Part 47 (1/2)

Harvester Temisk's memoirs, detailed though they were, recorded only the dates when he'd added to his collection. Neither sources nor the name of his specialist provider was mentioned. Nor did I get many opportunities to revisit Temisk's place. Good guys and bad alike kept right on watching it. Teacher and the Sculdytes were gone, but others still had designs on Chodo, his mouthpiece, and his designated heiress.

Finding people and things is what I do. Usually by being hired to, but finding is at the root of the Garrett reputation. After ten days, nineteen of twenty-four bibliophiles had made generous arrangements for recovering their treasures.

The others would come around.

Collectors are that way.

Teacher White stayed with us four days. He left with his mind washed clean and his heart set on a career as a knife sharpener. Playmate accepted him as a part-time apprentice. Play honestly believes there's good in everybody. Excepting maybe me. He'll make a great G.o.dshouter someday. If I don't get him killed.

Old Bones didn't go back to sleep.

His uncharacteristic taste for the real world made me suspicious. Deeply, abidingly suspicious.

81.

I'd just completed the successful reunion of several books with one Senishaw Cyondreh, the past-her-prime spouse of a grimly named habitue of the Hill. The woman had an eye so hungry I'd nearly run for it, shrieking. Once I'd gotten my hands on the ransom. Reward. Finder's fee. If I ever dealt with her again, I'd drag a squadron of eunuch bodyguards along.

I'd peeked inside before I turned the books over. They were what are called pillow books. Blistering. I blushed when we made the exchange.

There was something different about the old homestead. I sensed it when I spotted the odd coach among the abandoned goat carts. Having suffered a similar dyspepsia on occasion recently, I thought about heading on over to Tinnie's place. But I was carrying the take from the pillow book swap.

There are villains out there who can smell smell n.o.ble metals. n.o.ble metals.

I took a glim at the weird coach before I went inside.

It had been fabricated of some silvery metal, then painted wood grain with paint I didn't recognize. ”I have a bad feeling about this.”

Distraction arose. Silverman, riding a donkey cart and surrounded by younger men afoot, all cast from the same mold, appeared. The youngsters carried cudgels. A Tin Whistle tagged along behind, curious.

”Ah. Garrett,” Silverman said, reining in. ”I've completed the commission. Executed to a much finer standard than the original specifications. Tough to do even after I determined how the spells were written.”

”Why aren't I surprised?”

Silverman straightened his bent back enough to meet my eye. He wasn't accustomed to sarcasm or back talk. He was an artist. And the old man of his clan.

”That forced us a little over on costs.”

”Of course it did. So let's you and me just go inside and see what my partner thinks.” Old Bones would sort the thief out.

I ended up carrying a heavy sack because two of the young guys were helping Silverman get to the door.

The Dead Man, of course, knew we were coming. Singe opened up as we arrived. ”Who's here?” I whispered. In case it was somebody who didn't need to know about Silverman.

”Morley Dotes and a girlfriend.”

A s.h.i.+ver hit me. I had no chance to pay attention. Silverman banged into me from behind. I moved on, to the Dead Man's room. Where a shadow of all night falling lay in ambush.

I squeaked in dismay.

A grinning dark elf occupied my my chair, sipping chair, sipping my my tea, while one of his sky-elf ladies occupied another and appeared to be in deep communion with the Dead Man. It wasn't the skinny, almost s.e.xless woman that dismayed me, though. tea, while one of his sky-elf ladies occupied another and appeared to be in deep communion with the Dead Man. It wasn't the skinny, almost s.e.xless woman that dismayed me, though.

My ancient nemesis, Mr. Big, best known as the G.o.dd.a.m.n Parrot, was snoozing on her left shoulder.

Please pay Silverman another twelve gold florins.

Rattled, I managed only, ”They don't make florins no more. Haven't done since the New Kingdom came in.”

Morley saw my horror over the clown bird. He indulged in a grin of delicious enjoyment.

Then give him the current equivalent. Exasperation. They did not change the weights, just the names. Correct They did not change the weights, just the names. Correct?

”Not exactly. They're called sovereigns. The closest.”

Pay the man.

”But-”

The workman is worthy of his hire. Silverman is an artist. He took his commission well beyond what I asked of him. He is an intuitive genius. Pay him.

I didn't know if I could. Twelve florins translate to thirteen royal sovereigns.

Singe handled the payout. I couldn't bring myself to face my cashbox. Thirteen sovereigns is more than most people earn in a year. More than some of my acquaintances will come by during their entire ambition-challenged lives.

”Will you stop hyperventilating?” she whispered, smacking me between the eyes with the biggest word she'd ever spoken. ”We are quite sound financially. Now.”

Her a.s.surances were no help. I glanced at the sleeping parrot. That thing might wake up any second. Which possibility drove me straight out to the kitchen. I tossed off two quick mugs of Weider's Select Dark. Less distressed, I went back to confront my terrors.

My best pal kept right on grinning like a s.h.i.+t-eating dog.

Silverman was just leaving. He told me, ”I need a little head start. I'll meet you there.”

His boys were lugging the same sacks I'd just helped haul in. He had no trouble getting around under the weight of all that gold.

I wanted to demand, ”You're not even gonna keep what we paid for? After he robbed us?” But Old Bones leaped into my head before I could.

Please accompany Mr. Dotes. It is now within our capacity to place a satisfactory capstone on this affair. Morley kept right on smirking. Enjoying watching me antic.i.p.ating the hammer's fall.

I accompanied Mr. Dotes. Leaving the house last, just to make sure the G.o.dd.a.m.n Parrot didn't accidentally get left behind.

Garrett. You are forgetting the cats. Take the cats.

I wasn't forgetting anything. It hadn't occurred to me that there was any need to drag a herd of critters along. Why would it?

”Hang on,” I told everybody. ”I got to get something.”

I found the Luck all piled into their traveling bucket, bright-eyed and ready to roll.