Gilded Latten Bones

56

Kolda sort of half whimpered. "You don't got any more need for me, Garrett, I better get on out of here." Body language screamed that he was a liar. What he really wanted was to dive into the visiting mob. Team Fire and Ice could have their way with him till the stretcher bearers carried him away. "Trudi don't like it if she has to wait up."

Who was Trudi?

Fiancee.

That old devil time playing tricks again. Did Kolda have a wife back when he was trying to poison me? I thought so but couldn't remember for sure. Well, he didn't have one now. The woman he did have scared him, though not as much as the fantasies tormenting him here.

"If you got to go, you got to go. You wouldn't want to miss supper on account of these beasts. Are you having trouble, Singe?"

"That idiot out there keeps pushing on the door. This bolt won't slide if there's pressure. I had it made that way. Ah. I've got it now." She let the door swing.

In came Jon Salvation and a companion recently escaped from a homeless shelter. The latter lugged gear similar to what Penny had dragged in. His was seedier. He was seedier, by an order of magnitude. He needed to discover soap and water. He needed to steal some clean clothes. And he maybe ought to forego the next dozen bottles of ardent spirits.

His hair was a wild, gray tangle. I shuddered to think what vile livestock he was importing into my house. He was shorter than Salvation and a whole lot dumpier. He was the epicenter of a fierce medley of smells.

Jon Salvation said, "This is the Bird, Garrett. Bird, this is the guy who needs your help." He turned. "Singe, can you show the Bird where to set up?" He nudged me a few steps toward the kitchen, whispering, "You have any hard liquor? The Bird has a problem inside his head. He needs the stuff to keep the voices quiet."

I opened my mouth with intent to remind the Remora what he was known to be full of. I received a gentle cautionary brush from the Dead Man. "Voices? Really?"

"You need to see it to believe it. This guy is a genius. When he has just the right amount of firewater in him, so the voices are softer, he paints like an angel."

I believed Salvation. I had run into something like that before.

I asked Salvation, "You have any idea what Bird's real feelings about his madness are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does he want the voices to go away?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"I would. Yes. But would you? If that meant that you wouldn't have the magic to be a playwright anymore?"

"You're thinking that the Dead Man might be able to shut the mental doors on his demons."

"Might. Come down here one more step." I looked into the room where Morley was taking the attentions of several beautiful women as his birthright. "Crush. Got a minute?"

Young Hellbore turned away from her mother and Madam Mike. She showed me a teen's practiced expression combining boredom, embarrassment, and disgust. "What?" Her expression did not improve when she glanced at my companion.

"I told you that if I got the chance I'd introduce you to Jon Salvation. This is him." I told the Remora, "Crush likes your plays."

The kid got mad. Of course. But she didn't make a scene.

I couldn't see the big deal. This here was Pilsuds Vilchik, the Remora, a weasel who tagged along behind a friend of mine. He whined a lot, got underfoot, and had a twist in his brain that left him unable to see what Winger really was.

I considered Winger a friend but had no illusions about her character.

The idea that this noxious squirt could become a major celebrity was entirely ridiculous.

Singe came out of the Dead Man's room. The Bird delivered. He should have no problem with Old Bones. He was used to having voices inside his head. She looked at me, Salvation, Crush, leapt to some evil conclusion. Shaking her head, she told me, "I'm going to have a cup of tea before any more complications come up. Guard my office."

I didn't get that, unless she was concerned for the sanctity of her books.

Crush and Jon Salvation got along like Hellbore and Pilsuds Vilchik. He was not the giant she had sculpted in her imagination. And she was just another empty-headed kid who asked the same nimrod questions he had heard a thousand times before.

Singe came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a teapot, sandwiches, and cups. "Join me." Inside her office, she said, "This place is turning into a zoo filled with human exotica."

"You got used to the quiet life."

"I did. And I find the habit hard to break. Eat. This is likely all we'll get for supper. Dean is exhausted. The sorceress is going to help him get upstairs."

"She's good for something, then."

"Don't do that when I'm starting to not like her a whole lot less. I'm stressed enough. And it will only get worse. We have no hard liquor."

"Old Bones ask for it?"

"He thinks he may be able to create a similar effect but wants the real thing handy."

"We could send Salvation out."

"Winger drinks, doesn't she?"

"Yes. Do I need to have Belinda get us out of your hair?"

"She couldn't get here in time."

The poor girl sounded like she was about to slide away into despair.

"You want to head upstairs yourself, Singe?"

"I'd better stay."

"I can handle this crowd."

"Maybe now. How about half an hour from now? You're too far gone. I still love you but you aren't the man you used to be."

The Windwalker joined us. Singe neither protested nor betrayed any distaste. In fact, there was a cup for Strafa on the tray she had carried in. Was peace about to break out? Or was Singe just too tired to fight?

I asked, "Everyone out there still being civilized?"

Strafa said, "A woman and two girls are fussing over your injured friend. There are three men and a girl in with your dead friend. The three of us are here. And the poisoner is missing."

Singe said, "I let Kolda out after Jon Salvation got here."

So. Crush was in with Morley and Salvation was with the Dead Man. That was a brief romance.

Poor Remora. He couldn't be what his fan wanted him to be.