Whispering Nickel Idols

66

The Dead Man heard my thinking about the Bledsoe and whispering nickel idols. Creative. Consider deep-sea disposal. With the charged jackals sealed into slow-rusting containers. The idols would discharge their darkness very slowly, down in the darkest deep.

That was supposed to be a joke.

We could call that part of the ocean the Depths of Despond.

“I got it. We’d have a lot of depressed fish. Not to mention the big uglies that live down there. Picture a school of really cranky krakens.”

An interesting fabulation. But I have another concern. One we can discuss with Colonel Block once our present troubles clear.

“Yeah?”

Two things concern me.

“Is this an auction?”

Three things. But your attitude, like the disposal of the nickel jackals, can abide a less stressful moment.

I figured staying quiet would cause him to get to the point.

It worked. He felt impelled to fill the vacuum. First, the child, Penny Dreadful, has not responded to the seeds I planted in her mind. Second, we have had no contact with Miss Winger for several days.

“You gave her work?”

I did. As mentioned. I have her examining Mr. Temisk’s back trail.

“You paid her up front?”

A percentage.

“Big mistake. She won’t turn up till she thinks you’re asleep. Then she’ll try to con me about something you supposedly promised her.”

You are too cynical. But we will table that, too. Singe’s brother approaches. His thoughts are veiled, but he is troubled.

I opened the door. The snow hadn’t let up. John Stretch looked as miserable as a ratman can get.

“In, brother,” I told him. “That’s incredible.”

“It is like nothing my folk remember. Some wonder if stormwardens are not feuding.”

Singe met us at the door to the Dead Man’s room. She had hot cocoa for her brother.

“How about it, Old Bones? Is this weather natural? Is there any precedent?”

There is no obvious storm sorcery. Yes, there have been worse snowfalls. But Mr. Pound did not come here for small talk about snowfalls. Mr. Pound?

John Stretch shook like a dog drying off.

“Creepy, ain’t he?”

“Some. But he is correct. I came to report that there is war in the streets.”

I considered a crack about a chance to get rich selling snowshoes to the combatants. Hush. This will be important.

“Who’s fighting?”

“The Syndicate. The part that belongs to Rory Sculdyte. And the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security. They hit the Sculdytes hard, everywhere, at the same time.”

I was surprised Relway had started so soon. Though, surely, he’d had plans roughed in ahead. He thought that way.

“I expected something. But not so soon.”

“They have killed most of the Sculdyte crew. Rory and Merry and a few others have escaped, so far.”

The Palms was boarded up. Had Morley gone underground?

You are correct. We must be on guard. The Sculdytes could make a connection between us and their parlous circumstance. And you were seen entering with Mr. Temisk and Mr. Contague. If they were recognized, we will draw a great deal of interest.

“Count on Mr. Mulclar. Dean. How are we fixed for supplies? Honestly.”

It seemed we were good as long as we could survive without stewed apples and beer.

We couldn’t hold out forever, though. And forever wouldn’t be long enough if Block and Relway wanted to root us out. Assuming they survived their current adventure.

Aloud, I wondered, “Do you suppose they went now because they’d have a better chance of getting away with it in this weather?”

Given the devotion of Mr. Relway’s department, the weather should prove an advantage. News will be slower to reach those inclined to interfere. People who are loath to get their feet cold or wet. Colonel Block and Director Relway are bright enough to recognize a window of opportunity. But that is their crusade. Ours is… I am no longer certain what ours is. The adventure has been exciting but anticlimactic.

I was no longer sure, myself. I’d done my bit for Chodo but didn’t feel I’d discharged my debt. I hadn’t rescued him. Harvester Temisk had enjoyed more success, though not yet as much as he’d wanted.

I hadn’t done well with the Green Pants Gang, either. Though any threat they’d posed had been negated. The Watch knew them now.

They came to TunFaire in quest of converts and wealth. They will not create a bigger Ymber now. Inadvertently, they may cause considerable good. All because Dean was a pushover for a girl with sad eyes and a sadder story.

“We still need to talk to that kid. She might be a villain herself.”

An interview should prove instructive. Particularly if she approached Dean in hopes of provoking exactly what has happened. She could be using us to fight A-Lat’s war with A-Laf.

That would mean Penny Dreadful carefully figuring us out before she conned Dean into taking care of a bucket of kittens. You hate to think a kid that young could be so calculating.

“Having any luck working the kinks out of Chodo’s mind?” I knew he’d planned to try.

There has been little opportunity. The deacon is a multiple-mind project himself. He possesses secrets, still. For example, why a firestone would have been slung at you or The Palms. Neither of our guests sees the sense, but both believe the deed must have been done by one of their own. No one else had access to the stones. They are kept in the heart of A-Laf’s temple.

“Yet our boy here had one in his pocket. And Temisk bought flake as a pharmaceutical and a murder weapon.”

Even among true believers there is corruption.

“And the sky is blue on a sunny day.”

More cynicism.

“Always. Rooted deeply in everyday observation.” I chuckled. The Ymberian deacon had become a gathering point for kittens. He wasn’t pleased. But the more furious he became, the more cats arrived.

He may suffer a stroke.

“Good old apoplexy. That would save some trouble.”

You need something to occupy you.

Oh-oh. Smelled like a job assignment creeping up. “I was thinking about going over to check on Tinnie.”

And I was thinking you might prepare a report on the Tersize Granary for Mr. Relway and Colonel Block.

“Redhead trumps. Have Singe do it.” Those guys were busy, anyway.

He didn’t like my idea. Singe was too slow.

Singe didn’t like it, either. It would get in the way of her quest to get rid of the beer supply.

“Too bad pixies can’t write.”

Pshaw!

The wee folk were in semihibernation because of the weather. Even Melondie Kadare, now, despite her determination to support Singe in her mighty quest, had been put away at the insistence of her family.