Whispering Nickel Idols

49

The being sick part didn’t require much acting. I still had aches in my pains and bruises on my bruises and those were turning colorful. I hadn’t gotten near a razor in modern times. I kept hoping Tinnie would come back and give me a sponge bath. I shivered and shook.

I fell asleep. Which I needed to do. I’d wasted altogether too much time not sleeping.

Tinnie woke me up.

“Oh, hell!”

“Thank you so very much. I’ll just go back home.”

“I wasn’t being… you’re here because you heard I was dying. Somebody from the Watch told you, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

They knew she’d been here before. They’d walked her home. They’d visited her before doing anything else.

“And you told them I’d be all right because the Dead Man keeps me breathing.”

“Oh-oh. I goofed.”

“Yep. We wanted to fish Block into coming over here. The Colonel was too clever for us this time.” Did Block know something he was eager to keep to himself? Probably not. He just had a dislike for having his secret mind exposed.

My breathing seemed almost natural. But thinking about Tinnie and sponge baths alerted me that I wouldn’t be living the fantasy anytime soon. “Life is a raging bitch.”

“Dean said you’d be in a bad mood. You haven’t been drinking as much as you should. Water, I mean.”

My, my. She could be right. I was thirsty right then.

I climbed out of bed, rocked dizzily. “Oh.”

“You all right?”

“Dizzy.”

“You’re shaking, too. Is the Dead Man starting to rub off?”

“He’s been contagious lately.” I sat back down. She was right about the shakes. My dizziness didn’t improve. “Maybe you’d better get Dean or Singe to bring some water.”

The dizziness not only did not relent. It got worse. Likewise, the shakes. I felt the Dead Man touch me, concerned. Dean brought water. I sucked a pint down without taking a breath.

You are not supposed to become genuinely sick.

“I guarantee you, it wasn’t in my master plan.”

Tinnie said, “You’re running a fever.”

I collapsed back onto the bed. “This may need to run its course.”

Dean invited himself in. He seemed disappointed not to have caught us in midfrolic. “I brought a pitcher of beer. A rapid pass-through might do some good.”

I gave him the most potent fisheye I could muster while teetering at the brink of unconsciousness.

I drank all the barley soup I could hold. It was prescribed. I did pass out then, shivering, outraged because this had happened to me, now.

Vaguely, I heard Dean opine that I must’ve caught it that night I was out in the weather. Less vaguely, I tried to get the Dead Man’s attention because it might be those damned metal dogs again.

Jackals.

I wakened with a mild headache and a solid, coughing cold well started in my left lung. Tinnie materialized before I got all the way upright. I grumbled, “Aren’t we getting domestic?”

She had thoughts on the matter. She didn’t share. “Drink this.” She’d brought a steaming hot mug of something more fetid than aged swamp water.

“Are there wiggly things in here?”

“Dean forgot to add them. I’ll go get some. Start on this in the meantime.”

I took the mug, held my breath, downed a long draft. Fighting a cough as I did. I don’t get sick often. If I do, Dean usually conjures some effective remedy.

Tinnie didn’t leave. She made like a stern mother forcing her recalcitrant scion to polish off his rutabaga pie.

“Guess the poison and the exposure did me in.”

Tinnie smirked. “Once you’re strong enough, go downstairs. Dean has a steam thing set up.”

A steam thing. I hadn’t been steamed and herbalized since I was a kid. Somebody thought I was on the brink of pneumonia.

“What the hell? This morning I was-”

Miss Tate silenced me with a scowl. “This morning was a different world. You got sick. Fast. In a big way.”

I didn’t collapse when I got up. But my world whirled on its axis. I was in trouble.

The kind of trouble you’re in when a gorgeous redhead gets under your arm and up against you, pretending she’s helping you when she’s actually torturing you with no shred of shame.

I didn’t have much trouble breathing while Tinnie was helping me. Just the opposite.

It looks like the worst may have passed. Which means you will be back to your usual uncouth self before the rest of us adjust.

“I’m hoping, Old Bones. Before this one gets away.”

That earned me an elbow in the ribs. The sore ribs.

“Easy, woman. What’ve you got against compliments?”

“Their artificiality? Their lack of sincerity?”

“I’m a little lame in the brain right now. How does that saying go about sharper than a frog’s fang?”

“Serpent’s tooth. Which you know. Because you haul it out every time somebody disagrees with you.”

“Who could possibly disagree with me? I’m so cute.” I had to sit back down, then lie back down. I’d used me all up.

“Drink some water.”

“You’re awful cranky.”

“I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

Sense was setting in. I thought before I spoke. “How long have you been here?”

“Fifteen hours.”

Wow! That explained some things. “I must’ve been a long way gone.”

“You’re lucky the Dead Man is awake. And not just because of the breathing.”

“Huh?”

“You made me so mad I almost killed you last night. You tried to die on me.”

“Uh… all right.” This sounded like one of those times when anything I said would be the wrong thing. Even silence wouldn’t cut it. But silence would bring on the fewest lumps and bruises.

“You probably shouldn’t get up. But we need to get you bathed and get your bed changed.”

“Sickness is a bitch. Has to happen right in the middle of everything.” We’d lost what, two days already?

Nothing has been lost by your suffering. Nothing has happened.

Tinnie got that, too. She told me, “It’s snowing again. It’s weird. We’ve had half a winter’s worth and it really shouldn’t have started yet.”

More water arrived. Dean didn’t carp about anything. That meant I’d definitely had a close call. I drank some, then said, “I’m starving. But I feel nothing better than chicken soup coming on.”

“And be thankful for that.”

“Old Bones. Was it the samsom weed? Or something else?”

You have Mr. White to thank for your situation. If not the person called Kolda. The supposed antidote appears to be another poison.

Teacher. The kind of guy who went to the trouble he’d gone to to get even for Spider Webb and Original Dick might’ve wanted to get even with me.

“Hey! Why didn’t you warn me? Wouldn’t you have seen it in Teacher’s head if he was trying to poison me?”

White appeared to have no conscious villainy in progress.

Dean brought the anticipated chicken soup. Only it was nothing but broth. All the good stuff had been strained out.

It was warm and thick and I was starving. I sucked it down till I couldn’t hold any more.

Minutes later I declared, “I’m starting to feel human.” Pause. “Well? Somebody going to jump on the straight line?”

“Nobody’s in the mood, Garrett. The last fifteen hours were misery curdled. Ready downstairs, Dean?”

“Steamer’s going. Water’s hot. The tub is out. I’ll get something to dry him off and we’ll be set.”

Tinnie snapped, “Off your butt, big boy. It’s bath time.”

I stood. With help. The world hadn’t gone stable, but it didn’t have that awful wobble where I tripped and stumbled into a nightmare dreamland.

I felt stronger by the time we hit the kitchen. Where the air was thick with steam, the herb stench watered my eyes, and the heat was overpowering.

Dean had dragged the big copper laundry tub up from the cellar. Two smaller tubs were heating on the stove. I said, “This ought to cook a few demons out of me.”

“If only,” Tinnie and Dean sneered at the same instant.

Ifonly. You should be beyond crisis, Garrett. But we must make sure. You are doing most of your own breathing. Secondarily, Dean and Miss Tate wish to render your personal aroma somewhat less piquant.

I didn’t have energy enough to get my feelings bruised.

Tinnie grumbled, “Arms over your head. Off with those filthy duds.”

In the steam and heat I caught whiffs of what everybody else had been suffering all along.

No wonder Singe and her miracle nose were elsewhere.

That weed sweat was pretty awful.