Accidental God 2.0 -- Section 19

[I started listening to a Terry Pratchett book today. I don't know how it happened, but he got better than his earlier books. Lots better. In fact, it was somewhat distressing how good he is. But, as my wife said, his success doesn't take away from my success.

[It sure is intimidating, though.]

    "Think it will snow?" asked Rae as they walked.
    Luther looked around. "Eventually, yes. Why do you ask?"
    "To make conversation. We haven't said anything for the last block."
    "There was traffic," said Luther.
    "So?"
    "It was loud. Hard to talk over it."
    "No more excuses. You have to talk to me."
    Luther looked over at her. She was younger than he was--most everyone was--but they'd been friends so long it was hard to remember a time when he hadn't known her. So, he supposed, he owed her. And she looked concerned. Sure, she looked cheerful, but there was concern under that, about as well hidden as noodles in lasagna.
    "Okay," he said. "What do we talk about."
    "Anything. Whatever you want to talk about. Just start talking, and I'll answer, and we'll go back and forth. It'll be like a conversation."
    "I've heard about those," said Luther. "Want to talk about shoes?"
    "No."
    "How's your job with the Twins?"
    Rae wrinkled her nose. "Some days I can't figure out how those two ever became goddesses. Honestly, last week they come back from the hair dresser, and--hang on. No. You're not getting me talking. It's your turn to talk."
    "Can't I ask you questions?" asked Luther.
    "Possibly, but not before you say five things about your own life."
    "What would I say?"
    "Nope, you can't ask me that. I'm waiting for those five things."
    Luther smiled. "You're working really hard at this."
    "Yes, I am. You spent so many years listening to me, it's about time I shut up and did some listening. So talk."
    "Okay."
    "Start now."
    "Give me a minute."
    "Fine. Your minute starts now."
    "I didn't mean that literally."
    "Don't care. I'll expect you to be talking in...fifty seconds."
    Luther rubbed at the scruff on his cheek--he'd forgotten to shave--and looked around at the world. Lunch traffic, people walking here and there. Luther noticed their shoes, as he probably always would. Why did women insist on wearing such terrible torture devices? Luther could appreciate attractive calves, but he wasn't sure they were worth the pain some women went through every day. If he'd had his way, Heartbreak Hal's shoe store would never have carried high heels--not for men back in the day, not for women now.
    But Rae had said he couldn't talk about shoes. What else would he talk about? Luther assumed that Forgotten Zed's murder was out of the question. He supposed they could talk about Atty, but no--she'd said he had to talk about himself. What was there to say?
    "Time's up," said Rae. "Talk."
    "I'm not ready."
    "Talk now."
    Her voice was hard, harder than he remembered hearing it, and it surprised him. Luther found his mouth moving.
    "I'm thinking about taking up cooking."
    "Really?"
    "I guess so. I joked about that with Atty, but I think I might actually mean it."
    "You told Atty you're going to cook? Wonderful. Anything in particular?"
    "Scouring pads."
    "Excuse me?"
    "I don't know. I have no idea what I want to cook. Atty had these magazines and books covered in pictures of beautiful food. Do you think all that food is real?"
    "Probably."
    "But I heard somewhere that the food in those pictures is sculpted from other food. Like the ice cream in chocolate syrup commercials."
    "What about it?"
    "I heard they carved it out of potatoes."
    "But wouldn't the potatoes go brown?"
    "Sure, because they're pouring chocolate syrup over them."
    "Come on. The potatoes would start to oxidize, unless they covered them with spray paint or something. Maybe they use white on them. But I bet most of the food is real." Rae tucked some stray hair behind her ear. "Like asparagus. What's the point of trying to carve asparagus? Easier just to cook a dozen batches than to get all those little leaves on there."
    "You have a point," said Luther. "There's the restaurant."
    "Maybe you could cook some Thai food," Rae suggested. "Get some inspiration from our lunch here. Why did you stop walking?"
    Luther hadn’t realized that he had stopped, but he had. He’d been distracted by the cluster of broguts hanging from the restaurant sign. “Up there,” he said, pointing.
    “Ew,” said Rae. “Broguts.”
    “Don’t like them?”
    “Not at all. I think it’s the legs. Anything over five and I get the willies.”
    “Five doesn’t bother you?”
    Rae shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything with five.”
    “I don’t think anything has five legs. So why not just say ‘anything over four?’”
    “I don’t want to be prejudiced.”
    Luther raised his eyebrows. “That’s...generous of you. I think.”
    Rae smiled at him. “It’s how I was raised. Shall we go in?”
    “Hold on a moment,” said Luther. “I’m trying to think. Why would broguts be out? You hardly ever see them, even at night.”
    “Really?” said Rae. “Did we discover your one hobby, Luther? You’re a brogut watcher?”
    The angel shook his head. “I saw a documentary last week. They’re really reclusive creatures, easily spooked. And look at those.” Luther pointed up to the roof. “See the noses sticking out over the edge there? Long-nosed rupplers. Also entropic creatures, and you never see them in cities.”
    Rae scrunched up her face. “Are those the things that look like roadkill? They pretty much just lie around and sniff at stuff, right?”
    Luther nodded.
    “Then I hate those, too,” said Rae, and she grabbed his sleeve, pulling. “Let’s hurry and go inside.”
    “Give me just a minute,” Luther protested. “When did you even get a chance to hate long-nosed rupplers? The camera crews had to hang from tree branches for a month to get shots of them.”
    “A month?”
    “It was a long time. When did you see them?”
    “If we go inside, I’ll tell you.”
    “If you tell me, I’ll go inside.”
    Rae looked at him and sighed. “Fine. You remember when Lorenzo was a brand new god and I got a job with him?”
    “With Lorenzo de Medici? Sure. You looked good in Renaissance clothing.”
    “I did not, but thank you. Back then, he had entropic creatures around him all the time. Broguts, and the long-nosed whatevers, and chickens, and potatoes were growing everywhere, and it was a mess. I hated it.”
    Luther scratched at his neck, and his skin was rough against his fingers. How had he forgotten to shave? “So,” he said, “entropic creatures were hanging around a new god. Of course. That makes sense. New gods haven’t fully bonded with their power, so they shed it everywhere and attract entropic creatures like moths.”
    “Ugh,” said Rae. “You had to remind me. Night was terrible with all the moths. I would’t walk with him. I refused.”
    Luther continued chasing after his train of thought. It seemed important. “But why are they at this restaurant? And why was one following that boy?”
    “What boy?” asked Rae.
    “Boy at the bagel shop this morning. Tall, skinny kid. He said a brogut was following him around town--but he couldn’t be a new god.” Luther stopped as the weight of what he said started to sink in. “Could he?”
    Rae was staring at him. Luther couldn’t quite figure out what he was saying. That boy couldn’t have been a killer. He had been so innocent. Maybe a bit of a schmuck, but that was what kids were supposed to be.
    Rae thought out loud for him. “Zed dies, and suddenly a boy has broguts following him around? Doesn’t seem likely it’s coincidence.”
    “But the boy seemed nice. I don’t think he was the guy.”
    “I can think of one way we might find out,” said Rae. “Let’s go.” She turned and walked purposefully toward the restaurant and Luther hurried to catch up.
    “This might be a bad idea,” he said. “If he is a god killer, confronting him is one of the worse ways I can think of approaching this.”
    Rae glanced at him sideways. “Give me some credit, Luther. Are you going to get the door for me?”
    “Of course.” He jogged ahead and pulled the door open. “After you.”
    “Your courtesy sweeps me off my feet.”
    Then Rae was past him and in the restaurant, looking around. Luther looked, too. No tall, skinny kid. He started breathing again, then realized how silly it was he had been holding his breath. That kid wasn’t the killer. He was sure of it.
    “We’re checking the kitchen,” said Rae, but before they could make it halfway across the room, a young woman in an apron intercepted them.
    “Can I help you?” she asked, smiling. “Table for two?”
    “Probably not,” said Rae. “I mean, probably no table. I’m hoping you actually can help us. We’re looking for a tall young man, skinny. He might be a customer here, or on the kitchen staff.”
    The young woman glanced back at the kitchen, a little nervously, Luther thought. “You might mean Bradley, but he doesn’t work here anymore. What is this for, anyway?”
    Oh dear, thought Luther. He should have had a lie ready for this.
    Rae sailed on without hesitation. “I work at Twin Goddess Art Gallery, and a patron left some things there. We didn’t know how to find him, but he had mentioned this restaurant, so, since I was on the way by, I thought I’d ask. And possible have lunch.”
    “Art gallery?” said the young woman. “That was probably Bradley, then. He was always drawing. What things did he leave?”
    “A sketch book,” said Rae, and the server cocked her head, looking suddenly skeptical.
    “If you can call it that,” said Luther. “A bunch of loose papers, all folded up and tied together.” Was that right? It was a guess, but a good one, he hoped.
    The young woman chuckled. “That sounds like Bradley. I wish I could keep them here for him, but he quit last night.”
    “Did something happen?” asked Rae, all friendly curiosity.
    The server glanced back at the kitchen. Was there someone to worry about in there? She hesitated longer, looked at Rae’s smiling-yet-concerned face, then let out her breath. “There was an accident. A patron had an allergic reaction to the food. Peanuts, or something. The chef said it was Bradley’s fault, but I don’t believe it. He was smart. Too smart. He wouldn’t forget to mention something like that.”
    Luther didn’t want to ask the question that came to mind, but he felt he had to. He cleared his throat and the girl looked at him. “Is it possible that,” he cleared his throat again--why did this make him nervous?--“that the young man would have done something like that on purpose?”
    The girl’s mouth tightened and her nose wrinkled, which would have been cute if she hadn’t so clearly been angry. “How dare you,” she said. “How dare you. You should have seen his face. He was white as a ghost, looking at her. You might have thought he was the one who died. How dare you!”
    “I’m sorry,” said Luther, but he had to school his features to keep the smile off his face. He was so glad. The boy wasn’t a god killer. He glanced at the server’s name tag. “I didn’t mean any offense, Denise. I truly am sorry.”
    “Please do forgive my friend,” said Rae, pulling Denise’s eyes back to her. “He means well, but sometimes he walks around with his feet in his mouth.”
    “That was a terrible thing to say,” said Denise, throwing her glare back at Luther. “I wouldn’t even say that about the chef.”
    “Of course not,” said Rae. “I think we should go, then. Maybe I’ll come back later.”
    “Without him,” said Denise. It wasn’t a question.
    “Thank you for your help,” said Rae, and they left the restaurant. They paused on the sidewalk while Rae readjusted her scarf. Luther didn’t bother trying to hide his smile anymore. Bradley, the boy, wasn’t the killer. He wasn’t sure entirely why that made him so happy, but it did. Perhaps it was because he liked the boy, which he did, even after a total of perhaps two minutes together. Bradley had seemed sincere, like he cared about things more than the average person. And perhaps Luther was pleased because his judgment of the kid had been right. It was a frightening thing to doubt your judgment of people after more than a millennium of living. Either way, he smiled.
    “That was tactless,” said Rae, “but probably necessary. So now we know that our killer is the woman who died from a peanut allergy. Should that be possible?”
    Luther shrugged. “If the power hadn’t had a chance to bind to her, then sure, and giving the timing, I can’t imagine any real binding going on. She was almost as vulnerable as a normal human. And now Bradley has all that power.”
    “We need to find him,” said Rae. “I’m going back in.”
    “I think the girl would have mentioned it if she knew his address.”
    “Which is why I’m not going to talk to Denise. I’m going to work the manager, but you stay here. No need to antagonize the poor girl.”
    “I never antagonize anyone,” Luther protested.
    “Except when you think there’s something good that needs to be done. Then you get a little bullish.”
    “I’m gentle as a lamb.”
    “I’m leaving now.”
    “I’ll wait here.”
    “Luther.”
    “Yes?”
    “It’s good to see you smile again.”