Red Iron Nights

45

I got me a few hours of horizontal, but not hardly enough. A big racket awakened me. I smelled food cooking, so it must've been around the solar dawn, though still a long way from any time when a rational being would be awake.

For whatever irrational reason, I pulled on my pants and stumbled downstairs. I rambled into the kitchen, dropped into my customary chair. "I thought those little shit morCartha were all taken by the army for aerial scouts in the Cantard." MorCartha are a flying race, knee- to hip-high, resembling old-fashioned red devils with bat-style wings, only they're more brown than red. They're a contentious, loud, and obnoxious species possessed of no consideration whatsoever. They came from the north, fleeing thunder-lizards. TunFaire had been plagued by them till somebody suffered a seizure of smarts and hired them as auxiliaries. If they did what they were paid for, they could have a dramatic impact.

"These come from a new wave of immigrants, Mr. Garrett." Dean handed me a cup of tea. "Or so they say. I suspect the hired tribes are returning, hoping they can get paid to leave again."

"Likely. Why couldn't we have lived in imperial times? It's one damned thing after another. Look at all this shit. MorCartha on the rooftops. Thunder-lizards everywhere. One of those five-horned things swam the river and went crazy on the Landing last month."

"I felt sorry for him."

"Huh?" I cracked an eyelid, looked to my left, discovered that I was sharing the table with my houseguest. And me in nothing but my pants.

"I felt sorry for the big stupid thing. It didn't know what was happening. It was terrified, all those little creatures screaming and throwing pointy things at it."

"You hear that, Dean? Ain't that a woman for you? Here's a monster going berserk, stomping people to death, ripping up property, and she feels sorry for it."

"Actually, I rather felt that way myself."

Yeah. And so had I. And probably everyone else who hadn't suffered directly from the poor beast's fear and confusion. When you went and looked at the thing, now caught in a big pen on a vacant lot, it just seemed a big lovable puppy that looked like it had moss and lichen growing on it. I don't see how you can call something that weighs in at fifteen tons cute, but it was cute.

"I guess it was good practice in case one of the big carnivores tries the same trick."

"He always have to play hardass, Dean?"

Come on. On a first-name basis already? The old boy drives me crazy doing that.

"Always, Miss Belinda. Pay him no mind. He means well."

"Dean, you checked how you feel lately?"

"Sir?"

"You said something nice about me."

"This is a nice young lady, Mr. Garrett. I approve thoroughly. I'd like you two to get to know one another."

Holy shit.

"Ah. Yes, sir. I know who her father is. We cannot be held accountable for our choice of ancestors. I know who your father was." That was news to me, if he meant that he'd known the old man personally, back in those olden days before Pop went to the Cantard to get himself killed. "As I understand the situation, this isn't a problem. Mr. Contague, begging your pardon, Miss Belinda, is as good as dead, and the real say lies with Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler."

"Two fun-loving boys who haven't stopped being dangerous because they've started running things by forging Chodo's signature. What're you trying to do, Dean?"

"I'm doing what I always do, Mr. Garrett. I'm matchmaking."

His easy admission struck me dumb. Belinda found nothing to say either. We exchanged helpless looks. I added an apologetic shrug.

Dean said, "I've spoken with Miss Belinda extensively and find her quite your type behind her antagonistic public face."

Belinda snarled, "Is this some kind of teamwork seduction effort, Garrett?"

I protested, "You have to excuse him. He's got this thing about getting me involved."

Dean didn't listen. He hummed and did kitchen work while we traded excuses and accusations, then declared, "The Dead Man is napping. Why don't you two go upstairs, make love two or three times, then finish arguing over lunch?"

I couldn't believe Dean would say something like that. This just wasn't the Dean I knew.

Not that I found the idea repulsive. Something about Belinda got to me.

Belinda just sat there staring while Dean smiled, then winked. I suffered the faintly hopeful suspicion that she didn't find Dean's suggestion entirely repulsive either.

However, this had become one of those situations where you couldn't carry forward if both of you were randier than a cat in heat.

I said, "You're pushing your luck, Dean. I'm going back to bed. I'm sorry, Miss Contague. Please don't think ill of me because of Dean's presumptions."

I thought Dean was going to break out laughing. Was this some scheme to sabotage all hanky before it turned into panky?

Belinda didn't say anything. As I fled I thought I detected the faintest look of disappointment.

You know how it goes. As soon as I was alone and the risk of her reaction was no longer part of the equation, I stared at the ceiling and entertained regrets while Belinda Contague grew more attractive by the moment, any warts magically fading.

An incurable romantic. That's me.