Wicked Bronze Ambition

107

I stared at Strafa for several minutes. Inspiration did not come in a flash. It was more like a slowly developing infection. “Where were you supposed to take her? And how were you supposed to get her there?”

Mikon D. took a while because he hadn’t visited the place himself but eventually had me picturing the shack where Moonblight and I spent the night on the floor. Bezma meant to conduct his ritual there, with help from Mikon and his hired hands.

“There’s supposedly another place if it’s needed.” Mikon didn’t know where that was, though. Considering Bezma’s jackleg style so far, it probably didn’t really exist.

The how for moving Strafa turned out to be the wagon previously used to haul plunder away from Flubber Ducky and Trivias Smith’s, which waited behind a big mausoleum nearby, positioned so it couldn’t be seen from the sextons’ shack. Mikon had been sent to get Strafa after off-loading the goods at the Hauser place.

“So, where does Bonegrinder fit?”

“Bonegrinder? He doesn’t. He’s one of Constance Algarda’s Breakers.”

“He owns that house. And he’s Orchidia Hedley-Farfoul’s uncle.”

“Meyness probably. . Maybe there’s some intent to misdirect, or to deceive by omission.”

No doubt.

“Meyness acted like he owned the place.”

I had seen no sign of recent visitors during my stay there.

Mikon said, “You need to decide what you want to do. Meyness will be racing midnight. If I don’t turn up in a reasonable time, he’ll know something went wrong. He’ll go with whatever backup he has planned. And he always has another plan.”

I glimpsed something sly peeping out the corner of Mikon’s downcast eyes. He was putting on a show of cooperation and contrition, but he hadn’t bailed on Meyness completely. The sneaky bastard had a faint hope left in keeping the faith.

“No way will I let you take my wife anywhere. But since you’ve had an epiphany and mean to dedicate the rest of your life to righteous works, I’m going to let you join the rush to drive a stake through the heart of the Tournament of Swords concept.”

All right. I didn’t say it quite so grandiloquently, but that’s what I meant. And I wanted to suggest that I wasn’t as clever as I pretended, which hasn’t ever been that hard to do. I wanted to get him thinking that he could manipulate me by pretending to go along to buy time.

He agreed without hearing specifics. Good thing, because I was woefully lacking on those and winging it completely.

“Let’s move, then.” Outside, I told Brownie, “Mikon says he’ll help us. You keep an eye on him anyway. If he does something suspicious, kill him and eat the evidence.”

The strays probably wouldn’t attack a human, but it couldn’t hurt to have the notion rattling around in Mikon’s head.

The dogs looked like they understood. Several sniffed Mikon like they were checking to see if he’d be tender and tasty or tough and stringy.

I grinned at the old watchman. He kept a straight face. “I want the tomb closed up. Make any repairs that you have to. I also want to rent or borrow a coffin like the one that my wife is in.” Grin controlled, I asked Mikon, “Meyness wouldn’t be familiar with Strafa’s coffin, would he?”

Mikon was puzzled. He lacked a ghost of a notion what I was thinking. I had only a ghost of a notion myself. It involved Morley Dotes and a recollection of a vampire we’d known. He and I were the only people living who knew what had happened.

Mikon and I collected the wagon. Me, he, and the watchman headed for the gatehouse, where I reminded Morley of the bad old days and offered my suggestion by implication. He got it, was amused, and said nothing to tip Mikon off.

After a liberal tip and my signature on a promissory note covering mausoleum repairs, Morley, Mikon, I, and my regular complement of mutts headed north, leading a covered wagon carrying a blanket-draped coffin. Though that did not have a glass top, it might pass for the one Strafa now called home.

The cemetery guys swore on God’s True Name that mausoleum repairs would commence immediately in the morning. One lone mention of Shadowslinger was encouragement enough for those old men.

We were half a mile from our destination when Pular Singe and Dollar Dan Justice materialized, apparently having lain in wait.

“For three minutes, maybe,” Singe said. “No longer.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d be coming past here?”

“Rat rumor,” Dan said. “We asked where you were. Regular rats reported a rough track. This seemed like a good place to wait.”

I didn’t buy it. I smelled a high bull dung content that suggested a new level of secret rat powers. That couldn’t be anything but propaganda.

Singe, though, said nothing to undermine the scam.

Mikon boggled at rat folks acting like they were real people but steadfastly ignored the suggestions of rat magic.

“All right. I get it. How doesn’t matter. What’s happened?”

Singe is never deeply shy about delivering bad news. What has to be done has to be done. “Barate Algarda, Kyoga Stornes, Richt Hauser, that weird man Bashir, and Shadowslinger have gone missing.”

“They invaded Chattaree this afternoon. They went after Magister Bezma because of Feder and his friend. We were outside. It got exciting. There were earthquakes and clouds of poison dust. We decided not to get involved. We’ll hear way more than we want after the Specials find us again.” Moonblight must have ridded me of all official tracking devices. It had been a while since I’d had tin whistles underfoot.

Mikon was aghast at the idea that anyone, even from the Hill, would invade the cathedral. He would be but one of thousands so shaken. The invasion would stir a huge uproar, possibly violence, and some pointed questions from the Director to everyone involved.

The Breaker side just might have included that in their calculations.

I asked, “What’s the disaster that I need to know about right away?”

“Sometime this afternoon, probably while you were at the cemetery, thugs invaded Shadowslinger’s house. They tore the place up, stole everything they could carry, killed Mashego, and kidnapped Kevans and Kip. Magister Bezma led them. The sorcery holding off the private watchmen caused widespread property damage. Mashego killed four raiders and wounded so many others that the survivors weren’t able to take their dead away.”

“Kevans and Kip? Kidnapped?” I hadn’t considered that possibility. How would Bezma know that Shadowslinger wasn’t there? Or had he just assumed that she was still in a coma? “What about the bodyguards who were supposed to be protecting Kevans?”

Embarrassed, Dollar Dan admitted, “They were not there. She ordered them to go away, they were fired, she did not want their ugly asses underfoot anymore, she did not want to see any of them ever again-no more than an hour before the bad guys turned up. They are back on the job, strongly reminded that she is not their employer, and are looking for her.”

How would a kidnapping fit in with the concept of a tournament? I glared at Mikon.

Mikon appeared one hundred percent chagrined. “I don’t know anything about that. Meyness was supposed to be setting up for the Ritual.”

“You know who we’re talking about?”

“I do. Their names head Meyness’s list of most-wanted gamers.”

“And if he had done his research, he’d know that neither kid has any supernatural powers.”

“But. .” He didn’t believe me. Or didn’t want to believe me. “The girl is the daughter of Furious Tide of Light! The boy conjures all those incredible inventions. He has to be tapped into another world.”

“The girl has no talent except being inventive. More so than the boy does because she does know about sorcery even though she has no aptitude for it. The boy has to be smacked in the chops with the supernatural just to recognize it. But if it’s something mechanical. . He thinks stuff up. He and the girl refine it.”

Kip’s best friend who was a girl but not his girlfriend, to her dismay, was his female mirror image, often more clever creatively.

I said, “I presume we know where to find our people.”

Dan said, “Mud Man and Wiley Baw are on that.”

“Good. I was on my way to see Magister Bezma, anyhow. Now he has me motivated. And, since his name came up, what’s Mud Man’s story for this afternoon?”

We resumed moving with no course adjustment. John Stretch would be waiting up ahead with word about any changes in what we needed to do.