Wicked Bronze Ambition

79

Target and three battered friends came to the foot of my steps. Target’s eyes were up high enough to see Brother Tentacle’s remains. “Damn, that thing was ugly. Tough, too. We barely slowed it down.”

“How did this happen, then?”

“Some little old granny lady. . Never seen nothing like it. Hell, I couldn’t see her at all, most of the time. There was just flashing steel and flying blood and screams in the street, like a bow wave headed here. Which ended with this mess. I only saw her clear for a couple seconds. She just stood there staring at your door. Then she sort of shimmered and went away again, leaving a couple more villains shorter by a head as she went. Very selective about who, too.”

“Sending a message.”

“She is for sure one seriously pissed-off old lady. I hope the Director don’t decide he’s got to hunt her down.”

“He wouldn’t be happy if he found her.” I looked to Moonblight for confirmation.

“Yes. Officer, do hope. Pray. That was the Black Orchid, come out of retirement.”

Target’s sudden pallor told us that he had been to that part of the world where the Black Orchid had made her name.

Moonblight continued. “She would be after Mariska. Thinking she might be here, but informed by your thing inside that she isn’t.”

So maybe Old Bones had gotten a little capacity freed up now. Or maybe he had let go of something else so he could deal with a deeper threat.

I said, “Folks, we need to get some more villains out of the house. Target. Buddy. I’ve got some more baddies for you. Some Scithe sent over. Some your boss sent. Some we caught on our own. They all have something to do with this creepiness. We don’t need them anymore. I’d be generally grateful, for minutes or more, if you could take them away.”

He sighed. “They’ll end up in the camps. Poor bastards. Most of them wouldn’t have gotten into this if they could’ve found any other work.”

A red top capable of sympathy and empathy? The wonders never cease. But, then, I was considering letting Niea skate. That poor bastard hadn’t done anything but his job.

Target told me, “Fine. I’ll take care of them. The Director will want to know what you got.”

“That was the deal.”

“In writing if you can. Memories are somewhat fallible.”

The Dead Man’s memory was perfect and it came with sounds and smells and kinesthetic cues. “I’ll ask Singe to create a report. But we’ve been out all day. It’ll take her a while just to catch up on her own stuff.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Do what you have to do. But don’t waste time. Things are moving fast.”

He had that right. Developments were coming faster than we could make sense of anything.

Target and his boys clambered over the dead thing, which seemed severely deflated now and already smelled like calamari gone bad. The Specials avoided physical contact while easing past Moonblight. I said, “The ones we need to move out are in the room behind the door on the right. The ones cringing at the end of the hall still need to be processed.”

The newest arrivals were crowded back close to the kitchen door. Dean blocked that line of retreat. At some point Penny had dashed back to post herself on the first step of the stairs, cutting off any flight upward.

I glanced back outside.

Moonblight was on the porch trying to get the dagger out of the demon’s eye, if demon the critter was. Conversationally, she said, “We need to pick up this mess, throw it in a big pot, and cook it down so there’s no chance it’ll death-spawn.”

“Is it female?”

“I don’t know. How do you tell? But why take the chance?”

“I got to admit, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“These things sometimes squirt out all their eggs if they die suddenly. Thousands of eggs that can hatch in hours. The hatchlings look like whiskery little yellow grubs. They feed on the carcass till they can get at something alive. Only a few will manage, but the ones that do will make like botfly maggots.”

Botflies I knew. Botflies I remembered. Ugly, ugly stuff. The god who thought those up was one twisted. .

I didn’t get the cooking part. I guess that would kill the larvae.

Some nobility types had gotten that treatment after they died in the field, so that their relics could be sent home for interment with family. Us ordinaries remained where we fell, of course. Unless we had friends who cared enough, and had time enough, to put us down deep enough so the scavengers couldn’t get us. Or, where there was wood to waste, they might burn us down to ashes and ghosts.

I wondered what the jackals and buzzards were doing now, in a time of famine. Waiting on each other to starve?

“Garrett? Are you there?” Target asked.

“I’m awake. I promise. What?”

“That’s Harmon Kolda in there. The poisoner. How did you catch him? We’ve been on the lookout for him for months.”

But not trying very hard, I didn’t say. Kolda ran a shop not far from Playmate’s stable. He had an apothecary sign outside with his name on it.

“The Director has always been interested in his client list.”

Harmon? Really? I couldn’t recall ever having heard Kolda called anything but Kolda, even by his wife.

“Sorry. He isn’t a prisoner. He’s a consultant. He’s helping treat a friend with cancer. Maybe he was in the poison racket one time. I keep hearing that. But he isn’t now. He makes good money as an apothecary.”

Target radiated a fog of skepticism.

“Anyway, the Guard’s writ doesn’t run to anything that happened before the Crown issued its charter. Right?”

“I never figured you for a barracks lawyer, Garrett. But I won’t argue.”

Yeah. If he really wanted Kolda, he could just wait outside. Kolda would head home eventually.

Maybe Target was really testing the Dead Man. He’d done a comedic double take when he got his first glimpse. Maybe he was trying to see if that lump of weird’s reputation was solid.

I looked over Target’s shoulder. And began to wonder if there was anything to the stories myself, in the sense that I couldn’t feel Old Bones at all.

I was concerned.

In modern Karentine that meant I was worried a whole lot.

We had worked through some grim times, off and on, but I couldn’t recall a time when there had been such an overwhelming demand, stressing his capacities and talents so severely.

He might be gone.

Gone in the sense that he was deeply asleep, recovering, not in the sense that he was gone gone, like into forever sleep.

I couldn’t see that coming up in my lifetime.

Target said, “If you insist I’ll just be too busy to notice the poisoner in the back.”

“Thank you, sir.” And cut it off there, with no sarcastic color commentary. “Maybe you’d better take the rest of these bums, too. The ones in the hall that I was going to hang on to. My partner is out of it now. We can’t do anything with them. He used himself up on that thing on the stoop.”

Which was the undecorated truth, as far as I knew, but Target was skeptical. I repeated Moonblight’s suggestion about cooking the thing down. He was skeptical some more, but less so. He had seen some stuff in his day, too. “I’ll see to it.” Still. .

There seemed to be a fundamental assumption underlying Civil Guard culture: If Garrett is talking, he’s telling a tall one.

I know. They feel that way about all civilians. But it’s just not fair in my case. They’re wrong at least forty percent of the time. They should consider each statement on its own merits and in its own context.

Target eased past Moonblight so he could lean out and yell for more men, which made me real nervous. How did I make a big crowd go away, once it got in, without Old Bones to back me up?

Renewed thumping came from my old office. Something like an elephant gargling gravel bellowed a curse. It shook dust off the ceiling.

Singe leaned through the doorway to her office. “You want to do something about that?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Think!”

“Not part of my skill set. Tara Chayne? How about you? Anything you can do?”

“I’ll try. Give me a minute. I’m working on calming down. I still can’t believe Mariska did that! All our lives I’ve made allowances and excuses and covered for her. I’ve even bought people off for her. Then she goes and sends her favorite familiar after me. Her practically godsdamned diabolical supernatural husband thing, K’thool Hoo C’Thug himself! Damn her, I’ve had it! Sister or not, twin or not, I’m not going to pretend to be blind this time!”

Renewed, ever more vigorous thumping and cursing came from the room where Vicious Min was, apparently, trying to get onto her feet and back into the business of whatever her business was.

Still muttering, Moonblight headed off north to slay that particular giant.