I offered a suggestion. "Look for a livery stable in the neighborhood. A place that has donkeys stabled. Possibly for rent. And don't count on being able to recognize this guy if you run into him. He loves disguises. And he has sorceries that help him look like other people. And some of the other elves have demonstrated the ability to make themselves invisible."
"What was that about a donkey?"
I rehashed my first encounter with Casey, disguised as Bic Gonlit. And then explained that the real Bic Gonlit seemed to be making his living working for ratman crime bosses these days. And that I suspected that the raid on Playmate's stable had been incited by the false Bic.
Block wanted to explore the whole Bic Gonlit question more closely. There seemed to be one long coincidence right in the middle of things, that being that both Bic Gonlits would cross my path on unrelated matters.
"It probably wasn't total coincidence," I mused. "But I'm confident that there's no grand plot. In order to pretend to be Bic Gonlit, Casey would've had to get close to the real Bic to study him. So Bic's probably had an unexpected friend during recent months. You might see what he has to say about that."
Colonel Block gave me a hard look. I'd just set poor Bic up for some difficult times. But Block said, "Suppose there isn't a coincidence? Is it possible that this Casey wanted to pull you in? Maybe so he'd have somebody who really knows TunFaire looking for the two elves he wants to find?"
I considered the almost compulsive need I had, at times, for finding Lastyr and Noodiss. "It could be. I think it could be." So did that make it the grand plot that I was confident didn't exist?
I don't think so. I have a feeling there was a lot of opportunism and seizing the day going on around me, particularly by Casey and Bic Gonlit.
None by me, of course. I'm too damned dumb. And then some.
"It's been another long day, Colonel," I said. "And I don't see how I can possibly be any more help, no matter how much I might want to be. Other than to get those people up front out of your hair." I was curious about that. I didn't know anybody in the legal profession. Not well, anyway. Lawyerdom is a small community with very little official standing outside the realm of commercial relations. "And you do know where to find me if you need me."
Block seemed distracted as he said, "All right. You're right. You might as well go home."
As I rose, I said, "Here's an idea. Everything that used to belong to the elves. Whatever you've managed to gather up. Isolate it somewhere. Try not to talk out loud around it. And if you try to figure out how something's magic works, make sure you don't give away any of your own. I really believe they can spy on us through those little gray blocks, somehow."
Colonel Block got up and walked me out himself. Once we were well away from that meeting room and the heart of his little empire, he asked, "You do know who those people were, don't you?"
"Not specifically who. I know what."
"All right. Listen to this. You've crossed paths with two of those three before. As I understand it. One of them doesn't like you even a little bit. I don't know what you did to inconvenience him, when or where, but he's definitely not big on forgive and forget. If we convene one of these brainstorming sessions again, consider the remote possibility that you might do yourself the most good by not volunteering any information. Or suggestions. They don't trust anything they don't have to work to get. They're cynical at a level that makes your cynicism look like playacting."
I didn't argue. I didn't see any point. I wasn't quite sure I got the point he was trying to make, either. He was sort of doing that sidewise friend thing where he thought he didn't dare be direct. I guess he was telling me to watch my back where spooky people off the Hill were involved.
To me that didn't seem like a lesson that needed to be taught to anyone over the age of seven.
61
The legal talent had been laid on first by the Weider brewing consortium. Manvil Gilbey being quick on the draw. Later, a gentleman had arrived who, allegedly, was associated with a rather more sinister enterprise.
Harvester Temisk has been the legal point man for Chodo Contague for ages. He continues to handle some things in Chodo's name, even though Belinda is in charge now, secretly. Which likely is no secret to him.
I couldn't imagine how Harvester Temisk could've gotten involved with my problems. And he wasn't the least bit forthcoming when I asked. All he had to say was, "I want you to come see me as soon as your current calendar clears."
Inasmuch as his presence might've led to my elevation from detainee to paid consultant, I told him I'd look him up as soon as I could.
I was profuse in my gratitude to the Weider man, too, a skinny little critter with a balding head, a huge brush of a mustache, and the oddball name Congo Greeve.
Neither lawyer could've done a lot for me, legally speaking, because the Guard were pretty much making things up as they went. What the lawyers' appearance did was put the Guard on notice that influential people were concerned about my welfare. And influence, nepotism, cronyism, and bribery are how the system works, Deal Relway's mad notions of universal justice and meritocracy notwithstanding. And the actual producers and the gangsters have far more influence than our masters on the Hill see as reasonable.
I first spotted the Goddamn Parrot when I was only a block from home. That animated feather duster was getting too clever about going unnoticed.
And just after I spotted the bird I realized that I hadn't been entirely forthright during my interview. I'd forgotten to mention my elven house guests.
In fact, I'd forgotten them completely.
Take care, Garrett. There are unfriendly ratmen in the neighborhood.
That seemed hard to credit after so many had gone down at Playmate's stable. Still, Old Bones isn't in the habit of being excitable.
It turned out there were only two unfriendly ratmen. And one of those had a limp so profound he was no threat to anyone but himself. The uncrippled individual approached me in a manner so bold that people on the street turned to marvel. "Mr. Garrett?"
"Guilty." This close to the Dead Man I didn't feel any special risk. "What do you need?"
"I bring a message from John Stretch. He has the woman Winger."
This ratman was no Pular Singe. I could barely understand him.
As a point of information, Garrett, this fellow is John Stretch. He has only a handful of followers left, most of them injured. He fears they will desert him if he demonstrates any hesitance or lack of resolve.
"Couldn't happen to a more deserving guy. I hope they enjoy a long and prosperous marriage."
The ratman appeared nonplussed. "John Stretch says he will trade the woman Winger for the female Pular Singe."
"Hell, so would I. You're kidding, right? One of my friends put you up to pulling my leg. Right? Who was it? You can help me get him back."
The ratman was confused. This wasn't going anything like he planned. "John Stretch says he will harm the woman Winger—"
"John Stretch isn't likely to live long enough to harm anybody or to make deals with anybody. Rather than making more enemies John Stretch ought to be trying to find himself some new friends."