Wicked Bronze Ambition

41

Brownie and crew were not fond of rat people. Dollar Dan and his pals felt the same about dogs. Good thing those mutts weren’t rat terriers.

The tribes came to a silent accommodation. Brownie and Number Two got to stick to me, at their usual posts. The other two ranged ahead, in nervous pairings with a brace of young bucks far too proud of their gang connections. They put on way too much swagger.

I cautioned Dollar Dan.

“They have to learn the hard way.”

John Stretch was a power only inside his own community. Plenty of beetle-brow humans would not be intimidated, regardless. The possibility that they should be would be beyond their ability to grasp.

The boys didn’t learn their lesson while I watched. We ran into no one inclined to teach them.

We did collide with some attitude, though.

A fat man about forty, wearing the cap of the disbanded City Watch, intercepted us soon after we passed the bounds of the Hill, a private security type. He was shorter than me, sloppy because a master tailor would not be able to make clothing flatter his shape, and maybe a little dangerous in the way that Saucerhead Tharpe is dangerous.

He looked like a guy you could hammer on all you wanted and he would keep on keeping on, with no skill but definitely with a long supply of stubborn. He did not favor the presence of known felons within the bounds he was pledged to defend, his root assumption being that all rat people are criminals.

That stereotype isn’t far off the mark, actually. That’s how rat people have survived since their forbears escaped the laboratories where they were created.

I glanced past the man, who didn’t seem to understand that he was outnumbered, and, bam! There was the pretty blonde and her humongous friend, half a block ahead. She glanced our way, maybe startled. She said something to her companion. He scooped her up and headed out at a pace no horse could match.

“Who was that?” I asked the guard.

He scratched his head. “Who was who?”

Dollar Dan, his crew, and the girls had not missed the kid. Dan spoke softly. Two of his guys and Number Two scooted around the patrolman and sniffed for a trail.

I said, “This is good. This will get us somewhere.” Whistling in the dark in broad daylight.

Meanwhile, flustered, the patrol guy fussed and blustered. He left me no choice. “You got a problem with me, take it to my grandmother. Shadowslinger. She’ll satisfy your needs. She’s been thinking a lot about you people lately.”

Hardly fair of me, really.

He blanched.

The guards would know that the Algardas were looking for goats to roast because of Furious Tide of Light. More than one jaundiced, angry eye was focused on the overpaid muscle that had failed to protect her.

Shadowslinger had been sharpening her teeth in public.

The man in the retro hat stepped aside. “You shoulda said who you was, sir.” Feebly trying to salvage some face while sweating grease.

Yes. My Algarda connection was a tool I should remember to use.

Half a block later Dollar Dan said, “That fool made a good point. You should not hesitate to use the old witch’s name.”

“Old habits are tough to break.”

“Oh, do I not know the truth of that!”