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“Let’s deal with this mess before we do anything else. Penny, get the field cot set up in my office. We’ll put Dean in there.”
She grumbled. That’s what teens do when they’re told to do something. All life is an imposition. But she went. She liked Dean.
Singe said, “Let us shut the door before the second wave shows up.”
She helped drag the injured raider. The door needed no major repairs. The damage was all cosmetic. I was pleased.
Dean and Singe’s victim were less encouraging. Dean was unconscious and covered with yuck. I worried that he had internal injuries. “I’ll get Dr. Harmer in a few minutes.”
No need, my partner sent. The solution to several problems is at hand.
I stood up, bemused, though this was not the first time my stoop had hosted a raft of violent idiots. I was bemused because my telepathic sidekick was bemused. He was bemused because he had been unable to get past the surface thoughts of the raiders.
The door resounded to a tap.
Singe’s head whipped round. She pushed me out of her way, cracked the peephole for form’s sake, then opened up for her half-brother, the ratman gangster John Stretch. Behind him loomed his lieutenant, Dollar Dan Justice, the biggest ratman in town. All five feet three of him. More henchrat types lurked in the street.
John Stretch said, “We heard there was trouble.” His whiskers wiggled as he sniffed out the story. He was a colorful dresser, wearing a yellow shirt, striped red-and-white trousers, and high-top black boots. Dollar Dan, though, was clad plain as dirt.
Singe babbled.
John Stretch patted her shoulder. “Two of them? With poisoned bolts? No? Too bad. What can we do?”
The Dead Man asked for someone to hustle a message to Dr. Harmer. And could someone please track the ones that got away? The wounded one had left a generous blood trail. I said, “I could use some help moving Dean. And some cleaning specialists to clear the mess.” Meaning the rotting remains.
John Stretch said, “I hope my women can stand that.”
Which said a lot about the pong. Ratfolks find most smells I don’t like to be lovely fragrances.
Dollar Dan got busy lieutenanting while his boss and I chewed the fat. The crowd in the street broke up. One ratman headed downhill to get the doctor. The nastiest bunch headed the other direction, never asking what they should do if they caught up. Two more sniffed around the spot whence the blonde had watched. They couldn’t find a scent.
Singe said, “I will take that once we finish here.”
Her brother didn’t argue so I didn’t. He said, “I will ask Dollar Dan to go along. No one will look out for you better, Singe,” he added when she gave him the fisheye. “So let me be selfish.”
Garrett. Please bring that box in to me.
“Box?” What box?
The box that may be the reason for all the excitement.
“Oh. That box.”
That bit of art in cherrywood, coated with mush, lay snuggled up to the wall beside the umbrella stand.
“It’s all nasty.”
Limit your contact with the filth.
“Crap. Not good. We might have to redo the floor.” I scooted into the kitchen, filled a bucket with water, rounded up some cleaning rags, got back out into the hall. I found brother and sister rat people in a heated debate about Dollar Dan.
I said, “Singe, let them look out for you. It won’t hurt. It’s not a sign of weakness. And it’ll keep your brother and Dan and me all happy.”
She gave me an exasperated look but abandoned the argument.
Do not be an idiot, Garrett!
“What?” I have an old reputation as a master of repartee.
