by Glen Cook
"Now you've got it."
I took another shot at getting up off the cot. This time I made it upright.
A drooping Singe materialized before I took a second step. "Where are you going?"
"Upstairs. To bed."
"You just woke up."
I coughed heartily. The cold was getting there. "Ah, crap! You should get some sleep, too."
"Somebody has to run this circus. And I seem to be the only one who can stay awake."
"Unfair. You didn't get the magical smack down."
"Nor did I, eyes wide shut, charge into what a three-year-old dimwit could recognize as a deadly instrument."
"She's got you there, Garrett."
A point. When I charge around overturning and busting things sometimes it's me that gets overturned and busted.
I would have been better off hanging back, throwing rocks.
I picked up the breather. "Show me what to do."
What to do was take notes, for the Dead Man's delectation later, from people poking into things for us. Half of them I didn't know. Some I hadn't seen before. I had no idea how or when they had gotten hired. And they were, universally, boring, because they had nothing interesting to report.
After the fourth I told Singe, "This is impossible. TunFaire can't possibly be that quiet. People can't still be that ignorant. There were witnesses out there."
"Just means the powers that be kept the lid on. So far. Probably by manufacturing clever stories. Gang warfare. Ethnic strife. Something like that. There. I'm caught up."
Nothing interesting happened for the rest of the day.
68
I did get to bed before sundown, never having taken a sip of beer. Dean had gone up right after supper. Singe didn't stay up much longer than I did. We left the house to Penny and Dollar Dan.
I fell asleep snuggling with the breather and a mound of handkerchiefs. Singe had delivered a mug of fierce medicinal tea on her way to her repose. That put me under, fast.
I wakened with the sun on the rise. And I was not alone.
Strafa was spooned up against me as though she had been there every night for years. She was leaner and warmer than what I was accustomed to.
I was startled, but only for a moment. Where else could she stay? The other beds were taken.
I moved slightly. She adjusted, too. My right hand discovered something smaller and more firm than what I anticipated. I cupped it. She pushed against my hand and made a little sound of contentment. I slipped back into Nod. She was purring.
When next I wakened I was on my back. Strafa's head was on my chest, over my heart. She was against me tightly, all the way down. Her hand was on my belly, thumb resting on my navel.
It all seemed perfectly reasonable.
My heartbeat quickened.
That wakened Strafa, slightly. Her hand drifted.
I squeaked. She purred but granted a stay after brief exploration. She wrapped that arm around me, over my right shoulder, pulled herself even closer, half on top, purred some more, and went back to sleep.
Singe awakened us. She showed no attitude. "You won't have time to eat if you don't get moving." She grabbed my used handkerchiefs. "I'll get these washed. There are fresh downstairs." Her nose twitched, no doubt telling her what she wanted to know. "The Dead Man is still asleep. General Block should be here in about an hour. His message didn't say why. Otherwise, there is no news."
Strafa untangled herself from the bedding while Singe talked, exposing my nakedness. No surprise to Singe. She knows I sleep raw. But Strafa was equally bare and not the least self-conscious.
Singe's nose twitched some more. She said nothing. Her season was no longer causing completely tormenting emotions.
She collected the breather. "I'll have Dean recharge this."
"Thanks." I did not look at her. I could not stop staring at Strafa, who was digging in a trunk that hadn't been against the west wall when I went to bed.
The door shut behind Singe. Strafa looked at me, now sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're having naughty thoughts. I can tell."
Oh, yeah.
She came to me, pushed me back, straddled me, asked, "Now? Or wait till tonight?"
I was no moral hero. I was no faithful lover. Had the name Tinnie Tate come up just then my best response would have been, "Who?" I couldn't talk. My brains were scrambled. The woman had found her way deep inside my head. She had established emotional colonies. There was no way to drive her out.
I couldn't come up with an answer. So Strafa allowed herself the luxury of deciding for me.
As far as she was concerned the issue never was if but when.
69
I was still distracted when we reached the kitchen. Kind old Dean served breakfast despite the time. He was in a fine mood.
Morley shuffled in. He checked us out, smirked, but never said a word. Penny appeared as Dean set a plate in front of Morley. She sniffed as she settled into the last chair. She gave Strafa a dark look but didn't say anything, either.
Playmate stuck his head in. "Anything I can do, Dean?" While he eyeballed me and Strafa.
"You could grab a hammer, some nails, and some boards, and add on to my kitchen. Otherwise, no. We can't squeeze another body in."
It wasn't that crowded-though nobody would be able to move if Playmate put himself on our side of the door.
I asked, "Dean, who all is here? Besides who all I can see right now."
"Singe. Some of John Stretch's people. That creature who calls himself the Bird."
Penny said, "Bird came to paint. His Honor is napping, though. So Bird is silencing his voices instead."
That was about the longest speech she'd ever made in my presence. She sounded disconsolate. I risked panicking her. "What do you think about him, Penny? Does he really hear voices?"
She made herself reply, her voice tiny as she did so. "Yes. He hears them. And not just because he's crazy. They're real. He let me talk to them while we were working."
Kitchen business stopped. Penny shrank under the pressure of curious eyes.
"The Dead Man thinks the Bird belongs in the crazy ward at the Bledsoe."
"His Honor can't hear the voices. He only hears Bird's answers. If Bird does answer. Mostly, he just takes another drink."
"How did you talk to the voices, then?"
"Bird told me what they said. They heard me when I answered."
Dean rested a reassuring hand on Penny's shoulder. "You'll be all right."
I didn't get the girl. A couple, three years ago she had been hell on wheels, acting in her role as high priestess of a screw-ball country cult, hiding out from religious enemies. But she'd always been pathologically shy around me. Which, as Kyra had told her, was totally Tinnie's fault.
I asked, "You talked to them?"
"Sure."
I blew my nose. "How did that work?"
"Bird just lets the voice take over. Then I talk to the ghost. It doesn't last long. Bird only lets them talk so people will know he's telling the truth."
I made myself stay calm. I had to keep the intensity down. Penny would trample Playmate trying to get away if I tripped her panic response. "I'd sure like to see that." Penny did not volunteer to arrange it. "Who do the voices belong to?"
"Dead people. People who were murdered. Awful people, mostly."
I once spent time in a relationship with a woman who had been murdered when I was a child. I met her ghost as an adult. I had no trouble with Penny's notion. "Do tell."
"Tell what? That the ones I talked to sounded like they got what they had coming? That's what drives Bird crazy. He has these whiny haunts, who deserved what they got, insisting that he do things for them."
"I've got it." Not only did the Bird have to deal with ghosts, his spooks belonged to that select crew who think they are more special than anyone else and should get special treatment always, in the main because they survived childbirth.
In TunFaire these leeches tend to come to a bad end early,
though their survivability has improved since the war's end.
Once upon a time the body politic shed its parasites in the cauldron of the Cantard. They could be counted on to get themselves killed.
The war had had its fierce egalitarian side. There had been no buying out of it-though the clever had been able to wrangle less risky assignments. Princes and paupers, everyone took his dip in the deadly pond. Old folks were nostalgic for the days when the war kept the streets clear of loud, badly behaved, sometimes dangerous young men.
"Mr. Garrett?"
"I'm sorry. Having an old man's moment. You're used to Old Bones. Can he fix the Bird's brain so he doesn't hear those people?"
"I don't think Bird would want that. He hates the voices. But if they aren't pestering him and he doesn't drink, he can't paint." Then she asked, "How long do you think His Honor will sleep?"
"I've never figured the formula out. You'd do better to ask Singe."
"What should I do since he's not awake?"
"What would you be doing if you weren't hunkered down here?"
"Stuff. I don't know. Dean and Singe both say I shouldn't leave. Those bad people might want to get hold of someone from this house."
"Dean is a wise man. Why don't you help him? These past few days have been hard for him. And you can help Singe, if she needs it. I'm going to go bug her myself, right now."
Everyone bailed when I did. Penny stayed with Dean. I saw no enthusiasm in either of them.
Singe was writing something using an Amalgamated steel tip quill. "The Dead Man's pet girl says she talks to the ghosts that haunt the drunken artist."
"Take him along next time you dance with the dead men. Turn them around on their mistress."
"I'll run it past Old Bones when he wakes up. I have some questions for you."
"Blow your nose first. That sniffling is disgusting."
I took care of that, and coughed up some stuff besides. "Did anyone trace the giant bottles and glass vats from that warehouse?"
"Not that I know of. The Director and the Guard aren't keeping me in the loop. I didn't think to ask last time the General was here. Speaking of whom, he's late. No one else tells me anything useful, either. Including your new wrestling partner."
"You're leaping to conclusions. What did Old Bones get out of those villains that Block loaned us?"
"He didn't say, officially. Unofficially, what I expected. Nothing that we didn't already know. They were day labor."
"Has anyone found out anything useful?"
"Not yet. You would think the resurrection men, at least, could be found. Are you bored? I'm not here to entertain you. I have work to do."
"Hokum." I suspected that she was crabby because her body was disgruntled because she had not mated successfully during her season.
"I had another question. The most important one. But I can't remember what it was. Wait! Here it is. Old Bones had me chase Relway the other day to tell him about men who were watching the house. Did Relway bother to let us know who they were?"
"Not officially."
"Unofficially?"
"General Block was informed that they belonged to the King's Household Lifeguard. The Palace Guard. He wasn't convinced. He thought they were really private police from the Hill."
Either possibility was disturbing. I didn't want to attract attention from either direction. "Not good."
"But maybe an indication that powerful people take the situation seriously."
I started to say something.
"If all you can do is chatter, take the woman back upstairs or go frighten Penny. I'm busy."
"Ah, you're no fun anymore."
"That's all your fault. Out."
70
I got the last laugh.
Someone used the knocker as I exited Singe's office. I employed the peephole, saw a fierce green eye glaring back. I opened up.
"Kyra."
"I brought some people for you to talk to. You could maybe break this one's leg for me while you're at it." She had a death grip on Kip Prose's left arm. Kip appeared to be shackled to Kevans Algarda with an invisible chain. Kevans looked like she wanted to fight but didn't know who to hit first. Kip had that numb look men get when they have hold of a Tate woman with her mind made up.
"You did indeed. And I'm most pleasantly surprised. How are you, Kip? We don't see much of you at the manufactory anymore. And yourself, Miss?"
I would not mention her mother or how Strafa worried. No point throwing naphtha on the drama. "No real need for the fancy headgear, guys. His Nibs has been out cold since the other night. But wear them if that makes you comfortable. Let's go into Singe's office."
Singe greeted my return with a bloody look. That evaporated once she saw the kids. She got up. "I'll tell Dean we have more guests. Garrett, shall I make sure you aren't disturbed by the others?"
"That would make these three more comfortable."
Kyra said, "I told them about what's going on and how your place is, like, a madhouse."
"It's getting better. We've got only six or seven extra bodies here today."
One of those, Penny, arrived with tea and a heap of the cookies that Dean always brought out when young people visit. Cookies I could never find when I wanted to nick one or three for myself. Penny offered Kip and Kevans a polite smile. She had a warmer look for Kyra. When she left, Kyra told me, "That's who you should be chasing, Garrett. She's quiet, submissive, and young enough for you to train up right."
"I'll wait a while. At least till she stops peeing herself every time I look at her."
Kip was not in a social mood. He isn't happy when life intrudes. "Kyra says there's stuff we need to talk about."
"Yeah. Kevans especially. You heard any rumors about strange stuff going on?"
Kip said, "In TunFaire? You're kidding." But he spoke without passion and nodded in concert with Kevans as he did.
"You probably heard it wrong. Except from Kyra, who was here."
Kip and Kevans both nodded. They were nervous but I sensed no guilt nor any defensive attitude.
"Bad things have been happening. People are trying to cover up. Others are putting out false reports. The whole thing could get ugly in a few days." I told them almost everything, deemphasizing the role of the Windwalker. Kevans showed no particular emotion when I mentioned her mother.
Singe returned moments after Penny left. She took notes.
Penny returned to the doorway. She wasn't sneaking so she wasn't exactly eavesdropping. "Penny, would you get your sketches and Bird's portrait? Please?"
Kip said, "That's ugly stuff, Garrett. Kyra must have sugared it."
"She's an amazing girl, Kip."
"I know. I have an awful time remembering that she isn't my imagination running wild."
Kyra was pleased. Kevans was not, though she was not strictly a romantic rival. She and Kip strove to maintain that frog's-fur rare boy-girl relationship where they were just good friends.
Kevans was, I noted belatedly, wearing girl clothes. She always dressed as a boy, before. She looked good as a girl but she didn't look nearly as good as that wicked woman in black leather.
Penny brought the sketches and painting. Singe held the latter up while Penny handled her own work.
"Anybody recognize anyone?" I asked.
Kevans countered, "Is my mother still here?"
I glanced at Kyra. Butter wouldn't melt. Then to Singe, "Miss Pular, would the Windwalker still be with us?"
Singe responded a grim rat glower. "She may be. It's hard to say for sure. She keeps flitting in and out of the upstairs windows."
I said, "Why do you ask, Kevans?"
"I wondered if she's seen these."
"I don't know. Has she, Singe?"
Singe had a grand opportunity to be lethally catty. She let it pass. "Probably not. She will not go into the Dead Man's room."
Penny agreed with Singe, though we three all knew that she had seen the artwork.
I saw Kyra doing math base
d on the fact that Penny Dreadful had moved into the guest room while Furious Tide of Light was staying here, too.
I concentrated on Kevans.
Kyra did not let the completed equation affect her attitude.
Singe saw what I saw. She would have smirked and sneered if nature had equipped her for it. She did observe, "Life gets more complicated every day, doesn't it?"
Kip and Kevans thought that was directed toward them. Kevans declared, "Kip and I are just friends. We challenge each other to think. There isn't anything else going on. Really."
Kyra did not appear to be reassured.
I thought the fact that Kevans needed to say anything might reveal something about what was going on inside her head.
I was fairly certain that in the past the relationship had been friendship with special benefits as two incredibly bright but socially inept kids struggled through the turbulence of puberty.
Whatever, these days Kip trudged along in his mentor's trace, essentially oblivious.
Kip's mentor took a chance and changed the subject. "Your mother is desperately frightened for you, Kevans. The Specials turned up what looks like evidence involving you in this new wickedness."
She did a wonderful job of looking unpleasantly surprised.
I told her what Singe and the Windwalker had found in Elf Town. Singe kicked in points I overlooked. I wished the Dead Man was awake to sift the secrets I was stirring off the stream-bed of Kevans' mind.
"They found your stuffed bear, and some other things." Then I went fishing. "Those hairnets don't work anymore."
Kip squeaked like I had stepped on his toes. "That can't be!"
"It can. Old Bones can adapt when he has time to think. The point I want to make is, you can't hide from His Nibs anymore."
Penny sneered. And looked me in the eye when she did.
Kip looked like he wanted to panic. Kevans was less rattled. Singe gave me an unhappy glare, thinking I had just wasted valuable household advantages.
Kevans said, "That sounds like where I hid out after we had the bug problem. I lived there almost a year."
Kip jumped in with a pretty good description of the place. Obviously he had visited. That won no points over on the redheaded girlfriend side. The redheaded girlfriend had not known.
