by Glen Cook
“The Kronks were a religious family. This was their parish. I know she was married some time ago, but I don’t even know her husband’s name. It would have been in keeping with her character to have had a big parochial wedding. If she did, and it was here, then the groom’s name would be on record.”
“She was not married in the church. Not this parish or any other.” There was something very odd and ominous about the way he said that.
“Is there any chance you could give me a useful lead or two, either toward her or a member of her family who might be willing to help?”
He eyed me a full half a minute. “You seem like an honest enough fellow, if not entirely forthright. But I expect our trades are a little alike in that respect. You satisfied the Sair, who has the eye of a buzzard when it comes to judging character. I’ll help however I can as long as I don’t have to violate the sanctity of the confessional.”
“All right. How can you help me?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell you where to find her.”
“Is that privileged knowledge?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“What about the name of the guy she married?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.”
“Privilege? Or don’t know?”
“Six of one, half dozen of the other.”
“All right. I’ll worry about getting a dozen out of that later. Can you tell me where I can get in touch with any of her family?”
“No.” Before I could ask he raised a staying hand and said, “Ignorance, not privilege. The last I heard of any of the Kronks was about two years ago. Her brother Kayeth had been decorated and brevetted major of cavalry for his part in the victory at Latigo Wells.”
Morley stirred just the slightest. Yes, another cavalryman. It might or might not mean something. Kayeth was younger than Kayean, which meant he was younger than Denny and me, which meant their periods of service might not have overlapped at all.
Idiot! They didn’t need to overlap for them to have met if Denny was her lover after me.
“Do you recall what unit he was with?”
“No.”
“No matter. That should be easy to find out. When was the last time you saw Kayean?”
He had to think about that. I figured he was having trouble remembering I was wrong. He was debating proprieties. He gave me an exact-to-the-minute time and date slightly more than six years ago, and added, “That is when she ceased to exist in the eyes of the church.”
“Huh?”
Morley said, “He means she was excommunicated, Garrett.”
Father Rhyne nodded.
“What for?”
“The reasons for excommunication are revealed only to the soul to be banished from grace.”
“Wait a minute.” I was confused. “Are we talking about the same woman?”
“Take it easy, Garrett,” Morley said. “Excommunication don’t necessarily mean she turned into some kind of religious desperado. They do you in because you won’t let them extort your whole fortune. Or, if you’re a woman, because you won’t come across.”
That was a deliberate provocation. Father Rhyne took it better than I expected. “I have heard that sort of thing happens up north. Not here. This is a church militant, here in this archdiocese. The priest who tried that would find himself staked like a vampire. The reasons for Kayean’s excommunication were valid within the laws of the church.”
I stepped in before Morley rendered his opinion of laws that judged him to be without a soul and therefore beyond the protection of its golden rules. “That’s not really the sort of information that’s likely to help me, Father. Unless the reasons for her excommunication have some bearing on where she is now.”
Father Rhyne shook his head, but with just enough hesitance to show he was not sure.
“My job, and my only job, is to find the woman so I can tell her she has inherited a hundred thousand marks. Once I tell her, I’m supposed to ask if she wants it. If she does, I’m supposed to escort her to TunFaire because she has to claim it in person. If she doesn’t want it, I have to get a legal deposition to that effect so that others down the list can benefit from the legacy. That’s it. That’s all.”
“Nevertheless, you have a personal interest.”
Glass Door Garrett, that is what they call me. See right through me. “The guy who died was a good friend of mine. I want to see what kind of woman would get him to leave her everything when he hadn’t even seen her for seven years.”
A twitch of a smile worked one corner of Rhyne’s mouth. I stopped, confused. Morley said, “In the shadows behind the tombstones.”
That did it. Of course. Rhyne had been Kayean’s confessor. He’d never say a word, but he remembered sins confessed that included a Marine named Garrett.
“All right. We know where we stand. We know what my job is. I’ve asked the questions I think are pertinent—and a few that weren’t and some that were probably impertinent—and I think you’ve answered me fairly. Can you think of anything you could volunteer that might be helpful?”
“Hang on a second, Garrett,” Morley said. He drifted to the door as soundlessly as a cloud and jerked it open. Father Mike almost fell over.
I’d wondered what had been keeping him.
“Ah! That beer at last!” Father Rhyne had on a big, jovial host’s grin, but his eyes were not smiling. “Just put the tray down and go about your duties, Mike. I’ll talk to you later.”
Father Mike went out looking like he hoped later would never come.
Rhyne chose to pretend that nothing untoward had happened. He poured beer from a monster of a pitcher into enormous earthenware mugs. Morley’s water was in a blown-glass tankard of equal size. I’d barely taken my first sip before Father Rhyne parted from his mug and said, “Ahh!” He wiped his mouth with the fur on the back of his forearm, then belched like a young thunderhead. He poured himself a pint chaser.
Before he hoisted it, he said, “What information can I volunteer? I can tell you that you won’t find her in Full Harbor. I can tell you to walk very carefully because I can infer, without absolute certitude, that there might be people who wouldn’t want you to find her. I can tell you not to look for the image that lives in your memory because you will never findher. ”
I finished my brew. “Thank you. Good beer.”
“We make it ourselves. Will there be anything more?”
“No . . . Well, something from off the wall. I’ve heard her father was murdered. Any comment?”
He got a very evasive look. “It’s possible.”
His expression told he would clamp his jaws on that cryptic statement. I returned my mug to the tray. Morley followed my lead. He had downed enough water to show he appreciated the stuff in quantities too small to rock a boat. We headed for the door. I said, “Thanks for everything.”
“Sure. If you do find her, tell her we haven’t stopped loving her, even if we can’t forgive her. That might help.”
Our gazes locked. And I knew that fat little hairball did not mean “we” at all. I also knew the whole thing was as chaste and courtly as any perfect knight’s affection for his lady in an oldromance. “I’ll do that, Father.”
“Another one,” Morley said when we got outside. “I’ve got to meet this woman.” There was not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.
24
“Are we making any headway?” Morley asked as we climbed aboard the rented rig.
“Oh, yes. We’ve eliminated some legwork, like making the rounds of every Orthodox parish in Full Harbor. We’ve added a visit to the army office at the military city hall to see if they will help us locate Major Kayeth Kronk.”
I did not look forward to that. They’d probably assume we were Venageti spies.
“What now?”
“We can try that. We can try the civil city hall, too, though I don’t think we’d get much there. Or we could go back to the inn and I could lay around staring at the ceiling and wondering what a sensible young wom
an can do to get herself excommunicated.”
“That doesn’t sound productive. And butting heads with the army, even to get them to tell us to get out and leave them alone, is likely to be an all-day job.”
“The civil city hall it is, then.”
We were headed up the steps when a voice roared, “Hey! You two.”
We stopped, turned. Near the rig stood a city employee, the type who carries weapons and is supposed to protect citizens from their neighbors’ villainies, but who spends most of his time force-feeding his purse and sparing the reputations of the wealthy and powerful. “This yours?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t leave it here. We don’t want no horse apples tracked all over the hall.”
Despite his friendly way of putting it, his position had merit. I marched down the steps. “Have you a suggestion what I can do with it?”
He did not know who we were. We had come in a fancy rig. We were well dressed. Morley looked a bit like a bodyguard. I wore a look of cherubic innocence. A suspicion slithered through his slow wit. I had handed him that straight line so he would stick his foot in his mouth. Then I would choke him on it.
“We usually ask visitors to leave their conveyances in the courtyard behind the hall, sir. I could move it back there for you, if you like.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’d appreciate that very much.” I dug out a tip about one and a half times the going rate for such a task. Enough to impress, not enough to arouse resentment or suspicion.
“Thank you, sir.”
We watched him drive into a narrow passageway between one end of the hall and the city jail.
“Slick, Garrett.”
“What?”
“You should have been a con man. You sold him using nothing but intonation, bearing, and gesture. Slick.”
“It was an experiment. If he’d had two ounces of brain to rub together, it wouldn’t have worked.”
“If he had two ounces of brain he’d be making an honest living.”
I think Morley’s attitude toward so-called civil servants is as cynical as mine.
The next public employee we encountered—on a more than which-way-do-we-go? basis—had two ounces of brains. Just barely.
I was digging through what passed for vital statistics in Full Harbor and finding that four of the Kronk children were not listed at all. Morley, in pursuit of an inspiration of his own, dug through the property plats and brought one over. He sat on the floor reading it.
Two-Ounces appeared out of nowhere and bellowed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Research,” I replied in my reasonable voice.
“Get the hell out of here!”
“Why?” Reasonable again, of course.
That got him for a moment. Both ounces went stumbling after something with more authority than a bottom-rung city flunky’s “because I said so.”
Morley dealt himself a hand. “These are public records legally open to public inspection.”
That left Two-Ounces armed only with bluster because he didn’t know for sure. “I’m going to call some guards and have you wise guys thrown out on your asses.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Morley closed the plat book. “No need for a scene. The matter can wait till after you’ve explained to the judge tomorrow morning.”
“Judge? What judge?”
“The judge who’s going to ask you why a couple of honest investigators like ourselves, sent down from TunFaire, can’t look at documents any vagrant off the streets of Full Harbor has a right to see.” He went off to return his plat book.
Two-Ounces stared at me while I neatened up after myself. I think he saw nothing but potential disaster. There is no man so insecure as a bottom-level functionary in a sinecure he has held for a long time. He’s done nothing for so long that nothing is all he can do. The prospect of unemployment is a mortal terror.
“Ready?” Morley asked, returning.
“When you are.”
“Let’s go. See you in the morning, friend.”
The man turned slowly to watch us go, his face still drained. But the poison had begun to creep into his eyes. It was the hatred and power greed that make vicious liars out of people who tell you they’re public servants.
25
“How’d I do?” Morley asked as we pushed out the front door. He was grinning
“Not bad. Maybe one slice too much ham.”
He wanted to debate but I cut him short. “You learn anything?”
“Not unless you care that the house was sold by Madame Kronk, a decent interval after the date on that memorial obelisk, to a character with the unlikely name of Zeck Zack, for what seems like a reasonable market price. You ever heard of him?”
“No.”
“You find out anything?”
“Only that the civil city administration keeps pretty loose track of who’s dying and being born.”
“Oh. So with those Kronks being prominent, imagine what they’ve got on ordinary, real folks.”
I shrugged. “You leave no stone unturned till you find a trail. Where’s that clown who took the carriage?”
“Probably at the nearest swill pit guzzling your tip.”
“Then we’ll just get it ourselves. We’re big boys. We can handle it.” We turned into the alley between the hall and the jail. It was clean for a city alley—probably because of where it was—but gloomy because of the hour.
Morley said,”We could probably find a judge we could bribe to back us with that guy.”
“I don’t think old man Tate would buy it when it showed up on my expense sheet.”
A large somebody stepped out of the wall a dozen feet ahead. His appearance was vague in that light. Morley said, “Behind you,” let out a screech, and flung himself through the air.
I whirled, ducking. Just in time. A club whipped the air where my head had been. I gave the guy a kick in the root of his fantasies, then clipped him on the cheek as he bent to pray. Behind him was a guy who was more surprised than me. I jumped and grabbed his arm, tried giving him a knee. He tried to pull a knife while he stared over my shoulder, a big wad of fear in his eyes.
I figured Morley was about finished behind me.
My man tried to knee me and I tried to knee him again and sometime during our dance he decided he really ought to get the hell out of there. He twisted away and started hiking.
I was satisfied. I turned to check behind me.
Morley’s man was out. Morley himself was bent double, holding up a wall, puking his guts out. His man must have gotten in a good one.
My first was down, thrashing and twitching and making disgusting handsaw noises. The light was too poor to be sure, but I thought his color looked bad.
“What did you do to him?” Morley croaked.
“Kicked him.”
“Maybe he swallowed his tongue.” Morley went down on one knee. He moved gingerly.
The guy finished up with one wild convulsion, then he was done. Literally.
Morley trailed fingertips over the corpse’s cheek. One of my rings had cut him. The cut had a nasty color.
I looked at my hand.
So did Morley.
The poison chamber on one of the rings had been torn open by the force of the blow.
“We’ll have to get rid of him,” Morley said.
“Fast. Before somebody stumbles in here.”
“I’ll get the rig. You drag them to the side so they don’t get run over.” He ran away as fast as he could.
I wondered if I would see him again. It might be in his interest to find a back way out and just keep on going.
He returned but it seemed like he’d been gone for about twenty hours. He tied off the traces and clambered into the back of the rig. “Hoist him up here.”
I hoisted. Morley pulled. When the cadaver was in, Morley set it up with its back against the driver’s seat.
“People will see him.”
“You just wo
rry about driving. I’ll handle this. I’ve done it before.”
I had done my share of driving that day. Horses and I can enjoy an armed truce while they are in harness. But this was too grand an opportunity for that devil tribe to revert to the war rules. “You’d better handle the traces.”
“I’ll be busy back here. Get moving before somebody comes or the other one wakes up.”
I climbed up and took the traces.
“We’re just a bunch of guys out on the town. Don’t hurry. But get us out of this section fast.”
“Make up your mind!” I snapped. But I knew what he meant.
At first Morley sat back with his arm around his buddy slurring some song so thickly that Garrett could only understand about every third word. Later he started cussing the corpse out, telling him what a fool damned no-good he was for getting blasted before the sun even went down. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, what am I going to tell your old lady, how’re we supposed to have any fun dragging you around? You ought to be ashamed.”
Later still, once we were in an area where a bunch of drunks in a carriage were as unusual as eggs under a hen, Morley stopped rambling and asked, “Who were those guys, Garrett? Any idea?”
“No.”
“Think it was a robbery?”
“You know better. The place, the timing, the behavior of that clerk, the disappearance of the guard from out front, all say it wasn’t.”
“Off the striped-sail ship? One of them went to the hall.”
“I doubt it. Only a local could set up something like that so fast. We’ve obviously stepped on a toe somewhere.”
“Why?”
“My guess is it was a warning whipping, a Saucerhead job. Pound us around awhile, then tell us to take the next boat home. But we blew up in their hands.”
“That’s what I figure. Then the real questions are who sent them and why do we make him nervous?”
“Him?”
“I don’t think we need to count the Old Witch. Do you?”
“No. Nor the church people, probably. I guess we’ll have to find out who Zeck Zack is.”
“Too bad we can’t ask this guy here.”
“You checked him?”