Cruel Zinc Melodies

82

‘‘Hey, Garrett! Nice coat,’’ Saucerhead said when I slipped in through the front door at the World. ‘‘What kind of fur is that?’’

‘‘Beaver, I think.’’ It was obvious why Tharpe and his crew were huddled up inside. The ghosts weren’t active and it was almost warm. Water remained liquid. ‘‘Prince Rupert traded it to me for the one I’ve been wearing. The ghosts on a holiday?’’

Derisive laughter from all hands.

‘‘Truth, Head. He wanted it so he could get one like it made.’’ I needed to move on. But I couldn’t. ‘‘Relway had me dragged in. The Prince was at the Al-Khar. He saw that coat and fell in love.’’

I don’t know why I expected him to believe that. Dumb-ass street thieves made up better stories. ‘‘What’s been happening? Have you seen Playmate?’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Tharpe wanted to go on giving me a hard time, but he did take time out for business. ‘‘He came by. He brung them two black cases over there. He said tell you the ratpeople can’t make it today. Maybe tomorrow, if the weather is better.’’

I got busy with the cases, the little one first. It could win me friends.

I dragged out a heavy doeskin sack as Tharpe wound up to get back to my fabrications about an obviously stolen beaver coat.

The atmosphere changed. Saucerhead purred. ‘‘Garrett. My main man. What do you have in that sack, my brother?’’ He heard the music of the metal.

I showed him my precious metal trumps.

I had friends.

They stayed friends even after they hid their money in their purses and pockets.

I said, ‘‘It’s too warm in here, guys. Whatever you think.’’

Saucerhead said, ‘‘You keep trying to freeze the place out. How come?’’

I told him.

In moments it was obvious the dragon would go over worse than my beaver coat story. Had to be pure, unadulterated, nine ninety-nine fine, one ninety proof, Garrett-style bullshit. Which I shouldn’t have been retailing, anyway.

My ego kicked in. I started getting hot. Then I recalled an incident from boot camp, nine days in.

We’d had only a couple hours of sleep. The drill gods were breaking us down. They rolled us out for some pre-dawn recreation. I got my undershirt on backward in my haste to avoid being last man out, which would guarantee the descent of the wrath of Sergeant God. I didn’t yet understand that the wrath would find a way, no matter how hard I tried.

When my error was pointed out, in a friendly way, by a fellow recruit, I snapped. I insisted thatthis shirt was made that way and I had made no error.

I knew I was being stupid while I said it. But I couldn’t stop.

That haunted me the rest of boot camp. The guys never looked at me the same. I never regained their complete trust and respect. Luckily, I wasn’t posted to the same outfit when we went to the fleet.

The drill gods are all-seeing. All-knowing. And pretty wise.

I did good after that one stumble.

If I let the red beast grab hold of me here, these guys would look at me the way those guys in my training company had. They knew I wasn’t right. It wouldn’t matter if this shirt really was made that way.

‘‘You’re too smart for me. They thought I could sell it.’’ I named no names, nor revealed why ‘‘they’’ wanted the suggestion of a dragon planted. ‘‘Gods be damned!’’

‘‘Garrett? What?’’ Saucerhead looked like he was wondering if he ought to be scared. Garrett was acting weird today. Weirder.

‘‘I just realized. I got jobbed.’’

What I’d realized was that having people think there was a treasure-brooding dragon down there guaranteed disaster. Dozens of story cycles include a ‘‘hero’’ who separates a dragon from its treasure nest. That should be harder in practice than in fable. A dragon’s hoard could become a total metropolitan obsession, worse than an unreasoning lust to be one of the earliest to own a custom-built Prose Flyer three-wheel. Greed would drive this obsession, not mere envy.

This truth had to be guarded. And shaped. Else this dragon would be nudged awake. And then? Disaster.

I told Saucerhead, ‘‘I don’t know what the grift is. I do know I’m not half as smart as I thought.’’

He grunted.

‘‘This is where you’re supposed to jump in and give me some positive reinforcement.’’

He grunted again. Probably trying to figure out what those big words meant.

‘‘All right. Be that way.’’ I sulked. Selling that. Hoping word would now go out that Max Weider, ever clever, was salting a gold mine by having his cat’s-paw Garrett go round spreading bullshit about a dragon. Just, coincidentally, a dragon, and hoard, buried under a Weider theater due to open in a couple of months.

People would figure the giant bugs were part of the publicity scheme, too. And if they did, we’d get the Faction kids out of trouble easy.

Which, no doubt, would happen anyway. They were related to the right people.

I chugged around the circle of speculation. My own occasional special cynical conviction that there are secret masters got me wondering if the ghost problem hadn’t really been orchestrated by Max and Manvil.

Sounded dramatic enough. Ah! What a wonderfully psychotic reality that would be. But the notion failed two critical tests.

First, Simplest Explanation.

The simplest and most obvious explanation of any phenomenon is usually the correct one.

Second, the Stupidity Test.

It’s unnecessary to invoke complex, convoluted conspiracy theories where plain old human stupidity suffices as an explanation.

‘‘I’m getting old, Head. The inside of my melon is starting to fill up with the kind of stuff old Medford is always spouting.’’

Saucerhead knows my grand-uncle. He chuckled. ‘‘There’s a lot of that going around, Garrett. And not just because we’re getting old. The world is changing. On account of, peace broke out. And that means things can’t stay the same. Nobody likes it but it’s so plain even dummies like you and me get to thinking about it.’’

I do believe my jaw dropped. That was the deepest I’d ever heard Saucerhead get.

If you hang around long enough, and pay attention, you see that even the dim people can work through to some amazing conclusions. It’s all a matter of speed.

My inclination was to pretend that I hadn’t caught any of this. Following trails well blazed by brigades of my social betters before me.

But Saucerhead Tharpe was standing right there, looking me in the eye, waiting. Smugly confident that I would disdain real reality for the preferred, officially predecided reality.

‘‘You don’t know me as well as you think, big guy.’’ But we weren’t getting paid to save any slice of the realm other than this pimple of a theater. ‘‘So let’s look at what we’ve got. Quickly, because the money guys are going to ask me some tough questions real soon. We’ll all be out of work if they don’t like the answers.’’

‘‘You’re nervous, aren’t you? You’re chattering.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Max was indulgent in the extreme. I’d done him a lot of good the last few years. But mine is a ‘‘What have you done for me lately?’’ line of work. Putting the Weider Empire out in front of the Hill mob might be a straw that Max would refuse to carry. ‘‘So, tell me what’s going on here.’’

‘‘A whole lot of nothing. It’s totally quiet. No bugs. No ghosts. No bad guys. No freaks. That I noticed.’’ Possibly implying that current company was questionable.

‘‘No workmen?’’

‘‘Not so much their fault. Take that up with the tin whistles. They’re all worried about if they let those guys in they’ll mess up the evidence.’’

‘‘What evidence? What happened in here was mostly illusion. The real shit went down outside. In front of witnesses.’’ Few of whom had produced reliable statements, I was sure.

Saucerhead shrugged. ‘‘I’m just reporting.’’

‘‘Yeah. I got that.’’ I went back outside.

The red tops were holed up in Saucerhead’s guard shack, concentrating on not freezing to death. They were a lot colder than the men they had dispossessed. They had used up all the fuel. I wasn’t going to buy any more. They had one candle burning, providing weak light and a futile defense against the cold.

‘‘You guys need to come inside the big place. It’s warmer.’’ And I could give them their due ration of shit without freezing my own favorite bits off.

Some didn’t want to go. But it was seriously cold. Their one candle was all that stood for the memory of summer. They quickly found the limits of their motivation.

We all sat around the floor of the World, telling tall tales and outright lies. I’d been tempted to close a few vents to raise the temperature. That temptation I could resist more easily than the one involving a tall, smoldering, apparently willing blonde sorceress. Who could well just want to use me for something less exciting.

Of all unlikely creatures on the gods’ frozen earth, Pular Singe wandered in. Only she wasn’t wandering. She was in a damned big hurry, despite being bundled up till she could barely move.

This couldn’t be good. Disaster was about to sweep me up and chunk me into the dustbin of misery.

Singe cut me out of the crowd. Another bad sign. ‘‘What’s up?’’ I had to force the words.

She made sure we were too far away to hear, and that my back was to anybody who might read lips. ‘‘A man came from that Mr. Jan.’’

‘‘The tailor?’’

‘‘I don’t know that. Presumably, since you went to him for a fitting. The man said get word to you that Mr. Jan needs you back as soon as possible. That it’s urgent. He will refund the price of that thing you were wearing if you get there before the bells toll four.’’

‘‘What’s going on, Singe?’’

‘‘I don’t know. The messenger said it was urgent. The Dead Man told me to get you, fast as I could. He would not tell me what he saw inside the messenger’s head.’’

‘‘Why send you out? Why not that Joe Kerr kid?’’

‘‘Because you would not take the boy seriously.’’

Probably not.

The fact that Old Bones wanted me to take this seriously meant I ought to do exactly that. Despite the comforts of the World. Such as they were.

‘‘And that’s really all you can tell me?’’

‘‘That’s all. Except for the sense of urgency. Speaking of. I have an urgency of my own. Where can I?’’

Excellent question. ‘‘The construction guys use the honey buckets behind those screens. Or they take it into the alley out back. Saucerhead has a garderobe attached to his shack.’’

Damn! I’d just found Max a whole new problem. I’d been over the World top to bottom. The architects hadn’t provided any personal relief facilities. Something would have to be done. The high-end punters weren’t going to have their wives or mistresses go squat in the alley during intermission.

Hey. This might be another business opportunity. I could take over one of those places across the way and turn it into a pay-per-pee facility.

Singe told me, ‘‘Never mind. I have to get back home. They need me there.’’

‘‘Huh?’’

‘‘Nothing to concern you. Go find out why your tailor needs to see you.’’ Trailing a huge, put-upon sigh, she headed for the front door. Starting to develop a little attitude, that girl. I might lose her to the Faction.

‘‘What was that?’’ Saucerhead asked when I came back over.

‘‘One of those ‘got to do it right now, this minute, I don’t care if hellis freezing over’ missions from the Dead Man. I’ve got to go, guys.’’

Tharpe’s people all smiled and waved. They’d just gotten paid.

Before I hit the big cold white I opened the other, larger case so its contents could breathe.