your hind legs myself. Then I will go to work on your idiot friends."

  John Stretch could not find words for a while. Finally, he asked, "You are not a prisoner here?"

  "What? A prisoner? You are an idiot. I live here. This is where I want to live."

  Gah! I had a feeling that the cunning ratgirl had just jobbed me. A strong hint of Loghyr amusement supported that hypothesis. That damned Singe could think on her feet.

  It is quite true that John Stretch believed Miss Pular was in need of rescuing. In addition to being a clever and competent criminal he appears to be an unabashed romantic and as vulnerable as you might want to hope from that quarter —as was, if you will believe it, Reliance, in his time.

  He was going to get bashed if he tried anything here. "John Stretch, let's you and me step over to my private office for a minute and talk, man to man. Go ahead, grab another sandwich. Before Singe consumes the whole pile."

  I started in while John Stretch was still reeling from his first look at Eleanor. "What'll your guys do if they find out everything they've been through was just to rescue a ratgirl who refuses to be saved? There've been people killed. A bunch have been dragged off to the al-Khar. You know their prospects are going to be dim there."

  "Those will not be much worse than out on the streets. The war is over. There is no more work. Humans have no more motive to treat us with respect. For those imprisoned the misery just will not last as long. The stable disaster was bad luck. Bad timing added to the fact that we were not told just how much material we were expected to remove."

  "Maybe you didn't know the temper of the neighborhood very well, either."

  "Of course we did not. No ratpeople live there. But the promised payoff seemed worth the risk."

  "It always does. Until the pain starts."

  "Possession of Pular Singe is more than a personal matter. All ratkind is watching. Yes, I would have rescued her. Even having heard the words from her own mouth, in Karentine rather than cant, I find it hard to believe that she prefers to live among humans."

  "I'll tell you why. You know the saying, ‘Lower than a ratman's dog'?"

  "I know it. I understand it."

  "I'll tell you what's lower than a ratman's dog. A ratwoman. Think about it."

  He got it. A point in his favor. Most ratmen wouldn't have if you'd drawn them a picture. "That may be another reason why Reliance considers her an important symbol. She is living proof that things can be done in ways other than the ways they have always been done."

  "Reliance has been advised by a higher power. He's renounced his interest in Singe. In return the Syndicate will let him live. But he's just stupid enough to think he's clever enough to sneak around the Outfit, somehow. So I'm going to invest in some rough insurance as soon as we're done here."

  "You mean that?'

  "Singe is my friend, Pound Humility. She's one of the most remarkable people I've ever met, of any species. I want to see her become everything she can. I want to see what she can become if she's given the chance. Despite the customs and politics of ratpeople. Despite the prejudices of everybody else. You understand?"

  "No. But I can accept. If Singe is safe from Reliance."

  "Answer my question. What'll your friends do if they find out what you were doing?"

  "If we do not have possession of Singe? They might be angry enough to kill me."

  "Thought so. You ratfolk aren't subtle people. So maybe you'll want a running start... No. Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. I might have an angle. Hang on here for a second."

  I zipped across the hallway. "Singe, come out here. Yes, bring the sandwich." I shut the door behind her. "Singe, my sweet, whatever happened to that now-you-see-me, now-you-don't fetish we took off Casey out in the country?" I knew we hadn't turned it over to the Guard. Mainly because I'd forgotten all about it.

  Singe's whiskers folded back. Way back.

  The significance of which I intuited instantly. "Oh, no. You didn't. You wicked girl." Not only did she know about Evas, she'd been there to watch. "You figured out how to work the box." Now she was a sorceress, too. And she hadn't said a thing. "Old Bones. Are you listening?"

  I am here.

  "Then show Singe what I want her to do." There were too many untrustworthy ears in the place tonight.

  And now the Dead Man knew about Evas, too. He hadn't before, though three people in the house did know. Evas must have some considerable skill at sealing memory blocks, including those in minds not her own.

  But I did know, Garrett. Because the pixies knew. However, it was none of my business. He had nothing to say about his failure to be a direct witness himself.

  But the pixies, too. Who didn't know?

  Dean. So far.

  Even Fasfir?

  Even Fasfir.

  Grrr! He was right before. This was personal stuff. But when had that ever kept him from butting in with his opinion? And why hadn't the senior elf woman blown up like a bad batch of beer?

  Now wasn't the time to worry. We needed to get on with business. "Keep Singe posted on what I'm saying." I returned to John Stretch. "Here's what we'll do. Singe will go with you, all docile and bashful, for your sake. Because we think it'll be good to have you for a friend. Let all ratkind marvel at your coup. But I want to warn you. Singe is going to vanish. Like a candle being snuffed. I want you to lie low for a few days after that. Things will be going on with Reliance and his like. Pay attention. Try not to repeat their mistakes after your luck turns."

  John Stretch had no idea what I was talking about but he listened.

  He'd know the whole story soon enough.

  "Have another sandwich while Singe gets ready."

  Stretch and his henchrats dug in, eating with an amazing devotion. I told Stretch how he could pick up a little extra pocket change by hunting elves.

  I continued to have this strong desire to meet Lastyr and Noodiss.

  I heard Singe's distinctive step descending the stair. I met her at its foot. I told her, "I want you to be careful. Don't let anybody get close enough to get a good hold on you. Disappear first time they're all looking at something else. Once you figure they can't blame it on John Stretch. Don't leave a trail they can sniff out."

  "You care."

  "Of course I care. You're my friend. I worry about you."

  "Good. It is all right, you know. You and Evas. Or you and Kayne Prose. Or you and her daughter. That sort of thing does not trouble ratfolk like it does your people. I was curious. Evas suspected I was there after a while but by then she did not care."

  If I'd had whiskers they would've been back far enough to tie behind my head. The more I saw of Singe the less well I seemed to know her. Maybe I needed to stop using her as a mirror.

  "Please be careful."

  "I will be careful, Garrett. Because I mean to have my turn. Someday."

  Help!

  67

  "What have we got with these two?" I asked the Dead Man, after I'd seen the ratpeople into the street and after I'd turned the Goddamn Parrot loose to keep track of them.

  Singe needed watching. Reliance couldn't be blame
d if he attacked his enemies and, lo! Pular Singe happened to be tromping around with them. That wouldn't violate the letter of any agreement with higher powers.

  "Other than a big-ass grudge, of course."

  Very little that is new or interesting. Mr. Bic Gonlit did persist in trying to sell Miss Pular after you asked him to behave. For which effort his reward has been to end up here, traded for her.

  Bic winced badly. He was getting the benefit of the Dead Man's wisdom.

  The thoughts must have been particularly strong. Fasfir stirred back there in the darkness, where she sat cross-legged atop a stool. She would've been an elegant sight had there been enough light to reveal her. None of the silver elves seemed to be acquainted with the concept of underwear. Or of modesty, either.

  Officer Casey did hire those ratboys who just left. A great many of them, going well beyond John Stretch's gang. They were supposed to steal everything from Cypres Prose's workshop, without exception, evidently because Casey's superiors had ordered him to see that it was all destroyed.

  I didn't speak aloud, just articulated my questions softly in the back of my throat. "He can do that? He has the sorcery to be able to talk to people in another country?"

  Evidently.

  No wonder the Hill crowd wanted to lay hands on these people. I had trouble imagining the full power of the weapon that would be instantaneous communication. There would be no defeating armies with that capacity.

  Indeed. It is extremely difficult to dig information out of Casey. But it can be done, slowly, if one approaches the task with considerable patience. He does not appear to be as adept at concealing himself as Fasfir is, when worked over time.

  "So maybe she can get him to cooperate. You have any idea where his ship is? It's the only working one left. If we knew where it was the rest of the silver elves would turn into our best friends."

  Quite likely. And I do know where the ship is. Approximately.

  "Approximately? And? Or is it a but?" It would be something.

  Severe sorceries project it. And actually finding it might be difficult. Our visitors do not envision spatial relationships the way you do. They see different colors, hear different sounds, sense things you do not sense at all.

  "Oh, well. Will Casey just do more mischief if we cut him loose?"

  He will try. He is what he is. He shares many of your character traits. He will try to do the job he has agreed to do. He has, just recently, received those orders concerning the eradication of inappropriate knowledge. Whatever that may mean. I suspect that that means there is now an actual physical threat to Cypres Prose, simply because he has so many wonderful ideas. Ideas he received from his elusive friends.

  "Then we'll just have to keep him around here." If he got too rambunctious, I could always send him off for a wondrous vacation in the al-Khar.

  In a conversational sort of voice, I said, "Bic, we're going to give you one more chance to get out of our way with your ass still strapped onto the rest of you. All it'll take is for you to carry a letter from me to Colonel Block at the al-Khar. Because I don't have time to handle it myself. Can you manage that without getting distracted? Knowing that the letter means enough to me that I'll hunt you down and feed you your magic boots, one from each end, if my message doesn't get through within the hour?"

  "Garrett, how come you're so damned determined to make my life miserable?"

  "Maybe you'd better look at the facts, Bic. Who did what to who first? I think your beef is with Casey. This critter right here, dressed up like you. He had you jumping through hoops by pretending to be Kayne Prose in heat. While he was working Kayne, pretending to be you." I'm so clever. Sometimes I can spot a pothole only minutes after I've stumbled into it. "And you and Kayne both ended up screeching because you couldn't get all the way lucky. Old Case couldn't pretend that part."

  Bic growled. Bic didn't want to listen to any damned theories.

  "Look at him, man. He looks like you in a funhouse mirror." A mirror that skinnied him down and tailed him up.

  "Never mind. I'm not going to argue till you're convinced."

  "So just give me your damned letter and let me out of here."

  "And don't forget to remember me in your will. Because I've treated you better than anybody else in town would've done." I found myself lusting after a beer. Or something with a better kick. I hadn't had a drop since our country picnic. But I couldn't take time out now. I had business to attend to, outside the home. "Bic, I'd kiss you good-bye but then you'd just come back for more."

  I shut the door behind the little man at last, leaned against it. "I sincerely hope that that's the last time I ever see Bic Gonlit." The man was like a mosquito. Not a major problem but one persistent annoyance if you didn't kill him.

  "Can he possibly have any other reason to buzz around my ear, now?"

  Suppose the Guard arrest and question him.

  "I didn't think of that." I hadn't, which seemed real dim of me the second the subject came up. "But he will. And he's clever enough not to let that happen. I wish the bird was here to send out to watch him."

  You might send a pixie. They have not yet done much to earn their keep.

  "That seems a little dangerous. For the pixies. Let's just trust Bic to do what he said he'd do. I'm going to clean up and change now. I'm heading up to the Tate compound. To see Willard Tate."

  Old Chuckles failed to seize the opportunity, though I'm sure he noted my unnecessary explanation of why I had to put myself in close proximity to a certain ferocious redhead who couldn't quite seem to decide how big a part of my life she wanted to be.

  68

  "I think we're in business," I told the Dead Man when I returned in the wee hours, a little light-headed. Willard Tate enjoys his brandies and loves to share his pleasures with people he likes. He likes me right now.

  The rest of the Tates are wine people, every one with a favorite vintage. I'm not much on the spoiled grape juice myself. I prefer that Weider barley soup with plenty of hops. But I couldn't be impolite when a taste was offered.

  And it was hard to keep track of how much sipping I did when I was a little distracted, off and on, by Tinnie and her wicked cousin Rose.

  I said, "I'll have a sitdown with all the principals as soon as I arrange for Morley to make space available."

  I would take Morley on a nostalgic voyage into his past, returning The Palms to the days when it was The Joy House and neutral ground for meetings just like the one I planned. He was a good friend. He deserved to get the business.

  Excellent. And though I do begrudge admitting it, I believe you have suffered one of your better ideas this time.

  "Did Singe get back yet?"

  More than an hour ago. All went well. She ate and drank like a lumberjack, then went to bed. That child has an amazing capacity for beer.

  "If she's going to keep sucking it down here, she'd better start showing an amazing capacity for bringing in cash. What about the jungle chicken?"

  Still out there. Watching the al-Khar now. To see how the Guard responds to your message.

  "There's only one response possible. Don't tell me they haven't done anything."

  Nothing dramatic. There have been comings and goings but, not being familiar with the routine around the jail, I do not know if they are unusual. And it would behoove us to recall that we live in a political world. What Colonel Block should do and what he is allowed to do might not be identical —if someone important upHill happens to be an investor in Reliance's undertakings.

  "I know. I know. It's a blackhearted world. I'm going to go put away some beer myself. Then I'm going to sleep till noon."

  A man's fondest dreams and dearest ideals often become storm-tossed wrack upon reefs of reality.

  I wakened to find myself already deeply involved in some extremely heavy petting.

  Evas had decided school was in again. Only... It took a few moments of exploration to determine that tonight's pupil wasn't Evas. Perhaps Fasfir had pulled rank.
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  Fasfir was a dedicated student, give her that. Her focus matched Evas'. It seemed she wanted to practice till she got it right. She didn't go away until people started stirring around the house.

  Good thing I'd announced that I meant to sleep in.

  69

  Dean didn't get the word. Or didn't care. He wakened me. His stern look of disapproval was the one he reserved for my sloth, brought out on occasions when he felt he couldn't state his opinion aloud. He would've employed an entirely different and much uglier scowl had he known about Evas or Fasfir.

  He told me, "You need to get up. There are messages awaiting your attention. And Miss Winger is in the street outside, apprising the world of all your shortcomings."

  "I doubt that. She hasn't had a chance to catalog them. Unless you've signed on as her adviser."

  He plowed ahead. "And the workmen have arrived." He said that last quickly and softly, as though it was a minor, mooshy afterthought of no consequence whatsoever.

  I didn't think about it. Which was the point.

  John Stretch had cut Winger loose. Good for him. Good for her. Maybe not as good for me if she was going to roam the streets accusing me of being in cahoots with those ugly fraternal twins, Mal and Mis Feasance. Although I certainly had trouble imagining why she might do that, considering she slept in their bed herself, most nights.

  "None of that sounds all that pressing to me," I grumbled, knowing he was going to be disgruntled simply because I was in bed when it was light outside already.

  Dean shrugged. His usual, aggressive morning attitude seemed to have abandoned him. He was intrigued by something on the floor. Something he might possibly have last seen hanging off Fasfir. He frowned deeply as he tried to get a mental grasp on the facts.

  I saw the change when he decided he was imagining things.

  I said, "I'll be down in a few minutes."