Angry Lead Skies (12 page)

Judging by your stunning success in that direction before, perhaps your ideal course would be to wait for him to come to you. He does seem to be extremely superstitious about his boots. They are a controlling factor in his life.

Singe came in from the kitchen carrying a tray. She’d hidden out there while Block was in the house. And she hadn’t wasted her time. She’d made more sandwiches. And had drawn me a mug off the keg in the cold well.

I gave her a look at my raised eyebrow trick as I went to work on a sandwich. Her whiskers twitched and pulled back in the ratkind equivalent of turning pink.

“It’s all right, Singe. You’re welcome. Old Bones. I’m not going to be able to keep my eyes open much longer. If I get him in here can you handle the interview?”

His exasperation with mortal weakness became palpable.
Get him in here. That is the key first step. Then you two can run off to bed whilst I labor...

Singe squeaked. Her whiskers went back so far it looked like they were about to pop out.

“He doesn’t mean
that
, Singe. He just means sleep. You take the guest room on the third floor.” She was familiar with it. She’d used it before. “I’ll see if Block’s gone.”

He is. Though an observer remained behind and is seated on Mrs. Cardonlos’ stoop, pretending to be drunk. He is about to fall asleep at his post.

I went to the front door certain that any sleepiness being experienced by Colonel Block’s man had an artificial origin. Unlike my own.

Singe followed me. She carried a lamp. Its light silhouetted me when I opened the door.

Bic Gonlit arrived five minutes later. He was about as hangdog as it’s possible for a man to look.

“Bic, old buddy,” I said, “why’d you want to go and bring a bunch of ratpeople around to my place?”

“You still got my boots?”

“They’re in a place of honor. But I’m going to burn them and scatter their ashes on the river if I don’t hear some explanations.”

“You don’t have a reputation for being that hard, Garrett.”

“You’ve got a rep as a bring them in alive kind of bounty hunter, Bic. So besides the answer to my ratpeople question — which I want to hear real soon now — I’d sure like to know why you’re hanging around me. But where are my manners? Come on in. We don’t want to do business out here. The Guard keeps a watch on me.”

Gonlit jumped. He looked back nervously. He sure was a worried little man. And barefoot, too.

He slipped past me, taking one final troubled look back as he did so.

“Tell me about the rats, Bic.”

He stared at Pular Singe. “Because there’s a huge reward out for her. Reliance wants her bad. I thought I’d get my boots back during the confusion when Reliance’s gang were grabbing her.”

“Plus you’d’ve made a few marks,” I said. “I appreciate your honesty. So I’m not going to hold a very big grudge. All you need to do is explain why you were hanging around in the alley out back and just had to slug me. We’re going in here.” I held the door to the Dead Man’s room. Bic’s boots were in there, sitting on the table next to Singe’s sandwiches. But I had a feeling it would be a while before they enjoyed a loving reunion with Bic’s feet. “Take a seat, brother.”

“I just want my boots, Garrett.”

“We all have dreams, Bic. Sometimes we have to give a little something to attain them. What about the alley?”

“What alley?”

“Now we’re going to play tough?” Exasperated, I snapped, “The goddamn alley behind my house. Where you bushwhacked me and pounded me over the head with a sap.”

Gonlit looked at me like I’d just sprouted antlers.

Garrett.

I jumped. So did Bic and Singe.

“Yeah?”

Bizarre as it may seem, the man really does have no idea what you are talking about. I now find myself examining the hypothesis that the Bic Gonlit you encountered in the alley was not the man who is here with us now. Either this man
h
as a twin or what you ran into was the creature I sensed and set you to collect, somehow projecting an illusion based upon the expectations of Cypres Prose.

I now agree that it is time you went to bed. Have the man sit down.
Bic hadn’t yet accepted my invitation.
Then go. I will see that he dozes off, too.

Pular Singe made an offer that was difficult to refuse because she was so fragile emotionally. “Not tonight, Singe. I’m so tired I’d fall asleep in the middle of things. And you’d get your feelings hurt. While you kept telling me that it was all your fault.” She was getting used to hearing me yell at her about embracing blame for what other people did.

That wasn’t as honest as I should’ve been. But it did buy me time to think about an answer that would leave Singe with her tender dignity intact, feeling good about herself.

The more I considered it the more I suspected that I’d need the Dead Man’s help to work this one out. Singe was at an age and stage where she wasn’t going to hear much from me that she didn’t want to hear.

Though I must say my “not tonight, another time” response certainly seemed to ease her anxieties for the moment.

Maybe she wouldn’t find the nerve to bring it up again.

20

Those damned pixies woke me up twice during the night. And both times I got a touch from the Dead Man indicating that we had a prowler outside. He didn’t trouble himself enough to report what kind of prowler. And I was too groggy to care.

The pixies made good watchdogs. Yet if that was what I wanted I’d just as soon get something big but quiet that would eat the prowlers without waking me up or disturbing my neighbors.

It was near the crack of noon when I stumbled downstairs and found a sullen Dean sharing his kitchen with Pular Singe. Singe was at the table eating. She had dragged her custom chair in from the Dead Man’s room.

Dean was doing dishes and wrestling with his prejudices. Not many folks have much use for ratpeople. I’ve always belonged to the majority myself. But I do try my best to contain my dislike. That’s been a lot easier since Singe came along.

I mumbled, “You’re going to get fatter than the Dead Man, Singe.” I flopped into my own chair. “My head still hurts.” Though a lot less than it had.

Dean said, “I’ve warned you and warned you to ease up on the beer, Garrett.”

“It wasn’t beer this time.”

Dean rattled some dishes and snorted, not believing me.

“It’s not. Singe can tell you. I got knocked out by some kind of wizardry a few times yesterday. And every time I woke up I had a worse headache than before.”

“Then explain why I had to send out for a new keg this morning. It hasn’t been ten days since you finished the last one.”

“New keg? But the old one shouldn’t be...”

Singe had developed a fierce interest in a fly doing acrobatics from the ceiling.

“And you don’t have a bit of a hangover from all that, either. Do you, girl?”

She shook her head, tried one of her want-to-be human smiles.

“Gah! This’s the cruelest of all cruel worlds.” I would’ve teased her about selling her back to Reliance or something but she’d probably have taken me seriously.

Dean took his hands out of the water long enough to pour a mug of tea and set a breakfast platter in front of me. That was mostly seasonal fruit, accompanied by small chunks of cold ham.

A typical meal, really. Which left me wondering how Dean managed to produce so many dirty dishes, pots, and pans.

I downed a long slug of tea. There was something in that cup besides plain tea. It left a bitter taste underneath the honey. So Dean had counted on me showing up with a headache. Since he doesn’t coddle my hangovers he must’ve been forewarned. So his fuss was all for form.

So the Dead Man was good for something after all.

Though he wouldn’t have coddled a hangover, either.

Singe tried to fuss over me. Dean looked disgusted. I showed him my evil eye. Of all the females to pass through my kitchen the one he’d pick to dislike actively would be the only one who was willing to treat me special.

He was plenty willing to climb all over me when it came to me not treating every girl as if she was uniquely special.

I tossed back some more tea while thinking my house was turning into a nest of cranky old bachelors.

The pixies started acting up out front. Dean ignored them. He had his cutting board out and was getting ready to mutilate vegetables.

“You going to check that out?” I asked.

“No. Happens every fifteen minutes. If it means anything the thing in the other room will let us know.”

If he wasn’t asleep. The Dead Man has a habit of falling asleep, sometimes for months, usually at the most inconvenient times, businesswise.

I finished feeding. The medication in the tea had begun its work. The world seemed a less dark and cruel place already. “Singe, let’s go see old Chuckles.” Got to keep that premature optimism under control. And he was just the boy to rein it in.

“Hey, Old Bones. What’s on the table today? Bic Gonlit. How you doing this morning, man? Dean get you something to eat?”

Whatever Dean put into the tea, maybe he used a little too much.

I got no response from the Dead Man. Gonlit did respond with a big scowl. “I want my boots, Garrett.”

“I’m sure you do. They say you’ve got your whole personality tied up in those things. So why do you want to get them all filthy, romping around in the alley behind my house?”

Bic rolled his eyes. “Not again!”

I have exhausted that line of inquiry, Garrett. Mr. Gonlit sincerely believes that he has never been in that alley. There is no shaking his conviction on that count. Therefore, I am inclined to believe him. However, he cannot account for his whereabouts at the time of the alley event. He is more troubled about that than we are.

I wasn’t troubled at all. “Maybe it was him being used by one of the silver guys the way you use the Goddamn Parrot.”

That possibility occurred to me. There is no residue in Mr. Gonlit’s mind of the sort I would expect to find if he had been manipulated. What is there consists of hints that he may have been asleep. Inasmuch as he does not recall sleeping, we might reasonably suspect that the sleep was induced. Perhaps by the same means as were used on you yesterday.

“All right. And?”

The boy, Cyprus Prose, brought Mr. Gonlit’s name into play first.

I’d just been thinking that. Had Kip set us up somehow? Could the Dead Man have missed that while the kid was here?

No.

“Bic, did anybody hire you to hunt down a couple elves name of —”

“Lastyr and Noodiss. I’m tired of that one, too. Give me my damned boots.”

He believes he never heard those names before he came in here last night.

I growled. The excitement and optimism were beginning to fade. “Then how come he was following me and you were following him with the Goddamn Parrot?”

Are you genuinely certain you want Mr. Gonlit to hear more about my abilities than you have given away already?

“All right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Not a first, I might note.

“You might. You might also answer me.”

He was following Miss Pular, Garrett. Mr. Big was following you. Insofar as I have been able to determine, their appearance of being together was caused by the proximities of yourself and Miss Pular.

“There’ve been too damned many coincidences already, Old Bones. You know I believe in them but I don’t like them. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that good buddy Bic just happened to stumble over Singe as she and Saucerhead were coming to help me out. And being the ingenious fellow that he is, Bic just latched right on. Seizing the day, as it were.”

That is quite close to the truth. As Mr. Gonlit knows it. Except for the fact that he was hunting Miss Pular long before we became involved in events. He had traced her to the area where we had her hidden. My call for assistance, unfortunately, brought her out just in time to be spotted.

I generated harrumphing old man noises. I didn’t like the way things were going.

You never do. But you have a knack for blundering around, knocking things over, until everything works out.

I harrumphed some more. Practicing. I have plans for an extremely extended old age.

I was profoundly embarrassed by the fact that it took me so long to discover Mr. Gonlit’s presence on your backtrail.

“Oh-oh.” The Dead Man seldom admits lacks, flaws, or shortcomings. He is, after all, the most perfect of that perfect race, the Loghyr. Just ask him.

When he messes up it’s always someone else’s fault.

Behold!
Then I began to understand. The description I had was entirely inadequate.

“So you didn’t figure it was unusual for a guy to be turning up everywhere Singe and I did?” It really is pointless to indicate the holes in his excuse-making. At best he just ignores you.

I should like to engage in a much deeper look into your encounter with the false Bic Gonlit of the alleyway. It is entirely possible that you may have noticed something we passed over as trivial when we were confident that we knew who your conqueror was.

The real Bic Gonlit had grown very restless. “Let me give the man his soles back so he can go on his way.” Charged up with uncertain ideas about his place in the grander scheme, his head a nest of confused, false memories.

Turn the bird loose once Mr. Gonlit is a block down the street.

“Of course. There’s always hope he’ll run into a parrot-eating eagle. Bic, here’re your boots. Get going. Stay away from me and stay away from Pular Singe. I guarantee you, Reliance’s reward isn’t worth it. Belinda Contague used to be my girlfriend.”

Bic went pale. He’d heard that rumor. I was still alive. So maybe I could conjure the helpmate of death.

Foolish, Garrett.

He was right. That was a stupid threat. If word got back to Belinda I could end up on crutches. If she happened to be in a generous mood.

I waved bye-bye from the stoop. Then I flung our lowlife, low-profile spy into the air. Then I rejoined Singe and the Dead Man.