Angry Lead Skies

In my heart I was wondering if, perhaps, Singe wasn't the only genius pup produced by her mother. And this other pup did want to be in charge.

John Stretch and his friends didn't know what to make of the Dead Man. It's hard to do, him sitting there like an idol that gives off just a hint of bad aroma. Chances were excellent that they'd never run into a Loghyr before. It could be, in fact, that they'd never heard of the Loghyr race.

They didn't know what to make of Fasfir when she invited herself in, either. She drew plenty of attention from Casey, though. Casey seemed amazed to find her alive and more amazed to find her clad in ragged native garb. But he kept his opinions to himself. The Dead Man assured me that Casey had closed his mind with a determination that was stu

He must suspect something.

Either that or he was a natural-born paranoid.

I took my seat. "Damn again, John Stretch. How in the world did you manage to round up these two?"

Interesting. He has a talent of his own. He can use his normal rat cousins to scout and spy for him, much as I employ Mr. Big. Though his reach is very much shorter than mine.

"It couldn't be any other way." I continued, "You put me in a nasty position, John Stretch. My reputation for keeping my word is my most important asset."

Last time we met, I thought John Stretch must be dim. He wasn't. Not even a little. He understood that I wanted to weasel out. "You agreed to a deal. We have fulfilled our undertaking." His Karentine remained hard to follow but was adequately understandable. His courage was beyond question. Ratmen don't talk back to humans, let alone imply threats.

"The problem is, long before I made the deal with you I swore a solemn oath to Singe that I wouldn't let any of you people drag her away from here."

"And he knows that if he does not keep his word to me he will soon wish he was enjoying the torments of one of his human hells instead of basking in my displeasure." Singe staggered under the weight of a tray of hastily assembled sandwiches. She set that on the little table, began to help herself. John Stretch and his ratmen waited only long enough to get a nod from me before they assaulted the pile.

Singe brought her muzzle within inches of John Stretch's. With her mouth full and crumbs in her whiskers, she demanded, "What the hell do you think you are doing, Pound Humility? I am not a pawn in your game. I will not be a pawn in your game. I will not be a quiet, obedient little ratgirl who lets herself be passed around like a weed pipe." John Stretch and his henchmen glared daggers at me. This was all my fault, this ratgirl getting uppity. "If Garrett will not whip up on you and throw you out of here I will kick your mangy tail up between your hind legs myself. Then I will go to work on your idiot friends."

John Stretch could not find words for a while. Finally, he asked, "You are not a prisoner here?"

"What? A prisoner? You are an idiot. I live here. This is where I want to live."

Gah! I had a feeling that the cu

It is quite true that John Stretch believed Miss Pular was in need of rescuing. In addition to being a clever and competent criminal he appears to be an unabashed romantic and as vulnerable as you might want to hope from that quarter —as was, if you will believe it, Reliance, in his time.

He was going to get bashed if he tried anything here. "John Stretch, let's you and me step over to my private office for a minute and talk, man to man. Go ahead, grab another sandwich. Before Singe consumes the whole pile."

I started in while John Stretch was still reeling from his first look at Eleanor. "What'll your guys do if they find out everything they've been through was just to rescue a ratgirl who refuses to be saved? There've been people killed. A bunch have been dragged off to the al-Khar. You know their prospects are going to be dim there."

"Those will not be much worse than out on the streets. The war is over. There is no more work. Humans have no more motive to treat us with respect. For those imprisoned the misery just will not last as long. The stable disaster was bad luck. Bad timing added to the fact that we were not told just how much material we were expected to remove."

"Maybe you didn't know the temper of the neighborhood very well, either."

"Of course we did not. No ratpeople live there. But the promised payoff seemed worth the risk."

"It always does. Until the pain starts."

"Possession of Pular Singe is more than a personal matter. All ratkind is watching. Yes, I would have rescued her. Even having heard the words from her own mouth, in Karentine rather than cant, I find it hard to believe that she prefers to live among humans."

"I'll tell you why. You know the saying, ‘Lower than a ratman's dog'?"

"I know it. I understand it."

"I'll tell you what's lower than a ratman's dog. A ratwoman. Think about it."

He got it. A point in his favor. Most ratmen wouldn't have if you'd drawn them a picture. "That may be another reason why Reliance considers her an important symbol. She is living proof that things can be done in ways other than the ways they have always been done."

"Reliance has been advised by a higher power. He's renounced his interest in Singe. In return the Syndicate will let him live. But he's just stupid enough to think he's clever enough to sneak around the Outfit, somehow. So I'm going to invest in some rough insurance as soon as we're done here."

"You mean that?'

"Singe is my friend, Pound Humility. She's one of the most remarkable people I've ever met, of any species. I want to see her become everything she can. I want to see what she can become if she's given the chance. Despite the customs and politics of ratpeople. Despite the prejudices of everybody else. You understand?"

"No. But I can accept. If Singe is safe from Reliance."

"Answer my question. What'll your friends do if they find out what you were doing?"

"If we do not have possession of Singe? They might be angry enough to kill me."

"Thought so. You ratfolk aren't subtle people. So maybe you'll want a ru

I zipped across the hallway. "Singe, come out here. Yes, bring the sandwich." I shut the door behind her. "Singe, my sweet, whatever happened to that now-you-see-me, now-you-don't fetish we took off Casey out in the country?" I knew we hadn't turned it over to the Guard. Mainly because I'd forgotten all about it.

Singe's whiskers folded back. Way back.

The significance of which I intuited instantly. "Oh, no. You didn't. You wicked girl." Not only did she know about Evas, she'd been there to watch. "You figured out how to work the box." Now she was a sorceress, too. And she hadn't said a thing. "Old Bones. Are you listening?"

I am here.

"Then show Singe what I want her to do." There were too many untrustworthy ears in the place tonight.

And now the Dead Man knew about Evas, too. He hadn't before, though three people in the house did know. Evas must have some considerable skill at sealing memory blocks, including those in minds not her own.

But I did know, Garrett. Because the pixies knew. However, it was none of my business. He had nothing to say about his failure to be a direct witness himself.

But the pixies, too. Who didn't know?

Dean. So far.

Even Fasfir?

Even Fasfir.