by Glen Cook
He was no help. Too many teenagers wanted out of a place where their secrets might be exposed, all of them at once.
A stunt had been laid on to outwit the grown-ups. It had whipped around and bitten them. Now they were as manageable as a troop of panicky monkeys.
Kip Prose would not be popular with this bunch much longer.
Old Bones, despite the invaluable assistance of Garrett, Pular Singe, and Dean Creech, lost all hope when Lurking Felhske reassessed his resignation to his fate.
Felhske produced a blade that I’d been too dumb to look for and take away. I hadn’t looked because I’d heard the man wasn’t a fighter.
I plowed through the remaining kids and intercepted Felhske. Sort of.
Basically, I deflected him. I didn’t get in a solid hit. I did remove part of his hair. I squeaked. My fingers felt like they were being shredded.
I crashed through Kip and Kyra and some minor furniture. A wall slowed me down. I used the crown of my head to soften the impact.
Dean whopped orangutan man with his skillet.
The scrambling and shrieking were done. Only Kip, Kyra, and Kevans remained, along with Lurking Felhske. Not an auspicious night for that part of the alphabet.
The Dead Man claimed,I accepted the loss of the children to ensure that we did not come absent the critical informationbelonging to Mr. Felhske.
To which I said, ‘‘Bull!’’ But did not push because he’d started feeling good about himself again.
Singe got the front door shut, with difficulty. Her poor hands were more ragged than mine. Mine burned like hell. ‘‘Dean. See what you can do about these.’’ He’s our first-aid guru. He produced gauze and salve with striking speed. The salve was pungent. It stung at first, then sent the pain away.
Dean demonstrated a sea change in attitude toward Singe by treating her first. I drank beer to pass the time while I waited. And examined one of the wigs. Sharp-edged brass wire tangles ran through what looked like hair off a woolly mammoth, up close. It was coarse and oddly colored, but that hadn’t been obvious while the spells installed were crackling.
I considered Kip Prose. I considered dumpy-looking Kevans Algarda. She must be a lot more than she showed. Was she armed with some of her mother’s magic?
I considered Kyra, too, but only with a passing interest. She was collateral damage. Just lucky to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong guy. She was going to tell her aunt Tinnie on me.
This reduced assembly should be manageable.
‘‘The whole bunch should’ve been. You just needed to use a couple of kids to help us plug the doorway.’’
Perhaps. However, I chose instead to collect data while panic had everyone thinking about what they most wanted to remain secret. Which will stand us in good stead should we have to deal with the Faction again.
The boy continues to amaze. The charged wire mesh is ingenious. A third-generation form of what began as the compliance device.
‘‘Kip running wild again, eh?’’
Young Mr. Prose is in the mix but on this one Miss Algardais more responsible. Not for the physical device, but for the idea and for the sorcery used to make Mr. Prose’s netting effective.
He’d be plundering their every thought now, and mixing in fragments he had plucked from all the heads that had gotten away.
True. And, on the whole, I am embarrassed. I was well and truly deceived.
‘‘You about to confess a shortcoming?’’
After a fashion. We have come full circle. Because, for the Faction, this is all about the compliance device after all.
‘‘Old dead guy say what?’’
Not the compliance device originally conceived. Nor the one we saw in its second iteration, that could be deployed in a proactive, pathetically hopeful manner. Not even the upgrade version we saw here tonight. No. There are newer iterations in this most ingenious collaboration between MissAlgarda and Mr. Prose. The fourth-generation version moves from the purely protective to the offensive.
‘‘Meaning they’re about to start getting into other people’s heads?’’
Reading actual thoughts instead of just moods, yes.
‘‘Ouch!’’
Ouch, indeed. I would be rendered obsolete. Though, even more so than the three-wheel, their marketing strategy would be limited production sold to high bidders.
I glared at Kevans. The girl didn’t wilt. My thoughts became scattered as I tried to work out how her adolescent trauma, harsh as it might have been, could have brought her to—
You are yielding to melodrama, Garrett. Although you are not wrong in thinking that Miss Algarda’s relationship with her father impacts her decision-making. But greed has become more powerful.
I suppose there had been no point when Kevans believed she might not be doing the right thing. Nor would care now if some old fart showed her the truth.
The outstanding naivetй in all this is Mr. Prose’s. Who is now being saved by the love of a good woman.
‘‘What?’’
So the girl thinks.
I got it. But it was kind of corny. Kyra Tate, amateur fire goddess, saving boy genius Cypres Prose from the wiles of the dowdy wicked witch Kevans Algarda.
There is a fifth iteration of the compliance device coming down the road. The compliance part will have actual meaning.Miss Algarda convinced Mr. Prose that she needs it as a way to manage her father when he cannot be evaded or discouraged.
Young Mr. Prose is a very good friend. Miss Algarda is not.
Unbeknownst to the Faction, initially the fourth and fifth iterations of the device came to the attention of a family acquaintance involved in law enforcement.
‘‘It gets better and better.’’ A horror worse than any tentacled thing without vowels in its name, slithering through a crack in the wall between dimensions, that. ‘‘And I don’t have to guess who, do I?’’
If you did you would be wrong. The man was not someonewe know. Unintentionally he overheard an argument between Kevans and Kip. He did not take what he heard seriously. But he did pass it on to Prince Rupert.
‘‘I see, said the blind man. And all of Relway’s prayers were answered.’’
Given the situation, perhaps you should have taken your opportunity to become a key insider in the new order. As opposed to possibly becoming one of its earlier successes.
‘‘Well, yeah. I’m starting to think that. Also, I did figure out that there had to be some kind of connection between Kevans and Rupert. Or Kip and Rupert.’’
You did, indeed. You have been exercising your mind, if in secret. Mr. Felhske—likely Mr. Tick-Tack, too—belongs to Prince Rupert’s Special Office. Mr. Felhske was tasked both to contact Miss Algarda and to keep an eye on her. No trust on the part of the prince, who wanted an exclusive on the fifth iteration.
That explained Kevans being unhappy to see Felhske. It explained him wearing a near full-body fright wig that he had to get somewhere. Kevans had made a deal with Rupert and thought she was in control. Felhske turning up proved otherwise. To Kevans that said the prince did not trust her.
He allowed himself to be captured.
‘‘I know.’’
The young lady has, perhaps, overstepped herself. Youth features impatience and overconfidence. In ten years she could have been one of the great villains. The sociopathic pieces are all there. They need experience and polish.
She will not laugh.
‘‘Say what?’’ He was having fun now.
Given the opportunity to become what she has the potentialto be, Kevans Algarda would make few of the traditional story villain mistakes. No windy, gloating explanations. No evil laughter.
‘‘Another Belinda.’’
Worse. For Miss Contague these days it is about business ninety percent of the time, plus a touch of the personal. For Miss Algarda it would be personal most of the time. She would be punishing the world.
‘‘But selling compliance devices to the red tops . . .’’
>
Each including a control spell that can be tripped at the convenience of the manufacturer.
Consider, though. She fell into the situation but instantly understood that she was dealing with a man who might becomeking. She is impatient, but also capable of thinking ahead.
‘‘And you got no hint of any of this while the Algardas were here.’’
I did not. There is an excellent chance that they know nothing.
‘‘Yet they wore wigs.’’
Yes, they did. Algarda started at Kevans’ suggestion severalweeks ago.
‘‘She was setting him up to put thoughts in.’’
She was readying him for the day when she could.
‘‘And the Windwalker?’’
Kevans has very little respect for her mother. ‘‘That fire-crotchbimbo!’’ when she talks about her to the other kids. There is, definitely, an element of competition for Daddy’s attention and affection. But, as to the parental place in this, I believe them to be exactly what they purport. Parents worriedabout their daughter. With reason, obviously. Their part in the scheme would be unwitting. Many people have contributed,none being fully aware. Miss Algarda has used every acquaintance as a brick in the overall wall.
‘‘And would’ve gone to wondrous places if not for the rest of the Faction.’’
Those boys and their giant bugs were her undoing.
Dean barged in with food. ‘‘I’ll fetch a fresh pitcher in a minute.’’ He looked around. Matters appeared to be proceeding to his satisfaction. But, ‘‘Has anyone thought about what to do when the parents show up demanding explanations?’’
Oh. ‘‘You think they will?’’
That will depend on what the individual young people believe happened here. I suspect most will not be anxious to have their parents become further involved. We have leveragenow.
‘‘But Dean is right. We’ll hear from somebody. And none of this is what we’re getting paid for.’’
Correct. We will get back to the World in the morning.The connection between the Faction and the theater has been severed. The young people should go their own ways.
Tomorrow John Stretch will make his final effort. I am confident that his rats will find little of interest. In point of fact, now we have only to deal with the dragon.
A big Only.
The Dead Man’s mood had gone through a dramatic upgrade. He was on a super high now, thrilled to be part of what, for him, was a wild intellectual adventure.
Me too. Some.
There were beautiful women everywhere, wicked and good and every possible alloy in between, along with selfish, shallow, naive, and self-destructive. What a wonderful landscape!
Old Bones went right on having adventures in the wild country behind the eyes of Kevans Algarda and Lurking Felhske. I felt his glee as he plowed the darkness and turned up curious artifacts, most of which he would never share because he wouldn’t consider them my business.
Ah.
‘‘Yes?’’
I have made an interesting discovery. Buried deep in the trivia cluttering Mr. Felhske’s mind.
‘‘Which would be?’’ Knowing he loved to be coaxed.
Who produced your most recent batch of clubs?
‘‘Clubs?’’ Oh. He meant the weighted headknockers. I’d bought six last fall. I keep leaving them behind. Or getting them taken away. Cost of doing business. ‘‘Ivl Verde. The furniture maker who supplies the wooden parts for the three-wheels. He has troll-powered lathes that can turn a club in a couple minutes. Why?’’
Mr. Felhske could find you in a snowstorm because Mr. Verde let someone put a tracking spell on your clubs.
‘‘I can guess who.’’
Correct. Director Relway. And Mr. Felhske received a trace key from someone inside the Al-Khar. I would not suggest that you operate unarmed, so you should replace the Verde sticks.
‘‘I’ve still got one old one in the tool closet.’’ My name for the household arsenal. ‘‘Which I’ll save for when I really don’t want to be tracked.’’ I didn’t care if the law watched me now. So why tip them off?
His Nibs radiated agreement.
I asked, ‘‘What’s that smell?’’
Felhske had begun to stage a comeback.
Dean brought more food. I ate some more and drank more beer.
The Dead Man sent,I am now done with the children. You may release them.
‘‘Really? Even . . . ?’’
Even Miss Algarda. I have done some inspired editing of her memories. I cannot turn her into someone she is not, but I am able to manipulate the knowledge she will be able to access.
I’d seen it done before. I expected to see it done again. ‘‘All right. Let me finish this sausage.’’ And, a minute later,
‘‘You kids get ready to go. I’ll go along, make sure you’re all right. I need to see Tinnie, anyway.’’
Kip and Kyra eyed each other like they’d been sentenced to remote and protracted prison terms. Each silently willed the other to do something.
‘‘Won’t do any good, guys. That’s the way it’s going to be.»
I did wonder how Kyra kept getting out. In fact, why were so many of the Faction so loosely supervised? Kevans in particular.
Kevans ought to have a parent in each pocket.
‘‘We need to make sure Kevans gets home safe, too.’’ That would take us a quarter hour out of our way.
I bundled up in my new fur coat and led the children outside. Along the way, in weather increasingly less unpleasant, Kip tried to distract me from what he feared was my determination to be a chaperone. He chattered on and on about ways to light the World.
For my part, I worried. I tried to make Kip understand how much he’d been used.
He wasn’t that upset.
Kevans was his friend. The rest mattered a lot less.
I have a few of those friends myself.
Kyra didn’t share Kip’s attitude. Kevans wasn’t her friend. And she was afraid that Kip and Kevans might have played at being more than just friends, once upon a time.
I cut them loose, telling Kip, ‘‘Go to the manufactory after you get Kyra home. Lie low there till I get things worked out with the Algardas.’’
He didn’t argue. He didn’t believe much of what Old Bones had dug out—he hadn’t been included in all the rotten details—but he was bright enough to understand that he was out of his depth.
He paused to hug Kevans. They mumbled to each other. Kyra seethed, in redhead Tate ‘‘thou shalt have no other anyone’’ fashion. Then Kip joined her and they headed off. I’d bet Kyra never let go all the way to the Tate compound.
The girl had it bad. The natural way.
I hoped Kip dealt with it better than I did.
Kevans, of course, had a secret way in and out of the Algarda stronghold. And stronghold it was, as is the case with most homes on the Hill. Those people used to squabble on a deadly, daily basis. Their homes had to be fortresses.
Just as well I didn’t have to deliver Kevans to her front door. I was in no mood to deal with either parent. I might’ve said something about bad parenting.
Me. The world’s foremost authority.
88
Tinnie wasn’t home. An unhappy cousin told me she was at the manufactory. It was all my fault she was way behind. And now there was a rumor that the situation could get worse. She’d lost her grip on reality. Garrett could end up being underfoot all the time.
I couldn’t do anything about rumor and speculation amongst the Tates. Whatever I tried, I’d just equip myself with more holes dug deeper.
I took Kip along. He’d still been saying good night to Kyra when I got there. He didn’t want to leave. ‘‘I need you to make drawings and write up notes. Your contribution toward helping repay Mr. Weider for damages done by the Faction.’’
He really didn’t want to go. If he let Kyra get out of sight, she might come to her senses.
On the short walk over, I told him, ‘‘Don’t
worry about the girl. Tate women are a pain in the ass sometimes but they stick once they make their minds up.’’
Which was what he wanted to hear. Though he had trouble believing it. His self-confidence was still shaky.
‘‘I know that only helps a little. Every day that I find Tinnie still in my life I count as another miracle. I’ve never worked out what she sees in me.’’
‘‘Makes two of us.’’ That was a shot, weakly delivered. I took it as a good sign.
I left him outside his personal workroom at the manufactory. It was big and full of toys for a boy genius who might spark additional money gushers.
It was cold in the building. The place didn’t get warm when manufacturing wasn’t going on. It wasn’t now. The weather had kept most of the workers home.
Which meant they were making too much money. In a labor market where replacements could be had by the hundred.
Ha! Thunk like a true capitalist!
‘‘Garrett! What are you doing here? Besides sneaking up and scaring the knickers off me?’’
‘‘Don’t look like I did that good a job. Why don’t I try charm instead?’’
‘‘I’m working hard on getting immune to that. I think I’ve almost got it. You didn’t answer my question.’’
‘‘I needed to see you. Not for the usual reasons.’’
The woman can read me good. One hard look and she knew something was wrong. ‘‘All right. Spill the bad news.’’
‘‘Well . . .’’ I wasn’t sure how to tell her without sounding like I was accusing her.
‘‘Out with it, Malsquando.’’ She wasn’t troubled. She’d concluded that the problem wasn’t between her and me.
‘‘Speak!’’
‘‘You’ll grant that Singe is pretty damned smart?’’
‘‘Singe is a freak. She scares me. She’s not just too smart for a ratperson, she’s too smart for anybody.’’
‘‘Good. We won’t need to debate that. So. Here’s the thing. She’s been studying the books, and . . .’’
‘‘And?’’ Eyes tight and narrow now. But still nothing to suggest that I’d tweaked a guilty nerve.
‘‘She found a problem with the financials from the manufactory.’’
