Now that the battle between A-Lat and A-Laf had immigrated, it didn’t seem likely that Brother Brittigarn would enjoy the Dream Quarter much longer.
“How about my roc’s egg?”
He did not bring that with him. Mr. Tharpe received no instructions concerning it. So the stone is still in the temple of Eis and Igory.
“But he did switch it out and then not fling it in the river?”
The stone is much too precious to be thrown away.
“No!”
Sarcasm does not become you.
“No. But I do tend to get sarcastic when you say something that obvious.”
He is reconsidering making a run for it.
“Then stop him. How hard is that to figure?”
It may not be that simple if he realizes what natural tools he possesses.
“Use your standard tactic. Baffle him with bullshit. Why does he want the stone?”
Proof that Old Bones hadn’t lavished much attention on BB then surfaced. He didn’t yet know why. He had to go pearl diving in a mind naturally indisposed to surrender its treasures.
This will take a while. He appears to have been of several minds concerning the stone. Though each of those focused on wringing the biggest profit possible from the windfall.
Classic crook-think. Calling a theft a windfall. “Why?”
I felt a little prickle in my mind. He was checking to see what I meant. Instead of asking.
“You’re awfully impatient this time, Old Bones.”
There is so much going on. And I am so excited.
“You’ve become sarcasm incarnate. How is the egg important? Why is it valuable?”
Because he may have told the truth about how dangerous the rock is. Even though it might not have been stolen from the nest of a fabulous bird. He wants to auction the egg on the Hill for enough to get out of the priest racket. The stone does rate description as “rare as rocs’ eggs.”
“I’m confused.”
I am surprised that you would notice.
He has a bite like a saber-toothed toad.
“Have Singe do your transcription. She needs the practice. And it’ll keep her out of the beer.”
He offered the mental equivalent of a harrumph.
“So. About the stone?”
It can be used to start fires.
“Is that so?” I sensed that he didn’t know anything else, in any concrete way, but was chock-full of speculation.
I have Miss Winger working an angle that may tell us something useful.
Which he wouldn’t share right now, of course, because he doesn’t like to speculate or brainstorm- except among his own minds. He doesn’t like being wrong. But I could guess what he was thinking. I’d considered it myself and decided the idea was too farfetched. You should have mentioned the stone to Mr. Thorpe.
Saucerhead groaned. He sat up, clapped his hands to his temples, swore, and lied, “I’ll never do that again.”
“What is that?”
He realized he hadn’t taken on his career as a cat mattress by indulging in too many adult beverages. “What happened?”
Morley told him, “It was too nasty for you to go home last night.”
“What time is it? Oh, gods! I shoulda been over to… she’s gonna kill me!” He tugged at his clothes, retied his shoes, hoisted himself to his feet, and headed for the front door. I tagged along so his misery would have company once he looked outside.
Saucerhead took his look. “Holy shit! What did you do?”
“Man, you can’t blame the weather on me.”
“Sure, I can. No law says I got to be logical.” He showed me his biggest shit-eating grin. He stuck his head back outside, retreated again. “I blame it on the peace.”
“What? You blame what on the peace?”
“The weather, man. When we had us a war going we never had no weather like this. Not this early.”
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
He grinned again. “Just yanking your chain, brother. I keep hearing that kind of crap out there in the taverns.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t get out there no more. You don’t know the latest lunatic theories.”
Saucerhead Tharpe lecturing me about lunacy. It’s a strange old world. “You going to jump on out there or not?”
“I think I’ll hang out here. That’s just plain too ugly.”
It was a good thing Dean got a chance to lay in supplies.
I did what I could to loosen my writing hand, went back to work transcribing Merry Sculdyte’s memoirs. Singe and Morley spelled me. There wasn’t much else to do but try to play chess.
I found one more area where I could feel superior to my favorite pretty-boy dark-elf breed buddy. Though he insisted I was getting secret help from my sidekick.
And his handwriting is barely legible.
47
One by one my guests slipped away.
Morley left first, after waiting almost all day. An hour later Saucerhead plunged into the snowfall, which had passed its peak. It now consisted of glistening little flakes that looked artificial. There was a foot on the ground. And not much wind, which helped ease the misery.
With Tharpe gone, I asked, “What do we do with these other two? BB has a wife.”
The woman at the temple is his sister. He lets her believe she is the brains behind his confidence games.
Singe was writing, tongue hanging out the left side of her mouth. She concentrated ferociously, head tilted way over. She wasn’t quite ready for illuminated manuscripts.
“Singe. You think other ratfolk could learn to copy stuff?”
“What?”
“Do they have a high tolerance for boredom and repetition? If they could learn how, we could start a copy business.”
I turned back to the Dead Man and BB. “Is she? The mind behind?”
He does not believe it. He may be incorrect. You will have to feed him. Soon.
“Have to? Can’t I just cut him loose, chock-full of confusion?”
There is more to be had from him. Something he does not know he knows. Something that has his unrealized talent fully wrapped around it, protecting it.
“Is it critical?”
I will not know till I chip it out. It could be the final clue to the meaning of life. Or his mother’s recipe for buttered parsnips.
Taking into account my standing as fool to the gods, a quick calculation suggested that Brother B. would be partial to parsnips.
The Dead Man suggested I take over for Singe. He was impatient with her striving for perfection. I refused.
“We aren’t going anywhere in any hurry. How about Merry? Is he mined out?”
There is nothing left to be learned from Mr. Sculdyte. But his release into the wild must be handled carefully — after long delay.
His absence will leave his brother indecisive. It will cause competing underworld factions to act with restraint. They will all be nervous and his disappearance from the criminal scene will work to Miss Contague’s advantage. Merry Sculdyte is the one enemy who was able to penetrate the Contague household.
“What?” This was news to me.
Perhaps he was exaggerating to make himself look better. Read the manuscript and find out.