Gilded Latten Bones

by Glen Cook

  I’d never had that kind of power in a relationship. It was scary.

  Miss Algarda is ceding that power in trust. If you breach her trust you will reap a whirlwind more cruel than you can imagine.

  “Way to build me up, Chuckles.”

  It might be valuable to interview your intern, too.

  “Intern?”

  The boy. Cyprus Prose. I will ask the Miss Tates to bring him in. Making the elder Miss Tate a part of a race against time might go a long way toward improving her attitude. The younger Miss Tate will want to look out for her man.

  I was skeptical.

  63

  I had to reach an understanding with Old Bones about our priorities. Once we acknowledged the most desperate three or four things, there would be, still, time-intensive tasks like honing the ten thousand quirks that defined the mind of Tinnie Tate, all while he kept a sharp watch outside.

  You understand.

  I understood that everything would take precedence over reconfiguring my special redhead’s mental works.

  “Your judgment is better than mine. I can’t take the emotion out of my choices.”

  The Dead Man employs profanity infrequently. In a long-winded way he informed me that I was a bone-lazy, backsliding purveyor of mushroom fertilizer determined to avoid even the appearance of contributing anything useful to the conversation.

  “Damnit, Old Bones! Life shouldn’t ought to be this hard.”

  Avoid responsibility now, if you like. Do not whine when you face the fattened consequences later.

  The change was sudden. For an instant I thought the end had come. The apocalypse. The Twilight. The Rapture, sudden as a dagger in the night. Morley shrieked. Playmate screamed. Tinnie moaned and collapsed. Penny Dreadful and the Bird followed her to the floor. I blacked out for an instant.

  I found myself clinging to the frame of the door to the hallway after that instant. I had to concentrate to keep my supper down.

  Others had less success.

  The light had gone bad. Everything had turned sepia. Those moving did so jerkily. Bad smells developed as folks lost more than their suppers.

  Confusion reigned. Dread grew so powerful I knew it had to be artificial. The screaming ended. The screamers had passed out. But chatter waxed amongst the still conscious. None of it made any sense.

  No one panicked.

  Odd, that.

  The initial shock came when the Dead Man dropped everything to focus on one problem. Something that demanding had to be a threat both powerful, lethal, and immediate.

  And I, ever-lovin’ blue-eyed boy genius that I am, I stumbled up and opened the door for a quick look outside.

  Action was developing.

  A dozen people in gray wool costumes, their heads inside combination helmets and masks, were headed for the house. Most carried torches. A few were armed. One pair lugged a mini-battering ram that would have dented my door good. Illegally armed ratmen closed in on them from behind.

  I found my head knocker and charged, partly because I suspected that a swarming attack would come from other directions, as well.

  The attackers kept advancing because the Dead Man was not strong enough to stop so many. He did slow them till their charge looked like it was happening underwater.

  His situation would improve as the number of vertical villains declined.

  Fine theory, amply supported by the available evidence, but more easily thought than executed.

  The grays did not respond well to my initial efforts. My club just bounced off. Lesson learned at the cost of getting dinged a few times.

  I shifted to kneecapping. The ratmen started hamstringing. Their efforts were more effective.

  Most of my male guests became involved. At some point Jimmy Two Steps and Butch’s brother realized they were under-supervised and the door was open. They took advantage.

  I pushed through the grays. They did not turn on me. They wanted to turn the house into a bonfire.

  Then I was face-to-face with a woman in skintight black leather gifted with the most stunning shape I’d ever seen. Penny’s drawings didn’t do her justice. She had a mountain of wildly curly white hair. A fierce former Marine bearing down did not rattle her. She seemed inclined to flirt.

  So beautiful.

  And the face of deep evil. She deserved neither quarter nor amnesty.

  We had not met before but we had been at war from the moment those idiot brothers took money from Jimmy Two Steps.

  She thrust what looked like a stage magician’s wand my way, ever so calmly, all in a day’s work, slicing sausage at the butcher shop.

  Something hit her like a black lightning bolt to the right shoulder just before I knocked the wand out of her hand by running into it with my big, manly chest. She wore the most wonderful look of incredulity.

  The wand delivered enough energy to make me bark and spin, flailing for airy handholds that had not yet been installed. I got one goofy, unforgettable snap view of Furious Tide of Light straddling the front peak of my house, legs dangling, kicking, a ten-year-old up to mischief. She wore a big, happy grin. She flung another dark bolt. Just a kid having fun saving her special friend from a villainess built to torment his fantasies.

  That nonsense rattled around inside my gourd for the few seconds it took me to fall asleep on those comfy Macunado Street cobblestones.

  I was out only briefly. Still, the excitement was over when consciousness came creeping back. Furious Tide of Light was there with me, now. My head was in her lap. That hurt like I had the mother of all hangovers. Her right hand was hot on my chest, over my heart, maybe delivering the strength I needed to push back the darkness. The agony in my head faded steadily.

  Ha! Had I discovered the cure for the common hangover?

  I flashed back to that incredible shape in black leather. That was one way somebody could have gotten close enough to stick Morley. That body would have distracted him. A touch of that wand would have left him unable to defend himself, though I suspected the Dead Man would have excavated the evidence if that had happened.

  “That wasn’t Kevans.” Only a liquid weakness kept me from shoving my foot farther down my throat by offering a qualitative comparison of physiques. Kevans didn’t bark but there was no way she could make leather look that good.

  The time I needed to work up strength was time enough for me to see that I was about to munch a filthy shoe. “She did seem familiar, though. I must’ve seen her somewhere.”

  She had been wearing rain gear at the time, or old feed sacks. Otherwise, the moment would be seared onto the backs of my eyeballs.

  “Hush, love. The danger is over. Your friends are cleaning up.”

  It was true. The action was done. The street was carpeted with bodies, not a one twitching. Several torches still burned on the cobblestones. I was awed because tin whistles were not shrilling. General Block was studying the scene carefully. He was both grim and puzzled.

  The neighbors began to come out. I heard both negative and laudatory comments. The consensus was, this stuff didn’t happen when I wasn’t around.

  Tin whistles did begin to arrive, from the direction of the Cardonlos house. That old biddy owed me. I was home and she was back in business.

  Sleep returned. Whatever the bad girl hit me with, it drained me.

  I missed my opportunity to see Tinnie spot me amongst the fallen, being tended by my sorceress friend. I missed the cleanup, too. The red tops carted off nineteen stiffs in gray wool. The lethal blonde and twenty grays got away.

  Strafa should have chased them instead of fussing over me.

  Tinnie did not head home in high dudgeon. She couldn’t. Uncle Oswald and cousin Artifice both had been injured. Oswald could not travel except by coach. Singe sent a runner to the Tate family compound.

  64

  They tossed me in with Morley, to start, onto the cold, hard floor. Injured people were everywhere, especially against the walls in the hallway. Given the chance to do more than broo
d and fuss, Westman Block showed us why he had Prince Rupert’s confidence. He sent people flying around everywhere. He roused the Guard across the city.

  He came by to tell me, “They were all dead, the things in the wool tights. They were made from pieces of dead people.”

  That did not seem possible. Not in such numbers. Where had the bodies come from? That many people disappearing, dead or alive, should have become a major public issue.

  We knew, now, beyond doubt, that there was a connection with Morley and with the break-in on Factory Slide. We knew that several people had to be involved: two women, one old, one young, and, possibly, a stuffed-bear-loving kid. Plus the resurrection men.

  I wanted to ask questions but could not. Strafa was not there to ease my suffering. The hangover was back. And I felt like a bad flu had hold of me. I felt naked in a blizzard cold. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Speaking of dead... Where was Old Bones? I got no sense of his presence at all.

  That sparked a moment of panic wasted because I couldn’t talk.

  The chaos in the house settled out without my input. Singe and Strafa went off to stalk the blonde. The delegation from Fire and Ice headed home after taking a moment to say good-bye. Crush told me, “You have great parties. Remember me for the next one.”

  I couldn’t say anything. I tried to wink. The effort was pathetic. I decided to send her a book.

  Miss T understood. She touched my cheek. She was more of a mom to Crush than DeeDee was. DeeDee was one hundred percent self-involved. Mike thought my crowd would be better company than the folks Crush encountered in a sporting palace.

  I could not disagree with that.

  Jon Salvation and the Bird took off. Bird would come back. The supply of spirits was unlimited and free.

  Uncle Oswald kept waiting for a coach that must have needed new wheels before it could leave the Tate compound. Kyra visited me. She didn’t have much to say. After watching me shake and drool she fled to Singe’s office to baby her male kin.

  Dean appeared, armed with chicken soup. I could not imagine him being up so late. He considered me and Morley and found himself at a loss. His heart and mind were in the right place but he was physically unable to follow through.

  I made some noise that, after years of seeing me come home tipsy, he understood. “He’s asleep. It took all he had to resist long enough for the rest of you to get busy.” He tried to sound positive but could not conceal the fact that he was extremely worried.

  This was not a good time to lose the Dead Man.

  Dean was still trying to figure out what to do when Tinnie pushed him out of her way. She brought blankets and two of the heated stones Dean used to warm his feet during winter’s bitterest nights. She was calm and businesslike. She placed the rag-wrapped stones against my chest and back, then buried me in blankets. She told Dean, “I can feed them.”

  I tried to purr, managed to sound like I was choking on phlegm. Tinnie made sure I wasn’t, then focused on Morley. Dean said, “According to Mike we lost Dotes the second the attack began.”

  Typical. Dean was on nickname terms with Miss T after one exposure.

  He asked, “What about you, Tinnie?”

  “I’m still flustered. Still not sure what’s real. But I’ll be all right. Worry about Penny instead.”

  Dean passed the soup. Tinnie settled into the seat the ratwomen used to feed Morley. She blew steam off a spoonful of broth. Dean went off to help somebody else.

  “We have a world of things to talk about, Malsquando. Mostly concerning how my head has been working lately.” She got Morley to take some broth; then she looked down at me. I wasn’t shivering as badly. Her eyes were unreadable. “I saw things tonight that gave me a new perspective.”

  That did not sound good.

  “I promised you and the Dead Man... Well, I promised. I’ll stick to that. General Block explained what it’s all about.”

  I wondered what Block was up to, stirring the pot while drunk and angry.

  Tinnie got some more broth into Morley. “I see that this has to be dealt with. There are only a few people who can handle things like it. And you’re one.” Another spoon of soup. “I should be supporting you, not distracting you and holding you back.”

  That cost her. She had clamped down hard on her emotions. No doubt Strafa tending me in the street was in the front of her mind. That was a slice of reality she couldn’t ignore.

  I couldn’t say anything. I snuggled the rocks and tried to appear grateful.

  Penny came to the doorway. She looked as rocky as I felt. “I’m going to leave now, Mr. Garrett. Please send for me when he’s able to go back to work.”

  I tried to tell her that I would.

  Tinnie said, “He can’t quite talk, yet. Shouldn’t you just stay here? It would be safer.”

  Penny considered me, weighing the risk of being ravished against the certainty of safety and comfort. From behind her, Kyra said, “Stop worrying. Garrett is harmless. My aunt ought to be ashamed of the stuff she told you. It’s because of her in-securities. He won’t even look at this cross-eyed.” She posed.

  Oh, woe! The mighty Garrett considered harmless by the young and the beautiful?

  Tinnie snapped, “That is quite enough, Kyra!” She told Penny, “She’s right, though. You are safe. There’s an extra bedroom upstairs. Use that. Warn Dean so neither of you get any surprises. Go on. You need to stay close to good people right now.”

  Good people?

  What was this? That shock must have hit Tinnie hard.

  Kyra said, “I’ll show you.”

  And she knew, how? And why?

  Tinnie looked like she had the same questions.

  Many interesting things must have happened here in my absence.

  Muted girl voices came from the kitchen. Dean definitely was exceeding the call of duty tonight. He should have been in bed hours ago.

  65

  The woman tried hard to drown me but I was too crafty. Whenever she shoved soup into my face I swallowed it. It was Dean Creech wonder soup. Every spoonful hit bottom, then declared itself throughout my body. Energy came back fast, along with confidence and a sense of well-being. It wasn’t long before I found my voice.

  “Something I’ve been wanting to bring up all evening, darling. I never got to it because so much was going on.”

  Wow. I made a miracle comeback. Almost as good as shaking that awful cold overnight. Though I hadn’t, really. A host of unpleasant symptoms were back now that Old Bones was asleep.

  I could not help feeling uncomfortable about how my sidekick had begun operating without consultation. Strafa had put me away drowning in my own snot. Next morning the mess was gone and almost forgotten.

  Maybe Old Bones didn’t think I had time to be sick.

  Tinnie developed a mild glower while I rambled through distracting thoughts. “Let’s have it, Malsquando! Good or bad, let’s get to it.”

  I was nervous. When Penny and Kyra got upstairs they would see that somebody had used that bed.

  The guilty flee where no man pursueth.

  We could see some interesting action when Strafa returned.

  “All right. Here we go. Before the good goes away and the mucus comes back. Jon Salvation has been bullying me to get you to act in his next play. He wants you bad. Did he talk to you about that?”

  “He tried to talk to me about something but I didn’t pay attention. And he kept hemming and hawing.”

  The woman can have that effect on the male of the species.

  “He has a new play about fairies. He wants you to be in it.”

  “I’m done with that stuff.” Stated entirely without conviction, damned near begging to be talked into changing her mind. “I wasn’t able to be that kind of woman.”

  “What you weren’t able to do was stop being a self-involved pain in the ass. You were Tinnie Tate to the third power.”

  Had to be the soup. Something in the soup was worse than alcohol for loosening t
he tongue.

  “Garrett?”

  “Let’s just say you wouldn’t have put up with half of what you dished out if you’d been doing Salvation’s job.”

  Her mouth opened and closed. No words came out. She reminded me of a freshly caught trout, with distractions. Say, better, a freshly caught mermaid.

  “He wants you for the lead role, darling. And he’s sure this will be his biggest play yet.”

  Her eyes got huge. She drifted off into fantasyland, harkening to dreams she’d had before she alienated everybody.

  “Really?”

  “Really. I tried to talk him out of it. He insists you’re perfect. I’d bet he used you when he created the character. Who you might not like much if you do get involved.” Tinnie had no patience with women who had quirks like hers.

  Jon Salvation had a reputation for drawing his characters from life, and writing them true.

  “What?”

  “What I’m saying is, we don’t see ourselves the way other people see us. Not saying that what they see is any less subjective. But the way you were at the World...”

  “Stop!”

  She did not carry the argument forward.

  I had unearthed ambitions my honey had kept hidden. She felt vulnerable, now. Maybe secretly ashamed.

  She knew she had been a jerk back when she got kicked out of that select pool of cuties who could act without having to entertain the punters in private after the show.

  She had been good but her uncles never approved.

  She got all starry-eyed and lost in her imagination.

  “Tinnie?”

  “I’m sorry, Malsquando. This... It’s... It’s a lightning strike from a clear blue sky. He really said he wants me?”

  “Like I told you, I think he used you to create the fairy queen. You wouldn’t even have to act. You could just be you. As long as that you isn’t the Tinnie that got everybody so mad...”

  She jumped up and down like she was Kyra’s age. “I know what you mean. I learned my lesson. I’m not that Tinnie anymore. Garrett, sweetheart, you know what this means?”