"Never leave home without one." That's my partner. Like some kind of priest or professor, his vegetating is hard and honorable work. All my sweat and agony is barely worth a mention because what I do involves occasionally engaging a muscle.
17
Bic Gonlit had no intention of cooperating. Bic Gonlit could pick his dogs up and put them down when he was scared. Who'd have thought a little round guy with chubby, stubby legs could lead me on such a long chase?
Not me. Not before I lived it.
After several blocks I was glad the Dead Man had insisted on sending the Goddamn Parrot out to scout for me. By then it was obvious that Bic Gonlit could see in the dark. And I could not, which wasn't a major news flash. And the people of my neighborhood aren't rich enough to maintain adequate streetlamps.
The multicolored chicken did his part. He kept up a running lot of howling and cursing, some evidently adapted from the cant of old-time formal hunts. Highbrow and embarrassing. And, likely, everybody he woke up would assume that it was all my fault.
There'd be complaints. There'd be angry presentations. There'd be intemperate talk about chasing me out of the neighborhood. That would be followed by calmer heads appealing for reason. The older residents all know I share my place with a cranky dead Loghyr. An irritated cranky dead Loghyr can make life a lot more unpleasant for a lot of people for a long time. Why go looking for trouble?
I needed to stop playing around. I needed to put on a burst of speed that would nail the fat man.
I should've planned for this phase before I let everybody go home.
Just off the Arsenal High Street, a little my way from the brewery district, is a small remnant of old-time imperial TunFaire that wasn't consumed in the Great Fire. It's known as Prune Tastity for reasons nobody recalls anymore. Prune Tastity is a sort of museum of ancient times, all cramped-together buildings and covered alleyways barely wide enough to let the air circulate. Following the fire wider alleys and streets were mandated by law.
There is less disease in areas where the buildings are farther apart, too.
The wonder buzzard's shrieks told me my quarry was going to try to lose us both by ducking into Prune Tastity's tangle of covered alleyways.
I've been in there a few times. The place is a maze, at times rising five stories high. What Gonlit apparently didn't realize was that I was familiar enough with Prune Tastity to know that there're only a handful of entrances to the maze. He'd gone in the far side hoping I'd follow and get lost. If he meant to leave without running into me again he'd have to come out not far from where I stood listening to the Goddamn Parrot's progress report.
I got myself into position with minutes to spare. I used every second to get more wind back into my lungs. I needed my breathing under control if Gonlit wasn't going to hear me puffing for a block before he arrived.
I needn't have worried. Bic was puffing so hard himself that he couldn't have heard the ringing of the bell that's supposed to announce the end of the world. His head was down, his arms and legs were pumping, and he wasn't even making a fast walk anymore. But he was still moving. He sounded like he was going to expire if he didn't take a break and concentrate on his breathing.
I timed my move, caught his collar as he shuffled past. He made one feeble attempt to get away, then gave up. And I mean gave up completety. He just folded up on the street and refused to do anything but gasp for air.
Ten minutes later he was still curled up like a pillbug, daring me to make him do anything he didn't want to do. He seemed confident he knew enough about me to be sure I wouldn't kill him for being uncooperative.
Morley is right. I need to become less predictable. And I need to develop a more savage reputation.
Because of the Dead Man's reminder I had not left the house without my convincing stick, eighteen inches of oak with a pound of lead in its active end. It proved useful on this unfriendly night.
I tapped my new friend just below the kneecap on each leg, not hard enough to break anything. Just hard enough to turn his legs to water temporarily. I didn't want him able to put up much of a fight when I took his precious boots.
He understood before I got the first boot off. He started yelping. He called for help. He begged for mercy. The Goddamn Parrot came down and chimed in, carrying on loudly in several obviously nonhuman voices. Not that any witnesses were likely to drop their street sense in order to jump in and rescue any of us. That was not the way of the city.
"You sonofabitch, you want to keep your pretty boots, you'd better get real cooperative real sudden." I thumped Mr. Gonlit once atop each shoulder, briskly, not far from the sides of his neck.
Instantly, Bic began to have trouble lifting his arms.
The little man was tough in his way. He never stopped struggling—until I dragged the second boot off him. Then he went limp again. Without volunteering to make my life any easier.
"Bic, I'm gonna take your shoes home with me. Maybe give me a good shine." It had been my intention to drag him along with me, too, but I'd just heard a troubling sound, one I'd honestly never expected to hear. But rumors had been circulating for weeks so I recognized it in plenty of time.
The sound was a whistle. Rather like the shrill of a boat-swain's pipe. Somebody from the guard's foot patrol wasn't far away and he'd heard that there was trouble. He was summoning assistance.
Changing times. Relway and Block just have way too many ideas for advancing the case of law and order. Not that I mind too much when they interfere in someone else's business. But my business is mine.
I said, "My friend and I have to run. I'll take good care of your boots. You know where to find them. When the mood hits you, drop by the house. You can pick them up."
I was drawing to an inside straight, betting his boots were that important to him. I would've talked more but now whistles from several sources were sounding closer and closer.
I headed for home. I was halfway there before I realized that the Goddamn Parrot wasn't with me. When I got home I went straight to the Dead Man to find out why.
The manner in which you dealt with the exigencies of your situation seems well chosen. However, it did leave considerable leeway in the hands of Mr. Gonlit. It seemed prudent to keep watching eyes and a nagging voice somewhere near him. Lest he surrender to a fit of common sense and just abandon his boots.
You do have those still? Excellent. Would you summon Miss Pular? She is in the kitchen helping herself to a snack. Dean has retired for the night.
We will try to discover why the boots mean so much to our rotund nemesis.
Did you, by the by, discover how it was that he was able to see in the dark?
" 'Fraid not. The question went right out of my head when I heard those whistles."
Old Bones was wide-awake and in rare form, nothing escaping the notice of his several minds. I wasn't going to be allowed anything less than wide-awake myself until he sucked up all the outside information he wanted.
18
Singe sniffed Gonlit's boots. That wasn't a task I envied her. Their fragrance had been less than appealing while I was toting them, even carried at the ends of their strings. But ratpeople don't seem to be repelled by odors the same way we humans are. Nor are they offended by the same scents.