Gilded Latten Bones

11

They had Morley stashed in a second-floor bedroom at the back of the house. I stuck my head in long enough to make sure he was breathing. He was lying on his back in a big, comfortable bed. He had bandages all over. He was having trouble breathing. A punctured lung?

Two house operatives were there with him, looking decidedly rough, as though standing a deathwatch over their one true love.

I wanted to hop in and give my dark elf buddy a good swift kick. He was out of it, trying to die, and still he had women swooning.

"What are you doing?" my guide demanded when I didn't rush right in.

"Scouting ways somebody might use to come after him. In case the folks who put the holes in him want to add to his collection."

Madam Mike didn't follow my reasoning but indulged me.

There were three ways to get to Morley. Up the front stairs the clients used. Up the back stairs from the kitchen, the way I came. Up the outside of the building, then through a window. That would require a small, skinny assassin. The window would open only six inches.

For the villain with gaudier ambitions there was the time-honored option of burning the house with Morley inside it.

While I examined the window my guide evicted Morley's caretakers. She promised them they could handle communications between the room and the world.

After they left, I asked, "How old are those two?" They seemed a little fresh to be in the life.

"DeeDee is twenty-nine. She has some elf in her. She's just gotten to the point where we can't auction her virginity. Her daughter Hellbore is sixteen."

"Hellbore?"

"Really."

Both were legal, then. I couldn't imagine the older one having weathered the vicissitudes of her career so well.

I said, "I'll settle here. If you have something like a field cot, I'd never have to leave."

"That would be useful. Business has been slow. I don't want what clientele we do get scared off by you."

"By me? Come on!"

"You're so straight-arrow a blind man can see it. They'd think you were spying for their wives. Or you were a Runner collecting stuff for the Unpublished Committee's files."

The Unpublished Committee for Royal Security were the secret police. "I'll be good. I'll stay in here with my boy, making my list and checking it twice. Been a pleasure meeting you, Misty."

Flirty brown eyes flashed. "Not Misty, dolt! Miss Tea. As in the capital letter. For Teagarden."

I gave her my special raised eyebrow, the one that gets the nuns salivating. Miss T came close to slamming the door as she left.

I had been out of circulation too long. I needed to sharpen my tools. Unless she was one of those lesbian types. That would explain her natural resistance.

I paced. I watched the world outside the window. I studied Morley and felt bad for him. I paced some more; then I inventoried chamber pots, bedpans, pitcher of water and bowl. Then a second pitcher and bowl on a small table in a corner, accompanied by a bar of soap and a stack of towels.

Of course there would be towels and soap. Necessary to the trade in an establishment like this.

I decided to ask for a cup or mug so I wouldn't have to drink straight from the pitcher, using a ladle.

The door opened after a perfunctory knock. DeeDee and Hellbore lugged in a mildewed cot. They dumped that, made sure I hadn't let Morley die while they were gone.

Miss T followed, pushing a small cart. "Food. Drink. Other stuff you'll need. Crush or DeeDee will come around regular. They'll bring whatever you need brought and take away whatever you need taken."

"Crush?"

DeeDee said, "She don't like her real name."

Hellbore/Crush, a foot shorter and ten stone lighter than me, gave me a look that asked if I wanted to make something of that.

"All right." I tried to get DeeDee to chat some. She had a marvelous, breathy way of talking.

Miss T said, "And you a bespoke man."

These women could not be fooled or manipulated. Unless you were Morley Dotes and you were unconscious. Then they would be your slaves.

Oh, well. They were too weird, anyway. The mother was mildly inclined to flirt and had a silly streak. Crush had the cynical hard-eye of a twenty-year veteran of the life.

Miss T asked, "What were you figuring on doing while you wait for something to happen?"

"I'll catch up on my sleep. And maybe spend some time worrying about what my woman will say when I come wandering home."

"Are you a reader? We have a few books. Mostly for decoration. Ask Crush. She's read them all. She might recommend something."

I looked at Crush, who did an outstanding bored teenager's "whatever" shrug. "Thank you, Crush." Meantime, DeeDee gave me a suggestive look. The new, improved, extra-mature me thought that might be a marvelous pastime, especially if the excellent Miss T would join us, but then I'd still have to find something to do the other twenty-three and a half hours of the day. And somebody would put a bug in Tinnie's ear before I got my shoes off. So I stuck to, "Yes, I can read. This would be an excellent time to broaden my mind. So if Crush will bring me something, I'll be happy."

At that moment I was still thinking in terms of minutes, hours, and, at desperate most, a couple of days.

Miss T herded the talent out of the room. I watched them go, wondering if they weren't running a scam. The purported mother not only acted younger, she looked it.

Miss T said, "My obligation to the Contagues leaves me no choice but to give you whatever you want. Indulge me. Be reasonable. And, really, stay out of sight."

I blew her a kiss.

She gently slammed the door.

It set my cot up against it.

As long as I was sleeping, loafing, or reading, any intruder would have to knock it over to get in.