cannot follow the strange elves. But
Garrett taught me to follow the horses when I cannot follow a
target who becomes a passenger in a vehicle that horses are
pulling.”
What a talent, that Garrett guy. After a moment, I confessed,
“The student lost even the teacher on that one, Singe.”
She looked at me like she knew I was just saying that so
she’d feel good, getting to explain. “The elves took
the boy. Him I can track. So I will follow him. Wherever he stops
moving, there will we find your elves.”
“The girl is a genius,” I said. “Let’s
all go raid Playmate’s pantry before we go on the
road.”
That idea was acclaimed enthusiastically by everyone not named
Playmate. Or Morley. Playmate because his charity is limited when
its wannabe beneficiaries are solvent. Morley because the weasel
wasn’t around to vote.
Ah, well. My elven friend would be out there somewhere, a
desperate fugitive fleeing the wrath of the good-grooming gods.
----
----
12
Saucerhead’s impatient pacing took him across the narrow
street and back three times as he tried to establish a safe passage
around a particularly irritable camel. No owner of the beast was in
evidence. I was surprised to see it. Camels are rare this far
south. Possibly no one would have this one. Possibly it had been
abandoned. It was a beast as foul as the Goddamn Parrot. It voided
its bowels, then nipped at Saucerhead. I muttered,
“That’s what I feel like right now.”
“Which end?” Singe asked, testing her theory of
humor. She giggled. So bold, this ratgirl who came out in the
daytime, then dared to make jokes in front of human beings.
“Take your pick. You know what that thing really is? A
horse without its disguise on.”
Even Singe thought that was absurd. And she has less love for
the four-legged terrors than I do. You could say a state of war, of
low intensity, exists between her species and theirs. Horses
dislike ratpeople more than most humans do.
Playmate said, “One day I fully expect to find you on the
steps of the Chancery, between Barking Dog Amato and Woodie
Granger, foaming at the mouth as you rant at the King and the whole
royal family because they’re pawns of the great equine
conspiracy, Garrett.”
The Chancery is a principal government building where,
traditionally, anyone with a grievance can voice it publicly on the
outside steps. Inevitably, the Chancery steps have acquired a bevy
of professional complainers and outright lunatics. Most people
consider them cheap entertainment.
I said, “You shouldn’t talk about it! They’re
going to get you now.” Singe started looking worried,
frowning. “All right. Maybe I exaggerate a little. But
they’re still vicious, nasty critters. They’ll turn on
you in a second.”
The resident nasty critter spit at Saucerhead. Saucerhead
responded with a jab to the camel’s nose. It was a calm,
professional blow of the sort that earned him his living. But he
put his weight and muscle behind it. The camel rocked back. Its
eyes wobbled. Its front knees buckled.
Tharpe said, “Come on.” Once we were past the camel,
he added, “Sometimes polite ain’t enough. You just
gotta show’em who’s boss.”
We walked another hundred feet. And stopped. The street
didn’t go anywhere. It ended at a wall. Which was
improbable.
“What the hell?” Saucerhead demanded. “When
did we start blocking off streets?”
He had a point. TunFaire has thousands of dead-end alleys and
breezeways but something that happened in antiquity made our rulers
issue regulations against blocking thoroughfares. Possibly because
they’d wanted to be able to make a run for it in either
direction. And while what we were following wasn’t much of a
street, it was a street officially. Complete with symbols painted
on walls at intersections to indicate that its name was something
like Stonebone. Exactly what was impossible to tell. The paint
hadn’t been renewed in my lifetime.
The wall ahead was old
Garrett taught me to follow the horses when I cannot follow a
target who becomes a passenger in a vehicle that horses are
pulling.”
What a talent, that Garrett guy. After a moment, I confessed,
“The student lost even the teacher on that one, Singe.”
She looked at me like she knew I was just saying that so
she’d feel good, getting to explain. “The elves took
the boy. Him I can track. So I will follow him. Wherever he stops
moving, there will we find your elves.”
“The girl is a genius,” I said. “Let’s
all go raid Playmate’s pantry before we go on the
road.”
That idea was acclaimed enthusiastically by everyone not named
Playmate. Or Morley. Playmate because his charity is limited when
its wannabe beneficiaries are solvent. Morley because the weasel
wasn’t around to vote.
Ah, well. My elven friend would be out there somewhere, a
desperate fugitive fleeing the wrath of the good-grooming gods.
----
----
12
Saucerhead’s impatient pacing took him across the narrow
street and back three times as he tried to establish a safe passage
around a particularly irritable camel. No owner of the beast was in
evidence. I was surprised to see it. Camels are rare this far
south. Possibly no one would have this one. Possibly it had been
abandoned. It was a beast as foul as the Goddamn Parrot. It voided
its bowels, then nipped at Saucerhead. I muttered,
“That’s what I feel like right now.”
“Which end?” Singe asked, testing her theory of
humor. She giggled. So bold, this ratgirl who came out in the
daytime, then dared to make jokes in front of human beings.
“Take your pick. You know what that thing really is? A
horse without its disguise on.”
Even Singe thought that was absurd. And she has less love for
the four-legged terrors than I do. You could say a state of war, of
low intensity, exists between her species and theirs. Horses
dislike ratpeople more than most humans do.
Playmate said, “One day I fully expect to find you on the
steps of the Chancery, between Barking Dog Amato and Woodie
Granger, foaming at the mouth as you rant at the King and the whole
royal family because they’re pawns of the great equine
conspiracy, Garrett.”
The Chancery is a principal government building where,
traditionally, anyone with a grievance can voice it publicly on the
outside steps. Inevitably, the Chancery steps have acquired a bevy
of professional complainers and outright lunatics. Most people
consider them cheap entertainment.
I said, “You shouldn’t talk about it! They’re
going to get you now.” Singe started looking worried,
frowning. “All right. Maybe I exaggerate a little. But
they’re still vicious, nasty critters. They’ll turn on
you in a second.”
The resident nasty critter spit at Saucerhead. Saucerhead
responded with a jab to the camel’s nose. It was a calm,
professional blow of the sort that earned him his living. But he
put his weight and muscle behind it. The camel rocked back. Its
eyes wobbled. Its front knees buckled.
Tharpe said, “Come on.” Once we were past the camel,
he added, “Sometimes polite ain’t enough. You just
gotta show’em who’s boss.”
We walked another hundred feet. And stopped. The street
didn’t go anywhere. It ended at a wall. Which was
improbable.
“What the hell?” Saucerhead demanded. “When
did we start blocking off streets?”
He had a point. TunFaire has thousands of dead-end alleys and
breezeways but something that happened in antiquity made our rulers
issue regulations against blocking thoroughfares. Possibly because
they’d wanted to be able to make a run for it in either
direction. And while what we were following wasn’t much of a
street, it was a street officially. Complete with symbols painted
on walls at intersections to indicate that its name was something
like Stonebone. Exactly what was impossible to tell. The paint
hadn’t been renewed in my lifetime.
The wall ahead was old
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