Cruel Zinc Melodies

73

Furious Tide of Light returned in less than fifteen minutes. Like a proper witch, riding a broomstick.

But I was wrong about the broomstick. It was a coat tree. She had somebody behind her, a Hill type big on visual drama. This one loved black, starting with a vast hooded cloak that fluttered and flapped as the Windwalker hurtled toward us. Inside the hood was a bleached-bone mask holed for eyes, nose, and mouth.

What did it take to bring someone like this out, with complete kit? Black bags dangled from the foot of the coat tree.

The newcomer dismounted stylishly. He, or she, took the black bags off the coat tree. Furious Tide of Light settled to the pavements, dismounted, set the coat tree upright. It wobbled on uneven cobblestones.

The newcomer considered the injured. Triage with non-medical judgments included. Who got helped first would be whoever had offended the healer least.

The Windwalker floated over to her father. She studied our surroundings intensely. She was looking for someone.

Tinnie slipped in under my right arm. She was shaking. After a moment to just snuggle she began nudging me out of the press.

I thought that might be because she’d noticed Colonel Block among the onlookers. Block seemed only vaguely interested in me. Like it was only to be expected that Garrett would be part of the furniture at a particularly grotesque crime scene.

Satisfied that she could do so without being overheard, Tinnie whispered, ‘‘Garrett, it wasn’t a ghost that did that. What happened out here. I don’t know about what happened inside.’’

‘‘I don’t follow.’’

‘‘It wasn’t the thing under the theater that attacked those people.’’

‘‘I’m listening.’’ She had an interesting theory. And I had nothing.

‘‘It was that man you brought around. The one with the hots for Lindy.’’

‘‘Bill? Belle Chimes?’’

‘‘Whatever. Somebody called him the Bellman, too.’’

‘‘You have my interest, Miss Tate. On more than the usual level.’’

‘‘That’s refreshing. Finding out you can be something more than my boy toy.’’

‘‘Can’t have you getting distracted from that, though.’’

She wasn’t in the mood for banter. I wasn’t, myself, except as a distraction from disaster.

She said, ‘‘I’ll bet everybody saw the same ghost come out after those people. What did you see?’’

I described it. And recalled thinking the ghost looked familiar.

‘‘Same here,’’ she said. ‘‘That was Chimes. If he was twenty.’’

‘‘Damn! Sweetheart, you are on to something. Dierber and Avery were out to get him. He turned the tables.’’

Maybe Belle Chimes wasn’t the feeble bush necromancer he pretended. Maybe, when he was really stressed, he could regress his apparent age by decades, long enough to smash heads, crack bones, and get gone before anyone reacted.

I replayed events in my head. They didn’t come together seamlessly but I convinced myself that Tinnie was right.

Could we prove it?

Should we care? Or even bother?

Belle’s squabble with the Hill was a private matter.

I had troubles of my own.

I had to do some stuff, fast. Before Max and Gilbey decided that employing me created more problems than it cured.

I took my case to Colonel Block.

The good colonel grunted, with admirable timing. He was both curious and sympathetic. Until I finished. Then he asked, ‘‘And you expect me to care, why?’’

‘‘What?’’ Startled. ‘‘That’s what you do.’’

‘‘It’s hard for me to get excited about helping you do your job when you’re always determined to complicate mine.’’

Tinnie chuckled. ‘‘You know what they say about paybacks.’’

Ever-maturing me, I stifled a query as to whether she might not be a payback herself. I told Block, ‘‘I thought you’d be interested. Hill folk are involved.’’

‘‘I’m disinterested on account of those folk. They’re all the time telling me to stay out of their business. This looks like an opportunity to give them what they want.’’

‘‘Did I mention characters called the Bellman and Lurking Felhske?’’ I had, of course. ‘‘The Director hauled me in the other day because he thought I might tell him something about Felhske.’’ Just a little fib, for effect.

‘‘Deal has his own priorities.’’

Block was having fun. A twinkle in the corner of one eye betrayed him.

Or maybe that twinkle was about him having gotten a good look at Furious Tide of Light. Who was sparking a few speculative twinkles, despite the situation.

I told him, ‘‘If you sniff the breeze you can catch an occasional Felhske whiff.’’

While Block mused, ‘‘I’ve heard so much about her. First time I’ve seen her. Looks just like her mother.’’

Um, a little charge of nostalgia? Was there a history?

Could be. Barate Algarda had a hard face on him all of a sudden and he was looking our way.

Tinnie turned on some heat. Just enough to get Block’s attention. He knew what was going on but he couldn’t help himself. None of us can.

It’s sorcery. It’s the blackest black magic.

My gal. She’s got the magic in spades but doesn’t want to rule the world. Lucky world. She’s content to cloud men’s minds one mewling sack of sludge at a time.

The good colonel seemed fascinated by Miss Tate’s hypothesis. The very hypothesis that I’d put forward just moments before.

Tinnie closed with a fetching pout. Block set tin whistle to lips and tootled.

Red caps came out of the brickwork. They sprang out of the ground. They dropped from the sky. Westman Block allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction over my discombobulation.

A few quick instructions and the Watchmen scattered. Except for the handful directly working the matter of the fallen and strewn sorcerers.

I suggested, ‘‘You might want them to know that the Bellman can change his apparent age.’’

‘‘Timely, Garrett. Very timely.’’

‘‘Huh? What’s that mean?’’

‘‘I didn’t stammer, stutter, or speak in tongues. As is your habit, you sat on a critical point till it was well past ripe.’’

Man, you hold out the teensiest bit on behalf of a client, once way back in the dawn of time, they hammer you about it till the sun goes cold. ‘‘Tit for tat, my old friend. I’ve got the scars and bruises to back my argument, too.’’

More than once the good folks at the Al-Khar had just plunked me into the deep soup to see how the broth flew.

‘‘As you say, old buddy. That was then. This is now.’’ Block worked his whistle magic again, using a different musical phrase. He was a bit more talented than the thing down under.

Red caps materialized.

Ah. Most were the same ones as before. So Block hadn’t thrown the entire herd into the stampede.

After a few quick words the troops got busy pushing the neighborhood rubberneckers back.