Gilded Latten Bones (18 page)

Old Bones didn’t mind not keeping
me
posted, but Singe had to know stuff because she managed operations and handled the money.

She commiserated over my problems with the redhead. “Pack up your pride and go talk to her. Morley will be safe.”

I hemmed and hawed but I’m no good at stalling while trying to find plausible excuses for avoiding something that could turn out ugly.

“Good gods, Garrett! What are you? Thirteen and an only child? Go talk to her. What’s the worst she can do?”

I told her what the worst was.

“After all the time, trouble, training, and emotion she has invested in you?”

“Yes. After all that. She’s turned into a pretty selfish girl.”

“How did that happen? Who gave her the idea that whatever Tinnie wants, Tinnie deserves and gets it? Garrett, you are a first-class dum-dum. Tinnie has been in your life since my mother was a pup. She came and went a few times but she was always back after whoever was distracting you moved on.”

That was harsh but essentially factual. Both ways. Tinnie had had some gentlemen suitors. I had had... Maya, Eleanor, even Belinda.

I scowled, hoping Tinnie’s man friends had not gotten as close as I had to some of those ladies. Maya had been determined to marry me. She never managed to get me to hold still long enough. She had gone on to do much better. And I had gone gaga for Eleanor despite her having been murdered long before I ever met her. Her ghost and her memory were an important part of my life for a long time.

Singe told me, “You need to leave the yesteryear baggage behind. Get back to Tinnie being who she was when she was your special best friend who happened to be a girl.”

I wondered if she was being coached from across the hall.

“Good stuff, Singe. Stuff worth thinking about.”

She preened.

“What do you think of the Windwalker?”

“Who?”

“The Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light.”

“The sorceress who tagged along when I backtracked to the warehouse where all the horror stuff was? The woman who was in your room last night?”

“Her.”

“What about her?” She didn’t have much of a ruff but it was up.

“You remember her from the thing with the ghosts and giant bugs?”

Several seconds of silence. “All right. That was the same woman?”

“Singe.”

“What about her?”

“Singe, I’m asking your opinion of that woman based upon your exposure, interaction, and magical nose.”

“I don’t have an opinion. How could I? My personal exposure hasn’t been enough to develop one. Probably less than an hour over both our lifetimes. Anything I said would be speculative. So. Why is my opinion important?”

That had a high bull-poop content. I didn’t challenge it. “Because she’s important to me. Because you’re important to me. I’m extremely attracted to her, physically and intellectually. And she says she’s going to marry me.”

The Windwalker did say that, didn’t she? Or did I dream it? No matter. It was out of the bag now.

Singe said nothing for several minutes, though she did spout the occasional interrogative sentence as she discussed this revolting development with our deceased friend.

Singe was, apparently, astonished by the Dead Man’s positive attitude toward the Windwalker and his lessened enthusiasm toward Tinnie.

I must say that, though forewarned, I didn’t understand him, either. And he offered no explanation.

I needed to think about that. The mix for consideration should include not just what I knew about Tinnie and the Windwalker — whose given name I did not yet know — but, also, what the Dead Man knew and never shared.

I should get Tinnie to visit. Old Bones hadn’t burgled her head in ages.

I asked the air, “Do I need to be scared?”

I got no answer. Of course.

Then I got distracted by supper and Kolda’s return. Then it was time to supervise the ratwomen who came to clean Morley. They were amazed and amused by a gallant salute that reared up while they changed his diaper.

He was on his way back for sure.

The caretakers gave way to a brace of armed ratmen. Singe’s brother came with them. We settled in her office. We drank some beer. John Stretch had become an interesting person in his own right. I wondered how many more geniuses his mother had produced.

I wasted a lot of time wondering about nonproductive stuff.

48

Confusion. A lot of beer went down during the discussions with Singe and John Stretch. Then came bed, me thinking this was like the good old days. All that commotion about relationships was silly-ass fuss with no enduring real-world significance.

Singe had bullied me into reaffirming my commitment to Tinnie. She wasn’t hot to have Furious Tide of Light as her stepmom.

So the woman had a few quirks. Didn’t we all? The problem she had was breaking loose from her father.

As I noted, the Algardas might be weird and have dark secrets but they were still caring, kind people where others were concerned.

Such was my tangle of thought as I drifted off, not nearly as reconciled to the redhead as Singe hoped. I left the window ajar. I told myself that was because I needed the night air to cool my room.

More than air got in. And had done nothing to cool anything down.

Furious Tide of Light played more fair than most women. She knew she could turn me into a sock puppet with some eye-batting, heavy breathing, and a dash of suggestive dialog. Women understand these things by the time they’re ten. Some just don’t learn to trust their instincts.

A desirable woman who catches a man in bed in the middle of the night won’t need to work hard to have her way.

The Windwalker was gentle, thoughtful, and careful not to unfairly exploit her advantage. She could have made the situation more chaste only by standing off and touching me with a ten-foot pole. Once I woke up all the way, though, I took over. The natural Garrett charm kicked in, made sure she found me completely unappetizing.

I had done honors to a lot of fine beer earlier. It now yearned to be free. My choices were to be embarrassed a little or embarrassed a lot.

I chose the chamber pot over wetting myself. Not behavior accepted in the drawing rooms of the upper classes but not utterly gauche and unacceptable in mine. Elimination processes are natural and necessary. And I was polite enough to step into a corner and face away.

Never mind. The Windwalker woke me up. I did what I had to do. Any romantic notions she brought along got put on hold. Still, she was a resilient fey. She might have bounced back had it not been for the interruption.

I was looking at her, determined to ask why she was here but getting entangled in the fantasy — wondering if I shouldn’t have taken a bath — when she let out a baby squeal and slammed a fist down hard on the windowsill.

She had to leap to do it, and when I say hard I mean she shook the house. The wood in the window frame groaned.

A soft curse from the street followed.
And
I felt nothing to indicate that the Dead Man knew something dangerous had begun.

The Windwalker had not brought the lighting up brighter tonight. Yet. Only a candle burned, its wan light barely potent enough to reveal a blindly groping arm of flesh like the one that had tried getting in through the window at Fire and Ice.

I joined the Windwalker in an effort to punish that. Unhappy noises came from outside. I hurled raging thoughts the Dead Man’s way. I slammed the window shut.

Furious Tide of Light used the candle to light my lamps, then applied the business end to the probe still oozing in through the crack of the window.

That caused some excitement.

Sudden as an explosion, an awful, despairing wail came from the street. The arm of flesh went crazy as a snake with a broken back. My friend kept right on attacking it. Something on the other end decided that it did not need to explore my bedroom after all.

Furious Tide of Light leaped into the air, slammed down hard on the double-hung.

A chunk of whatever two feet long and as thick as her wrist separated from what lay outside.

That was most remarkably unusual! Definitely a woman with potential.

I had nothing to say. I fell down on the side of my bed. The Windwalker landed in my lap. Our hearts were pounding. Our attention was on the severed tentacle. I croaked, “They found Morley again.”

A shriek of rage and pain ripped the night outside. It did not stop. It headed away, uphill on Macunado, at no great speed.

The Windwalker did not get up to take a look. I did not have the moral fiber to set her back on her feet.

The Dead Man made contact but his thoughts had no form. I got the impression that were he a living being he would be puking up his guts.

His distress took me away from my dilemma, some, though the Windwalker kind of leaned back and made herself comfortable.

Old Bones needed time to pull himself together. Once he did I was in contact with a different being. He had dipped a toe into a darkness even he could not have imagined just a few days ago.

He was centuries older than me. That something contemporary would appear terrible to him scared the pants off me. Did I dare be pantsless in the presence of Furious Tide of Light?

If they are not on now, Garrett, get them on. You have to make a census of the people who were supposed to be watching.

I do? “What?”

Your trousers. You are not actually wearing them. Remove the Windwalker from your lap and put on your trousers. I want you both out in the street. Her I want aloft and following the thing that fled up Macunado. It was not traveling at any great speed. Let her catch up. If she can control it, have her bring it back.

I had questions. This was not the time. This was the time to move fast. Response times are crucial.

Singe will come collect the specimen.

“She’d better hurry. The one up north turned to stink and goo.”

The Windwalker, prized loose, looked at me oddly.

I told her, “You know about my partner. He’s why you’re wearing the Kevans mesh. So he can’t get inside your head. He wants me to ask you to do some stuff.” I relayed the Dead Man’s instructions quickly.

She understood immediately.

“I’d better get going. I don’t think there’s much chance I can control that thing. I don’t have those skills. Get that window open.”

I’d just finished when Singe bulled in, armed with a bucket and sour attitude. She turned sourer still as she watched the Windwalker float away. Which I wasn’t watching because I had turned to face her.

As I pointed out the piece of monster flesh, she demanded, “Why isn’t that woman wearing any underwear?”

“Damn! I missed that completely.”

Lucky for Singe’s peace of mind, I’d had my pants on when she charged in.

49

I went out the front door like people who can’t fly. Singe had armed me up, though my lead-weighted head knocker was the only tool of mayhem obvious. I was feeling less confident than I ought, being fully aware that I hadn’t done this stuff for a long time. My skills and instincts had atrophied.

The Dead Man filled my head with an itinerary. And,
There will be much to tell once I have had time to reflect. Those things should not have been able to get close. They should not have been able to brush me aside so easily, though it may be a blessing that they did. I cannot imagine the mind of a master vampire being more filled with filth.

Five men representing as many interests had been posted to keep an eye on my place. No doubt they knew about one another. They might have pooled resources. Old Bones wanted a roll call. Men doing similar work had come to grief up by Fire and Ice.

This was nothing I wanted to do. Which might suggest that I
was
past the point where I should stop doing what Tinnie wanted me to stop doing.

If I couldn’t handle the ugliness anymore I should get busy being the neutered door guard I’d seen myself as before this came rumbling down.

Among the Civil Guard, Belinda’s friends, a guy from Morley’s crew and one from the Children of the Light, I found six of the five people Old Bones claimed were watching. John Stretch’s guys nabbed the extra.

First was a red top right across the street. He was uninjured but his mind had gone blank. Which was the story over and over. The last man, a tin whistle posted on the steps to Mrs. Cardonlos’ house, was awake but deeply confused.

I found one dead man, a door up the street from my place. Nobody knew him. Probably an unlucky guy who thought he’d found a nice place to spend a homeless night.

I approached the Cardonlos homestead, wakened the widow. She pretended that I was disturbing her rest with my assault on her door. She had not aged well and had not handled that well. She had become a cosmetics huckster’s dream, a younger man’s nightmare, and an object of derision for attractive younger women.

I’ve seen so many like her that I suspected a disease strikes women of a certain age. Badly colored hair. Makeup laid on with a trowel. Perfume dense as a swamp’s miasma. And a ready, pathetic simper for any man young enough to remember what it’s like to stand upright.

She did not simper at me. She recognized me. “It’s started, hasn’t it?”

“Excuse me? What’s started?”

“The death of tranquility.” She freighted that with omen, like she was proclaiming the twilight of the gods. “There hasn’t been any trouble here since you followed your trollop up the Hill.”

She didn’t have that right. My trollop was actually a lady. And she had nothing to do with the Hill. “I’m back. You should petition the Director to put you back on full time. Meantime, he needs to know what happened tonight. All his people were hurt. One man died. He’ll recall what happened on the north side.”

Mrs. Cardonlos gulped some air. She wanted to make that all my fault but didn’t know how.

I pointed. “That one down there has lost his hearing.”

The veteran lady gulped again. “The excitement
is
back.”

“Get word to the Al-Khar. I’ll be busy getting the casualties together and trying to help them.” Extra info she could include in her report, to encourage a quick response.