Book 11 - Whispering Nickel Idols by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

bother the rats. Normally, given half a chance, they
would’ve swarmed any rodent. A plump rat could provide the main course
for a huge feast.
    Singe couldn’t control the kittens, though. Several got away and
began investigating everything. Without bothering the rats or bugs.
They were remarkably well-mannered, for cats.
    As we turned into Wizard’s Reach I glimpsed a familiar face outside.
It belonged to the man Morley and I had had the misfortune to catch
earlier. He was watching my house. From a bruised visage.
    His presence made me nervous. If he got obnoxious and kicked my door
in, the Dead Man would be no help at all.
    I couldn’t turn back. I’d have to trust the process. A notion I find
dubious in the best of times.
    My neighbor Mrs. Cardonlos is a police spy. And, possibly, a friend
of Mr. Deal Relway, director of what, this week, is called something
like the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security. Mrs. Cardonlos’
great pleasure in life is spying on me and imagining my life being more
exciting than it is. Relway pays her a small stipend.
    She’d keep an eye out while I was gone. The most interesting stuff
happens at my place when I’m not home. That’s when the stupid shines.
That’s when the unprepared find out that they should’ve done more
research. The Dead Man has fun with stupid thugs. My partner can be as
cruel as a cat with an unbreakable mouse. But, oh, woe! He was on a
sleeping holiday today. “What kind of kittens are those?” I wondered
out loud. They looked like basic gray stripy alley lurkers, but not
quite. They were odd. However, all I know I about cats is that I like
them better than dogs, except maybe beagle
and sausage dog puppies.
    Oh, wondrous day! Singe and John Stretch both actually understood
that I didn’t expect an answer. Both looked like they expected praise
for being that clever.
    I nodded and smiled my approval.
    Speaking of pixies, which I wasn’t, “Melondie. Did you guys get into
some poison, or something? I’ve never heard you all so quiet.”
    Miss Kadare fluttered over a tad drunkenly. She assumed a widespread
stance on my left palm, hands on hips, wobbling, not in time to the
coach’s rocking.
    “You been drinking?” Pixies love alcohol.
    “Not a drop.” She staggered, plopped down on her tiny but gorgeous
behind.
    “You
are
drunk!” I accused.
    “No way!” she snapped. Then she giggled. “I don’t know what’s
happened. I was fine when we flew in here.”
    The other pixies were drunk, too. Most more so than Melondie Kadare.
    I nudged a curious kitten away from a male pixie who had fallen to
the coach floor and lay there on his back, buzzing occasionally, like a
downed locust.
    It was weird. But I had trouble giving a rat’s ass. I was mellow, at
peace. Without personal ambition whatsoever.
    Some acquaintances would insist that was nothing new.
    Singe and John Stretch seemed vaguely puzzled and sleepy.
    Ditto, the rats.
    I never heard of a drunk spell, but that didn’t mean one couldn’t
exist. It only meant that I’d never been hit by one before.
    The pixies passed out. I started suffering urges to sing the Marine
Corps hymn or something similarly patriotic. Which don’t hit me when I
get snockered the hard way. Not often.
    The coach suddenly bucked, jolted to a halt. What the hell? Traffic
couldn’t be that bad. Could it?
    I was two heartbeats away from falling asleep when Playmate yanked
the door open. “We’re here. Huh? What’s the matter with you all?”
    I extended a hand. He helped me descend as elegantly as a duchess.
Good man he, he did the same with John Stretch and Pular Singe while
deftly keeping the kittens from getting away.
    He closed the door on the pixies and baby cats. “What I’m going to
do now is, I’m going to stay right here. I’ll come in and pull you out
if something bad happens.” That said a ton about Playmate. “That’s
white of you, Play. I’ll be more relaxed in there, knowing you’ll
rescue me if I