Gilded Latten Bones (32 page)

I was sure that fear of widespread panic and a breakdown of order were heavy on the minds of movers and shakers everywhere. If fear of a witch hunt did have some basis it made sense for the powerful and privileged to keep the worst quiet.

“We may be fooling ourselves, old friend.”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever we do to prepare our bodies and purify our souls won’t be a waste.”

He was in a martial-arts-philosophy-of-life kind of mood.

I smiled and promised, “I’ll do my best!”

“You prick. Now you’re making fun.”

“I don’t like people who say things like that.”

“I knew it. You have the intonation perfect. Every word from the little dying girl in the comedy
Skuffle.
”

“Damn. You got me. How did you know?”

“I see everything they put on at the World. Good and bad.”

“Who stuck you full of holes, then? What did you see that made somebody decide it was time you took a dirt nap?”

“All right. You got me. I suffer memory lapses. I wish I had one where that play was concerned. Alyx Weider and her pals stunk it up, trying to play kids Penny’s age.”

“I enjoyed it. Once I got over the old maidens factor. It was fluff.”

“You’re a sentimental, romantic idiot. Which, my marvelous memory reminds me, Singe was generous enough to point out not that long ago.”

“My equally peerless memory allows as to how she included you in that base canard.”

“Would that be a musical instrument? Might we find it in the orchestra pit? What kind of musician plays the bass canard?”

“Are you all right?”

“It must be the medication. Or I might just be relieving tension by turning it into silliness. You think we could slide out of here if we did a really quiet sneak?”

“Singe hasn’t put a bell on the door yet but I don’t think we’d get far. She’d be on our trail. With her nose. Then the Windwalker would swoop down and make us break out in boils, or something. If the Dead Man didn’t wake up and freeze our brains in our heads.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I am right.”

“He is one hundred percent right,” Strafa said from the doorway.

From behind her, Singe said, “Pular Singe agrees.”

Just to be difficult, I said, “It’s times like these when I miss Melondie Kadare the most.”

Singe was a grown-up woman. She proved it by having to have the last word. “It is times like these that I miss the God-damn Parrot. And him we could get back. Could we not, Mr. Dotes?”

“Might be a chore. He went away with the sky elves last time they were here. You could pray that he’ll be obnoxious enough for them to bring him back.”

I did not comment. I wanted no crazy ideas getting stuck in anybody’s head.

82

I sat down with Strafa in Singe’s office, a stack of handkerchiefs close by. Singe was at her desk, hard at it pretending to be disinterested. “I’m betting you found a whole lot of nothing yesterday.”

“You’re psychic. I did get to spend time with my daughter and Kip. As did Barate.”

That did not sound like the kids had much fun. “You didn’t spank them, did you?”

“No. I was gentle as could be. Before Barate got there I hammered Kevans about them having to stop being bedroom friends. They have other commitments, now.”

“I wondered if you saw that.”

“I expect even Kyra saw it. I don’t know if I got through. She didn’t want to get it, probably because it’s been them against the world for so long. And Kip may not be involved with Kyra physically, yet.”

“Don’t tell me. He respects her too much. And doesn’t see the inconsistency.”

“That would be my guess. And, then, there is you and me. Kevans threw that in my face.”

“Ouch. What did Barate say?”

“He wasn’t there yet. Kevans settled down fast after he showed up.”

Singe wrote and pretended to be deaf. I could imagine her thoughts about our personal lives becoming ever more complicated.

I said, “We aren’t in a good position to argue, ‘Do as I say!’”

“True. But there is a difference.”

“About the warehouse.”

“Barren. Not even dust or cobwebs. People and elves around there won’t talk about it. Ratpeople will. Palace Guards took everything away. Some stayed around to chase off Director Relway’s Specials and General Block’s forensic sorcerers. The ratpeople say there’s a plan to demolish the building, now.”

I muttered, “That wouldn’t be legal. The Lifeguards can’t tell people what to do outside the Palace.”

It shouldn’t be hard to trace where that much stuff went.

Strafa had the answer already. The ratfolk had told her.

“It went into the Knodical underground.”

“What?” The Knodical was a Royal house well separated from the Palace. Over the past few centuries its main function has been to house the Royal mistresses.

“Hired ratpeople broke stuff up into firewood, cullet, and landfill. Human bits went to a crematorium. The rest went into the Knodical.”

“I see,” I said. “Everything but the sense.”

“It doesn’t make any, does it? You don’t create dozens of witnesses while trying to destroy evidence.”

Not if you can’t get rid of the witnesses.

“So something else was going on.”

“Maybe it was about purification.”

Strafa got up, stepped over, eyed my lap like she was thinking about making herself at home.

“Not in here, please,” Singe said without looking up. “General Block thinks we are brushing up against a conspiracy against the Crown.”

I waited expectantly. Strafa dropped her snuggle scheme and joined the wait.

“Well?”

“His goal may be to destroy wealth.”

Strafa and I leaned toward her. “Whose goal?”

“Gods, think! Rupert! Suppose there is a plot against the Royals but it’s well hidden. The patchwork men are part of it. Maybe they are supposed to create panic and make the people in charge look incompetent. But Rupert doesn’t have to know who the bad guys are to break their toys. If they want to stay in business, they have to buy more. So they risk exposing themselves making purchases. Which will cost a lot of money.”

All of which sounded weird but might make sense in a context where the Crown came down hard and hogged everything.

Strafa said, “They don’t think they can trust anyone.”

“Say that’s right, Singe. So what?”

“I was speculating. It won’t make a lick of difference to you or me.”

“You think?”

“I think. In fact, I think we should forget the whole thing. I think we should concentrate on business. Morley, I smell you. Come in.”

Dotes entered, not the least chagrined.

Singe said, “The Grapevine is a class restaurant. Cherish and nurture that. Let the professionals dance with the devils and deal with the rest.”

Odd stuff coming out of that girl’s mouth.

Morley deadpanned, “You’re right, Singe. I have The Palms to worry about, too. It made a comeback after the wine snob set moved on.”

Singe’s whiskers twitched. She knew Morley was messing with her.

He said, “And I had openings planned near two other theaters. One would do seafood.”

I played along. “You’re talking seriously upscale there, brother. Hard to keep that stuff fresh all the way up the river.”

He looked past me. “I was going to ask your lady friend to come in as a partner. She could fly in shrimp and crabs, scallops, sea bass, squid, octopus, prawns, that kind of stuff, fresh every day.”

Strafa chuckled. “Entrepreneurship comes to the magical realm. Let’s reduce everything to the commercial and mundane.”

“What about it?” Morley asked.

“It wouldn’t be practical, Mr. Dotes. I can neither fly that far nor can I lift the masses that would be required.”

“It was a thought. My other idea would be an ethnic foods place.”

That caught Singe’s interest. “That would be better. More people can afford pork buns or curries, or something they ran into once while they were doing their five, than could possibly want to put out a fortune so they can brag that they ate a squid.”

“Easier to get the ingredients, too,” Morley said.

“What is a squid, anyway?”

Dotes said, “That’s one for you, Garrett.”

I explained about squid, great and small. “Some are littler than your pinkie. Some are big enough to brawl with whales. I think the whales usually start it.”

“Ratfolk aren’t famous for being picky eaters, Garrett, but I would have to be damned hungry to chomp down on something like that.”

“Batter it and fry it in butter, it’s not so bad.”

“What are we even talking about this stuff for?” Morley demanded.

“You brought it up. Going to make Strafa rich, remember?”

“I’m going crazy here. I have to get out. I need to start doing something.”

“Right behind you, boss. Here’s how we’ll start. You go run down the hall to the kitchen, turn around and run to the front door, then charge on back in here. All without resting. I’ll time you.”

“Will you ladies kindly cover your ears? I’m about to say bad things about Garrett.”

Singe snickered. “That means he knows he’ll collapse before he completes the first lap.”

Morley did not disagree. He couldn’t. And he wasn’t happy about it.

For the first time in the epoch that we had been friends I was in better shape than him.

Singe asked, “Are you done, now? Can I get some work done before the outside world butts in again?”

“You can,” I said, more curious than ever about what was taking so much of her time and required the use of so much paper and ink.

Singe shook her head as though she despaired of seeing us survive to enjoy our tenth birthdays. She commenced to begin to ignore our very existence.

I grumbled, “Go ahead. Be that way.” I thought about sampling some dizzy water, or maybe some premium beer. But what was the point if I had to go it alone? And if I was going to make myself sick all over again?

Morley asked, “What are the chances those villains will forget about us now?”

“Dumbass question, brother. How the hell would I know? Near as I can figure, they ought to have zero interest in me and only incidental interest in you. Unless you can remember why those absurd people were after you in the first place.”

“Garrett, if I knew, you and Bell both would have heard a long time ago.”

No doubt. No doubt.

Someone knocked.

Singe sighed, set her pen down, grumbled, “And so it begins.”

83

Our visitor was General Block. He was in a good mood. He did not ask for alcohol. He reckoned black tea would be entirely adequate.

“Breakthrough?” I asked.

“We found out where the custom glassware came from. Weast Brothers, in Leifmold. Shone and Sons handled the importing using Dustin Lord Shippers. The purchasers paid cash and collected the materials from the dock using their own transport. They purchased seventy-two items that came in three shipments, the first about a month after the thing at the World Theater went quiescent.”

Quiescent? Where did he ever hear a word that big?

“Is there a connection?”

“I doubt it.”

Strafa said, “There weren’t half that many pieces in that warehouse.”

“There were twenty-six. We have friends in the crew that moved them. Only a few got broken.”

“That’s all interesting,” I said. “But helpful how?”

“Helpful because we now know where they were manufactured. A team of Specials is headed down there already. So. What about you all? Come up with anything?”

He looked straight at Strafa. He knew she had been to the warehouse again.

She said, “We didn’t find anything. Not even a speck of dust. What did your sorcerers find?”

“Some useless specks of dust. Professionals cleaned that place out.”

I asked, “Any ideas about why the cover-up?”

“I know exactly why. So I’m told. I’m on my way home from the Palace. I took a serious ass-munching from Prince Rupert. He made it perfectly clear — for the benefit of witnesses who didn’t think I knew they were watching. The Crown is determined to avoid a popular panic. Therefore, this business is too important to be handled by the Guard.”

I snorted.

Block nodded. “Experts off the Hill say TunFaire is unstable and volatile because of high unemployment and strained racial relations resulting from the conclusion of the war with Venageta.”

Singe said, “When have our lords of the Hill ever cared about that?”

Block raised a hand. “Truth has nothing to do with any of this. They did make one good point. The real hot weather will be here soon.”

I could put a cot in there with the Dead Man.

“The orchestrated manipulation of a populace already hot, worried about jobs, and troubled by arcane happenings, might provoke riots and witch hunts.”

“Glory Mooncalled,” I said.

Block looked at me like I was nuts.

“Just speculation. There was a rumor a couple years ago that he was back, then a whole lot of nothing, like maybe somebody clamped down. This could be some kind of urban guerrilla warfare.”

“You do have an imagination, Garrett. If there is any political angle, the source is more likely inside the human rights movement.”

I glanced at Morley.

He shook his head. “No way. I don’t know what I
was
doing when they captured me. But I wasn’t on a mission from the Elven Defense League. Those people are nuts.”

Block asked the question. “So you
were
taken captive, then?”

“I...” Morley frowned. “I guess. It stands to reason. Ugh!”

“What?”

“I had a flash vision of somewhere dark and smelly. What you would expect where you keep people locked up.”

Singe was all over him immediately. “Describe the smells!”

“Back off, people! It was just a flash. There isn’t anything there to get hold of yet.” He met my eye, glanced eastward.

It was a shame, indeed, that the Dead Man was on hiatus.

For no reason I understood at the moment, I asked, “Where is Penny? Anybody seen her?”

No one had. A flurry of activity ended seconds later when Strafa looked into the Dead Man’s room. Penny was in there with the Bird. Bird was teaching her to paint.