Whispering Nickel Idols

17

It didn’t take long to realize that somebody was following me. Somebody either very good or blessed with a little magical assistance. I couldn’t shake him, nor did I manage to ambush him. Melondie Kadare kept on snoring. The kittens didn’t like delays. They got antsy when I tried to lie in wait. Then noisy when I fooled around too long. “You guys getting hungry?”

It was quiet tonight, the weather good despite the season. A big old moon up top silhouetted bats zipping around above the rooftops. There was a nip in the air. Scatters of cottony cloud tumbled across the sky. I didn’t think the bats would find many bugs. Winter wasn’t far away.

Melondie groaned and whimpered. “It’s your own fault, Bug.” In the distance, Whitefield Hall cast a cheery glow. The pixie crawled out of my pocket. She tried her wings. I caught her before she crashed, tried to put her away again. She wasn’t interested. She clung to my shoulder instead. But when I stopped to listen for footsteps she slithered inside my shirt. When you’re small you lose body heat fast.

“Don’t bounce around so much, Biggie. And keep them cats away.”

The streets remained deserted, which was unusual. TunFaire goes round the clock. But I was content. It’s nice when no sense of dark imminence hangs in the air.

“Hey, Bug. We’re almost home. And I’ve got an idea. How about you help me catch this spook that’s dogging us.”

“My head!” She groaned. “What you mean, us, Big’un?”

“All right. You. Because who the hell would be after me for a bucket of cats?”

“Smart-ass, All right. I’m listening. But keep your voice down. What’s the plan?”

The plan was, I plunked my little friend on a ledge, out of sight, then headed on along. I took a right at the next cross street, took another right and then another, and soldiered on until there I was, plucking my shivering sidekick off her ledge.

“Did you have to stop for a beer?”

“Whiner. I would have, if I’d seen a place. It’s past my time to start sipping. So, Bug. What’s the evil word? What wicked dark lord off the Hill is dogging me through the alleys of the night?”

“You’re so full of shit, Garrett. A blivit. Hell, the world’s first hyperblivit. Forty pounds of shit jammed into a ten-pound sack instead of just twenty.”

“But I’m so pretty. All the girls want to love me.”

“If they’re some kind of weird, like sky elves. Or ratgirls. Or troll jiggles so ugly they can’t find themselves a guy who’s rock hard.”

“Unfair.” No troll girl ever chased me. “You’re upset because you’re too teeny to enjoy the special Garrett charm.” I wondered how trolls tell the girls from the boys.

“Sure you’re not imagining things, Garrett? Because that’s not what I hear.”

“Ooh! How sharper than a frog’s tooth. Come on, Mel. Who am I dragging along behind me? Before I need to scope out how to turn my last two hairs into the perfect comb-over.”

“You’re no fun anymore. All right. It was that little girl-boy. Or boy-girl. The one who brought the cats.“

“Penny Dreadful? That kid can bang around behind me, keeping up, and I can’t catch her? That’s hard to believe.”

“I can believe that. You being you, with your appreciation of you. Face it. You don’t have the mojo this time, Big Guy.”

“I’m thinking about showing you some genuine Garrett mojo, Bug. I know some things. I know some people. I could have you bigasized.”

“You couldn’t handle it. You’d have a stroke or a heart attack.”

And so it went. We headed south on Wizard’s Reach, turned west on Macunado. And there we were, home again, home again, ziggity-zig. In time to get behind the door ahead of a band of do-gooder city employees who missed seeing us by half a minute.

They pounded on my door. I used the peephole but didn’t open up. Melondie Kadare snickered and giggled. She was having a good time.

“Why don’t you check on your people? I’ve got cats to feed.”

She couldn’t do that from inside. I’d been clever enough to make sure the pixies couldn’t bring their special culture into my castle.

My bucket leaked cats fast. They bounded off toward the kitchen. I followed.

Singe and her brother were there, each with a beer in paw. The platter between could serve a party of forty. Singe asked, “Where have you been?”

“I had to work tonight. Then I had to walk home because my ride disappeared. Leaving me lugging a bucket of ungrateful meows while listening to the world’s worst bitching pixie complain because she’s too small to be my girlfriend.”

Even John Stretch looked me askance then. Melondie produced a resounding raspberry and started wobbling around in search of something small enough to use as a beer mug.

Singe shook her head, too damned human. “You hungry?”

“Just like a rat. Everything comes down to food. I could use a sandwich. I didn’t get a chance to eat at Chodo’s party.”

What a dumb failure. Nobody ought to be so focused on business that he forgets to eat free food.

The platter had a dozen fried cakes aboard. Dean delivered four more, still crackling from the hot oil. “The square ones are sweet. The round ones have sausage inside.”

“Uhm?”

“An experiment. Looking for something different.”

Pigs in a blanket weren’t new at my house. But this wasn’t a biscuit dough production.

Melondie gave up looking for a mug. She went to work on a square cake half as big as she was. The wee folk eat more than we do. Because of all that flying.

I tried a sausage cake. “Good,” I said with my wet mouth full.

Dean scowled, not flattered, as he brought me a cold lager. He put down more food for the cats.

I asked, “Singe, you got any thoughts about tonight?”

“Not unless you want to hear your species belittled.”

“Belittle away. If you have any useful observations.”

“Useful, how? John Stretch and I went along and tried to help, but we do not understand what you hoped to accomplish. That may be because you were not clear on that yourself.”

I need new people around me. My old crew knows me too well. “Dean. Any sign of life from His Nibs?” I could run what I had through the bone bag’s multiple minds.

I’m not as dumb as I let on. Hard to be, some might say. There were at least two different things going on. Maybe three. All getting tangled up because of a common denominator named me.

Dean was not encouraging. “The thing remains inert. Sadly, it’s still too early to dispose of the remains.”

“Way too soon,” Melondie Kadare piped. “There’re a dozen sparks still burning inside that blubber pile.”

“You can tell?” I asked. “You can read that sack of rotting meat?”

“I need a drink. And it better be something more substantial than this off-color lager. Something with a little kick.”

“I’ll give you a kick, Bug. Answer the question.”

“Nope.”

“Nope? Nope, what?”

“Nope, I can’t read him, Biggie. Not the way you want. All I can do is tell he ain’t gone. He might be thinking about going, though.”

“Huh?” I dumped another mug down the hatch. Having started late, I had to hurry to catch up.

Another frosty mug settled in front of me. A dream come true. It was hailing beers. Dean earned himself a suspicious glare. There’s always reason for caution when Dean caters.

He was up to something, hoping that getting me tanked would distract me from something or make me agreeable to something. Again.

John Stretch shipped an admirable quantity of beer in one big gulp. “It was an interesting evening.”

Singe told me, “Find out what he found out right now, Garrett. He does not handle alcohol well.”

So I focused on the big rat in the rodent underground and listened to what he had to say. Which didn’t make much sense, since, evidently, regular rats mostly understand their surroundings in terms of sounds and odors.

Interesting.

Melondie had little to report. Except that she hadn’t gotten much from her cohorts. Yet. She promised, over and over, to deliver the best from the rest after she sobered up.

Dean filled our mugs. He was smug. Things were going his way. We all were concentrating on getting outside as much beer as possible. The four-legged, furry crew focused on filling feline bellies. Nobody asked him uncomfortable questions.

Full of sausage, bread, and milk, the kittens piled into their bucket and fell asleep in one warm, purring pile.

We talked till we could no longer understand one another. Dean excepted. Killjoy boy hit the sack as soon as he was done cooking.