Gilded Latten Bones

52

I ate. The main course was pork chops, for him and me. Singe and Dollar Dan Justice, in with Morley for the night, got sausages and that ratfolk favorite, stewed apples. I snagged a dollop of apples for myself. Dean makes them good. For Morley and Playmate it was chicken soup.

I hoped Playmate's brother-in-law didn't destroy Play's business while he was away.

We all forgot the Windwalker. At first. Old Bones nudged me.

I hustled up and let her know it was all right to come down. The outsiders were gone and we were having supper. Downstairs, Singe let her know it was all right for her to go home. Nobody would notice her leaving. I wondered if she thought the watchers had been stricken blind.

Singe's whiskers twitched in a way that said she was irritated-probably because she didn't like something she was getting from the Dead Man.

The Windwalker stayed close, which meant she crowded into the kitchen with me and Dean. She donned her vulnerable guise and conquered Dean immediately. In a soft, breathless voice she told me, "I don't think your associate likes me."

"My associate is scared of you."

"Why?"

"She thinks she knows me better than anybody but me. She thinks I'll get infatuated, will lose my sense of proportion, will grab the short end of something, and mess up everything for all of us."

Garrett. Really.

I meant it. That would be Singe's thinking, in essence.

"She might be jealous."

"That's possible, too."

"Are you infatuated?"

"Not quite. Definitely intrigued and valiantly trying to fight it."

She smiled slightly. Maybe wistfully.

"Don't you do whatever it is you do that makes every man in sight turn into a drooling wannabe love slave."

"I'll be all business. You'll see. You won't even know I'm a girl."

Yeah. Right. And then the pigs will come home to roost.

It would be impossible for most men and some women to ignore her sex in her presence even when she didn't want to be noticed.

I thought about letting her know that the Dead Man thought well of her, decided against it. She did not need to be reminded of his existence.

Dean poured fresh tea. We sipped. I said, "Singe was right about this being a good time to slip away unnoticed."

"I don't want to."

"Fine. Then you can help with the salt."

"The salt?"

"The thing that keeps trying to get in shows some characteristics of slugs or snails. Slugs and snails don't do well when they run into salt."

Furious Tide of Light was the victim of a sheltered childhood. She had no idea.

I told her, "They melt when you put salt on them."

"Gross!" But, seconds later, her attitude brightened. "I'll help with the salt."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Why you were so down after you followed that thing home. But now you're not."

"I don't think so."

She really believed in that metal hairnet her daughter had invented.

It does work, some.

"I'm done here. Dean, you outdid yourself."

"Not really. You've been eating inferior cooking."

Ouch! He wasn't going to turn on Tinnie, too, was he? He'd always been a booster. Though, to be perfectly accurate, the redhead was not much of a cook. With her looks that hadn't been a skill she'd needed to develop.

"Salt," I said. "Time to do it. Dean?"

Thunk! A cloth sack landed in front of me. "Save as much as you can."

"I'll use my own before I break into this. Promise."