"You win, kid. Eat hearty." Time to change over to Plan Q.
51
"I found him," I told Playmate. "They had him stashed in some kind of locker. Marsha! Get everybody ready to hit the road. We're gonna move as soon as we can get the kid cleaned up. Playmate, take him to the pond."
My instructions inspired a hundred questions. I ignored them all, located my local buddy Mr. Thring. He had value under the new plan. He glared daggers once I removed his blindfold but he'd begun to understand that bluster and attitude weren't his best tools here. "Mr. Thring. Good morning. I've been talking with my associates about what we should do with you. Most of them think we should take you over to the pond and hold you under until you can't remember names or faces anymore."
Surprise and fear lit up the dusky round face of the estate manager.
"But it seems to me that you might be more use to us healthy. If you'll help us with a little something and can leave us comfortably assured that you wouldn't discuss your adventures with anyone later on."
Thring was eager to provide assurances. He couldn't by virtue of having been bound and gagged.
"What I'm looking for is a little-known path or road we can use to slip away from here." Inside I was kicking myself for not having pulled this together last night, when we'd had a lot bigger lead on the folks who'd be headed our way now.
That messenger was going to end up having to whistle for the second half of his stipend.
"You do know this country well enough to help us with that, don't you? Probably grew up around here? Came right back after you did your five? Right?"
The man nodded his head.
"Good. I'm going to take your gag off now. And we'll get started on making you one of the crew."
I scanned the group. This wasn't a promising crowd for making a running retreat. Kip was in no shape to travel. Neither was Mr. Thring. Dojango would whine a lot but he could walk. Limping. He'd soaked his feet. Playmate and Saucerhead would manage what they had to manage. Doris and Marsha would end up doing more than their reasonable share, as usual, probably by having to carry somebody. And I would want to take an elf or two along.
The females seemed the most promising hostages. They were lighter and from what little I could sense of what was going on inside them, they seemed more cooperative, more likely to talk about things none of the several crews wanted known.
Playmate, Saucerhead, and I could take turns pulling our prisoner cart.
Saucerhead approached. "What's up, Garrett?"
"I've decided not to wait for Colonel Block. Mr. Thring here has been generous enough to offer to guide us out of here by back ways so we can get out and go home without having to deal with those special people who're likely to show up here with the Guard."
"I gotcha. Good idea. You suppose he could guide us somewhere where we could get something to eat?"
"I'll talk to him about that."
A little hunger probably wouldn't hurt us nearly as much as leaving a clear backtrail. Once we put some miles between ourselves and the wrecked skyships, though...
I was ready for a snack myself.
52
I was so agitated. All my paranoia went to waste.
When I reached home, after an epic death march that brought the survivors and me into town through the west gate, I learned that the Dead Man hadn't received my message at all. Neither had Morley, because Morley would've contacted His Nibs if he had.
What that meant was, there was still a gang of elves out there, tied up and maybe dying of thirst and exposure.
I headed for the al-Khar immediately. There wasn't much of me left when I got there. I need to work on my strength and endurance.
I had no trouble getting in to see Colonel Block. He really was interested in what I was doing.
I related a comprehensive version of my story. It ran light on the sorcery side and came up short on names but was solid enough to let the colonel know that here was a matter genuinely in need of his attention.
Block asked, "Did you happen to catch the name of this weirdly dressed fellow who was supposed to bring me your message?"
"Yeah. Earp. Eritytie Earp."
"Was he Michorite? That sounds Michorite."
"Possibly. Maybe one of those cults, now that you mention it. He dressed the part."
"And I'll bet all the other hands yucked it up when he volunteered to take the job. Am I right?"
"There was some amusement. But nobody else volunteered."
"You know what? Your boy is going to wake up in the Tenderloin stone-cold broke, without even his farmboy brogans, undoubtedly so wrecked that he can't remember his own name, let alone those of people he was supposed to give messages. Those ascetic cultists don't deal with temptation well when they come up against it without all their sour fart buddies watching over their shoulders, holding them back."
"Hell, that could be me. But at least I've been there enough times that I know what I'm missing."
Block gave me a concerned look. "You may end up with some legal problems if any of those elves die. Can you produce trustworthy witnesses to back you up when you say they kidnapped this kid?"
"Hell, Wes, you had a guy there when it happened."
"Not exactly. Oh, I do believe you. More or less."
"So why don't I just stipulate that you've got me over a barrel? Get somebody out there. Those creatures can't do you any good dead. If you really need me, you know where I live."
"I thought you'd go along. Be right there handy when questions start popping up."
"You thought wrong. I'm going home. I'm going to eat and sleep and not do anything else for about nine days. I'm allergic to the country. It takes me a long time to get over it. I'm just trying to do my civic duty here, anyway."
"You always were a bullshitter, Garrett. I'll let you know how it comes out."
I'd heard that before. He'd forget about me the second I left. The only reason he'd mentioned taking me along was to make me more eager to get out of there. He wanted to grab the benefits of this for Westman Block.
Damn, that was smart of me, being stupid enough to hire a messenger who'd get lost in the red-light district before he thought of doing anything else.
From the little I've heard about the Michorites and related cults, that's a rite of passage. They—the men—get one chance to sneak away and wallow in sin and depravity. Then they spend the rest of their lives keeping an eye on each other, every miserable man making sure nobody else has any fun ever again.
"In your hands," I said. "I hope you get more out of it than I did."
"Go on. Before I change my mind." He might, just to show me that he could, so I got.
The house was crowded, what with Singe, Kip, and the captive silver elves staying over. Singe offered to ease the crowding by moving into my room with me.
I begged off again. Kip and the elves ended up sleeping on the floor in the Dead Man's room, where he'd have the least trouble keeping them under control.
I'd really hoped that Singe's encounter with Rhafi unclothed would scare her off. It seemed to have whetted her curiosity instead.
The situation amused His Nibs immensely. He wasn't going to help me get out of it, either. I fell asleep in a household drenched in the miasma of his amusement.
53
Dean never gave the bitching a minute's rest but he did cook up breakfast enough for the whole wretched crowd.
The elf women joined in timidly. Dean tried them on everything in his arsenal. Tea they found acceptable. Honey seemed to be all right, in tea or straight from the pot. One nibbled a biscuit, also with honey aboard. Bacon revolted the two of them. The more obviously feminine member of the pair—the one who looked like she'd actually made it a few weeks into puberty—attacked the mustard once she discovered it. Dean scowled and muttered to himself. A lot of work goes into grinding seed and preparing the condiment. There's always a pot on the table, mainly because I don't much like mustard.