Wicked Bronze Ambition

21

Though we were doing things the Orthodox way, at least by pretense, we had not held a wake for Strafa. Shadowslinger wanted to wait till after the funeral. I announced it there, before I broke down, as cemetery employees sealed the tomb. I wanted everyone to come to Strafa’s place. We would enjoy a banquet in her honor and share some memories.

It wasn’t something I expected to be a draw. My expectations were in error, maybe because Barate circulated vigorously, issuing personal invitations.

He spoke directly to such luminaries as Belinda Contague and General Block, people I expect Constance Algarda might consider potentially useful in the war she was about to launch.

I’ve never quite been a lone wolf-being the face and fist and punch absorber of the Garrett investigative empire-but I’ve seldom gone after anything as part of a mass movement, either. I like being my own boss. However, Shadowslinger was doing the shot-calling today. She meant to get every swinging blade she could hacking at the air.

The house seemed a great cold hollow shell without Strafa there. Her two regular servants, assisted by her grandmother’s pair and several borrowed from Morley Dotes’s restaurants-whence had come the food as well- created a reception that was surprisingly upbeat.

I stayed busy greeting commiserating mourners, me, Barate, and Kevans gripping hands gently and accepting condolences spoken softly, with Shadowslinger nowhere to be seen. She saw selected mourners in the library, individually, as Bonegrinder or Moonblight delivered them.

The old horror could be doing that for show. Kyoga Stornes hovered near the library door. He picked at a plate of canapes while he kept watch. He was not good at disguising what he was doing.

Shadowslinger was fishing while trying to forge deadly alliances.

During a quiet moment Barate told me, “I think she’s about to quit coasting on her reputation.”

“Scary thought.”

“You can’t imagine. Hello, thank you for coming. Garrett, this is Moonslight, Tara Chayne’s sister, Mariska. Mariska, this is Strafa’s husband. And you know Kevans, of course.”

“Of course.” The woman offered me a hand while sizing me up more blatantly than her sister had. She did not need to explain that “Tara Chayne and I are twins.” I wasn’t so sure about “But I’m the hot one. Got to go.”

Moonblight was headed our way like a tornado-spawning thunderstorm.

Kevans told me, “They don’t get along.”

“I picked up on that, kiddo. Not completely senile yet. Looks like Kip is about to head out. You maybe ought to say good-bye.”

“Yeah. I should.”

She made it sound like forever lurked in the back of her mind.

We had no customers. Barate and I could talk. He said, “That boy is thicker than a paving brick.” Meaning Kip Prose had no clue that his longtime best friend, who was a girl, was just as much taken by him as was his girlfriend, Kyra, a fact that even Kyra suspected.

“He doesn’t think of Kevans as a girl.” I sneaked a sideways glance, thinking he might have some feelings about his daughter’s infatuation. I saw nothing but parental concern.

“I won’t touch it, Garrett. It’ll be one of those Daddy-don’t-see things.”

Kip had a mother out there somewhere. She did not participate in his life except to enjoy the allowances he provided. I was more of a parent, which was scary. Mostly that meant he was raising himself. “That sounds like the best plan. He wants us to think he’s a grown-ass man. Let’s treat him like one till he asks for help.”

Barate grunted. “Not exactly what I was thinking.” Since his stake in the matter was his daughter, not Kip. He was about to tell me something when Tara Chayne beckoned.

Time for him to go be Constance’s boy instead of Kevans’s dad.

I stood around looking dull and feeling like a dim candle, watching my friends stuff their faces and fill their pockets. Staffers and servers pretended not to notice.

They would stock up on leftovers themselves, later, if there were any.

All afternoon, despite all else, either Morley Dotes, Penny, or Pular Singe was somewhere close by, in case I began to demonstrate erratic behavior. Singe and Penny were fiercely uncomfortable in this venue.

I felt plenty of out-of-place myself.

Pockets full, my friends began to move on once the rain slackened.

I considered heading for Macunado Street myself, come the end of the day. I could just run back to my old life. There would be less pain in my old familiar places. Barate could go back to the mansion he’d had to leave a year ago. Plus, at the old place I could have my business partner manage, reshape, or even suppress the emotions threatening to destabilize me now.

I shunned considering the broader situation, instead investing my time in feeling sorry for myself.

Barate returned. “Time to talk to the dragon.”

“Huh?”

“She wants to see you.”

I pulled a face.

“It’s probably not what you think. She probably wants to ask you not to sell this place because of the family history here. Strafa was born here. So was Kevans.”

“Sell it? How could I do that?”

“We made it over to you and Strafa after you announced the engagement.”

I gulped some raw air and chewed. For somebody in my racket that flashed a big ugly red flag. Motive. A mansion high on the Hill, where the heavyweights live, is worth more than I can imagine. And my imagination has fiddled some seriously big numbers.

“But. .” I might have heard someone tell me the place was mine without having listened. I was not attentive to the exterior world lately.

“Strafa didn’t tell you?”

“She did not.”

“That’s my little girl. Probably didn’t consider it worth mentioning.”

Probably. Strafa never had much interest in wealth. Her wants were never large. She never encountered a situation where she couldn’t just buy whatever she wanted.

I oozed into the library. Shadowslinger shifted her bulk, turned her massive face my way, smiled hungrily.

Barate said, “Mother feels that it is time to get to work. As soon as your guests leave.” Hint, hint.

“I’ll deal with that.”