Following Alyx was no chore. The hardest work I did was to pretend I didn't find being a few steps behind a shapely behind all that interesting.
"You're not fooling anybody, Garrett," Tinnie whispered. I glanced back. She had her devil grin on. I like her best when she's in that mood. Unfortunately, Alyx was right there to keep me in trouble.
We entered the kitchen.
Several religions boast hells that are less crowded, cooler, and quieter. The master of ceremonies was a devil woman so large that at first I thought she must be part troll or ogre. But no, she was just large and ferocious and determined that her domain should be an extension of her will. She never shut up. Her voice was a continuously constrained bellow. She was an immigrant with a strange accent. Platoons of cooks and bakers and their assistants, and boys who stoked the stoves and hauled firewood and charcoal and worked bellows and whatnot in a wild rush to achieve the impossible, were all lashed on by her scorn.
Our entry attracted attention instantly. She spun, prepared to repel boarders. She recognized Alyx only after she'd drawn in a bushel of air. "Miss Alyx," she boomed, "you shouldn't be back here now, you. Dey a party tonight, dey are. And you in your finest, you."
"Mr. Garrett needs help finding his way around."
The big woman dropped her chin to her chest. She glared at me from beneath eyebrows like hedges. "Garrett? Be you dat Garrett, you?"
"Which Garrett?" I had no idea who she was but it sounded like the reverse might not be true. She might even harbor some old grudge. "I don't recall our having met."
"You never did, you. I an' I want to know, I, be you de Garrett, he helps de mister sometimes, him? Dis Garrett, was a Marine, him. He saved my Shoeman from de swamp, him. From de debil crocodile."
"Yes. Yes. And I'm not sure. We all pulled each other out of the swamp a few times. I remember a guy named Harman and somebody called Bobby Ducks. Nobody knew why."
"Dat be him, yeah. Dat be my baby, him. He never like his god name, him. Always want it be Bobby, him do."
I vanished into a huge and powerful hug, me. As my last breath fled me I reflected that Bobby Ducks' daddy must have been a real man's man, him.
The big woman turned me loose. I gulped air like a fresh-caught fish. She told us, "But I have a big job to do now, I an' I. An' if'n I an' I turn my back one solitary minute on dese lazy debils—"
I interrupted. "How much outside help came in for tonight? Some of them may be here to hurt the Weiders." I hoped my imagination wasn't running too wild.
She understood immediately. "In de kitchen us added fourteen pairs of hands, us. For de work on de other side of de door, Genord, he hired sixteen men, him."
Gerris Genord. We knew one another only well enough to dislike one another. He was a bigger snob than even Ty Weider could be. He spent his life scandalized because people like me were allowed inside the house. Unless he had orders from Gilbey, he wouldn't work with me at all.
Maybe I could get around him.
Maybe I'd be lucky and not have to do anything.
"Those the only outsiders here?" I asked. "Besides our guests?" I recalled a mention of musicians.
The big woman nodded and turned away, unable to restrain her bellows any longer.
"And who would she be?" I asked Alyx. Earlier contacts with the Weiders hadn't taken me into the kitchen.
"That's Neersa. Neersa Bintor." She pronounced it Nay-Earsah. "She's been in charge down here since before I was born. Even Daddy is afraid to argue with her."
The big woman stopped bellowing, turned back to me. "You, Garrett. Maybe you want to know dis, you. Some of dese hirelings, dey maybe not so trustworthy, dem. Some keep trying to sneak away into de house, dem. Maybe to steal someding, eh? Dey have not get away from Neersa yet but maybe I an' I, maybe not be so hawkeye sometime, maybe."
"Thank you." That was support for my hunch. Wasn't it? I glanced around. "I'll keep an eye open. None of these people could melt into a crowd." Most looked like the sort who worked only as occasional labor even in a robust job market. Not backbone of de kingdom, dem. "They all accounted for now?"
Neersa allowed as how she believed that was so by way of an imperious nod.
"I'll circulate here for a while, see if I recognize any villains."
Alyx asked, "What should we do?" like she suspected me of first-degree intent to ditch.
"Wait. I won't be long. I promise." The girl had a vulnerable air that made you want to make promises—even if they were promises you couldn't keep.
Maybe she did need Daddy watching out for her.
30
I wasn't long, either. The odors of cooking combined with the smells of too many unwashed bodies crushed into too tight and too hot a space quickly discouraged me. Also, few of these people appeared smart enough or stupid enough to get involved in a plot against the brewery. And if they did get out of the kitchen, my nose would warn me.
If I was a villain who wanted to make an impact, I'd get in with the serving crew. They would be more presentable and more socially adept. And they would be welcome in parts of the house denied the kitchen staff.
I rejoined Alyx and Tinnie. "Too hot in here." I herded them toward the exit. From the corners of my eyes I watched for anyone paying me any special attention. Once we were out I asked, "Either of you notice anybody watching me?"
"I did," Tinnie replied.
"Uhm? And?"
"I mean, I watched you. Close." She winked.
Which irritated Alyx for sure. "How about you, Alyx?"
"She stole my line." She stuck out her tongue, so maybe Tinnie had. "No. Nobody even looked at you. You blended right in. Looked like you belonged there. Even in that outfit."
Belinda had assured me the Tad Weider hand-me-down was perfect for the occasion. "What's wrong with this outfit?"
Tinnie smirked. "We're talking silk purses and sow's ears, Garrett."
"If I wanted verbal abuse, I'd get me a talking parrot." Speaking of whom, he'd disappeared. If there are any gods... What I mean is, if there are any responsible gods, one or two might make sure the Dead Man didn't fade while the bird was here. I shuddered to think what might happen if that gaudy cowbird became himself.
"He's not here," Tinnie explained. "Somebody has to take up the slack."
"Where're we going?" Alyx asked.
"Around the corner to where the serving folks should be getting ready to—Hello."
"What?"
"I see a familiar face. In fact, I see two." They belonged to Trace Wendover and Carter Stockwell, erstwhile recruiters, all spiffy in servants' livery. The outsiders were all dressed in the same threadbare outfits. The contractor probably rented them, trying to expand his margin.
Trace noticed me an instant after I spotted him. He didn't acknowledge my interest but did drift toward Stockwell. Carter came alert before Trace got close enough to whisper.
"I was right," I mumbled, smug. "There was something going on."
"What?" Tinnie asked.
"I see two rightsists who have no business being here." Stockwell and Wendover weren't the sort to be reduced to day work. Those pretty boys had to come from families of substance.
Alyx asked, "Should I get Manvil?"
"No. You guys just watch out behind me. Oh, hell!"
"What?"
I'd taken my eyes off the boys for a few seconds. "They're gone." But how? There was no exit they could have reached that quickly, nor did the server gang seem diminished. But Stockwell and Wendover weren't among them anymore. "You'd better get Manvil after all." I didn't like the implications of what was happening.
31
Gilbey brought Ty ‘s pal Lancelyn Mac and a brace of hulking, uncomfortably out-of-place dock wallopers. "You got something?" he asked. He was ready for war.