Gilded Latten Bones (31 page)

“You sure? Not even one beer?”

“Well... One can’t hurt.”

Singe headed for the kitchen.

Kolda glanced around, decided to sit after all. He leaned toward me. “There was one more thing.”

“We’re all friends here.”

Kolda shrugged. “When I was going around the trade looking for something to fight tumors several chemists and apothecaries hit me up for Jane’s mint seed. I don’t have any. Not to wholesale. It’s rare. After I’d been asked a few times I started asking back, about why.”

“Uhm?”

“Jane’s mint only grows in boggy places. It’s not really mint but crushing the leaves produces a juice with a mint smell. It shouldn’t be ingested. It used to be used to poison mice. The seeds are hard to collect. You have to catch them at exactly the right time.”

“We’re interested in Jane’s mint seeds because?”

“Because the powdered seeds have an almost miraculous healing effect. And someone has been buying them up. The price has gone up tenfold in a month.”

I exchanged looks with Block, then held up a restraining hand when he wanted to press for details. Kolda didn’t notice.

Belinda didn’t care. She was having trouble staying conscious.

Singe returned. Kolda accepted a mug, took a long pull, was pleasantly surprised, belched, then told me, “And that’s about all I know, heading west.” He drained his mug and got his feet under him again.

Singe released him into the wild, then hustled back to eavesdrop while Block and I quarreled over whether the Guard or the Outfit should make the rounds of the town’s chemists. I thought Belinda’s thugs would be more effective.

I wondered, “Did you get anything from the bodies you hauled away the other night?”

“They got confiscated by people who had the right warrants but not the right look.”

“I smell obfuscation,” Belinda said, suddenly awake. She had on a big smile. She had been faking the drunk. And she knew more than the Civil Guard thought she should.

Block said, “We did what we could in the time that we had.”

“And that would be?”

“Two zombies had faces resembling those of known criminals. It wasn’t for sure. The outsides of the bodies were more like leather than normal skin. The forensic sorcerers said they were dressed in whole human skins after the surgical rebuilding. The major seams were in the back. Not all of the skins fit right, which might be why they wear the woolen tights. The helmets hide the faces, which are in bad shape. The hair falls out in patches, even in the beards and eyebrows.”

I hit the key point. “You recognized two of them.”

“We think we did.”

“And?”

“And what, Garrett?”

“Who were they? How did they die? Where? When? What were the circumstances?”

“They were housebreakers. They were sent to the work camps. Once we give them to Works they’re not our problem anymore.”

Things might have been starting to line up. The Dead Man’s compound minds might have pushed on past what had to be obvious even to a general.

I said, “If somebody wanted a supply of corpses, she could make a deal with somebody at a work camp. Not many of those crooks finish their sentences still breathing.”

“The reason they die is that they get used up. They don’t get fed right, they work long hours with primitive tools, and they get no medical attention. All part of the price of being a bad guy. Works has hundreds of prisoners and has to account for them only when their sentences are up. If a prisoner dies they report it so we can tell the family that what they expected has come to pass.”

I had an evil turn of mind. I imagined several ways that men more wicked than the prisoners could profit from the penal work system.

No doubt the bad guys out there had thought of them all and a dozen more.

Block said, “We’re looking at it, Garrett. Supposedly in regard to complaints about prisoner abuse.”

“The more I learn the more useless I feel.”

I expected to hear something reassuring. Instead, he said, “That’s because you haven’t come to terms with having to be a desk jockey. You’re sitting on your butt when you think you should be out kicking ass and taking names.”

Singe made a noise suspiciously like that from someone who snorts while breaking up inside but is compelled to maintain a straight face.

Block went on, “How come you think you have to be useful? I mean, why now, suddenly, when you spent forever being an obstruction?”

I did not want to have this argument. It was the same crap I’d gotten from minions of the law since I went into business.

“I try and try but I can’t figure out how me not being your brownnose butt boy qualifies as obstructionism. The gods didn’t send me down here to wash your feet, kiss your ass, and whisper in your ear what a great stud you are. You know that’s bullshit better than I do.”

Singe and Jon Salvation popped out of their chairs, tried to calm me down. Singe made my drinking cup disappear. Block gaped like he had opened a casket full of worms.

My mouth just kept running. “I have no clue how you and that repugnant troll Relway got the idea that I’m supposed to be your tool but you need to get shut of the notion, now and forever.”

I was shouting before I finished. Penny came to see what was happening. Belinda clapped and cheered. Jon Salvation told Penny, “Just a little trouble handling his drink. Ask Dean if he has anything useful in a situation like this.”

The man was right. I shouldn’t have had that water-of-life. It had opened a door. The frustrations were getting out.

Singe, assisted by Jon Salvation and Dollar Dan, returned me to my former place of glory beside Morley, next door. Singe and Dollar Dan sat on me. I became fixated on that rat, wondering if he hadn’t moved in when I wasn’t looking.

He was never underfoot. He was invisible most of the time. But he was always there when someone needed him.

I faded into a nap wondering if he was more than a ratman. He might be a living metaphor for his whole race.

80

Business rolled along while I snoozed. People came, people went. General Block, Belinda, and Saucerhead all left. Some beer and a nap were all Tharpe needed. Singe and Jon Salvation got their heads together, scheming something. Morley woke up and turned crabby because he had missed Belinda. Salvation left after his confab with Singe.

Tinnie dropped in and spent some quality time with Singe, their banter getting heated. First, Singe would not let her wake me up. She used the words “too much drama” more than once. Then the overdue dividend came up. The exchange went from heated to icy. Tinnie refused to believe that our shares had not been paid.

Singe said, “I have received no deposit receipt from our bankers. Produce evidence that payment was made.”

This was when Morley entered and saw the actual exchange.

Tinnie replied, “We have not failed, ever, to meet our obligations, on time and in full. What you claim is impossible.”

Singe countered, “You handle the fiscal paperwork for Amalgamated. Even when you don’t authorize payments you keep records of them. So I say again, show me proof of payment. Our bankers would have given you a receipt, too. Produce it.”

Morley was impressed by Tinnie’s self-control. By this point most Karentines would have launched a vile rant about uppity vermin.

“Tinnie saves her bile for me.”

Evidently Singe’s grim, firm, confident, no-nonsense attitude got the best of the redhead. She scribbled a note, then roared out of the house.

Morley said, “I expect somebody at Amalgamated is hanging by his short hairs now. If what Singe claimed is true.”

Having seen Typhoon Tinnie Tate in a category-four rage I was glad the bad weather was headed elsewhere.

I read her note.

Sorry I came when you were resting. I had a wonderful time at rehearsal. Never felt so happy. Thank you, Malsquando. Love you, and always will. X O X

It was not signed.

Had anyone read it?

Singe? Almost certainly.

Morley? No. His odd sense of honor would forbid it.

Dean might have done had he known about it and been inclined to think being aware of the contents would help him protect the household.

Penny appeared while I brooded, bringing tea. She saw the unfolded note. She reddened.

So.

Why would she be nosy?

Did she have some vague notion about getting back at Tinnie for having fed her so much slime about me?

Morley watched Penny leave. He chuckled.

“What?”

“You missed some real excitement.”

“My head hurts.”

“It ought to. And you did it to yourself.”

Not only did my head hurt, it was still wobbly from the dizzy water. “What did I miss? Besides Tinnie?”

“Winger. She came looking for her pet playwright. He was gone by then. She was hammered. She wouldn’t believe Singe. Singe and Dollar Dan got her under control. She went away, then.”

“Bad shape, eh?”

“Blitzed pathetic. She’s too old for melodrama.”

“Aren’t we all? But still it happens.”

We shared a moment of silence, reflecting on the absurdities of our relationships.

Morley asked, “Is it even possible for men to get past adolescence?”

“Maybe not. I’m missing Old Bones big-time right now. He could share centuries of observation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he could answer your question. Me, I think we can’t help but act like juvenile idiots till we can’t contribute to the continuation of our tribes anymore.”

“If we were well behaved and thought with our heads...”

“We’re slaves to our little best friends. But the gods had a reason for making us that way.”

“A disgusting digression, Garrett. But you’re probably right. And the gods made sure that girls are dim enough to believe anything we tell them until they’re old. Nature wants that next generation’s boots on the ground before anything else.”

“Because we do think, though, we make it more of an adventure by coming up with ways to get around Nature.”

Morley lost interest. He asked, “Where are we going, Garrett?”

“Nowhere. I’m going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. My head will be ready to explode in a couple more hours.”

“I meant in our relationships.”

What? We were men. We didn’t get into stuff like that. Not seriously. Did we?

“You and Tinnie practically announced to the world that you were going to tie the knot. You moved in together. Then the invitations never came. After a while people forgot. And now you’re involved with a totally delicious confection off the Hill. Who must have a love-me spell on her. Even Dean likes her better than he likes Tinnie.”

“I’m not involved. Not yet.”

“You’re sleeping in the same bed. One of you doesn’t care who knows. She moved a trunk into your room. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as involved.”

“Where did you hear...?”

“Singe let it slip. Accidentally on purpose, I’m sure. She says the woman has no shame.”

“In private. But she does have a sense of propriety. She wouldn’t hurt someone deliberately.”

This stuff was a lot less complicated when I was younger.

Singe came in. She gave us the fish-eye, favoring me with the magnum variety. “The ladies are here for your evening treatment, Mr. Dotes. And you, Mr. Garrett, need to reacquaint yourself with the bathtub. A change of apparel would not be amiss, either.”

She had to be channeling my mother.

“I took a bath last week!” With a vintage eight-year-old whine.

A bunch of stuff happened at once, starting with Dean’s announcement of a late supper as the ratwomen closed in on Morley. Dotes got a chance to gobble a few mouths full, then participated in the customary rituals in my former office. Singe went and worked hard in her office. I drank a mug of beer, then took myself up to bed. I had a full belly and the world wasn’t going to let me do anything else anyway.

I just wanted to escape to dreamland before my hangover set in.

“I’ll be responsible next year, Ma.”

When I woke up because I needed to commune with the chamber pot I was no longer alone. Strafa stirred but did not waken. When I climbed back into bed she snuggled against me like a second skin. I found it amazing that she could get so close and still leave me comfortable. I did not stay awake long. I spent those moments wondering how Strafa had gotten in. I didn’t remember leaving the window open.

It was open now. The air was cool. Strafa’s warmth felt good.

81

Pular Singe was not pleased with her boss, master, partner — whatever she styled me in secret.

She blundered into my room at an inappropriate moment. She gasped something like, “Now I believe it,” and went away.

Strafa didn’t care. She was preoccupied.

Going downstairs told me, quickly, that the new order had become established fact. Dean greeted Strafa warmly, with perfect manners and no hint of disapproval. Singe was more formal but had put her personal feelings into a locked box. She did not dislike Strafa, she just had problems with all the changes.

It would be hard for anybody to dislike Strafa when she wasn’t being Furious Tide of Light. Except for Penny Dreadful. Penny had issues of some kind.

Morley reported that. I didn’t see it.

“The girl glares daggers at the woman when she thinks no one will notice.”

“That makes no sense. She doesn’t know Strafa. Strafa is no threat to her.”

“You never know. You up for a physical workout today?”

“You aren’t ready for that yet, are you?”

“I’ll pace myself. It’s you that needs to get busy. You’re a tub of goo.”

That exaggeration was unkind in the extreme but not far off the mark. I was still weak from my cold but the worst of that had passed. If I used Dean’s breather occasionally, my nose stayed open and I didn’t cough up chunks bigger than my fist.

Morley said, “It will be fun, getting ready for our personal war.”

I doubted that the rest of the world would leave us much against which to execute even one tactical move. Scores were out there trying to make an end to the horror.