Cruel Zinc Melodies (39 page)

I didn’t remind her that she hadn’t been much older than Kyra when we’d met. Of course, nothing more than a bad case of bugged eyes on my part came of that. Tinnie Tate was my good buddy Denny’s tasty young cousin. Practically family. She and his sister Rose were both off-limits. At the time.

Times changed. Tinnie and Rose grew up. Rose turned wicked. Denny got himself killed, accidentally. Tinnie and I locked horns during the cleanup and got something going that neither of us has shaken since. No matter what distractions turned up.

I drew me a pitcher of Weider’s most potent dark and retreated to the solitude of my little office. Which I share with the memory of one of my most potent distractions, Eleanor.

I filled my mug. I turned my chair. I stared at the magical painting. “What do you think, sweetheart? Is it time Tinnie and I go to the next page?”

The artist who painted Eleanor was an insane genius, slave to a powerful inner sorcery. All his work had been charged to crackling with magic. His portrait of Eleanor fleeing the horror of her past was his ultimate masterpiece. He poured bottomless love and hatred on top of everything else that made his works objects of such power and dread.

He’s long gone. The magic in his work began to bleed away the night of his murder. But its connection to the soul of long-lost Eleanor will never fade to nil.

The painting is never quite the same when I come to it.

Eleanor is my moral and emotional coach, crutch, and mirror. More so than the big lump in the other room. Who had troubles of his own tonight.

He’d had almost no luck picking brains. The most interesting people all had the split personality thing going. What he could read made no sense. The heads that were open contained nothing of interest. So now he was sulking and trying to work out what had happened.

Everybody, including my self-proclaimed demigod of a partner, insists that Eleanor doesn’t exist outside my imagination. I’m content with that. It’s even true, in its way.

Their truth or mine, Eleanor does exist. We communicate.

Reflection set some thoughts in motion. Like some multiple-minded Loghyr I fiddled with those while Eleanor helped me weigh the pros and cons of what looked likely to be Garrett’s next big adventure.

I asked, “How come I always turn melancholy when we get together?”

She made me understand that melancholy was the price I paid, here, because the only person I could share my inner truths with comfortably was on the other shore.

I couldn’t argue with that. Everybody on this side has the power to judge and down-thumbs me. Even Singe, who comes near being as comfortable as Eleanor.

Note that with me outside his little fiefdom the Dead Man didn’t horn in. Not once. Might not even be eavesdropping.

Probably wasn’t.

Almost certainly wasn’t.

I’ve known Old Bones longer than Tinnie and almost as long as Morley. I live with him. I drown in him, sometimes. Yet I know him less well than my best friend or the light of my life.

Somebody came pounding on the door. I didn’t respond. Singe and Dean had gone to bed. After a while the Dead Man paused in his ruminations long enough to send
Our would-be visitor was Colonel Block. He had business reasons for being here, but his principal motive was a need for contact with persons not one hundred percent vile. A lonely man, the colonel.

I had no wiseass response. In my mood of the moment I could only empathize with Westman Block, a good man doing his best in dreadful circumstances. “So what business reason did he have for an excuse?” He’d as much as admitted having rifled the good man’s mind.

No doubt Block had expected that.

The colonel foresees another twist. A further complication, from a direction we haven’t considered.

“And that would be? Details, please.”

None available. It is an idea he developed during a meeting with Director Relway where today’s events were the topic of discussion. Evidently those Hill folk who were disinclined to have anyone poke around where their children were playing have taken a ninety-degree turn and now insist that the Civil Guard deal with Belle Chimes. Whose real name would be Belle Dierber. They also want Lurking Felhske found. Felhske is not involved with any of them. They want to know who set him on their children. And, of course, why.

“The compliance device. Somebody wants it.”

Forget the compliance device. It is a red herring. I am certain. The secret of creating giant bugs would be far more valuable.

“What’s got you so cranky?”

This explosion in the population of people whose minds I cannot access. All of whom, even Kip now, seem to have multiple personalities. None of which give up anything of interest.

I could see where that would irk him. He was used to having his way with anybody who came in range. Now his confidence was threatened.

I cannot get a handle on what is happening.

I glanced at my painting. Eleanor seemed more amused than I was.

Old Bones had no humor in him at all. He betrayed the depth of his emotional despond with his suggestion that I take my painting down to the World and let the dragon build me a new Eleanor. Then I could...

There’d been a time, not that long ago, when I would’ve considered it, off the wall as it was. Eleanor had been a strong distraction indeed. But now, not so much. Not that much.

Time to back off. I’d never known him to be so juvenile.

The moment passed. He apologized. And reminded me that Block thought we were headed for a surprise.

I hoped it would be revelatory rather than deadly.

Old Bones went away, his despair gently lightened.

After a while longer with Eleanor, because I didn’t want to face the night alone, I did drag me upstairs and put me to bed. Alone.

I tossed and turned and worried about a world in which the landscape of Tinnie’s left hand had changed.

79

I don’t know why. The world seemed remade in the morning. Maybe because I had slept ten hours. I felt totally positive. This would be a good day. There’d be no more problems at the World. Max would be thrilled. He’d give me a bonus instead of firing me.

I should’ve had a hangover. I should’ve been worried about the fallout from the carnage yesterday. I should’ve been uncomfortable about the Algardas, worried about Kip, worried about the Faction cleaning up after themselves. I should’ve been worried about demons named Deal Relway, Belle Chimes, and Lurking Felhske. Most of all, I should’ve lost control of my functions because of the complications developing with Tinnie.

But I wore a smile when I joined Dean in the kitchen.

The doom and gloom were haunting him. Starting the sausages, he said, “I need some reassurance, Mr. Garrett.”

He had a problem for sure if he was going to be polite. “I'll do what I can, Mr. Creech.”

“Give me an honest assessment of our current case. I’ve caught snippets, naturally, but no context. Only enough to scare me. And you know fright tends to fatten up on ignorance.”

This was out of character. He worries about whether or not I'll give the job enough attention, with enough ambition, to get myself paid.

I told the story to date, not in detail. “And you don’t share that with anybody outside the house. Understand?”

“That’s not nearly as bad as I thought.”

“Good. I refuse to look on the dark side today.”

“I'll do my part.”

“Thanks.” Puzzled. That didn’t fit, either. He keeps house, cooks, handles most of the shopping. He isn’t involved in operations, even in his own mind. He'll behave like a father, a mother, even a wife, sometimes, but never like a business associate.

I shrugged it off. So the Hill made him nervous. It does that. I was
positive
. First thing out, I’d see Mr. Jan. I’d have my fitting and make my peace in the matter of the crippled loaner coat. Then I’d get on back to the theater. “Is Singe with us this morning?”

“Very much so. I took her a bowl of stewed apples before you came down. She’s working on our accounts. And finding no joy in them.”

I headed up to see her, armed with a big mug of honeyed black tea. “I hear you’re unhappy about something.”

Instead of having acquired a normal writing desk Singe had brought in a six-foot-wide wooden easel. It was set at an angle halfway between vertical and horizontal. She had paperwork pinned all over it. Two chests of drawers the height of a normal table stood at either end. Those were piled with stuff, too. Important stuff, I’m sure. That’s all I pile on my desk.

“Look at this place. Already. What’s it going to be like in a year?”

“By then I'll be organized.”

“Right.” As the words “rat’s nest” came to mind.

“I have been studying shareholder statements from the manufactory. I am not the best accountant. I’m still learning the sorcery of numbers. But most of the partners, us among them, are getting screwed.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense. By who? And where’s the point? We don’t have a big cut to begin.”

“If I steal a fraction of a point from every shareholder, I could siphon off a big chunk of money that none of the individuals would miss.” She rattled numbers. She convinced me.

“I see it.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You have all that stuff about the World on your mind already. Forget that Miss Tinnie is part of that management team.”

Right. We'll do that. She’s just the person in charge of fiddling the company numbers. Which was why her name had been mentioned.

Singe said, “Tell Mr. Weider next time you see him. Even the managing partners are getting shorted.”

Not good. This could come down on Tinnie. “You scare the shit out of me when you talk like that.”

“There are dishonest people everywhere, Garrett. If there weren’t you would have to get a job.”

“I'll pass it along.” One more thing to brighten Max’s week. “You saw John Stretch?”

“He can come up with a few rats. Dozens instead of hundreds, but some.”

“How much do we owe him? How much do we have in the kitty? I want to pay Saucerhead and his crew.”

“We owe John Stretch nothing. I allowed no arrears to develop.” Looking smug. “We have no past due debts. We do owe Playmate for the coaches. He has not come for the money. I have it set aside. The Weiders were extremely generous with our advances. I have taken pains to record and annotate every expense on their behalf.”

Absolutely terrifying, Singe is.

I lost track then because somebody hammered on the front door.

Ignore that. We cannot afford further intrusions on our time.

So I didn’t go. Old Bones would let me know if it mattered.

Singe might not have heard anything. She kept on talking numbers.

I had to get moving. “I need to go to work. Singe. You didn’t tell me if we have cash enough to ease the pain for Saucerhead and his guys.”

Singe did not want to discuss our cash reserves.

Miss Pular, provide specie sufficient to mollify Mr. Tharpe and his crew.

Which she did, making sure I didn’t get a look inside the cash box. Probably scared that if I knew how much was in there I’d run out and buy something shiny. Me. The only one around here who doesn’t throw money away.

The girl came from a harsh environment. You couldn’t blame her for making sure she didn’t have to go back.

Move it!

“All right! I’m going. Hey! The other day Singe said she thought you’d gotten hold of Lurking Felhske. Did you?”

She erred. It was Barate Algarda. Someone who might have been Felhske has come within touching range twice. I could not take advantage. He was much too well shielded.

“Why would a Lurking Felhske be protected from you? This is a one-Loghyr town and almost nobody knows that. In general, why are we running into so many protected minds?” Kip, Algarda, Felhske, the Windwalker. Maybe even the whole Faction and Hill crew.

Thinking that triggered what seemed an unrelated conjunction down in the deeps of my mind. “The compliance device. It might not be the red herring you thought.”

He watched the gears mesh. His own clunked and ground, sparking a burst of anger, of embarrassment, of temptation to claim he had known all along and was just waiting for me to find the truth on my own.

So, even I fail to see what I do not expect or would find repulsive. Incest. The clues were all there.

“I’d say they don’t try to hide it.”

The incest still does not make the compliance device central.
But it becomes more interesting.

Whether or not Furious Tide of Light tried to hide Kevans?
sex, for whatever motive, we knew that Barate knew the truth. We heard him say so. We also heard that Shadowslinger was grandmother to both the Windwalker and Kevans. Could’ve happened more than one way but only one seemed likely. Which was not big in this family, apparently.

The Windwalker being the exception. Who would not want her daughter following after her.

“Here’s a kicker for your don’t-see-what-you-don’t-expect file. The Windwalker might be more jealous than protective.”

He pulled the relevant incidents from my recollections.
You could be right.
A pause of a half minute for some heavy-duty multiple-mind cogitation.

Kevans would be the one repelled by the idea. No doubt having had direct experience. Which would explain her initial interest in creating what would turn into the compliance device. She wanted a way to know when her father was interested. To give her time to get out of his way.

“Then all for one and one for all, and the kids all hung out at her house.”

Indeed. Young Mr. Prose did tell us that the object of the Faction is mutual support. Assuming Kevans had the strength to ask for their help....

“That little shit lied to us. He came up with the compliance device. For her. All that stuff about trying to find a way to avoid social mistakes.... Smoke screen. Pure bullshit. The little asshole has been leading us around by our prejudices!” I got as wound up as the Dead Man had been a minute earlier.

I had no trouble imagining Kip and Kevans down in their bunker snickering over how they had snookered us. And their own old folks besides.