Gilded Latten Bones

79

Singe's feeling were not bruised. She had heard a knock that eluded the rest of us. She was back in a minute with Kolda, the poisoner.

Damn! Now I was doing it.

The company made Kolda nervous. He refused a seat when Singe offered it. "I can only stay a minute. I just wanted to drop off some medicines. This bottle, with the green powder in it, is for Mr. Dotes. It will help his body flush poisons. Have him use it till it's all gone, no matter how good he thinks he feels. And this bottle, with the stuff that looks like ground amber, is for the man with the cancers. Very expensive but very effective. It's exuded by an exotic tropical beetle. Give him a pinch with every meal. No more than a pinch. More could kill him. Even a pinch may leave him feeling so nauseous that he might try to talk you out of giving him any more. Make him stick it out."

"Kolda, thank you, man. You've gone beyond the call. What do I owe you?"

"This is on me, Garrett. But I figure it makes us even. I'll charge you next time."

"Something to drink?" Singe asked.

"I shouldn't. It's a bit early."

"You sure? Not even one beer?"

"Well. . One can't hurt."

Singe headed for the kitchen.

Kolda glanced around, decided to sit after all. He leaned toward me. "There was one more thing."

"We're all friends here."

Kolda shrugged. "When I was going around the trade looking for something to fight tumors several chemists and apothecaries hit me up for Jane's mint seed. I don't have any. Not to wholesale. It's rare. After I'd been asked a few times I started asking back, about why."

"Uhm?"

"Jane's mint only grows in boggy places. It's not really mint but crushing the leaves produces a juice with a mint smell. It shouldn't be ingested. It used to be used to poison mice. The seeds are hard to collect. You have to catch them at exactly the right time."

"We're interested in Jane's mint seeds because?"

"Because the powdered seeds have an almost miraculous healing effect. And someone has been buying them up. The price has gone up tenfold in a month."

I exchanged looks with Block, then held up a restraining hand when he wanted to press for details. Kolda didn't notice.

Belinda didn't care. She was having trouble staying conscious.

Singe returned. Kolda accepted a mug, took a long pull, was pleasantly surprised, belched, then told me, "And that's about all I know, heading west." He drained his mug and got his feet under him again.

Singe released him into the wild, then hustled back to eavesdrop while Block and I quarreled over whether the Guard or the Outfit should make the rounds of the town's chemists. I thought Belinda's thugs would be more effective.

I wondered, "Did you get anything from the bodies you hauled away the other night?"

"They got confiscated by people who had the right warrants but not the right look."

"I smell obfuscation," Belinda said, suddenly awake. She had on a big smile. She had been faking the drunk. And she knew more than the Civil Guard thought she should.

Block said, "We did what we could in the time that we had."

"And that would be?"

"Two zombies had faces resembling those of known criminals. It wasn't for sure. The outsides of the bodies were more like leather than normal skin. The forensic sorcerers said they were dressed in whole human skins after the surgical rebuilding. The major seams were in the back. Not all of the skins fit right, which might be why they wear the woolen tights. The helmets hide the faces, which are in bad shape. The hair falls out in patches, even in the beards and eyebrows."

I hit the key point. "You recognized two of them."

"We think we did."

"And?"

"And what, Garrett?"

"Who were they? How did they die? Where? When? What were the circumstances?"

"They were housebreakers. They were sent to the work camps. Once we give them to Works they're not our problem anymore."

Things might have been starting to line up. The Dead Man's compound minds might have pushed on past what had to be obvious even to a general.

I said, "If somebody wanted a supply of corpses, she could make a deal with somebody at a work camp. Not many of those crooks finish their sentences still breathing."

"The reason they die is that they get used up. They don't get fed right, they work long hours with primitive tools, and they get no medical attention. All part of the price of being a bad guy. Works has hundreds of prisoners and has to account for them only when their sentences are up. If a prisoner dies they report it so we can tell the family that what they expected has come to pass."

I had an evil turn of mind. I imagined several ways that men more wicked than the prisoners could profit from the penal work system.

No doubt the bad guys out there had thought of them all and a dozen more.

Block said, "We're looking at it, Garrett. Supposedly in regard to complaints about prisoner abuse."

"The more I learn the more useless I feel."

I expected to hear something reassuring. Instead, he said, "That's because you haven't come to terms with having to be a desk jockey. You're sitting on your butt when you think you should be out kicking ass and taking names."

Singe made a noise suspiciously like that from someone who snorts while breaking up inside but is compelled to maintain a straight face.

Block went on, "How come you think you have to be useful? I mean, why now, suddenly, when you spent forever being an obstruction?"

I did not want to have this argument. It was the same crap I'd gotten from minions of the law since I went into business.

"I try and try but I can't figure out how me not being your brownnose butt boy qualifies as obstructionism. The gods didn't send me down here to wash your feet, kiss your ass, and whisper in your ear what a great stud you are. You know that's bullshit better than I do."

Singe and Jon Salvation popped out of their chairs, tried to calm me down. Singe made my drinking cup disappear. Block gaped like he had opened a casket full of worms.

My mouth just kept running. "I have no clue how you and that repugnant troll Relway got the idea that I'm supposed to be your tool but you need to get shut of the notion, now and forever."

I was shouting before I finished. Penny came to see what was happening. Belinda clapped and cheered. Jon Salvation told Penny, "Just a little trouble handling his drink. Ask Dean if he has anything useful in a situation like this."

The man was right. I shouldn't have had that water-of-life. It had opened a door. The frustrations were getting out.

Singe, assisted by Jon Salvation and Dollar Dan, returned me to my former place of glory beside Morley, next door. Singe and Dollar Dan sat on me. I became fixated on that rat, wondering if he hadn't moved in when I wasn't looking.

He was never underfoot. He was invisible most of the time. But he was always there when someone needed him.

I faded into a nap wondering if he was more than a ratman. He might be a living metaphor for his whole race.