Gilded Latten Bones

99

I went out onto the stoop. I'm not sure why. Maybe some vague notion about seeing for myself if all the watchers had been chased off by the rain. Or maybe I just wanted to enjoy the sound of rain on the stoop roof.

It was an odd rainfall, not heavy but steady, with big drops.

The street was empty. No people. No animals. The Palace Guard vehicles were gone. The air was cold and it was clean. For a moment all was right with my world.

Dean came out. "Can you come back in? We have a problem."

I gripped the cold, wet, recently painted balustrade. I did not want to leave contentment to deal with whatever had him upset.

My imagination was capable of encompassing only one terrible possibility. The Dead Man had given up the ghost, for real and forever. Henceforth my life would revolve around removing a quarter ton of moldering corpse.

Dean did head for the Dead Man's room. "Here," he said, indicating the Bird with the toe of his right shoe.

"I know. I thought he went home, too."

"That's the problem."

"Huh?"

"He's dead. He'll start smelling pretty soon, no matter how cold we make it."

I knelt for a closer look. A voice not Bird's told me, "Get your boot out of my back, asshole, unless you don't want to keep them ugly teeth."

I touched Bird's neck. No pulse. "Penny was right."

"Apparently. But how can they use him after he's one of them?"

"I don't know." I was upright again and oozing toward the door. "But this strikes me as a sound reason for procrastination. Suppose we just let dead Birds lie till Strafa gets back? She'll know what to do. Or she can tell us who does."

Dead Bird said something obnoxious. How? Voices came out of his mouth, not like the Dead Man talking inside my head.

Dean said, "Perhaps I was hasty when I pronounced him dead. Look. He's breathing, now."

He was, but only to collect wind to mutter and snarl in several voices, squabbling over how best to use the artist's corpse.

I said, "Just to make sure we don't get any unhappy surprises, how about we tie him up?"

"Clothesline is on the way." Dean headed for the kitchen.

The quarreling voices stilled. Bird's body began to shake. Then one voice shrieked, "Oh, shit! What's that?"

Another squealed in pure terror.