Gilded Latten Bones

53

The front door was easy. I opened up. The Windwalker sprinkled salt along the sill plate. I shut the door carefully. We would have to redo that one because of traffic. For now it should stay shut till Dollar Dan and the cleaning ladies traded places.

We did the back door next. That got almost no use. Likewise, the transom and one barred window that let light in during the day. That was the only window left on the ground floor. The others had gotten bricked up during the heyday of lawlessness.

Then down we went into the dank of the cellar, me with the lantern, the Windwalker lugging the salt. The steps groaned under my weight. They needed replacing. They had begun to rot. I said, "This is nasty."

"Only if you're not a spider."

She had that right. Spiderwebs and cobwebs hung everywhere. They covered the surface of the foundation stone. There was dampness on that stone, too. The air was thick. Our passage stirred dust despite the damp. The floor, nominally tamped earth, was one cup of water short of becoming pure mud.

The door to the outside was in worse shape than the steps. I said, "Be generous with that stuff down here. Yuck! This is nasty! I can't imagine why Singe hasn't had it cleaned out and fixed up."

Singe didn't think about those parts of the house she didn't visit, that was all. She was conscious of appearances and utility but not maintenance. She would overlook the cellar till the house fell into it.

Once we emerged from the underworld I let her know. She looked me over, sniffed, said, "Definitely. Morley is awake."

"Ten minutes. We still need to get the upstairs windows. And I need to get this gunk off me."

I returned to the kitchen for tea. The Windwalker wasn't there anymore. "Where'd she go, Dean?"

He pointed up. "She went to clean up."

"It's really nasty down there."

"I like this one, Mr. Garrett."

"What?" I wasn't paying attention because I'd noticed that salt had been laid down along the bottom of the door to the cellar.

"This woman. I like her a lot."

"You do? What about Tinnie?"

"I like Tinnie a lot, too. Tinnie is entertaining and challenging. Because she's always there, there's never been a question if she is the best woman to be there. With this one, though. . I'm relaxed and comfortable, despite what she is. I don't worry if she'll start barking about something I have no idea. . You do see what I mean?"

I did. Still, I was flabbergasted. A great word, that. I didn't get to use it often enough. Flabbergasted. From a root word meaning he ate too many beans.

Dean had been a booster of Tinnie Tate since the day he finally accepted the fact that he would never hook me up with one of his homely nieces.

Did I need to get nervous? In no time, with no apparent effort, Furious Tide of Light had conquered Dean and the Dead Man both. It had taken Old Bones an age to accept Tinnie. If the Windwalker seduced Singe, I was in it deep.

"Dean, she is remarkable. Like you say, easy to be around. She just naturally seems to belong. But you have to remember what she is and the people she runs with. And I don't even know her real name. She's still just the Windwalker, or Furious Tide of Light."

"That might be cumbersome, socially, if you're making introductions, especially in your circles. But it won't be a problem much longer."

"Huh?" Caution: Giant Intellect at Work.

The Windwalker's shy little girl voice piped, "My name is Strafa. Strafa Algarda." She moved very close as she came for tea of her own. She bumped me gently, at the hip. I was pretty sure she'd overheard everything.

Dean grinned almost lecherously. He'd never done that with Tinnie. He'd always been frowns and disapproval when he thought we might be playing grown-ups.

I was in it now, definitely and deeply, riding it without reins or a saddle, at a gallop, straight into one of those narrow places every man hates to go: a time of decision.

How could I get out of this without somebody getting mangled?

The Dead Man was amused in the extreme. He didn't have the imagination I did. He couldn't picture a future where the Tate clan hunted me down and staked me out on a termite mound. Or where one of the top dozen operators in a city renown for black-hearted and cruel sorcerers had a bone to pick with a man who done her wrong.

Do not become hysterical.

And I couldn't respond because we were still pretending that he couldn't read the Wind. . Strafa's mind.

I wished I could get in there and look around myself. I had questions. Chuckles hadn't given me much, yet. Too, I wanted to know what he learned from that thing in the street. He should have given me that a long time ago, unless it was too scary for somebody as young as me. And, as long as I was feeling left out, how about what he had gotten out of my best pal?

On cue, sourpuss Singe stuck her head into the kitchen. "You said ten minutes an hour ago, Garrett. He's fading now."

"I've told you a million times not to exaggerate. It hasn't been anywhere near an hour."

"The point remains. You are ignoring your most important task while you indulge in flirtation."

What was this? My cheeks got hot!

I headed for the cold well, grabbed a pitcher.

Singe took it away. "I'll handle that. You go see Morley."