Glen Cook - Cruel Zinc Melodies

Vintage Winger.

Lurking Felhske had departed while I slept, but a faint souvenier of his visit hung in the air.

‘‘That’s it?’’

That is it.

Maybe. But I was sure he had done some digging inside my head.

Singe and Tinnie were in the hallway, waiting impatiently. Tinnie was simmering again.

I wouldn’t want to be Rose Tate tonight.

I could not believe that the Tates would be dim enough to let Rose get close to money. Though I would’ve thought she was too lazy to be this clever.

Things at the World were calm and under control. Workmen were at work. Rats were down below. John Stretch told me they were finding nothing but bug scraps and broken pupae. Saucerhead’s guys were on patrol outside, cocky because they’d thwarted a feeble raid by some dead-ender Stompers during the night. They’d rounded up the gangster wannabes and handed them over to the Guard. The kids would be off to labor camp before the end of the day.

Otherwise, Tharpe’s report was excellent. No inside trouble. No bugs, no freaks, and only a ghost of a ghost, seldom seen. The workmen had found nothing to bitch about yet.

Tharpe told me, ‘‘There was music last night, though. But it was, like, contented. Sleepy. Not that loud, aggravated shit. Hell, it was purring.’’

The workmen were really getting on with it. I had a good feeling as I led Tinnie and Singe on toward our fateful encounter at the Weider shack.

Hector wasn’t working the door. I was disappointed. I’d really built him up to Tinnie and Singe. His replacement was average size, ginger of hair, overly muscled and had the cold eyes of somebody who really missed the war. He recognized Tinnie and was concerned by the company she chose to keep. He let us in without saying a word.

Some kind of bang and crash happened, followed by shouting. Somebody launched a pompous soliloquy. Another voice bellowed, ‘‘No! No! You’re not some lunatic on the steps of the Chancellery! You’re in love! You’re trying to seduce the unseduceable!’’

All became clear once we could see the ballroom that makes up half the Weider hovel’s ground floor.

A small, rude stage had been thrown together across the end whence the service staff comes and goes when the Weiders entertain. Alyx, Bobbi, Lindy Zhang, Cassie Doap, and a guy I didn’t know were clustered onstage, to its right. The ladies weren’t wearing a lot, in a classical sort of style. Winger stood at the left front corner, in junk armor made for somebody smaller than her. She had on an absurd helmet with big-ass shiny metal wings. It was a wonder she kept her head up. She leaned on an oversize spear and looked like her shoes pinched.

Jon Salvation paced between, muttering. He had done the shouting.

Max, Manvil, Heather Soames, Hector, and some household staff formed a small, bewildered audience.

Tinnie sputtered and hissed, outraged. ‘‘What the hell? What the hell?’’ Her shoes made a huge, clattering racket as she stomped down the stair to the ballroom floor, never having knocked the winter off her feet.

Singe and I were good boys and girls. We left no muddy melt water on Max’s lovely serpentine floor.

That didn’t help matters, of course.

When Singe and I caught up Tinnie was in a snarling match with Alyx because she hadn’t been told about the rehearsal. Alyx insisted it wasn’t a rehearsal because they didn’t have anywhere to put on a play. They were just trying out scenes from something Jon Salvation was writing. A great historical tragedy.

Looked to me like Alyx wanted to eliminate an actress who might upstage her. ‘‘Anyway, you’re always busy, Tinnie. Either working or riding herd on Garrett. You don’t have time. Everybody else does.’’

True, mostly. But not what Tinnie wanted to hear.

I was wondering why Winger and Jon Salvation had time free.

Heather went in to referee the catfight. I climbed onstage and dragged a gobbling Jon Salvation over to where Winger was mooshing things around under her breastplate, trying to get comfortable inside armor not designed for someone as blessed as she. ‘‘The Dead Man told you guys to stick with Kip and Kyra. What happened?’’

Jon Salvation accused Winger by using exaggerated shifts of his eyeballs.

Did I really have to ask?

‘‘You just walked out on a job?’’

‘‘We got them home safe.’’

‘‘And didn’t let anybody know the kids weren’t covered anymore?’’

Winger said, ‘‘We had to get back to work on the play. Rausta, Queen of the Demenenes is gonna be the first play put on at the World. Jon put me in as the goddess Sedona.’’

The Remora told me, ‘‘Sedona was the patroness of the Demenenes. Rausta was their queen. She fell in love with the adventurer Laupher. She had to kill him to prove to the other Demenenes that she’d remain true to tribal law. Then she gave birth to twins. One boy, one girl. Demenenes were supposed to kill their male children. But Rausta didn’t.’’

I didn’t know the goddess, the queen, or the adventurer, but everybody knows the Demenenes, legendarily harsh Amazons of the plains way to the north of Karenta. They were the first people to domesticate horses. Joining one abomination with another. I didn’t need Jon Salvation to tell me how the story went after the twins grew up.

Salvation told me, ‘‘Sedona may have been an earlier queen of the Demenenes. Which would make her more a patron saint than patron goddess.’’

Winger said, ‘‘This godsdamned armor is rubbing my tits raw.’’

The Remora promised, ‘‘We’ll have better costumes when we open. This stuff is just for setting the tone. We will be opening, won’t we, Garrett?’’

‘‘I don’t see why not.’’

The other Amazons made a great show just prowling around. Too bad Tinnie was in a black mood. I wouldn’t mind watching the rehearsal, especially if the ladies got to jumping around, pretending to fight. The legendary Demenenes were all the time picking fights. Maybe the Remora could put in some wrestling scenes.

‘‘You rogue,’’ I told Salvation. ‘‘Those costumes will make your play a winner.’’ If they didn’t get the World burned by the kind of loons who can’t stand to look at scantily clad women. ‘‘Singe, let’s get Tinnie.’’

Max and Manvil were headed upstairs.

Tinnie allowed herself to be removed from the stage but remained furious. Alyx had found the trigger this time.

Cunning men, Max and Manvil had noted that we came armed with masses of paper. They cleared a table away from the fury of the fireplace and established themselves at its ends. They weren’t nearly as grim as I expected. I settled the females on one side of the table, went to the other myself. ‘‘These two will go first. What they’ve got is urgent.’’

Tinnie deferred to Singe. Singe managed to present her material without giving way to nerves. Tinnie nodded when she thought that was appropriate. Singe turned over her copies of the questionable records. And, almost as an afterthought, passed her expenses account to Manvil Gilbey.

Max said, ‘‘What do you call it when you mean to do one thing but you come up with something else instead?’’

Gilbey wondered, ‘‘Serendipity? Or synchronicity?’’

Back to Max. ‘‘Tinnie? What does the firm’s treasurer say?’’

The firm’s treasurer had her anger under control. ‘‘The firm’s treasurer admits she’s a big screwup. She didn’t realize her own family could steal from her.’’

‘‘Is it a family policy?’’ Gilbey radiated exasperated disbelief.

‘‘No! No! That’s not what I meant. I meant I never thought one of my own would mess me up like this.’’