Dearly, Beloved Part 27

"Okay?" I said, not understanding.

Renfield called up another screen, also featuring a number of chessboards-all belonging to "zboy69." He clicked on the first one and the Punk projector hissed all the louder, concentrated jets of air "drawing" a misty 3D version of the board and its pieces within the steam. "So, I decided to play. Said h.e.l.lo. The other player said nothing. They played, though. They played well."

"This is absolutely gripping, Ren."

Ren grinned widely, spontaneously. "I know. Anyway, I won. And the other player finally said something in chat-but it wasn't 'congratulations.' It was a series of words. Intracapsular. Macular. Nystagamus. All terms that according to the Aethernet," he peered at Nora, "have to do with eye surgery or sickness."

Nora peered right back at him. "You're right, Ren. You're completely and utterly insane."

"No. Far from it. It was code. This morning, the player was back. She won. A message flashed up that said, 'TE first edition.'"

"What's that?"

Renfield stood and attacked a pile of old non-digital books sitting on the floor. I would've thought them part of Isley's reference collection. He picked up one called Ophthalmologist's Desk Reference, written by Dr. Thaddeus Eckleburg.

"Where did you get that? Is that Papa's?"

"Finally found a copy in the New London Library. Wasn't technically supposed to take it out of the reference stacks, but I'm not above wriggling out bathroom windows." He flipped the book open. "This particular paragraph includes the words intracapsular, macular, nystagmus ..." He showed us the page. "On page H123."

"I don't get it," I said.

Ren's lips twitched again. He almost looked like a schoolboy showing off his winning science project, all the while trying to be humble about it. "It's Miss Mink. The account she used to play me under was Harpist123. She's an absolute b.l.o.o.d.y genius."

Nora's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"So I got back on here. And that's when she started chatting in earnest." He whirled around and pressed a b.u.t.ton on his keyboard, calling up a chat screen. I leaned over his shoulder to look. It was brief, and to the point.

zboy69: I think I understand.

AllSeeing12: Allister has taken leave of his senses. D has to watch her back.

zboy69: We need specifics.

AllSeeing12: Trying to get them. Risking a lot.

AllSeeing12: Have to go. More later.

This wasn't good. "So now we've got him to worry about, too?" I said.

Nora ignored me, staring at Ren as if he'd uttered the mother of all blasphemies. "It can't be her. Mink hates my guts. Pamma showed me the interview video online-she's practically told the entire nation she hates my guts."

"Miss Dearly, listen-" Ren said.

"No, you listen!" She leaned right up into the skinny zombie's face. He pulled his book away from her, hugging it protectively. "Seriously, Mink wouldn't spit on me if I were on fire. She detests me, just like I detest her. There is no way she would do anything to try and help us. Besides, that'd be breaking rank with the aristocrats, and she'd never do that either."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He should know," Nora said, pointing fiercely at Ren. "The aristocrats of my tribe might play catty games and gossip, but they look out for each other. They can even vouch to get one another out of jail. There is nothing Michael could do that would cause her to go to this much trouble. We all know he has issues! Just like her!"

"All right, I get a turn now," Renfield said. Nora glowered at him, but shut up. "I played with very few people when I was still at base. Miss Mink was my favorite partner. And she's the only one who knows my face, now, and what I am, and about my connection with you. To anyone else, my screen name is just a screen name."

"But you just admitted you played with other people."

"It's her," he said firmly. "I know it's her."

"But it's so complicated. And how would she get ACL to send you notices?"

"You just said aristocrats don't break rank. This way keeps her safe. Who would scrutinize one account out of millions on a public game server? She probably signed up for it anonymously. Throwaway e-mail, proxies, she could even spoof the account e-mails if she knows a little code-I know how she did this."

"It makes sense," I told Nora. "I don't know what it's meant to do, but it makes sense. It's pretty smart, actually."

Nora took an enormous breath and held it until her cheeks went purple. When she released it, it was with a little growl of frustration. "Well then, we should pay her a little visit!"

"No!" Renfield practically shouted. "We can't be seen with her. What if she's going to these enormous lengths because she's frightened? We have to protect her."

"Oh, so we're protecting her now? Have you even considered that maybe she's not trying to help us? That maybe she's trying to set up a ma.s.sive practical joke?"

I laid a hand on Nora's shoulder. "Hold up. Let's just see if she comes back. Maybe now that we've met up with Michael, he'll say something to her, and she'll say something else to us. Maybe that's what we accomplished today." Lifting my eyes to Ren's, I said, "Keep at it."

"No." Nora backed away from me, her cheeks reddening. "Listen. You two don't know Mink, so don't try to logic me out of this." She pointed at Ren. "She is messing with you. If this is even her. This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. Something from a cheap mystery chapbook."

Ren blinked. "Miss Dearly-"

"We have bigger things to worry about right now. Even if it is Mink, I'm not about to listen to her. You use your computer, Ren, and you tell her that if she has something to say to me? She can say it to my face."

Renfield actually narrowed his eyes. "Forgive me, Miss Dearly, but who said she wanted to talk to you?"

Ouch. I watched as the two glared at each other for a split second before parting. Ren sat decisively; Nora stomped to the door, her dress rustling. I didn't follow, opting to linger near my friend. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Ren put his book down and turned back to his chess program, his posture stiff. "I might have quite a few physical problems, up to and including death, but mentally? I'm king of this little castle. Even Miss Mink knows it. She knew I would get it."

"I know." And I did, because Ren's depth and breadth of knowledge always amazed me. "Look, keep doing whatever you're doing. See if she speaks up again."

Renfield sighed. "Fine."

Sensing that I should get out of his way, I headed downstairs. I didn't seek out Nora, figuring she needed her usual cool-down period-and kind of annoyed at her myself. Instead I went looking for Samedi. He was in the study, alone, just as I'd found him earlier that day.

"Manage to get in touch with the Ratcatcher, like I asked?"

Hearing me, Sam wrenched his body around in his chair. "Have you gotten into some kind of trouble, Bram?"

This was not the greeting I'd been expecting. Leaning in the doorway, I said, "No. Why?"

"I sent a note to Rats, telling him we wanted to meet up, ask a few questions. He refused." Samedi stood and walked over to join me. "He said the Grave Housers aren't worth talking about. They're about four or five years old. Controlled a couple blocks, had some corrupt coppers on their side. Were doing well till the Siege, now not so much."

"Well, that's fair. What's the problem?"

"He said that you should not contact him under any circ.u.mstances. Ever. That he would not deal with you, has nothing to say to you, wouldn't even talk to me about you."

"What, did I offend him by standing too close the other day?" What could he have against me?

"I don't know." Samedi seemed to examine every square inch of my face. "I'd help any of his crew, so it's d.a.m.n insulting. And then he shuts me out? Shows me such disrespect? Took everything in me not to curse him into his mother's arms in h.e.l.l."

"I'm clean as a whistle. Mostly." It was weird to think in those terms. "And I don't want any dealings with him or his people aside from information."

Samedi considered this, and moved back toward his chair, taking a seat. The small tables to either side of it were stacked high with equipment. "I'll figure it out. G.o.d, I didn't want to get involved with this again."

He didn't sound happy. I didn't know how to fix that, so I turned to go.

He stopped me with, "I don't want you to be like me, Bram."

"I do. You're a good guy, Doc."

"Only recently." He glanced at the boarded-up windows, as if the knots in the plywood might tell him something, like tealeaves in the bottom of a cup. "Belinda's into processing carriages. That's pretty straightforward. But Rats ..."

"What does he do?"

"He catches people. He takes them wherever he's paid to, and he doesn't ask what's going to happen to them." Sam cracked his neck. "And these were the people I counted as friends. That was the kind of life I lived."

Returning to Sam's side, I patted his shoulder. "You've always done right by me. You've done right for years."

Sam nodded. After a minute of silent solidarity, just as I was preparing to leave again, he said, "I will help you all I can, but it might be slow going. The remembering's enough to kill me sometimes. And I hate that. I hate that I'm getting soft when Beryl needs me to be tougher than ever."

"Thanks for doing everything you have." I meant it. "And we're with you, you know that. No matter what."

After making sure Samedi was settled, I finally headed off. Once I was out of the house, I decided that I had my own people to call on. People I should call on.

In a way, Coalhouse was right. We had to take matters into our own hands.

Later that night, I tried to tell him that.

I went to the s.h.i.+ps after dinner at Dearly's behest, and ended up bouncing between the two, doing whatever was needed. While on the Erika, I caught sight of Coalhouse hanging out in the lab area. He looked dirty and tired, and I tried to approach him-but on seeing me, he quite openly showed himself out. Such a childish display should've angered me, but I was just happy to see he was safe. He must've spent the whole day wandering, brooding. Probably wanted medical care for something.

It wasn't until nearly 4:00 A.M. that I saw him again-going for his ride, just like I was. He'd apparently gotten his hands on a beaten-up, square-bodied carriage somewhere. He wore a satchel over his shoulder.

This was it. We had to talk.

Crossing the parking lot, the ocean in my ears, I caught him as he was unlocking his door. I tried to ease into things by asking, "Hey, where'd you get her? Been thinking about trying to get one of my own. Even the c.r.a.ppy ones are really expensive, though."

"I got paid for my time in the army just like you did," he replied, shoving his satchel inside. He turned, watching me expectantly. "So? Going to scold me like a two-year-old again?"

"No." When he didn't respond I added, "Just wondering where you've been. That's all."

"Did you go the police?"

"Called them earlier."

"Well. Hope that made you feel better."

I held my tongue. I didn't want to go off on him. "What are you doing?" When his eye narrowed, I shook my head. "Just give it to me straight."

"What you wouldn't do." Coalhouse removed his soft cap and stuffed it into his pocket, before scratching at one of his bald spots. He looked shaken, for some reason. "Trying to figure things out on my own."

"What things?"

"You act like we should just report everything to the authorities like a bunch of patsies, and smile while we wait for 'em to puzzle things out," he argued. "We have to do some stuff ourselves."

"I agree with that," I told him. "But I'm also not willing to let people get hurt. I'm not willing to let you be hurt."

"I'm just fine!" For some reason, that statement really set him off. "I'm trying to help you. So just shut up and let me!"

"What have you figured out, then?" I asked, my patience wearing thin.

"Nothing yet. But I will. I have an idea now. Time."

"Idea? Time?" Sharp fellow that I am, I finally realized his hearing aid was also gone. "Where's your hearing aid? And your other eye?"

"Finally threw them away. Figure I'm just fine the way I am. People can speak up and look at this side of my face, or take a hike."

Surprise only compounded my growing annoyance. "Tell me what's going on, Coalhouse. Come on. You're up to something."

"Gonna get Hagens to talk," he said grumpily. "And her group'll be out of New London soon. There, that enough for you?"

"What?" I said, getting up close to him. "How do you know that?"

"She told me. You know, you trusted me once before." His expression curdled. "You acted like you trusted me once before, at least."

"Told you? Coalhouse, whatever you're angry about, I'm sorry for it. But you can't go back up there. You're going to get into trouble!"

"You know, you're not really my captain anymore. So just let me work it. Do my own thing." Opening the door fully, he hopped into his carriage.

"Coalhouse, you're right! I'm going to-" He didn't listen. He slammed his door shut and peeled away, leaving me alone.

What the h.e.l.l had gotten into him? I felt like he was being contentious just for the sake of being contentious. What did he expect us to do? Take the Changed on guerrilla style? Waste time playing spy, trying to plumb them for information?

Time was the one thing none of us had.

23.

LAURA.