Cruel Zinc Melodies (46 page)

See me before you leave.

I headed for the Dead Man’s room.

Singe intercepted me. “You are going to see Mr. Weider?”

“It’s got to be done. I thought you went with your brother.”

“I had paperwork. I would like to come with you. To explain.”

I started to tell her that wouldn’t be necessary.

The Dead Man stroked my mind with a feather’s touch of warning. “Sure. It'll be more convincing from somebody who can add up two times three. They don’t think I can count past my fingers and toes.”

The redhead said, “Lucky you’ve got those extra toes.”

“What extra...?” I went to see what Old Bones wanted. That was a fast review of everything, especially what he’d learned last night, and what he’d have Penny Dreadful poking into today. He had work for Winger and the Remora, too. If I stumbled across them. They seemed to have disappeared. They were supposed to be looking out for Kip and Kyra but hadn’t been anywhere in sight last night.

Vintage Winger.

Lurking Felhske had departed while I slept, but a faint souvenier of his visit hung in the air.

“That’s it?”

That is it.

Maybe. But I was sure he had done some digging inside my head.

Singe and Tinnie were in the hallway, waiting impatiently. Tinnie was simmering again.

I wouldn’t want to be Rose Tate tonight.

I could not believe that the Tates would be dim enough to let Rose get close to money. Though I would’ve thought she was too lazy to be this clever.

Things at the World were calm and under control. Workmen were at work. Rats were down below. John Stretch told me they were finding nothing but bug scraps and broken pupae. Saucerhead’s guys were on patrol outside, cocky because they’d thwarted a feeble raid by some dead-ender Stompers during the night. They’d rounded up the gangster wannabes and handed them over to the Guard. The kids would be off to labor camp before the end of the day.

Otherwise, Tharpe’s report was excellent. No inside trouble. No bugs, no freaks, and only a ghost of a ghost, seldom seen. The workmen had found nothing to bitch about yet.

Tharpe told me, “There was music last night, though. But it was, like, contented. Sleepy. Not that loud, aggravated shit. Hell, it was purring.”

The workmen were really getting on with it. I had a good feeling as I led Tinnie and Singe on toward our fateful encounter at the Weider shack.

90

Hector wasn’t working the door. I was disappointed. I’d really built him up to Tinnie and Singe. His replacement was average size, ginger of hair, overly muscled and had the cold eyes of somebody who really missed the war. He recognized Tinnie and was concerned by the company she chose to keep. He let us in without saying a word.

Some kind of bang and crash happened, followed by shouting. Somebody launched a pompous soliloquy. Another voice bellowed, “No! No! You’re not some lunatic on the steps of the Chancellery! You’re in love! You’re trying to seduce the unseduceable!”

All became clear once we could see the ballroom that makes up half the Weider hovel’s ground floor.

A small, rude stage had been thrown together across the end whence the service staff comes and goes when the Weiders entertain. Alyx, Bobbi, Lindy Zhang, Cassie Doap, and a guy I didn’t know were clustered onstage, to its right. The ladies weren’t wearing a lot, in a classical sort of style. Winger stood at the left front corner, in junk armor made for somebody smaller than her. She had on an absurd helmet with big-ass shiny metal wings. It was a wonder she kept her head up. She leaned on an oversize spear and looked like her shoes pinched.

Jon Salvation paced between, muttering. He had done the shouting.

Max, Manvil, Heather Soames, Hector, and some household staff formed a small, bewildered audience.

Tinnie sputtered and hissed, outraged. “What the hell? What the hell?” Her shoes made a huge, clattering racket as she stomped down the stair to the ballroom floor, never having knocked the winter off her feet.

Singe and I were good boys and girls. We left no muddy melt water on Max’s lovely serpentine floor.

That didn’t help matters, of course.

When Singe and I caught up Tinnie was in a snarling match with Alyx because she hadn’t been told about the rehearsal. Alyx insisted it wasn’t a rehearsal because they didn’t have anywhere to put on a play. They were just trying out scenes from something Jon Salvation was writing. A great historical tragedy.

Looked to me like Alyx wanted to eliminate an actress who might upstage her. “Anyway, you’re always busy, Tinnie. Either working or riding herd on Garrett. You don’t have time. Everybody else does.”

True, mostly. But not what Tinnie wanted to hear.

I was wondering why Winger and Jon Salvation had time free.

Heather went in to referee the catfight. I climbed onstage and dragged a gobbling Jon Salvation over to where Winger was mooshing things around under her breastplate, trying to get comfortable inside armor not designed for someone as blessed as she. “The Dead Man told you guys to stick with Kip and Kyra. What happened?”

Jon Salvation accused Winger by using exaggerated shifts of his eyeballs.

Did I really have to ask?

“You just walked out on a job?”

“We got them home safe.”

“And didn’t let anybody know the kids weren’t covered anymore?”

Winger said, “We had to get back to work on the play.
Rausta, Queen of the Demenenes
is gonna be the first play put on at the World. Jon put me in as the goddess Sedona.”

The Remora told me, “Sedona was the patroness of the Demenenes. Rausta was their queen. She fell in love with the adventurer Laupher. She had to kill him to prove to the other Demenenes that she’d remain true to tribal law. Then she gave birth to twins. One boy, one girl. Demenenes were supposed to kill their male children. But Rausta didn’t.”

I didn’t know the goddess, the queen, or the adventurer, but everybody knows the Demenenes, legendarily harsh Amazons of the plains way to the north of Karenta. They were the first people to domesticate horses. Joining one abomination with another. I didn’t need Jon Salvation to tell me how the story went after the twins grew up.

Salvation told me, “Sedona may have been an earlier queen of the Demenenes. Which would make her more a patron saint than patron goddess.”

Winger said, “This godsdamned armor is rubbing my tits raw.”

The Remora promised, “We'll have better costumes when we open. This stuff is just for setting the tone. We will be opening, won’t we, Garrett?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The other Amazons made a great show just prowling around. Too bad Tinnie was in a black mood. I wouldn’t mind watching the rehearsal, especially if the ladies got to jumping around, pretending to fight. The legendary Demenenes were all the time picking fights. Maybe the Remora could put in some wrestling scenes.

“You rogue,” I told Salvation. “Those costumes will make your play a winner.” If they didn’t get the World burned by the kind of loons who can’t stand to look at scantily clad women. “Singe, let’s get Tinnie.”

Max and Manvil were headed upstairs.

Tinnie allowed herself to be removed from the stage but remained furious. Alyx had found the trigger this time.

Cunning men, Max and Manvil had noted that we came armed with masses of paper. They cleared a table away from the fury of the fireplace and established themselves at its ends. They weren’t nearly as grim as I expected. I settled the females on one side of the table, went to the other myself. “These two will go first. What they’ve got is urgent.”

Tinnie deferred to Singe. Singe managed to present her material without giving way to nerves. Tinnie nodded when she thought that was appropriate. Singe turned over her copies of the questionable records. And, almost as an afterthought, passed her expenses account to Manvil Gilbey.

Max said, “What do you call it when you mean to do one thing but you come up with something else instead?”

Gilbey wondered, “Serendipity? Or synchronicity?”

Back to Max. “Tinnie? What does the firm’s treasurer say?”

The firm’s treasurer had her anger under control. “The firm’s treasurer admits she’s a big screwup. She didn’t realize her own family could steal from her.”

“Is it a family policy?” Gilbey radiated exasperated disbelief.

“No! No! That’s not what I meant. I meant I never thought one of my own would mess me up like this.”

Gilbey turned his glower on Singe. “You’ve come a long way in a short time.”

Singe proved it by refusing to be intimidated. She bowed her head slightly to hide her embarrassment. “Mr. Garrett has been very supportive.”

“He has that reputation. Why don’t we put the financials aside? Garrett, tell us what you’ve done at the World. Have you handled the problems we wanted resolved?”

“Things are almost wrapped.”

Max gave me the fish-eye. Gilbey seemed equally dubious.

I said, “What I’m going to tell you is unvarnished truth. The way it’s been told to me. You don’t have to believe it but you do have to keep it quiet.” Portentous enough? “As general knowledge it could lead to a huge disaster.” I plunged into the story.

I’ve been involved with the brewery so long that Max dismisses nothing, however absurd it might seem at first blush. “A dragon.” An exhalation, not a question.

“I report only what my experts are telling me. Two from high on the Hill. I don’t necessarily buy it myself. You could interrogate Vilchik. He did the library research.”

“Vilchik?”

“Alyx’s tame playwright. Calls himself Jon Salvation. His real name is Pilsuds Vilchik. Known on the street as the Remora. My partner had him help do research. Between them Vilchik and Barate Algarda found four historical events that looked a lot like ours. So-called dragon awakenings. All long ago and far away. Fine details weren’t available. My partner doesn’t admit any personal knowledge but he’s been around long enough to have heard about these things when they happened. I have reservations based on the fact that in none of the reports is there a mention of anyone actually seeing a dragon. The roll-up of the Cantard silver supposedly resulted from one of those events.”

Gilbey demanded, “What do we do?”

“The best advice I’ve gotten so far is, leave it the hell alone. If we stop poking it, it might fall asleep again. Cold makes it sleepy. I’m letting all the cold air get to it that I can. But I’ve got a little something else going, too. In case my advisers have been talking out the wrong orifice.”

Ensued a prolonged question, answer, challenge, and brainstorming session, the sum of which was that the costs of the World were mounting. The theater had begun to look like a questionable investment.

Max and Manvil suggested running ice water down under. I told them, “You have to get the water there. An uphill haul. Then you'll flood everything under the neighborhood. Which wouldn’t win you any friends.”

Gilbey asked, “Where do dwarves stand on the question of dragons?”

Manvil Gilbey could do two things at once. He reviewed Singe’s expenses ledger while participating in the give and take. He used a company writing stick to tick items for discussion.

I said, “One more thing, then. Maybe the most important, businesswise.”

Max looked like he didn’t want to hear any more. “That would be?”

“Your designers didn’t take into account the fact that human beings expected to consume mass quantities of Weider beer will need somewhere to set it free.”

Max started to say something, stopped as the implication hit. “Really?”

“Really. How many people will you push through there?”

“Damn!” Gilbey said. “Two thousand on a good day. Why didn’t anybody think of that?” He was asking himself, not me.

Max muttered, “Nobody else is worried about it. Why should we?”

Gilbey examined the elevations. He ran fingers over them like he might discover some secret not obvious to the naked eye. “It’s true, Max. And it’s our fault. There isn’t a hint in the specs. But plenty to help beer sales go easier.”

Max groused, “Must be because us divine types never have to piss. Take a lesson, Garrett. You’re never so old or so smart that you can’t fuck up.”

Here came the rain of crap for everything that happened at the World.

I was wrong.

Max and Manvil bickered briefly, like an old married couple. I envied them. I have some solid friends but none that tight, excepting maybe Eleanor.

I couldn’t take the tension. “When are you gonna jump in my shit?”

Max managed baffled perfectly but Gilbey twitched and betrayed a fleeting smirk. Max asked, “There some reason we ought to come down on your ass? Like maybe for dicking around so long getting the job done?”

“Yeah. That,” I lied.

“I do have to admit, I’ve heard some complaints. I took into account who was whining and said,? Good on Garrett!?” Max smirked. Gilbey likewise, again.

I got it. They were having fun. I was their proxy on the street, their beard-tugger, now that they were supposed to be too old and responsible. Now that they could afford to indulge in big amusements.

Max’s gaze focused on Tinnie,
clang!
like a bear trap snapping. “What are you going to do?” His tone said more than his words. If she wanted to run with the wolves, she’d better be ready to snap and bite with them. If not, he’d take it up with one of her uncles.

“I'll keep it in the family. Same as you would.”

Max glanced my way. That flicker of attention told me I’d just volunteered to guarantee my woman’s work.

I said, “I have one more thing about the World.”

“What else did we forget?”

I’d held on to Kip’s papers to this point. I pushed them down to Max. “It’s about lighting. You'll need lots of lighting. The usual methods are dangerous, messy, and unpleasant, especially for the people in the high seats. Kip Prose sent you some ideas. His way to make amends for the trouble his bunch caused.”

Max eyed me narrowly. He smelled me trying to help the kid miss out on a well-deserved head-thumping. “Get with Manvil on that.”

“Manvil will need to get with Kip. I’m reporting an opportunity.”