Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  I felt a ghostly touch of approval.

  This would be interesting. I could play Dead Man in the web, directing the hoof work while I crocheted doilies.

  “All right. I can’t go out but I can help. You ready to put money into this?”

  “As much as it takes.”

  “Curb the emotion. Emotion won’t solve anything. Besides seeing the Prince, Barate, and Kevans, here’s what I need you to do.”

  The intensity with which she listened was embarrassing.

  33

  I was groggy from lack of sleep when I toddled down for breakfast. I missed a step, lost my balance, and might have busted something if my flailing right hand had not snagged the rail on the left side of the stair. I ended up on my belly, shaking, aching in one bruised knee and embarrassed when Singe appeared at the foot of the stair.

  “You all right? What happened?”

  “Gravity ambush. I think I’m good. Though I might end up wearing a peg leg.” I was starting to hurt where I banged my left hip on the edge of a step. “Let’s see if I can make it the rest of the way without killing myself.” I turned loose of the rail.

  “If you are going to kill yourself, don’t do it here. I’m too weak, and Dean is too feeble to shift a corpse.”

  I sensed amusement from old butterbutt.

  Dean had come out to investigate. “We could cut him up into smaller pieces.”

  “That would make a mess. But we could infiltrate him into the resurrection scheme that’s got everybody excited.”

  “Everybody?” I made it down without further mishap.

  Dean said, “Tea’s ready. Sausages and rolls are warming.” He slipped back into the kitchen.

  Singe said, “Good thing you weren’t carrying your pot when you did that.”

  “Yeah. Good thing. But why would I be...”

  “Because Dean is having trouble getting up and down. He needs to keep both hands on the rails.”

  “Got it. Now tell me about everybody being excited.”

  “The news about the murders and the resurrection lab got out.”

  Not surprising. Too many people knew. Which I mentioned.

  “You’re right. I hear the public reaction has been strong. Maybe that’s because they’ve gotten spoiled, shaded by the Civil Guard and the Unpublished Committee. Unorganized crime isn’t a commonplace anymore. Something like this spooks people. They want it fixed. Fast.”

  We moved into the kitchen. Dean was just settling my breakfast onto the massive little table. He placed a bowl of stewed apples opposite me, Singe’s favorite food. My hip bone barked when I sat down.

  I asked, “How is Morley?” I’d drop in as soon as my belly was full.

  “Unchanged. But healing. Doing well, physically.”

  “But?”

  “Something inside doesn’t want to come back. So I’m told.”

  “He did try, early on, at the other place.” I had a momentary notion about him getting lost in Faerie, a willing captive of illusion.

  “And then he decided not to try anymore.”

  “Is he working on it?”

  “Of course. He says it might take a long time. It’s some of the finest, most delicate work he’s ever done. What do you think of the rolls?”

  “I like them. Spicy. Sweeter than I’m used to.”

  “They’re from a specialty bakery I found in Fointain Lane. Looks like you’re done. Get on with your chores. You slept in so you’ve only got an hour before the meeting.”

  “What chores? What meeting?”

  “We talked about this. You need to make up your room, deal with your pot, and gather your dirty clothing so it can be laundered. Then you have to deal with the trash. The dust-man’s wagon will come through the alley this afternoon.”

  Changes, changes. They come in a blink of the eye these days.

  My eyes must have been the size of saucers. I got the sense that Old Bones would have busted out laughing if he wasn’t so far gone he no longer exercised a respiratory function.

  Welcome to the new regime in the house on Macunado Street.

  Like the new regime in TunFaire as a whole, writ small.

  “What meeting?” I asked again, maybe a little too plaintively.

  “I sent for some people who can help the Windwalker.” I had not breathed a word about my night visitor. “You’ll have to acquaint them with the facts of the situation. And you’ll need to make sure they understand possible ramifications if they do get involved.”

  “All right, you. What have you done with Pular Singe? And what are you talking about?”

  “I just told you.”

  “But... If I wanted my life all planned and managed I could’ve just stayed on Factory Slide.”

  Oh, my! What did I just say?

  “I am not running your life. I’m making it move more efficiently. This meeting had to happen, sooner or later. You would have gone at it piecemeal, catch as catch can.”

  “Exactly what I mean. Running my...”

  Children, enough! Garrett, please resist becoming all machomale excited because someone is thoughtful enough to ease your burdens. He put some power behind that. It was a command. Pour yourself a fresh mug, then join me for a moment before you start your chores.

  This was not going to be a good day. I resented every minute already. I’m not self-employed because I care about efficiency. I’m interested in not having to do more than it takes to get by. Which was why I moved out of my mother’s house as soon as I could.

  Was that why she always favored Mikey?

  Could be, come to think.

  34

  “Tell me something that makes sense,” I told the Dead Man as I settled facing him. Shivering. My teacup sent up clouds of steam.

  Life and afterlife have become more structured. Only you seem to consider that a bad thing.

  “The world hasn’t changed that much, has it? Everybody still wants to unload on me.”

  He was amused. He did not argue. I heard my mother telling me I had a wonderful mind. Why couldn’t I just try to live up to my potential?

  The amusement deepened, still absent comment.

  “Did you find anything interesting in the Windwalker’s mind?”

  She believes you would make an excellent husband.

  “What?” There was a hit from the blind side.

  I know. If she can delude herself that deeply in a personal matter how can we possibly credit anything else inside her scrambled brain?

  That was not what my expletive meant. “Are you making up for time lost?”

  No. We have no time for amusements. You have chores that need doing. Pay attention. Feel sorry for yourself later. The Windwalker was, overall, as honest as she could be. She is frantic about her daughter. She is in the cleft stick of a quandary that no parent should have to face. Her only child may be a monster in human guise.

  I could see the quandary. It might take a stronger spirit than mine to roll over on my own family, though that would save the lives of strangers.

  You have done the equivalent. You have the strength to champion the right. The Windwalker’s deepest fear is that her daughter may not only be a villain. She may have created corpses for her experiments.

  What could I say to that?

  Young, undamaged corpses would be at a premium. Many lost souls roam the byways of this city and are unlikely to be missed. Mr. Dotes could have stumbled onto the harvesting in progress. Nothing I have found in his mind rules that out.

  “Look, I remember that kid. Her head was messed up because of her family situation but she wasn’t homicidal. She was creative. Weird creative, like Kip. Not deadly weird.”

  You are correct. To that point. But people can change. When they do, it is usually for the worse.

  “I take it you haven’t had much luck with Morley.”

  Very little. He is remarkably closed. If he were an animal I might think he was hibernating. Inasmuch as he is intelligent I have to believe that something was d
one to keep him untouchable.

  “He might never come back?”

  He will be back. I promise. As the challenge grows bigger I become more determined. I will build him a path of escape. Henceforth, do not be startled if I reexamine every second of your recollections of your time together before you came here.

  Clever Garrett got it in one. Morley had started to wake up. Then he had gone away. “Belinda’s healer. We need to find him.”

  Yes. Though I was thinking about what tried to get in through the window.

  “Maybe he just decided to dig a hole and pull it in after him.”

  That would not be in character. Enough. Do your chores. I have a visitor arriving momentarily. She is not comfortable in your presence.

  That had to be his pet priestess, Penny Dreadful. He had taken Penny under his intellectual wing when she was little more than a toddler. He had mentored her ever since.

  I considered lying back in the shadows at the foot of the stairs just to get a look but thought better of it. I was upstairs being domestic when Penny arrived.

  35

  I was still upstairs, taking a nap. Singe invited herself into my room. She poked me with a stiffened finger. Impossible! It couldn’t be! Not across species as divergent as redheads and artificially intelligent rats.

  “Ouch! Once was enough.”

  “Drag your lazy ass out and go downstairs. People are waiting. Their time is valuable, too. Look at this mess. You didn’t do anything.”

  “I made the bed.”

  She snorted derisively.

  “And I considered the possibility of changing the lock on the front door,” I grumped, sourly enough for her to take me serious for a second. “That might get me some peace.”

  “I despair of seeing you grow mature and responsible.”

  “I don’t. It isn’t on my agenda.”

  “Be that as it may, you need to go downstairs. Otherwise, those people will drink all the beer and eat everything in the pantry.”

  “A blatant provocation of my natural inclination toward frugality.”

  “The correct word is parsimony, but if you prefer the illusion of thrift, indulge.”

  I was out of practice. I had to settle for being proud of me because I did not let my frustration overcome my self-control. I swung my feet off my bed, planted them firmly on the floor. “Look at me. I’m on my way. Now would be a good time for you to get yourself a head start.”

  Clever Singe realized this was not the best time for further nagging. Maybe she got private advice from the Dead Man. She scooted out.

  I saw Dean leave the kitchen with refreshments as I descended the stairs. He staggered under the weight of the provisions. An absence of cups, mugs, plates, milk, and sugar bowls suggested that this was not his first run. The natural parsimony that Singe had mentioned kicked in — as she had intended.

  A dull roar of conversation came from the Dead Man’s room.

  I followed Dean, wondering if I hadn’t made some mad, long-term mistake when I took Singe in.

  The Dead Man’s room was wall to wall with bodies and faces. There was Saucerhead Tharpe, showing a touch of gray, with an extra layer of muscle around his midriff. There was Singe’s brother Pound Humility, better known as John Stretch, gaudy in the latest ratman style. Jon Salvation was there, looking cocky and prosperous. Why the hell was he here? Looking for an angle for a new play? Sarge, one of Morley’s oldest henchmen, stood alone, vaguely confused. Playmate looked awful. He had lost a hundred pounds. He was as gaunt as a man dying of starvation.

  There were others, in disguise, maybe to avoid being identified by watchers outside.

  Belinda had done a creditable job of turning herself into a slim, handsome dandy with a dark dash of a mustache, reminding me of the chap squirreled away in my old office.

  General Westman Block looked like a wino who had wandered in unnoticed while the door was open. He looked confused. He was not well-known but everyone here had run into him before. No one seemed troubled.

  There were people I did not recognize. I took it on faith that the Dead Man needed them.

  I looked for a special one with red hair and came up with a count one short. Singe saw me checking. “I sent word. Maybe she’ll come later.”

  I got no chance to respond. My own respite from recognition ended. People swarmed me. Saucerhead said, “Man, I didn’t hardly know you, all dressed weird, and shit.”

  Jon Salvation stroked his pointy little beard, which wasn’t the same color as his hair, and said something about me having adapted my fashion flare to something showing a distinct feminine influence.

  A third kind soul mentioned that I was developing a pot. Someone else said, “That happens when you don’t got to work for a living no more.”

  To which Saucerhead responded, “Garrett never did do no more work than it took to keep from starving. He just had a run of luck.” Stated with a touch of envy. Like me, Tharpe worked as little as possible but his luck never shined. Too often he had nothing more than the clothes on his back.

  36

  Amongst those people who stayed quiet and didn’t move much were Sarge and Playmate. A good look at Play left me shocked. Not only had the man lost a huge amount of weight, he stooped to where he was no taller than me. He looked like he had to deal with bad chronic pain.

  He does. Had I been aware of his situation I would have made something good happen for him, long ago. Without you here these people never visit. I remain unaware of what is happening in their lives. On a positive note, I have gotten Miss Contague to send for the healer who worked on Mr. Dotes.

  “Clever. Two birds.”

  Probably just one. Playmate’s cancer appears to be advanced.

  I could say nothing more out loud.

  I shook hands, slapped backs, exchanged hugs. I asked Jon Salvation where his shark woman was. He astonished me by reporting, “I don’t think she was invited.”

  “You came anyway?” I blurted.

  “I do things like that these days. You’ll find me more independent than the Remora you remember.” He had been called the Remora because he swam in the slipstream of his girlfriend, Winger, betraying no personality of his own. “I expect she’ll turn up anyway. She’ll be sure the lack of an invite was an oversight.”

  I looked over at Singe. She was doing a credible job of being the lady of the house, seeing to our guests while being smoothly sociable. Even the prejudiced were unable to consider her as just a ratwoman.

  Neither Belinda in disguise nor General Block in disguise did any socializing. With the exception of brief exchanges with John Stretch, neither spoke to anyone.

  The more I looked around the bigger the crowd seemed to be. I kept spotting people I didn’t know. I saw John Stretch associates helping Dean with the refreshments. I saw people I did know but would not expect at a let’s-decide-what-we’ll-do party themed round Morley Dotes.

  Singe’s office was open to the crowd, too. People drifted back and forth in search of conversation. Morley himself had been declared off-limits. Three of John Stretch’s worst villains were in there and had permission to hurt people who wouldn’t take a hint.

  There were exceptions, one-on-one and closely watched. Sarge. Saucerhead. Belinda. Me.

  Once I lost my appeal to the mob, Belinda and the General drifted closer. Block shook my hand, told me I was looking good, then said how wonderful it was that I was showing some civic interest again. I kept a straight face and did not ask when he thought that I ever demonstrated any civic mindedness. He asked, “Can we slip into your kitchen for a second? This isn’t private enough.”

  “How can I say no?” Though there wouldn’t be much privacy back there, either, what with Dean and his ratfolk assistants underfoot.

  This may be important. Do not waste time fencing, Garrett. I sense the imminent arrival of someone who may be Miss Contague’s healer. He is very closed. Also, the population of loafers has begun to grow out on Macunado Street.

  We
stepped into the kitchen, conveniently as Dean and his helpers trained out with trays that looked like each ratman was carrying his own weight in drinks and treats.

  I began to suffer grim thoughts about how the Dead Man better not be only plundering minds, he had best be bringing the right people together to talk about what needed doing. And he had better be putting the right ideas into the right minds while he was at it. Because this was going to bankrupt me if it went on for long.

  I drew a mug, asked, “Fill you up?” Headshakes. I settled at the overloaded table. “Talk to me.”

  The General seemed disappointed.

  He had changed. The weary but determined middle-aged functionary had become a worn-out elder bureaucrat.

  “Garrett, I don’t know what to say. I hear you’ve changed. I’m told you’ve turned into a model subject of the Karentine Crown.”

  “I always was.”

  “Pardon me? You were always a stubborn, obstructionist asshole. You had no interest whatsoever in forwarding the welfare of the commonality.”

  What the hell? “You mean I wasn’t excited about ‘forwarding’ the cause once Deal Relway defined it for me.”

  Do not argue. Accept. From his viewpoint he is stating one hundred percent truth.

  Meaning he got to define the welfare of the commonality. “I love you, too.”

  No two people see everything the same. You know that. At the moment it is important that we not antagonize our allies simply for the pleasure of being difficult.

  Hang on. Even my partner thinks I refuse to cooperate with the tin whistles, and hold back information, just to tweak them?

  “Garrett? You here?” the General asked. “Or have you died and gone to hell?”

  “I’m sorry. I was in the throes of what might have been a grand epiphany.” On the other hand, it might have been breakfast backing up. “What do you need?”

  “We Guardsmen have a morale problem that is becoming a moral problem.”

  “I hope that’s not contagious.”

  “Exactly. All the good we’ve done could start to unravel if this mess keeps on the way it has been.”