Glen Cook - Wicked Bronze Ambition

I got the distinct impression that the Tournament of Swords thoroughly offended his sometimes curious sensibilities.

I could not get over the deference Old Bones showed Strafa. He could have touched her mind at will, but, instead, he had me carry a verbal invitation.

I will not give this one any excuse to run away.

I found her not only charming Dean but also eroding Penny’s adamant heart. Singe was hunkered down in her office, doing something productive. That girl never took time off to loaf.

Back to the Dead Man’s room. Ask Miss Algard a.

Miss Algarda demanded, “Why won’t he deal with me directly?”

“He might be afraid of you.”

Not true. But the suggestion ought to trigger. .

Very well. Inasmuch as neither of you cares much about courtesy .

He left me out of their exchange. And she did not bother speaking her half of the conversation aloud.

Later, Singe would tell me, “He is smitten with Strafa, you know. He does not want to do anything that will stress your relationship.”

Amazing. With the rest of us he shows all the thoughtfulness and sensitivity of a barbarian horde. Which he would deny, of course.

Very well. Dean has a meal ready. Go enjoy that while I digest this information.

I could smell the food. My gut was clamoring already. He didn’t have to sweet-talk me.

• • •

Dean served up steaming bowls of chicken and dumplings. I wondered how he had managed so fast, but not much. I was used to his kitchen magic.

Once I began to slack off, I asked Strafa, “What did he want?”

“Whatever he couldn’t get from you.”

“Like?”

“Like what Grandmother told me when we were out of the meeting room at the same time.”

“Secret from me?”

“No. But we’ll talk business later.”

Penny was there with us. So was Dean with his big, hairy ears. What they did not overhear they could not repeat if someone caught them on the street and squeezed. Kind of harsh, militaristic thinking for inside the family, but still realistic.

Strafa was taking this business more grimly than was I. That was scary in itself. Normally, she avoided taking the mystical, magical side of life anywhere as seriously as most Hill people.

She did not want to turn into her grandmother.

Penny understood. She harrumphed, left the table, then left the room. She stomped along the hall, presumably to go cry on Singe’s shoulder, or maybe the Dead Man’s.

She wouldn’t get much sympathy from either.

Strafa observed, “She sure is developing a cute butt, isn’t she?”

“Honestly. A guy can’t help noticing those things.” Especially a guy who is a trained observer.

This guy was on his way to becoming a trained companion, too. He made no effort to defend himself any further.

The hole only ever gets deeper.

“You can notice. I don’t mind.” With a whole lot of subtext. “She is growing up fast. And she’s going to be a heartbreaker.”

Strafa is less unreasonable than most members of her species, but fully open-minded she is not. None of them really is. Those who make the claim can be the most dangerous.

The Dead Man has multiple minds. He can work on several problems at once and reach some astounding conclusions fast. That’s why he makes such a good partner. His athletic skills are limited, though.

I would like to interview everyone who was in that room this morning. I am sure the request has been anticipated. I am equally certain that it will be refused by most. It may be instructive to see who refuses and their choices of excuses for doing so.

I glanced at Strafa. She shrugged. So beautifully.

You are allowing yourself to become distracted again.

I was. “I can’t help it. Make her stop.”

“Make me stop what?”

“Being you.”

Focus, children.

“Yes, sir.”

To this point this business has been an exercise in intellect. But a Tournament of Swords does become, by design, intensely physical and violent. The mystery is not mysterious, for the most part. The way to abort the Tournament is self-evident. Shadowslinger has begun the process. The question I would pose, then, is, have the Operators anticipated her effort?

I had one of those moments that are all too rare. “They might be looking for us to collect the contenders in one place.”

Probably not the Operators themselves . There was a musing note to his communication, as though he’d just had a new and more disturbing thought. Yes. We must not put our eggs into one basket. Miss Algarda. Strafa, if I may. Please bring your daughter here. Garrett, I want you to round up any members of the Faction that you can find. Ask them to report here, too.

“The Faction? Why?”

The Faction is a kid gang of a remarkable sort. Instead of dimwit thugs, the members are all scary smart and not very physical. Kevans is a key member. Her best friend and my sort of surrogate son, another of my strays, Cypres Prose, was their leader. The Faction are as much misfits as any gangster kids but, again, scary smart. And many come from the Hill.

The Faction would be an ideal talent pool for substitute tournament contestants.

“You sure? None of those kids suffers from ambition. All they want is for grown-ups to leave them alone so they can mess around with strange hobbies and weird research.”

True. To a point. But we have seen bad apples among them before. The prospect of vast power might lure a few to get some exercise. Power hunger belongs to the culture where they were raised.

Was he poking fun my way? That sounded like something I would say. More, it sounded like a subtle commentary on my tendency to remain an object not in motion.

Still. . “Any suggestion on how I get them to come here?”

Lie.

I started to say something about how lying adults were half the reason those kids were strange.

You know them. Tailor something to each ego. Once they have come into range, none of that will matter.

I glanced at Strafa. She had been included. She nodded. She agreed with Himself. “It’s for their own safety, Garrett. I’ll make Kevans come. She’ll bring Kip.” And Kip’s influence would pull in most of the rest.

I might not have to become a major bad guy after all.

Again, and always, we shall have to honor the possibility that our efforts have been anticipated. May, in fact, have been factored into the master plan. Miss Algarda. . Strafa. Are your grandmother and her associates committed to the extent that they might willingly hire bodyguards?

Predictably, the financial conscience of the household chose that moment to appear. Old Bones had been keeping Singe up to date. She said, “We do not have the money to offer protective services at our expense, nor on spec. And those people often fail to honor their financial obligations.”

Strafa said, “I can afford to look out for my daughter. And Kip as well.” And the rest of the Faction, too, honestly. I had not been prepared for just how rich the Algardas actually were, and most of that wealth had somehow settled onto Strafa, maybe because the family had made her life so ugly in other ways.

I had not known about the wealth when I took up with Strafa. She had not mentioned it. In fact, I knew about it now only because Old Bones had seen it inside Strafa’s head and thought that I should know the full truth about my future wife.

I said, “Kip can afford to look out for himself. He’s richer than most gods. The challenge will be to convince him that the danger is real.”

Singe bowed her head slightly. “He will be a hard sell.”