Wicked Bronze Ambition

87

Tara Chayne pulled the bell chain beside Shadowslinger’s door. A weird shriek sounded on the other side. She didn’t wait for a response. She opened up and invited us in.

Mashego turned up as we were reorganizing in the foyer. She told us, “We were hoping you would come today. There is good news.”

I refrained from comment. Nothing good could come out of my mouth just now.

Tara Chayne asked, “That good news would be what?”

“The mistress is awake. It happened during the night.”

“Excellent.”

“However, she isn’t herself yet. She’s sitting up. She’s taking food and drink-plenty of both-but she is confused and has trouble communicating.”

Bashir joined us. “She doesn’t seem quite sure who she is or where. She has trouble talking clearly.”

I said, “Classic stroke stuff, then.”

“Yes. Dr. Ted concurs, with reservations.”

“Reservations?”

“He says there are anomalies. But that there always are. You’ll have to ask him about that.”

“I see.” I glanced at Tara Chayne. She didn’t appear as pleased as she might have been. Still, she was a sparkling fountain of positivism compared to her sister. For Mariska the news seemed bleak indeed.

Singe and Dollar Dan had no comment and, likely, didn’t care. They were flighty as dust motes in a sunbeam, in constant motion in relation to each other and Mariska, always making sure they were poised to counter anything she tried.

Their nostrils and whiskers, and their ears, twitched and flexed, twitched and flexed. I thought it reasonable to assume that they were catching sound and scent cues that said Moonslight was considering trying something the moment she thought she had a chance.

I faced Mariska, leaned in, looked her in the eye from bad-breath range. “Not a good idea to try right now.” Which startled her totally.

She had been so busy calculating that she hadn’t caught the cues she should have picked up from the rest of us.

One glance round showed her that escape wasn’t going to happen.

There was a noise out front, right on time. She looked hopeful for an instant, then lapsed into despair.

Moonblight demanded, “Really? You were thinking that way? Now? Under these. .?” Then she understood why her sister might take an idiot’s chance.

This was Shadowslinger’s hole-up. Shadowslinger was back. The old sow might be confused now, but how long would that last? How long before she remembered that her granddaughter had been murdered just down the Hill? How long before she heard that Mariska Machtkess had been in with one of the Operators?

I’d be desperate, too.

For no concrete reason, though, I was sure that Moonslight had had nothing to do with Strafa’s death. I was sure she knew no more about the murder than the rest of us did-despite her connections with the Operators.

I told Singe, “I just had an awful notion.” I grabbed Barate as he and Kevans came in quarreling, their timing perfect. “That was you two making the racket out there?”

“What?” he snapped. He was not in a good mood. Kevans was less so. Neither showed any improvement when Bashir told them that Shadowslinger had awakened.

I told anyone who cared to listen, “I just realized that, despite everything they’ve done to mess with us and hurt us, the Operators haven’t been acting like they were responsible for what happened to Strafa.” I laid a hard, fierce, pointed look on Mariska Machtkess and got enough force behind it to make her push back.

“He had nothing to do with what happened to Strafa.” “He” presumably being her clergyman boyfriend. “He was extremely unhappy about that. It meant that she couldn’t participate.”

Moonslight and I faced each other with people two-deep around us now. She continued. “He was sure his people were not involved. It would be stupid to eliminate Furious Tide of Light before the contest started.”

I had been thinking that for a while. “Why would Strafa even be picked when the tournament usually pulled in only young people?”

Mariska eyed me like she thought the Algarda family Mortal Companion had been stricken dim. She pointed at Barate, then Kevans, stealthily.

Oh. They had no talent to give up.

She went ahead and said it. “Furious Tide of Light was a Windwalker and more besides. She was a deep reservoir of power and talent. She never did figure out what all she could do. She wasn’t that interested.”

And, I suspected, she’d looked like an easy harvest.

She was always trusting and naive.

That could have been what got her killed. Not having the kind of mind that would be wary of someone rolling a big-ass siege engine up the street. I could see her watching somebody park and arm the ugly bastard without ever being more than child-curious until it was too late.

I said, “Barate, we need to get everybody together so we can share whatever we’ve found out. I haven’t gotten much. I kept nipping around the edges of the tournament thing. The villains kept coming at me from every angle.”

“Considering their success so far and the relentless interest of the Guard, they must be running short on dirty workers.”

Kevans’s mood did not improve. She was unhappy about everything. Plus, she’d had her nose rubbed in the fact that she had been passed over in favor of an old woman like her mother.

She was the new Algarda Champion, but one unsuccessful attack had convinced her that she wanted no part of the game. That had penetrated her shield of adolescent wishful thinking. That had gotten her attention where the murder of her mother had not.

Kevans felt compelled to say something. “I’m going to go check on Grandmother. Then I’m going to stay right here, with her, until this absurd shit is over.” Her glare dared anyone to disagree or to correct her language.

All she got was an explosive sigh of relief from her father.