Priests of a thousand cults proclaim the essential goodliness of Man. They must be fools. All I see is people flinging themselves at the chance to do evil.
I said a lot of that out loud. Winger told me, "You're depressing."
"So they tell me. If they run into me at a time like this. Afterwards. Hang around me much longer, you'll see me really black."
I wondered how black it would get. She had Carla Lindo's pack. She might get a notion to cash in off Eastermari.
I'm not sure where the idea came from. Maybe it was spur-of-the-moment. Maybe it was in there all along because the route I picked through the west end was not the fastest. Whatever, suddenly we were at the corner of Blaize and Eldoro. Across the way, alone, hunched, as though shunned by its neighbors, aware of that, cringing, stood a building of ocher brick. Most TunFaire brick is red. Smoke wisped from a stack. The idea hit me. "Come on over here."
I pushed through the front door of that place. A cowbell arrangement announced me. A wizened kobold appeared. A squirrel on two feet. His hands permanently washed one another over his heart. "How may I help you, sir and madam?" His smirk told us he knew. All his kind have a fawning companionship with death.
"I saw smoke from your chimney. You all fired up?"
Puzzled, he replied, "No sir. We keep the fire burning so we don't have to spend time preheating the kiln."
"Let me have the pack," I told Winger. She gave it up reluctantly. She was puzzled, too. She came from an area where they had few nonhumans. If she'd known what was up, she might have resisted. I told the kobold, "I want to run this through." I let him look at the pack.
"Sir?"
"I'll pay the usual fee."
"Very well, sir." Even kobolds don't usually argue with money, whether or not they understand. He reached for the pack.
"I'd rather send it off myself. So I'm absolutely sure. You know?"
"As you wish." He didn't move. Time to show him the color of my money. I did. He smiled, put it into a cash box that appeared magically, and disappeared even more quickly. He washed his hands some more, suggested, "If you'll follow me, then?"
"What the hell we doing, Garrett? What is this place? It has a weird smell."
"You'll see."
We went down a hall that passed between several small rooms. In one a kobold family kept vigil over an old, still form on a stone table. Winger got it then.
Many of the races, and even some humans, prefer not to bury their dead. The reasons vary. For kobolds and some others burial supposedly leaves the dead the option of getting up and walking again. Or so they fear. For us humans expense is usually the major consideration. TunFaire is short on cemeteries Burial ground is expensive.
The kobold took us to the kiln room. He shouted in his own language More kobolds, likely family, popped up, threw coal into the kiln's firebox, pumped bellows furiously. In seconds waves of heat beat at us.
"You're going to burn it?" Winger asked.
"Going to chuck it in there and cremate it. Won't be anything left but slag." It gets hot in those kilns. Has to, to reduce bone.
The little folk shoveled coal and pumped. The whole place got toasty warm. Winger argued with herself. She wasn't much at hiding her thoughts. "Garrett... I got to go outside. I can't handle the smell." It was a bit thick in there but she just needed an excuse to remove herself from temptation. If she could stand herself, she could stand a crematorium.
Soon enough the old kobold told me the kiln was ready. I wrestled with myself a little, finally managed to pin the dark side of me long enough. I tossed the bundle in onto the rack were they usually parked the bodies. I leaned my nose against a mica porthole and watched.
Carla Lindo's pack burned quickly, exposing the book. First time I'd seen it. It was pretty much as described, big, thick, bound in leather that went fast Its brass pages started to curl.
I'm sure it was imagination. I don't know what else it might have been But as those pages yielded to the fire I thought I heard tiny, distant screams. I thought I saw frantic shadows scurrying over the glowing coals.
48
I stepped out of the crematorium. "Well, that's the end of that A young couple passing spared a wide-eyed look for a goof who carried on conversations with thin air. I clammed. Winger wasn't there. I hung around half a minute, probably looking as silly as I felt. Then I shrugged. What the hell? She had work to do, Chodo's plunder to pawn while the pawning was good.
Now what?
I figured my best bet was to go home and catch up on my sleep. So naturally I decided to punish myself a little by delaying gratification. I headed for the Tate compound.
It would be just a quick stop, just a minute to see how Tinnie was doing. If I could weasel my way around the Tate at the gate After last night they'd be less friendly than ever
But they did let me inside. I did see Tinnie. She was all better, full of vinegar. The old redhead again. She put on a big, wicked grin and threatened to try visiting again, as soon as I did a little recovering myself. "You might even try getting near some warm water, fella. I think your fleas have all died and started to ripen."
I gave her a little peck on the lips, about ten minutes' worth, on account, and a grin for interest, and said, "I'll run all the way. Don't let me get too old before you...
"You're already too old but I like you anyway I'll probably give in to my baser nature... You'd better scoot before Uncle Willard finds out you're here."
I scooted I didn't exactly run home, but I didn't waste much time. People tell me I was humming. I went straight to bed.
Which is probably where I ought to stay, and say good-bye to running and redheads and whatever else. If I had the sense to stay in bed and keep my head under the covers, I wouldn't get into these crazy things