Collected Short Stories of Glen Cook

by Glen Cook

  He headed for the shade. For the carpet. “I saw it here. I never seen a carpet up close before so I decided to check it out.” He walked me through his experience. One glance at the carpet reaffirmed what I already knew. This unkempt, poorly maintained mess belonged to the Limper.

  “I found that folded thing right here.”

  Right here would be the place where the Taken sat while the carpet was aloft. The carpet there was especially frayed, stretched, and loose.

  Hagop’s finger indicated a fold of material torn away from the wooden frame underneath. “It was mostly covered. It was hung up on that brad.”

  A small nail had worked loose maybe three-sixteenths of an inch. A wisp of parchment remained stuck to it. I removed that with my knife, careful to make no personal contact.

  “I picked it up. Before I could even look at it the Captain came out and told me to go get you guys.”

  “All right. Stay out of sight. We’ll talk later.” I was going to be last inside if I did not hustle.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “It could be bad. Scoot on into town. Don’t tell anybody about this.”

  The mess hall was the nearest thing to an assembly hall we had. The cooks had been run off. The place reeked of unhappiness. Half the guys lived in town, now, including me. Some had women. A few even had common-law stepchildren they did not mind supporting.

  Those guys would pray that carpet meant the Lady had sent somebody out with the payroll. Only, in Aloe, our pay came from gentle taxes on the people we protected. No need to fly it in from a thousand miles away.

  The Captain did his trained-bear shuffle up to the half-ass stage. A creepy brown bundle of rags followed. It dragged one leg. The hall filled with a hard silence.

  The Limper. The most absurdly nasty of the Taken. A dedicated enemy of the Black Company. We had screwed him over good back when he tried going against the Lady.

  He was back in favor now. But so were we. He could not have his revenge just yet. But he was patient.

  The Captain rumbled, “The tedium is about to end, gentlemen. We now know why the Lady put us here. We’re supposed to take out a Rebel captain called Tides Elba.”

  I checked the spelling later. It was not a name we knew. He pronounced it “Teadace Elba.”

  The Captain said that Tides Elba had enjoyed some successes west of us, but none of her victories had been big enough to catch our attention.

  An interesting line of bullshit, some of which might be true.

  The Limper climbed up with the Captain. That was a struggle. He had that bad leg and he was a runt—in stature. In wickedness and talent for sorcery he was the baddest of the bad. A reek of dread surrounded him. So did a reek of reek. On his best day, he smelled like he had been in a grave for a long time. He considered us from behind a brown leather mask.

  Folks with weaker stomachs jostled for space in the back.

  The Limper said nothing. He just wanted us to know he was around. Important to remember. And something foretelling interesting times.

  The Captain told the Company commanders and platoon leaders to tell their men that we might be making movement soon. Pending investigatory work here in Aloe. They should settle their debts and personal issues. Ideally, they should shut down their Aloe lives and return to the compound.

  We might see some desertions.

  Elmo jabbed me in the ribs. “Pay attention.”

  The Old Man dismissed everybody but me and the magic-users. He invoked me directly. “Croaker, stay with me.” The wizards he told to stick with the Limper.

  The Captain herded me over to Admin. In theory, I owned a corner space there where I was supposed to work on these Annals. I did not often take advantage.

  “Sit.” A command, not an invitation. I sat in one of two crude chairs facing the ragged table he uses as a bulwark against the world. “Limper is here. He hasn’t said so but we know that means we’re headed into the shit. He hasn’t said much of anything yet, actually. That may mean he doesn’t know anything himself, yet. He’s following orders, too.”

  I nodded.

  “This isn’t good, Croaker. This is the Limper. There’ll be more going on than what we see.”

  There would be. I did my best to look like a bright child awaiting ineluctable wisdom from an honored elder.

  “I’d tell you you’re full of shit but you don’t need the special memo. You know that taste in your mouth.”

  He was going to come down on me for something?

  “You been putting on a show of being as useless as the rest of these dicks. But when you’re supposedly off whoring or getting fucked up you’re usually really somewhere poking into the local history.”

  “A man needs to have more than one hobby.”

  “It’s not a hobby if you can’t help yourself.”

  “I’m a bad man. I need to understand the past. It illuminates the present.”

  The Captain nodded. He steepled his fingers in front of a square, strong, dimpled chin. “I got some illuminating for you to do.”

  He did know something about what was up.

  “You could maybe fix it so the Company don’t wallow in the usual cesspit.”

  “You sweet-talker.”

  “Shut the fuck up. The Lady wants Tides Elba before she turns into an eastern White Rose. Or maybe she is the Rose. I don’t know. Limper, he wants to go balls to the wall so he can look good to the Lady. Hopefully getting us all killed in the process.”

  “You’re losing me, boss.”

  “I doubt it. Remember, the Limper has a special hard-on for you.”

  He did. “All right. And?”

  “Limper thinks smashing things is fun. I don’t want to be remembered for wrecking Aloe on a maybe.”

  “Sir, you need to give me a clue. What do you want me to do? I’m not as smart as you think.”

  “Nor am I.”

  The Captain shambled out from behind his table. He paced. Then, “The Lady thinks Tides Elba was born here, has family here, and visits frequently. She wasn’t born Tides Elba. Her family probably don’t know what she is.”

  Of course this Rebel would not have been born Tides Elba. If the Lady got hold of her true name, Tides Elba would be toast before sunset.

  “You’ve been snooping already. You know where to look. Help us lay hands on her before the Limper can catch us in a cleft stick.”

  “I can dig. But I can tell you now, all I’ll find is holes.”

  “Holes tell a story, too.”

  They do. “Instead of worrying about this woman, how about we come up with a permanent…”

  He made a chopping motion. I needed to shut up. “Look at you. We could put you in charge of the whole eastern campaign, you’re so smart. Go away. Do what you need to do. And stay away from those moronic cards.”

  I thought hard. My conclusion was frightening. There was no place to conspire where the Limper could not eavesdrop if he was so inclined. So I scrounged up an extra deck, more venerable than the one usually in play, and headed for the Dark Horse. Along the way, Hagop fell in beside me. “Is it time?”

  “It’s time. If everybody is there.” Everybody being a select few like Elmo and the wizards.

  “What was the big meeting? We got to move out?”

  “They don’t know what they’re going to do. They just want to be ready to do it.”

  “Same old shit.”

  “Pretty much.”

  The usual suspects were there, out front, on the fringe, waiting instead of playing. Only Silent was missing. I asked Goblin with a glance. He shrugged.

  Several guys started to drift over, thinking an entertaining game might break out. I handed my deck to Corey. “You guys get a game going inside.”

  “Quick on the uptake,” Elmo observed as they cleared off. He scooted sideways so Hagop had room to add a chair. We pretended to play a five-man game.

  I asked, “You all sure you want to be here? We’re going to lay our balls on the table and
hope nobody hits them with a hammer.”

  Nobody volunteered to disappear.

  I produced the parchment Hagop had found. Folded, it made a square. Opened, it was a third taller than it was wide. I spread it out. “Pass it around. Don’t act like it’s any big deal.”

  “Go teach granny to suck eggs,” One-Eye grumbled. “I can’t tell anything from this. It’s all chicken tracks.”

  “Those tracks are TelleKurre.” The language of the Domination. Only two native speakers remained alive. “This is an Imperial rescript, from the Lady to the Limper. The ideograph in the upper left corner tells us that. But this is a copy. The ideograph top middle tells us that, along with the fact that this is copy number two of two. The ideograph in the upper right corner is the chop of the copyist.”

  “Accountability,” Elmo said.

  “Exactly. She’s big on that since the Battle at Charm.”

  “Uhm. So what does it say?”

  “Not much, directly. But very formally. The Lady orders the Limper to come east to find and capture a woman named Tides Elba. No why, no suggestion how, just do it, then bring her back alive and undamaged.”

  “And there ain’t nothing in there about her being some new phenom rookie Rebel captain?”

  “Not a hint.”

  “The Limper lied.”

  “The Limper lied. And not just to us. He isn’t dedicated to the success of his mission.”

  Elmo asked, “How can you tell?”

  “Limper had to sign both copies, agreeing that he understood his assignment. On his keeper copy, here, he wrote, ‘Up Yours, Bitch.’”

  “Whoa!” Hagop barked, awed rather than surprised.

  Elmo asked, “Could that be a plant?”

  “You mean, did he leave it so we could find it?”

  “Yeah. To let us set ourselves up.”

  “I’ve been brooding about that. I don’t think so. There are a thousand ways that could go wrong. He’d have no control. We might never notice it. But, more important, there’s what he wrote instead of signing.”

  They thought. Twice One-Eye started to say something but thought better.

  We focused on clever tricks the Limper might try. Looking for deep strategies and devilish maneuvers. It took the least among us, a simple line soldier, to point out a critical fact.

  Hagop asked, “If he signed it that way won’t he get nervous when he realizes that it’s gone?”

  We all considered him with widening eyes and galloping hearts. Elmo growled, “If the little shit goes bugfuck we’ll know for sure that it’s real.”

  “Silver lining.” Goblin grinned but there was sweat on his forehead.

  I pushed the parchment across to One-Eye. “See if that’s tagged so he can trace it. Then see if there’s a way he could tell who’s been handling it.”

  “You going to put it back?”

  “Hell, no! I’m going to bury it somewhere. It could come in handy someday. The Lady wouldn’t be pleased if it fell into her hands. Speaking of forgetting. Goblin, fix it so Hagop has no recollection of the parchment. The Captain saw him hanging around the Limper’s carpet. Questions might be asked.”

  “I’ll have to work on you, too, then. You were seen hanging around the carpet, too.”

  I expect a lot of guys took the opportunity for a close-up look. But fear streaked down my spine, reached my toes, and cramped them. “Yeah. You’d better.”

  Both wizards started to get out of their seats. Goblin said, “We’ll need to shove those memories down so far that only the Lady’s Eye could find them.”

  I had a thought. “Hang on. Wait a minute. Hagop, go get Zhorab.”

  Markeb Zhorab had been something else before he became a tavern-keeper. His face alone recalled several desperate fights. And he was a sizable man, often mistaken for the bouncer. But his past had left his courage a little sketchy.

  He asked me, “You wanted me?”

  “I have something I need done, not traceable to me. I’m willing to pay.”

  “Risky?”

  “Possibly. But probably not if you do exactly what I tell you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I showed him the rescript. “I need an exact copy calligraphed by a professional letter-writer who has no idea who you are.”

  “What is it?”

  “A wanted poster. But the less you know the better. Can you do that?”

  He could, once we finished talking money. I did not offer enough to make it seem like I was worried. With all the practical jokes that went on around us, I hoped he thought I was putting something together. He asked, “How soon do you need this?”

  “Right now would be especially good.”

  Zhorab brought my copy. And the original. “Good enough, Croaker? He couldn’t match the parchment.”

  “It’s fine. I want it obvious that it’s a copy.” I paid the agreed sum. I handed back the copy. “Hold on to this. Later on Goblin will tell you when to give it back. There’ll be another payment then.”

  Elmo grumbled, “If we can ever get the self-righteous asshole into this place.” Playing to the practical-joke angle.

  Puzzled, Zhorab folded the copy and went off to bite his coins.

  Elmo wondered, “Think he had more than one copy made?”

  I said, “I’m counting on it. The more there are the better. Now let’s get to the forgetting.”

  I said, “I don’t know. I forget. It must not have been important. Look. I need you guys to help me dig for info on Tides Elba.”

  Grumble, grumble. Chairs pushed back grudgingly.

  I said, “It has to be done.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.”

  I asked, “Hagop, do you read the local language?”

  He shook his head. Once we were a few steps away, Elmo said, “I’m not sure he can read anything.”

  I grunted. “One last beer.”

  Inside, the Dark Horse was swamped in speculation about what might be afoot. A sizable faction did not believe that Tides Elba existed. Old hands, who had been through the long retreat from Oar to Charm, thought that the Limper had made it all up.

  When asked my opinion, I said I never heard of Tides Elba and we had only Limper’s word that she existed.

  Aloe was a city-state. It was a republic, a formula common in its end of the world. It was prosperous. It had the time and money to maintain civil records, which are useful for levying taxes, calling men to the colors, or imposing a corvée.

  Aloe kept those records in a small, stone-built structure. Our advent spread consternation.

  Surprise arrival was of no value. Nothing jumped out. There were records aplenty, stored according to no obvious system, to keep us busy for days.

  Elmo said, “I’ll put out a call for men who can read this stuff.” He barely managed himself, sounding out the characters.

  Silent walked in. Before I could put him to work, he signed, “Wait!” and did a slow turn to make sure there were no stinky men in brown hiding in the rafters. Then he signed, “I know where to find her.”

  Everybody babbled questions, negating Silent’s caution. He signed, “Shut up! Unless you are hungry for a taste of knuckle. Idiots.”

  He said the smoldering redhead from the other day was our target.

  “How do you know?” I demanded. In sign.

  Silent tapped the side of his head, pointed to his eyes, then his nose. Shorthand sign meaning he paid attention and he used his noggin when he smelled something a little off.

  He had seen something that was not just prime split tail. So he had stalked her. To the Temple of Occupoa. And had been watching ever since.

  “Predictable,” I signed. Rebels everywhere hide stuff under their houses of worship. “Let’s raid the place.” I was unconcerned about the wrath of Occupoa. The gods seldom defend themselves. “Send her off to the Tower.”

  Elmo agreed. “Along with our least favorite Taken.”

  Elmo and I were the responsible, sensible voices. We got shouted
down. Goblin jumped up and down. Every fifth sign he deployed was a vertical middle finger.

  One-Eye insisted, “We’ll play a riff on Roses.”

  “Why?”

  “To gouge the Limper. Maybe frame him for something.”

  “Or we can just give him the girl and get him out of town.”

  Their enthusiasm faded as they recalled the truth of that bitter winter operation in Roses. Of circumstances that started the Limper on the road to now, notably unhappy with the Company.

  Silent signed, “Croaker makes a good point. Wimpy, but solid.”

  One-Eye, though, being One-Eye, smelled opportunity. But One-Eye had a hundred-plus-year record of being One-Eye.

  That considered, the level of enthusiasm plummeted.

  I refused to go to the Captain or Limper with their idiot plan. It relied entirely on the near-immortal, almost demigod Limper being too stupid to see through them. I said, “To even start that going we’d need something magically useful from our target. You guys got some of her hair? Nail clippings? Dirty underwear? Didn’t think so. Let’s go dig her out and turn her over.”

  I did, as noted, remain deft enough to avoid being the man asked to sell the scheme. That honor went to Silent.

  Silent is no bumbler but he did not close the deal. The Captain’s response was, “Find the girl and bring her in. That’s all. Nothing else.”

  Nobody wanted to hear what I thought after Silent came back. One-Eye insisted, “You worry too much, Croaker. You give the little shit too much credit. He ain’t some genius. He’s just an asshole bully whose knack for sorcery is so big he don’t need to think.”

  “Lot of that going around.”

  Goblin said, “Look at all he’s been through since he got out of the ground. None of it made him any smarter; it only made him more careful about what evidence he leaves behind.”

  Why did that make me nervous? “He can smash us like slow roaches without breaking a sweat.”

  One-Eye insisted, “He’s as dumb-ass as you can be and survive. He’s the kind of guy you can hit with the same con five times running and he still won’t figure out what happened.”

  Idiot.