Gilded Latten Bones

89

Those guys weren't even real soldiers, let alone Marines, but, despite themselves, they even kept a miserable, drunken, fighting-mad Winger from getting to my front door, without getting physical.

Those guys might be candy-asses in a fight but as public-relations operators, they were smooth.

That left me feeling optimistic.

Somebody would come along and ruin their day.

Strafa appeared outside. This time, for whatever reason, she sat astride a great, honking broomstick. She wore dark clothes that did not flatter, but she had disdained the traditional pointy hat.

I opened the window wide.

Down she swooped, face aflame with adolescent mischief. She spun, plunged, tugged the sergeant major's mustache, then sideslipped and swiped the commander's fancy hat.

Hands grabbed at her. She shot straight up. The hat drifted down, carried by the breeze. Strafa followed but leveled off at the height of my window. She stretched herself out on her broomstick, shot forward into my room.

There was almost no clearance but she came through unscathed. "That was fun." She laughed. It was the first time I heard her let it all go. She was totally happy. She was totally at peace. She rolled off her broom, bounced into my arms. "Did you see the looks on their faces?"

For one instant I saw the face of a redheaded woman. I felt pain, guilt, then a sourceless admonition to do the right thing.

Strafa's simple joy over having thumbed her nose at gloomy functionaries changed things more in a moment than had the physical connection earlier.

I was lost. I was hooked.

I was miserably guilty. I did love Tinnie Tate, but I had been ambushed by something hugely more potent. Something that Strafa had sensed and been frightened by way back when our paths first crossed. She had teased me then, but that was all she had risked.

Strafa shared some psychology with DeeDee: neither looked or acted her age. Both were more simple and innocent than seemed plausible. Each had a daughter more touched by and in tune with the real world.

Crush, though, was better equipped to survive there than Kevans was. Kevans lacked sufficient cynicism.

"Damn, darling, that was as good as you making me groan! Why are those buttheads out there, anyway?"

"Your guess would be better than mine. You know the people who tell them what to do."

"Kiss me."

I did so, to the best of my ability, with considerable enthusiasm.

"Wow! That was all right. I forgot the world completely." She went to the window. "You have to wonder who was thinking what, sending them out to harass subjects in the city. You bad man. Keep your hands to yourself. I'm trying to think."

She had more to say, mostly playful, but I didn't pay attention. One final shard of rationality was trying to figure out what had happened to us and why it had happened so fast.

Then I recalled any number of friends, across the ages, telling me I think too much.

This time Strafa was the responsible one. "Down, boy! I'm as eager as you are, but we have bigger issues to deal with."

Strafa saw things through different eyes. Olive, at the moment.

She leaned out the window. She waved. She blew kisses. I caught the back draft as she stoked up the girl power. Any man down there who wasn't moon-eyed and holding his hat in front of his fly was in serious violation of the most draconian prohibition of most of the thousand and one religions plaguing. . er, gracing our great city.

I looked over her shoulder. It was amazing what she could do to men.

"You are a wicked woman."

"I could be. But I'm too lazy." She retreated just far enough to become invisible to the soldiers.

"You could be queen of the world by now."

She said, "We're going to do some things now, beloved."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to go see those men. I'm going to cloud their minds. You get yourself and your friend ready to move somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Your province. Mine is to fix it so those men besiege an empty castle."

"You lost me. But I'm so infatuated, I trust you completely."

She looked startled. "Pular Singe told me I should wear old, high-top boots if I really want to spend my life close to you. Maybe she wasn't just jealous and teasing."

"Strafa, whatever it was, I take it back. I don't want to be the guy to you that I seem to be to everybody else. I just want to be your guy, no games. No ifs, ands, or bullshit."