Petty Pewter Gods

  “Yeah. I know you get plenty of fiber because you’re full of it up to your ears.”

  He offered a mock two-finger salute and a thin smile. “Like I said. Crabby.” He asked the Dead Man, “Did you have something for me? Or not?”

  Old Chuckles did, in fact, have a lot to talk over with Morley, but it had no bearing on the problem at hand. I would not have stayed around at all if it hadn’t had to do with my future, too.

  61

  Morley was gone. After five thoughtful minutes I asked, “You really think the troubles might get that bad?”

  They are barely into their infancy now and people are dying every day. Glory Mooncalled appears to be contributing by neglect, if not by plan.

  “You’re determined to have him here in town, aren’t you?”

  There is no doubt whatsoever that he is either in the city or somewhere close by. You came close to him last week.

  “Why?”

  He could see my thoughts. He understood the question.

  Glory Mooncalled has betrayed no lack of confidence in his own abilities. About that all respondents always agree. Nor do they disagree that he has only disdain and contempt for the various persons who manage the Karentine state. He knows only those he encountered in the Cantard. And in the Cantard he did learn to respect the overwhelming force that lords and wizards could bring to bear — by direct experience. He believes it will be an entirely different game in TunFaire.

  “I got a feeling maybe friend Mooncalled is gonna run into a couple of surprises here.” Here at home not all our functionaries are people who inherited their jobs, nor are all of them so enchanted with their own importance that they do nothing but polish their images.

  Exactly. The Dead Man was still tapped into my mind. And there is every possibility that someone like Relway may be the real best hope for averting complete chaos.

  “You think Glory Mooncalled might want to precipitate such a state?”

  Perhaps. As I observed, he suffers from no lack of confidence. And he is aware that he has been something of a folk hero here, in the past. He might believe that ordinary Karentines will proclaim him their savior if things turn bad enough.

  Which is really what happened in the Cantard during the war. The native tribes, tired of generations of being caught between two vicious, corrupt, inept empires, had fallen in behind Glory Mooncalled.

  Hell, Glory had been a hero of mine because he had bucked the ruling classes and had shown no tolerance for corruption or incompetence. Without Mooncalled there would have been no victory in the Cantard. No one, from the King to the least trooper, would deny that — though different interpretations can be placed upon the exact nature of his role in the triumph. He has no friends on high. And guess who pays the salaries of the guys who are going to write the histories of the great war?

  “I wouldn’t like to think that he would be that coldbloodedly, blatantly manipulative.”

  He has little more love for the Karentine aristocracy than he did for the Venageti.

  Coldly and systematically, practically from the moment he had come over to our side, Glory Mooncalled had embarrassed, humiliated, and eliminated a parade of Venageti generals, wizards, and lords who had abused his dignity.

  “Could it be that this man who never guesses wrong has, just marginally, misinterpreted the Karentine character?”

  He has, without a doubt. Karentines are inordinately fond of their Royals and aristocrats — although you murder them with alarming frequency.

  Actually, they murder one another. We have some outrageously bizarre revolutionaries on the streets these days, but I have never heard even the most deranged suggest that we dispense with the monarchy.

  I have heard the suggestion, though. Only from non-humans. And guess who is the one big lump really sticking in the craw of the mob already?

  Miss Winger and Mr. Tharpe are due here soon, should you be interested in an update on Glory Mooncalled’s latest efforts.

  “Tell you the truth, I’m a whole lot more interested in the activities of certain gods and goddesses who may save us the trouble of having to survive your coming troubles.”

  Reluctantly, the Dead Man admitted that that might be a more immediate concern.

  “Can you read Adeth at all?”

  Only her presence and general location.

  “If I get her in here, can you do anything with her?”

  He didn’t answer for a while. I was about to nudge him when he offered, What good is nerve if you do not employ it?

  62

  I peeked through the peephole. Adeth continued her vigil. My estimation of the gods continued its decline. This one did not seem omniscient enough to know when she was being observed by a mortal.

  Maybe she didn’t believe that that could be done. Conviction leaves us all with huge blind spots.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jumped. “Don’t sneak up like that.”

  Dean glowered. Somehow, he was a lot less diffident than he had been before he had discovered that he could get a niece married without me — either as victim or as co-conspirator. And he was just a tad too confident of his employment here.

  “I’ve been thinking, Dean. It might just be worth doing my own cooking to be able to get into my house whenever I want.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been thinking. And one worry that came up was, what do I do if the Dead Man decides to take a nap right before you have one of your paranoid seizures and go berserk with all your locks and chains? Here I come, dead on my feet, looking forward to ten hours in the sack. But he’s snoring, you’re off to bed, and there’s enough iron holding the door to drag a groll to the bottom of the river. Wahoo! I get to spend the rest of the night on the stoop because I can’t get into my own house. Seems to me it would be worth doing my own cooking to avoid that inconvenience.”

  I peeked again, while Dean struggled to invent a new line of excuses. The redhead hadn’t moved. I didn’t see the Goddamn Parrot. I crossed my fingers. Two good omens. Maybe my luck was turning.

  Slip out the back. See if she can be approached unexpectedly. I will keep watch and inform you of any changes while you maneuver.

  “Right.” I peeked once more, while Dean still sputtered. The Dead Man had allowed him to listen in because his help would be critical if I were to depart via the back. We undertake that means of egress in extreme circumstances only, it ordinarily being our intent to have the bad boys think there is just one way to get in or out. “Oh my. Here comes your company, Old Bones.”

  Saucerhead and Winger were coming up the street. Some strange half-breed, all white bony knees and elbows, skipped along between them. He grinned like somebody had promised him a hundred marks. He wore tan leather shorts and a vile green shirt. I’d never seen the look before.

  I wondered what had become of their earlier accomplice, Morley’s man Agonistes.

  There is no end to the demands of the living once you allow them the slightest opening. Like them coming here wasn’t his idea. Dean, please get Garrett out of here. Garrett, sneak up on her, see if she can be surprised, then bring her to me.

  “Suppose she don’t want to come?”

  Then you will have to resort to your usual charm. Let confidence and a boyish smile be your tools just this one more time.

  Well, I did come up with the idea originally, but... He was possessed of the misapprehension that anytime I want I can grin and hoist an eyebrow and great ladies and maybe even goddesses will melt. At least he pretends to believe it, maybe because he thinks that forces me to live up to his expectations.

  I could sense him chuckling to himself as he nudged Dean to rush me off so he could be at the front door when Saucerhead and his companions arrived. But there is no hurrying when it comes to getting out the back. If it was easy, folks from the street would come in to do their shopping. Winger and Saucerhead would be thoroughly peeved before Dean got to them. And Winger isn’t big on coddling people’s feelings. I hit the
alley smiling, even greeted a couple of self-employed ratmen with pleasant greetings. They responded suspiciously, not because they knew me but because of the current social climate.

  I jogged down to Wizard’s Reach, cut across to Macunado, looked uphill toward the house. I couldn’t see the redhead. I crossed Macunado and found myself a slice of shade miraculously free of tenants. It was early still, but it was warm. It promised to be a blistering day.

  Chatter on the street was all about the night’s bizarre weather, the devastation, the strange things seen prowling and brawling. There was still plenty of snow in areas where the scrap had turned bitterest. There were witnesses who thought we faced the end of the world. Others were sure TunFaire was about to be punished for its wickedness. And, of course, a variety of entrepreneurs were taking advantage of the windfall.

  Just goes to prove no wind is an ill wind for everyone.

  I had my breath back. I rose on tiptoe, tried to spot Adeth. I had no luck, but that might have been just because the crowd was so thick.

  The Goddamn Parrot dropped in out of nowhere, smacked down on my shoulder, staggered me. Several people nearby jumped. He startled them even more when he squawked, “Why are you just standing here?”

  “I don’t see her.”

  “She has not moved an inch. Get on with it. I need to free up another mind to deal with Miss Winger.”

  A long, lean, ratty character with the look of the born hustler eyed the bird. “How much ya want for dat crow?”

  “Ha! Walk with me, my man. Let us negotiate.” As I stared I glimpsed a wild spray of red hair tossing in the breeze. “Start by making me an offer.” Try any number greater than zero. I’ll lie to Morley. Poor Mr. Big. A hero! He flew into a burning building to waken sleeping babies.

  I guess I was too eager. The mark grew suspicious. “I get it. You’re one a dem ventrical twisters and dat’s yer con. Sellin’ talkin’ birds.”

  “He has your number, Garrett. Whawk!” There is nothing quite like the sound of a parrot snickering.

  “I’d drink a beer to show him it’s really you who does all the talking for both of us, but then you wouldn’t say a word just to spite me.”

  I caught another glimpse of red hair. She was exactly where I had seen her last, but obscured by windrows of taller people.

  My new friend told me, “Be worth somethin’ ta me ta learn dat trick. How you get it ta move its beak like dat?”

  “You take a strand of spider silk and tie it around his little bird balls. You run it down your sleeve. You tie it to your pinky, which you wiggle whenever you want him to move his mouth.”

  “Hey! Slick.” Then he realized that he was being put on. He suggested I engage in an act of self-admiration physically impossible for most of my species and then flung himself into the crowd. He was so irritated he lost his concentration and moments later became involved in a scuffle when he tugged a purse a tad too hard and numerous dwarves began to admonish him with cudgels.

  “Please move faster, Garrett. That could be the seed of another riot.”

  He was right. Already some humans were wanting to know why dwarves were abusing their brother. If they were the sort who believed dwarves deserved to be robbed just for being dwarves, the fur would fly.

  63

  I scrambled up a stoop on the south side of Macunado, opposite my own, trying for a better look at Adeth. At that moment a very large fellow, who had some nonhuman in him from several generations back, broke up the developing melee. He asked what happened to start it. People shut up when he said he wanted to hear the dwarves’ story first. Something about him suggested secret police. Nobody argued with Relway’s men. By the time I’d gotten a look at Adeth and plotted my course, the big guy had allowed the dwarves to go back to pummeling the cutpurse. Everyone else just stood around watching justice take its course.

  As I descended the steps a wiseass neighbor asked, “What you supposed to be now, Garrett? Some kind a pirate?”

  “Argh! Shiver me timbers. Keelhaul the blighter.”

  I slipped into the press before further distraction could develop.

  Being taller than most people and now closer, I found it easier to keep Adeth’s position fixed. Of course, she didn’t move. And there seemed to be an island of stillness around her. Nobody saw her, but nobody tried to walk through her. Everybody gave her a foot and a half of clearance.

  I stayed as far to the side of the street as I could. Stoops and stairwells down to low-level apartments got in my way. Beggars and homeless people had mats and blankets spread in odd shady corners, as did small businessmen who dealt in trinkets of dubious provenance. How much worse would it be on the commercial streets? Macunado is just a meandering trafficway passing through an area that is mostly residential.

  Something stirred in a shadow beside me, suddenly. Something stung my left cheek. A woman in front of me, headed my way, flung a hand to her mouth and shrieked. I touched my cheek.

  It was bloody.

  Magodor occupied the shadow. She smiled as she tasted a razor-sharp fingernail. “Tokens of love,” I muttered. I shook out a grubby handkerchief. I might end up with a scar. I could claim it was a saber wound. I could make up a story about a duel in defense of a virgin princess’s honor... Nobody would believe that. All the women I know are neither.

  The Goddamn Parrot squawked, “I’m blind. Talk to me.”

  “Magodor just ambushed me,” I said. “You read me?”

  “Only the bird.” The Goddamn Parrot took off, putting distance between himself and risk before Magodor understood that he was more than decoration. Seconds later Winger and Saucerhead burst out my front door, descended the steps part way, paused in a stance that meant they were harking back to the Dead Man. Dean stepped out behind them, holding the door open.

  The cavalry was on the scene, but there wasn’t much it could do.

  Magodor laughed, though not cruelly. She was amused.

  I slowed but kept moving. Only steps away now. Adeth looked like she was in a trance. Or on weed. Which reminded me. We still had a banger-loving cherub in the Dead Man’s room, solid as an ugly hunk of rock, visible to anyone who looked.

  I felt a vague brush. His Nibs was trying to reach me. His touch was being turned away.

  Maggie laughed again.

  I took Adeth’s hand. She did not respond. I slipped an arm around her waist. Had I been snookered again?

  People passing tried not to stare at the goofball dancing with air.

  “Is that some kind of mime, Momma?”

  Adeth started. “Easy,” I pleaded, before she did anything I would regret. “I just want you to come over to the house for a minute.”

  People gaped.

  “Momma, mimes aren’t’sposed to talk.”

  Could you make a goddess visible by tossing paint on her? I wondered.

  Adeth didn’t speak. She flickered, though. People jerked their heads, having caught something from the corners of their eyes. A ripple spread, the old TunFairen sixth sense for the strange or dangerous. Open space expanded around me.

  Maggie laughed yet again, softly, behind me. She was having fun. I told her, “Come on, darling. You’re invited, too.”

  “Momma, who is the mime man talking to?”

  Momma didn’t want to know. Momma just wanted to get on down the street. Not that that was likely to position her more securely in regard to TunFaire’s weirdnesses. Things were strange everywhere, and bound to get stranger.

  “Wonderful. I’ve wanted to see your place,” Maggie said, accepting my invitation. That both astonished and frightened me. What the hell? What was I in for now?

  She came up and slipped under my free arm. She flickered, too. I got the impression some people caught glimpses from straight on. The open area expanded rapidly.

  And, of course, Mrs. Cardonlos was out on her stoop to observe everything.

  Winger and Saucerhead sort of oozed down to street level and out of the way. I think Dean really wanted to
slam and bolt the door. As he was about to surrender to temptation, a pair of owls swooped down and changed over right there, without bothering not to be seen. He went catatonic in mid-motion.

  Magodor went angry.

  Saucerhead and Winger went away, as fast as their heels and toes would shuffle. I have no idea what became of their funny-looking friend.

  64

  “Maggie. Maggie! Darling! Nobody, not even the loveliest goddess, ever learned anything with her mouth open.”

  “You are insolent beyond all tolerance, Garrett.”

  “Yeah. Show me where I’ve got a lot to lose. I’m not on anybody’s side. Never have been. But I can’t make any of you gods accept that. I don’t care any more about your survival than you do about mine. Since everything I do offends somebody, why should I worry about it? Come on and join the Garrett zoo.”

  Dean forced the door open wider as we mounted the steps, but he did not look at us. His whole attention was on the shadows in the hallway. I told him, “You want to drool, you ought to see Star.”

  Magodor spat, “She’s a moron.”

  “It isn’t her mind that precipitates salivation.”

  “I am aware of how males see these things.”

  On my other hand, Adeth seemed to regain the lost spark of life. Suddenly Dean could see her.

  He did not lose interest in the owl girls, but he was distracted. A redhead will do that to the most stouthearted of men.

  I said, “Sometimes daydreams come true.” He would recognize Adeth as a close approximation of my perfect fantasy woman. “And some nightmares do, too.” Because Magodor suddenly chose to materialize in one of her more unpleasant forms.

  Dean said, “I’ll make tea,” and headed for the kitchen.

  I returned to the door long enough to get the Goddamn Parrot inside. He was perched on the railing out there, reciting poetry. I have trouble enough with the neighbors.

  Magodor eyed Adeth warily but behaved herself. I guided them into the Dead Man’s room, though I had no idea what good this would do.