Whispering Nickel Idols Part 27

"That fast?"

That fast. That easily. You will begin to feel much better soon. Go. Watch your footing. Move that coach away from here, even if it is stolen.

Just what we needed. Another stolen vehicle abandoned in front of the house.

The White crew went away, fast.

"Did you get anything new from them before they left?"

Nothing useful. Though Mr. White certainly had himself an adventure. It will become an underworld saga if he survives.

"Interesting." I checked the pile of twitching, battered bodies delivered by my once and future enemy. "What about this lot?"

Where to start?

I gave Brett Batt a huge kick in the ribs. "Right here. Put in two of those mindworms."

Garrett.

"All right. I'll be civilized."

Morley opined, "I was beginning to wonder."

"Meaning?"

"I was beginning to wonder if you hadn't developed sense enough to bust a moose like that up when the chance was there instead of waiting till it's fair."

Move Mr. Vrolet out into the weather. Leave him under someone's stoop. He knows nothing.

There was an edge to his thought that left me mildly suspicious. "It's freezing out there."

The chill will wake him up.

"Everything's covered with ice."

Then you will have to make sure of your footing. No one will see you. Those tasked with watching us have chosen to do so in warm, dry places.

I muttered and grumbled. The crowd of Dean and Morley eyed me like they thought I was being a big baby. And I was. It was nasty out there, But I latched on to Squint. Dean worked the door. I hauled the villain off into the night. The front steps didn't improve his complexion.

"How many times did you fall down?" Morley asked when I stumbled back into the Dead Man's room.

"I lost count. Dean. Can you make hot cocoa?"

It arrived immediately. A cup all around, except for the bad guys. Maybe smelling it cooking was why I asked.

Mr. Ractic can be removed now, Garrett. Once you finish your cocoa.

"Is that the way it's going to be with all of these goons?"

You have a better plan?

"Any plan that doesn't take me out into the weather."

That would result in our guests' waking up here in the house. And, possibly, remembering it later. An insalubrious eventuation.

"Easy for you to say." I considered kicking Brett another time or two. "How am I supposed to move this ox?"

I am confident that something will occur to you. Deeply amused.

He was having fun with me. And I didn't know what it was all about.

I sighed and got to work dragging Green Bean. I didn't damage him much getting down the front steps. I planned to dump him somewhere on Wizard's Reach, but when I got to the stoop where I'd left Squint, Vrolet was gone. I replaced him with Green Bean.

The rain continued to fall. Most of it found a way to get under my collar in back. I needed a hood or a big hat.

Gloves wouldn't hurt, either.

Garrett!

I jumped, startled. "What?" I was still ten yards from my stoop, clinging to an abandoned, stolen goat cart, halfway unconscious, trying to keep from sliding back downhill.

Remember to breathe. You are lucky to be close enough to be a.s.sisted.

Yeah? I had a feeling that I'd just been manipulated somehow, so I'd learn a lesson.

I went in and attacked some more cocoa. Then hot tea, then cold water. I crowded the fire. I asked, "Are we learning anything? Has any of this been worth my trouble?"

You will be pleased to learn that Mr. Rory Sculdyte considers you one of the most dangerous men in TunFaire. Worth murdering preemptively.

"Oh, my. I'm a made man now. Are we headed for another anticlimax, with these guys all being marginal?"

Not quite. You were a target of opportunity for the Batt brothers, not the point of the exercise. Merry Sculdyte had instructions to put you to sleep if the opportunity arose. Perhaps the stone egg was slung at you by an opportunist Sculdyte soldier. You are on the list not only because you are a general nuisance but because you might find Chodo before the Sculdyte crew. You have an astonishing reputation among these thugs. Clearly, they do not know you at all well.

"What're my chances of digging them out?"

Getting better by the minute. Every thug able to get up on his hind legs has been looking. We know a very great deal about where Mr. Contague is not.

"Is he with Belinda? Or does Harvester Temisk have him?"

The consensus is that Miss Contague is hunting her father with more vigor than anyone else. And your idea did occur to me. I have asked John Stretch to put word out in the ratman community, offering a substantial reward.

Clever. Ratfolk go everywhere. n.o.body pays attention, except to yell. I glanced at Singe. She seemed quite pleased. And tired.

It was getting late. I realized, with some surprise, that we hadn't yet tapped the new keg.

How long could that last?

This Brett Batt is ready to go. You cannot imagine what a ba.n.a.l personality the man has. Though knowledgeable. Certainly knowledgeable.

"You got something useful?"

A few points of interest did lurk in the corners of his mind.

"Such as?"

I will see that you know what you need to know if a situation should arise where you need to know it.

All right. We were going to play games. More games. He'd fished something tasty out of Brett's head. He didn't want me to know. Or maybe to obsess about it.

More or less. It has little to do with anything we are investigating now. Take him out of here.

Grumbling, I laid a two-hand grip on Brett's collar and started hauling. The only help I got was Singe's volunteering to work the front door.

Brett was one lucky bruno. His good buddy Garrett had hold of him at the head end instead of by the feet. Because of this his good buddy Garrett one-manned him down the ice-rimed front steps without banging his skull on even one.

"What'cha doin'?" Saucerhead Tharpe asked. He had collected coagulated precipitation till he looked like the abominable iceman. He wasn't alone. A wobbling companion, clinging to his arm, also looked like a perambulating ice creature.

"I'm dragging this b.u.t.thead over to that cart." I'd suffered the inspiration of a fanatic slacker. If I could just get Brett aboard that thing...

Tharpe and his pal grabbed hold and helped me hoist Brett into the cart. Then Tharpe said, "Me an' Bitte are gonna get on in outta the weather. All right?"

"Go ahead on. There's hot cocoa. And we got a new keg in. I'll be there in a minute." I eased in between the double trees, got a good hold on those poles. When I broke their ends loose from the ice, the cart began to roll.

It worked like a rickshaw in reverse. Me behind. Trying to keep up.

Macunado Street slopes gently down for a third of a mile. Long before that I turned loose. The cart rolled. It went on. I flailed around, slipping and sliding, never quite falling down. I couldn't keep up and didn't try.

Brett's ride managed not to smash into anything for longer than it took me to lose sight of it in the dark. I heard it glance off something, continue on, ricochet off something else, then partic.i.p.ate in a huge crash. I imagined Brett flying through the night, then spinning on up the gla.s.sy street on his prodigious pecs.

His problem. I headed on home wondering why I hadn't broken some of his bones before I let him roll.

I found Singe waiting to let me in. She was amused. "How many times did you fall this time?"

"Not even once."

She was disappointed.

Saucerhead and his drinking buddy wandered on into the Dead Man's room, where Old Bones continued to entertain Merry Sculdyte.

Garrett, I need you to transcribe what I am recovering from this villain. It is not my custom to meddle in civil affairs. However, my rudimentary sense of social obligation compels me to provide this information to Colonel Block and Director Relway. This man is intimate with the darkest and most secret machinery of the underworld. Much more so than Mr. Dotes. Or even Miss Contague. This man knows where the bodies are buried because he buried most of them. He knows which officials are corrupt. He has a good notion which people on his own side could be suborned by Director Relway. In a mundane manner of describing it, Mr. Merry Sculdyte is the pot at the end of the information rainbow.

"Excellent. We're in the money. Have you noticed Saucerhead's guest?"

Brother Brittigarn wasn't so wasted that he failed to notice that I wasn't talking to Morley. He wasn't so wasted that he failed to recognize me in the light. "Oh, s.h.i.t. Man.'Head, you jobbed me."

I am aware. I will start on him once you begin writing.

Brittigarn decided to make a break for it. He managed a step and a half before he froze. Then he turned and walked to my usual chair. Mechanically. He sat, rested his palms on his thighs, stared at infinity. And dripped.

Dean peeked in. "Is there anything more you need from me? It's past my bedtime."

"Some rags for this clown to drip on. Where'd Singe get to?"

"She's in the kitchen trying to tap the new keg."

"That should be amusing."

I went over to my office, where I could be comfortable while I wrote.

It was around sixteen o'clock. My hand was an aching claw. I couldn't go on.

Get some sleep. We will continue later.

"How much more is there?"

The man is a bottomless well of wicked memoirs.

What I'd already recorded would be invaluable to Colonel Block and Belinda both. And any number of Combine second-stringers like Teacher White scheduled for involuntary retirement after Rory Sculdyte helped himself to his patrimony.

"How're you doing with BB?"

The man has an intriguing mind. Get some sleep.

I pried myself out of my office chair, joints creaking and popping. I need more exercise. My body is beginning to show wear and tear.

I stuck my head into the Dead Man's room. People were all over, sleeping. Singe was nowhere to be seen.

46.

This time the old slug thug himself dragged me out at a criminal hour. He was eager to go on. Excited, even. He borrowed a colloquialism when I protested the absurdity of the hour. Paybacks are a b.i.t.c.h Paybacks are a b.i.t.c.h.

I didn't get it until I was halfway through my second mug of black tea. When he started nagging me about dragging my feet.

He was getting even for all the times I'd dragged him out of his little naps, just so he could earn his keep.

"Life's a b.i.t.c.h."

How is your breathing?