Whispering Nickel Idols Part 22

Orion Comstock took the pry bar from Dean.

Nails shrieked as they came loose.

Kittens screamed all over the house. I heard them run, in confusion, upstairs, then back down into the kitchen.

Ah. As I suspected.

"What?"

To whom do you suppose they will think you are speaking?

I covered by heading for the hallway. Dean said, "I'll go. You need to be here." He sounded upset.

Singe, too, seemed troubled. Her exposed fur had risen. That doesn't happen often.

There was even an undercurrent of revulsion in my connection with the Dead Man. Then I started to hear new voices. Inside my head.

I edged nearer Comstock and Nicolist.

The wooden box was lined with sheets of lead. Inside sat a matched pair of s.h.i.+ny metal sitting dogs, each nine inches tall.

Jackals, Old Bones opined. Almost certainly carrion eaters Almost certainly carrion eaters.

"You guys get these from the Bledsoe?"

Comstock eyed me suspiciously. "That was the contract, wasn't it, slick? You saying-"

"Just startled. Saucerhead trusts you-I trust you. The ones I saw weren't sitting."

Comstock shrugged. "We seen some that was standing and some that was lying down. One was suckling pups. But Saucerhead said you wanted ones that was sealed up already. These are them."

"That's true. You did fine." I started to shove my mitts into the box.

Stop! Disappointed whispers echoed afterward.

"Careful there, slick. You don't want to touch them things with your bare skin."

I stopped. Cold rolled off the statues.

Nicolist showed me the outside edge of his left little finger. "That was just an accidental swipe."

A piece of skin was missing, a quarter inch wide and three quarters long. Cruel bruising surrounded the wound.

"Aches a bit," I supposed aloud.

"A bit. We need to get out of here, Orion. Runners are bound to turn up."

A concern that hadn't occurred to me, though it was inherent in the situation. "I'll let you out. And thanks, guys. You really helped out. We'll come to you first next time we have a tough job."

Orion and June exchanged looks, shrugs, and headshakes.

I used the peephole. I didn't see anything remarkable. Except that my door-fixer-upping technician, Junker Mulclar, had pulled his cart up behind one that must have brought the metal dogs. I told Comstock and Nicolist, "n.o.body there but the people who always are. Move out cool and n.o.body will notice."

They went to the street. Mr. Mulclar hoisted his toolbox to his shoulder. He was wide, short, dark, craggy, an ugly man who counted a dwarf among his ancestors somewhere. He owned one of those faces that need shaving three times a day just to look dirty.

Junker is overly fond of cabbage, in both kraut and unpickled form. Whenever he stays in one place long that becomes overwhelmingly evident.

"Good morning, Mr. Mulclar. It seems to be the hinges this time."

"Call me Junk, Mr. Garrett. Everybody does. What happened?" He rumbled enthusiastically at the nether end. He didn't apologize. All part of the natural cycle.

"Same as always. These bad guys were bigger than usual, though."

"No! That can't be." He punctuated with a minor poot. "That door I put in last time ought to stand up to-"

"It isn't the door, Mr. Mulclar. It's the hinges. And if you saw those guys, you'd preen like a peac.o.c.k for ten years because your work stood up so well."

Mulclar indulged in a rumbling chuckle, proud. Then rumbled in the opposite direction. The air was getting thick. Junk didn't notice. "You got some spare room in your bas.e.m.e.nt? s.p.a.ce you ain't using? On account of I'm over here a whole lot anyway and my wife is throwing me out..." He cut a compet.i.tion cla.s.s ripper. "Not sure why. Maybe she found a new heartthrob. Anyways, then I'd be right here whenever it was time to service my mainest account."

"That don't sound like such a bad idea, Junk." Hard to converse when you don't want to inhale. "But I already have more people living here than I can manage. And, nothing personal, but I owe them all more than I owe you."

"So it goes. I'll stay with my cousin Sepp. Or my sister." Rip Rip! "It'll all work out. Though I'm going to have to diversify. With all this law and order going on they ain't so many doors getting broke down."

Junker Mulclar is a genius with hands and tools. There aren't enough like him in the Brave New TunFaire of postwar Karenta.

I gulped in some fresh air as a whiff breezed past. "Junk, I'm going to do you a favor. If you swear on your mother's grave you'll fix my doors forever."

Rumble! "Sure, Mr. Garrett. I thought we had that deal already."

"You know where the three-wheel manufactory is in Stepcross Pool?"

"Sure."

"You go find the green door, tell the man there I said you should see Mr. Dale Pickle. Take your tools. They'll give you all the work you can handle, and then some. And a place to stay, if that's what you need."

My business a.s.sociates, all of whom possess percentages bigger than mine, agree that we should take care of our workers. Max Weider built his brewing empire by valuing and rewarding the people who made it happen for him.

Weider brewing employees are happy and ferociously loyal.

The manufactory could use a man of Mr. Mulclar's skills. And if he lived in, he'd soon become less aromatic. They wouldn't let him do his own cooking.

Mulclar did me an immense favor. "If you'll move out of the way, I can get those hinges fixed. It'll take maybe an hour."

Good luck with that, I thought.

I noted that Comstock and Nicolist hadn't taken their cart. If stolen carts kept turning up out front, there were bound to be questions.

I went in to warn everybody that we wouldn't have a door for a while.

38.

It was quiet in the Dead Man's, room. Singe and Dean had grown scarce to the point- of invisibility. Several guests remained fixed in place. So did the metal statues in their lead-lined coffin.

"Those two had a point, Chuckles. It can't be long before we have a visit from the Watch." I heard whispers again. Saying evil things.

Excellent.

"You want them to?"

I hope Colonel Block comes himself.

"There's a chance. If he thinks you're snoozing. We'll never see Relway again, though. He's too clever and too paranoid to take a chance."

No doubt.

"You seem distracted."

I am trying to locate the creature Penny Dreadful. I feel her close by, but she is extremely elusive. Even the pixies could not pinpoint her when I sent them out last night. If the parrot were available...

"He's gone to a better place, far, far away. Tell me about these statues." I could make out no words, but the whispers continued.

In a moment. I want to examine an idea I found cowering in the back of your mind.

It must have been skulking around way way back there. I couldn't recall having any that didn't involve heading back upstairs to Tinnie. back there. I couldn't recall having any that didn't involve heading back upstairs to Tinnie.

Yes. I do have sufficient capacity. Think about your breathing. You will have to manage for yourself for a while.

"Huh?"

I felt a distinct difference when he let go. I thought he had already.

Minutes later one of our guests got up and sleepwalked out of the house. Focusing on my work, I breathed steadily as I watched him ease past Mr. Mulclar. He didn't notice the miasma, which had taken over the hallway. He didn't hear the voices. He was operating on another plane.

Old Bones retained control all the way down to Wizard's Reach, well away from Mrs. Cardonlos' place.

So. Now I knew what had been plucked from my brain. A wisp about filling empty heads with conflicting false memories so we could get these people out from underfoot. So we didn't have to feed them and take them potty and otherwise be weighted down with them.

A second man rose and went away. I didn't see him off. I didn't need another exposure to Mr. Mulclar. "Is this premature? Letting them go before we get somebody in to ask about the metal dogs?"

Jackals.

"Whatever. You see my point? Them being missing for a while, then turning up all confused and not knowing anything?"

I see your point. However, you fail to credit me with sufficient ability to confuse the issue.

"I'd never do that."

Do you recall past instances of dereliction by members of the Watch?

"Sure. There's probably a lot, but less than before Block and Relway took over."

The rest of our guests, excepting Skelington, left us eventually.

"So. About these dogs-all right! I know. Jackals. We've got them. What about them? What are they? Why have them stolen?" Getting rid of them would suit me fine. Especially if doing so would get rid of the voices in my head.

I have not heard of this cult of A-Laf, but there are suggestive similarities with others, particularly in the matter of the metal animals. If they are nickel, or some alloy that is mainly nickel, their function will be much like that of the nickel figurines that graced the altars of Taintai the Gift some centuries ago.

I'd never heard of Taintai the Gift. But there must be brigades of G.o.ds, G.o.ddesses, and their supporting casts who haven't sailed across my bows. Deities come and go. Their cycles are just longer than human ones.

"Interesting stuff, Chuckles. It'd be even more interesting if you'd drop a hint or two about what's going on."

I felt his amus.e.m.e.nt as he sent, That will have to wait. We are about to have official company. Deal with it in your office instead of here That will have to wait. We are about to have official company. Deal with it in your office instead of here.

Vaguely, I caught the edge of a thought directed at Melondie Kadare. My pixie tribe were paying their rent now.

I scooted across to my office. I couldn't hear the incessant dark whispering over there.

Dean pa.s.sed me in the hallway, headed for the front doorway. Where, after an hour, Mr. Mulclar did not yet have the bent hinges repaired or replaced.

I wondered if he heard the dark mutterings.

39.

There was some racket in the hallway. Dean making offended noises. Somebody had gotten past Mr. Mulclar. More clever than I thought he could be, Dean fought a valiant retrograde action that lured the invader past the Dead Man's room to the open door of my office.

The man who burst into my office looked like he had been slapped together from parts taken from other people. On the south end he had spindly little legs and almost no b.u.t.t. On top he had the chest and shoulders of a Saucerhead or Playmate. Then a head that went with his antipodes. All wrapped up in a badly fitted blue uniform.

He came in with mouth a-running. "What do you think you're doing, stealing religious relics?" Followed by fulminations that grew louder when I failed to acknowledge his presence.

Gently, calmly, conversationally, I asked, "Are you right-handed?"

"Huh? What the h.e.l.l?"