I found a hand-painted bamboo fan. I snapped it open. Well. Kip Prose might not be wasting time and money in the Tenderloin, but somebody was. That fan had been shoplifted from one of the sporting houses.
In the best houses management leaves the fans where the marks can swipe them for souvenirs. A form of advertisement. And a cute gimmick since a guy—or occasional gal—who brings in ten fans not only gets amnesty for the thefts; he wins a free visit.
Free enterprise at its fiercest.
A detailed look round turned up more fans, no two from the same house. Each came from a high-end establishment.
Somebody had money to throw in the river.
The search for fans turned up the fact that the furnishings all came from the same source. Mungero Farkas. I knew the name, vaguely. Farkas was a secondhand man. An honest one, not a fence, specializing in quality merchandise. I’d seen the Farkas shop in passing. It was about a quarter mile away, in the better part of the Tenderloin.
Nothing else interesting turned up. But I did begin to get a creepy feeling. Like I wasn’t alone and the person I couldn’t see was distinctly unfriendly.
I figured I’d tripped another spell.
Back to the foot of the stair. The door behind the stair looked intriguing. I opened it and stepped inside. A single lamp came to life.
The room was six feet by eight. It featured an unmade bed and a nightstand. Its purpose was obvious. The door could be locked from inside.
So. A little something going on between members of the group.
The feeling that I was being watched grew stronger. The air felt damper and heavier.
I tried the door facing the foot of the stair, expecting another small chamber like the trysting room. It might have been. Or it might have been the antechamber to infinite space. I wasn’t about to go find out. The darkness in there was absolute and alive.
I slammed the door. My heart hammered. I panted like I’d run a mile.
One more door.
I stalled. Behind this one would be the place where the bugs had been created.
The feeling of presence was so strong I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder. Must be some sort of scare spell that kept getting stronger if you ignored it. Definitely clever work.
I found the wort smell when I opened up. It wasn’t strong. I didn’t charge ahead. I didn’t get the chance. A half dozen very large bugs raced past me, headed for the light. As something that felt like a dead, wet hand caressed the back of my neck.
My next clear thought came with me leaning against a wall across the street from the ruin, hacking and gasping as I fought for air. A handful of big bugs stumbled out behind me, into the chill world of their doom. I was pretty sure they were the last adult insects.
I caught my breath. I wouldn’t be bragging about this one any time soon.
Garrett don’t panic. Garrett don’t run away from things he can’t even see.
Four blocks to the Mungero Farkas establishment. I could get my courage back by bullying the secondhand man.
I caught a whiff of body odor from the spot where Tinnie had spied Lurking Felhske. Felhske wasn’t there now, lurking or otherwise. But somebody had been, recently. Today’s snow had been trampled.
Watching me? Or watching the place?
I seemed unlikely. But news of me visiting the place might be of interest. To someone.
Mungero Farkas was open. I got the impression he meant to stay open till the evening crowd faded from the Tenderloin. Business did not appear to be good.
Farkas was a basic, ordinary middle-aged white guy who spent way too much money on professional grooming. A human Morley twenty-five years down the road. He was cooperative. He wanted company.
He recalled every item I mentioned. ‘‘That was a good several days. I moved a lot of stuff.’’ But he had sold it in a half dozen lots over four days, two lots to a young couple who seemed to be just starting out and the rest to a man he could not describe other than to say he looked like he belonged in servant’s livery. ‘‘I really don’t even remember the color of his hair.’’
‘‘He did have hair?’’
Frown. ‘‘Oh. I get it. Yes. A full head. Graying around the temples, now I think about it. So it must have been dark. I got the feeling his employer would be someone whose fortunes were in decline. He was a little evasive but his money was good. I thought it deserved a home with me. Oh. And that guy? He had one droopy eye.’’ Farkas pulled the corner of his right eye down and sideways. ‘‘Like this.’’
I thanked him. I took a few minutes to examine his inventory. He had some intriguing pieces but I didn’t need anything.
I considered backtracking the fans I’d found. But where was the point? The people from whom they had been collected wouldn’t remember anything. And wouldn’t tell me if they did.
Time to go home.
30
‘‘Oh, is it getting treacherous out,’’ I told Singe when she let me in.
‘‘What happened to your coat?’’
‘‘Tinnie’s good intentions. Dean back yet?’’
‘‘No. We’re on our own for supper.’’
That meant Garrett would boil some sausages. He might even get experimental and toss in a couple potatoes.
She asked, ‘‘So how was your day?’’
‘‘Damn, we’re getting domestic. I spent most of it in the Al-Khar. Then I got dragged over to The Palms, where Morley had a seizure when I mentioned Lurking Felhske. That after Director Relway nearly volunteered me for the rack when I mentioned the same name.’’
‘‘That strange-smelling man who was watching us yesterday?’’
‘‘He was watching. But the consensus is, not us. The very one, though. Apparently unpopular with a lot of people.’’
We were in the kitchen, banging the pots and pans. Singe drew us a couple of beers.
‘‘No wonder, stinking that way,’’ she said.
‘‘You didn’t mention an unusual odor before.’’
‘‘It is not unusual. It is just potent. Body odor.’’
In a city where most people consider bathing unhealthy or an effete affectation, full-bodied personal auras aren’t exactly rare.
Singe said, ‘‘It is more than failure to bathe. It is unusual diet. Or disease.’’
Not uncommon, especially amongst old folks. But what disease leaves a man looking like an orangutan?
I told her about the rest of my day, including the whiff I’d caught heading over to see Farkas.
Singe refilled our mugs. ‘‘You must have just missed him. Odor wouldn’t stay around strong enough for a human nose in weather this windy.’’
The pot was hot enough. I filled it with smoked sausages and two large potatoes, quartered. ‘‘How the hell did I survive before I bought this place and hired Dean?’’
‘‘You ate out.’’
‘‘Pretty much. Yeah. I didn’t amount to much then.’’
‘‘You are fortunate that Dean is not here to hear you admit that.’’
‘‘He’d get in a shot. Yeah. What’s with Himself? I haven’t heard a peep.’’ Though I was sure he’d helped himself to my day’s adventures already.
‘‘That child priestess was here. She brought some puzzles. He has been playing with those.’’
‘‘Grrr! Even when Dean’s away. How much did she eat? What did she steal?’’
‘‘You are too young to be a cranky old man.’’ She refilled our mugs. ‘‘Maybe you should go visit your uncle Medford. Remind yourself how pleasant it is to be around crabby old men.’’
Medford Shale is my only living relative. He’s a miserable grouch. ‘‘No, thank you, thank you. Swear to all the gods, these potatoes are going to take forever.’’
‘‘You want to get that, then?’’
I took a long drink of beer, set my mug down where she could top it off. ‘‘Get what?’’
‘‘The door. Someone is knocking.’’
It would behoove you to move swiftly, Garrett. The glamouron the boy’s mind is fraying.