Bone Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

just touched was part of a common intake, ordinary bones destined for the reactor piles.”
    Donal shook his head. He knew he shouldn't have come here.
    â€œBut our staff is dedicated,” Malfax Cortindo continued, “and highly trained. All bone shipments pass through necroscopic examination procedures. If a gifted artist has died a pauper's death, this is the final chance of our discovering their existence.”
    The cylinder had sunk into the floor, become integral with it, and was hardly noticeable now.
    â€œWho was that?” said Donal. “Whose bone did I touch?”
    â€œIt was an ulna”—Malfax Cortindo gave a precise smile—“from Jamix Holandson, whose works now command exceptional prices. Several of his pieces are on show in the Federal Center for Modern Art, in Fortinium.”
    â€œOh. Him.”
    â€œOur procedures are rigorous and our staff is highly trained,” Cortindo repeated.
    â€œToo bad this Sorenson—”
    â€œHolandson.”
    â€œâ€”Holandson didn't get famous before he died.”
    â€œAs I said”—Malfax Cortindo rubbed his gray goatee with one finger—“it is the artist's
final
chance.”
    â€œMore like the postultimate chance,” said Donal, “if there is such a word.”
    â€œI don't believe there is, my good fellow.”
    Donal looked at him. There was more to be discovered here, but how much of it related to his job, Donal could not tell. He had a strong desire to get the Hades out of here, but he forced himself to slow down.
    â€œWhat has this got to do with murders?” he asked.
    â€œIsn't that obvious?”
    â€œI don't know. Explain it to me, Mr. Cortindo.”
    The plaques on the wall indicated that he was Director Cortindo or Doctor Cortindo—or in the case of Donnerheim University,
Herr Doktor Direktor
Cortindo.
    â€œIf you were a certain kind of collector—a rich and influential collector, you understand—would you not pay a considerable amount of money to take possession of such bones?”
    Donal stared at him. “Perhaps.”
    â€œWell,
perhaps
if you were a certain kind of dedicated collector, you might not be able to wait for the natural course of events, let's say, before your favorite artist's bones became . . . available.”
    â€œOh, shit.”
    â€œAfter all, there's no guarantee that you'll outlive the object of your desire, is there, Lieutenant? Does any of us know when he's going to die?”
    Donal stood up.
    â€œThank you for the tea. And the . . . enlightenment.”
    â€œWhy, Lieutenant.” Malfax Cortindo also stood. “It's been my absolute pleasure.”
    They shook hands.
    â€œI hope to see you down here again soon,” added Malfax Cortindo. “Oh . . . I mean socially, of course. Not—”
    â€œI understand.”
    Donal picked up his overcoat from the secretary's outer office. The black liquid-metal gloves were still in the coat's pockets. For a moment Donal considered putting them on, going back into Cortindo's office, and stuffing the dead artist's ulna down Cortindo's throat.
    But Donal had a job to do, and beating the crap out of a civilian adviser was not the way to go about it.
    â€œThank you very much, Lieutenant. I hope you had a wonderful visit.”
    â€œThe tea was great. Thank you, ma'am.”
    Donal left through the door to the spiral stairs and descended the black iron steps to the cavern floor. The same three men in gray coveralls were there to escort him back to the surface.
    â€œNice seeing you guys again.”
    â€œThis way, Officer. You got no car?”
    â€œI don't need one.”
    â€œThe elevator for people, like, is this way.”
    The trio led Donal to a curved black door set in a stone pillar. The door rattled and slid open. Donal stepped in, finding himself on a scratched steel floor. Lanterns were set on short, stubby metal stands, forming a circle around him.