Whispering Nickel Idols

48

Dean made soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, an expensive treat this time of year.

The whole crew was determined to spend me into the poorhouse.

“Stop whining,” Singe told me. “You are not poor.”

“I’m going to be, though. I’m working for nothing. You’re all eating like princes and throwing money down… the storm sewers.” I’d been about to mention rat holes.

Dean grumbled about quails’ eggs and giving me something to bitch about if I really wanted to bitch.

Singe said, “He is this way because it is morning.”

She had a point. It was way early. And I couldn’t blame my situation on anybody but me. Nobody dragged me out this time. I did it to myself.

I shivered. I hadn’t shaken that yet. And I heard the whispering of the damned, in relaxed moments, from far, far off in my mind.

After I ate I checked the weather.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was blinding bright out. Pedestrians slogged through half a foot of slush, carefully. The ice hadn’t gone away. Scavengers were gathering fallen branches for firewood.

I retreated to the Dead Man’s room. The contrast in light levels left me blind.

How is your breathing?

Startled, I realized I was breathing on my own.

Be cautious. You are but a third of the way recovered. You have no wind. It will be days yet before you dare strain yourself.

“No running or fighting?” Maybe the samsom weed was why I couldn’t stop shivering.

Nor anything else you indulge in that causes an increased heart rate.

“Oh.”

Psychic snicker.

“Then you’d better scare the redhead off if she comes around. Because I don’t have a surplus of self-discipline where she’s concerned. Hey! Where’s my pal Bittegurn?”

I sent him back to his temple to recover the firestone.

That didn’t sound like the smartest move. “Think he’ll bother to come back?”

He will return. He is convinced that he has found a way to make the big score that has been the secret goal of his life.

“I feel you wanting to crow. What did you do? Crack that last shell inside his head?”

Exactly.

“So how much stroking will I need to do to get you to tell me about it?” I shuddered, the worst fit of shivering yet. “Did you do that?”

Did I do what?

“I’ve been shivering since last night. But this was worse. A completely creepy feeling for a second. That feeling people get when they say somebody walked over their grave. It wasn’t the first time, either. And I hear things. Whispers. That are just a hair too far off to make out. So. What did you get from BB?”

The connection. No. A connection.

“With what?”

Between the excitement in the underworld and the Ymberian question.

“Huh? No. There isn’t any connection. There can’t be.”

Historically, there is. However, you are correct in thinking that there is not one now. Not directly. None of those ambitious felons out there, eager to take possession of Chodo Contague, are aware that while he was establishing himself, he rented muscle from the cult of A-Laf. They did great violence that could not be traced back to him. For his part, he later provided similar services to the aggressive faction now controlling the cult. You will remember Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler.

“You got all that out of Brother Brittigarn?” I shivered, just remembering Crask and Sadler. Being glad that those two were among the angels now. Because, in their time, they’d been much worse than Merry Sculdyte. Much more in my face, far more often.

Idid. That is, he knew the secret history of the A-Laf cult well enough to let me fill the gaps. He did not know the name of the TunFairen criminal captain whose blood money financed the growth of the cult. But what he knew made it obvious that Chodo Contague must be that hidden ally. I expect Mr. Contague would be considerably nonplussed to discover what his assistance has made possible.

“No shit.”

Excellent thinking.

“What?”

You were thinking that it might be useful to see Mrs. Claxton again and interview her from a new perspective.

“Yeah? Yeah! I’m so clever.” I shuddered again, again stricken by that totally creepy feeling that made the chills worse than ever. The whispers were almost intelligible. I had a notion that it would not be good to really understand.

Got that this time. Ugh. I should have seen it.

“You going to fade into one of your mystery moods while I figure it out for myself?”

Not this time. It would be too dangerous to wait that long. The mood you feel, the whispers you hear, are caused by the nickel jackal idols. They came here fully charged with pain and misery and madness. All that has begun to boil off. Someone did not reseal the box properly.

“Begun? This has been going on since they dragged those things in here. I just didn’t make the connection.” I began to have trouble breathing. But none whatsoever shivering.

No need to get upset.

You can’t breathe, maybe you do need to fuss.

I stared at that damned box. The lid was closed. But it hadn’t been nailed down tight.

A baby cat trotted in, headed my way, bounced, landed in my lap. It made itself at home. But it stared at that box, too. With an intensity suggesting that it saw things invisible to me.

Much better.

“What?”

You are calmer now. Once you are comfortable with it, nail that box shut.

“Sure. I’m a rock.” But he was right. The panic was gone. The whispers had receded. My hands weren’t trembling. “How much longer is this going to last?”

That cannot be predicted. It may become necessary to catch this Kolda and make him tell us about samsom weed. I do not want to deal with flashbacks and seizures indefinitely.

“Yeah? Consider my point of view.”

Ah.

“Ah? Ah, what?”

The rumor of your imminent demise may be about to pay dividends.

“I am on my way,” Singe said, heading for the front door. A moment later I heard Scithe talking, though I couldn’t make out individual words. Singe came back to report. “That was a Watchman. He wanted to know if it was true about you. I said yes. On inspiration, I told him you had been forced to take a poison Teacher White got from somebody named Kolda.”

Idid not cue her, Chuckles informed me. She thought of that herself.

“Good going, Singe. They’ll round them all up.”

Singe puffed up with pride.

No time for patting one another on the back. Garrett, you need to be in bed, dying.

“Block is at the Cardonlos place, eh?”

It seems logical. I believe he is. Mr. Scithe suspects he is, though he has not seen the Colonel. He was sent here because of his ignorance. But he is brighter than they suspect. He believed his real task was to find out if I am awake. He will report that he found nothing suspicions.

Block being Block, that would be suspicious. “They’ll think you messed with his head, then.”

Not amusing. Go be sick.