Glen Cook - Angry Lead Skies

"She's got you there," Morley said, content to leave all the blame with me. "I could use a little more information myself. Bic Gonlit is only a name to me."

"He's this little round fat guy who wears funny boots—"

"There was a little round fat man with hugely thick-soled boots I saw several times on the way down here. I thought he might be doing something for you because your parrot was right there near him."

"I didn't see him," Playmate said. "Not the bird, either."

"Nor did I," I confessed. My parrot. Following me around. And I never noticed.

It might be time to consider alternative careers.

"I noticed the bird," Singe said. "I saw the fat man, too. But I did not know Mr. Big was following him. I thought he was following you, Garrett. He is still around. I saw him just a minute ago. Yes. Over there. Where we came from. Up on that cornice thing where the pigeons are sleeping."

"I've made up my mind. I'm going to see Weider and tell him I'm taking the security job at the brewery." I felt completely blind and useless. It was so dark I couldn't find the end of my arm.

"There is a short little fat man over there watching us, too," Singe told me. "He is hiding behind those steps right under the parrot."

Like anybody could see all that if they just looked. Grrr! The only thing I could see was a glow in the distance, about where we'd lost track of Kip.

I really was inclined to tell Max Weider I was ready to come on board. Truly. At that moment. But, before I hung it up, I had to try another stunt or two. "I have a thought. We're all tired. Why don't we head for my place? If Gonlit really is following us, we can lead him to the Dead Man."

I was past ready to go home. I was desperate for something to take the edge off my headache. And I was hungry. And I was tired. Getting knocked unconscious regularly takes the vinegar out of you fast, even if you're not going out by getting bopped on the head.

My plan, as proposed, didn't stir a word of protest. Much to my amazement. Morley is naturally contentious. He'll get involved in arguments just to entertain himself. But all he said was, "I'm worn-out, too. And The Palms is headed into its busiest time. And I left Puddle in charge."

"I got a thing going myself," Saucerhead said. "I need to get back, too, unless something starts happening."

Even Playmate was willing to shut it down for the night. And to desert me when he did. "Nobody's been at the stable all day. I need to get back there before the animals get so upset they... " He stopped. I think he was about to let slip something terrible about the conspiracy amongst horses but realized that me finding out might turn out to be bad luck for him. He changed the subject. "And somebody's going to have to tell Kip's family what's happened."

A while later, after a period of silence, Playmate asked, "You wouldn't consider taking care of that for me, would you, Garrett?"

"Not likely, old buddy. Not likely. After today's adventures you're not real high on my ‘please, God, let me do him a favor' list."

The tiniest flicker of a smirk crossed Playmate's features before he settled on an expression of stolid resignation. I had the feeling that I'd just gotten jobbed but couldn't figure out how.

I never saw the Goddamn Parrot before he dropped onto my shoulder in Wizard's Reach, two blocks from home. Or one block through the alley to my back fence. By then the only companions I had were the bird and Pular Singe. None of us were inclined to lose any sleep looking for Cypres Prose anymore.

Maybe I was just telling myself what I wanted to hear when I reasoned that Kip was in no physical danger because the silver elves had shown no inclination to do anyone any permanent harm. So far.

Kip's personality might trigger the extra effort. The bird said nothing. His presence was the message. The Dead Man knew we were coming. And he knew that Bic Gonlit was on our trail.

Now we would see how well the little fat man had done his homework.

If he knew much about the Dead Man he wouldn't get too close to the house. Not as close as he'd gotten in the alley. Though how close is really too close is something even I don't know.

The Goddamn Parrot whispered, "He has stopped, Garrett. He has positioned himself behind the Bailnoc stoop. From there he can see the front of our house while he stays far enough removed that I cannot read much more than his moods."

He didn't seem to mind Singe finding out that he could chat with me through the ugly rooster. I didn't think he was dumb enough to believe that she was too dim to catch on. So he trusted her completely.

Handy to know just how trustworthy your associates are.

I looked back. I couldn't see a thing. I wondered how Gonlit could be watching me. I wondered about his connections. He'd have to have some potent ones helping right now. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to follow me around unnoticed.

That takes some advanced magic.

I think I'm pretty good at this stuff I do. I don't normally get tailed without noticing unless the tail comes armed with some pretty potent sorcerous tools.

As Singe and I climbed the stoop a sleepy-angry tittering broke out somewhere up under the eaves. Something as fast as a hummingbird dropped down and circled us several times too swiftly to be seen clearly.

My front door opened. Dean must've been alerted by the Dead Man. He stood there in his nightshirt, scowling, holding a lamp above his head, disapproving of birth, death, and most everything in between.

"Early night?" I asked. The nightshirt was for commentary only. It wasn't yet time for him to retire. He doesn't change until he's ready to slide into bed. Unless he wants to make some point that will remain obscure to everyone but him.

He grunted and rewarded me with an even blacker scowl.

"What's with the gang of pixies up there?" I expected their presence would keep us arguing like pixies for weeks.

"Ask the thing. He's the one who decided to adopt them."

Ah. Live and learn. And discover the real root of Dean's bad temper. The Dead Man had done something to offend his sense of rectitude.

Dean was aggrieved further because I'd been all set to blame him. Because that's the kind of thing he's likely to do. Every time I turn around he's trying to take in another stray.

This might require some untangling.

"I'll talk to him," I promised. I wasn't really happy, either.

Living near pixies is like setting up housekeeping inside a colony of sparrows. The squabbling never stops. And this bunch was making themselves at home right above my bedroom window.

None of that would bother Old Bones. He's dead. He doesn't have to listen to the racket.

Darkly, I added, "Failing him seeing reason, I know where I can come up with a nest of bumblebees." Bumblebees and the smallest of the little people were feuding before the appearance of the first men. If you credit the legends of the wee folk.

Dean growled something about, "Then how do we get rid of the bumblebees?"

He grows ever more pessimistic as he ages.

"One step at a time, brother. One step at a time. Right now we've got trouble on a grander scale. I lost the boy who came here looking for help today. In circumstances surpassing strange. Make some tea, slap together some sandwiches, bring everything in with His Nibs, and I'll fill you in."

The old man headed for the kitchen. I'd triggered his concern for the lost and the hopeless. Earlier he'd been ready to stuff Kip into a gunnysack with a couple boulders so the boy could have a close-up look at the lost treasures on the bottom of the river somewhere off the Landing.

Singe watched while I took the Goddamn Parrot to his perch in the small front room. The Dead Man had withdrawn his control and inhibiting influence. The feathered weasel was returning to normal. He muttered like a stevedore but his big interest at the moment was food, not obnoxious chatter meant to get his owner crucified. He let Singe stroke his feathers as long as she didn't interfere with his dining.