Collected Short Stories of Glen Cook

by Glen Cook

  The entire party was so paranoid that not a sigh expired but every eye registered that fact and every brain sorted implications. Tension mounted as Vangier approached Everay Tower. Shredlu began to doubt his reasoning. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to crack.

  In the end it proved that he had been anticipated. Winter’s enemy had no need to indulge in self-betrayal aboard the sky yacht. An ambush was in place at the dock. Its fellowship, however, were understandably apprehensive about the risks inherent in an attack upon the combined Magical masters of Everay. Nerves caused a premature tripping of the trap.

  Events thenceforth were foreordained: the air howled with vortices of color, screams of despair were heard, prisoners were taken. Shredlu paused a moment to help Mug Rusale extinguish a scamp cantrip gnawing at a landing claw on the sky yacht.

  Aleas Dubbing and Rolo Kintrude appeared a bit tattered. Tuft Yarramal smoldered at left hip and right elbow. Shredlu himself had taken no part once he determined that the others were adequate to squelch the tumult. He merely observed, hoping the behaviors of others would prove instructive.

  Tuft Yarramal did not become involved till the ambushers, in despair, hurled their final efforts her way.

  9

  “I suspected Yarramal from the beginning,” Shredlu announced in his laboratory. “Simply because she was most likely, in character. Shubam was a surprise, though. And the motives of all involved remain elusive.” He considered his sullen apprentice, in restraints beside Yarramal. Shubam’s motives became transparent instantly. Slothful ambition coupled with passion. And Yarramal’s self-destructive behavior became less opaque when her glance fell, as it did often, upon Everay Non Ethan.

  Rolo Kintrude and Aleas Dubbing were proficient readers of pregnant glances themselves. Not only did they discern the source of Everay dismay, they also read Shredlu’s cautioning frown. Lord Everay would not hear a word of accusation against the woman who was both mother and sister, however much he detested her personally.

  Particularly unfathomable were Ethan’s motives for putting together the broad but inept conspiracy in the first place. What hatred could she possibly bear her own daughter? Successful, the plot would have meant the end of the Everay progression.

  Senior Magician Ymarjon Shredlu oversaw the bringing together of mothlike Syathbir Tolis and Everay Ake Winter, resulting in the restoration of Winter’s dreams. Then, with Winter her sparkling, cheerful self once more, none the worse for her misadventure and full of helpful suggestions and even lending a playful hand, he oversaw the punishment of the guilty. He thought a great deal about Ethan while he worked. He cherished what had been and now could never be again. He thought about the Everay progression. He worried about where he might find a teachable, tractable apprentice.

  He was using them up at an alarming rate.

  Tides Elba: A Tale of the Black Company

  We were playing tonk. One-Eye was in a foul mood because he was losing. Situation normal, except nobody was trying to kill us.

  Elmo dealt. One-Eye squeaked. I peeked at my cards. “Another hand so damned bad it don’t qualify as a foot.”

  Otto said, “You’re full of shit, Croaker. You won six out of the last ten hands.”

  Elmo said, “And bitched about the deal every time.”

  “I was right every time I dealt.” I was right this time, too. I did not have a pair. I had no low cards and only one face card. The two in the same suit were the seven and knave of diamonds. I do not have years enough left to fill that straight. Anyway, we all knew One-Eye had one of his rare good hands.

  “Then we need to make you full-time dealer.”

  I pushed my ante in. I drew, discarded, and tossed my cards in when it came to me.

  One-Eye went down with ten. The biggest card he had was a three. His leathery old black face ripped in a grin lacking an adequate population of teeth. He raked the pot in.

  Elmo asked the air, “Was that legitimate?” We had a gallery of half a dozen. We had the Dark Horse to ourselves today. It was the Company watering hole in Aloe. The owner, Markeb Zhorab, had mixed feelings. We were not the kind of guys he wanted hanging around but because we did, his business was out standing.

  Nobody indicted One-Eye. Goblin, with his butt on the table next over, reminded Elmo, “You dealt.”

  “Yeah, there’s that.”

  One-Eye has been known to cheat. Hard to manage in a game as simpleminded as tonk, but there you go. He is One-Eye.

  “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love,” he said, which made no sense in context.

  Goblin cracked, “You better hire yourself some bodyguards. Women will be tearing down doors trying to get to you.”

  A wisecrack from Goblin generally fires One-Eye up. He has a hair trigger. We waited for it. One-Eye just grinned and told Otto, “Deal, loser. And make it a hand like the one Elmo just gave me.”

  Goblin said something about Missus Hand being the only lucky lady in One-Eye’s life.

  One-Eye went on ignoring the bait.

  I began to worry.

  Otto’s deal did not help.

  One-Eye said, “You know how we run into weird customs wherever we go?”

  Elmo glared holes through his cards. He grunted. Otto arranged and rearranged his five, meaning he had a hand so bad he did not know how to play it. One-Eye did not squeak but he kept grinning. We were on the brink of a new age, one in which he could win two hands in a row.

  Everybody looked at Goblin. Goblin said, “Otto dealt.”

  Somebody in the gallery suggested, “Maybe he spelled the cards.”

  That all rolled past One-Eye. “The weirdest custom they got here is, when a girl loses her cherry, from then on she’s got to keep all the hair off her body.”

  Otto rumbled, “That’s some grade-two bullshit if I ever heard some. We been here near three months and I ain’t seen a bald-headed woman yet.”

  Everything stopped, including One-Eye stacking his winnings.

  “What?” Otto asked.

  There have always been questions about Otto.

  The rest of us occasionally invest a coin in a tumble with a professional comfort lady. Though the subject never came up before, I knew I had yet to see one whisker below the neckline.

  “Do tell,” Elmo said. “And I thought it was the luck of the draw that I wasn’t seeing what ought to be there.”

  I said, “I figured it was how mine kept from getting the crabs.”

  “Nope. All tied into their weird religion.”

  Goblin muttered, “There’s an oxymoron.”

  One-Eye’s mood faltered.

  Goblin’s froglike face split in a vast grin. “I wasn’t talking about you, shrimp. You’re just a regular moron. I was talking about slapping the words weird and religion together.”

  “You guys are trying to hex my luck, aren’t you?”

  “Sure,” Elmo said. “Talking about pussy works every time. Tell me about these bald snatches.”

  One-Eye restacked his winnings. He was turning surly despite his success. He had come up with some great stuff, on a subject guys can kill weeks exploring, and nobody seemed to care.

  I shuffled, stacked, and dealt. One-Eye grew more glum as he picked up each card.

  The last one got him. “God damn it, Croaker! You asshole! You son of a bitch!”

  Elmo and Otto kept straight faces, because they did not know what was happening. Goblin tittered like a horny chickadee.

  One-Eye spread his hand. He had a trey of clubs. He had a six of diamonds. He had the nine of hearts and the ace of spades. And that last card was a knave of swords.

  I said, “How many times have you claimed you didn’t have no two cards of the same suit? For once you won’t be lying.”

  Now Elmo and Otto got it. They laughed harder than me or Goblin. The gallery got a good chuckle, too.

  The Lieutenant stuck his head through the front door. “Anybody seen Kingpin?” The Lieutenant did not sound happy. He sounded like an exe
cutive officer who had to work on his day off.

  “He skating again?” Elmo asked.

  “He is. He’s supposed to be on slops. He didn’t show. The cooks want to chop him up for soup bones.”

  “I’ll talk to him, sir.” Though Kingpin is not one of his men. Kingpin hides out in Kragler’s platoon.

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Elmo does have a way of communicating with errant infantrymen. “Why are you people in here, in this gloom and stink, when you could be sucking up fresh air and sunshine?”

  I said, “This is our natural habitat, sir.” But the truth was, it had not occurred to anybody to take the game outside.

  We gathered our cards and beer and shambled out to the street-front tables. One-Eye dealt. Talk dwelt on the hairstyles, or lack thereof, favored by Aloen ladies.

  It was a grand day, cloudless, cool, air in motion but not briskly enough to disturb the game. The gallery settled in. Some just liked to watch. Some hoped a seat would open up. They joined the increasingly crude speculation, which slipped into the domain of one-upmanship.

  I interjected, “How long have we been playing with these cards?” Some were so ragged you should not need to turn them over to know what they were. But my memory kept tricking me. The face sides never matched up.

  Everybody looked at me funny. “Here comes something off the wall,” One-Eye forecast. “Spit it out, Croaker, so we can get back to stuff that matters.”

  “I’m wondering if this deck hasn’t been around long enough to take on a life of its own.”

  One-Eye opened his mouth to mock me, then his eyes glazed over as he considered the possibility. Likewise, Goblin. The pallid, ugly little man said, “Well, screw me! Croaker, you aren’t half as dumb as you look. The cards have developed a mind of their own. That would explain so much.”

  The whole crew eyeballed One-Eye, nodding like somebody was conducting. One-Eye had insisted that the cards hated him for as long as anyone could remember.

  He won again.

  Three wins at one sitting should have tipped me off. Hell was on the prowl. But my mouth was off on another adventure.

  “You know what? It’s been eighty-seven days since somebody tried to kill me.”

  Elmo said, “Don’t give up hope.”

  “Really. Think about it. Here we are, out in the damned street where anybody could take a crack. But nobody is even eyeballing us. And none of us are looking over our shoulders and whining about our ulcers.”

  Play stopped. Seventeen eyes glared at me. Otto said, “Croaker, you jinx it, I’ll personally hold you down while somebody whittles on your favorite toy.”

  Goblin said, “He’s right. We’ve been here three months. The only trouble we’ve seen is guys getting drunk and starting fights.”

  With 640 men, you know the Company has a few shitheads whose idea of a good time is to drink too much, then get in an ass-kicking contest.

  One-Eye opined, “What it is is, the Lady’s still got a boner for Croaker. So she stashed him someplace safe. The rest of us just live in his shadow. Watch the sky. Some night there’ll be a carpet up there, Herself coming out to knock boots with her special guy.”

  “What’s her hairstyle like, Croaker?”

  Special treatment? Sure. We spent a year following Whisper from one blistering trouble spot to the next, fighting damned near every day.

  Special treatment? Yeah. The kind you get for being competent. Whatever your racket, you do a good job, the bosses pile more work on.

  “You’ll be the first to know when I get a good look, Otto.” I did not plow on into the kind of crudities the others found entertaining. Which they took as confirming my unabated interest in the wickedest woman in the world.

  A kid named Corey said, “Speaking of hairstyles, there’s one I wouldn’t mind checking out.”

  Everybody turned to admire the young woman passing on the far side of the street. Pawnbroker congratulated Corey on his excellent taste.

  She was sneaking up on twenty. She had pale red hair cut shorter than any I’d yet seen around Aloe. It fell only to her collar in back and not that far angling up the sides. She had bangs in front. I did not notice what she wore. Nothing unusual. She radiated such an intense sensuality that nothing else mattered.

  Our sudden attention, heads turning like birds in a wheeling flock, startled her. She stared back for a second, trying for haughty. She failed to stick it. She took off speed-walking.

  One-Eye picked up his cards. “That one is bald everywhere that matters.”

  Corey asked, “You know her?” Like he had found new meaning to life. He had hope. He had a mission.

  “Not specifically. She’s a temple girl.”

  The cult of Occupoa engages in holy prostitution. I hear Occupoa has some dedicated and talented daughters.

  Goblin wanted to know how One-Eye could tell.

  “That’s the official hairstyle over there, runt.” From a guy smaller than Goblin.

  “And you know that because?”

  “Because I’ve decided to enjoy the best of everything during my last few months.”

  We all stared. One-Eye is a notorious skinflint. And never has any money, anyway, because he is such a lousy tonk player. Not to mention that he is the next thing to immortal, having been with the Company well over a hundred years.

  “What?” he demanded. “So maybe I poor-mouth more than what’s the actual case. That a crime?”

  No. We all do that. It is a preemptive stroke against all those good buddies who are dry and want to mooch instead of dealing with Pawn.

  Somebody observed, “A lot of guys were flush when we got here. We never got no chance to get rid of our spare change before.”

  True. The Black Company has been good for Aloe’s economy. Maybe that was why nobody was trying to kill us.

  Elmo said, “I’d better round up Kingpin before the Lieutenant puts my name on the shit list, too. Silent? You want my seat? Shit! Where the hell did he go?”

  I had not noticed our third minor wizard leaving. Silent is spookier than ever, these days. He is practically a ghost.

  You are with the Company long enough you develop extra senses. Like for danger. Somehow, you read cues unconsciously and, suddenly, you are alert and ready. We call that smelling danger. Then there is precognition having to do with something stirring at the command level. That one warns you that your ass is about to get dumped into the shit.

  Seemed like it took about fourteen electric seconds for all six hundred and some men to sense that something was up. That life was about to change. That I might not make it to a hundred days without somebody trying to kill me.

  The cards had stopped moving already when Hagop loped up from the direction of the compound. “Elmo. Croaker. Goblin. One-Eye. The Old Man wants you.”

  One-Eye grumbled, “Goblin had to go open his big goddamn mouth.”

  Two minutes earlier, Goblin had muttered, “Something’s up. There’s something in the wind.”

  I kicked in, “Yeah. This is all his fault. Let’s pound his ass if it turns out we have to go flush some Rebels somewhere again.”

  “Weak, Croaker.” Elmo shoved back from the table. “But I second that emotion. I’d almost forgotten how nice it is for garrison troopers.” He went on about clean clothing, ample beer, regular meals, and almost unlimited access to a soldier’s favorite way of wasting time and money.

  We headed down the street, leaving the cards to the others, who were already speculating. I said, “Garrison duty is all that. The hardest work I’ve got to do is to weasel One-Eye into using his curative on guys who come in with the clap.”

  One-Eye said, “I like garrison because of the financial opportunities.”

  He would. Put him down anywhere and give him a week, he’ll be into some kind of black-market scam.

  Hagop sidled close, whispered, “I need to talk to you, private.” He slipped me a folded piece of parchment maybe three and a half inches to a side. It was dirty and it smelled ba
d. One face had a small triangular tear where it had hung up on something. Hagop looked like he might panic when I opened it.

  I stopped walking. The others did, too, wondering what was up. I whispered, “Where did you get this?”

  The Company maintained a compound outside the city, on a heath blasted barren back when Whisper arrived to negotiate the treaties by which Aloe gained the perquisites of participation in the Lady’s empire. First among those was continued existence for Aloe and its dependent environs. The compound was nothing exciting. There was a curtain wall of dried mud brick. Everything inside was adobe, too, lightly plastered to resist the rain.

  The compound was all brown. A man with a discerning eye might identify shades, but us barbarians only saw brown. Even so, I had a discerning enough eye to spot a new brown patch before Hagop pointed it out.

  A flying carpet lay tucked into the shade on the eastern side of the headquarters building. My companions had equally discerning eyes but less troubled hearts.

  We were part of a stream, now. Every officer and platoon sergeant had been summoned. Sometimes the Captain gets his butt hairs in a twist and pulls everybody in for an impromptu motivational speech. But there was one critical difference this time.

  There was a flying carpet in the shade beside the HQ.

  There are, at most, six of those in existence, and only six beings capable of using them.

  We were blessed with the presence of one of the Taken.

  The happy days were over. Hell had taken a nap but now it was wide awake and raring to go.

  Nobody overlooked the carpet. No shoulders failed to slump.

  I said, “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute. Hagop. Show me.”