Whispering Nickel Idols (29 page)

Singe hurried ahead to alert the Dead Man. Complaining about her cold, wet tail as she faded into the distance.

Occasionally, I suspect Saucerhead of being less dim than he pretends.

My nap ended when he backed the cart up suddenly — bang — into the corner of a building. The cart’s tongue rose slowly, putting me at increasing risk of getting dumped into an icy mess in the mouth of a dark and fetid alley.

A voice said, “How about you grab back onto that cart, Tharpe? Otherwise, you could get hurt.” I didn’t recognize the voice.

Saucerhead let me know. “You kidding, Fish? I’m on a job. I ain’t gonna let you mess it up.” Fish? That would be Fish Bass, then. One of Rory

Sculdyte’s less daunting associates. A manager, not a serious physical threat.

“Plenty, get Temisk. Bobo, Brett, spank Tharpe if he interferes. And see what’s in the cart. Chodo Contague his own self, I’ll bet. Because where would Chodo be if he wasn’t with his lawyer pal? Rory wants to talk to you, Temisk. Damn it, Tharpe — A meaty thump interrupted. “Shit!”

Harvester Temisk squealed. Suggesting Saucerhead had laid a good one on Plenty Hart.

Saucerhead said, “You try to run, lawyer, you wake up wishing you was dead.”

Meanwhile, I dribbled out the back of the cart, counted arms and legs to make sure I hadn’t left any behind, then unlimbered my head knocker and iron knuckles.

I heard grunts and thuds as Tharpe exchanged love taps with Rory Sculdyte’s infantry. There was some chatter farther off as people gathered to be entertained. The cavalry didn’t arrive.

I checked the situation from ground level. Saucerhead had gone into action on the side of the cart where it butted against a wall. So, although he was cornered, nobody could get behind him. And I had room to go to work.

I sucked in a bushel of air, bounced into the contest. I smacked a startled Fish Bass between the eyes, whacked Harvester one that put him down and discouraged him from taking a powder, then popped Fish again so he wouldn’t interfere.

I approached Saucerhead’s dancing partners from behind. “Can I cut in?” Bobo Negry was no problem. Saucerhead had hold of him with his left hand, using him as a crutch. Iron knuckles to the back of his head shut him down.

Which left Brett Batt. Brother Batt had a big mouse over one eye, a bloody nose, and several split lips. And was having the time of his life hammering on Saucerhead. Tharpe was going to lose this one. He was too exhausted to fight much longer.

My first mighty swing missed Brett. My second was a glancer that did little but get his attention. I didn’t have much go left myself.

Brett flailed behind him, knocked me down, resumed demolishing Saucerhead. I put everything into a whack at Batt’s right knee.

Good enough. Brett yelped. His leg folded. Saucerhead launched a roundhouse kick he’d saved for the right time, connected with Batt’s left temple.

Two more kicks and a few more love taps from my stick and the wide load went to sleep. Finally. He would enjoy aches, pains, bruises, a headache, and a bad limp for days to come.

I got my feet under me. “We’ve got to get out of here.” I checked the others.

Fish Bass had him one thick skull. He was a hundred feet down the street and gaining speed, though unable to navigate a straight course. Harvester Temisk was inclined to make an exit of his own, but his world was spinning so briskly he couldn’t keep his feet under him. I tossed him in with Chodo, then asked Tharpe, “You all right, man? You look like shit.”

“Just shut up and get me to your place.”

“But

“He got me in the goolies, all right? Go! We got to disappear.”

Yeah. Word was spreading. I hadn’t heard any whistles, but Watchmen would be closing in. Let them find nothing but broken Sculdyte henchmen. And better hope none of the gawkers were civic-minded enough to follow us.

We ran into Singe on Wizard’s Reach, tail in paw, coming back to meet us, a block from where the Dead Man would be able to offer some protection. A swarm of shivering pixies accompanied her. Saucerhead and I had kept one another going while making sure Harvester didn’t escape. And he did try.

“What happened?” Singe asked. Melondie Kadare hovered behind her, trying to keep warm. “Ran into some bad guys. His Nibs ready to bring us in?”

“Yes. But —”

It hurt to talk. Still, “We got to hurry. Then this cart needs to go away. Fast. People will be looking for it.”

“So move if you need to move. Mr. Tharpe should get somewhere.”

“I think it’s going to snow again.” We resumed trudging. “What? What the hell do you mean, Garrett?”

“I mean you ought to calm down and — “Look out!”

I was supposed to look out for Teacher White, leaping out of cover with wild eyes, wilder hair, and no obvious awareness of the misty drizzle. He looked like he had been living on the street. But he did come equipped with a fully loaded, cocked, safe-catch-off war surplus crossbow. It looked huge from my downhill end. A wild grin full of bad teeth shone behind the weapon and a seedling beard. “You ruined me, you son of a bitch! But I got your freakin’ ass now!”

A man ought not to get so worked up he forgets what he wants to do. I know. I overthink all the time.

I never broke stride. Teacher swung his aim to track me. Melondie Kadare darted into his face, stabbed him in the tip of the nose. His eyes crossed. Melondie’s companions buzzed his ears.

Teacher let go the crossbow with his left hand. I placed a long jab on the back of the hand he’d raised to his nose. He yelped. Tears blinded him.

He dropped the crossbow. It discharged. The bolt whizzed away, ricocheting off brick walls.

I said, “Go home, Teacher. Better still, go somewhere where Rory won’t look for you. Lay low. The Sculdytes won’t last out the week.”

“You broke my nose!”

A good pop in the snot locker has a way of clearing the mind behind. “You’re right. And if you don’t want it getting uglier, disappear.”

Anger and humiliation hadn’t abandoned Teacher, but his nerve had. He limped away, holding his nose, glowering.

Saucerhead hadn’t said a word or done a thing. He glowered back. He was not in a good mood. He’d have bloodied somebody if he’d had the strength to do anything but keep on putting one foot in front of the other.

Teacher kept moving. Melondie and her friends buzzed him, kept him going. Singe collected the crossbow. “Damn! This thing is heavy.”

“Dump it in the cart. It’s illegal. We don’t want to attract any attention.”

A sense of foreboding came over me as we approached the house. But I didn’t see even one obvious watcher.

62

The Dead Man’s glee was almost malicious. He couldn’t believe I’d enjoyed such complete success. But, boy, was he eager to capitalize.

Singe and I got our captives, our cargo, and Tharpe inside as fast as we could. Dean even lent a hand. Then he grabbed the cart’s tongue and took off downhill. I gawked.

I sent him. He was doing nothing useful. Come inside, please.

Uh-oh. He was being polite. That’s never a good sign.

You will find yourself dealing with the Watch if you do not cease dallying immediately. Now he was seriously impatient.

With cause. We were about to be visited by Captain Ramey List and his shadows. Both henchmen now wore complete new uniforms.

I got in and closed the door. Old Bones told me,
Something big is happening. Captain List is the only body the Watch can spare for a stakeout.

“There’ll be a big dance with the Outfit. Going on already, I think. Because of the material we provided.” I had to get a copy to Belinda still. I’d been too sick or too busy to figure out how. “Did you pry anything useful out of our guests?”

Absolutely. I understand much of it now. It all ties together through the people involved. None of whom are pulling in the same traces. But I see that residual weakness is about to bring on a collapse. Take a nap.

“I can last awhile. With your help.”

I do not have the attention to spare. Mr. Tharpe is injured. We will not be able to get a physician past the Watch anytime soon.

I let it drop. You can’t win with Butterbutt. And fatigue was about to overwhelm me.

Captain List hammered on the front door. He bellowed nonsense that would amuse the neighbors. His best effort was embarrassingly feeble compared with those of the Green Pants guys.

“I’ll just park it in my chair. You need to know what I got from Buy Claxton. Poke around when you get time.”

Vaguely, as I drifted off, I heard Saucerhead groan.

The Dead Man couldn’t read my mind and control Tharpe’s pain, both. He must have been using all his mind power to control the Ymberians and deal with Captain List. List’s essential nature would make him try to win himself a name.

I slept.

63

I wakened. There was something in the air. Cooking smells. And a girlie fragrance suggesting something tastier.

Something tastier arrived with a steaming tray. Clearly, Captain List had gone away.

An agent from the Unpublished Committee came. Captain List was needed for a secret assignment that could be handled only by one of the top members of the Watch. Director Relway and Colonel Block were tangled up in obligations they could not shed. It was critical that this assignment be handled immediately.

I chuckled. “And he took the bait. Along with the hook, the line, and the pole.” He did.

“I love it.” I felt good despite my fresh collection of bruises. “It’s got to be something that will end up with Ramey List embarrassed in a big way.”

The possibility bubbled in the back of Mr. Scithe’s mind.

I gave Tinnie a peck on the cheek and a suggestive leer a foot to the south, then prepared to pile into an equally beautiful omelet. “I thought you had what I had, darling.”

“I do some. But mostly I was just tired.”

But I think it more likely that Captain List will die an heroic death.

“Really? Do they hate him that much?”

Mr. Scithe came on behalf of Director Relway, not Colonel Block. Mr. Relway, you may have noted, has simple, direct ways of handling personnel problems. This time because he sees an opportunity to end a threat to the Watch.

“Morley and Relway ought to be pals. They think a lot alike.”

One would murder the other within hours. That sort of personality does not tolerate itself well in others.

He was right, of course. “What do we know now that we didn’t know yesterday?” I gave Harvester Temisk the fisheye. He remained terrified. Chodo appeared to be napping. Even guys in wheelchairs need to sleep.

We know the Bledsoe drew the Ymberians to TunFaire. The Bledsoe is the mother lode of despair. Their nickel idols accumulate despair. The idols they installed in the Bledsoe walls are connected by sorcery to smaller companion pieces in their headquarters. Which always has been that place where you found Mr. Temisk and Mr. Contague. They plan to scatter the charged idols in areas where they intend to proselytize. You found one of the smaller sort on our guest deacon. The intent is to broadcast oppressive despair —
which the priests of A-Laf will dispel, inside their temples.

“I see. And those wouldn’t be located where the prospects don’t come equipped with plenty of money.”

Truly, you are possessed of a deep, humming streak of cynicism
.

“Am I right?”

Probably more so than you think. When the cult of A-Laf fell into the hands of fundamentalists — aided by Mr. Contague, remember — the brains in charge were not motivated entirely by spiritual fervor. Mr. Contague worked hard to install his allies. Nevertheless, they did not join forces with Mr. Contague — though, as we know now, they helped advance his career by eliminating human obstacles. Eventually, the Ymberian end forgot its connection with the TunFaire underworld, except at the most shy level.

“Until they came to town, eh?” A baby cat bounced into my lap.

The kitten put its paws on the little table by my tray. He sniffed. And eased his nose ever closer to my plate. Never glancing back like he might actually need permission. Like, “I am the cat. The cat rules. All else exists to attend the cat.”

The little tyrant hadn’t gained an ounce since his arrival.

The kits have realized that the scary men are harmless. For the moment. They are incurable optimists. They cannot remain frightened long. The optimism of A-Lat is a major contributing cause of its conflict with A-Laf. Which might seem unusual, A-Lat being the Queen of the Night. But that does not make her a dark goddess in all her aspects. Her principal aspect is the feminine. Be that as it may, it is not our concern. We must concentrate on those problems that have caught us in their web.

“Go,” I said. I pushed the cat aside. He paid no attention. He went right back to sticking his nose in my plate.

Some weeks ago Mr. Temisk became aware of the arrival of the A-Laf cultists. They, of course, were unaware of Mr. Contague’s state. Knowing the balance of obligation tilted toward Mr. Contague, Mr. Temisk contacted Ymberians. He invoked their obligation, as he did yours. The cultists knew him as the interlocutor for Mr. Contague, so he continued in that role.

“How did he kill all those people? And why?”

Ah. Now it becomes convolute.

“Uh-oh. That’s what you hear when somebody is fixing to make an excuse for somebody.” I couldn’t imagine him doing that for anybody but himself, though.

We are not amused.

“Leave that alone.” I flicked the kitten’s nose.

“Don’t do that.” Tinnie snapped. She’d come to check my tea. Carrying a tray. I was buying breakfast for my guests.

“We’ve got to figure a way to make money out of this, Old Bones. I’m feeding half the city.”

We will profit. Though perhaps not in cash money.

“No chickens. No moldy bread. No spoiled sausage. No skunky beer. I don’t take payment in kind anymore.” As I raised my teacup, I spied a glint in Chodo’s eye. He was awake. “Where were we?”

I was about to inform you that circumstances surrounding the deaths of those who burned are more complicated than it would appear. Mr. Temisk is, indeed, responsible. But was not, at first, aware that he was responsible. However, once he understood that there was a connection between the fires and his visits to Mr. Contague, he remained willing to send personalities like Mr. Billy MulTima to their ends.