“What have we got with these two?” I asked the Dead Man, after I’d seen the ratpeople into the street and after I’d turned the Goddamn Parrot loose to keep track of them.
Singe needed watching. Reliance couldn’t be blamed if he attacked his enemies and, lo! Pular Singe happened to be tromping around with them. That wouldn’t violate the letter of any agreement with higher powers.
“Other than a big-ass grudge, of course.”
Very little that is new or interesting. Mr. Bic Gonlit did persist in trying to sell Miss Pular after you asked him to behave. For which effort his reward has been to end up here, traded for her.
Bic winced badly. He was getting the benefit of the Dead Man’s wisdom.
The thoughts must have been particularly strong. Fasfir stirred back there in the darkness, where she sat cross-legged atop a stool. She would’ve been an elegant sight had there been enough light to reveal her. None of the silver elves seemed to be acquainted with the concept of underwear. Or of modesty, either.
Officer Casey did hire those ratboys who just left. A great many of them, going well beyond John Stretch’s gang. They were supposed to steal everything from Cypres Prose’s workshop, without exception, evidently because Casey’s superiors had ordered him to see that it was all destroyed.
I didn’t speak aloud, just articulated my questions softly in the back of my throat. “He can do that? He has the sorcery to be able to talk to people in another country?”
Evidently.
No wonder the Hill crowd wanted to lay hands on these people. I had trouble imagining the full power of the weapon that would be instantaneous communication. There would be no defeating armies with that capacity.
Indeed. It is extremely difficult to dig information out of Casey. But it can be done, slowly, if one approaches the task with considerable patience. He does not appear to be as adept at concealing himself as Fasfir is, when worked over time.
“So maybe she can get him to cooperate. You have any idea where his ship is? It’s the only working one left. If we knew where it was the rest of the silver elves would turn into our best friends.”
Quite likely. And I do know where the ship is. Approximately.
“Approximately? And? Or is it a but?” It would be something.
Severe sorceries project it. And actually finding it might be difficult. Our visitors do not envision spatial relationships the way you do. They see different colors, hear different sounds, sense things you do not sense at all.
“Oh, well. Will Casey just do more mischief if we cut him loose?”
He will try. He is what he is. He shares many of your character traits. He will try to do the job he has agreed to do. He has, just recently, received those orders concerning the eradication of inappropriate knowledge. Whatever that may mean. I suspect that that means there is now an actual physical threat to Cypres Prose, simply because he has so many wonderful ideas. Ideas he received from his elusive friends.
“Then we’ll just have to keep him around here.” If he got too rambunctious, I could always send him off for a wondrous vacation in the al-Khar.
In a conversational sort of voice, I said, “Bic, we’re going to give you one more chance to get out of our way with your ass still strapped onto the rest of you. All it’ll take is for you to carry a letter from me to Colonel Block at the al-Khar. Because I don’t have time to handle it myself. Can you manage that without getting distracted? Knowing that the letter means enough to me that I’ll hunt you down and feed you your magic boots, one from each end, if my message doesn’t get through within the hour?”
“Garrett, how come you’re so damned determined to make my life miserable?”
“Maybe you’d better look at the facts, Bic. Who did what to who first? I think your beef is with Casey. This critter right here, dressed up like you. He had you jumping through hoops by pretending to be Kayne Prose in heat. While he was working Kayne, pretending to be you.” I’m so clever. Sometimes I can spot a pothole only minutes after I’ve stumbled into it. “And you and Kayne both ended up screeching because you couldn’t get all the way lucky. Old Case couldn’t pretend that part.”
Bic growled. Bic didn’t want to listen to any damned theories.
“Look at him, man. He looks like you in a funhouse mirror.” A mirror that skinnied him down and tailed him up.
“Never mind. I’m not going to argue till you’re convinced.”
“So just give me your damned letter and let me out of here.”
“And don’t forget to remember me in your will. Because I’ve treated you better than anybody else in town would’ve done.” I found myself lusting after a beer. Or something with a better kick. I hadn’t had a drop since our country picnic. But I couldn’t take time out now. I had business to attend to, outside the home. “Bic, I’d kiss you good-bye but then you’d just come back for more.”
I shut the door behind the little man at last, leaned against it. “I sincerely hope that that’s the last time I ever see Bic Gonlit.” The man was like a mosquito. Not a major problem but one persistent annoyance if you didn’t kill him.
“Can he possibly have any other reason to buzz around my ear, now?”
Suppose the Guard arrest and question him.
“I didn’t think of that.” I hadn’t, which seemed real dim of me the second the subject came up. “But he will. And he’s clever enough not to let that happen. I wish the bird was here to send out to watch him.”
You might send a pixie. They have not yet done much to earn their keep.
“That seems a little dangerous. For the pixies. Let’s just trust Bic to do what he said he’d do. I’m going to clean up and change now. I’m heading up to the Tate compound. To see Willard Tate.”
Old Chuckles failed to seize the opportunity, though I’m sure he noted my unnecessary explanation of why I had to put myself in close proximity to a certain ferocious redhead who couldn’t quite seem to decide how big a part of my life she wanted to be.