Cruel Zinc Melodies

25

I heaved a sigh of relief when Playmate pulled up in front of my house. He didn’t stick around. He dumped us and headed out. Probably terrified of what he’d find when he got back home.

Or maybe somebody told him that Old Bones was awake and he didn’t want it known that he’d been lusting in his heart. Or something.

People are strange.

Singe, Tinnie, Saucerhead, and I headed inside. John Stretch tagged along. He didn’t want to but figured he needed to get the work part over with while the information was still fresh in his head.

Saucerhead had hopes of cadging a meal.

I’d begun to suspect that things weren’t going well for Mr. Tharpe. But he’d never admit it.

Two minutes later there was no sign that my place was occupied, let alone the hub of intrigues designed to offend people whom the king’s little brother Rupert wanted to afflict with a law-and-order geas.

I shut and bolted the door. I was confident that one of the roomers at Mrs. Cardonlos’s house, up the street, had taken notes.

I did hurry it. Because there had been a buzz inside the wall, beside the door.

‘‘What?’’ Tinnie asked.

‘‘The pixies might be waking up.’’ Then I wasted breath asking, ‘‘Anybody hungry?’’

Singe had reached the kitchen already. Checking to see what Dean was cooking. Because there were food odors in the air. The Dead Man had alerted the old man to our approach. Dean had a tray with mugs and a pitcher ready. Singe brought that to the Dead Man’s room. She reported, ‘‘Ten minutes, soup is on.’’

Which turned out to be true. Almost. It was a bisque, which Dean explained is a soup made with cream instead of water.

John Stretch and the Dead Man communed. The king of the ratmen downed a second mug, then went home.

Even Singe was surprised to see him walk away from more free beer.

‘‘What’s the story?’’ I asked, working hard to avoid taking notice of Saucerhead being disappointed by the bisque.

He suffered a great deal of stress today. And, being clever, he suspects that more unhappiness lies ahead.

‘‘Say what?’’ Tinnie, I noted, didn’t appreciate the bisque much more than Saucerhead did. Dean would be heartbroken.

The Dead Man ushered me into the reality he had found inside John Stretch’s mind. The dimensions of the world beneath the World, and all that neighborhood, were clearer this evening—as seen through the one ratman able to read the tiny minds of unmodified rats who did not experience reality through the same mix of senses as us allegedly intelligent upright apes.

Old Bones couldn’t translate the information into anything my feeble human mind could grasp.

‘‘So, where are we?’’ I asked the air. Off to the side, muttering to himself, Saucerhead finished another mug. It looked like he had no plans to go home. Had he lost his place? Was he about to start mooching sleeping space off his acquaintances?

Tinnie took the bowls and spoons to the kitchen. And didn’t return. I was too worn down to work out if that was a hint or just her being too damned tired to stay up drinking and thinking.

Lurking Felhske. The spy. From what I find in Mr. Tharpe’s mind it seems highly unlikely that anyone would enlist his skills in an effort to keep track of your doings.

I sighed. More disrespect. But true, if Singe was right. ‘‘It would be the kids Kip Prose is running with. Somebody on the Hill wants to keep track. Giant bugs, after all. That could turn out as important as the creation of ratpeople.’’

That I doubt. I cannot imagine an insect being made intelligent.You are correct. Felhske must be in the employ of someone interested in the sorcery involved in modifying the insects. So. We have reached the point where your best next step is to round up the Prose boy and bring him here.

‘‘I don’t see him volunteering. But I have to visit the manufactory soon, anyway.’’ I hadn’t made a security check all winter.

Try to restrain your business and social observations when you do.

Yeah. That. Sometimes a problem. ‘‘What about the World?’’

Poll the tradesmen and contractors. Get their stories about why they are not working. If, indeed, they are not. After today’s events. Then you might return to that abandoned house and see what is to be seen down below.

‘‘I can tell you right now, it has a cellar that’s hooked into the underground world.’’

The Tenderloin has been in place for ages. And the kind of people who engage in the sorts of services provided there tend to have things to hide and a natural desire to have a secret way out ahead of angry competitors, customers, or the law. There are tunnels all over.

Tunnels and secret underground chambers are common in most neighborhoods, though. Hardly anybody trusts anybody very much.

Quite likely a safe prediction. With an edge of sarcasm.

He does know the city. In a historical context. Inasmuch as he’s been here for most of its history. He won’t be too clear on what it’s like at any given moment, though. He doesn’t get out much anymore.

Dean wandered in, looked around, shrugged fatalistically, collected the empty pitcher, and departed. He returned with the pitcher filled. ‘‘I’m turning in early tonight. I have a family obligation in the morning.’’

‘‘Really?’’ That did not come up often.

‘‘Really.’’

He didn’t want to talk about it.

The Dead Man didn’t clue me in.

Must not be any of my business.