Chapter Thirty-Seven

I couldn't decide if I wanted a quiet evening, blessedly free of public speaking, or something to distract me from vengeful vamps, and went with the flow. Kyle was taking Warren to be seen at some trending pink restaurant, Adam had calls to make, and without a unicorn involved school had managed to continue through today, so Jesse was watching the recording with David's crew. I set about dinner, deciding I'd earned a beer, and David, Jill, and Brent sat round the table with their own, surfing.

"It looks good again, Mercy. They're chewing on your Amerindian name as a positive and agreeing strongly you offer tolerance and practicality that add up to hope. You did their analysis for them."

"Gotta feed 'em things they get, Jill, as well as croggling them."

"True. And you counted coup again, if only verbally. Frank was right."

"Yeah, he was." David raised his beer. "Excellent backhander, Mercy. And those Latin verbs are getting attention too. Only you could get the media thinking about grammar."

Brent laughed. "Oh yeah. What's the other verb, Mercy? You said there were four."

"Sciscitor, to question repeatedly. Didn't make it into English either."

"Huh. So to ask is from German? Or whatsit, Anglo-Saxon?"

"Yup." I peeled a potato. "Can't remember the verb, but it meant to call on someone to do something. That's why the obnoxious or stupid can be asking for it, but not questioning or interrogating for it."

"Makes sense." Brent considered his beer. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Prof at Wazzu used to say if you wanted to understand the answer, you had to know what sort of question you were asking. Made sense to me."

"As it should, cleverly derogatory daughter." Coyote sauntered in from the garden. "Can't think sideways if you don't know which way is up. But getting Latin verbs onto posters is tricky, even for me. I haven't used it much for a while, Catholic priests not being at all my cup of wine. Your equation's good, though, and I got permission from all those lawmakers."

He had a flash drive, and once David fired up the laptop I found myself looking at what I had to admit was a very pleasing image of me, Coyote, and a lot of goggling faces, with WHAT SHE SAID!, then the official photo from the Medicine Wolf Accords, humans and preternaturals gathered round its great head, the slogan TOLERANCE + PRACTICALITY = HOPE. In one corner a cartoon Uncle Sam and Columbia wiped sweaty brows and said "Phew!".

"Billboards and tees, I thought." Coyote was trying to sound modest, without much luck. "Shame about the Latin, but mathematics is a first too. And you own the copyright in the photo."

I gave him a daughterly kiss. "I'm not complaining. And having Columbia as well as Uncle Sam is a nice touch. The cartoons are public domain?"

"I did check. Lawsuits are boring."

"True. So is peeling potatoes."

To my surprise he actually did grab a peeler and join me, though I was entirely unsurprised when he gave me a look I recognised all too well.

"Spill, whatever it is."

"Just an idea, but it might upset you. You're getting quite complicated and unpredictable these days."

"Surprise. Spill."

"Alright. How would you feel about using an image of the statue with those black bars supplementing your fig-leaves?"

Whatever I'd been expecting it wasn't that, and I peeled while I thought about it, with the fact that no-one else was saying anything, including Adam, who'd drifted back in. Black bars would preserve my modesty, such as it was — and it was — but also summon the broadcast image of me being raped and killing Tim, because KEPR had insisted on them. I also thought they looked really stupid. There was digital blurring, but if that was OK for faces I wasn't sure it worked so well anywhere else. Adam would not like the allusion, but I could see the boomerang there could be. Tim wounded me badly, but I'd still taken him out, just as I'd beaten Manannán by changing — or reimposing — the rules on him. And it was more Iron Coyote, but that was covered, and I shook my head.

"The gain's not worth the pain, Da, for me or Adam."

He heard my lack of adjective, and sighed. "Alright, daughter. I sort of understand — your aunts would tan anyone who showed skin like that, though they approve of the statue. But you must do something with it."

"Why?"

"Why? Underhill — Underhill — put up a statue of you whacking the fae version of Cantrip. That sort of thing impresses people, you know."

"Yeah. But fae eyes are not human eyes. File under Celilo Falls."

His eyebrows rose. "You can hardly be unphotographable as President."

"I can damn well have clothes on." A last potato joined its brethren in heating water. "I can also not be ice or in the act of killing. Would you use a picture of furry me muzzle-deep in dead rabbit?"

Jill said something in antique Salish I thought was about the boasting modesty Jim mentioned, and Coyote shrugged.

"I don't disagree, Bear's daughter, but it's still a missed opportunity, and I don't like those."

Adam sent me a query I thought about, and shrugged acquiescence.

"Then make it an opportunity, Coyote. Mercy wants this one kept closer than not, and so do I, so that's what we get. We're pushing back at paparazzi, not feeding them, remember?"

"Are you causing trouble, Gramps?" Jesse bounced in, David's crew trailing her with suddenly wary looks. "What about?"

"He wants to use an image of the statue with black bars. I said no."

Jesse nodded. "Right. Not a good call, Gramps. Imagine you'd been filmed being eaten by the River Devil, and I wanted to campaign for your Purple Heart."

He stared. "There is so much wrong with that analogy, Graught."

"And so much right. File under pesky if you have to, but give it up, please. Mom so doesn't need any more hassle just now."

"Coyotes are hassle."

But he'd heard Jesse, and subsided without much muttering, while she and David's crew offered congratulations on my speech and admired the new poster. Jesse showed them the full set, and the blacked-out River Devil led to enquiries about the uncensored version, which Coyote had on his phone. I let them get on with it, running green beans through an old rotary slicer Adam had found somewhere, and my mind drifted as I set skillets heating, then made hot tomato relish and gravy. I was half-aware conversation had shifted to the next few days, Jesse and Adam filling people in on Sunday, when I realised I was hearing silence and turned.

"What?"

Travis set his beer down carefully. "Ms Hauptman, you are taking First People and African Americans from all over the Mississippi Basin to meet Medicine Wolf so it can tell its … friend about their experiences? And then taking those same people to be the first the friend reads?"

"Yeah. Problem?"

"No. The opposite. It's just … Ol' Manitou River. God above." He laughed. "You had my vote already, but I'm really wishing just now I had another, so I could give you that one too."

"You're welcome, Travis. And David, does discipline really mean your guys can't call me Mercy in my own kitchen?"

"Not any more. But I share Trav's feeling, Mercy, and so will every brother and sister. I'm also thinking that if that's happening, and Bonarata makes his jump right afterward, there will be some … false implications about his motives."

"Maybe." I thought about it as I got back to stirring. "Not for long though. I don't know how it'll play, because it's Bonarata's move, but one way or another the whole thing will blow wide and fast. Including Bonarata's identity, whether he's dismissed or in the Italian wind."

"OK. Just don't get yourself killed, please. And thank you. It's again a privilege to be here."

His guys agreed, and I told them they were welcome, enjoying the sizzle as steaks hit skillets and taking out the small change in vigorous potato-mashing. I liked doing right but was less keen on reverent gratitude for things I thought straightforward, however magical, and not sure how to cope with what seemed increasingly likely to be a lot of it. On the other paw, those kinds of emotions could fuel personal change, and that fuelled wider change out in the stubborn world. If the Columbia could be a skeleton or nerve system for Amerindian revival, what could the Mississippi be for First People and African Americans? Who knew what Ol' Manitou River would be sufficiently interested in, but having more people than Faulkner thinking about the history those groups shared would be good, as would greater awareness the Mississippi Basin stretched from Colorado to New York as well as Minneapolis to Louisiana. Great manitous didn't do tributaries, and this one encompassed a lot of American diversity — with repeated patterns that mostly boiled down to Anglos and money. On a third paw, Bob Marley had been happy to sing about Buffalo Soldiers, which spoke to many relevant things. And on a fourth, I had a table full of thoughtful African Americans, so with food dished I took the buffalo by the horns.

Despite the possible curly-hair explanation of the Amerindian designation for African-American troops, it had always been as admiring as derogatory, and adopted with pride. How might it be extended into, say, Buffalo Rangers, drawing heavily on First People and African Americans of the Mississippi Basin, as a division of the NPS charged with getting herds of bison safely back on the range? That would make for a north-south connector west of the Mississippi, and Coyote liked it. East of it was trickier, but the smaller lobe of the basin had some of the most polluted sites in the country between Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati, all in need of tackling, and cleaning up everywhere was a manitou demand that had to be met. There could also be a festival of the Mississippi rotating through states, and Jesse liked that, but the other biggie was maximising commercial navigability, getting freight off roads and back on water, which might be slower but was way more efficient and had a fraction of the carbon footprint.

Adam was amused by the fizz of ideas, and David and his guys soon got into the pleasure of free thinking. Given what they did, they were very tight-knit and tended to military friends, but all had extended families that could be galvanised, and plans for Sunday took firmer shape. As there was a permanent media pack at our gates, having a large group of strangers bussed in was not on, and I hadn't wanted to ask Leslie to go federal on this, so they were booked on a Yakama tourist trip that included lunch at a farm south of Toppenish, where Medicine Wolf would join them. I'd always been going by cloak to avoid being followed, taking Jesse and Adam, Jenna and Jude could make their way unobserved, and would bring Maya and her family, and with something less distinctive than Hummers to drive David and his guys could get themselves there — if they could get past the media.

"Take a boat across the Columbia, David. Two of the pack could meet you on Game Road, switch vehicles, and it's just a hop onto I12."

"We don't have a boat, love. Nor does Corp."

"And this can't be fixed by Sunday? Those SEALs are still in town, Adam. Or plenty of Yakama have canoes with outboards. Longer run, I could ask Medicine Wolf for a tunnel under the river, but it'd need guarding and the media would twig eventually. Boats could go down to Attalia or up to the corner of South and East Finley, or anywhere in between. We ought to have one. Or two."

"So we ought." Adam grinned. "Fancy another boat ride, Corp?"

"On the Columbia, maybe, Sarge." David gave me a look. "I knew Medicine Wolf was doing tunnels for I84. It does them as favours?"

"No, at need. The Freed earth fae are living on an island in the Yakima Delta, commuting by manitou tunnel."

"Huh. I owe those SEALs a call anyway, Sarge."

Adam checked his watch. "Me too. Let's go see."

Travis and Lincoln helped Jesse stack the dishwasher, kicking ideas around with others chipping in. It was restful to let them do the thinking, but there's no peace for the wicked, and it wasn't long before my phone started playing 'Police and Thieves'.

"Hi, Tony."

/Mercy./ He sounded tired. /After your shows yesterday and today I won't ask if you're OK, but I am touching base about Wednesday night. Fisher's giving us nothing but has taken over reports we've had of houses abandoned, and says she has people in protective custody. Chief's had an order from on high to sit on it, but he's not happy and neither am I./

I sighed. "I bet, but there is nothing I can do yet, Tony. I don't think it'll be much longer, meaning weeks not months, but it's not my call."

/And these people in protective custody?/

"Are being well looked after." Except the ones who'd died. "KPD will have access as and when, but not now."

/Right. Sure sounds like your call, Mercy./

"Including you in the distribution when it happens is, but pushing the button isn't, Tony. Straight up." I made myself think. "It's not a stretch to admit there's a preternatural problem, but we're not expecting anything further here, and the people the Feebs have got themselves into a bad magical mess which is being dealt with. You and Chief Rodgers have every reason to feel irritated, but don't need to worry about the citizens of Kennewick."

/A bad magical mess does not sound good./

"And isn't, Tony, but it's their problem, not the KPD's."

He really wasn't happy, and I emailed Leslie to suggest some federal soothing would not be amiss, and the AED to make sure the KPD were on the list of briefings to go out when I called Geronimo. Stonewalling Tony was uncomfortable, but as Adam said, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, and letting them in would raise the chances of a leak sharply. It might happen anyway, but the chance to stage the reveal wasn't one I wanted to risk. I opened another beer, and went back to the discussion.

"You're juggling a bunch of stuff, Mercy."

"Tell me, Connor. I know I actually have a cloak and dagger, but I could do without having to stall the KPD."

"Good one, punning daughter." Coyote laughed. "When it breaks, you in the cloak with Carnwennan, saying I do cloak and dagger, too."

There was laughter and I rested my head on the table. It was easier.