Cruel Zinc Melodies

31

I shut the door behind the young people, not yet sure what we’d accomplished. I expected Old Bones would clue me in.

I settled into my chair. ‘‘Singe, you ready to take notes?’’

She lowered her mug long enough to say, ‘‘I don’ think I can write so good right now.’’

‘‘Well, damn! What good are you, then?’’ I got back up to collect writing materials for myself.

‘‘I have a cute tail. Dollar Dan Justice told me so.’’

‘‘Huh? Who’s Dollar Dan Justice?’’

‘‘One of John Stretch’s henchrats.’’

‘‘Oh. Listen to your father. Don’t trust him. They’re all out—’’

‘‘I trust him implicitly, Garrett. To be your basic standard-issue ratman. All dim-witted and wrong-headed, with bad attitude for spice.’’

The Dead Man indulged in the psychic equivalent of a cough for attention.Those few minutes with the young peoplerestored my faith in the nature of the human species.

‘‘Two kids just sitting here?’’

You saw only the obvious lack of confidence of the boy. And the brash mask of the female. Inside, both are confused, frightened, and hopeful. In different ways and for different reasons.

I was a teenager once. Back when thunder lizards walked the earth. Which they still do, just not in weather like what we’d been having lately. I vaguely recollect those days. Especially what it was like trying not to turn into a drooling idiot in front of a beautiful girl. Whose slightest frown could devastate me worse than the most ferocious natural disaster.

‘‘I get you. Sort of. Maybe.’’

Not at all.

‘‘All . . . right, then. Show me where I’m wrong.’’

Miss Kyra turned on the heat to baffle, confuse, and controlthe young man. By which means she got him here.

‘‘That’s what they do. A tiger is gonna be a tiger. And a girl like Kyra is gonna be a girl like Kyra.’’

Of course. She will lead Cypres Prose around like she has a ring in his nose. But Cypres Prose is Cypres Prose, too, and will be the Cypres Prose who invents things.

You can’t tell tone in Himself’s communications, generally. There was enough overburden on this, though, to suggest that he thought he’d made an important point.

Yes, Kip invents things. Three-wheels. One-wheels. Writing sticks. Priers. All because those sky elves did something to his head, back when.

‘‘I’m all ears.’’

Singe’s are bigger than mine but she was shutting down. She must have put away a lot of beer when I wasn’t looking. All she had to say was, ‘‘How come he was wearin’ a wig?’’ Which question she couldn’t or wouldn’t explain.

No time for straight lines tonight.

Kip and his friends, the Faction, came together accidentally,accreting through the gravitational force of common inadequacy.

They are all bright, talented children with limited social skills. And, in several cases, have no interest in acquiring them. The boy who loves insects is obsessedwith insects. He cares about nothingelse.

‘‘The point you’re dawdling toward is what?’’

A question. What interests the normal teenage boy? Stipulatingthat normal is a set with extended boundaries. What are all boys interested in, whatever else grabs their fancy?

‘‘In my case it was teenage girls.’’

Right neighborhood. Defined by your own youthful inadequacies.

‘‘Hey!’’

Most boys are less selective than you were. For the majority,it is enough that the female be breathing.

An exaggeration, perhaps, but he got the spirit of the thing. ‘‘And?’’

So Cypres Prose, being Cypres Prose, assumed therewould be a technical answer to his shortcomings. Assisted by the rest of the Faction’s boy geniuses, he has created a means by which it is possible to determine, then improve, a woman’s level of interest. So to speak.

‘‘Oh my! Really? He’s invented a make-horny device?’’

More or less. With help from the rest of the Faction.

‘‘Oh, heavens! You know what that would mean if he could mass-produce it? Besides making everybody who has anything to do with it richer than . . . Hell, I don’t know. There isn’t anything to compare richer than.’’

Wealth untold, yes. But there is a fly in the ointment.

‘‘There’d have to be, wouldn’t there? Something like that . . . it could shake things up worse than peace breaking out did.’’

The boys of the Faction have discovered that while their magical device works, it does nothing to make them less inept or undesirable.

‘‘Ha! Meaning they retain the power to quench the hottest fire by sheer force of personality.’’

Exactly.

‘‘They could still make millions. Hell, we’ve got a thousand god shouters raking in gelt by the hundredweight selling amulets, pendants, rosaries, statues, whatever, that nobody ever actually sees work. How much more useful is something like this? If it gave you an edge even part of the time?’’

Shelve your residual youth, Garrett. Be content. For you, now, it is as good as it will ever get.

Right. Tinnie isn’t a gift horse only when I’m talking to guys like Scithe. After one giddy moment, I conceded the point.

Bloody hell! Had I turned into a grown-up when I wasn’t looking?

‘‘I hate it when you’re so right.’’

Singe began to snore.

The Faction are not the sort who give up after one setback. Nor are all of them as all for one and one for all as Cypres Prose. Naive boy.

‘‘Meaning?’’

The boy has seen signs, which he refuses to recognize, that the twins are distancing themselves in order to go into business for themselves.

‘‘They mean to steal his idea?’’

Yes.

‘‘But, knowing Kip, he has a better idea.’’

Essentially. From the consumer point of view.

‘‘And that would be?’’

A means of combining scents drawn from several insects— partially explaining the interest there, along with upsizing in order to produce larger quantities of the scent—sounds beyondordinary hearing, and some small-time mind-fogging sorcery, all accompanied by advice to the consumer to avoid being his normal self.

‘‘He was working it here tonight. With Kyra.’’

Amusement.He was. As a field experiment. Testing the latest version. I doubt anything will come of it. He remains Cypres Prose.

Meaning he couldn’t help messing himself up.

The beer was taking its toll even though I’d slowed down before Singe had.

‘‘So them having a secret hideout near the World, where they were doing their experiments, was why I ended up down there.’’

Probably. I would guess there will be no more insect problem.In that area. Work can resume. Probably.

‘‘Probably? Why only probably?’’

You have not yet dealt with the ghosts.

‘‘The ghosts? What ghosts? I couldn’t find anybody who said he’d seen one. I think it’s all urban legend stuff that can be explained by big bugs sneaking around making weird noises.’’

Possibly. If you have not made sure, you have not fulfilled your commitment to the Weiders. Additionally, I would like to meet the rest of the Faction as soon as you can arrange that.

‘‘Kyra has probably suffered as much of those types as she can stand.’’

We have other resources.

With that he subsided into his reveries. I went back to the kitchen, drew myself a fresh mug. Singe continued snoring. I snuffed the lamps but left the bug candle burning. I went across to the small front room to get an idea what we would need to make it over for Singe to use.

She’d been in there already, scrubbing and polishing. Good old lye soap had been deployed liberally. Furnishings that hadn’t vanished had gotten shoved into the corner farthest from where the Goddamn Parrot’s perch used to stand.

The stench of that little monster was gone, leaving me nothing but sour memories.