"Uhm?"
"Jane's mint only grows in boggy places. It's not really mint but crushing the leaves produces a juice with a mint smell. It shouldn't be ingested. It used to be used to poison mice. The seeds are hard to collect. You have to catch them at exactly the right time."
"We're interested in Jane's mint seeds because?"
"Because the powdered seeds have an almost miraculous healing effect. And someone has been buying them up. The price has gone up tenfold in a month."
I exchanged looks with Block, then held up a restraining hand when he wanted to press for details. Kolda didn't notice.
Belinda didn't care. She was having trouble staying conscious.
Singe returned. Kolda accepted a mug, took a long pull, was pleasantly surprised, belched, then told me, "And that's about all I know, heading west." He drained his mug and got his feet under him again.
Singe released him into the wild, then hustled back to eavesdrop while Block and I quarreled over whether the Guard or the Outfit should make the rounds of the town's chemists. I thought Belinda's thugs would be more effective.
I wondered, "Did you get anything from the bodies you hauled away the other night?"
"They got confiscated by people who had the right warrants but not the right look."
"I smell obfuscation," Belinda said, suddenly awake. She had on a big smile. She had been faking the drunk. And she knew more than the Civil Guard thought she should.
Block said, "We did what we could in the time that we had."
"And that would be?"
"Two zombies had faces resembling those of known criminals. It wasn't for sure. The outsides of the bodies were more like leather than normal skin. The forensic sorcerers said they were dressed in whole human skins after the surgical rebuilding. The major seams were in the back. Not all of the skins fit right, which might be why they wear the woolen tights. The helmets hide the faces, which are in bad shape. The hair falls out in patches, even in the beards and eyebrows."
I hit the key point. "You recognized two of them."
"We think we did."
"And?"
"And what, Garrett?"
"Who were they? How did they die? Where? When? What were the circumstances?"
"They were housebreakers. They were sent to the work camps. Once we give them to Works they're not our problem anymore."
Things might have been starting to line up. The Dead Man's compound minds might have pushed on past what had to be obvious even to a general.
I said, "If somebody wanted a supply of corpses, she could make a deal with somebody at a work camp. Not many of those crooks finish their sentences still breathing."
"The reason they die is that they get used up. They don't get fed right, they work long hours with primitive tools, and they get no medical attention. All part of the price of being a bad guy. Works has hundreds of prisoners and has to account for them only when their sentences are up. If a prisoner dies they report it so we can tell the family that what they expected has come to pass."
I had an evil turn of mind. I imagined several ways that men more wicked than the prisoners could profit from the penal work system.
No doubt the bad guys out there had thought of them all and a dozen more.
Block said, "We're looking at it, Garrett. Supposedly in regard to complaints about prisoner abuse."
"The more I learn the more useless I feel."
I expected to hear something reassuring. Instead, he said, "That's because you haven't come to terms with having to be a desk jockey. You're sitting on your butt when you think you should be out kicking ass and taking names."
Singe made a noise suspiciously like that from someone who snorts while breaking up inside but is compelled to maintain a straight face.
Block went on, "How come you think you have to be useful? I mean, why now, suddenly, when you spent forever being an obstruction?"
I did not want to have this argument. It was the same crap I'd gotten from minions of the law since I went into business.
"I try and try but I can't figure out how me not being your brownnose butt boy qualifies as obstructionism. The gods didn't send me down here to wash your feet, kiss your ass, and whisper in your ear what a great stud you are. You know that's bullshit better than I do."
Singe and Jon Salvation popped out of their chairs, tried to calm me down. Singe made my drinking cup disappear. Block gaped like he had opened a casket full of worms.
My mouth just kept running. "I have no clue how you and that repugnant troll Relway got the idea that I'm supposed to be your tool but you need to get shut of the notion, now and forever."
I was shouting before I finished. Penny came to see what was happening. Belinda clapped and cheered. Jon Salvation told Penny, "Just a little trouble handling his drink. Ask Dean if he has anything useful in a situation like this."
The man was right. I shouldn't have had that water-of-life. It had opened a door. The frustrations were getting out.
Singe, assisted by Jon Salvation and Dollar Dan, returned me to my former place of glory beside Morley, next door. Singe and Dollar Dan sat on me. I became fixated on that rat, wondering if he hadn't moved in when I wasn't looking.
He was never underfoot. He was invisible most of the time. But he was always there when someone needed him.
I faded into a nap wondering if he was more than a ratman. He might be a living metaphor for his whole race.
80
Business rolled along while I snoozed. People came, people went. General Block, Belinda, and Saucerhead all left. Some beer and a nap were all Tharpe needed. Singe and Jon Salvation got their heads together, scheming something. Morley woke up and turned crabby because he had missed Belinda. Salvation left after his confab with Singe.
Tinnie dropped in and spent some quality time with Singe, their banter getting heated. First, Singe would not let her wake me up. She used the words "too much drama" more than once. Then the overdue dividend came up. The exchange went from heated to icy. Tinnie refused to believe that our shares had not been paid.
Singe said, "I have received no deposit receipt from our bankers. Produce evidence that payment was made."
This was when Morley entered and saw the actual exchange.
Tinnie replied, "We have not failed, ever, to meet our obligations, on time and in full. What you claim is impossible."
Singe countered, "You handle the fiscal paperwork for Amalgamated. Even when you don't authorize payments you keep records of them. So I say again, show me proof of payment. Our bankers would have given you a receipt, too. Produce it."
Morley was impressed by Tinnie's self-control. By this point most Karentines would have launched a vile rant about uppity vermin.
"Tinnie saves her bile for me."
Evidently Singe's grim, firm, confident, no-nonsense attitude got the best of the redhead. She scribbled a note, then roared out of the house.
Morley said, "I expect somebody at Amalgamated is hanging by his short hairs now. If what Singe claimed is true."
Having seen Typhoon Tinnie Tate in a category-four rage I was glad the bad weather was headed elsewhere.
I read her note.Sorry I came when you were resting. I had a wonderful time at rehearsal. Never felt so happy. Thank you, Malsquando. Love you, and always will. X O X
It was not signed.
Had anyone read it?
Singe? Almost certainly.
Morley? No. His odd sense of honor would forbid it.
Dean might have done had he known about it and been inclined to think being aware of the contents would help him protect the household.
Penny appeared while I brooded, bringing tea. She saw the unfolded note. She reddened.