Whispering Nickel Idols Part 29

"What the h.e.l.l are you babbling about?"

He grinned again. "Just yanking your chain, brother. I keep hearing that kind of c.r.a.p 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.n.u.scripts.

"Singe. You think other ratfolk could learn to copy stuff?"

"What?"

"Do they have a high tolerance for boredom and repet.i.tion? 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 b.u.t.tered parsnips.

Taking into account my standing as fool to the G.o.ds, 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 ma.n.u.script and find out.

"But-"

Read the ma.n.u.script. That will keep you out of trouble.

Dean brought supper for everyone. After supper Singe and I moved over to the office to read each other's transcripts.

When I went up to bed I was aswirl with emotions. Once the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security reviewed Merry Sculdyte's memoirs, organized crime would suffer hugely.

The nagging question, as I fell asleep, remained, where were Chodo and Harvester? Were they together? Was all this something they planned way back when? Had Temisk pulled a dramatic rescue? Or was he working some huge scam?

I s.h.i.+vered down under my winter comforter. It seemed my bed would never warm up. I checked my breathing.

Despite having downed a well full of water and most of Teacher White's antidote, I still needed help.

I kept on s.h.i.+vering.

48.

Dean made soft-boiled eggs for breakfast, an expensive treat this time of year.

The whole crew was determined to spend me into the poorhouse.

"Stop whining," Singe told me. "You are not poor."

"I'm going to be, though. I'm working for nothing. You're all eating like princes and throwing money down... the storm sewers." I'd been about to mention rat holes.

Dean grumbled about quails' eggs and giving me something to b.i.t.c.h about if I really wanted to b.i.t.c.h.

Singe said, "He is this way because it is morning."

She had a point. It was way early. And I couldn't blame my situation on anybody but me. n.o.body dragged me out this time. I did it to myself.

I s.h.i.+vered. I hadn't shaken that yet. And I heard the whispering of the d.a.m.ned, in relaxed moments, from far, far off in my mind.

After I ate I checked the weather.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was blinding bright out. Pedestrians slogged through half a foot of slush, carefully. The ice hadn't gone away. Scavengers were gathering fallen branches for firewood.

I retreated to the Dead Man's room. The contrast in light levels left me blind.

How is your breathing?

Startled, I realized I was breathing on my own.

Be cautious. You are but a third of the way recovered. You have no wind. It will be days yet before you dare strain your self.

"No running or fighting?" Maybe the samsom weed was why I couldn't stop s.h.i.+vering.

Nor anything else you indulge in that causes an increased heart rate.

"Oh."

Psychic snicker.

"Then you'd better scare the redhead off if she comes around. Because I don't have a surplus of self-discipline where she's concerned. Hey! Where's my pal Bittegurn?"

I sent him back to his temple to recover the firestone.

That didn't sound like the smartest move. "Think he'll bother to come back?"

He will return. He is convinced that he has found a way to make the big score that has been the secret goal of his life.

"I feel you wanting to crow. What did you do? Crack that last sh.e.l.l inside his head?"

Exactly.

"So how much stroking will I need to do to get you to tell me about it?" I shuddered, the worst fit of s.h.i.+vering yet. "Did you do that?"

Did I do what?

"I've been s.h.i.+vering since last night. But this was worse. A completely creepy feeling for a second. That feeling people get when they say somebody walked over their grave. It wasn't the first time, either. And I hear things. Whispers. That are just a hair too far off to make out. So. What did you get from BB?"

The connection. No. A connection.

"With what?"

Between the excitement in the underworld and the Ymberian question.

"Huh? No. There isn't any connection. There can't be."

Historically, there is. However, you are correct in thinking that there is not one now. Not directly. None of those ambitious felons out there, eager to take possession of Chodo Contague, are aware that while he was establis.h.i.+ng himself, he rented muscle from the cult of A-Laf. They did great violence that could not be traced back to him. For his part, he later provided similar services to the aggressive faction now controlling the cult. You will remember Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler.

"You got all that out of Brother Brittigarn?" I s.h.i.+vered, just remembering Crask and Sadler. Being glad that those two were among the angels now. Because, in their time, they'd been much worse than Merry Sculdyte. Much more in my face, far more often.

I did. That is, he knew the secret history of the A-Laf cult well enough to let me fill the gaps. He did not know the name of the TunFairen criminal captain whose blood money financed the growth of the cult. But what he knew made it obvious that Chodo Contague must be that hidden ally. I expect Mr. Contague would be considerably nonplussed to discover what his a.s.sistance has made possible did. That is, he knew the secret history of the A-Laf cult well enough to let me fill the gaps. He did not know the name of the TunFairen criminal captain whose blood money financed the growth of the cult. But what he knew made it obvious that Chodo Contague must be that hidden ally. I expect Mr. Contague would be considerably nonplussed to discover what his a.s.sistance has made possible.

"No s.h.i.+t."

Excellent thinking.

"What?"

You were thinking that it might be useful to see Mrs. Claxton again and interview her from a new perspective.

"Yeah? Yeah! I'm so clever." I shuddered again, again stricken by that totally creepy feeling that made the chills worse than ever. The whispers were almost intelligible. I had a notion that it would not be good to really understand.

Got that this time. Ugh. I should have seen it.

"You going to fade into one of your mystery moods while I figure it out for myself?"

Not this time. It would be too dangerous to wait that long. The mood you feel, the whispers you hear, are caused by the nickel jackal idols. They came here fully charged with pain and misery and madness. All that has begun to boil off. Someone did not reseal the box properly.

"Begun? This has been going on since they dragged those things in here. I just didn't make the connection." I began to have trouble breathing. But none whatsoever s.h.i.+vering.

No need to get upset.

You can't breathe, maybe you do need to fuss.

I stared at that d.a.m.ned box. The lid was closed. But it hadn't been nailed down tight.

A baby cat trotted in, headed my way, bounced, landed in my lap. It made itself at home. But it stared at that box, too. With an intensity suggesting that it saw things invisible to me.

Much better.

"What?"

You are calmer now. Once you are comfortable with it, nail that box shut.

"Sure. I'm a rock." But he was right. The panic was gone. The whispers had receded. My hands weren't trembling. "How much longer is this going to last?"