Wicked Bronze Ambition

80

So there I was. .

A lot of my stories start that way, and then beer or some lesser form of alcohol gets involved. I was hoping some of that might be involved here soon. I waved without enthusiasm as Target and his crew hauled the last bad boys away. The dead and wounded from the street scuffle had ended up aboard a big wagon that was a cell on wheels, where they were piled three deep.

Those healthy enough to shuffle under their own power had left already, tied together in a coffle.

Though the red tops took a few with them, nobody seemed to know what to do about the balance of the gray rats. The half-ass consensus was to turn them loose and let the rat community sort them out. Meaning a blind eye would turn to the moon while John Stretch did what he wanted to restore order, social norms, and tranquillity among the under-people.

As they sometimes do, my thoughts drifted. I was agitated because Old Bones did indeed appear to have gone into hibernation. That could last for weeks or even months.

This was not a good time.

It never is.

This time he had gone without passing along anything learned from Min, Hagekagome, or any of the gang folk we had rolled past him.

There was yet another outbreak of thumping and cursing in my old office, the verbal part more enthusiastic than the physical. I picked out a few words in no language I recognized but, doubtless, not the sort one used while having tea with one’s mother. Not my mother, anyway, even where she was likely dwelling now.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother plenty, I’ve just never had any illusions about her being a saint.

Well, she might have been to my goody-two-shoes baby brother.

Vicious Min had control of her faculties but not her flesh. The racket slowly declined.

The old homestead would need a thorough cleaning after this. How much could I pass off onto Penny?

She had scooted up front and had the door partway open, checking the street. Singe was helping her rubberneck, likely watching for her brother.

Dollar Dan lurked a few steps behind Singe, clearly nervous. It wasn’t clear why. I had no complaints. He had been a good man to have on the voyage.

Tara Chayne stepped out of my office-turned-infirmary. “That’s all I can do. It won’t last. You want her kept controlled, you need to get your partner back in action. Or convince Ted to do something.”

Ted sneered but did not dignify the suggestion with a response.

I said, “Based on experience I can say I don’t have a good feeling about that.”

“Then hand her over to the Specials, too. You won’t be able to manage her yourself.”

I started to say something, realized I had nothing to say. I broke precedent by actually not saying it.

Tara Chayne continued. “She’s mostly recovered. She has an inhuman vitality. It’ll keep getting harder to make her sleep. Ted won’t help and I’m not moving in to handle her for you. I have other squid to fry.”

She wasted no innuendo on the move-in remark. It was time to go on. She had a sister who needed to be found and spanked. That sister was tagged. How far ahead had Moonblight been thinking? Had she thought that Moonslight might lead us somewhere interesting?

Had Target figured out that the tracer had migrated? Might he and his be launching their own hunt?

Moonblight thought they might be. She was getting antsy.

No way she wanted them getting to her sister first.

“I understand. Anything else you can do before we go?”

One eyebrow rose slightly in response to that “we.” She withheld comment otherwise. She did gesture toward the Dead Man’s room.

“Like I said, he could be out for months.”

“There is another resource in there.”

I didn’t understand. His Nibs was alone now, except for Playmate, Kolda, and Niea, all caught in the twilight between sleep and consciousness.

“The poisoner can render her pliable. Or, if not pliable, then weak and manageable. Or constantly unconscious.”

Maybe he could. I didn’t think it was reasonable to ask him to break any more laws on my behalf.

“Singe, are you expecting John Stretch?”

“I am. He will appear once he knows he can get here without being seen by the Guard. He will be interested in hearing what we know about the involvement of the grays.”

He would. “Too bad Old Bones is out of it. He probably had all the answers.”

Dollar Dan said, “Singe and I can give a few. We learned a lot that would not be obvious to a human observer.”

Singe nodded, then eyed Dan like she still wondered who this imposter might be.

I bit down on a grin.

You had to give the guy kudos for studly determination. He was willing to transform himself into a total rat man Poindexter if that was the price of gaining Singe’s favor.

His quest was poignantly, sadly foredoomed, but I was willing to pony up a pail of points for perseverance.

I said, “Tara Chayne, Ted, Barate, and I will be heading out shortly. . ”

Ted said, “I’ve been away from Constance for too long.”

Barate nodded. “I still need to find Kevans and get her locked down where the gods themselves can’t get at her.”

Tara Chayne wasn’t as thrilled with the prospect of my company as once she had been. Luminous intuition suggested that this might be because I tried to do the right thing in the tight places. I was too much into ethical folderol, even after my loss.

I told her, “I’ll try to keep my big damned mouth shut.”

She would catch Mariska, sure. Things might turn problematic then, though I was sure that Moonblight would prevail. I did hope to ask Moonslight a few questions before big sister took the process too far.

“All right. If you want to tag along. But I’ll hold you to your promise.” She moved in, looked up at me from as close as she could get with her clothes still on. “I hear any of your usual lip, I’ll sew your mouth shut with catfish tripe.”

“Gah!”

“You won’t have the Algarda angels hovering anymore.”

I took that as a reminder rather than intimidation. “Got you.”

“That I’ll believe when I see it.”

I turned away, chastened. Tara Chayne Machtkess had a little Mom in her. I told Singe, “See if you can’t get word to the Al-Khar suggesting that we might be willing to turn over Vicious Min. Penny. .”

The girl was tired. She turned surly. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

“But-”

“Not about any of it.”

“All right! Dean. I need you to come up with a special diet for this one. Something with less sour in it.”

Dean grunted. He had nothing else to say. He was pushing his cart. Somehow, while everything else was going on, he had found time to make sandwiches. He offered me a fat one.

Singe turned from the front door. “Humility is coming.”

“Means we can go without attracting any attention.”

Of a sudden there was a racket on the stair. Four scruffy mutts tumbled into the hallway, ready to join the new enterprise. Number Two did a perfect imitation of a tame hound’s sit-up-and-beg maneuver.

Dean said, “Pay no attention. They’ve been fed.”

I wanted to blather at him and my girls about cleaning up dog hair and any gifts the critters had left but then glimpsed Hagekagome peeking round the corner at the bottom of the stair. So. She had been hiding out.

She stared at me like she was determined to commit my face to memory. Very intent and, yet, the slightest bit confused.

She didn’t charge, telling me how much she hated me.

I told Penny, “Take good care of her, too.”

“I will.” No arguments. No attitude. No nothing at all but a straightforward statement of intent.

Did she know something that no one had bothered to share with me?

Probably. A lot.

Everybody knew stuff about stuff that they didn’t bother to share with me. That was the nature of my business. That was the story of my life.