‘‘A girl I knew. My own Tinnie Tate. An old regret. It doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.’’
Clever. He got in a dig even there.
‘‘Must have been something special.’’
‘‘She was. She was indeed.’’ He drifted toward the kitchen. ‘‘We’re out of apples again.’’
Pular Singe is addicted to stewed apples. Dean indulges her shamelessly. Despite ingrained prejudice.
Ninety-eight of a hundred TunFairens loathe ratpeople just for existing. They can’t help it.
‘‘I’m not inclined to pay a premium because we’re way off season.’’
‘‘Noted. You aren’t inclined to pay more than the minimum for anything in any season.’’
Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, the ingratitude of a servant confident in the security of his position.
‘‘I hope you have something ready for lunch. I have to go out, soon as I fill up.’’
He paused long enough to benefit me with his full frontal scowl.
4
In some parts of town they’d given up trying to keep the streets clear. In others they kept after the snow with a dogged fervor. The city fathers had invoked emergency regulations to keep the more critical thoroughfares passable.
Lucky me, it wasn’t my day to help clear my block. Unlucky me, it hadn’t snowed. Today’s crew wouldn’t have much to do.
The sky was a cloudless blue. There was no wind. Light melting had begun in direct sunlight. So ice could form in all the low places once the sun went down.
It’s a couple miles to the Weider brewing complex. Not a tough walk. No hills of consequence. A few historical landmarks I never notice because they’re always there. Furniture of the world.
There were a lot of people out, enjoying.
I was in a good mood myself by the time I got where I was going. Nobody stalked me. Nobody bopped me on the noggin. Nobody even gave me a second glance.