Wicked Bronze Ambition

22

The overworked staff, while polite, did nothing to encourage anyone to linger. Only Winger and Saucerhead Tharpe were still underfoot and still eating. Neither Penny, Singe, nor Morley quite counted as guests.

I told Singe, “Go if you want. It’s going to get boring now.” Her brother had left long ago, unable to stand the company of so many humans.

“I do not want. This is family. I will be here for the planning and there for the kill.”

I glanced at Penny. As the priestess of a cult now numbering just one, she was tough and fierce. As a girly girl she was timid. She had her angry fangs out right now. “I’m not going home by myself.”

No need to look at Morley. He would become my shadow.

Winger and Saucerhead, stomachs and pockets bulging, finally took the hint. Strafa’s kitchen and household staff, Race and Dex, saw them off. Those old boys were a couple. I found them creepy but not because of their orientation. They made me think of zombies.

“You’ll find those two quite frugal,” Barate told me as I returned to the library, indirectly suggesting that they be kept on the payroll. They might be third cousins, or something.

“You want this all back? I’ll do a quit claim.”

“This is you and Strafa now.”

The fat lady nodded.

The Algardas were the weirdest family I’d ever encountered, the full details not germane. And I was a made member of the tribe.

Shadowslinger offered no objection when Morley, Penny, and Singe entered the room behind me. They were family hangers-on now, because they came with me.

While I was out, Kyoga, Bonegrinder, and the Machtkess sisters had moved in, as had Kevans. The room was tight and getting hot. Shadowslinger grew more pungent as the temperature rose. The smell made my eyes water.

Barate said, “Huddle up. Move your chairs into a circle. We’ll brainstorm.” He gestured impatiently at Kevans and Penny to join the grown-ups.

The family talent for sorcery had skipped Barate, but he had other skills. He shared the olive coloring of his mother. Like her, he was built wide, but his wide hadn’t gone to fat. He could pass as a thug, and had done thug work for the family. He had scars as souvenirs of the Cantard War, where he had done two tours.

He had done no muscle work lately. Strafa hadn’t been that kind of girl, and Grandma was retired. But he was set for a vengeance run now.

Shadowslinger’s beefy lips spread in a sneer when I settled into the chair she had saved for me, next to her. She had fun creeping me out.

Strafa had been convinced that the old witch loved me and was thrilled to have me join the tribe. Maybe. I hadn’t been hung from a meat hook yet.

Barate said, “We’ve had time to vent our emotions. Now let’s get rational and start the hunt. All yours, Garrett.”

“Huh?”

I do have the occasional profound intellectual moment.

“You’re the professional. This is what you do. Tell us what our parts will be.”

“Oh.” Numb pause. Was he making fun? Shadowslinger had given assignments the other day. “Let’s hear what you all did the last two days.”

That turned out to have been a big lot of nothing, which was the case with me, too. I hadn’t found the ambition to start. But they supposedly had resources I couldn’t even imagine, emotional and otherwise. I grumbled, “I’ve never had me for a client before.”

“Worst client ever,” Morley predicted, his pointy elf teeth all a-glitter.

“Probably true. When you’re self-employed your boss is almost always a slave-driving dick.”

Singe snorted. My custom, historically, was to quiver a finger only when starvation threatened. Her genius kept the Macunado house afloat.

“All right,” I said. “I talked tournament with my partner the other night, before what happened happened. He told me to take it to the Guard. They have the manpower resources. Plus, just word getting out that the Guard is interested could put the quietus on the whole damned project.”

“An incorrect estimate, apparently,” Richt Hauser observed.

“He’s only right most of the time. But. . How would the tournament have gone in your day if there’d been police like we have now?”

Silence till Moonblight opined, “It would have happened anyway, but the game would have been harder to play.”

“And deadlier,” her sister said. “Some Champions wouldn’t have scrupled about killing tin whistles who got in the way.”

True then, maybe. Not many villains today were likely to see red tops as disposable annoyances, though. Deal Relway had earned his reputation.

Shadowslinger grunted, stabbed an ugly finger at Barate. He said, “The Guard does enjoy a numerical advantage. They may be able to root out the Operators in no time. And the men in charge aren’t devoted to formalities or individual rights for actual bad guys.”

I chirped, “They now have on staff people able to cope with the likes of Dread Companions. Assuming I understand what those actually are.”

I wasn’t the most popular guy for having brought that up. It suggested that there might come a day when the Guard’s wizard teams, working like an orchestra, could handle the mega monsters of the Hill. Hill folks already had their knickers in a twist because the Crown and Guard insisted that they meet behavioral standards expected of ordinary folks.

Barate said, “Mother and I agree that alerting the Guard was sound strategy. The Operators will have to work slower and more carefully. That should give us more time. But did the Guard believe you, Garrett?”

Relway had been intrigued before Strafa was attacked. “Yes. They haven’t found anything useful yet, though, according to General Block. What happened couldn’t be personal. Strafa got along with everybody and she had no secrets.” She had been too open, I thought, glancing from Barate to Kevans.

Singe got up. She couldn’t stand a human chair for long. She was bold enough to speak in front of those people, most of whom probably considered her clever vermin. “In the interest of narrowing possibilities, would anyone profit from Strafa’s death?”

“It is the tournament,” Bonegrinder said. “The tournament and only the tournament. No one bore that child any ill will.”

“That is not what I asked. We have established that Strafa was an idol.”

Shadowslinger stirred beside me. “No. That is not it.” Something had been going on with her, quietly, the past few minutes. Her outer apparel had grown darker. It moved in breezes that touched nothing else. Foul smells leaked out. A massive hand encrusted in ugly jewelry reached toward me. “You aren’t looking at this the way you should.”

For one mad instant it felt like she was channeling the Dead Man. “How is that?”

“You’re ignoring what happened before whatever happened out front.” She had the devoted attention of everyone shoehorned into the room.

She opened her hand.