The Dead Man touched me lightly-just a gentle suggestion that I keep my mouth shut till she was out of the house.
27
I shut the door, did a quick mental catalog of the faces I had seen watching. There were dozens, still, even with the hearse and coach gone. Some were Belinda's bodyguards. None of the others tripped an alarm. None made the Dead Man wonder, either.
Mr. Dotes' presence will not remain secret. A clever questioner could pluck a detail from this dim witness and that and assemble an approximation of our situation.
"And? So what?"
That was me being too sure that I was untouchable inside my own house. My watchful partner brought my overconfidence to my attention.
I am ever most effective when my presence and abilities are unknown. One would think that you had worked that out for yourself by now.
I was about to spin a big argument. He cut me off. How would you deal with me, given the knowledge you have?
A couple notions popped into mind immediately. And I limit my options by failing to be as ruthless as some.
You see. It is all in knowing what you are up against. Which is why my people never reveal all there is to know about us, to friend, foe, or sibling.
Wisdom with which it was hard to argue. At the moment I was thinking the best way to get him and Morley at the same time would be a swarming attack with firebombs. Light the place up and burn everybody inside.
There are people out there able to do that and sleep like a baby afterward. People who would do it for the price of a quality high.
Director Relway doesn't always seem like a bad idea.
You begin to see. We are most vulnerable to those who know who and what we are.
No doubt he meant that on multiple levels.
"I see. In fact, I see so clearly that I'm sure Belinda made a mistake by moving us here."
Let me suggest some possibilities. Perhaps she does not plan to leave Mr. Dotes here long. This may last only until it lures someone into range.
"We're bait?"
Possibly. She might, in addition, be pleased if I could excise a clue or two from Mr. Dotes.
"About?"
All of the great questions. Who? Where? What? Why? When? How? And who to? Or anything else that might lead to the cutting of selected throats. I am inclined to agree with Miss Contague about the potential value of the dig. Which will be difficult work. Exploring an unconscious mind, counterintuitively, is much more difficult than rummaging through a mind that is awake, aware, and trying to hide.
"I'll take your word for it. You being the self-declared expert."
Indeed. At this point you should find someone else to pester. I need all my minds to winkle out those things that Mr. Dotes does not know he knows.
28
One custom had not changed since my move to Factory Slide. Singe had kept up the payments on the cold well in the kitchen. Currently, that contained a keg of Weider Pale Ale, a Pular Singe favorite. My taste runs to something slightly heavier but the pale ale was plenty good after several days dry.
Singe and I both drew big mugs and backup pitchers before we headed for her office, leaving Dean preparing a meal obviously meant for more people than me, Singe, and Morley. We settled into the wonderful new furniture and began to scheme out how this thing would go.
I said, "First thing, I want to catch up on what you did last week, up on the north side." I took a sip of the pale. Tasty! "I saw you. They probably didn't tell you what was going on."
"Not a lot, no. I took the job because you asked me to in your note."
"And?"
"And what? You need to use small words and be very clear with us Other Races."
Was she serious? Or just messing with me? Most of my friends did. Singe had been an exception. "The tracking job. Where did that take you? What did you find? That might give me some clue about what I need to do to help Morley. I know you found something because you're you, Pular Singe, the best there is and maybe ever was."
"Wow! Doesn't that make me feel special?"
"Singe! Please."
"I keep forgetting that you're a gelding now. All right. Miss Contague asked me to backtrack a team of goats. I did, into Elf Town, to a small warehouse, where we found some totally ridiculous stuff."
"Meaning?"
"I can't think of a way to say it better."
"So just tell me."
"All right. The warehouse was maybe forty by sixty feet, two stories tall, all open inside. The goat cart left the warehouse through a pair of doors, each three feet wide and of normal height. They were barred from inside when we got there. Miss Contague's men broke in while Director Relway's Specials looked the other way."
Pardon me, children. I can make this easier for you both. It is a significant event that Garrett has no knowledge of beyond the fact that Miss Contague wanted that cart backtracked.
Singe said, "She knew goats are more pungent and persistent than people. Tracing them would be the easiest way to get a handle on our villain. May I get on with my report?"
No. Too much will be lost if you do it verbally.
Vaguely, I heard Singe use language unladylike even for a ratgirl, then found myself living a memory, riding behind her eyes from the moment she started the trace. Initially, there were flashes, excised moments, as the Dead Man skipped me along like a flat stone across a pond. The stills came closer and closer together. Then I was outside the aforementioned double doors. They had been painted recently, a repugnant flat olive with a repulsive odor.
Red tops stared the other way while Belinda's thugs broke through. Nobody came to protest the violation. Because the doors were standing open when they arrived the Specials were free to pass through and see if crimes were in progress inside.
Nobody was home. Belinda's men and the tin whistles alike produced lights, moved fast.
I was fascinated by the differences in how Singe and I sensed the world. For her, visual things were less crisp and weaker on color. Her depth of field was limited. She had trouble seeing clearly things that were more than fifty feet away. But the smells!
She lived in a rich, rich world of aroma.
Her brother once told me the sense of smell was dramatically more important to rats than to humans and most of the Other Races. I had believed him but not to this extent. The smells were overwhelming.
And, inside that place, they were not good. They were the smells of corrupting flesh, of chemicals and poisons, smells implanted in ratkind racial memory. A place that smelled like it was where Singe's ancestors had been created. That thought hit her the instant she stepped inside, before the first lamp shed light.
Light only confirmed truths evident to her genius nose.
I could be a little parasite swimming around in Singe's recollections but I could not fully appreciate her experience. My senses acknowledged much different priorities.
Once the raiders made light I saw that the place conformed to the dimensions Singe had reported. There were no internal walls except for the far corner on the left side where a space eight feet by ten was isolated behind partitions eight feet high. There was nothing overhead but framing for a peaked roof, the rooftree of which was twenty feet above the floor.
Ahead were numerous glass vats big enough to hold a human being. Several did. They could have been blown only by an artist with a knack for sorcery. Every thug and tin whistle instantly decided that discovering the provenance of the vats would lead them right to the devil who had created this abomination.