Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  When she wasn’t being her brother’s surrogate on the spot Singe glared at the Windwalker and gave me looks, demanding, “When are we going to get going? The trail is getting cold.”

  I told her, “I don’t think we will.”

  “Why not?”

  “Three reasons. We are forbidden. My mission is to protect Morley. And Old Bones already knows.”

  She understood. But still she made hissing noises to express her exasperation.

  The Windwalker’s healing skills were basic. She reached her limits quickly. But she did stabilize everyone.

  Nobody else died but the man I had found dead stayed that way.

  The man who came out on behalf of the Guard was one Rocklin Synk, previously unknown to me. He was rational and reasonable. He didn’t automatically assume everybody who wasn’t him was guilty of something. He didn’t treat people like they’d already been convicted of aggravated capital treason with a garlic pickle on the side.

  We were headed into the graveyard shift when he showed. We had a smaller audience than seemed likely. Evidently people didn’t get out of bed to be entertained by the misfortunes of others anymore.

  The time and pitiful audience may have helped shape Synk’s attitude. Maybe it wasn’t worth the work, putting on a hard-ass show.

  Still, any true believer in the Relway vision must start from the premise that anyone who isn’t Deal Relway or one of his henchmen is likely an agent of chaos and a harbinger of the coming darkness. Investigations are built on such foundations, their function to find or create support for the initial supposition. Synk was the kind of guy who palled around with you till you handed him the end of the rope he would use to stretch your neck.

  I kept him near the house while we talked.

  Old Bones soon let me know why this man had been sent.

  This is Mr. Synk’s first field assignment. His functions at the Al-Khar have involved payroll accounting and personnel management. His task tonight is to learn as much as possible without revealing the Guard attitude toward this case.

  Meaning the Civil Guard did have an attitude they didn’t want expressed. “I don’t care. All I’m interested in is taking care of my friend till he’s ready for release into the wild.”

  By now the Guard had established an overwhelming presence. Ratmen were scarce. The Windwalker got inside before she was recognized. I was outside with nobody but Singe and swarming red tops.

  I developed the suspicion that nobody interested in this mess was really looking the other way just because some unidentified entity insisted. Not privately.

  I was a gracious host. I repeated my story over and over. Synk insisted that he had to have the fragment of a tentacle. Singe hustled off, brought it out. It was spoiled already. The bucket contained noxious brown soup with chunks of meat quickly melting. It did not smell like fresh seafood.

  I didn’t care. That was what I expected. I wanted to get back inside and find out why the Windwalker was distraught.

  Rocklin Synk knew more about the Garrett friends and family than Garrett did. I started to give him hell for loading all the downed watchers into his Al-Khar wagons. He cut me off. “Will we be able to borrow your tracker?”

  Singe was close enough to hear. “I don’t have a tracker. One of my associates is a skilled tracker. If you want to avail yourself of her talent you’ll have to work it out with her.”

  Synk did not like that at all.

  Old Bones assured me that Synk was not a bad human being. My own impression was that he was about as decent as they came inside the Guard. But he was a definite product of TunFaire’s human culture. He did not consider ratfolk people. There was a solid chance he didn’t consider members of any of the Other Races real people.

  The thinking underlying the whole Human Rights movement was unfashionable at the moment but it hadn’t gone away. It could come back fast. It needed only one ugly nudge.

  I added, “Though I wouldn’t ordinarily presume to tell her what to do, I’d insist she got her fee up front because she’s dealing with the Guard.”

  “Sir?” Taken totally off balance.

  “Your runty boss has a habit of expecting people to help him for the sheer joy of participating in the process. It be-hooves those addicted to food and shelter to have the foresight to collect their pay before they do the work.”

  Synk honestly seemed bemused. “You don’t trust the Guard?”

  “When money is involved? Consult your own experience.”

  Seconds passed. Then, “I see. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given the wherewithal to undertake any negotiations.”

  Singe said, “You are on your own, then, Constable.” She headed for the house. Where had she found that title? Pulled it from the air, perhaps.

  I shrugged. “There you have it. The track may still be there in the morning.” I watched Singe close the door behind herself. I told Synk, “On an unrelated point, you won’t get much joy from arresting Belinda Contague’s men.”

  Synk engaged me in a brief semantic debate, insisting that nobody had been arrested.

  “You’ll have a hard time selling that to folks whose agents you’re hauling off.”

  “I don’t have to sell anything.” He might have been an accountant turned loose but he did have a full ration of Civil Guard conceit. He gave me some crap about protective custody for witnesses and about making sure material witnesses got the best of health care.

  “Mr. Synk, I have to hand it to you. You are a prodigy of Guard bullshit and refined Relway-speak. You’ll go far. As long as you don’t have direct dealings with disgruntled folk like Belinda Contague.”

  Synk proved he was a complete desk weenie, then, by not being concerned that he might irritate a gang princess.

  Let it be, Garrett. He is a good man who believes his goodness to be a shield in itself. I understand that you think you must look out for everyone, but the crushing this man is thundering toward might be instructive to the Civil Guard as a whole.

  “That lesson being?”

  That righteousness is not a shield. The good die more quickly than the bad.

  It’s also damned subjective but I did not bring that up.

  I had reached a point where my hopes and ambitions swirled exclusively round the prospect of getting back to bed.

  Still, some things needed attention. I had to see how Morley had weathered the last few hours. Which proved to be, he had slumbered on through. And I wanted to hear about what had the Windwalker so glum.

  I had a suspicion.

  The Dead Man told me I was wrong. He did not want to fuss about it tonight. I did need to get back to bed. I had a stressful tomorrow looming.

  My plan to hit the sack had to go on hold while I convinced Furious Tide of Light that Singe was doing right by putting her into the guest bedroom. Though nothing would have happened if she had been allowed to snuggle in the warm with me. I was exhausted and so not in the mood. Singe’s nose told her that. But there were proprieties to be observed, as far as she was concerned.

  Splitting the difference, I kissed the Windwalker on the forehead when Singe wasn’t looking. A minute later I was secure beneath my own blanket. The window was shut and latched. I warmed up the snore cycle.

  51

  The Dead Man was a perfect prognosticator. Next day was a nightmare of visitations. General Block came and went. Belinda Contague did the same, and mother-fussed Morley till he begged her to leave. Deal Relway his own self turned up, accompanied by Rocklin Synk. I thought we’d never get shut of him, though early on, for a wonder, he granted that he must be getting the truth from me.

  It was hard to keep a straight face. Relway wore a custom metal mesh coif under silver mail. His freakish ears protruded through slits provided. Weird. I’d never seen his ears before. They’d always been hidden under his hair.

  The headgear was guaranteed to shield his thoughts. The Dead Man assured me that the Director had been conned. It hadn’t taken him thirty seconds to break through.
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  Relway got no warning from me.

  I wasn’t sure I cared to know what was hidden inside his head.

  The Windwalker stayed out of sight, upstairs. She showed no inclination to leave. Singe stoically delivered her breakfast and lunch.

  Sarge turned up. I joined him in with Morley. Not much got said. Sarge was just plain misty-eyed.

  While I was in there other people came by with preliminary reports. Most just shambled past and let Old Bones pluck what he needed from their heads, thus betraying no connection to us.

  The Dead Man touched me. I need you to catch Mr. Relway. He is a block east of Wizard’s Reach, briefing some of his men.

  I scooted out, chock-full of message and thrilled to be running free.

  I was hacking and panting before I found the Director. He wasn’t wearing his magical headgear. He looked like just another red top. Five more of who got ready to thump on me. But Relway had them hold off. No need to start right this instant.

  “You should get in shape, Garrett. You’re way too young to be wheezing after a quarter-mile trot.”

  “Old Bones says to tell you that four new watchers just moved into the neighborhood and he can’t read them. Yours and the Outfit’s he recognizes and considers harmless. This bunch are different. They showed up right after you left. There might be more than four, too, since they’re so hard to spot.”

  Relway’s ugly little face lit up. He asked where to look. I told him. “Thank you, Garrett. I’m going to take back some of the harsher things I’ve said about you. Go home. Get inside. Lock your door. Don’t let anyone in after sundown.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because that thing might be back and maybe has a shape-shifter side to it. Which guarantees some high adventure.” He turned away, handed out assignments to his escort. Those men began to hurry off.

  The Director noticed me standing there with my thumb in my ear. “Why the hell are you still here, Garrett?”

  I headed for the house. It was uphill all the way. Not steeply but enough to taunt my flabby muscles. The Director’s men snapped up their first victim as I climbed the steps.

  Shouting and threatening attended the process. The captive considered himself exempt from the attentions of the Civil Guard. Relway disagreed. An application of nightsticks ended the argument.

  The Dead Man felt so smug about it that I could feel it in the street.

  But once I got inside: Double lock it, then see Dean about salt.

  That was off the wall. “All right.” I headed for the kitchen, where I found a disgruntled old man making supper for twice the usual crowd, with the added burden of two meals having to be suitable for consumption by invalids. He sucked it up and didn’t complain so I didn’t remind him how easy he had it, overall.

  I expect he liked it better when Singe was the only one he had to feed and fool.

  “Salt,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Do we have any? His Nibs said see you about salt. I’m seeing you. He must have let you know. Damn! That smells good.”

  Something in the pan had me drooling.

  “I have two pounds and a pinch. I picked up some last week.”

  “And I have some they gave me at the place where we stayed before.” I thought I knew what Old Bones wanted done. He gave me a confirmatory nudge.

  52

  I ate. The main course was pork chops, for him and me. Singe and Dollar Dan Justice, in with Morley for the night, got sausages and that ratfolk favorite, stewed apples. I snagged a dollop of apples for myself. Dean makes them good. For Morley and Playmate it was chicken soup.

  I hoped Playmate’s brother-in-law didn’t destroy Play’s business while he was away.

  We all forgot the Windwalker. At first. Old Bones nudged me.

  I hustled up and let her know it was all right to come down. The outsiders were gone and we were having supper. Downstairs, Singe let her know it was all right for her to go home. Nobody would notice her leaving. I wondered if she thought the watchers had been stricken blind.

  Singe’s whiskers twitched in a way that said she was irritated — probably because she didn’t like something she was getting from the Dead Man.

  The Windwalker stayed close, which meant she crowded into the kitchen with me and Dean. She donned her vulnerable guise and conquered Dean immediately. In a soft, breathless voice she told me, “I don’t think your associate likes me.”

  “My associate is scared of you.”

  “Why?”

  “She thinks she knows me better than anybody but me. She thinks I’ll get infatuated, will lose my sense of proportion, will grab the short end of something, and mess up everything for all of us.”

  Garrett. Really.

  I meant it. That would be Singe’s thinking, in essence.

  “She might be jealous.”

  “That’s possible, too.”

  “Are you infatuated?”

  “Not quite. Definitely intrigued and valiantly trying to fight it.”

  She smiled slightly. Maybe wistfully.

  “Don’t you do whatever it is you do that makes every man in sight turn into a drooling wannabe love slave.”

  “I’ll be all business. You’ll see. You won’t even know I’m a girl.”

  Yeah. Right. And then the pigs will come home to roost.

  It would be impossible for most men and some women to ignore her sex in her presence even when she didn’t want to be noticed.

  I thought about letting her know that the Dead Man thought well of her, decided against it. She did not need to be reminded of his existence.

  Dean poured fresh tea. We sipped. I said, “Singe was right about this being a good time to slip away unnoticed.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Fine. Then you can help with the salt.”

  “The salt?”

  “The thing that keeps trying to get in shows some characteristics of slugs or snails. Slugs and snails don’t do well when they run into salt.”

  Furious Tide of Light was the victim of a sheltered childhood. She had no idea.

  I told her, “They melt when you put salt on them.”

  “Gross!” But, seconds later, her attitude brightened. “I’ll help with the salt.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Why you were so down after you followed that thing home. But now you’re not.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She really believed in that metal hairnet her daughter had invented.

  It does work, some.

  “I’m done here. Dean, you outdid yourself.”

  “Not really. You’ve been eating inferior cooking.”

  Ouch! He wasn’t going to turn on Tinnie, too, was he? He’d always been a booster. Though, to be perfectly accurate, the redhead was not much of a cook. With her looks that hadn’t been a skill she’d needed to develop.

  “Salt,” I said. “Time to do it. Dean?”

  Thunk! A cloth sack landed in front of me. “Save as much as you can.”

  “I’ll use my own before I break into this. Promise.”

  53

  The front door was easy. I opened up. The Windwalker sprinkled salt along the sill plate. I shut the door carefully. We would have to redo that one because of traffic. For now it should stay shut till Dollar Dan and the cleaning ladies traded places.

  We did the back door next. That got almost no use. Likewise, the transom and one barred window that let light in during the day. That was the only window left on the ground floor. The others had gotten bricked up during the heyday of lawlessness.

  Then down we went into the dank of the cellar, me with the lantern, the Windwalker lugging the salt. The steps groaned under my weight. They needed replacing. They had begun to rot. I said, “This is nasty.”

  “Only if you’re not a spider.”

  She had that right. Spiderwebs and cobwebs hung everywhere. They covered the surface of the foundation st
one. There was dampness on that stone, too. The air was thick. Our passage stirred dust despite the damp. The floor, nominally tamped earth, was one cup of water short of becoming pure mud.

  The door to the outside was in worse shape than the steps. I said, “Be generous with that stuff down here. Yuck! This is nasty! I can’t imagine why Singe hasn’t had it cleaned out and fixed up.”

  Singe didn’t think about those parts of the house she didn’t visit, that was all. She was conscious of appearances and utility but not maintenance. She would overlook the cellar till the house fell into it.

  Once we emerged from the underworld I let her know. She looked me over, sniffed, said, “Definitely. Morley is awake.”

  “Ten minutes. We still need to get the upstairs windows. And I need to get this gunk off me.”

  I returned to the kitchen for tea. The Windwalker wasn’t there anymore. “Where’d she go, Dean?”

  He pointed up. “She went to clean up.”

  “It’s really nasty down there.”

  “I like this one, Mr. Garrett.”

  “What?” I wasn’t paying attention because I’d noticed that salt had been laid down along the bottom of the door to the cellar.

  “This woman. I like her a lot.”

  “You do? What about Tinnie?”

  “I like Tinnie a lot, too. Tinnie is entertaining and challenging. Because she’s always there, there’s never been a question if she is the best woman to be there. With this one, though... I’m relaxed and comfortable, despite what she is. I don’t worry if she’ll start barking about something I have no idea... You do see what I mean?”

  I did. Still, I was flabbergasted. A great word, that. I didn’t get to use it often enough. Flabbergasted. From a root word meaning he ate too many beans.

  Dean had been a booster of Tinnie Tate since the day he finally accepted the fact that he would never hook me up with one of his homely nieces.

  Did I need to get nervous? In no time, with no apparent effort, Furious Tide of Light had conquered Dean and the Dead Man both. It had taken Old Bones an age to accept Tinnie. If the Windwalker seduced Singe, I was in it deep.

  “Dean, she is remarkable. Like you say, easy to be around. She just naturally seems to belong. But you have to remember what she is and the people she runs with. And I don’t even know her real name. She’s still just the Windwalker, or Furious Tide of Light.”