Tharpe turned toward the door. The Dead Man filled us in on what Winger knew without knowing she knew. I said, “You don’t want to go back out without warming up, do you? Tinnie and I were making tea.”
“A snack wouldn’t hurt, neither.” Tharpe shook his head, looking at Winger. “The things we do for folks just on account of they’re friends.”
I avoided any comment.
Saucerhead was working on a stale roll when Singe yelled. We burst out of the kitchen. Singe indicated Winger. Winger was making weird noises. She had her guts behind them.
“Come on!” I swore some. “Get that damned door open!”
Tharpe and I each grabbed an arm. Tinnie sort of nipped around the booted end, like a puppy trying to help without knowing how. Singe flung the door wide. Cold air blasted us. It woke Winger as we heaved her out against the rail on the stoop.
Her socks came up.
“Hey!”
Dean was back. With a cart. Which I hoped wasn’t stolen. Winger’s rude greeting missed him by inches.
Dean wasn’t alone. Seemed he always found somebody to help with the cart. Whoa! Hell. That bundle of rags was the lone member of the Contague tribe not already installed in the Dead Man’s room.
“You. Get inside before somebody recognizes you.” Potential watchers should all still be gone to war, but why take chances?
Draped over the rail, Winger gasped, “Blindar, yer a bitch even if yer a one a the good gals.” She cackled. “An’ yer sure as hell ain’t.” She tried to laugh, but her stomach revolted.
I said, “Inside. Wait in the hall with Tinnie. I’ll help Dean.” Singe came out, too, while Tinnie took charge of Belinda. With little of her customary empathy. “Did you clean out the whole damned market?”
Saucerhead concentrated on Winger. Winger was trying to aspirate her own puke.
“You told me to get ready for a siege,” Dean said.
“I did, didn’t I? Where did Belinda come from?”
“I ran into her in the market. She was pretending to be a refugee. I told her to come get warm.”
I grunted under the weight of a sack of apples.
“I thought that would be better than maybe having her go back into the Tenderloin.”
“Yeah.” Damn! Those apples were heavy. “But why is she here? She should be back home waiting out the storm. She has to know there’s a war on.”
“I think she’s afraid there’re traitors there.”
“What does she know about the situation here?”
“She knows it’s warm. And safe.”
I started to growl. Exhaustion was closing in again. I was getting cranky.
“I told her nothing. Her problems come from her disaffection with her father. It might be useful if she confronts him.”
“Good thinking.” Maybe. I didn’t like his deciding what was best for somebody else. He tried too much of that with me.
Singe went by. “Once again the ratgirl does the work while the human folk stand around jawing.”
Belinda wasn’t in the hallway when I went inside. “Uh-oh.”
It is under control. Join us once you deliver your cargo.
Leave the rest for Dean? Fine with me.
71
Belinda took three steps into the Dead Man’s room. She froze, gaped at her father.
Chodo sensed the new presence but could not see who it was.
Take the deacon out when you go. Put him into the cart. Get rid of him.
Dean gave me a hand. For reasons probably having to do with externally applied inhibitions, I didn’t wonder what Colonel Block would think about us turning his prisoner loose. Nor did I wonder why Old Bones wanted him running free. With my experience I should’ve been more suspicious.
After a long adventure through nasty streets, Dean and I abandoned cart and deacon not far from the Al-Khar. We trudged home exchanging lies about who was more tired. I got there to find the seating arrangements in the Dead Man’s room revised. There seemed to be plenty enough kittens to provide several for every Contague. The big boy from Ymber was snoring. Harvester Temisk looked like he was dead. But he kept on breathing. Poor Harvester. His only role now was to take up space.
I asked, “What happened to Saucerhead and Winger?”
“Winger is in your office,” Singe told me. “Saucerhead went looking for her friend and to find someone the Dead Man wants to consult.”
“Who? Why?”
“I was not invited into the planning.”
The way things usually work around here. “Winger is in my office? Gods! I hope she’s empty.”
“She is now.”
Dean muttered something about the ever-expanding population of the house and disappeared. I thought he was off to whip up something to eat. Instead, he dragged his sorry ass off to bed.
I settled in the Dead Man’s room, leaning against the wall. There were no seats available. Nor would be soon, I suspected. I was ready to collapse from exhaustion. Yet again. But I didn’t want to miss anything.
The Dead Man was working some Loghyr mojo on our dysfunctional family guests. Assisted by a gaggle of cats.
Chodo was more alive than ever. I stared. I wasn’t frightened. I felt creepiness instead. In times gone by there’d always been terror when I was near the kingpin.
“Am I over that?” Seemed like a good time to find out if my sidekick was paying attention.
Unlikely. Changes are going on inside Mr. Contague. The impact of the kittens is much greater in the company of their high priestess. Which the girl has become by default, as sole survivor of her temple. A-Lat herself is hidden inside the child. And inside the Luck. Too scattered to have much power. Which is our great good fortune. We would not stand up to her otherwise. Nevertheless, the effect here will not be one hundred percent. And there is little chance of permanence.
I made grunting sounds. Deities make me nervous. There are a zillion of them, all real, all at cross-purposes, all unpleasant. Ninety-nine out of a hundred have no interest whatsoever in the well-being of mortals. Particularly if the mortal is named Garrett. And there was little evidence that this encounter would turn out positive-despite A-Lat’s salutary impact on Chodo’s madness at the moment.
“Can I note that more than one heart is in agony here?”
Careful what you wish for. Some may not enjoy being cured. Not till later did I realize he was painting me with that brush.
I told anybody who cared, “I’m going to bed. We can wrap this up tomorrow.” I had some thinking to do, too. I do that best without distractions.
72
Singe wakened me. She’d brought tea. “Don’t you ever let up?” I was accepting no peace offerings today.
Somebody kicked me in the back of the legs. “Shaddup!”
“So that’s it, huh? Trying to catch us up to something again.”
“No. The Dead Man wants you.”
I got kicked again. “This don’t seem like a hot sell, Miss Tate,” I grumbled at the bushwhacker. “If this is what I’ve got to look forward to.” Which got me kicked again. In my own bed. I suffered the slings and arrows, rewarded my long-suffering with a hot cup of tea.
Ten minutes later, biscuit and mug in my left hand, half a foot of sausage in my right, I trudged into the Dead Man’s room. Dripping grease. I was groggy but no longer cross-eyed with exhaustion. I was looking forward to the day I had my old self back.
“Looks like I’m the first man on the job.” Sleeping folks were strewed everywhere.
Excepting Singe, Dean, and I. And the Luck.
Yeah. Several dozen cats were on the bounce.