Cruel Zinc Melodies

46

Singe came out of the Dead Man’s room. She glowed like fresh-minted sunshine. Her arms were full. I didn’t volunteer to help. She chirped a bright greeting. It’s hard to be nasty toward Singe, however bleak I feel. The guilt afterward is poisonous.

She explained, ‘‘I’m moving my business stuff. The furnishings are supposed to come today.’’

Even a mention of frittering my money didn’t set me off. I grumbled politely. Though not politely enough to suit. She got huffy.

I settled into my chair. I drank tea. As he sometimes does, Dean had spiked the pot with something to ease my headache and stomach.

The biscuits and greasy gravy were lying heavy already.

I said, ‘‘I never learn. Is it possible that I can’t?’’

His Nibs was feeling less confrontational.That is not quite the case. Your people, despite their gifts of memory and senses of history and mortality, despite their being able to foresee the consequences of actions taken, seldom bother.

‘‘Huh?’’

You people cannot shed your animalistic tendency to live life in the moment. Even the most brilliant of you ignore tomorrow’s certain pain in order to enjoy today’s fleeting pleasure. The hangover is Nature’s perfect metaphor.

‘‘All right.’’

He did have that right. Dumb as it sounds when you have your reason kicked in. You tipple of an evening, you don’t think about how you’ll feel in the morning. No matter how often you’ve been disinclined to wake up and suffer the consequences.

And you for damned sure do not want anyone to remindyou.

‘‘Hey!’’

Singe was back. She made a startled squeak.

‘‘Sorry. I was barking at him, not you.’’

She loaded up, went away.

Are you ready? There is work to do.

He seemed eager. That was disturbing. He is more allergic to real productivity than I am.

We face a mighty challenge! You cannot imagine how much I am enjoying myself, winkling out the hidden meaningsof everything going on with all that you have stumbled into or over.

He was going to be cheerful? Sickening. Just sickening.

‘‘I do hope you enjoy yourself. Big time. Because it just occurred to me that my boy genius, Cypres Prose, on whose freaky brain the company depends for product ideas, is a serious candidate for Mr. Deal Relway’s special justice.’’

Pursuant to his bad habits, which keep getting badder, Old Bones took a look inside my head without asking.

Oh my! That had not occurred to me, either.

Two bodies had been found at the World, both mutilated by bugs. One was still breathing when the vermin started chewing. The law could lay that death on whoever created the bugs.

Kip Prose might be facing a manslaughter rap. Him and the Faction.

I regained confidence quickly. Kip’s pals came off the Hill. Their mommies and daddies would cover them. They’d cover Kip. And my cut of the ingenious ideas would keep right on coming.

After his moment of self-disgust—he was supposed to see things I didn’t, and had lapsed several times lately— Old Bones moved on.None of that is germane at this point. We are being paid to end the problems at the World. Anythingelse would be incidental and serendipitous. Not so?

‘‘So.’’ He was right. He always is about business responsibility.

But it is all still a hugely exciting puzzle.

What the hell was he thinking? I was getting worried.

We are going to do two things immediately. And a few things more once the right people have passed through my sphere of influence.

Naturally, he did not explain his thinking.

You are too easily distracted. Though, admittedly, less so now that your involvement with Miss Tate is progressing beyond the adolescent.

That involvement ought to concern him. If it gets much more serious, him and Dean and Singe will have to find new digs.

Diffuse amusement. Cause not explained.

Your immediate task is to visit the Royal Library. See if you can find anything that sheds light on our situation.

‘‘And then what?’’ Because I wouldn’t be at the library long. They weren’t going to let me in. I was in deep, bad odor with my friend there because of all my hanging out with Tinnie. I hadn’t been round to see Lindalee in ages. And Lindalee’s boss has me on her all-time shit list.

Bad memories. Last time I went to the library I’d been ambushed by a guy who was mostly troll or ogre. I wasn’t sure which. I was too busy getting away.

Fond recollections of Lindalee, though. Fond recollections.

Stop that.

‘‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to kick your prude-sparking trip wire.’’

You are wasting time. You must visit the library. You must see Mr. Tharpe at the World. You must organize an expedition into the hidden places beneath that abandoned house. We need more information.

‘‘Hey! There are only so many hours . . .’’

And you have wasted a significant fraction lying in bed. You continue to waste it on argument. The truth you refuse to acknowledge is that neither wickedness nor good fortune willingly conform to your preferred schedule.

Ouch! How do you come back hard once you’ve been slapped in the chops with a brass-bound Truth? ‘‘When I’m King of the World—’’

Go to the library. Now. I do wish Miss Winger were available.I could use her literate shadow. We could get a great deal more accomplished much more quickly.

Were he among the breathing I would’ve wondered what he was chewing.

Get going. Patience exhausted. Cranky again.

Nagged unto death, I donned my loaner coat and went. A Singe all thrilled because she had her own office now, bigger than mine, all to herself alone, shut the door behind me.

I saw all kinds of unhappy truths during my descent to the pavements of Macunado Street. Inthat direction Little Miss High Priestess in Exile, Penny Dreadful, waited for me to disappear so she could cadge a meal and, probably, make me look even badder. Inthis direction lurked a guy I couldn’t see who radiated a cosmically bad odor.Yonder , a clutch of nonchalant loiterers in mufti, with tin whistles under their shirts, looked forward to getting some exercise trudging around TunFaire behind the city’s most lovable former Marine.

Barate Algarda was in the gallery, too. Lurking with less success than Felhske. Could I lure him close enough for the Dead Man to snap up?

Head east. Turn south on Wizard’s Reach. Then take the alley. Try not to frighten Penny.

A pear-shaped, bug-loving teen sat on the steps to Mrs. Cardonlos’ establishment, uphill. He had fallen asleep. Thereby failing to note the magnitude of his folly. The Relway Runners avoided disturbing him as they came and went. I wondered what the hell he was doing but did not want to put him on the spot by stopping to ask.

I followed the Dead Man’s suggestion. Except for the part about not scaring Penny Dreadful. I couldn’t resist.

Round the block I went, in a direction I seldom travel. And came back into Macunado nose to nose with the Cardonlos place. I was tempted to drop in unannounced. Or maybe play a game of wild goose with the widow’s houseguests, leading them around till the spring thaw came.

I would have done it, too. A few years ago. Deal Relway be damned.

That old devil maturity had a hold on me.

Absent Barate Algarda, I toddled onward, onward, into TunFaire’s black bureaucratic heart. To the Chancellery, where I took time to enjoy the ranting of the hardy lunatics spouting paranoid conspiracy theories and political absurdities on the building’s steps. A last taste while I could get it. This tradition wouldn’t last. Some raving conspiracy theorists lack the sense to leave Deal Relway out of their formulae.

A sizable percentage of the city’s population waited impatiently while I indulged. All those potential witnesses wanted me to get on along and do something interesting.

In ages past, in the long ago, when I’d wanted to get into the Royal Library—which isnot for the use of any hairy Tom Dick who claims he’s Karentine—I’d shown up at a particular side door. A small cash transfer blinded the guard there. The unstated rule being, I’d start no fires and wouldn’t pee in the corners while I was inside.

No tip, however, ever sheltered me from the wrath of sweet Lindalee’s superiors. Who were sure thumbscrews and branding irons were too good for someone who actually wanted to look inside their books. Or maybe wanted to get close to a particular young librarian.

No reasonable man expected exemption from betrayal under the circumstances obtaining at the Royal Library. A smart man handled his business fast.

And here, now, with the weak half of an army tracking me, where was the point of expecting privacy?