Wicked Bronze Ambition

72

We were near where Strafa died when I realized that I had called her mansion home. Well. Wasn’t that interesting?

Barate wasn’t there. I hadn’t expected him to be, but it made sense to check and not have to backtrack. Now we had to hope that he was at his mother’s place. We didn’t have time to hunt him down. If he wasn’t at Shadowslinger’s, I’d agitate for forgetting him.

We found Race and Dex in the kitchen. They lacked sufficient work. They were mildly pickled and had yet to think about starting their suppers. We warned them to look out for unfamiliar visitors. Tara Chayne told them to take our horses back to the stable where she had hired them.

We grabbed some small loaves of hard bread and traveled on.

Singe warned me, “The dogs are getting worn out.”

“So are mine.”

The joke didn’t work. Mine seldom do. My sense of humor doesn’t work for anybody but me. “They can drop out whenever they want. They can stay here, go back to the last place, or head for Macunado Street. Or they can even go back to the cemetery. Nobody is making them follow me.”

Tara Chayne blew out a couple of gallons of air in otherwise unregistered derision.

I tried to ask why, but she wasn’t inclined to be conversational. I had disappointed her. And we had reached Shadowslinger’s door.

Singe and Dollar Dan had to stay with the dogs but weren’t resentful. They were all allowed inside the entry foyer. Tara Chayne and I went to see the sorceress. I was anxious to move on along. It looked like it could rain later. Singe can have problems tracking in the wet.

Barate and Dr. Ted were in with Shadowslinger, who looked as awful as ever even in a coma. Both men seemed worn down but in good spirits. Barate volunteered, “She’s showing progress. She’s moving fingers and toes. She even opened her eyes once.”

Ted said, “She wasn’t seeing anything, though. Her pupils responded to light, but she didn’t track.”

Tara Chayne said, “You’re wasting too much worry on her, Barate. She’s indestructible. She’ll be back making us all miserable long before we’re ready. Probably by the weekend.”

“Harsh, but I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right. The only time I’m not right is when people don’t agree that I’m right. I’m still right then. I just lose an argument to a fool who isn’t. Garrett wants to tell you about our day.”

Not really, but I did so anyway, in detail, same as I would have with the Dead Man.

Barate announced, “I’m getting curious about that little girl. Tell me more about her.”

“There isn’t anything more to tell. Ted. Can Constance hear us?”

He shrugged. “I can’t get a response. But that might only mean that she can’t respond. Why?”

“Just curious.” Then I did try to tell Barate something else about the little girl, but I didn’t really have anything.

He mused, “That all sort of rings a bell somehow. I don’t know why. Windwalkers don’t go active that young. Strafa was precocious but she showed no promise till she hit menarche.” He grinned at Ted.

Ted said, “Look at you, using fancy words like you know what they mean.”

“He’s always had a knack for faking things.”

We all turned, startled.

Richt Hauser stood in the doorway, but he hadn’t spoken. Kyoga Stornes had, from behind him. Kyoga looked decidedly grim.

Barate asked, “Did something happen?”

Bonegrinder said, “We’ve been standing here listening.”

Both men came in. The room was getting tight. It threatened to get tighter. Mashego stood in the hallway, ready to do servant stuff if needed.

Then Tara Chayne said, “Those kids last night! Oh! Richt, I’m so sorry!”

So there I was, totally lost. Bonegrinder wasn’t married. I hadn’t heard about any illegitimate kids.

He was generous enough to explain. “The twins were my sister Margete’s grandchildren. We all doted on them.”

I hadn’t paid close attention but thought I’d heard that an allergy to marriage ran in the family.

Once again it appeared that failure to marry was no guarantee against catching parenthood.

Bonegrinder muttered, “Their mother will lose it. There’ll be hell to pay now.”

He didn’t explain. I didn’t understand but didn’t get a chance to ask.

Satisfied that I had gotten friends and family updated, Tara Chayne said, “I was hoping you would come with us when we go get Mariska, Barate. Kyoga, Richt, you’re welcome to join us. Kyoga? Are you all right?”

Pale, Barate’s friend had settled onto a chest. He sat there hunched over like a man suffering grievous stomach pains. He did not respond the first time Tara Chayne spoke to him.

“Kyoga Stornes.” She employed a distinct Hill lord’s voice, arrogantly certain of its power and rights. “Speak to us.”

“Uh. . Uh. .” He was struggling with some huge conflict. “I don’t get it. It isn’t possible. I’ve got to be wrong. But what if I’m not? I can’t let Meyness. .” The battle was leaking now. It made no sense even with him trying to articulate it. Even Barate couldn’t guess what the hell his problem was.

Tara Chayne said, “Barate, I’ll defer to you. You’re the polished Kyoga-with-the-vapors wrangler. Do something.”

He had these fits all the time?

Sighing, Barate stepped over. He clapped a sympathetic hand on my right shoulder as he passed. We were now comrades in tragedy.

Ted eased closer to Shadowslinger. I did so, too, feeling slightly odd. Not that long ago I’d spent days that seemed like months sitting watch over Morley while he was in a coma. Now my grandmother-in-law was roaming the twilight between here and the other side. Another creature, in a similar state, lay in the house on Macunado, in the very room where Morley had begun his recovery.

Too many people I knew were hanging around death’s doorstep lately, after too many others had gone on through already.

Barate gripped Kyoga’s shoulder the way he had mine. He squeezed hard.

Kyoga barked, “Hey! Barate! What the hell?”

“Come back to the land of the living. Let us in on the secret.”

“Secret?”

“What the drama stylings are all about.”

Kyoga looked around like he was suspicious about finding himself with all of us.

“What was that all about?”

“You didn’t get it? You really didn’t feel it? Tara Chayne. . Didn’t you have a thing with my father when you were Feder’s age? About the time when you were involved in your own Tournament of Swords?”

This was the first I’d heard about that. She denied it. “That was Mariska. She’s had round heels since she was twelve. . Oh. Oh my God!” Her eyes grew improbably huge, or so it seemed because normally she tended to squint. “No way! That’s just plain freaking impossible! Meyness died in the Cantard!”

Dr. Ted looked as lost as I felt. Barate and Bonegrinder looked stricken numb, and, watching from outside the doorway, Mashego definitely looked bewildered.

“You’re right.” Tara Chayne shuddered dramatically. “It was him! It is him! Why didn’t I see that?”

“Maybe because he’s forty-some years older and everybody knows he’s napping six feet down a thousand miles away from here?”

Tara Chayne went on working it out for herself. “They never sent a body back, but we all knew he was dead! And yeah, he is an old man now. And a priest. But the wen. . Gross. It should have made me think. But back then it wasn’t much more than a birthmark and he kept it covered with his hair or a hat.”

All right. I saw the shocker now. We all did. Our pal Magister Bezma could be Kyoga’s missing papa, Meyness Bismar Stornes.

Bonegrinder blurted, “The priest who warned you off the tournament because he has Mariska. . He’s Meyness?”

Kyoga launched the perfectly reasonable and critical question, “If that priest really is my dad. . why the hell hasn’t he been in touch?”

Moonblight assured him, “We’ll ask him about that, Kyoga.” She went silent. We all did. Constance made some kind of weird noise. It might have been her stomach commenting. Moonblight moved to where she could stare down at Shadowslinger, thoughtfully. “I wonder. . No. Can’t worry about that now. Let’s go get my sister. That would be the biggest inconvenience we could offer the Operators.” She shoved through the crowd. “Garrett. Come on. Who else is with us?”

Everybody, initially. Even Dr. Ted, after tarrying to instruct Mash and Bash, both of whom had collected in the hallway outside Constance’s bedroom.