"I haven't formed an opinion. I don't know the new woman-except that she's scary and she's screaming gorgeous. Tinnie I do know."
That didn't sound like a ringing endorsement. "Meaning?"
"Tinnie has some wonderful points. But with some of us she resonates like the Remora does with you. You tolerate him because Winger is your friend. One could make a case for Tinnie being a particularly sinister proof of Dotes' First Law. Don't look at me like that."
"It could be my fault."
"That's the sinister part. She makes you think the problems are all your fault."
I muttered about us having to start recovery training, to avoid an inappropriate vent about him and Belinda. Then I wondered if I ought to poll my acquaintances for their opinions.
Of a sudden I had a distinct feeling that I liked Tinnie a lot more, and thought a lot better of her, than did most any acquaintance not named Tinnie. They tolerated her because she came with me. Odd, that. I was used to thinking that people tolerated me because I came with Tinnie.
Both views would be pure truth-depending where you are standing.
That was not the Dead Man. His Nibs continued snoozing. That was me imagining how Old Bones would respond if I asked his opinion.
I said, "Intellectually, I'm not feeling so good. I need time to get my mind right."
Morley said nothing. He had no need. His expression told the tale.
Garrett had had years to think. He had done his best to avoid that. Now he was caught in a cleft stick, with guilt twisting his arm up behind him.
Sometimes procrastination can be a blessing. And sometimes not, with personal things. Time passing lets opportunities get away and unresolved problems fester.
"Really? Isn't your actual problem that you think too much?"
"Hard to argue with that. Everyone I ever knew accused me of that."
"Let's get back to the plan."
"It's coming along. Since neither of us can go dancing with the devils right now we'll train till we are able."
"I understand the theory. But your thinking is anachronistic. It made sense back when you dealt with stuff that didn't attract attention from generals and princes."
What he meant wasn't obscure, but I didn't get it.
"You kept developing attachments, Garrett."
"I don't follow."
"In the beginning there was you, me sometimes, and a sleek new girl every couple of months. And Tinnie in and out of your life. Then you started getting entangled. There was the brewery connection. Then the Contagues." He made a gesture meant to warn me against interrupting. "You got entangled with Block and Relway and Singe. And Kip and the whole inventory of Tates."
I understood, then. As life proceeded I kept making persistent connections that created ever more complicated obligations. The hiatus under Tinnie's thumbs hadn't shaken me free. People had expectations. I had expectations of my own.
Morley said, "All those entangling people will go right on doing what they do."
I wasn't sure what he meant but he was gracious enough to go on crushing my grand strategy.
That's what it added up to. Our problems existed for other people, too. In this case, most everyone in the city.
"You put it that way, there's no point in us making plans."
"Now you've got it."
I took another shot at getting up off the cot. This time I made it upright.
A drooping Singe materialized before I took a second step. "Where are you going?"
"Upstairs. To bed."
"You just woke up."
I coughed heartily. The cold was getting there. "Ah, crap! You should get some sleep, too."
"Somebody has to run this circus. And I seem to be the only one who can stay awake."
"Unfair. You didn't get the magical smack down."
"Nor did I, eyes wide shut, charge into what a three-year-old dimwit could recognize as a deadly instrument."
"She's got you there, Garrett."
A point. When I charge around overturning and busting things sometimes it's me that gets overturned and busted.
I would have been better off hanging back, throwing rocks.
I picked up the breather. "Show me what to do."
What to do was take notes, for the Dead Man's delectation later, from people poking into things for us. Half of them I didn't know. Some I hadn't seen before. I had no idea how or when they had gotten hired. And they were, universally, boring, because they had nothing interesting to report.
After the fourth I told Singe, "This is impossible. TunFaire can't possibly be that quiet. People can't still be that ignorant. There were witnesses out there."
"Just means the powers that be kept the lid on. So far. Probably by manufacturing clever stories. Gang warfare. Ethnic strife. Something like that. There. I'm caught up."
Nothing interesting happened for the rest of the day.
68
I did get to bed before sundown, never having taken a sip of beer. Dean had gone up right after supper. Singe didn't stay up much longer than I did. We left the house to Penny and Dollar Dan.
I fell asleep snuggling with the breather and a mound of handkerchiefs. Singe had delivered a mug of fierce medicinal tea on her way to her repose. That put me under, fast.
I wakened with the sun on the rise. And I was not alone.
Strafa was spooned up against me as though she had been there every night for years. She was leaner and warmer than what I was accustomed to.
I was startled, but only for a moment. Where else could she stay? The other beds were taken.
I moved slightly. She adjusted, too. My right hand discovered something smaller and more firm than what I anticipated. I cupped it. She pushed against my hand and made a little sound of contentment. I slipped back into Nod. She was purring.
When next I wakened I was on my back. Strafa's head was on my chest, over my heart. She was against me tightly, all the way down. Her hand was on my belly, thumb resting on my navel.
It all seemed perfectly reasonable.
My heartbeat quickened.
That wakened Strafa, slightly. Her hand drifted.
I squeaked. She purred but granted a stay after brief exploration. She wrapped that arm around me, over my right shoulder, pulled herself even closer, half on top, purred some more, and went back to sleep.
Singe awakened us. She showed no attitude. "You won't have time to eat if you don't get moving." She grabbed my used handkerchiefs. "I'll get these washed. There are fresh downstairs." Her nose twitched, no doubt telling her what she wanted to know. "The Dead Man is still asleep. General Block should be here in about an hour. His message didn't say why. Otherwise, there is no news."
Strafa untangled herself from the bedding while Singe talked, exposing my nakedness. No surprise to Singe. She knows I sleep raw. But Strafa was equally bare and not the least self-conscious.
Singe's nose twitched some more. She said nothing. Her season was no longer causing completely tormenting emotions.
She collected the breather. "I'll have Dean recharge this."
"Thanks." I did not look at her. I could not stop staring at Strafa, who was digging in a trunk that hadn't been against the west wall when I went to bed.
The door shut behind Singe. Strafa looked at me, now sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're having naughty thoughts. I can tell."
Oh, yeah.
She came to me, pushed me back, straddled me, asked, "Now? Or wait till tonight?"
I was no moral hero. I was no faithful lover. Had the name Tinnie Tate come up just then my best response would have been, "Who?" I couldn't talk. My brains were scrambled. The woman had found her way deep inside my head. She had established emotional colonies. There was no way to drive her out.
I couldn't come up with an answer. So Strafa allowed herself the luxury of deciding for me.