Bittegurn Brittigarn focused on those skills needed to lift a wine container to his lips with no wastage.
I asked, “How does a roc’s egg turn into a projectile meant to brain me?” If that really was an egg, how come it was hard as a rock?
“I don’ know, man. Go ask the sexton what flung it.”
That was on my list. If Block and Relway would indulge me.
BB was sliding fast. “The A-Laf crowd. Why would they rehab the Bledsoe?”
He wasn’t native born. He had to have the charity hospital explained. Then, “For fifty years nobody but the imperial pretenders have put one copper into the Bledsoe.” Gross exaggeration. The Bledsoe is the big charity for TunFaire’s well-to-do. But that didn’t matter now. “I really want to know why they’re putting those metal animals in the wall.”
Bittegurn Brittigarn took him a long, long pull of wine. “For the pain.”
“What does that mean?”
The priest’s eyes closed. When they opened again they held a strong “You still here?” quality. He didn’t say anything. Probably couldn’t. But I had some interesting angles to pursue now. “I appreciate you taking time out of your busy day. I have to go. My mom is probably in a panic.”
He didn’t respond, other than to drool. In half an hour he’d gone from sober, friendly, and evasive to slobbering waste.
He did mutter, “The pain,” over and over. “They feed on the pain.”
He settled on the floor with his back to a wall. Making sure he had a fresh bottle in hand and several more in easy reach. He began to mutter a song in dialect, either liturgical or that dread tongue known only to those who drink sufficiently deep.
Wham!
The impact flung me against the wall. I turned as I bounced, wobbled toward a wide little woman swinging the business end of a broom in from the other side of town.
Wham!
“Hey! What the-?”
“So you’re the bastard who’s lured Bitte into the Realm of Sin!” Wham! She got all her weight into her swing.
“Lady, I never saw this guy before half an hour ago.”
“You maggot! You bottom-feeding pustule of sin! You…” There was more unjust defamation. A lot. By dint of longer limbs and skills honed in combat, I maneuvered around the stout little harridan and escaped.
She didn’t chase me.
I stood beside the doorway, out of sight, and eavesdropped as she turned her fury on a shiftless, lying, no-good, wine-soaked bastard Bittegurn Brittigarn.
I headed home convinced that I knew why Brittigarn had developed a love affair with the spoiled grape.
27
Armed with marvelous new knowledge, I ambled toward my own part of town. I didn’t pay attention. It took me a while to realize my secret-police angel was gone and Spider Webb was back.
Spidey just wanted to know where I went and who I saw. Chuckle, chuckle. I led him to the Al-Khar, then wandered on after being refused access to Block and Relway. Relway’s very existence having been denied despite his being publicly proclaimed chief of the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security. I detoured past Harvester Temisk’s digs. He wasn’t there. I circled The Palms without disturbing Morley Dotes or any cranky henchmen. By then I was running crosseyed. It don’t pay to get up early.
I ran into Saucerhead Tharpe four blocks from home. He wasn’t alone. I didn’t duck in time.
“Hey, Butthead Boy,” Winger bellowed. “I seen you. Don’t you be trying to hide.” The woman has a tendency toward loud. Tharpe seemed embarrassed to be caught in her company.
Winger is a good-looking woman. Blond, with the right stuff in all the right places, and the gods were generous when they built the best parts. But there are detractions from those natural attractions. Her size and her attitude.
Winger is as tall as me. And argumentative on her best day. Lucky me, I manage to avoid her a lot nowadays.
Saucerhead tried to look apologetic without saying anything that would get him an ass kicking. “I done some checking on that thing you wanted me to find. I know where it’s hid.”
“Do you? You know where it is now?” Because I could see Penny Dreadful down the block, conspicuously inconspicuous as she lurked and loitered. She was tailing Tharpe and his convoy. No doubt trying to find out who was sneaking around her and why.
A squeak of a voice caught my ear. “Are you really Garrett? The Garrett? The man who-?”
“Yeah,” Winger said. “That’s him. Definitely the man who.”
Set beside Winger this guy was almost invisible. He was ten inches shorter, bone skinny, bone pale, twitchy as a whore in church. “Jon Salvation, Mr. Garrett. It’s a huge honor to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“His name is Pilsuds Vilchik,” Winger barked. “I call him the Remora.”
Jon Salvation broke out a big, nervous smile.
Saucerhead said, “He’s the boy I told you about. Follows Winger around and writes up everything she does.”
Jon Salvation smiled again and bobbed his head.
I asked, “How come?”
Winger said, “On account of I’m a heroic figure and I’m so busy being heroic I don’t have time to write my own saga down.”
“Not to mention that you’re illiterate, eh?”
Saucerhead chuckled. “The real story is, she let the boy have a little one time when she was plotzed. He liked it so much she ain’t been able to shake him since.”
Winger snarled, “That ain’t what happened. Not quite.”
I glanced at Jon Salvation. Seemed he didn’t mind being talked about like he wasn’t there. The story of his life, probably. Some people are like that. Naturally invisible. There are years when I envy them.
Salvation produced a little board with sheets of cheap paper fastened to it by rivets at the top. He scribbled furiously using the writing stick we make in the manufactory where I’m a minor shareholder.
Feel sorry for them if you like. Jon Salvations create themselves.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “Don’t write down anything the Watch can use for evidence.” I wondered what he’d done in the war. Obviously, he’d survived.
Winger sneered.
I told her, “You’re always on the edge, sweetie.” That’s her nature. The way she wants it. Fine by me. As long as she don’t drag me in. “Saucerhead. One more time. Where’s the item of interest right now?”
“On the shelf, I reckon. Worried about getting out and about.”
“Actually, she’s right over there, skulking around in front of Scuttleman’s coal yard. Watching you.”
Nobody looked. Not even the Remora. Tharpe muttered, “Damn sharp for a kid.”
“I don’t know.” Plenty of kids Penny’s age are resourceful enough to survive. Saucerhead was one himself once upon a time. “This one may have more talents and resources than most.”
Saucerhead eyed me expectantly.
I told him, “I’m headed home. If somebody turned up at my door with a special prize, I might turn up holding a fat bonus.”
“Gotcha.”
Winger tried to horn in, hoping she could carve off a slice. I ignored her, which isn’t always wise. She’s liable to knock you down just to get your attention. “Good job, Saucerhead. Thing you could do next is, find Harvester Temisk.”
“The shyster?”
“Him. Don’t be obvious. Especially not if you find him. Teacher White wants him, too. And not to give him a birthday present.”
“Gotcha.”
“Later, then. Winger. How about you stun the gods above and the gods below speechless?“