A Borrowed Man (29 page)

I said, “Of course not. It's actually quite admirable, Mrs. Peters.”

When she had gone, van Petten said, “You've been busy. Who authorized you to do this?”

“No one. Are you considering a lawsuit? As a nonhuman I cannot be sued, but I suppose you might sue the library. You'd have to show the court that my actions have resulted in injury to you, of course.”

Colette said, “I want to keep her, Dane. Won't you agree to that? For me?”

“I suppose you want to keep Smithe here, too.” He had made his voice softer, but I could see it took effort.

“I do.” Colette paused, looking from him to me, then back again. “You have to get used to him and he has to get used to you, that's all. I love you, and he's very nice. He's useful, too, and loyal and clever. You should be glad I've got something like him.”

“You told me once that he knew where the book was, that he'd hidden it here, in this house, before the two of you went to Owenbright.”

“Yes, I did.” Colette turned to me. “You did, didn't you, Ern? I think you said you were going to.”

“I doubt that I said it. We were very much afraid of their listening devices then, and it would have been less than prudent. Or at least, it would have seemed so. Did Mr. van Petten here really have listening devices in this house?”

He shook his head.

“I thought not. I found one in Dr. Roglich's office and smashed it. He had found it earlier, clearly, but he'd been afraid to touch it.”

Van Petten nodded. “That one was a decoy, actually. We let him see us install it.”

That jolted me, though I tried not to show it. “So a working device remained there?”

Van Petten nodded again.

“In that case, I'm surprised that you didn't plant a few here, in this house. It was Roglich's conversations with Colette's father you wanted to overhear? I've been assuming that.”

“Yes, of course. If I tell you about the listening devices in this house, will you tell me where you hid the book?”

I shook my head. “I will not, since it isn't yours. It belongs to Colette, however, and I'll tell her. Will you agree?”

“Yes, agreed. We put three bugs in this house. One in the laboratory, one in Coldbrook's bedroom, and one in this room. He found all three.”

“And destroyed them?” My eyes wanted to wander around then, but I kept them on van Petten.

“No. Just watched what he said, and said very little.”

“In which case, they're still here.”

Van Petten grinned. “Do you want to look? Have fun.”

“You think I won't be able to find them. You're probably right.”

“You won't be able to find them because they're gone. We caught on eventually and took them out to make him think we were no longer interested in him.”

Maybe if I were smarter I could say here that his eyes told me he was lying, or that they told me he was telling the truth. All right, this is the truth. His eyes told me a little less than a snake's. They said that I should not like him or trust him, and the less I had to do with him, the better off I would be. But I had guessed most of that already.

So I talked to Colette. “Do you want to know where I hid your book—your copy of my book, actually—before we went to Owenbright? If you do, I'll tell you. Either here and now, or in some private—” I heard the doorbell ring, and stopped.

The 'bot spoke, a man muttered, and a woman insisted, her voice shrill. A moment later steps, with the woman's
tap-tap-tapping
ahead.

I stood up.

Have I described Arabella already? Well, probably, but I am going to do it again. If you already know, you can skip this part. Long dark curls flying, cast-a-spell dark, dark eyes open wide, and tiny mouth open wider. An old-gold complexion that made you want to run your hands over every square centimeter of her, then push her skin up against yours.

Got it?

Very, very hot. Pocket-sized. High, high heels, perfect legs, hula-hips, narrow little waist, and tits to die for.

“Ern! He said you were here but I couldn't believe it.” Kiss-kiss-kiss. “Ern, you freezing son of a bitch, aren't you going to introduce me?”

I wanted to pinch her bottom, but I knew where that would get me. Had I seen a styptic pencil in the brother's bathroom? I did not think so. “Colette, this lovely girl is the famous poet Arabella Lee. Arabella, this kind and beautiful lady is my patron, Ms. Colette Coldbrook. The gentleman is Dane van Petten. Mr. van Petten is some sort of officer of the law, and someday I hope to find out just what kind.”

Van Petten cleared his throat. “Strictly speaking, Mr. Smithe, I'm not a policeman of any kind, even though I'm authorized to wield various police powers. I am an enforcement specialist in the Continental Office of Emolument.”

“I stand corrected,” I told Arabella. “He's a tax collector.”

Van Petten spoke to Colette. “She is…” He paused. “Somebody whom somebody else has checked out of a library. No doubt you've realized that already.”

“Me,” Chick said. “I did it.” By that time he was standing in the doorway.

I added, “He had offered to do me a favor, you see. This was the favor I asked.”

“I ordered Chick to come here to New Delphi and find out what Mr. Smithe was up to,” van Petten told Colette wearily. “He seems to have taken the shortcut of asking him.”

“They made me,” Chick explained. “So I got friendly with them and got them talking.”

“They?” Van Petten's eyebrows were up.

“He has a pal. George something.”

“Georges,” I said, and spelled it. “‘Zhorzh.'”

“There was some guy and a woman with him today,” Chick said. “I told you. George was the guy, probably. Smithe says the woman was his secretary. It looks like we've got her already.”

Arabella shook her head. “I haven't seen Ern in ages.”

I said, “That is almost literally true. I could explain who Georges and the woman were, but is that what you really want to know?”

Van Petten held out his hand. “First, give me the money, Smithe. All of it.”

I shook my head. “We not fully humans are not subject to taxation, nor is there a tax on property possessed by municipalities. If there were such a tax—”

“Shut up!”

“—the Spice Grove Public Library, to which I belong, would be responsible for paying its share. Or so I'd think. Not me.”

Van Petten had gone pale. “I could kill you.”

“Of course you could. You have a weapon, I'm sure. Perhaps even one of those pocket rockets? A missile pistol? Chick has one, and I think that's what they call them.”

Colette was holding his arm.

“It would be as easy as throwing a book into the fire. You could put my body out with the rest of the garbage.” I spoke to her. “Is that how you dispose of your garbage out here? Or do you have to take it to a dump?”

She shook her head. “There's an incinerator.”

“Easier still. Just shove me inside and switch on the fire.”

“He was a horrid husband,” Arabella told van Petten, “one who nearly drove me mad; but if you kill him, I'll kill you.”

For a second or two he stared at her, then he laughed. “You won't have to, and two dozen of you couldn't manage it. But it might be fun to watch you try. Looking at you, I wish I could.”

Colette asked, “Have you had a great many husbands, Ms. Lee? I've never been married.” I could tell that she was trying to change the subject, and it made me like her better than ever.

“About four.” Arabella held up fingers. “Ern was my first, and if I'd known what the other three were going to be like…”

“‘About'?” Colette looked interested.

“Sometimes it can be hard to tell.” Arabella turned to me. “You don't like this man, do you?”

“We circle and snarl,” I told her, “largely because Mr. van Petten fails to understand the natural respect and affection I have for my patron. When he does, things will become a bit more friendly.”

“He could check you out after she returns you, Sugar Pie. It might be—”

I nodded. “Less than pleasant. I know.”

“He couldn't because I'm going to buy him,” Colette protested.

Van Petten ignored her. “I could leave you out in the rain, Smithe. That's what one does, I believe. What would you do then?”

“Get wet, of course.”

Chick had found a chair. “You said to get her, and I did. You got anything else for me?”

I shook my head. “Not at the moment. No.”

He spoke to van Petten. “How 'bout you? If it's somethin' you don't want 'em to hear we can go somewhere else.”

“Later. Did they take your gun?”

Chick shook his head. “We got friendly. I said that. Hell, we still are.”

“Watch your 'luted tongue!”

I said, “Thank you, Chick. We need more friendship here.”

“I agree,” van Petten told me. He still sounded angry. “You're friendly with Ms. Coldbrook, or say you are. You say that she's your patron, and that the book belongs to her.”

“Correct. She is and it does.” I made it just as sincere as I could, which is pretty close to titanium alloy.

“If you and she could speak privately, would you tell her where it is?”

“Where I hid it before we went to Owenbright? Why yes, I would if she wanted to know.”

Van Petten stood up. “In that case, the rest of us will go into the lounge. You and she will come in there when you're finished. Agreed?”

“Not by me. Ms. Coldbrook and I will go wherever she chooses.”

Colette said, “We will, Dane. I take it that's what you want.”

Van Petten, Arabella, and Chick left together, and I said, “May I suggest we go into the garden?”

“You're still worried about Dane's listening devices, aren't you?”

“Yes. The one I destroyed in Dr. Roglich's office was a decoy, or at least Mr. van Petten said it was. He may have been telling the truth. If so, the one they removed from this room may have been a decoy as well, or so it seems to me.”

She nodded and we went out. When we had reached the dry fountain and sat, she said, “You're looking terribly glum, Ern.”

“I suppose I am.” I could not meet her eyes. “Would you like to hear it? All cobwebs and moonlight, I assure you.”

“I doubt that. Tell me.”

“I have the mind of a writer. I won't call myself a writer because I'm not permitted to write. There's little demand for fiction these days, in any case.”

“That will change.”

“I hope you're right.” I glanced at her and looked away. “You're wonderfully patient.”

It was a whisper: “I try to be when I see real pain.”

“This place reminds me of the one in which we talked ten days ago when we met—the ruined garden with the two stones to sit on and the waterfall. Remember?”

“Of course.”

“The writer I used to be would like to have our last conversation take place there, but I don't see how I can possibly arrange it. There will be no formal closure to our story, Colette, only a brief and brutal final chapter of the kind this life generally supplies.”

“I'll help you if I can, Ern.”

I thanked her, knowing all the time what I would have to say to her.

“Please tell me about the book now. If you don't, Dane will always think you did and I wanted to keep the information for myself.”

“As you wish.” I stared at the dry fountain. “Before we went to Owenbright, I hid the book among the other books in your father's library.” Sometimes I feel terribly guilty when I lie; but what I feel when I lie is nothing at all compared to the guilt I felt then, when I had told Colette the truth.

“I see. You know, you actually are very clever, Ern. I wasn't exaggerating at all when I said that. Is it still there?”

I shrugged. “I haven't gone in there looking for it lately.”

“Of course you haven't. That would have given its location away.”

I waited.

“You've been selling emeralds. Chick found that out yesterday. Dane says he talked to a clerk in a jewelry store, and this clerk knew all about it. It's why we came.”

“I see.”

“My father did that, and I think they must have been some of his. Don't you want to explain?”

“No. It will only make trouble.” I waited. When Colette did not say anything, I added, “The result of my explanation would be bad for you and for me.”

“I can't see that. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I'm not a fully human being. Not really. Can we agree on that?”

For a long moment Colette stared at me. Then she said, “Of course.”

“But I used to be a human being. I was a real man who lived about a century ago.” I paused to think. “You can see the house from where you're sitting. You don't have to tell me you can, I know it.”

She nodded.

“From inside it looks quite different, doesn't it?”

“All houses do.”

It was my turn to nod, and I did. “Humanity is like that. Seen from outside, it's quiet and peaceful. Almost torpid. You'll agree?”

“I suppose I must.” Colette sighed. “I've been to two universities. That may seem unlikely to you, but I have. I was a history major, originally. And I…” She shrugged.

“You were baffled by what you learned—baffled or sickened. Which was it?”

“Sickened. Yes, I was. You can study the history of women's fashions, if you want to. One of my friends did that.”

I waited.

“Or there's the history of sports, or architecture, or dozens of other things. I wasn't interested in any of them. I wanted to learn real history, the rise and fall of empires and the history of human thought. And I found out that real history is largely the history of war, of people killing one another. The reasons for wars differed, but the result was always the same. Stones and arrows and spears and blood at first. Then bullets and shells and poison gas. Bombs, rockets, flying 'bots, and blood. And more blood, always more blood.” Suddenly she laughed, but her laughter was empty and bitter. “Torpidity is fine with me, Ern. I like it.”