Whispering Nickel Idols

52

The wind was no longer as wicked. It was behind us now. And I was too wiped out to be distracted by externals. I couldn’t focus on much but hunger and wanting to get back to bed.

Nevertheless, that old Marine training persisted. “See the waif beside the steps down there?”

“Yes. That the kitten girl with the mighty name?”

“The very one.”

“She don’t look like a princess.”

“How do I convince her she doesn’t have to be afraid?”

“Get the eunuch operation?”

“Come on, Tinnie.”

“I love you, buddy. But love doesn’t have to be blind. She’s female. She’s old enough to stand on her own hind legs. Which means she’d better not get close enough for you to do your helpless little-boy routine.”

Story of my life. They want to mother me instead of let me treat them badly, Morley Dotes style.

“You’re too young and beautiful to be so cynical.”

“You might wonder who made me that way.”

“I will. When I find out who she is, I’ll give her a piece of my mind.”

“Sure you can spare it?”

We were home. She whacked on the castle gate. I puffed and panted. The long climb up left me without wind to argue.

I swear, there were still echoing whiffs of Mulclar swirling round the stoop.

Singe opened up. Tinnie handed me over. “Give him lots of water, some broth, and let him nap. I’ll be back.” She returned to the street. Singe didn’t give me time to thank her.

The Dead Man demanded, Do you have something to report?

“Save time. Do it the easy way.” I settled into my chair, halfheartedly trying to remember when we’d shed all our guests.

I felt him stir the sludge inside my head. I went to sleep. After what didn’t seem like thirty winks, I woke up to a meal set up on a small table beside me. Singe ambled in from up front, where she had admitted a snow-encrusted redhead.

I said, “I thought you went home.”

Tinnie frowned. Then, “No. I went to talk to the princess.” She didn’t sound like she was awash in sympathy for Penny. “She’s as stubborn as a rock. She won’t come over and get warm.”

I asked, “She sat still? She talked to you?”

“She didn’t feel threatened.”

“What’s her problem?”

“She’s the last one standing, Garrett. She’s still a kid. But she saw her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother murdered. By men.”

“Men in green pants, not harmless little fuzz balls like me.”

“Men. That’s the point. The A-Laf cult. Which, the way she tells it, is a lot nastier than we imagined. They think women are evil. That they’re fit only to be breeding slaves.”

I sensed faint but constrained mirth. “Careful, Old Bones. She’s wound up. And your attitude is pretty bad.”

“It isn’t his attitude I had in mind, big boy.”

Time for a change of subject. “Dean! Where are you? Bring something for Miss Tate. Singe, how about you help her with those wet things?”

Tinnie glared. I was being thoughtful.

The air of amusement grew. As I have observed previously, when you get hit hard enough for long enough, you do begin to learn.

Tinnie glowered.

Your visit with the girl was more productive than you think, Miss Tate.

He left it at that. Until Tinnie had eaten and warmed up and grown less cranky. Then he told us that Tinnie had distracted Penny enough for him to slip a couple of suggestions into her divine head.Icould not browse. The girl has been trained to recognize and resist a probe. Therefore, I fed what was there. Fear. Despair. Loneliness. And physical misery.

He didn’t share the latter with Tinnie, who was likely to turn all outraged.

She was still eating. And listening to Singe talk about chances for a bath followed by a long nap. Singe suddenly shut up, stood upright, and stared at the Dead Man with glazed eyes. Then she headed for the front door.

This should be interesting. He didn’t explain. Back to Penny Dreadful. The impulses insinuated should heighten the child’s entire range of emotion. We can expect her to look for emotional support.

It would behoove you to make sure that Dean does not leave the house before she cracks.