Angry Lead Skies (25 page)

Marsha had to be amazed by what he’d accomplished.

The silver elves were amazed, too. And distraught in the extreme.

I was now reasonably confident that they did communicate the way the Dead Man does. I couldn’t pick out any words but the atmosphere was pregnant with emotion. There was a lot of blaming and finger-pointing going on, driven by a terror of being marooned. That fear became a notch more intense when the three examined their surviving egg and discovered that Doris’s ill-advised attack had crippled it somehow.

“Uh-oh.”

The three all stared at the disk like it might be their salvation. After a brief commune they all produced a variety of gray fetishes and began poking at them with long, skinny, nailless fingers. One of the little girls came forward, toward me, passing out of view beneath my feet. Two minutes later there was a whining noise from the area where Singe and the captive elf lay sprawled.

I scooted over there. The door in the floor was trying to move. The weight piled on it kept it from doing so. I sensed a considerable frustration down below. That was one — maybe — lady who didn’t think things ought to be going this way. A — maybe — woman whose day had been on the brink of triumph, but which had turned to shit in her hands in a matter of minutes.

“Been there, sweetheart,” I muttered. I began to look around, seeking something identifiable as a nonlethal weapon. I didn’t want to hurt anybody if I really was dealing with women. Possibly the most bizarre aspect of this business so far was the fact that no one had gotten killed. We had one elf with a broken arm and we had me with a bumper crop of aches and bruises — acquired from ratpeople not directly involved in the case — but otherwise the whole thing was almost civilized. And no silver elf had yet done anyone a direct physical injury.

I didn’t find anything that could be used as a weapon. Maybe I could rip an arm off the elf I did have and use it to harvest the new crop. I did retain plenty of pieces of steel in a variety of shapes and sizes, all with very sharp edges, should the situation grow hair, though.

Even so, these weird people didn’t seem to be impressed by weapons. Which left me wondering just how bright they could be.

The elf downstairs tried to get the floor door open again. I sat down nearby, ready to crack her knuckles with the butt of a knife if she stuck a hand through the way I had. I’m not always a perfect gentleman.

Some of the little flashy lights expired suddenly. Outside, the most voluptuous elf began to jump up and down. Evidently she’d solved some puzzle and was totally excited. She didn’t jiggle much, though.

The other elf looked over her shoulder. Clearly, she disapproved of her sidekick’s demonstration but was pleased with their results. Her daddy longlegs fingers began to prance across another of those gray fetish things.

More lights went out. There was a declining whine, fading fast, never noticed until it went.

“I don’t think that’s a good sign,” I told myself.

Still more lights went out.

“Definitely not a good sign.”

Up on the see-through wall — which I just now noticed had a curved shape in the vertical dimension that allowed it to show a lot more than a flat window would — I saw a large piece of deadwood come arcing out of the woods, spinning end for end horizontally. It was a log I would’ve had trouble lifting.

It got both silver elves.

I felt their rush of pain inside my head.

48

The elf downstairs made a run for it. She dropped out the bottom of the disk and headed up the path already blazed by the self-immolating egg. Marsha didn’t have any luck catching her. I didn’t let it worry me. She was completely weird and doubtless had no clue how to get by in the country, without help from her strange, sorcerous toys. She should not be hard to track. Just follow the commotion she caused.

Maybe Colonel Block could get me a big fat medal for having saved Karenta from the foreign sorcerers and sorceresses. Maybe the flying pigs would start evicting the pigeons from their traditional roosts. Which sure would leave a mess around all those dead and incompetent generals posing outside the Chancery.

The common wisdom among former grunts is that
competent
generals wouldn’t have screwed up so bad they got themselves killed and therefore there wouldn’t have been any need for a memorial.

Soldiers are a cynical bunch.

In the process of exploring the interior of the discus I discovered Cypres Prose installed in a padded box behind a door that locked from the outside. The little horizontal closet was soundproof. It was on a floor above the one with the marvelous lights and the wonderful view.

The upper level seemed to constitute of crew quarters and such, if you went over it just guessing.

My years in the Corps, with its ancient and traditional naval associations, clicked in at last. This thing had to be some kind of aerial ship or boat. With a crew. With decks and bulkheads and hatches instead of floors and walls and doors. With heads instead of toilets and galleys instead of kitchens — and all that special navy talk us Marines always resented.

The silver elves must have been trying to teach Kip something, stashing him in a padded box. But they hadn’t been harsh enough. Their rewards and punishments must have been too subtle. The boy began to complain the second the door opened, never once going for a “Good to see you again,” or, “Thanks for coming to find me, Garrett.” That being the case I shut him back in while I went on to explore the rest of the aerial ship.

After a while I reopened the hatch confining Kip. “Where can I find Lastyr and Noodiss?”

Bitch, bitch, piss, and moan.

“All right. Your call.” I shut the hatch.

I went back outside “Hey, Marsha, did you happen to look for Dojango? I’m pretty sure they dragged him into one of those lead eggs.”

In the excitement we’d forgotten the little brother.

Marsha went over to the fallen egg and yelled in the doorway. He didn’t get a response. For a moment he and I both stared up the hill along the path taken by the berserk egg. Then Marsha went and yelled into the dented egg. That didn’t do any good either.

“I’d better look,” I said. “Chances are they wouldn’t have left him in any condition where he could do some mischief.” These silver elves were highly weird but I doubted that they were highly stupid.

I was right. I found Dojango in the dented ship, as unconscious as Singe and Playmate and Saucerhead Tharpe. “This is not good,” I kept muttering to myself. Until my superior intellect finally seized the day.

I went up into the vineyards and asked around until I found a somberly clad, gloomily serious young man willing to abandon his post for a fee. I gave him messages to deliver to the Dead Man, to Morley Dotes, and to Colonel Block. In that order. I gave him half of his handsome messenger’s stipend before he departed, giving him to understand that receipt of the balance was contingent upon his getting the job done right. He nodded a lot. All his mates seemed to think his going to the city was a huge joke.

Then I just felt like I could lie back and take it easy until reinforcements arrived. Taking a few minutes every hour to go see if Kip had started to catch on yet.

That boy was slow. After a while he mentioned hunger. “That right there’s you one more motive for turning cooperative, I’d say. Whew! It’s really starting to get ripe in there, too. Guess those good old silver boys let you out when you had to go.” He refused to understand that right away, too.

Back outside, I asked, “How is Doris looking, Marsha?” I’d been rooting for a swift recovery. Making small talk with the healthy brother had worn thin in a hurry. Once we’d used up business and gossip all Marsha could talk about was the shortage of suitable females within his size range.

“An’ you can stuff them ideas right there, Garrett. On account of I’ve already heard all the jokes about mastodons and blue oxen.”

“Then I shan’t belabor the obvious. Actually, I was going to suggest that you jog up and get our cart back. Singe packed us a load of sandwiches.” She’d also eaten a load of sandwiches along the way but I hoped a few might have survived. And if not, I’d at least get a respite from the mighty lover’s whining.

Marsha thought that was about the best idea he’d heard all week. He took off right away, tossing back, “Keep an eye on Doris, will you?”

“I will indeed.” On account of I didn’t want to be in the wrong place when the big goof tripped over his own feet and came tumbling down.

I made my rounds of prisoners and patients. They were all being incredibly stubborn about recovering, though I now saw some signs that they were coming back. Singe had begun babbling in her sleep, thankfully mostly in ratfolk cant. My grasp of the dialect is feeble. I was embarrassed only about half the time.

Doris was coming along fine. He made sense about seventy percent of the time. He stayed fine as long as he didn’t get up and try to walk around. His sense of balance was out of whack. When he did try to walk he drifted sideways. Then he fell over.

Twenty minutes after Marsha left we had a visitor. Some sort of vineyard manager or overseer or supervisor, name of Boroba Thring. Boroba was a fat little brown guy on a skinny little brown donkey. He believed devoutly in his right to claim everyone and everything in sight in the name of his employer, evicting me in the meantime. Evidently he seldom dealt with anyone who told him “No.” He’d come visiting alone and didn’t see that as a disadvantage. He was one of those particularly irritating characters who couldn’t conceive of anyone thwarting him, let alone ignoring him. Which is what I did for a while when first he spouted his nonsense. Once I became sufficiently sick of his voice, I said, “Hey, Doris. You can have this one to play with.”

Thring didn’t last long. I had Doris dump him in with the other prisoners. After that I passed the time amusing myself by figuring out how to strip silver elves.

The material they wore was tough but I discovered that it wouldn’t stand up to a really sharp piece of steel.

Marsha arrived with the cart. “You’re probably gonna want to keep those people in the shade, Garrett. I’ve seen albinos with more color to them.”

“They definitely don’t get out much.” My, oh, my, the cargo area on the back of the cart still contained sandwiches that Singe hadn’t eaten. And some beer in stoneware bottles. That was a nice surprise. I shared the sandwiches with the grolls. I shared the beer with me. I reserved the last sandwich and went to see Kip.

49

“This is the way it goes, kid.” I waved the sandwich, took a small bite. “You can talk to me, the nice guy who’s here to help you. Or you can talk to the Guard when they get here and take over. I know. You’re a tough guy. You’ve been getting yourself ready for this in your daydreams for the last fifteen years. And so far it hasn’t hurt much more than an ordinary dream. But when the Guards get here they’ll have someone from the Hill with them. And you know those people won’t think any more of stepping on you than they would of stomping a roach.”

I looked into Kip’s eyes and tried to imagine what he was seeing as he looked at me. Definitely not what I thought I was. Probably just a minor villain, laughing and rubbing his hands together while cackling about having ways to make him talk.

Time was getting to be a problem.

What I had to get around was Kip’s absolute vision of himself as the hero of his own story. Which at this point meant crushing him in a major way because I couldn’t come up with a means by which he could see an honorable escape route he could use without believing his escape was some sort of wicked betrayal.

I did some estimating of how much time I might yet have before those I’d summoned arrived. Seemed like it should be quite a while yet if things ran their usual course in officialdom.

I did some soul-searching, too. Because I wanted to know why some part of me was so convinced that it was important for me to get to Lastyr and Noodiss.

When I start thinking, and wondering about my own motives, life really starts to slow down. I can see why Morley gets impatient with me.

Marsha built us a fire. Doris had recovered enough to help without falling in. I gathered some of my favorite people in the circle of warmth. Singe. Playmate. Saucerhead. Casey and a member each from the other crews. They didn’t look like much naked. The males were like shriveled up old prunes. Like mummies. One of the two females wasn’t much more promising. The other got barely passing marks from me because I possess a prejudiced eye.

I hoped somebody would thaw out and tell me something interesting.

Neither Doris nor Marsha had any trouble leaving brother Dojango a subject in the realm of silence. Dojango never said anything interesting. Dojango just said.

Saucerhead recovered first. He was in a predictably foul temper. He insisted he was starving.

“Save yourself some agony,” I told him. “I’ve been where you’re at now, three times. If you try to eat anything it’ll come right back up.”

“Let me learn the hard way.” His stomach growled agreement.

“Your choice. But the only edibles in the area are those grapes up yonder. And if those were ripe they would’ve been picked already.”

Saucerhead wasn’t interested in common sense or rationality but he could handle them when they happened. “Then I’m going back to sleep.” Presumably a trick he’d learned in the army. Doze as much as you can until flying misfortune makes you get up and go to work.

“Don’t get into it too deep. I sent for the Guard. I can’t see you wanting to be lying around here napping when they show.”

“Which won’t be for a while. And I can count on my good friend Garrett to kick me in the slats and wake me up as soon as he sees them coming over yonder ridge. Go on and get away from me. My head is pounding and I ain’t in no mood.”

I did get a smile out of Playmate before he turned nasty on me. Somehow, while he was unconscious, all his pain and misery had become my fault. Ignoring the incredibly stupid thing he’d done, chasing after a Kayne Prose who wasn’t even the real deal, a dozen miles into the countryside.