Part 44 (2/2)

This one wasn't charged, though. It was just a hunk of metal.

Silverman studied the critter. Then he stared at the Dead Man.

Then he studied the statue again. ”It will be difficult. But I enjoy a challenge. Especially work in unusual metals. This won't be enough material, though.”

Voice barely audible, the deacon said, ”More is available.” He was cooperating only because he wasn't strong enough to fight the Dead Man.

”I need ten more pounds,” Silverman said. ”Preferably in small pieces.” Responding to a query from the Dead Man, who hadn't included me. He was amusing himself. Getting back. All that juvenile- Garrett!

I responded with a scowl. But I paid attention.

Accompany Deacon Osgood and his a.s.sociates. Make certain they move the necessary materials to Silverman's workshop. Stick with Deacon Osgood until he has executed his commitment in full.

”Hey, all right.” I confess to a certain sarcasm. ”You gonna bother telling me how I'll know when he has? There's always a chance-remote as the moon, naturally, but statistically possible-that I won't figure it out for myself.”

Deacon Osgood is going to surrender A-Laf's despair confiscation system. Mr. Silverman will make modifications. Deacon Osgood and his henchmen are not pleased, but have spent enough time in our forward-looking city to appreciate the enthusiasm of the Watch.

He was smug. Proud of himself. And likely twisting everything to make a certain defunct Loghyr look like an ingenious trouble tamer.

I have planted strong mindworms in all three servants of A-Laf. Deep fears and compulsions will carry them through the wrap-up. Even so, arm yourself. The deacon has a strong mind. The proximity of active jackals may attenuate the mindworm's efficacy.

”I see.” I didn't comment on the fact that mind-worms weren't imaginary anymore. Though I'd suspected hanky-panky with the facts when he'd sold the goods to Teacher White.

Relax now. I have to fill the vacuum inside your skull with what you need to carry this stage through to its best conclusion.

76.

A-Laf's minions hadn't done badly, making connections round TunFaire, building on foundations provided by Harvester Temisk and Chodo Contague. Their a.s.sociations with the Bledsoe and the Tersize family had been useful. Best of all, from their viewpoint, was an alliance on the Hill, with the Spellsinger Dire Cabochon, birth name Dracott Radomira, cadet of the royal family, a comparative unknown whose name never came up in any review of the ruling cla.s.s's crimes and misdemeanors. Cabochon was particularly useful because she was defunct, in fact though not yet legally. Unlike my resident cadaver, the old witch just sat in a corner mummifying. Her pals from out of town hadn't reported that the air had gone out of her.

The out-of-towners didn't note the unnatural post-demise good health of the remains, either.

The old witch must have sung spells around herself before she surrendered to the unavoidable. The right people might be able to bring her back. If they were of a mind.

Not my problem. I wasn't of a mind.

Tinnie made noises indicating repugnance. I comforted her not at all. She'd insisted on tagging along. Let her enjoy all all of it. of it.

I was still wasting mind time looking for an argument pointed enough to penetrate redheaded stubbornness and make Tinnie understand that there were parts of my life she shouldn't share. I said, ”It don't smell bad for somebody being a long time dead.”

Deacon Osgood's crew wasted no time. They collected metal dogs, metal sc.r.a.ps, and metalworking tools from a sitting room converted into a workshop. If I was a cynic, I'd have thought they wanted to hustle me out of there.

They piled everything into old vegetable sacks. Osgood was as happy as a guy working with a migraine. He feared the Watch would find out about this shanty now. But he couldn't not help me.

This would have been the administrative headquarters for A-Laf's TunFaire mission. The base in the Tersize establishment had been living quarters.

I checked the dead woman. It wasn't immediately obvious whether her demise had been natural or a.s.sisted. Colonel Block could work that out.

There was a crackly sense about her that said, ”Don't touch!” I didn't. That might be all it took to reanimate her.

Old Bones must have known. He hadn't informed the Watch. He didn't want his scheme hip deep in law and order.

”You. Garrett.” Deacon Osgood seldom spoke. When he did he sounded worn-out. ”Carry this sack. You. Trollop-”

Tinnie popped him between the eyes with a handy pewter doodad. Those eyes crossed. He staggered. His troops gawked. This was beyond their imagining. Still, I was glad Chuckles had taken time to stifle their natural tendencies to break people whenever something happened that they didn't understand.

”Ease off,” I told Tinnie. She was winding up for the coup de grace. ”We need him.”

She shed her weapon, but her look said hostilities would resume the instant the next chunk of s.e.xual bigotry plopped out of Osgood's mouth. Sweetly, ”You were about to ask me something, Deacon?”

Grunt. Headshake to clear cobwebs. ”Sack. There. Carry.” He couldn't get all the way to ”please.” But that was all right. He'd been disadvantaged in his upbringing. By goats.

Shortly, I noted that everything in need of carrying was in the hands of someone who could do the lugging, but the good old deacon wasn't weighted down with anything heavier than his conscience. I asked Tinnie, ”Worth making a scene?”

”Let's get what we want out of him first.” I'd seen that look before, mainly when I'd done something to offend. I'd enjoyed an opportunity for regrets every time.

Silverman examined every tool and every piece of metal before saying, ”Satisfactory. I can work with this.” He asked Osgood. ”Are you one of the artisans?”

Osgood shuddered like a dog trying to pa.s.s a peach pit. The compulsion remained solid. ”No. Those who survived are imprisoned now.”

I asked Silverman, ”Will that be a problem?”

”No. It will just take longer to fulfill your princ.i.p.al's needs.”

Tinnie smirked, reading my mind. Deftly, I managed to disappoint her. ”Not yet. Let's get what we want out of him first.” Not that I knew what that was. The Dead Man had stuffed my mush with stuff without ever betraying his plan.

Silverman barked. Men and women, young and old, all obviously related, swarmed. They grabbed the stuff we'd brought. I muttered in language forms I hadn't used much since coming home from the war. I'd have my nose to the grinder for years to pay for this.

Silverman told me, ”You. Out. I'll send word when it's ready.” He told Tinnie, ”You can stay.”

Instead of popping him, a la Osgood, she kissed his cheek. He glowed.

The deal with Osgood was that he'd be cut loose now. We parted outside Silverman's workshop. I hoped he and his crew would hop a keelboat back to Ymber, but told Tinnie, ”Call me cynical. I'd bet we haven't seen the last of them.”

Disgruntled, I headed toward home. Wondering how long the Watch would let Osgood run loose.

Those tailing us decided that keeping tabs on Ymberian rubes was more important than watching me. Which conformed to the Dead Man's prognostications.

I had instructions against the chance that I found myself running free.

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