you take
your convincing stick.
“Never leave home without one.” That’s my
partner. Like some kind of priest or professor, his vegetating is
hard and honorable work. All my sweat and agony is barely worth a
mention because what I do involves occasionally engaging a
muscle.
----
----
17
Bic Gonlit had no intention of cooperating. Bic Gonlit could
pick his dogs up and put them down when he was scared. Who’d
have thought a little round guy with chubby, stubby legs could lead
me on such a long chase?
Not me. Not before I lived it.
After several blocks I was glad the Dead Man had insisted on
sending the Goddamn Parrot out to scout for me. By then it was
obvious that Bic Gonlit could see in the dark. And I could not,
which wasn’t a major news flash. And the people of my
neighborhood aren’t rich enough to maintain adequate
streetlamps.
The multicolored chicken did his part. He kept up a running lot
of howling and cursing, some evidently adapted from the cant of
old-time formal hunts. Highbrow and embarrassing. And, likely,
everybody he woke up would assume that it was all my fault.
There’d be complaints. There’d be angry
presentations. There’d be intemperate talk about chasing me
out of the neighborhood. That would be followed by calmer heads
appealing for reason. The older residents all know I share my place
with a cranky dead Loghyr. An
irritated
cranky dead Loghyr
can make life a lot more unpleasant for a lot of people for a long
time. Why go looking for trouble?
I needed to stop playing around. I needed to put on a burst of
speed that would nail the fat man.
I should’ve planned for this phase before I let everybody
go home.
Just off the Arsenal High Street, a little my way from the
brewery district, is a small remnant of old-time imperial TunFaire
that wasn’t consumed in the Great Fire. It’s known as
Prune Tastity for reasons nobody recalls anymore. Prune Tastity is
a sort of museum of ancient times, all cramped-together buildings
and covered alleyways barely wide enough to let the air circulate.
Following the fire wider alleys and streets were mandated by
law.
There is less disease in areas where the buildings are farther
apart, too.
The wonder buzzard’s shrieks told me my quarry was going
to try to lose us both by ducking into Prune Tastity’s tangle
of covered alleyways.
I’ve been in there a few times. The place is a maze, at
times rising five stories high. What Gonlit apparently didn’t
realize was that I was familiar enough with Prune Tastity to know
that there’re only a handful of entrances to the maze.
He’d gone in the far side hoping I’d follow and get
lost. If he meant to leave without running into me again he’d
have to come out not far from where I stood listening to the
Goddamn Parrot’s progress report.
I got myself into position with minutes to spare. I used every
second to get more wind back into my lungs. I needed my breathing
under control if Gonlit wasn’t going to hear me puffing for a
block before he arrived.
I needn’t have worried. Bic was puffing so hard himself
that he couldn’t have heard the ringing of the bell
that’s supposed to announce the end of the world. His head
was down, his arms and legs were pumping, and he wasn’t even
making a fast walk anymore. But he was still moving. He sounded
like he was going to expire if he didn’t take a break and
concentrate on his breathing.
I timed my move, caught his collar as he shuffled past. He made
one feeble attempt to get away, then gave up. And I mean gave up
completety. He just folded up on the street and refused to do
anything but gasp for air.
Ten minutes later he was still curled up like a pillbug, daring
me to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. He seemed
confident he knew enough about me to be sure I wouldn’t kill
him for being uncooperative.
Morley is right. I need to become less predictable. And I need
to develop a more savage reputation.
Because of the Dead Man’s
your convincing stick.
“Never leave home without one.” That’s my
partner. Like some kind of priest or professor, his vegetating is
hard and honorable work. All my sweat and agony is barely worth a
mention because what I do involves occasionally engaging a
muscle.
----
----
17
Bic Gonlit had no intention of cooperating. Bic Gonlit could
pick his dogs up and put them down when he was scared. Who’d
have thought a little round guy with chubby, stubby legs could lead
me on such a long chase?
Not me. Not before I lived it.
After several blocks I was glad the Dead Man had insisted on
sending the Goddamn Parrot out to scout for me. By then it was
obvious that Bic Gonlit could see in the dark. And I could not,
which wasn’t a major news flash. And the people of my
neighborhood aren’t rich enough to maintain adequate
streetlamps.
The multicolored chicken did his part. He kept up a running lot
of howling and cursing, some evidently adapted from the cant of
old-time formal hunts. Highbrow and embarrassing. And, likely,
everybody he woke up would assume that it was all my fault.
There’d be complaints. There’d be angry
presentations. There’d be intemperate talk about chasing me
out of the neighborhood. That would be followed by calmer heads
appealing for reason. The older residents all know I share my place
with a cranky dead Loghyr. An
irritated
cranky dead Loghyr
can make life a lot more unpleasant for a lot of people for a long
time. Why go looking for trouble?
I needed to stop playing around. I needed to put on a burst of
speed that would nail the fat man.
I should’ve planned for this phase before I let everybody
go home.
Just off the Arsenal High Street, a little my way from the
brewery district, is a small remnant of old-time imperial TunFaire
that wasn’t consumed in the Great Fire. It’s known as
Prune Tastity for reasons nobody recalls anymore. Prune Tastity is
a sort of museum of ancient times, all cramped-together buildings
and covered alleyways barely wide enough to let the air circulate.
Following the fire wider alleys and streets were mandated by
law.
There is less disease in areas where the buildings are farther
apart, too.
The wonder buzzard’s shrieks told me my quarry was going
to try to lose us both by ducking into Prune Tastity’s tangle
of covered alleyways.
I’ve been in there a few times. The place is a maze, at
times rising five stories high. What Gonlit apparently didn’t
realize was that I was familiar enough with Prune Tastity to know
that there’re only a handful of entrances to the maze.
He’d gone in the far side hoping I’d follow and get
lost. If he meant to leave without running into me again he’d
have to come out not far from where I stood listening to the
Goddamn Parrot’s progress report.
I got myself into position with minutes to spare. I used every
second to get more wind back into my lungs. I needed my breathing
under control if Gonlit wasn’t going to hear me puffing for a
block before he arrived.
I needn’t have worried. Bic was puffing so hard himself
that he couldn’t have heard the ringing of the bell
that’s supposed to announce the end of the world. His head
was down, his arms and legs were pumping, and he wasn’t even
making a fast walk anymore. But he was still moving. He sounded
like he was going to expire if he didn’t take a break and
concentrate on his breathing.
I timed my move, caught his collar as he shuffled past. He made
one feeble attempt to get away, then gave up. And I mean gave up
completety. He just folded up on the street and refused to do
anything but gasp for air.
Ten minutes later he was still curled up like a pillbug, daring
me to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. He seemed
confident he knew enough about me to be sure I wouldn’t kill
him for being uncooperative.
Morley is right. I need to become less predictable. And I need
to develop a more savage reputation.
Because of the Dead Man’s
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