Honeyed Words (12 page)

“They serve the wheel,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss Mr. Philips’s comment. “I am not ready to give in just yet.”

“Of course,” Mr. Philips said. “I assume you wish to send another emissary?”

“Hmmm…” Frederick tapped his chin with one long finger. “We’ve lost three. I’d hoped the dwarf would appeal to the King’s sensibilities after he killed the last two.”

“Quite erratic,” Mr. Philips said.

“Must I go myself?” Frederick asked. “I do not like this King and his unwillingness to open clear lines of communication.”

“Perhaps he dislikes dealing with those of power.”

Frustration flooded Frederick, a flash of heat and anger. “Does he understand whom he trifles with?”

The people in the hallway shuffled away, their faces averted.

Mr. Philips was an intelligent man, savvy in the ways of politics and finance. He served Frederick with knowledge and insight no other had been able to display in all Frederick’s centuries of life. “It is obvious he is a charismatic leader who has no love lost for your attempts to reach out to him.”

“Vancouver must not be an enemy. Another of my kind cannot be allowed a firm foothold,” Frederick said with a growl. “I am too close to expanding my holdings. Nidhogg will not last the decade, and I will crush her resistance before long. No other dragon shall have Vancouver as long as I have blood in my veins.”

“This King, at least, does not seem to be a dragon,” Mr. Philips stated.

Frederick paused. The statement was true. “He clearly is not human, but that leaves us with the question of just what sort of creature he is. It is obvious from the warning sign displayed on young Barnabas that someone other than one of the ruling class has assumed power over the city and its environs.”

“A likely supposition,” Mr. Philips agreed. “But, as he has expressed a vivid disinterest in negotiating with your kind, I believe, perhaps, we should consider letting things lie.”

Frederick gazed at him a moment, shocked by the tact. “Do nothing?”

Mr. Philips nodded slightly. “There are other ways to influence this King, do you not agree?”

In the game of thrones, Frederick was no novice. His servant’s suggestion had merit. “Excellent, Mr. Philips. I believe you have the right of it. We shall bide our time, see how this King settles into his new kingdom.”

Mr. Philips bowed again, this time a full sweep, the top of his head carefully presented to Frederick in a sign of both respect and submission. “As you wish.”

Frederick smiled. An able servant indeed. How valuable one such as he had proved.

“Now, let us assuage the consternation of our fine commissioners. Let them know that we have everything under control and will be back on track by the week’s end.”

Mr. Philips looked at Frederick, his eyebrows high.

“Nidhogg will release the block,” Frederick added. “Qindra will demand some punishment for my transgressions, I am heartily sure. But, it has never been beyond me to grovel to meet the greater goal.”

“But of course,” Mr. Philips said.

Frederick opened his briefcase and placed the manila folder with the pictures of young Bradley’s demise inside. Horrible way to end a life. He would use this to leverage the dwarven community against this usurper in Vancouver. Waste not, want not.

Fifteen

Crazy Quilt Farm wasn’t much of a farm these days. Mrs. LeBlanc ran a quilt store, holding bees, keeping the community stocked in fabric and gossip. Mr. LeBlanc was a retired real estate agent who loved horses. He had seven, and three ponies that he took around to little kid’s’ parties. It was a quiet retirement for him, and something he loved.

Today we’d work all his stock. It would take the greater part of the day. We set up shop near the front field and got Frank’s rig set up for working shoes.

I walked the horses around, letting Frank see how they moved. He knew horses like most people knew their own hands. Each one needed a little something different. As he watched me lead them around, he’d talk out loud, observing things like limping or difference in gait.

We managed to get the ponies and three horses done before lunch. That left the three high-steppers and one Belgian for afterward. I pulled out a couple of sandwiches, a bag of carrots, and two bottles of water. Frank’s lunch consisted of an apple and a bottle of vitamin-fortified water. “Watching my weight,” he informed me. He didn’t turn down half my second sandwich, however.

Frank was old school. Loved the art of blacksmithing more than the business side. Julie told me how the old German masters would hand an apprentice a block of iron and a key. The block of iron was to be reduced to the same key as the one the apprentice held, by just filing the metal. Once that key had been created, the apprentice was assumed to be a journeyman.

Frank added a twist on that—made his apprentices cast a bell of a certain note. They could pick and choose as they saw fit, but before Frank would let them go on, they had to add a bell to his elaborate collection, which hung along the ceiling of his smithy.

Quirky, but something I could understand. He said it was tradition, that it linked the student and master. Built a reputation to carry on the journey. That’s how Frank was. Legend and lore are an integral part of a blacksmith’s life.

“A smith has to know the history of things,” he said. “Take this anvil, for example. It once belonged to the Bellingham International Railroad.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Small outfit, only twenty or thirty miles of track, crossed the border to Canada from Bellingham.”

Odd bit of knowledge. I’m sure it was important to him, though. “Interesting,” I said.

Now it was Frank’s turn to laugh. “Right, pretty trivial, but it’s important to know the history of our possessions.” He reached back to his toolbox and pulled out a three-pound hammer. “Like this beauty,” he said, handing it to me. “Fellow that owned this before me was named Peabody. Made little ornate dragons to be placed around in people’s gardens.”

I stiffened when he said dragon. Reflex, I imagine, but I had a chill that did not go with the heat of the day.

“You got something against dragons?” he asked, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

My alarms were going off. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure how much I knew about Frank Rodriguez. Did he work for Nidhogg, or Sawyer? Just because I was only learning about the oversociety didn’t mean others were as willfully ignorant as I was.

“Not a fan of the mythos,” I said, hoping I didn’t squeak. “I prefer my fire in the forge, not spread out over the countryside.”

“Good,” he said, drinking the last of his water. “Their lot has a bad reputation.”

I watched him as he hopped off his truck and gathered up the trash. “Someone I think you should meet,” he said, not looking at me.

I slid off the truck gate and dusted off my jeans. “Yeah? A friend of yours?”

He shrugged. “Julie will be needing a new smithy if she’s gonna get back on her feet.”

This threw me. “Sure.”

“She can’t rebuild on that land, you realize.”

What? “Um … I’m not following.”

“Better let my friend, Anezka, give you all the details,” he said. “She’s the one who understands the hoodoo. Let’s just say that the way it burned…” He brushed his hands, three broad swipes against one another and flung his hands outward, as if he were pushing away some energy. “She’s particular about strangers, though. I’ll have to work out the logistics with her before I introduce you.”

“Afraid I’ll embarrass the grown-ups?” I asked.

He smiled sheepishly. “Something like that. Let’s finish up here, and I’ll get a hold of Anezka in the next couple of days.”

The rest of the afternoon crawled by. The four horses that were left were big boys; the Belgian topped fifteen hands high. He wasn’t too happy about being handled by me, either. Took all my best coaxing to get him to walk around enough for Frank to make his assessment.

Maybe it was how agitated I was. The end of that lunch conversation had me on edge, and I guess the horses could feel it. Frank kept looking at me funny, like I was going to sprout wings.

We settled up with the LeBlancs and headed back over the pass. Frank didn’t talk much on the way home, like he was chewing on something and he wasn’t too fond of the flavor.

I fell asleep. One second I was watching the trees and the river flow by, the next I heard him put the truck into park and the noise of the drive stopped.

He nudged my shoulder. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

I wiped my face and opened the truck door. In a few minutes I had my gear transferred back over to the Taurus and was standing in the smithy with Frank. He was filling out paperwork, and I picked up a broom to sweep. Yolanda came in just then, and smiled at me like a movie star.

I’d only met her once, but she was a stunner. Even over fifty, she radiated joy. Frank and Yolanda have been married since before dirt, and they had been through a world of crap from the community, especially in the early days. Yolanda was dark, a mix of Native American and African that mingled in a look of both strength and beauty. If she were young today, she’d have her pick of men, but when she graduated in the late seventies, the world was not too keen on interracial marriages.

“Glad to see you sweeping up,” she said. “Does a body good to keep things neat and tidy.”

I nodded. “Yes ma’am. Helps me settle my thoughts. Let’s me know the work day’s done once things are in order.”

Frank came out and kissed his wife, then the two of them looked at me, arm in arm. “You good with waiting ’til the end of the week to get paid?”

“Sure,” I said. “Julie paid me weekly.”

“Good,” he said. “As for tomorrow, why don’t you just meet me out at the Circle Q? That way you can save yourself a trip over the pass.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Maybe you can sleep in,” Yolanda said. “You look like you are about to fall over.”

“Rough weekend,” I said, smiling. “Was in Vancouver for my girlfriend’s birthday.”

I froze. Holy crap, had I said that out loud? I felt a flush spring up over my chest and neck.

Yolanda laughed. “Well, I’m sure the two of you had a good time,” she said. “I remember me and Frank spending some late nights in Vancouver.”

“Hush, you,” he said, squeezing her closer to him. “Don’t tell tales like that.”

Yolanda winked at me.

“Well…” I wasn’t going to stop blushing anytime soon. But they hadn’t said anything about my use of the word
girlfriend
. Maybe Julie had told them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Frank nodded, and I walked to the door.

“Drive careful,” Yolanda called.

“Youngsters,” Frank said as I closed the door. I could hear them both laughing as I walked away.

Okay. That didn’t hurt. Maybe they just didn’t have a problem with me dating a girl. Maybe they didn’t figure it was any of their business. Katie and her old girlfriend, Doctor Melanie, kept telling me that most folks didn’t care one way or another. Still, it was hard to convince myself of that.

By the time I’d gotten off I-90 and onto the surface streets of Bellevue, even I thought I was being a dumbass.

Sixteen

I arrived at Carl’s place in Shoreline a few minutes early. I was a little anxious to meet his parents. They lived in a nice neighborhood—quiet and homey. The squeals of laughing children echoed through the streets as I walked up to the porch. It was a good sound, comforting.

Carl met me at the door, Jennifer on his arm.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Jennifer said, hugging me.

Carl shook my hand. “Good to see you, Beauhall. Have a nice break?”

We’d finished the last of the Elvis movie just after I got out of the hospital. The edits were done a couple of months later, and the movie had been out and about.

“Doing okay,” I said. “Miss the studio and the crazy hours.”

“I’m sure,” Carl said, guiding me around the house.

Everyone was in the family room: JJ and Clyde and one of the camera guys were in the middle of a game of nine ball, while Cherie (JJ’s remaining bimbo) sat on the edge of a couch having a conversation with Carl’s mom.

Carl’s dad stood behind a bar, drawing a tall draft beer from the built-in tap. Qindra, the witch, sat at the bar in a nice, respectable business suit. As far as I could tell she was totally normal tonight, no glowing jewelry, no obvious signs of magic.

“Welcome to our board,” Carl said, sweeping the room with his arm. “We call this the meet-and-greet portion of tonight’s festivities.”

Jennifer slid out from Carl’s other arm and walked around to me, taking me by the hand. “Let’s go to the little girl’s room, shall we?”

I looked from her to Carl, who was as perplexed as I was. “Um … sure. Why not?”

We circled back and walked to the end of the hall. The bathroom was done up in seashells, pale blues, and whites. It was lovely and looked like something my mother would have done.

“What’s up?” I asked, not really wanting to watch Jennifer pee.