Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  Thank you Singe, you wonder child.

  In moments I felt more at home and more relaxed than I had for a long time.

  26

  I would like to say that the depth of Belinda Contague’s commitment to Morley was reflected in her willingness to walk into a place where her thoughts could not be kept secret, but...

  Her willingness is tempered by a cautious application of technology.

  “What?”

  Once upon a time a band of junior sorcerers, amongst other sins, created a mesh able to keep me from seeing their thoughts.

  I remembered. I considered Belinda more closely. “She isn’t wearing a wig.”

  I was in the hallway, adding to the congestion. People were everywhere, getting in each other’s way. Morley was supposed to go into what had been my office, back in antiquity. Singe had cleared it out, then had installed a bed, chairs, and a few other bare-bones amenities. The guys with the litter couldn’t figure out how to make the turn through the doorway.

  This room was smaller than the last but here I would not be confined to one space. I could roam from room to room and floor to floor, and even go down into the cellar. Wide open spaces, compared. And Singe would be more interesting company than the surly folk at Fire and Ice.

  I backed into Singe’s office while the litter boys twisted and shoved and argued. Joel and Belinda barked advice that only added to the tumult. I wondered what the neighbors thought. You don’t often see the morticians make a delivery instead of a pickup.

  The mesh is next to her scalp, embedded in her natural hair.

  “That’s a lot of work gone to waste.” If any of these brunos knew something Belinda wanted kept secret.

  Too much was happening at once. I couldn’t keep an eye on it all. The Dead Man had to make sure nobody collected souvenirs or hid in a closet.

  It all worsened when Belinda went from the advisory to the imperial edict stage.

  “Hey, woman! Yes. You. The pretty lady who forgets where she’s at. Calm down. And get those extra bodies out of here.” Her thugs had gotten Morley into his new quarters and established in his new bed. At which point I realized that we didn’t have Crush and DeeDee to feed and change him anymore.

  Belinda gave me the hard-eye. Then she did remember where she was, what she was doing, and who was there behind her, out of sight but maybe not quite out of mind. “Yes. All right. Joel, get the hat and coat from Mr. Garrett. The rest of you, go to Durelea Hall. Wait there. Joel, pay Roger and thank him for the use of the hearse. Worden, tell my coachman to wait at Durelea Hall, too.”

  I said, “I hate to give up the coat. I like the look.” But I handed it over.

  Joel said, “See Cap’n Roger. There’s always openings in the mortician trade.”

  “I left some tools in the hearse. I’ll need them. Would you be so generous as to run them up to the door?”

  Belinda inclined her head slightly. Joel took that as an order. Off he went. The Dead Man touched me lightly, confirming my suspicions. I asked Belinda, “You spend much time around Joel?”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “He’s got the bug bad. And he smells like the kind of guy who could get weird.”

  Belinda stared like I was a raving lunatic. Like I had accosted her on the street, insisting that she hear my theory about the royal conspiracy to conceal the truth about the mole people who lived in caverns deep under the earth. “You saw something that I missed?”

  “I could be wrong. But the way the man watches you, when you don’t know he’s watching... I’d say it’s close to obsession.”

  “Good to know. I think.”

  Truly a human shark.

  “You can still get a solid read?”

  Not if you ruin it by talking about it.

  Always a problem, me verbalizing my half of our conversations. “I’m out of practice.”

  An understatement.

  After his appearance out front Dean had fled to the kitchen. He remained in hiding whilst the old homestead swarmed with villains, not out of timidity but to avoid being trampled. He emerged now. “Is the rush over?”

  His great dread had been being told to feed the horde. He was irked enough because Belinda and I were still on scene and special needs Morley was lurking in my old office. “I’ll need to do some serious shopping if there are going to be extra mouths to feed.”

  Singe told him, “Make a list. I’ll have John Stretch deal with it. None of us should go out. It might not be safe.”

  Dean shrugged. He did not ask my opinion. He was used to Singe taking charge.

  I caught on. Danger wasn’t relevant. Singe was giving an old man an excuse to let someone else do his running.

  Dean’s years were catching up.

  I said, “We need to decide how to handle Morley. Belinda, you’ll be busy back in the world. Singe and I can, maybe, muddle through an occasional feeding, sponge bath, or linen change, but we aren’t qualified to do it regular. We’ll need somebody trustworthy.” Because he or she would not be live-in. There was nowhere to put anybody.

  Singe said, “Taken care of, Garrett. Some of John Stretch’s women will handle it.”

  Singe had everything covered already. There was no need to fuss.

  Belinda said, “I’m not needed here anymore.”

  “Don’t go,” I said. “We haven’t talked about what you found out the last few days.”

  “Nothing, basically.”

  I waited for an opinion from the Dead Man. None came. “Nothing at all? That’s hard to believe.”

  “What you believe is up to you. I’m going, now. I’ll check in occasionally. If the lazy dick does wake up, send a message.” She headed for the door, striding manfully.

  The Dead Man touched me lightly — just a gentle suggestion that I keep my mouth shut till she was out of the house.

  27

  I shut the door, did a quick mental catalog of the faces I had seen watching. There were dozens, still, even with the hearse and coach gone. Some were Belinda’s bodyguards. None of the others tripped an alarm. None made the Dead Man wonder, either.

  Mr. Dotes’ presence will not remain secret. A clever questioner could pluck a detail from this dim witness and that and assemble an approximation of our situation.

  “And? So what?”

  That was me being too sure that I was untouchable inside my own house. My watchful partner brought my overconfidence to my attention.

  I am ever most effective when my presence and abilities are unknown. One would think that you had worked that out for yourself by now.

  I was about to spin a big argument. He cut me off. How would you deal with me, given the knowledge you have?

  A couple notions popped into mind immediately. And I limit my options by failing to be as ruthless as some.

  You see. It is all in knowing what you are up against. Which is why my people never reveal all there is to know about us, to friend, foe, or sibling.

  Wisdom with which it was hard to argue. At the moment I was thinking the best way to get him and Morley at the same time would be a swarming attack with firebombs. Light the place up and burn everybody inside.

  There are people out there able to do that and sleep like a baby afterward. People who would do it for the price of a quality high.

  Director Relway doesn’t always seem like a bad idea.

  You begin to see. We are most vulnerable to those who know who and what we are.

  No doubt he meant that on multiple levels.

  “I see. In fact, I see so clearly that I’m sure Belinda made a mistake by moving us here.”

  Let me suggest some possibilities. Perhaps she does not plan to leave Mr. Dotes here long. This may last only until it lures someone into range.

  “We’re bait?”

  Possibly. She might, in addition, be pleased if I could excise a clue or two from Mr. Dotes.

  “About?”

  All of the great questions. Who? Where? What? Why? When? How? And who to? Or an
ything else that might lead to the cutting of selected throats. I am inclined to agree with Miss Contague about the potential value of the dig. Which will be difficult work. Exploring an unconscious mind, counterintuitively, is much more difficult than rummaging through a mind that is awake, aware, and trying to hide.

  “I’ll take your word for it. You being the self-declared expert.”

  Indeed. At this point you should find someone else to pester. I need all my minds to winkle out those things that Mr. Dotes does not know he knows.

  28

  One custom had not changed since my move to Factory Slide. Singe had kept up the payments on the cold well in the kitchen. Currently, that contained a keg of Weider Pale Ale, a Pular Singe favorite. My taste runs to something slightly heavier but the pale ale was plenty good after several days dry.

  Singe and I both drew big mugs and backup pitchers before we headed for her office, leaving Dean preparing a meal obviously meant for more people than me, Singe, and Morley. We settled into the wonderful new furniture and began to scheme out how this thing would go.

  I said, “First thing, I want to catch up on what you did last week, up on the north side.” I took a sip of the pale. Tasty! “I saw you. They probably didn’t tell you what was going on.”

  “Not a lot, no. I took the job because you asked me to in your note.”

  “And?”

  “And what? You need to use small words and be very clear with us Other Races.”

  Was she serious? Or just messing with me? Most of my friends did. Singe had been an exception. “The tracking job. Where did that take you? What did you find? That might give me some clue about what I need to do to help Morley. I know you found something because you’re you, Pular Singe, the best there is and maybe ever was.”

  “Wow! Doesn’t that make me feel special?”

  “Singe! Please.”

  “I keep forgetting that you’re a gelding now. All right. Miss Contague asked me to backtrack a team of goats. I did, into Elf Town, to a small warehouse, where we found some totally ridiculous stuff.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I can’t think of a way to say it better.”

  “So just tell me.”

  “All right. The warehouse was maybe forty by sixty feet, two stories tall, all open inside. The goat cart left the warehouse through a pair of doors, each three feet wide and of normal height. They were barred from inside when we got there. Miss Contague’s men broke in while Director Relway’s Specials looked the other way.”

  Pardon me, children. I can make this easier for you both. It is a significant event that Garrett has no knowledge of beyond the fact that Miss Contague wanted that cart backtracked.

  Singe said, “She knew goats are more pungent and persistent than people. Tracing them would be the easiest way to get a handle on our villain. May I get on with my report?”

  No. Too much will be lost if you do it verbally.

  Vaguely, I heard Singe use language unladylike even for a ratgirl, then found myself living a memory, riding behind her eyes from the moment she started the trace. Initially, there were flashes, excised moments, as the Dead Man skipped me along like a flat stone across a pond. The stills came closer and closer together. Then I was outside the aforementioned double doors. They had been painted recently, a repugnant flat olive with a repulsive odor.

  Red tops stared the other way while Belinda’s thugs broke through. Nobody came to protest the violation. Because the doors were standing open when they arrived the Specials were free to pass through and see if crimes were in progress inside.

  Nobody was home. Belinda’s men and the tin whistles alike produced lights, moved fast.

  I was fascinated by the differences in how Singe and I sensed the world. For her, visual things were less crisp and weaker on color. Her depth of field was limited. She had trouble seeing clearly things that were more than fifty feet away. But the smells!

  She lived in a rich, rich world of aroma.

  Her brother once told me the sense of smell was dramatically more important to rats than to humans and most of the Other Races. I had believed him but not to this extent. The smells were overwhelming.

  And, inside that place, they were not good. They were the smells of corrupting flesh, of chemicals and poisons, smells implanted in ratkind racial memory. A place that smelled like it was where Singe’s ancestors had been created. That thought hit her the instant she stepped inside, before the first lamp shed light.

  Light only confirmed truths evident to her genius nose.

  I could be a little parasite swimming around in Singe’s recollections but I could not fully appreciate her experience. My senses acknowledged much different priorities.

  Once the raiders made light I saw that the place conformed to the dimensions Singe had reported. There were no internal walls except for the far corner on the left side where a space eight feet by ten was isolated behind partitions eight feet high. There was nothing overhead but framing for a peaked roof, the rooftree of which was twenty feet above the floor.

  Ahead were numerous glass vats big enough to hold a human being. Several did. They could have been blown only by an artist with a knack for sorcery. Every thug and tin whistle instantly decided that discovering the provenance of the vats would lead them right to the devil who had created this abomination.

  The intruders moved deeper into the warehouse. The stench of corruption grew thicker. Scores of dead flies floated in the solution in those vats without closed tops. There were no active flies. They came in the front door but did not make it all the way to the rotting flesh.

  That did come from dead people. A twenty foot long, massive oak workbench stood against the back wall. It boasted three corpses in the process of disassembly. Extra parts lay scattered about. At the right-hand end of the bench sat the biggest vat in the place, only as tall as the table but three feet wide and six feet long. Scrap pieces could be swept off into a solution that had to be something ferocious — though becoming slightly diluted. There were chunks of inadequately consumed big bones in there.

  Singe had shut down all but the observer part of her mind. She handled the horror better than I would have. Certainly better than Belinda’s soldiers and the tin whistles did. Several left and would not come back. Others did return but absent their latest several meals. Only the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light, seemed unaffected. She moved through the place slowly, examining everything.

  Experiencing all that through Singe’s nose was no joy, though to the primal rats from which she descended stinky meat had meant food.

  Singe paid little attention to the Windwalker. I was unable to watch the lethal waif saunter about, surrounded by a ten foot come-no-closer spell. Singe was interested only in the manufactory of horror.

  That was what she had found. A place where monsters were made from pieces of dead people. It might be the foulest necromantic den TunFaire had turned up in centuries.

  I felt frustrated. She didn’t just pay no attention to the Windwalker, she didn’t poke where I would have poked. Though she did better than I might have, really. I would have focused on the Windwalker. She was remarkable in so many ways, including by being off the Hill, one of TunFaire’s top sorcerers. And, once upon a time, she had made it plain that she was inclined to stand very close to a certain professional investigator.

  Garrett!

  Nothing like a hammer between the eyes to make you concentrate.

  Singe left the others for the walled-off section. It had a makeshift door that could be latched from either side. It was ajar. She pushed it open. “Can someone bring a light?”

  One arrived quickly. Singe and the light bringer entered the room. The Windwalker followed. She did something mystic to create a better light.

  The space was a child’s room. Dirty clothes were scattered everywhere. An unmade bed was occupied by a large, tattered stuffed bear. Clutter was everywhere. It included moldy remnants of unfinished meals. The tin whistle with the lantern observed, “So
mebody likes stuffed critters.” There had to be fifteen of those, mostly large. The clothing was girl stuff, in what seemed to be a variety of adolescent sizes. Singe never actively examined those.

  Singe sniffed. The Windwalker began an intense visual examination. The tin whistle asked, “He kept a kid prisoner?” Jumping to the obvious conclusion. “We need to get this guy.”

  Furious Tide of Light said, “Would you step outside, officer? Watch from the doorway if you like. Our first task will be to find out who lived here.” She let Singe stay. Singe was the miracle girl.

  The miracle girl didn’t pay attention to what the Windwalker was doing. Near as I could figure, the woman was doing the same as Singe, only sniffing for magic.

  And that was that. Furious Tide of Light decided that the place ought to be evacuated and cordoned off. A guard would be posted and no one would be allowed in except at Prince Rupert’s direction. Singe learned what she could but had to leave with everyone else. She reported to Belinda, then came home. Nothing more had been heard.

  Amongst the things I found while Miss Contague was with us was an angry recollection of being asked to drop her private investigation by the Crown Prince.

  29

  I said, “That was amazing stuff. But what does it have to do with Morley?”

  For that connection you must be patient. I have begun exploration but the work goes like trying to fell a tree by gnawing through the trunk.

  Singe rubbed her temples. “That was no fun. I hope that is the last time we will go over it.”

  I have it memorized, now. I can relive it whenever I want. I will not trouble you again.

  I started asking questions. I have that habit. Singe said, “You saw what I saw. You have every scrap of information I did. I need to see my brother before I get too giddy.”

  “Speaking of John Stretch. Some of his people were outside the henhouse with you. What was that all about?”