The breath of his guest also smoked. Kimba Rimer’s skeletal frame was all but buried in a gray serape lit with faint bands of orange. The two of them had been on the edge of getting down to business when Roy and Clay (Pinch and Jilly, Rimer thought) showed up, their plowing and planting in the second-floor cribs also apparently over for another night.
“Eldred,” Reynolds said, and then: “Sai Rimer.”
Rimer nodded back, looking from Reynolds to Depape with thin distaste. “Long days and pleasant nights, gentlemen.” Of course the world had moved on, he thought. To find such low culls as these two in positions of importance proved it.
Jonas himself was only a little better.
“Might we have a word with you, Eldred?” Clay Reynolds asked. “We’ve been talking, Roy and I—”
“Unwise,” Jonas remarked in his wavery voice. Rimer wouldn’t be surprised to
find, at the end of his life, that the Death Angel had such a voice. “Talking can lead to thinking, and thinking’s dangerous for such as you boys. Like picking your nose with bullet-heads.”
Depape donkeyed his damned hee-haw laughter, as if he didn’t realize the joke was on him.
“Jonas, listen,” Reynolds began, and then looked uncertainly at Rimer.
“You can talk in front of sai Rimer,” Jonas said, laying out a fresh line of cards.
“He is, after all, our chief employer. I play at Chancellors’ Patience in his honor, so I do.”
Reynolds looked surprised. “I thought . . . that is to say, I believed that Mayor Thorin was …”
“Hart Thorin wants to know none of the details of our arrangement with the Good Man,” Rimer said. “A share of the profits is all he requires in that line, Mr.
Reynolds. The Mayor’s chief concern right now is that the Reaping Day Fair go smoothly, and that his arrangements with the young lady be … smoothly consummated.”
“Aye, that’s a diplomatic turn o’ speech for ye,” Jonas said in a broad Mejis accent.
“But since Roy looks a little perplexed, I’ll translate. Mayor Thorin spends most of his time in the jakes these days, yanking his willy-pink and dreaming his fist is Susan Delgado’s box. I’m betting that when the shell’s finally opened and her pearl lies before him, he’ll never pluck it—his heart’ll explode from excitement, and he’ll drop dead atop her, so he will. Yar!”
More donkey laughter from Depape. He elbowed Reynolds. “He’s got it down, don’t he, Clay? Sounds just like em!”
Reynolds grinned, but his eyes were still worried. Rimer managed a smile as thin as a scum of November ice, and pointed at the seven which had just popped out of the pack. “Red on black, my dear Jonas.”
“I ain’t your dear anything,” Jonas said, putting the seven of diamonds on an eight of shadows, “and you’d do well to remember that.” Then, to Reynolds and Depape:
“Now what do you boys want? Rimer ‘n me was just going to have us a little palaver.”
“Perhaps we could all put our heads together,” Reynolds said, putting a hand on the back of a chair. “Kind of see if our thinking matches up.”
“I think not,” Jonas said, sweeping his cards together. He looked irritated, and
Clay Reynolds took his hand off the back of the chair in a hurry. “Say your say and be done with it. It’s late.”
“We was thinking it’s time to go on out there to the Bar K,” Depape said. “Have a look around. See if there’s anything to back up what the old fella in Ritzy said.”
“And see what else they’ve got out there,” Reynolds put in. “It’s getting close now, Eldred, and we can’t afford to take chances. They might have—”
“Aye? Guns? Electric lights? Fairy-women in bottles? Who knows? I’ll think about it. Clay.”
“But—”
“I said I’ll think about it. Now go on upstairs, the both of you, back to your own fairy-women.”
Reynolds and Depape looked at him, looked at each other, then backed away from the table. Rimer watched them with his thin smile.
At the foot of the stairs, Reynolds turned back. Jonas paused in the act of shuffling his cards and looked at him, tufted eyebrows raised.
“We underestimated em once and they made us look like monkeys. I don’t want it to happen again. That’s all.”
“Your ass is still sore over that, isn’t it? Well, so is mine. And I tell you again, they’ll pay for what they did. I have the bill ready, and when the time comes, I’ll present it to them, with all interest duly noted. In the meantime, they aren’t going to spook me into making the first move. Time is on our side, not theirs. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Will you try to remember it?”
“Yes,” Reynolds repeated. He seemed satisfied.
“Roy? Do you trust me?”
“Aye, Eldred. To the end.” Jonas had praised him for the work he had done in Ritzy, and Depape had rolled in it the way a male dog rolls in the scent of a bitch.
“Then go on up, the both of you, and let me palaver with the boss and be done with it. I’m too old for these late nights.”
When they were gone, Jonas dealt out a fresh line of cards, then looked around the room. There were perhaps a dozen folks, including Sheb the piano-player and Barkie the bouncer, sleeping it off. No one was close enough to listen to the low-voiced conversation of the two men by the door, even if one of the snoring
drunkards was for some reason only shamming sleep. Jonas put a red queen on a black knight, then looked up at Rimer. “Say your say.”
“Those two said it for me, actually. Sai Depape will never be embarrassed by a surplus of brains, but Reynolds is fairly smart for a gunny, isn’t he?”
“Clay’s trig when the moon’s right and he’s had a shave,” Jonas agreed. “Are you saying you came all the way from Seafront to tell me those three babbies need a closer looking at?”
Rimer shrugged.
“Perhaps they do, and I’m the man to do it, if so—right enough. But what’s there to find?”
“That’s to be seen,” Rimer said, and tapped one of Jonas’s cards. “There’s a Chancellor.”
“Aye. Near as ugly as the one I’m sitting with.” Jonas put the Chancellor—it was Paul—above his run of cards. The next draw uncovered Luke, whom he put next to Paul. That left Peter and Matthew still lurking in the bush. Jonas looked at Rimer shrewdly. “You hide it better than my pals, but you’re as nervous as they are, underneath. You want to know what’s out at that bunkhouse? I’ll tell you: extra boots, pictures of their mommies, socks that stink to high heaven, stiff sheets from boys who’ve been taught it’s low-class to chase after the sheep . . . and guns hidden somewhere. Under the floorboards, like enough.”
“You really think they have guns?”
“Aye, Roy got the straight of that, all right. They’re from Gilead, they’re likely from the line of Eld or from folk who like to think they’re from it, and they’re likely ‘prentices to the trade who’ve been sent on with guns they haven’t earned yet. I wonder a bit about the tall one with the I-don’t-give-a-shit look in his eyes—he might already be a gunslinger, I suppose—but is it likely? I don’t think so. Even if he is, I could take him in a fair go. I know it, and he does, too.”
“Then why have they been sent here?”
“Not because those from the Inner Baronies suspect your treason, sai Rimer—be easy on that score.”
Rimer’s head poked out of his serape as he sat up straight, and his face stiffened.
“How dare you call me a traitor? How dare you?”
Eldred Jonas favored Hambry’s Minister of Inventory with an unpleasant smile. It made the white-haired man look like a wolverine. “I’ve called things by their right
names my whole life, and I won’t stop now. All that needs matter to you is that I’ve never double-crossed an employer.”
“If I didn’t believe in the cause of—”
“To hell with what you believe! It’s late and I want to go to bed. The folk in New Canaan and Gilead haven’t the foggiest idea of what does or doesn’t go on out here on the Crescent; there aren’t many of em who’ve ever been here, I’d wager. Them are too busy trying to keep everything from falling down around their ears to do much travelling these days. No, what they know is all from the picturebooks they was read out of when they ‘us babbies themselves: happy cowboys galloping after stock, happy fishermen pulling whoppers into their boats, folks clogging at bam
raisings and drinking big pots o’ graf in Green Heart pavilion. For the sake of the Man Jesus, Rimer, don’t go dense on me—I deal with that day in and day out.”