Whispering Nickel Idols

63

I wakened. There was something in the air. Cooking smells. And a girlie fragrance suggesting something tastier.

Something tastier arrived with a steaming tray.

Clearly, Captain List had gone away.

An agent from the Unpublished Committee came. Captain List was needed for a secret assignment that could be handled only by one of the top members of the Watch. Director Relway and Colonel Block were tangled up in obligations they could not shed. It was critical that this assignment be handled immediately.

I chuckled. “And he took the bait. Along with the hook, the line, and the pole.”

He did.

“I love it.” I felt good despite my fresh collection of bruises. “It’s got to be something that will end up with Ramey List embarrassed in a big way.”

The possibility bubbled in the back of Mr. Scithe’s mind.

I gave Tinnie a peck on the cheek and a suggestive leer a foot to the south, then prepared to pile into an equally beautiful omelet. “I thought you had what I had, darling.”

“I do some. But mostly I was just tired.”

But I think it more likely that Captain List will die an heroic death.

“Really? Do they hate him that much?”

Mr. Scithe came on behalf of Director Relway, not Colonel Block. Mr. Relway, you may have noted, has simple, direct ways of handling personnel problems. This time because he sees an opportunity to end a threat to the Watch.

“Morley and Relway ought to be pals. They think a lot alike.”

One would murder the other within hours. That sort of personality does not tolerate itself well in others.

He was right, of course. “What do we know now that we didn’t know yesterday?” I gave Harvester Temisk the fisheye. He remained terrified. Chodo appeared to be napping. Even guys in wheelchairs need to sleep.

We know the Bledsoe drew the Ymberians to TunFaire. The Bledsoe is the mother lode of despair. Their nickel idols accumulate despair. The idols they installed in the Bledsoe walls are connected by sorcery to smaller companion pieces in their headquarters. Which always has been that place where you found Mr. Temisk and Mr. Contague. They plan to scatter the charged idols in areas where they intend to proselytize. You found one of the smaller sort on our guest deacon. The intent is to broadcast oppressive despair — which the priests of A-Laf will dispel, inside their temples.

“I see. And those wouldn’t be located where the prospects don’t come equipped with plenty of money.”

Truly, you are possessed of a deep, humming streak of cynicism.

“Am I right?”

Probably more so than you think. When the cult of A-Laf fell into the hands of fundamentalists — aided by Mr. Contague, remember — the brains in charge were not motivated entirely by spiritual fervor. Mr. Contague worked hard to install his allies. Nevertheless, they did not join forces with Mr. Contague — though, as we know now, they helped advance his career by eliminating human obstacles. Eventually, the Ymberian end forgot its connection with the TunFaire underworld, except at the most shy level.

“Until they came to town, eh?” A baby cat bounced into my lap.

The kitten put its paws on the little table by my tray. He sniffed. And eased his nose ever closer to my plate. Never glancing back like he might actually need permission. Like, “I am the cat. The cat rules. All else exists to attend the cat.”

The little tyrant hadn’t gained an ounce since his arrival.

The kits have realized that the scary men are harmless. For the moment. They are incurable optimists. They cannot remain frightened long. The optimism of A-Lat is a major contributing cause of its conflict with A-Laf. Which might seem unusual, A-Lat being the Queen of the Night. But that does not make her a dark goddess in all her aspects. Her principal aspect is the feminine. Be that as it may, it is not our concern. We must concentrate on those problems that have caught us in their web.

“Go,” I said. I pushed the cat aside. He paid no attention. He went right back to sticking his nose in my plate.

Some weeks ago Mr. Temisk became aware of the arrival of the A-Laf cultists. They, of course, were unaware of Mr. Contague’s state. Knowing the balance of obligation tilted toward Mr. Contague, Mr. Temisk contacted Ymberians. He invoked their obligation, as he did yours. The cultists knew him as the interlocutor for Mr. Contague, so he continued in that role.

“How did he kill all those people? And why?”

Ah. Now it becomes convolute.

“Uh-oh. That’s what you hear when somebody is fixing to make an excuse for somebody.” I couldn’t imagine him doing that for anybody but himself, though.

We are not amused.

“Leave that alone.” I flicked the kitten’s nose.

“Don’t do that.” Tinnie snapped. She’d come to check my tea. Carrying a tray. I was buying breakfast for my guests.

“We’ve got to figure a way to make money out of this, Old Bones. I’m feeding half the city.”

We will profit. Though perhaps not in cash money.

“No chickens. No moldy bread. No spoiled sausage. No skunky beer. I don’t take payment in kind anymore.” As I raised my teacup, I spied a glint in Chodo’s eye. He was awake. “Where were we?”

Iwas about to inform you that circumstances surrounding the deaths of those who burned are more complicated than it would appear. Mr. Temisk is, indeed, responsible. But was not, at first, aware that he was responsible. However, once he understood that there was a connection between the fires and his visits to Mr. Contague, he remained willing to send personalities like Mr. Billy Mul Tima to their ends.

I’d had my suspicions about Temisk but hadn’t had information enough to work it all out. Maybe if I hadn’t been sick all that time.

We would not have discovered the truth without bringing Mr. Temisk here. There is no evidence outside his mind. He has been clever about leaving no traces. Miss Winger has been on Mr. Temisk’s story for days and has yet to find anything even circumstantial. Mrs. Claxton was his sole loose end. Which he has had no opportunity to tie up. He felt he did not dare leave Mr. Contague alone with the Ymberians.

“He’s a lawyer. They’re naturally crooks.”

The Dead Man was not amused. Maybe he was a lawyer in another time and place.

“So Brother Temisk was behind the burning deaths? And he did it for his pal?”

In essence. But it is a bigger story. Mr. Temisk, despite protests to the contrary, has solid contacts inside the Contague household. Which could be true for Mr. Sculdyte as well. Mr. Temisk suspects that Mr. Rory Sculdyte knew the truth but was abiding an opportunity to make best use of the information.

“I’m guessing Chodo’s been drugged. Systematically and continuously. I’m thinking he would’ve recovered by now otherwise.”

True. He has been drugged regularly. But he would not be in command now if he had not been fed those drugs.

I grunted. Tinnie had her back to me. She was bending over the subject of our conversation, spoon in hand. I couldn’t concentrate.

Mental sneer. Mr. Contague’s interior is scrambled. He is mad in a deeply sinister way. Ultimately, he is more responsible for the combustion deaths.

“Can you get to your point?”

No. More amusement.

I dragged my attention away from Miss Tate long enough to pull the kitten off my plate. There were several of those in the room now, all over everybody. Including the scary people. One perched on the Ymberian deacon’s shoulder, washing a paw. The deacon knew. He was apoplectic.

The Dead Man noted my interest and was amused yet again. That should crack the final barriers in his mind. If his heart does not explode first.

“The combustion deaths, partner?”

Mr. Temisk’s agents in the Contague household told him they thought Miss Contague might be poisoning him.

“Might?”

There is some ambiguity. Someone else might be guilty.

“Doesn’t Chodo know?”

He was drugged.

“Gah!”

Wait! There is madness there, as noted. Extreme and dark. Worsened by the drug. Mr. Temisk’s contacts identified the poison. Mr. Temisk searched for an antidote.

“Which he found. And which has something to do with people catching on fire.” I was making intuitive leaps left and right. Maybe the fever left me psychic.

Yes. Be still. Mr. Temisk’s contacts informed him that Miss Contague came to town once or twice a month, and more frequently in times of crisis. Her father accompanied her. Always. She would not trust his care to anyone at home.

“With good reason, obviously.”

Obviously. When she did come to town Miss Contague secreted her father in a tenement her family owns on the north side, on the edge of Elf Town. Mr. Temisk knew the building because he handled its acquisition and management. Mr. Contague operated his early business out of there. Once he knew Miss Contague’s routine, Mr. Temisk acted.

To conceal his role, he hired alcoholics to sneak in and medicate the man in the wheelchair with the antidote. These men received one-quarter payment beforehand and the balance afterward.

Sounded risky. The drunk would brag about his score. “But the drunk turned into a human torch. Right?”

Not the first few times. Not until Mr. Contague began to shake the influence of the poison. Once he was able to understand his situation, frustration at his helplessness drove him mad.

“Temisk turned Chodo into a mass murderer by trying to help him?”

Essentially.

“I’ll bite. How?”

The antidote is a crushed form of the stone hurled at you at Mr. Dotes‘ -

“That causes fires!”