Gilded Latten Bones

A composite of details from many minds. I am not certain but he may be the boss of the resurrection men.

'How did we get to that?'

Mr. Bird, under my direction, is creating a portrait composed of bits taken from the minds of everyone who has come into range since I awakened. Resurrection men are part of what is going on and an angle going unexplored. They gather the bodies that get reengineered. This man could be of special interest. If we can find him.

He was right. It was an approach that had not occurred to me.

Most of our visitors never heard of him. A few have, under the singleton name Nathan. None of our friends, or anyone else, know that they have actually met him but some may have done so without realizing it.

And that, with his wondrous ability to make unlikely connections click, was why the Dead Man was so valuable. I said, 'He looks a little like Barate Algarda.'

It felt like the warmth went out of the room. His Nibs took a seat behind my eyes, studied the painting through my prejudices.

Not Barate Algarda. The eye. The nose. The scar. The man had a burn scar on the right side of his head, including part of his ear. Ask the Windwalker to come in here.

Tinnie started to follow me. She stumbled, stopped, turned, found a folding chair that she opened and carried back into the shadows.

Damn! Maybe I could get Old Bones to teach me that trick.

Strafa stared at the Bird's masterpiece. The artist himself was on break, nursing a bottle of spirits. Strafa said, 'I don't know him. He does look familiar.' Unaware that green eyes smoldered in the darkness behind us, she held on to my left arm with both of her hands. Those were shaky.

'I thought he looked like Barate Algarda.' I could not call the man her father.

She started. She squeezed harder. 'He does, a little! That's weird.' She let go. She moved to view the painting from different angles.

I have what I need. You may take her back, now.

I asked Strafa, 'So what do you think?'

'I think it's weird.'

'Too bad. Well, that's all we needed.' Crossing the hallway, I asked, 'Do you know anyone who calls himself Nathan?'

'No.' Two steps. 'Wait! I think Dad's grandfather's name was Nathan. He died when I was four. I remember pulling myself up by the edge of his coffin so I could look.' In the doorway to Singe's office, she added, 'He didn't have a burn scar.'

'Thanks.'

Back in the Dead Man's room, I asked, 'Any chance this guy could be a vampire?'

Miss Algarda was truthful. She does not know him. I doubt that he is a vampire. His face does resemble that of the man Miss Algarda saw in a coffin when she was a child, though.

Vampires did not last around TunFaire. Their suspected presence will unite classes and races like nothing else. Just a suspicion could lead to a frenzied hunt.

This situation has the potential to turn as ugly as a vampire hunt. Which argument may lie behind the Hill's go-easy attitude.

Vampire hunts always got out of hand. Innocents ended up with chopsticks through their hearts. The last full-blown vampire hunt had happened when I was nine. It had done more damage than any natural disaster since.

'Let me ask the General about that.'

Ask him to come view the painting.

Block did not recognize the villain. He did concede that dread of an outbreak of mass hysteria might be the motive behind the hands-off orders being passed around. Might be.

He was, innately, almost as suspicious as Deal Relway.

Block having returned to his firewater, the Dead Man mused, We need to see Barate Algarda and his daughter, here. That is a task the Windwalker will have to undertake.

'That might be a tough sell.'

Hardly. She will be compliant to any request so long as you are a gentleman when you present it and you explain the reason for it.

I'd never had that kind of power in a relationship. It was scary.

Miss Algarda is ceding that power in trust. If you breach her trust you will reap a whirlwind more cruel than you can imagine.

'Way to build me up, Chuckles.'

It might be valuable to interview your intern, too.

'Intern?'

The boy. Cyprus Prose. I will ask the Miss Tates to bring him in. Making the elder Miss Tate a part of a race against time might go a long way toward improving her attitude. The younger Miss Tate will want to look out for her man.

I was skeptical.

63

I had to reach an understanding with Old Bones about our priorities. Once we acknowledged the most desperate three or four things, there would be, still, time-intensive tasks like honing the ten thousand quirks that defined the mind of Tinnie Tate, all while he kept a sharp watch outside.

You understand.

I understood that everything would take precedence over reconfiguring my special redhead's mental works.

'Your judgment is better than mine. I can't take the emotion out of my choices.'

The Dead Man employs profanity infrequently. In a long-winded way he informed me that I was a bone-lazy, backsliding purveyor of mushroom fertilizer determined to avoid even the appearance of contributing anything useful to the conversation.

'Damnit, Old Bones! Life shouldn't ought to be this hard.'

Avoid responsibility now, if you like. Do not whine when you face the fattened consequences later.

The change was sudden. For an instant I thought the end had come. The apocalypse. The Twilight. The Rapture, sudden as a dagger in the night. Morley shrieked. Playmate screamed. Tinnie moaned and collapsed. Penny Dreadful and the Bird followed her to the floor. I blacked out for an instant.

I found myself clinging to the frame of the door to the hallway after that instant. I had to concentrate to keep my supper down.

Others had less success.

The light had gone bad. Everything had turned sepia. Those moving did so jerkily. Bad smells developed as folks lost more than their suppers.

Confusion reigned. Dread grew so powerful I knew it had to be artificial. The screaming ended. The screamers had passed out. But chatter waxed amongst the still conscious. None of it made any sense.

No one panicked.

Odd, that.

The initial shock came when the Dead Man dropped everything to focus on one problem. Something that demanding had to be a threat both powerful, lethal, and immediate.

And I, ever-lovin' blue-eyed boy genius that I am, I stumbled up and opened the door for a quick look outside.