Cruel Zinc Melodies gp-12

by Glen Cook

  Tinnie suggested, ‘‘There must be more to it than that. A few minutes ago you were all babbling about sorcery.’’

  ‘‘That’s the answer,’’ I announced. ‘‘There’s some kind of enchantment designed to scare people away.’’ You could buy those over the counter. Install the fetish where you needed protection, then pull the pin. It would work on anybody who didn’t carry a counterfetish.

  Crooked hedge wizards would put some of those aside to sell to the people you bought the fetish to keep out. So you, knowing that and being clever, would subscribe to a countercharm antidote.

  ‘‘That’s the answer,’’ I said again. ‘‘Nothing to fear but fear itself. Here I go. Once more into the breach.’’

  Playmate asked, ‘‘Your feet stuck to the ground?’’

  ‘‘You want to take a look over there? In the doorway?’’

  A praying mantis had appeared. A dull lime green, it stood three feet tall. It looked around vaguely, as though blinded by the light.

  Saucerhead rumbled, ‘‘Damn! That’s uglier than Winger’s mother.’’

  Tinnie said, ‘‘It’s got a rat in its hands.’’

  They weren’t hands but she was right. It bit off a chunk as it looked around.

  I asked, ‘‘What do you think?’’

  Saucerhead said, ‘‘I think I should’ve worn my big boy stomping boots.’’

  A more thoughtful Playmate said, ‘‘You wasted your money on that sulfur. If the bugs can just pop out another hole.’’

  Singe resigned her membership in the stand-around committee. She headed for the bug. She had, I noticed, produced a weighted oaken head thumper like the one I carry myself. She wore more clothing than her brother, less color-fully. She favored browns. She had places to hide stuff.

  She was much more forceful and determined than I’d ever seen. Monster bugs didn’t intimidate her.

  ‘‘You might want to back her up,’’ Tinnie said. ‘‘Just in case.’’

  ‘‘Yeah.’’ I hustled after Singe.

  The wort stench had grown stronger. I caught it thirty feet from the derelict house.

  Earlier there’d been just a handful of people keeping an eye on us. Adding that giant bug had a magical effect. The gallery cooked up into a crowd in two shakes.

  Singe climbed the wobbly steps. The mantis ignored her till she took a swipe at its big ugly head.

  It leaped straight forward. Singe missed. It tried to fly but didn’t have wings enough for the job. They carried it only a few extra feet. It landed badly, smacked its ugly face into the cobblestones.

  Singe jumped after it. Now she had a knife in her other hand. She severed the bug’s neck. Stuff came out. I danced to keep from getting squirted.

  A kid ran up to Singe. ‘‘Wow! Cool! Can I have that?’’ He wanted the head. The mantis’s jaw things kept clicking and clacking.

  ‘‘Oh no! What did you do?’’

  ‘‘I think I killed a tall bug.’’

  Singe spoke to me but the question had come from behind me. From a kid in the doorway of the derelict house. I gawked at his mustache, the saddest display of thin, prickly lip hair I’d seen in ages.

  He was a pear-shaped boy Kip Prose’s age, or younger, as pale as a vampire. He wore posh but badly matched clothing. He didn’t look like he could survive a quarter mile sprint. He wasn’t one of the boys who’d been with Kip earlier.

  He looked like he’d just watched his favorite puppy get murdered.

  Playmate murmured, ‘‘Be careful, Garrett. If that’s the guy who made the big bugs . . .’’

  Pear-shaped boy was young to be messing with sorceries nasty enough to give us giant killer bugs. But I haven’t stayed aboveground by taking people at face value. They fool you all the time. Sometimes deliberately.

  Saucerhead and Playmate sort of organically drifted away from me and Tinnie and Singe. Pear-shaped boy would be surrounded if he did anything dumb.

  The crowd began to buzz.

  A giant bug had appeared in an empty second-floor window. It had exotic beetles in its lineage. Scarlet and yellow made a bold statement.

  It made noises like tin sheets rubbing, spread its wings. It flew. In a sixty-degree glide. It hit the cobblestones with enthusiasm enough to break limbs and antennae and cause leaking cracks in its body.

  Saucerhead waxed philosophical. ‘‘Big ain’t everything, seems like.’’ That from a man for whom big is a way of life.

  Pear-shaped boy burst into tears. He started down the steps. Then he noticed the crowd for the first time. Seventy witnesses. He froze.

  Another boy appeared. This one had been with Kip. He saw the mob. His eyes got big. He started to shake. He was a stunted beanpole with a fashion sense worse than pear-shaped boy. Sputtering, he grabbed the first kid and started dragging him back.

  Seconds later a dozen bugs came out, none nearly as big as the first two. Several were Luna moths with wingspans like peregrine falcons. The world outside overwhelmed them quickly. The onlookers climbed over each other, trying to grab a giant bug for personal use.

  Tinnie beckoned me closer.

  23

  ‘‘There’s a man watching us,’’ my sweetums reported.

  ‘‘More like about a hundred.’’ Half of them more interested in her than monster bugs.

  ‘‘I’m not talking about these morons. Over there, in the breezeway between the brown brick wreck and the yellow brick one.’’

  Those colors were only vague approximations.

  It took me a moment to spot him even knowing where to look. The redhead has sharp eyes.

  He was a matte maple furniture shade, made to blend into shadows. I didn’t see much of him. His face gave the impression of being wrinkled and leathery. The feel I got for the rest was that he was put together like something more accustomed to living in trees, being mostly long, skinny arms and legs.

  ‘‘Hey, Head. You see the guy Tinnie is talking about?’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I got him. He must really be rattled to give himself away like this.’’

  ‘‘What say? You know him?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know him. Nobody does. I know of him. Them kids are gone now. You want to go in after them?’’

  ‘‘No. I want to know who that guy is who’s watching us.’’

  ‘‘He ain’t watching you. You don’t count for enough.’’

  ‘‘Saucerhead!’’

  ‘‘That’s Lurking Felhske, man.The Lurking Felhske.’’

  I sighed. The people you have to work with sometimes! ‘‘The Lurking Felhske? What the hell isany Lurking Felhske?’’

  ‘‘You don’t know? Man, you got to start getting out of the house more.’’

  Something about the derelict house had changed. The folks in the street weren’t intimidated anymore. The young and the bold had begun testing the wobbly steps.

  Singe had a clutch of fans. Kids more interested in the mantis head than her, though.

  ‘‘Felhske is his name. His surname. His real first name might be Tribune. He’s called Lurking Felhske because that’s what he does. Better than anybody who isn’t a shape changer or has them one a’ them magic cloaks or rings that make them invisible.’’

  ‘‘He’s a spy?’’

  ‘‘Private contractor. Only works for the biggest bigs. Up on the Hill. Him being interested here worries me.’’

  ‘‘How come?’’

  ‘‘Because it means one of the top hands up there must be interested in what’s going on around here.’’

  ‘‘Interested in giant-ass bugs? Who woulda thunk? What’s this Lurking Felhske do, then?’’

  ‘‘I just told you. He watches. Then he reports back.’’

  ‘‘That’s it? He doesn’t actually do anything?’’

  ‘‘That’s all. Something needs doing, they send another specialist.’’

  ‘‘So.’’

  Tinnie asked, ‘‘Are we going to go in there and nose around?’’

  ‘‘
No. There’s a crowd.’’ People were pouring into the empty building. ‘‘Their weight might knock the place down. Plus, we don’t want to get caught in the stampede.’’

  ‘‘Stampede? What stampede?’’

  The small gods heard me. They cracked the whip of coincidence.

  The whole neighborhood shook. A bright light appeared inside the derelict house. Jets of dust or smoke blasted out, initially glowing an almost blinding salmon. There was a great surge of sound that sounded almost like a demonic orchestra tuning up.

  People screamed and trampled each other getting out. Folks in the street yelled and ran in circles.

  When the noise subsided, Tinnie demanded, ‘‘How did you know that would happen?’’

  ‘‘I didn’t. But those kids were up to something they shouldn’t be. Stands to reason they’d want to cover their tracks.’’

  Chunks continued falling. Including sizable chunks of bug. People helped one another stagger out of the building. Amazingly, there were no fatalities.

  ‘‘Where did Singe go?’’ Tinnie asked.

  ‘‘She headed over that way,’’ Playmate said.

  Saucerhead opined, ‘‘Less’en you got some awful good reason to hang on around here, we ought to get moving. It’s gonna be raining red tops in a few minutes.’’

  ‘‘Singe . . . Never mind.’’ She was headed our way. Still armed with her trophy. Which wasn’t moving anymore.

  She said, ‘‘I checked the watcher’s scent. So I’d recognize him if we run into him again. He was not watching us. He had been there a long time. For days, off and on.’’

  I marveled. She was really thinking. I asked, ‘‘Why do you keep carrying that head around?’’

  ‘‘Maybe the Dead Man can get something out of it. If we get it there before it goes bad.’’

  Man, she was thinking. That hadn’t occurred to me.

  It was getting scary, being around TunFaire’s first genius rat.

  Saucerhead was right. If the Civil Guards found me anywhere near something that blew up, they’d ask me dumb questions into the middle of next week.

  Back to the World. Hi-ho.

  And just in time.

  24

  One of the teamsters told me, ‘‘The red tops all headed out. There was an explosion somewhere up that way.’’ Red tops being another slang term for tin whistles. Because of the red flop hats the uniformed ones favor.

  ‘‘We heard it. It’s why we hurried back. I didn’t want to spend time entertaining the Watch. Anything happen here?’’ Max wasn’t exactly getting his money’s worth out of these teamsters.

  ‘‘That head rat’s been looking for you.’’

  Singe put her trophy into a rat basket and headed inside. I followed. Tinnie started after me but changed her mind. She wasn’t eager to find herself hip deep in big bugs. Or even regular rats.

  I glanced at the sky before I went in. We might be in for a change of weather. Back to what we’d been enjoying.

  I found John Stretch leaning against a pillar, exhausted. ‘‘You all right?’’

  ‘‘I will sleep well tonight. I do not look forward to doing this again.’’

  ‘‘I do appreciate—’’

  ‘‘We are being paid well. And this, surely, will win our people a great deal of respect.’’

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure. Some people wouldn’t like it much once they figured out that there had to be a psychic connection between John Stretch and the everyday vermin.

  We’d have to create some tall tale to cover that.

  I said, ‘‘The guys outside said you were looking for me.’’

  ‘‘I wanted to tell you that something has changed down below. Suddenly. And big.’’

  ‘‘Maybe twenty minutes ago?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  I told what we’d witnessed. Singe did a lot of nodding.

  John Stretch said, ‘‘I am afraid the bugs that are left are about to get loose.’’

  I tried my famous lifted eyebrow trick, ordinarily reserved for beautiful women. The ratman took it to be a request for more information.

  He said, ‘‘Sudden as a slap in the face, the bugs just ran.’’ That was one for the Dead Man. ‘‘That mean the job is done?’’

  Too bad ratpeople can’t laugh. John Stretch was in a mood for it. ‘‘Close, maybe. But you have not dealt with the ghost issue.’’

  ‘‘Ghosts wouldn’t be your problem. You’re the bug man.’’

  ‘‘The bug man might have to deal with ghosts in order to get his bug killers to the bugs.’’

  ‘‘You had ghost trouble?’’

  ‘‘No. But I hear ghosts are why there are no workers here today.’’

  ‘‘Uh . . . let’s take that up after we get moving. We’re done here. We need to get gone before the Watch comes back.’’ And they would. That’s the kind of guys they are.

  They knew Mrs. Garrett’s boy had been seen within a mile of some excitement. It would be his fault, somehow. Or he knew whose fault it was but he was likely to hold out on the good guys.

  Given word that it was time, John Stretch and his gang scooted like scalded rats. I noted a definite lack of enthusiasm for rounding up and removing their hunting cousins. But none had failed to appropriate at least one big bug corpse.

  ‘‘Those will be some good eating,’’ Singe explained.

  I’d crunched a few tropical bugs in my day, just to get by. It wasn’t a gourmet experience. But tastes differ. Especially for different races. There are even species that think people are tasty.

  ‘‘If we could find some grubs, that would be really fine.’’

  ‘‘Yeah?’’

  25

  I heaved a sigh of relief when Playmate pulled up in front of my house. He didn’t stick around. He dumped us and headed out. Probably terrified of what he’d find when he got back home.

  Or maybe somebody told him that Old Bones was awake and he didn’t want it known that he’d been lusting in his heart. Or something.

  People are strange.

  Singe, Tinnie, Saucerhead, and I headed inside. John Stretch tagged along. He didn’t want to but figured he needed to get the work part over with while the information was still fresh in his head.

  Saucerhead had hopes of cadging a meal.

  I’d begun to suspect that things weren’t going well for Mr. Tharpe. But he’d never admit it.

  Two minutes later there was no sign that my place was occupied, let alone the hub of intrigues designed to offend people whom the king’s little brother Rupert wanted to afflict with a law-and-order geas.

  I shut and bolted the door. I was confident that one of the roomers at Mrs. Cardonlos’s house, up the street, had taken notes.

  I did hurry it. Because there had been a buzz inside the wall, beside the door.

  ‘‘What?’’ Tinnie asked.

  ‘‘The pixies might be waking up.’’ Then I wasted breath asking, ‘‘Anybody hungry?’’

  Singe had reached the kitchen already. Checking to see what Dean was cooking. Because there were food odors in the air. The Dead Man had alerted the old man to our approach. Dean had a tray with mugs and a pitcher ready. Singe brought that to the Dead Man’s room. She reported, ‘‘Ten minutes, soup is on.’’

  Which turned out to be true. Almost. It was a bisque, which Dean explained is a soup made with cream instead of water.

  John Stretch and the Dead Man communed. The king of the ratmen downed a second mug, then went home.

  Even Singe was surprised to see him walk away from more free beer.

  ‘‘What’s the story?’’ I asked, working hard to avoid taking notice of Saucerhead being disappointed by the bisque.

  He suffered a great deal of stress today. And, being clever, he suspects that more unhappiness lies ahead.

  ‘‘Say what?’’ Tinnie, I noted, didn’t appreciate the bisque much more than Saucerhead did. Dean would be heartbroken.

  The Dead Man ushered me into the rea
lity he had found inside John Stretch’s mind. The dimensions of the world beneath the World, and all that neighborhood, were clearer this evening—as seen through the one ratman able to read the tiny minds of unmodified rats who did not experience reality through the same mix of senses as us allegedly intelligent upright apes.

  Old Bones couldn’t translate the information into anything my feeble human mind could grasp.

  ‘‘So, where are we?’’ I asked the air. Off to the side, muttering to himself, Saucerhead finished another mug. It looked like he had no plans to go home. Had he lost his place? Was he about to start mooching sleeping space off his acquaintances?

  Tinnie took the bowls and spoons to the kitchen. And didn’t return. I was too worn down to work out if that was a hint or just her being too damned tired to stay up drinking and thinking.

  Lurking Felhske. The spy. From what I find in Mr. Tharpe’s mind it seems highly unlikely that anyone would enlist his skills in an effort to keep track of your doings.

  I sighed. More disrespect. But true, if Singe was right. ‘‘It would be the kids Kip Prose is running with. Somebody on the Hill wants to keep track. Giant bugs, after all. That could turn out as important as the creation of ratpeople.’’

  That I doubt. I cannot imagine an insect being made intelligent.You are correct. Felhske must be in the employ of someone interested in the sorcery involved in modifying the insects. So. We have reached the point where your best next step is to round up the Prose boy and bring him here.

  ‘‘I don’t see him volunteering. But I have to visit the manufactory soon, anyway.’’ I hadn’t made a security check all winter.

  Try to restrain your business and social observations when you do.

  Yeah. That. Sometimes a problem. ‘‘What about the World?’’

  Poll the tradesmen and contractors. Get their stories about why they are not working. If, indeed, they are not. After today’s events. Then you might return to that abandoned house and see what is to be seen down below.

  ‘‘I can tell you right now, it has a cellar that’s hooked into the underground world.’’

  The Tenderloin has been in place for ages. And the kind of people who engage in the sorts of services provided there tend to have things to hide and a natural desire to have a secret way out ahead of angry competitors, customers, or the law. There are tunnels all over.