Free The Deavys by Alan Dean Foster Page B

time in Times Square, and Times Rhombohedron, and the museums, and Central Park, than sitting in their rooms for a week doing nothing but playing video games and watching TV.” More softly he added, “And it would give you some peace and quiet, a chance to rest until this Truth business can be resolved.”
    â€œYes, but Martin—New York? By themselves?” She eyed her son appraisingly. “I agree that Simwan’s very experienced for his age, and the girls quite mature, but still …”
    â€œWhat,” Rose ventured quickly, seeing that her mother was weakening slightly, “if we agreed to stay with someone responsible? A grown-up. Someone who you know wouldn’t let us get into trouble, someone you trust completely?”
    â€œWell …” Melinda Mae hesitated. Having to think was exhausting her reserves of strength. “That might make a difference, I suppose. Who were you thinking of staying with?” She contemplated possibilities. “There’s cousin Volkermann’s family, but they live all the way out in the Hamptons, a long way from the city. And his wife and kids are Ords, which could present problems of a different kind.”
    â€œNo, not him.” Amber’s expression matched the distaste in her voice. “We were thinking that we could stay with Uncle Herkimer. He lives right in the city, down where the Fulton Fish Market used to be.” She smiled broadly, proud of remembering how fond their uncle was of seafood.
    Melinda Mae exchanged a look with her husband, then smiled regretfully at her daughter. “I would certainly trust Uncle Herkimer to look after you, Amber dear, except for one small impediment. Uncle Herkimer is dead.”

V
    The girls exchanged a glance. Simwan, having initiated the discussion, sat back and let them run with it. With their soulful eyes and beseeching voices they stood a better chance of convincing their parents than he did, anyway.
    â€œWell of course he’s dead,” Amber replied.
    â€œWe know that,” N/Ice added. “That’s why he’s been in the same building for so long.”
    â€œWe don’t see why that should complicate things,” Rose finished. “Uncle Herkimer’s been dead for two hundred and fifty-seven years—more or less.”
    Melinda Mae sighed. “Mostly more, I’m afraid. It’s a good thing your uncle had the sense to leave behind an endowment to pay his lease in perpetuity, or he’d long ago have been out on his decaying ear.” She eyed her offspring sternly. “That doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s deceased.”
    Rose exchanged a look with her sisters. “Aw, Mom, from what I’ve heard, Uncle Herkimer still gets around pretty good.”
    â€œPretty good for a really old dead guy,” Amber added.
    â€œGood enough to supervise us,” N/Ice insisted.
    â€œYeah,” Simwan added, feeling that he needed to contribute a few words to the argument. “It’s not like he has a regular haunting gig, or something. I imagine that he’s home most of the time.”
    It was clear that in spite of her increasing fatigue, Melinda Mae was less than convinced. There ought to be some truth in what the kids were saying ¾ but the Truth was missing. She was starting to feel it in her bones. “That’s just it: He’s home most of the time. And if I know you kids, you won’t be. Of course,” she added, arguing with herself, “there really wouldn’t be much point in going to New York if all you were going to do was hang around somebody’s apartment.” Once again her gaze fixed on her son, who found himself fidgeting uncomfortably under that unflinching maternal stare. “Museums, hmm? Since when did you develop such a deep interest in higher education Simwan?”
    He thought fast and, somewhat to his surprise, found himself with an immediate answer. “It was the