Angry Lead Skies

87

Karenta's current monarch has been so deft at survival that most of his subjects have had the opportunity to learn his birth date. They have begun taking advantage of the fact that the King's Birthday is, traditionally, a Karentine holiday.

This year the people of substance had chosen to collect in the reservoir park. There they would show off their new seasonal outfits and their participation in the latest fad, the wonderful world of inventions called three-wheels.

Any family that showed up without being able to claim at least one three-wheel on order might as well resign itself to being the butt of condescending gossip for at least as long as it took for us to develop a grander, bigger, more expensive model.

I had to attend with my business partners, who brought most of their families. Which meant there were beautiful women in every direction I looked, be they Tate, Weider, or Prose. I didn't get much chance to exercise my eyes, though. Tinnie had decided I was back on her A list. Which, apparently, awarded her complete custody of where I directed my vision.

Alyx Weider was too busy scooting around, showing off her own custom three-wheel, to afford her usual distraction.

I steered myself toward Tinnie's Uncle Willard. "This is an amazing show, sir." Every damned three-wheel we'd built was here somewhere. So it seemed. "When are we supposed to do the judging?" A huge part of the festivities was a contest to see which young lady could dress up her three-wheel the prettiest.

Our end users, so far, were almost all girls and young women of extremely considerable substance. A demographic I'd have found particularly interesting if I hadn't been claimed. For the moment.

"Ha!" I told the redhead. "I am supposed to be looking." Then, "Why aren't you out there outshining Alyx and Rose?"

Pout. "One of my wheels broke when we were leaving. They wouldn't let me get it fixed. That would make us late."

Two painfully homely young women, paced by four fierce-looking, thoroughly well armed characters on foot, passed us, leisurely following the bridle path. "Ugh!" I said.

Willard Tate cautioned me. "Those are the royal daughters, Garrett."

"Guaranteed to be winners in the contest," Tinnie added, because I would be too obtuse and democratic to figure that out for myself.

I tried to remember how to do the tug at the forelock thing. I was out of practice. I asked, "How are we doing, businesswise?"

"Overall? We couldn't be plundering the rich more effectively if we were a barbarian horde. And we're doing it without any bloodshed. You hit this one square on the nose. You're a wealthy young man, now. Or you will be before much longer. Have you been giving any thought to your future?"

Beyond maybe getting a bigger cold well installed so we could keep up with Singe's added demands on the beer supply, no.

I said, "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"Sounds like I'm about to be offered an investment opportunity."

Willard laughed, something he didn't do very often. Normally, he was as sour and serious as an accountant. "You might say that, Garrett. Deal of a lifetime. What I'm wondering about is, what are you and Tinnie thinking about?"

"Uncle Willard!"

Uncle Willard ignored Tinnie completely. "You've been playing cat and mouse with each other for several years, now. You're both getting a little long in the tooth to keep it up."

"I'm thinking you might want to address your questions to the cat. The mouse don't get much say." Which observation earned me an enthusiastic dig in the ribs.

"You planning to go on the way you've always done?"

I checked Tate's expression for a clue to how he meant that. I thought I got it. "It's what I do. I find things. I find things out. I try to help people who are in trouble. It's what I'm good at. I'm not good at managing a big manufacturing thing. Hell, I have trouble managing the everyday business side of what I do now. Dean does most of that. So if you need me to fill in as the son you no longer have, well, I can try to play the role, but I don't think you'd be happy with the results." Deciding maybe I wasn't quite as great an actor as had seemed the case the other day.

"I understand that. Come. It's time for the formal judging. I hope you brought enough prize ribbons, Tinnie. Because everybody who's anybody has to get some kind of award."

"I brought one for every unit we've sold, plus a few extras."

"Isn't having been born into the aristocracy wonderful?" Tate asked. "You don't really have to compete. You're a winner automatically."

I agreed. "Beats hard work and study all to hell."

"You know what they say. Work like a dog and what do you get? Dog tired."

Tinnie hurried off to one of the Tate family carriages, of which there were several present. She came back with a sheaf of ribbons. I let her slide back in under my right arm, thinking it was, maybe, time to start putting the boy's life behind. If she maybe thought so, too. The only other candidate I'd ever honestly considered was a young woman named Maya, who hadn't been patient enough to wait for me. And Eleanor, of course, but that would've been a little too ethereal a relationship for me.

Just then a half dozen shimmering objects streaked across the northern sky in a tight formation, low, in the far distance. Three seemed sizable, sausage-shaped vehicles. The rest were exactly like the odd little skyships that Evas and her henchwomen preferred. The Masker ship must have flown home very fast indeed. And Evas' secret hunger must be one she shared with a lot of Visitor women—if this was what Morley had predicted and not some kind of raid.

Dotes might've made the whole thing up.

Still, maybe I ought to get into the entrepreneurial spirit and...

Tinnie made herself at home under my right wing again. I was still on her A list. After all these minutes. Despite Uncle Willard. She asked, "Aren't you done with those people?"

"I guess. As long as they're done with Kip." I did worry about the Goddamn Parrot, though. But I wouldn't tell anybody.

I shook the unsettling notion that those larger vessels might be troopships. They were hovering over the Embankment now. Up to something.

Within minutes they headed back the way they had come. With an extra, disklike vehicle floating amongst them.

I tried to concentrate on the three-wheel festival. And spied Harvester Temisk immediately. Riding a three-wheel of his very own. He was headed my way. Looking altogether too serious for my time of life.

Chodo's party was drawing close.

For us heroes party time is never done.