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

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 Deal Relway, director of what, this week, is called something like the Unpublished Committee for Royal Security.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 need it.”
    Playmate had nothing more to say. His eyes had begun to wobble. Meantime,