Cruel Zinc Melodies

72

‘‘You got a guilty look on you, Malsquando.’’

‘‘Because you’re determined to make me feel guilty about something. Including getting away from bad people.’’

‘‘I saw the way she was hanging on to you.’’

‘‘Because I’d fall like a rock if she didn’t. And I don’t have the spring in my legs that I did when I was a Marine.’’ Then, for no reason that I can recall, I added, ‘‘She’s left-handed.’’

‘‘Well, of course she is. Her kind always are.’’ Tinnie didn’t expand on that.

Elsewhere, though nothing but the music had happened, the human population had gotten thin. The workmen were gone. Saucerhead’s team had decided they’d better keep an eye on the workmen. Tharpe hadn’t gone along. But he wanted to. Badly.

Barate Algarda was having a discussion with the Windwalker much like mine with Tinnie. But less intense, and, like Tinnie, reserving all the suspicion for me.

Furious Tide of Light had turned into the deathly shy wallflower. She kept trying to change the subject to the Bellman and bad behavior by cousin Link, and Schnook Avery getting ‘‘taken over by the beast.’’

It didn’t take her long to get Algarda focused on business.

‘‘Tinnie, godsdamnit, enough! This shit isn’t about you!’’

Miss Tate looked like some zombie horror had just come prancing out of an awful night. And he was me. And I felt like one. Almost.

The redhead is nothing if not flexible. She adapted quick as a snap, with an absolute unspoken reservation. If Garrett was blowing smoke! . . .

The racket from inside the World took on a sudden new, darker note. Everything capable of flying took sudden wing, getting the flock out of the neighborhood. I was amazed by how many sparrows there were.

Panic even flushed a brace of giant beetles. They should’ve stayed hunkered down. They didn’t make thirty yards horizontally before they enjoyed a fatal encounter with the cobblestones.

‘‘And that’s that,’’ I said. ‘‘I hope.’’

The chaos inside tumbled into public. In the form of half a dozen high and mighties clearly stunned stupid and humbled, and all the worse for wear. Even from where I stood, poised to set a record in the quarter-mile dash to safety, it was clear that Shadowslinger had been bitten off by something that hadn’t seen her as more than it could chew. She was all torn up, at least on the outside.

Link Dierber owed his pal Schnook a big kiss in a special place for having dragged his wicked ass outside. Schnook was sane again.

The rest crawled and dragged one another into the weather, not a one grinning over a prank well played.

What the hell? They had suffered a serious, collective ass-kicking. How? ‘‘I can’t claim those ghosts never hurt anybody anymore.’’

After half a minute of silence the zinc melody pounded out a few bars of a sinister-sounding march that faded into dark echoes.

What appeared to be a young ghost, defined to the point where warts, freckles, and zits were individually obvious, leaped out of the World. It lugged a six-foot length of floor planking, six inches wide and two inches thick. It applied that to Link Dierber, then went after Schnook Avery— while bashing any of the others who got in its way. It stayed only a matter of seconds, then abandoned the board and fled into the World.

Odd behavior for one of those ghosts. Who seemed vaguely familiar, on reflection. But it all happened so fast. . . .

Total silence. No talk. No music. The concert had ended. The fat lady had nothing more to say.

Shadowslinger kept trying to get to her feet, kept falling back down. She had taken a truly hearty whack because she’d shown the bad judgment to be between the ghost and Schnook Avery.

Those of us stupidly still in range just plain refused to believe our eyes. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t have happened. Those people were among the most dreadful of the dire, drear potentates of the Hill. Of all Karenta. Of the whole damned world. They were people who, collectively, the gods ought to fear. But Dierber was down, Avery was on his hands and knees and bleeding, and Shadowslinger looked like she might have lost the use of one arm.

‘‘Oh, Malsquando!’’ Tinnie gasped. ‘‘This just turned into some serious shit.’’ She doesn’t use that kind of language often. ‘‘We’ll never get the World finished now!’’

That had begun to worry me, too. Max was going to be pissed off. He’d be in no mood to be confused by facts if Hill types started getting themselves dead on his property. That’s never good for business.

Tin whistles tooted. Red tops came out of the woodwork. A few went chasing into the theater but the rest just rolled up, stopped, and stared at the battered sorcerers, unable to believe their own eyes. Not a one had any idea what to do now.

Not good.

They were likely to start hitting and breaking if they couldn’t think of anything more practical.

Barate Algarda and I suffered the same mad impulse at the same moment. We shoved through the crowd, Furious Tide of Light moving in his wake.

For me, the sensible thing would’ve been to stand back, lean on a handy wall, and hope I wouldn’t be noticed. Then maybe drift off somewhere, take an hour to enjoy some artificial courage. Instead, I just had to charge in there to try saving lives. Knowing the fallen, the injured, and the just plain confused, all deserved to be put down like mad dogs. And knowing Mrs. Garrett’s boy would get blamed no matter what.

So here are Garrett, Algarda, and the Windwalker, trying to restore breath to the kind of people I always hoped the lightning would slip loose from heaven and find.

A couple of red tops got into the act, too.

It took only a moment to see that Link Dierber was beyond mundane help. The rest were all breathing. The uninjured three stood around drooling like the smarts bandit had picked their brains clean.

That old black magic.

Schnook Avery would need some repairs but he would live. He needed something for the pain and swelling, plus a few dozen stitches. No bones poked through his skin. Nothing was obviously broken. He offered no work for the bone setters or cast makers.

Shadowslinger still hadn’t been able to get onto her feet. She might be hurt worse than I first thought.

Algarda said, ‘‘We need a healer. Fast.’’ He grabbed a red cap. ‘‘You. Take this—’’

Furious Tide of Light interrupted. ‘‘I’ll go. I’ll be faster.’’

Father considered daughter. ‘‘Are you sure?’’

‘‘I can do it.’’

‘‘All right. Be careful.’’

‘‘I promise.’’

She floated up. Her soles cleared our heads. She drifted eastward, rising, gathering speed. Her legs worked, taking giant strides. She vanished in half a minute.

I’d seen something similar before. But I remained as slack-jawed as everyone else.

Algarda muttered, ‘‘Where did she find the nerve?’’ Then he looked at me, oddly. ‘‘She’s been acting strange all day.’’

Tinnie pushed through the crowd. She had an odd expression of her own. But she wasn’t watching the Windwalker. Or me. She was fixed on the bloody two-by-six, lying between Shadowslinger and what was left of Link Dierber. The watermills of her mind were turning.

I began shivering. The excitement had worn off. And a breeze had come up. It swirled and shifted, playing among the buildings. It brought a whiff of potent body odor. As always, I saw nothing when I looked for the source.

Barate Algarda observed, ‘‘Let’s not move anybody before the healer gets here. We might do more damage. Schnook. That means you should stay in one place and don’t move.’’

Poor kid Slump. He was the only member of the Faction who hadn’t run for it. He couldn’t make up his mind what to do now. Hang with Avery? Cry over Dierber? Schnook made up his mind by grabbing hold and not letting him get near Dierber.

Dierber was alive, after all. But he wasn’t going to last.

I nodded, told Algarda, ‘‘Good thinking.’’ I’d seen that often enough during the war. ‘‘Where did you do your five?’’