Free Angry Lead Skies by Glen Cook Page A

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, a highly respected and greatly feared leader of that community who’s involved in a lot of questionable and some outright illegal