couldn’t take a joke. I didn’t see anybody, but that meant squat. Macunado Street was so crowded you could have hidden the entire hospital staff out there.
“You invited me.” She looked like she had come directly from work, like maybe she’d pulled a double shift cleaning up. “You were panting over the idea.” She had a sarcastic tone to counterweight a blistering smile. “Your big friend dunk you in icewater?”
“I just didn’t expect to see you again. Look, I’m sorry about that mess. I just get wild when somebody pulls a dirty trick like dumping me in the cackle factory.”
Her lips pruned up. “Can’t you use a less contemptuous term?”
“Sorry. I’ll try.” I encouraged myself by recalling a thing or three people have said about my profession, most of it unflattering.
She relaxed. “The dirty trick is why I’m here. What is that smell?”
I whirled. Tendrils of smoke slithered from the kitchen. I shrieked and bounded down the hall. Our lady of the marvelous legs followed at a dignified pace.
I scooped blackened griddle cakes into the sink. They sent up smoke signals denouncing my skills as a chef. Hell, I was so bad I might be able to get on in Morley’s kitchen. They had an opening. “I can use these to patch the roof,” I grumbled.
“Too brittle.”
“Everybody’s a comedian. You had breakfast?”
“No. But...”
“Grab an apron, kid. Give me a hand. A little food will do us both good. What you want to know, anyway?”
She grabbed an apron. Amazing gal. “I didn’t like the way you were talking last night. I decided to check it out. There was no record of your commitment, though when I joined the orderlies carrying you they assured me that you had been brought in by the Guard and the records were in order.”
I made rude noises, started flapping a new generation of flapjacks.
“That was easy to check. A ranking Guard officer is an old friend of my family. Colonel Westman Block.”
I squeaked three or four tunes before I managed to ask, “ Colonel Block? They made a colonel out of him?”
“Wes speaks highly of you, too, Mr. Garrett.”
“I’ll bet.”
“He told me you were not sent to the Bledsoe by his people — though he wished he’d thought of it.”
“That’s Block. Playful as a hogshead of cobras.”
“He did speak well of you professionally. But he warned me to remain wary in other respects.” She could get a laugh into her voice, too.
“You going to want bacon?”
“You just starting it now? You’re supposed to start the bacon first. It takes longer.”
“I cook one thing at a time. That way I only burn one thing at a time.”
“A daring approach.”
“Holds down expenses.”
We cooked together and ate together and I spent a lot of time appreciating the scenery. The lady didn’t seem to mind.
We were cleaning up when she said, “I won’t tolerate this sort of thing. I won’t tolerate the corruption that allows it to happen.”
I stepped back, checked her out with different eyes. “You just start working there? You’d have to look hard to find a place more corrupt than the Bledsoe.”
“Yes. I’m new. And I’m finding out how rotten the place is. Every day it’s something. This is the worst yet. You might’ve spent your whole life wrongfully imprisoned.”
“Yeah. And I wasn’t the only one in there. You an idealist and reformer?” TunFaire is infested with those lately.
“You don’t need to make me sound like a halfwit.”
“Sorry. Most wannabe Utopians are, reality-wise. They come from well-to-do families and haven’t the vaguest notion what life is like for people who have to depend on a Bledsoe. They can’t imagine what life is like for the kind of people who work in a Bledsoe. For them taking bribes and selling donated supplies are perks of the job. They wouldn’t understand you if you bitched about it — unless they figured you were trying to increase the override you take off the top.”
She gave me a
“You invited me.” She looked like she had come directly from work, like maybe she’d pulled a double shift cleaning up. “You were panting over the idea.” She had a sarcastic tone to counterweight a blistering smile. “Your big friend dunk you in icewater?”
“I just didn’t expect to see you again. Look, I’m sorry about that mess. I just get wild when somebody pulls a dirty trick like dumping me in the cackle factory.”
Her lips pruned up. “Can’t you use a less contemptuous term?”
“Sorry. I’ll try.” I encouraged myself by recalling a thing or three people have said about my profession, most of it unflattering.
She relaxed. “The dirty trick is why I’m here. What is that smell?”
I whirled. Tendrils of smoke slithered from the kitchen. I shrieked and bounded down the hall. Our lady of the marvelous legs followed at a dignified pace.
I scooped blackened griddle cakes into the sink. They sent up smoke signals denouncing my skills as a chef. Hell, I was so bad I might be able to get on in Morley’s kitchen. They had an opening. “I can use these to patch the roof,” I grumbled.
“Too brittle.”
“Everybody’s a comedian. You had breakfast?”
“No. But...”
“Grab an apron, kid. Give me a hand. A little food will do us both good. What you want to know, anyway?”
She grabbed an apron. Amazing gal. “I didn’t like the way you were talking last night. I decided to check it out. There was no record of your commitment, though when I joined the orderlies carrying you they assured me that you had been brought in by the Guard and the records were in order.”
I made rude noises, started flapping a new generation of flapjacks.
“That was easy to check. A ranking Guard officer is an old friend of my family. Colonel Westman Block.”
I squeaked three or four tunes before I managed to ask, “ Colonel Block? They made a colonel out of him?”
“Wes speaks highly of you, too, Mr. Garrett.”
“I’ll bet.”
“He told me you were not sent to the Bledsoe by his people — though he wished he’d thought of it.”
“That’s Block. Playful as a hogshead of cobras.”
“He did speak well of you professionally. But he warned me to remain wary in other respects.” She could get a laugh into her voice, too.
“You going to want bacon?”
“You just starting it now? You’re supposed to start the bacon first. It takes longer.”
“I cook one thing at a time. That way I only burn one thing at a time.”
“A daring approach.”
“Holds down expenses.”
We cooked together and ate together and I spent a lot of time appreciating the scenery. The lady didn’t seem to mind.
We were cleaning up when she said, “I won’t tolerate this sort of thing. I won’t tolerate the corruption that allows it to happen.”
I stepped back, checked her out with different eyes. “You just start working there? You’d have to look hard to find a place more corrupt than the Bledsoe.”
“Yes. I’m new. And I’m finding out how rotten the place is. Every day it’s something. This is the worst yet. You might’ve spent your whole life wrongfully imprisoned.”
“Yeah. And I wasn’t the only one in there. You an idealist and reformer?” TunFaire is infested with those lately.
“You don’t need to make me sound like a halfwit.”
“Sorry. Most wannabe Utopians are, reality-wise. They come from well-to-do families and haven’t the vaguest notion what life is like for people who have to depend on a Bledsoe. They can’t imagine what life is like for the kind of people who work in a Bledsoe. For them taking bribes and selling donated supplies are perks of the job. They wouldn’t understand you if you bitched about it — unless they figured you were trying to increase the override you take off the top.”
She gave me a
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