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Tin Horses and Paper Planes 18

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The commencement of Winter Court was the grandest - and the most hotly anticipated - of the year's round of formal ceremonies, dinners and assemblies, more so even than the Queen's own birthday celebrations. There would be no sheepish excuses and apologies from Councilmen reluctant to brave the roads. No place-holder nonentities sent to represent the great and the good of Central City. This, as Enid had solemnly informed DG at least six times in the last half hour, was The Ball to be Seen At. Dignitaries from every corner of the Realms were already trickling in, a good nine hours before the orchestra would strike up their first tune of the evening, and several large marquees had been erected on the lawns for early arrivals to gather, take light refreshments, and make the sort of polite conversation that requires score cards.

In spite of the best, slightly despairing, efforts of a small team of political tutors, DG still didn't consider herself much of an expert in the mechanics of princesshood. But one thing she did recognise was the sound of an engine going into high gear, and the palace was all but thrumming with the preparations. Listening to the dim hubbub of diplomacy in progress, she wondered if anyone else would be going dressed as a cake.

"Nice and straight, Your Highness, nice and straight. If we slouch, the lacing will be crooked, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

DG rolled her eyes, glad that Enid was standing behind her, unable to see her face. "No, we wouldn't. Crooked laces...that'd be just about the worst thing ever. You know, if you want to have a turn wearing this, I'd be totally okay with that. In fact, you could go to this thing instead of me - it's a big occasion, and nobody wants to see a slouchy princess."

"Oh, you will have your little jokes, Your Highness. Now, which shoes are you going to wear? I was thinking the pink silk pumps with th-"

A soft knock signalled a momentary reprieve in the sartorial ordeal, and it took considerable restraint for DG not to bolt for the door. Enid gave the laces a final judicious tweak, and went to answer it.

"Oh, it's you."

DG grinned: she was about to be saved. "Come in, Glitch - we're done playing dress-up for now, aren't we, Enid?"

The maid gave her a helpless look, then sighed. "Just as you say, Your Highness. But I'll have to come back and help you out of your gown. Your clothes for the day are laid out on the bed."

It would probably be mean to say that Glitch could unlace her, DG decided, even though the reaction would almost be worth it. She smiled. "I'll manage. Come back in about an hour, and if I'm still trapped in this thing, you can let me out."

Glitch waited just inside the room, leaning heavily on his stick, until Enid had muttered her way out of earshot. "Hey, Your Royal DG-ness. Are they holding the ball early, or did I oversleep?"

"Test run. Enid's helping me get ready for this evening." She gestured at the full skirt. "I never had clothes I had to rehearse before I came to the OZ. Anyway, how are you feeling? Come and sit down!" She turned a chair invitingly and tried not to look anxious at his slow progress across the room.

"I should be pulling up chairs for you!" Glitch protested, but he settled obediently into the seat and regarded her dress owlishly. "Although maybe you already have a chair under there..."

Laughing, DG leaned down and hugged him. Oh! You're too thin, Glitch. "I could just about get a bike under here," she said, hoping that good-natured grousing would cover her concern. "Or a pair of roller skates, at least. Enid says a princess should glide across the floor..."

"I don't think the Court's ready for a motorised princess, yet." His hands were busy, busy; they caught at the hem of his shirt, folding the cloth first one way and then another, then smoothing, then crumpling it into a fitful mess of creases.

DG pulled another chair over and sat so that they were knee-to-knee, as much as the dress would allow. It was easy to see that something was bothering her friend. He never even asked what roller skates were. But talking to Glitch about his worries was a tricky business. He'd fuss over sore feet or a splinter, but brush away serious concerns with vague dismissals. Gently does it, then. "Do you think you'll come, tonight? I already made sure there was a quiet place for you to sit, and you get the first dance, if you want it." She looked at him hopefully.

"Aw, you don't have to do that. I probably won't stay long, anyway; I'm under strict instructions to have my head on the pillow before the clock strikes ten." He flashed her a brief, guileless grin. "If I don't, I have it on good authority it'll turn into a pumpkin."

"Doctor Oxley said that?" DG giggled.

"Oh, no. I got it from a Higher Authority." Glitch nodded solemnly. "Tin Man's orders." He rolled his eyes comically. "He's worse than my mom... 'Glitch, you don't eat. Glitch, you need to rest. Glitch, why d'you have sugar cubes in your hair?'. There was a legitimate reason for that, and I don't wanna discuss it," he added, before DG could open her mouth to frame a question. "I don't think he's been gone for more than a couple of hours together since the doc patched up my noggin."

I don't think he's been gone for more than two hours together since you got sick. She didn't say it aloud, though. The hem of Glitch's shirt was starting to look like a piece of failed origami. "Do you mind him being around so much? You know he's just trying to help, don't you?" Glitch's hands stilled, finally. There's definitely something worrying him.

He didn't answer, and DG, intercepting his gaze, felt it pass straight through her and settle on some distant point. She shivered. She'd never admit it, but she'd rather Glitch repeated himself fifty times than slip into one of those thousand-yard stares. She leaned forward and laid her own hands over his. "Glitch? It's okay, isn't it?" His fingers flexed slightly beneath hers, and DG believed she actually felt the moment that he dropped out of whatever internal world he was currently occupying, and back into the here and now.

He blinked. "I forgot what I was saying. Help a stranded zipperhead out here...?"

"You were talking about Wyatt, and how he's been looking after you. And," DG dismissed a small twinge of guilt, "you were about to tell me what's on your mind." Technically true. She was going to ask him, wasn't she?

Glitch nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, then huffed out a little sigh. "It's Cain. All this time he's spending hanging around with me - it's not right."

Oh, Wyatt. That's not what you wanted to hear. DG felt her face freeze in a look of sympathetic enquiry. "Not right, how? Do you need more time to yourself? You know we're all just concerned about you, don't you?" Maybe there had been rumours. In spite of Glitch's once-exalted position on the palace staff, it was as if the zipper was a badge that read OF NO IMPORTANCE - and a careless maid might not bother to guard her tongue in his presence. Even if Glitch wasn't upset by the idea that his friend might be gay, he would want to put a stop to any sly tales that were oiling their way around below stairs.

But Glitch was already shaking his head. "Believe me, I had enough time to myself before I met you and the Munchkin Paranoia Patrol. But Cain...oh, Deeg, you know Cain. He's the original Good Guy. A great big overgrown boy-scout. If he thinks something's right, he'll do it no matter how much it costs him. And I'm ruining his Plan."

"His plans?" No, that wasn't what he'd said. This wasn't a plan with a small 'p'. This was a Plan, with a big 'P', in an expensive leather binder with the word 'Plan' printed in gold on the cover. "Glitch, I don't think Wyatt had anything planned except to come here and...see how things went."

"He did," Glitch insisted. "He was gonna go to Central City and set up a Defective Agency."

DG counted to five, then replayed the sentence through her 'listening to Glitch' filter. "A detective agency. And that's what Wyatt said he wanted to do?"

"That's what he said. And he'd be good at it, too. Cain knows all about the laws, and he's tough and resourceful and kind and honest and brave and -" he fixed DG with an unhappy look "- and instead he's here, taking a headcase for walks."

She was still holding his hands, and now she squeezed them, dismayed. "Don't talk like that. Wyatt's here because he wants to be. That's his choice - he wouldn't have told you that he'd stay if he didn't mean it." If you only knew...

"I know he meant it. He did, and I believe him." Glitch wouldn't look at her; DG had to crane forward to hear him. "But maybe he promised when he thought I wouldn't be around much longer."

"Glitch!"

A silence fell between them. DG searched for something to say that wouldn't sound like a platitude. What she wanted to say was: 'He's staying because he loves you, and he's hoping there's a glimmer of a chance you could love him back', but that was out of bounds, of course. "Listen, you've got th-"

"I don't want him to go!" Glitch hesitated, then his shoulders slumped. "I don't want him ever to go," he repeated, wretchedly. "But he's got things to do, and I'm holding him back."

Genius though he was, when it came to reading expressions Glitch was barely literate. Not for the first time, DG was thankful for this; she was sure she hadn't managed to keep the hope from her face. It's not nearly enough to give Wyatt a reason to speak up. But it's something. "You're not holding him back, silly. He wants to make sure you're okay. Why don't you want him to go?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't know why. Things will be all wrong if he's gone. But that's not a good enough reason to keep him here, and it'd be selfish to think it was."

Things will be all wrong. Which was interesting - even if the Tin Man went off to Central City, it wasn't exactly half a world away. The Old Road was almost new again, and DG was sure she could wrangle a car to take Glitch to the city to visit Wyatt whenever he wanted. But still...Things will be all wrong. "It's not selfish at all. I'd miss him, too." Raw - what do I do? Am I supposed to interfere? Will I just make things worse? This would be a really good time for some kind of mystic sign, okay?

But it seemed the Viewer was all out of portents. Glitch had straightened up in his chair, and was reaching for his walking stick. "I oughtta go. If I'm still hanging around when your tetchy friend comes back, she's gonna feed me to the mobats for cutting in on her clucking-time."

It was possible, DG supposed, that Glitch - with his scattershot memory and wandering fix on the here-and-now - had lost his train of thought. Possible, but not likely. He might as well have been holding up a sign: I AM CHANGING THE SUBJECT. "Don't take any notice of Enid. You'd think tonight was the biggest event in the history of the OZ, the way she talks about it. Come down and have a dance with me? Just one?"

She watched Glitch get to his feet, clasping her hands against the urge to help. He was better, much better, and it only took him a moment to get his balance. Then he smiled, and the illusion of health was complete, so long as you didn't look too hard at the shadows under his eyes or the gaunt frame beneath his clothes. "Just one dance is about my limit, right now. But it's yours if you want it."

"I'll hold you to that. I have a dance card thing somewhere where people can line up for me to stand on their feet. You're going right at the top." DG thought about this for a moment, then grinned. "But I'll try extra-hard not to tread on your toes. And if you get tired, just say...'apples', and we'll go and sit down, okay?"

Glitch shook his head wonderingly. "Cripes, what with you and Cain on my case, I can't help but get better." His smile faltered, and DG wondered if the mention of the Tin Man had reminded him of his dilemma. She reached out and squeezed his arm.

"Glitch. Wyatt...cares a lot about you. He wouldn't want you to be unhappy. Why don't you go and talk to him? I bet you could sort this whole thing out by telling him how you feel... Glitch?"

He was looking down at his arm where she had touched him, puzzled, as if he wasn't sure if the limb belonged to him.

"Is there nothing you can do...Majesty?" He wasn't talking to her; another chill wound its way up her perfectly-laced back. As time went on DG thought she might take the glitches in her stride again, but he had been so ill. It would be a while before she would be able to pass off any of his quirks and lapses as 'just a glitch'.

"Glitch? Do you want me to walk you back to your room?" She would have to call Enid to get her out of the dress. She'd just about mastered the art of hitching the stupid hem high enough not to step on it or the several layers of tulle belling out the skirt, but coping with stairs and steering Glitch would be a mission best carried out in plain clothes. Now I know why they call them 'the trappings of state'.

The zipperhead gazed down at his forearm, mouth ajar. And, DG realised, he had started to tremble. What did I do? She decided that, whatever it was, a hug couldn't make anything worse and she put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Come back to me, Glitch? Wherever you are, whatever you're thinking, it's going to be all right."

"It's now. It's now, and she's okay, and you're okay in your big dress and everything is..." Glitch gave DG a one-armed hug. "Heyy...are you okay?"

"Yes, Glitch, I'm fine." She didn't feel fine. She felt like a plucked harp string, no longer audible but still vibrating. It was probably nothing, but DG couldn't shake the sense that something had slipped by her, something important. "You just looked as if you needed a hug." Stealthily, she dried her eyes on the shoulder of his waistcoat before stepping back so she could smile at him to show him how not worried she was.

"I guess the walk down here took more out of me than I thought." Glitch regarded her for a long moment, his head on one side. "It was all worth it, in the end," he said, and DG was about to make some flip comment about her outfit when it dawned on her that he wasn't talking about his visit today.

"You've done so much for me. For all of us. You deserve to be happy, Glitch. You and Wyatt both deserve to be happy. Why don't you go and talk to him?"

He nodded slowly. "I think that's what I need to do. Thanks, Deeg. I was kinda mixed up, there, but you've set me back on the straight and narrow."

Not too straight, I hope. For an instant DG thought she'd said it aloud. I'm trusting you, Raw - sometimes you know better how we feel than we do ourselves. Please be right about this.

She went - arm-in-arm with Glitch - to the door, feeling as if there was more to be said; afraid of saying too much. She was saved further temptation by Enid, who was lurking in the small reception room outside with her hand on the doorhandle, clearly poised to charge in to rescue DG - or possibly the dress - at a moment's notice. She looked faintly flustered. DG wondered if she'd been listening at the keyhole, but she was too unsettled to tease her about it. Once Glitch had departed, with the promise that he would be her first dance partner of the evening, she surrendered to Enid's primping and fussing, figuring that she would be fine, so long as the maid wasn't allowed near a pair of scissors.

Around her, the palace engine turned smoothly on the ancient grease of tradition and the polished steel bearings of diplomacy, gliding towards the ball like a swan.

Or possibly a princess on roller-skates.

                                                ***

There was a game that Wyatt used to play, before he'd been locked in the tin suit and passing the time had become a matter of endurance rather than ingenuity. It was the sort of game he supposed was peculiar to Tin Men, and anyone else who had to find ways to make routine tasks palatable or perish from sheer, mindnumbing tedium. It was a memory game, and the basic premise was this: you picked an event, perhaps something recent, perhaps something long-past if you wanted the challenge, and you tried to recall it in as much detail as possible. Every little element earned a point - the colour of the flowers in the vase by the hearth; the length and direction of the shadows; the number of buttons on a suspect's coat - anything would count, no matter how trivial. Attention to detail was a vital skill for a good Tin Man, along with more prosaic qualities, like a cast-iron bladder and the ability not to flinch at loud noises.

Over the years, Wyatt had got very good at this game. It was probably fortunate that he wasn't much of a writer or every arrest he'd ever made would have been accompanied by a small novel's-worth of detail, and there were times when having excellent recall was a disadvantage. Some of the grim sights you saw on the streets (and in the bars, and brothels, and bedrooms) of Central City were best dealt with quickly, then put away with a sign that said 'nothing to see here, move along'. Mostly, though, Wyatt found his talent for perception to be useful, and if some of the memories he saw were bittersweet, at least they weren't only bitter.

Lately, he would have willingly handed over his gun, his horse and one of his legs for his memory to be comfortingly vague.

He had been thinking about his afternoon at the lake with Glitch. He'd thought of little else. I kissed him. Just on the cheek, admittedly, but a kiss was a kiss. He'd known as soon as he'd done it that Glitch was already drifting, his reserves of energy burned up in his efforts to walk down the stairs. Wyatt wasn't sure whether to be relieved that his impulsive act had gone unnoticed, or disappointed that he'd screwed up his nerve to no avail. Relief had held the upper hand at first. He hadn't had to watch Glitch pull away, or look confused, or

        Hey, Wyatt.

or ask him what in the name of Pastoria he thought he was doing? But, at the same time, he

        Heyyy, Wyatt.

hadn't been given the chance to see

        Did you ever happen to notice how long his eyelashes are? I guess they'd tickle, if the two of you were cosied up together.

another reaction, the kind of reaction he

        And his hair - it must be the stuff he washes it in. Like grass that's just been cut. How would it be just to bury your face in that tangle and breathe in cool green-ness?

dreamed of.

        And since we're on the subject, there are two little gold flecks in his left eye, just near to the pupil. Or you could call them amber, if you wanted to be picky...

Wyatt stared out of the window, and scowled. Make that his gun, his horse, and both of his legs. He'd been trying to think things through - get a little perspective on the situation. But it was hard to get a handle on what to do when his thoughts kept on sidling up to him like badly-disguised informants, nudging him and asking him in exaggerated whispers if he'd noticed that Glitch had dimples.

Outside, a sleek grey charabanc was lumbering into the courtyard, where uniformed attendants were waiting to unload the occupants: a cohort of well-filled suits that Wyatt guessed must be the Central City councillors, or possibly the Chamber of Commerce. Councillors, he decided. Business was still recovering; these men looked far too prosperous. They'd probably been ferried up early to get a head start on the buffet.

The light was fading, the mare's tail clouds tinged with pink. Not long until evening, now. And then he would have to put on that damn monkeysuit that had cost as much as three week's feed for the Captain and rub elbows with a bunch of status-hungry courtiers who wouldn't know real class if it walked up and poked them in the eye. Wyatt's sour expression deepened. Then he caught a glimpse of his reflection and snorted. Well, hey Dad. Didn't think I'd see you in a place like this.

He forced himself to relax. All right, so maybe the fancy clothes were a pain in the ass. On the other hand, he and Captain were getting bed and board and weren't paying a single silver farthing for it, so maybe the suit had paid for itself. And this time Glitch would be there, too, dressed in whatever finery the queen had condescended to provide for him. Perhaps he'd dance, though Wyatt doubted that Glitch would have enough stamina to lightly trim a rug, never mind cut one, so the evening would be devoted to more peaceful pursuits. We'll watch people, and make up stupid histories for them, and I'll make him laugh...

...and people will be watching you right back, so you better think about how close you sit, and how long you look at him, and didya notice how he bites his lip when he's thinking about something? Kinda makes you want to -

Wyatt gave his reflection a stern look. "Whose side are you on?" Perhaps he ought to go and see Glitch now, before the ball. It was a mental itch that was getting hard to ignore; better to scratch it now and defuse the tension. They hadn't had their walk today; Glitch had been with Doc Oxley for his checkup, and then with DG. A slow amble to the library and back would do the trick. Or, and Wyatt wondered why he hadn't thought about it before, they could take a look through Glitch's photo album. Surely there'd be some clue in there about the women - or lack of them - in his life. If I'm gonna be a detective, I should get some practice in.

He didn't have far to walk. Doctor Oxley had relinquished the corner room to him now that Glitch was on the mend, stating cheerfully that the last thing a healthy man needed was a constant reminder that he'd been sick, "...and having a doctor for a neighbour is apt to jog the memory."

Glitch was sitting at the table in his little study, bent over a spherical wood-and-brass contraption with a screwdriver in one hand and a stick of celery in the other. It took him a moment to finish what he was doing, largely because he was trying to tighten a screw with the celery and nibble on the end of the screwdriver. Once he'd realised his mistake and finished whatever adjustment he was making, he set everything aside and got to his feet, greeting Wyatt with a subdued smile. Wyatt, tactfully, said nothing about the celery.

"I figured you might feel up to a stroll," he began. "Get you warmed up for this bunfight tonight." There was something different about Glitch today - what was it? "What happened to your stick?" That was one thing; he couldn't see the walking stick anywhere, and it was usually propped close by. But there was something else...

"It's somewhere around here. I'm managing pretty well without, now." Glitch spread his hands as evidence of their cane-free state, and Wyatt eyed him sceptically, watching for any hint of unsteadiness. But if Glitch was struggling with his balance, he was hiding it. He clasped his hands behind his back, and now Wyatt was able to put his finger on the subtle wrongness he'd sensed.

Glitch's hair was neat. All right, not neat; even the best pruned bramble hedge was still a hedge, when it came down to it. But he'd made an effort to brush it back so that it didn't straggle into his eyes. His waistcoat was buttoned, and his shirt freshly ironed, and -

He's going to the ball tonight. He's making an effort. Don't be so damn paranoid.

But Wyatt had watched people for long enough for that explanation to ring hollow. There was a stillness about Glitch. Something in the way he stood - almost at attention.

It's the painting. That look he has in the portrait of him and the queen. Distant. A little sad. This isn't a Glitch look. It's Ambrose.

"So..." he tried again, pretending he hadn't noticed. "Down to the library and back? I'll carry your books if you tell me what the long words mean."

Glitch smiled, but this only served to make him look slightly more melancholy. "Ohh, that's nice of you. But.. you know, I ought to stay up here. I promised DG I'd dance with her tonight, and I can't remember half the steps."

"Okay..." Wyatt shrugged, deliberately nonchalant. "If you want some company, I could always hang around while you brush up on your moves. You never did show me your photo album..." Okay, it wasn't subtle, but he was too worried to sneak up on the subject. Glitch's manner was one more flat note in a whole discordant chorus of unease.

"That's okay. If I'm on my own, I only have one set of feet to trip over." Glitch hadn't moved; he still stood with his hands - his slender, eloquent hands - folded behind him. "And I guess you have things to be getting on with, too, if you're going to get your detective agency thing going."

"Well, it's not set in stone..." He searched Glitch's face, but it was like trying to read a mask. C'mon, Glitch. If you're worried about something, tell me. If you're mad, let me know. Did I miss a conversation? Did I do something wrong? "I haven't even given it much more than a passing thought, really..." He smiled, hoping for something - some flicker of Glitch beneath the Ambrose-mask. "Anyhow, I told you: as long as you need me, I'm not going anywhere."

Now, Glitch's faint, sad smile faded, and he met Wyatt's gaze directly. Wyatt took a small step back. He didn't have Raw's premonitory skills, but he could suddenly see a short way into the future, and it sank icy fingers into his chest. "I remember. You said it before, and it was kind of you. But I'm getting better. Much better. So...I don't need you any more."

The world turned. Slowed. Stopped.

He wasn't asleep. I kissed him, and he wasn't asleep after all. And Glitch hadn't recoiled or pushed him away at the time because... Oh, pick a reason. He was exhausted. He was probably confused as hell. He didn't want to upset me. But now he'd had time to think, and being Glitch, instead of showing disgust or running to DG or the queen, he was pushing Wyatt away in the kindest way he could. Of course, being Glitch, he hadn't quite mastered tact, in the same way that ducks hadn't mastered tapdancing.

"Well, that's..." he swallowed, which was hard, because the words he wanted to say were catching in his throat like storm-snapped branches damming up a stream "I'm glad you're feeling better. That's all that really matters."

He ought to be grateful that Glitch hadn't run a mile. He ought to apologise for kissing him. He ought to do a lot of things, but at that moment the only thing Wyatt wanted to do was to get out, away from Glitch and his sad, gentle eyes. He stepped back, reaching behind him for the doorhandle.

"Seems like you'll have a lot to practise. I'll...see you around, maybe."

Ah, come on. Did you really think it was gonna end up any other way than this? Daniel Cain was back, and Wyatt didn't try to shut him up. He may be a retard, but at least he ain't a pansy, I guess.

If his father had been there, if the hateful words had been anything but the old man's ingrained bitterness bubbling up at the shock of loss, Wyatt would have put him on the ground without a moment's hesitation. Instead, he offered Glitch a tight, polite smile, and got out of the room as quickly as he could.

        Looks like you made a mistake, don't it?

It did.

        Looks like you'll have to get used to being on your own, won't you?

He would.

        Good at running away, aren't you, boy?

He was.

He ran.
<_<

>_>

<_<

...

So... who wants to know why Glitch had sugar cubes in his hair?


p.s. usual disclaimer - Daniel Cain is an arse. Please do not mistake his offensive comments for my own voice.
© 2012 - 2024 the-watched-pot
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Ohmygosh!!! Really liking where this is going -- can't wait to see the ball!