by Glen Cook
Tinnie seemed surprised. ‘‘How so? What kind of problem? Tell me.’’
‘‘You might have to talk to her direct to really get it.’’ I jumped in, the best I understood what I’d been told.
I didn’t need to go on long. ‘‘Stop. Did she show you examples?’’
I told her what I’d seen.
Tinnie was an angry woman suddenly. With the fire under fierce control.
‘‘You believe me?’’
‘‘Of course I believe you! Why the hell would you make up a story like that? What I need to do now is figure out if it’s true, or if Singe’s imagination ran away with her. Go sit in the corner and don’t disturb me.’’
I couldn’t resist. ‘‘You mean I don’t get to lean over your shoulder, jostle your elbow, blow in your ear, and criticize while you’re trying to get some work done?’’
The black look I got for that actually scared me. No good for the goose, good for the gander in this house. But she was still in that fierce, hard, rational state of anger. ‘‘Better yet, go wander around and make the night crew nervous.’’
I didn’t need to watch over her shoulder. Not that having me there could stop her fudging anything she wanted. I wouldn’t notice.
‘‘I’ll do that.’’ I went. I made a tour of the shops. And won a full complement of growls and scowls from the few workers actually on hand. I counted the three-wheels in various stages of completion. Twenty-eight, total, of which eleven were ready for delivery. I grabbed one and went pedaling around the main floor.
After getting chewed out by a foreman who wasn’t impressed by my connections, I put the big, silly toy back and went upstairs to make Kip’s life miserable. But he didn’t mind the company. We talked for more than an hour, of cabbages, kings, vampires, zombies, and our respective female complications. He wouldn’t talk about Kevans or the compliance device, though.
I dropped a few seeds for thought. I hoped he wouldn’t be able to get them out of his head.
The boy was working the nerve up to go for some intimate advice when Tinnie stalked in, saving me the need to examine my conscience. I hoped she hadn’t heard anything troubling.
‘‘Singe is right, Garrett. Grab your coat. We’ll go down to your place. We can put our heads together.’’
She was tired and frayed and distracted. She knew what was going on and who was doing it and didn’t want it to be true.
It would be family. Tates are big on family. And, given that assumption, I could name the villain. Rose Tate, bad cousin.
It had been a long time since Rose had done anything wicked.
‘‘There’s a good chance Singe won’t still be up.’’
‘‘Then there’s a good chance I’ll wake her up. Or I’ll talk to her in the morning.’’
Oh boy! I left Kip with a parting smirk. Then I turned right back. ‘‘I need those drawings and papers to show Mr. Weider.’’
Kip gave them up reluctantly, and only because he knew I wouldn’t steal the ideas.
As we hit the cold and darkness, my sweetie asked, ‘‘What was that with Kip?’’
‘‘He came up with a couple ways to light the World without smelly lamps, candles, or torches.’’ Which meant the theater could operate any time, not just when the sun was available.
That wasn’t what Tinnie wanted to know. She suspected me of giving manly advice.
Singe was awake. And still worrying the problem that interested Tinnie. She’d made headway winkling out the wicked numbers. So I lost the redhead for a while. Dean, though, had turned in. I drew me a mug of beer and went into my little office.
A dragon. How do you deal with a dragon with any hope of avoiding calamity?
89
Singe wakened us. ‘‘John Stretch is on his way. So is Playmate. Joe Kerr and his siblings will do your shoveling for you. You’d better hurry if you want breakfast before we go.»
Tinnie wouldn’t let me out of bed.
Breakfast had to wait.
No one else dillydallied. John Stretch, his rats, his henchrats, and his transportation all failed to wait. Dean’s lips were pursed in abiding disapproval when we finally reached the kitchen.
He had been good enough to keep our breakfasts warm.
Tinnie didn’t eat much. ‘‘I have to show my uncles.’’ She waved papers copied from Singe’s collection. ‘‘My copies. We made them before we went to bed.’’
I’d already been dead asleep. She hadn’t wakened me. ‘‘Copies?’’
‘‘This got past me, Garrett. Maybe because I didn’t want to see it. It took a ratgirl to notice. I know you. You’ll tell Max. I want to be there. To try to explain. To intercede, if I can.’’
Intercede? The Tates would keep rescuing Rose till she scuttled them all. Yes. Max was fond of Tinnie. She stifled Alyx’s worst impulses. Her presence might soften his rage enough for me to make my case. ‘‘All right. Good on you.’’
See me before you leave.
I headed for the Dead Man’s room.
Singe intercepted me. ‘‘You are going to see Mr. Weider?’’
‘‘It’s got to be done. I thought you went with your brother.’’
‘‘I had paperwork. I would like to come with you. To explain.’’
I started to tell her that wouldn’t be necessary.
The Dead Man stroked my mind with a feather’s touch of warning. ‘‘Sure. It’ll be more convincing from somebody who can add up two times three. They don’t think I can count past my fingers and toes.’’
The redhead said, ‘‘Lucky you’ve got those extra toes.’’
‘‘What extra . . . ?’’ I went to see what Old Bones wanted. That was a fast review of everything, especially what he’d learned last night, and what he’d have Penny Dreadful poking into today. He had work for Winger and the Remora, too. If I stumbled across them. They seemed to have disappeared. They were supposed to be looking out for Kip and Kyra but hadn’t been anywhere in sight last night.
Vintage Winger.
Lurking Felhske had departed while I slept, but a faint souvenier of his visit hung in the air.
‘‘That’s it?’’
That is it.
Maybe. But I was sure he had done some digging inside my head.
Singe and Tinnie were in the hallway, waiting impatiently. Tinnie was simmering again.
I wouldn’t want to be Rose Tate tonight.
I could not believe that the Tates would be dim enough to let Rose get close to money. Though I would’ve thought she was too lazy to be this clever.
Things at the World were calm and under control. Workmen were at work. Rats were down below. John Stretch told me they were finding nothing but bug scraps and broken pupae. Saucerhead’s guys were on patrol outside, cocky because they’d thwarted a feeble raid by some dead-ender Stompers during the night. They’d rounded up the gangster wannabes and handed them over to the Guard. The kids would be off to labor camp before the end of the day.
Otherwise, Tharpe’s report was excellent. No inside trouble. No bugs, no freaks, and only a ghost of a ghost, seldom seen. The workmen had found nothing to bitch about yet.
Tharpe told me, ‘‘There was music last night, though. But it was, like, contented. Sleepy. Not that loud, aggravated shit. Hell, it was purring.’’
The workmen were really getting on with it. I had a good feeling as I led Tinnie and Singe on toward our fateful encounter at the Weider shack.
90
Hector wasn’t working the door. I was disappointed. I’d really built him up to Tinnie and Singe. His replacement was average size, ginger of hair, overly muscled and had the cold eyes of somebody who really missed the war. He recognized Tinnie and was concerned by the company she chose to keep. He let us in without saying a word.
Some kind of bang and crash happened, followed by shouting. Somebody launched a pompous soliloquy. Another voice bellowed, ‘‘No! No! You’re not some lunatic on the steps of the Chancellery! You’re in love! You’re tryin
g to seduce the unseduceable!’’
All became clear once we could see the ballroom that makes up half the Weider hovel’s ground floor.
A small, rude stage had been thrown together across the end whence the service staff comes and goes when the Weiders entertain. Alyx, Bobbi, Lindy Zhang, Cassie Doap, and a guy I didn’t know were clustered onstage, to its right. The ladies weren’t wearing a lot, in a classical sort of style. Winger stood at the left front corner, in junk armor made for somebody smaller than her. She had on an absurd helmet with big-ass shiny metal wings. It was a wonder she kept her head up. She leaned on an oversize spear and looked like her shoes pinched.
Jon Salvation paced between, muttering. He had done the shouting.
Max, Manvil, Heather Soames, Hector, and some household staff formed a small, bewildered audience.
Tinnie sputtered and hissed, outraged. ‘‘What the hell? What the hell?’’ Her shoes made a huge, clattering racket as she stomped down the stair to the ballroom floor, never having knocked the winter off her feet.
Singe and I were good boys and girls. We left no muddy melt water on Max’s lovely serpentine floor.
That didn’t help matters, of course.
When Singe and I caught up Tinnie was in a snarling match with Alyx because she hadn’t been told about the rehearsal. Alyx insisted it wasn’t a rehearsal because they didn’t have anywhere to put on a play. They were just trying out scenes from something Jon Salvation was writing. A great historical tragedy.
Looked to me like Alyx wanted to eliminate an actress who might upstage her. ‘‘Anyway, you’re always busy, Tinnie. Either working or riding herd on Garrett. You don’t have time. Everybody else does.’’
True, mostly. But not what Tinnie wanted to hear.
I was wondering why Winger and Jon Salvation had time free.
Heather went in to referee the catfight. I climbed onstage and dragged a gobbling Jon Salvation over to where Winger was mooshing things around under her breastplate, trying to get comfortable inside armor not designed for someone as blessed as she. ‘‘The Dead Man told you guys to stick with Kip and Kyra. What happened?’’
Jon Salvation accused Winger by using exaggerated shifts of his eyeballs.
Did I really have to ask?
‘‘You just walked out on a job?’’
‘‘We got them home safe.’’
‘‘And didn’t let anybody know the kids weren’t covered anymore?’’
Winger said, ‘‘We had to get back to work on the play. Rausta, Queen of the Demenenes is gonna be the first play put on at the World. Jon put me in as the goddess Sedona.’’
The Remora told me, ‘‘Sedona was the patroness of the Demenenes. Rausta was their queen. She fell in love with the adventurer Laupher. She had to kill him to prove to the other Demenenes that she’d remain true to tribal law. Then she gave birth to twins. One boy, one girl. Demenenes were supposed to kill their male children. But Rausta didn’t.’’
I didn’t know the goddess, the queen, or the adventurer, but everybody knows the Demenenes, legendarily harsh Amazons of the plains way to the north of Karenta. They were the first people to domesticate horses. Joining one abomination with another. I didn’t need Jon Salvation to tell me how the story went after the twins grew up.
Salvation told me, ‘‘Sedona may have been an earlier queen of the Demenenes. Which would make her more a patron saint than patron goddess.’’
Winger said, ‘‘This godsdamned armor is rubbing my tits raw.’’
The Remora promised, ‘‘We’ll have better costumes when we open. This stuff is just for setting the tone. We will be opening, won’t we, Garrett?’’
‘‘I don’t see why not.’’
The other Amazons made a great show just prowling around. Too bad Tinnie was in a black mood. I wouldn’t mind watching the rehearsal, especially if the ladies got to jumping around, pretending to fight. The legendary Demenenes were all the time picking fights. Maybe the Remora could put in some wrestling scenes.
‘‘You rogue,’’ I told Salvation. ‘‘Those costumes will make your play a winner.’’ If they didn’t get the World burned by the kind of loons who can’t stand to look at scantily clad women. ‘‘Singe, let’s get Tinnie.’’
Max and Manvil were headed upstairs.
Tinnie allowed herself to be removed from the stage but remained furious. Alyx had found the trigger this time.
Cunning men, Max and Manvil had noted that we came armed with masses of paper. They cleared a table away from the fury of the fireplace and established themselves at its ends. They weren’t nearly as grim as I expected. I settled the females on one side of the table, went to the other myself. ‘‘These two will go first. What they’ve got is urgent.’’
Tinnie deferred to Singe. Singe managed to present her material without giving way to nerves. Tinnie nodded when she thought that was appropriate. Singe turned over her copies of the questionable records. And, almost as an afterthought, passed her expenses account to Manvil Gilbey.
Max said, ‘‘What do you call it when you mean to do one thing but you come up with something else instead?’’
Gilbey wondered, ‘‘Serendipity? Or synchronicity?’’
Back to Max. ‘‘Tinnie? What does the firm’s treasurer say?’’
The firm’s treasurer had her anger under control. ‘‘The firm’s treasurer admits she’s a big screwup. She didn’t realize her own family could steal from her.’’
‘‘Is it a family policy?’’ Gilbey radiated exasperated disbelief.
‘‘No! No! That’s not what I meant. I meant I never thought one of my own would mess me up like this.’’
Gilbey turned his glower on Singe. ‘‘You’ve come a long way in a short time.’’
Singe proved it by refusing to be intimidated. She bowed her head slightly to hide her embarrassment. ‘‘Mr. Garrett has been very supportive.’’
‘‘He has that reputation. Why don’t we put the financials aside? Garrett, tell us what you’ve done at the World. Have you handled the problems we wanted resolved?’’
‘‘Things are almost wrapped.’’
Max gave me the fish-eye. Gilbey seemed equally dubious.
I said, ‘‘What I’m going to tell you is unvarnished truth. The way it’s been told to me. You don’t have to believe it but you do have to keep it quiet.’’ Portentous enough? ‘‘As general knowledge it could lead to a huge disaster.’’ I plunged into the story.
I’ve been involved with the brewery so long that Max dismisses nothing, however absurd it might seem at first blush. ‘‘A dragon.’’ An exhalation, not a question.
‘‘I report only what my experts are telling me. Two from high on the Hill. I don’t necessarily buy it myself. You could interrogate Vilchik. He did the library research.’’
‘‘Vilchik?’’
‘‘Alyx’s tame playwright. Calls himself Jon Salvation. His real name is Pilsuds Vilchik. Known on the street as the Remora. My partner had him help do research. Between them Vilchik and Barate Algarda found four historical events that looked a lot like ours. So-called dragon awakenings. All long ago and far away. Fine details weren’t available. My partner doesn’t admit any personal knowledge but he’s been around long enough to have heard about these things when they happened. I have reservations based on the fact that in none of the reports is there a mention of anyone actually seeing a dragon. The roll-up of the Cantard silver supposedly resulted from one of those events.’’
Gilbey demanded, ‘‘What do we do?’’
‘‘The best advice I’ve gotten so far is, leave it the hell alone. If we stop poking it, it might fall asleep again. Cold makes it sleepy. I’m letting all the cold air get to it that I can. But I’ve got a little something else going, too. In case my advisers have been talking out the wrong orifice.’’
Ensued a prolonged question, answer, challenge, and brainstorming session, the sum of which was that the costs of the World were mounting. The t
heater had begun to look like a questionable investment.
Max and Manvil suggested running ice water down under. I told them, ‘‘You have to get the water there. An uphill haul. Then you’ll flood everything under the neighborhood. Which wouldn’t win you any friends.’’
Gilbey asked, ‘‘Where do dwarves stand on the question of dragons?’’
Manvil Gilbey could do two things at once. He reviewed Singe’s expenses ledger while participating in the give and take. He used a company writing stick to tick items for discussion.
I said, ‘‘One more thing, then. Maybe the most important, businesswise.’’
Max looked like he didn’t want to hear any more. ‘‘That would be?’’
‘‘Your designers didn’t take into account the fact that human beings expected to consume mass quantities of Weider beer will need somewhere to set it free.’’
Max started to say something, stopped as the implication hit. ‘‘Really?’’
‘‘Really. How many people will you push through there?’’
‘‘Damn!’’ Gilbey said. ‘‘Two thousand on a good day. Why didn’t anybody think of that?’’ He was asking himself, not me.
Max muttered, ‘‘Nobody else is worried about it. Why should we?’’
Gilbey examined the elevations. He ran fingers over them like he might discover some secret not obvious to the naked eye. ‘‘It’s true, Max. And it’s our fault. There isn’t a hint in the specs. But plenty to help beer sales go easier.’’
Max groused, ‘‘Must be because us divine types never have to piss. Take a lesson, Garrett. You’re never so old or so smart that you can’t fuck up.’’
Here came the rain of crap for everything that happened at the World.
I was wrong.
Max and Manvil bickered briefly, like an old married couple. I envied them. I have some solid friends but none that tight, excepting maybe Eleanor.
I couldn’t take the tension. ‘‘When are you gonna jump in my shit?’’
Max managed baffled perfectly but Gilbey twitched and betrayed a fleeting smirk. Max asked, ‘‘There some reason we ought to come down on your ass? Like maybe for dicking around so long getting the job done?’’
