Free Book 10 - Angry Lead Skies by Glen Cook Page A

any way to track them. Right
now.
    Singe was still out, stone cold.
    “I wonder if they understand how we found them.” I
was afraid the elves might’ve given Singe an extra dose of
darkness because of her nose.
    “Me, I’m wondering why they didn’t hurt you a
lot more than they did,” Morley countered. His cure for most
ills is to exterminate everybody involved. “For some reason
they’ve slapped you down twice without doing any permanent
harm.” He has difficulty comprehending that kind of
thinking.
    He emphasized “permanent” because my expression
revealed the depth and breadth of the temporary harm I was
suffering.
    “You all right, Saucerhead?”
    “Got a miserable headache.” Tharpe’s voice was
gravelly. His temper would be extremely short. Best not to disturb
him at all.
    “How ’bout you, Play?”
    “What he said. And don’t yell. Makes it hurt even
more.”
    He didn’t need to yell back.
    Maybe I was lucky. All the practice I’ve had dealing with
hangovers. I turned to Singe. “Seems a shame to disturb
her.” She did look rather peaceful.
    “Kiss her and let’s get on with it,” Morley
grumped. Without having been blessed by the elves.
    “What?”
    He opened his mouth to crack wise about the sleeping beauty,
thought better of it, beckoned me. I followed him for as far as he
felt was far enough to keep his remarks from being overhead by
sharp rat ears. “She isn’t really out, Garrett.
She’s giving you a chance to show some special
concern.”
    The fact that he didn’t make mock let me know that he was
serious, that he was concerned about bruising Singe’s tender
ego. Though the motives behind his concern were, probably, wholly
selfish.
    “Understood,” I told him, though that wasn’t
entirely true.
    I don’t like the responsibility that piles onto me when
Singe gives way to these juvenile urges to manipulate me. That
smacks of emotional blackmail. In fact, it
is
emotional
blackmail. She just doesn’t understand that it is. And
I’m not all that well equipped to deal with it. More than one
lady of my acquaintance would suggest that I’m not far enough
away from adolescence myself.
    I went to the ratgirl, dropped to my knees beside her.
“Singe?”
    She didn’t respond. I thought her breathing was too rapid
for someone who was supposed to be unconscious, though. How do you
tell someone that their relationship fantasies can never become
anything more than that? Everything I could possibly say to Singe
would be true but would sound so stupidly cliché if said that I
could do no good talking to her. She was important to me,
personally and professionally. She had become one of the half dozen
closest friends I had. I enjoyed teaching her how to cope in a
world where she was less than welcome. But she could never be
anything but a friend, a business associate, and a student. And I
have no idea how to make her understand that without causing her
pain.
    When she first broke away from the dominance of her own people,
where females have fewer rights than do horses amongst humans, I
considered letting her move into my place. I thought of making her
part of the team. I still think well of that idea. But the Dead Man
did assure me that, in her desperation to be wanted and liked and
loved, Pular Singe would give the offer far more weight than I
intended.
    I touched her throat. Her pulse was rapid. I glanced around.
There was no immediate salvation apparent. Morley was grinning,
exposing about a thousand bright white needle teeth in a silent
taunt.
    “You want I should carry her, Garrett?” Saucerhead
asked. There went Tharpe, being thoughtful despite his pain. Like
most human beings, he can be a mess of contradictions.
    “That might be good. Any of you guys know anything about
doctoring ratfolk? If we can’t fix her up ourselves
we’ll have to take her back to Reliance.”
    That ought to be the perfect medicine. The very
philosopher’s stone.
    Reliance is a sort of ratman godfather,