by Glen Cook
The Goddamn Parrot started yelling louder than Morley. I told the Dead Man, “You’re not earning your keep.”
It wasn’t pretty in the kitchen. All that whimpering and whining. The doc had finished, though. He was under an inverted wine bottle, using a half pint to clear his palate. I made a face. Even ratmen shunned the stuff he was swilling. “You all going to live?”
“No thanks to that butcher,” Morley snarled.
Saucerhead asked, “You ever see him act like such a baby?”
“You oversized... If brains were fire you couldn’t burn your own house down.” He jumped up on a chair and started ranting like some Holy Roller soul-scavenger.
I asked Sarge, “The doc give him something?”
Sarge shrugged. “Come on, boss. Give Doc a break. He fixed your arm. And he ain’t been getting much work since they cut him loose from the Bledsoe.”
No wonder he was drinking bottom of the barrel. He was bottom stuff himself... I glanced at Saucerhead. Doc must be some relative of his new lady.
Surly but silent, Morley paid his fees. Spud didn’t look much happier. I decided to get the old boy out while Dotes was feeling generous. I got hold of Doc’s arm and pulled.
“You really get the boot at the Bledsoe?” Hard to imagine that as possible, yet I’d met two such in just a few days.
“I drink a bit, son.”
“No.”
“Steadied my hands when I was young, chopping off arms and legs down in the Cantard, couple lifetimes ago. Don’t work anymore, though. Barley kills the pain now.”
He stepped outside, cloaked himself in what dignity he retained, started down to the street, stumbled, fell the last two steps. On her stoop, Mrs. Cardonlos paused to glare and nod to herself. I blew her a kiss. I studied the street.
It was hard to tell, but I thought I saw a few folks who didn’t ring right.
Again? Or still? I eyed Mrs. Cardonlos again. Her being out on point might mean she expected further proof that Garrett was a peril to the neighborhood.
I shut the door, thoughtful.
I had an idea.
I headed for the kitchen. “Saucerhead, want to run an errand?” I showed him some shiny copper.
“Talked me into it, you smoothie. What?”
“Give me a minute. I need to write a letter.”
73
At last the house was quiet. The mob was away. The Goddamn Parrot had a full crop and was sleeping. I was in my office sharing the silence with Eleanor.
Naturally, somebody came to the door.
“My answer from Chaz.” Or maybe Winger, if her creative side was hot.
I was hoping she had a block.
I used the peephole.
Got it right first guess. Mr. W. Tharpe with mail.
I leaned into the gloom of the Dead Man’s room. Vermin scurried. I told him, “I’m off. And she’s the most beautiful blonde you never saw. Don’t wait up.”
He didn’t wish me luck.
I left the house without so much as a passing thought about the gorgeous redhead stashed upstairs.
It was the best table in the place but still only the Joy House. You do business with a world-class sorcerer, you can be a little more comfortable doing it on familiar ground.
Conscious of their bid to go upscale, Morley and his thugs were on their best behavior. Puddle even donned a clean shirt and tucked it in.
The Firelord had dressed down. Excellent. I didn’t want casual acquaintances getting nervous because of my contact with him.
He looked like a big old dock walloper.
With him dressed down and Chaz dressed up, nobody paid him much attention. Even I had trouble concentrating. “Excuse me?”
“I said I’m serving my own interests.”
I recalled now. I’d thanked him for not making a show. “Oh.”
“Believe it or not, there are people who might do me an injury if they caught me off my usual range.”
“Really?” My gaze swerved back to Chaz. The woman had dressed to kill and was armed with her best assassin’s smile.
“Hard to believe, right? Big old cuddle bear like me?” He turned to Morley, who hovered at the head of a platoon of ready servers. “I’m not real hungry tonight. I’ll take half pound of roast beef rare, sides of mutton, and pork. No fruits or vegetables.”
Morley went paler than a blanching vampire. He nodded sharply, once, some postmortem spasm. He fish-eyed me and my grin. His eyes were the lamps of hell. I decided not to rub it in.
I ordered one of the more palatable house specialties. Chaz followed my lead.
Morley stamped toward the kitchen, dragging Puddle, muttering orders. I wondered which neighboring establishment would subcontract Direheart’s order.
I fought the chuckles as I brought the firelord up to date.
“You let him get away?”
“I didn’t let. Let wasn’t part of the equation. He got. You want, I’ll take you to see him after supper.”
Good Old Fred raised both eyebrows. But then he came after me about the centaur sign outside The Tops. His intensity confirmed my suspicions. He’d had definite reasons for coming home from the Cantard early.
In time, I led him back to the Rainmaker. He frowned, told me, “I’m generous to a fault, Garrett. Anyone will tell you that. Especially where my little girl is concerned. But I won’t let you milk this forever.”
“That’s good to hear.’Cause I’m sick of the whole damned thing. I’ve got one bruise too many, for nothing.”
Morley returned to hover in time to overhear. He lifted an eyebrow.
I continued, “I’m closing this down soon as we eat.”
Morley stifled his surprise, but Chaz and her pop both blurted, “What?”
“We eat, I take you to Cleaver, my part’s done. You all settle up. I’m home having a beer before I hit the sack.”
Direheart started to get up. He was ready.
Morley started slide-stepping toward the kitchen. Maybe he was headed for cover.
Chaz smiled like her brain had gone north. I’d begun to wonder about her. When her dad was around, she worked at cute and dumb.
“Sit down,” I said. “Morley went to a lot of trouble with your order. And Cleaver will be there when we get there.” Dinner hadn’t yet arrived.
Morley could’ve been going to check its progress, but I wouldn’t have bet two dead flies on that.
Nice of him to be so predictable.
After the Tops, I didn’t have a trick left. What I hadn’t used I’d lost or had taken. Might have been smart to see Handsome before dinner.
Too late now.
Dinner did come. I drooled over Direheart’s while I choked down mine, a kind of souffle thingee I’d had before and hadn’t found myself vomiting... But this time somebody clever had chopped green peppers into the mix.
Morley looked so innocent I would’ve strangled him if I hadn’t needed him.
I told Direheart, “There’s no way you’re going to get your book back. It’s long gone.”
The man was resilient. He displayed one scant instant of surprise. “Oh?”
“Near as I can tell, Maggie Jenn’s daughter swiped it from Cleaver about a year ago, brought it to TunFaire, showed it to the wrong people, had it snatched by the human rights nuts.” Which was true, to that point.
The Firelord smiled, in control. “I rather doubted I’d see it again, especially considering the bloodletting following it.”
“Just wanted you to understand.”
“Could you recover it if I hired you to?”
“I don’t want the job. There’re too many people ready to kill people over it.”
Direheart didn’t like what he heard. It wasn’t Good Old Fred who laid that evil eye on me while he wondered what I was doing.
I saw him decide that I was too damned lazy to glom the book for myself.
The Firelord ate like a little dog trying to get his fill before the big dogs come. I ate at a leisurely pac
e, mostly staring at Chaz, who matched me bite for bite and stared right back, all but hollering her wicked intentions.
74
My stride faltered a few steps into the street. There should have been more people out. Some hint must have escaped the Joy House.
If the Firelord noticed he didn’t let on. Maybe he didn’t. He’d been in the Cantard forever. He’d be street naive.
Chaz was uncomfortable, though. She knew an off odor when she smelled one. The dumb blonde disappeared fast.
Considering my recent experiences, I didn’t think it unreasonable to be alert to the point of frayed nerves. So, naturally, nothing happened. Except...
Wings beat the cool evening air. I braced for the advent of some batwinged demon belched from the hell of one of TunFaire’s thousand and one cults.
The mythological is manageable.
Reality can be uglier.
The Goddamn Parrot plopped onto my shoulder.
I batted at it. “That goddamn Dean! Comes home in the middle of the night, lets that monster get loose.” How did the damned thing find me?
The bird remained silent as it fluttered to Chaz’s shoulder. It was unnatural.
“What the matter with you, bird? Chaz, he’ll probably mess on you.” This adventure wasn’t going the way I’d hoped.
I didn’t try to confuse anybody. I took the direct route. We weren’t halfway there when Chaz chirped, “The Bledsoe?”
For Morley’s sake — he had to be out in the darkness somewhere — I replied, “Where else? He’s used up his other hideouts. And they don’t know the real him there.”
Maybe. I’d begun to doubt my intuition already.
And I’d begun to doubt my good sense. Head into danger with a sorcerer? I had no cause to trust Direheart. His sort were notoriously treacherous. And my only insurance was a dark-elf with a broken wing who might not remain devoted to my well-being once he sighted the Rainmaker.
People say I think too much. No doubt... Why on earth did I think Cleaver would hang around TunFaire after his latest misadventure? Why, of all places, would he hide out at the Bledsoe?
I was one rattled guy when I pushed into the Bledsoe receiving lobby. But I got my confidence back fast.
Two steps in I spotted the female half of the elderly couple I’d held captive at that ugly warehouse. She spotted me, too, and headed out at her fastest shuffle. She made her break for the stairwell I’d used to make my getaway a couple of ages ago.
I won the race. “Hello again.”
Direheart joined me. “Somebody you know?”
I offered a brief synopsis.
The Firelord surveyed the area. Our arrival hadn’t gone unremarked. Staff were gathering. I saw familiar, unfriendly faces. “These guys can’t take a joke, Fred.” He’d heard a bare bones version of my incarceration. Those guys made the mistake of thinking it was payback time.
The Firelord did one of those things that make regular folks uncomfortable when his sort are around. It involved muttering and finger-wiggling and a sudden darkness as black as a lawyer’s heart. An instant after that there were pillars of fire everywhere. Each contained a staffer who objected loudly. One unfortunate goose-stepped toward us. Direheart fixed it so we needn’t hear his shrieks, but the guy kept on trying. He became a human torch to light our climb.
Chaz wasn’t shocked. Her daddy hadn’t disillusioned her.
The old woman broke away and tried to outclimb us. She failed. We passed the ward where I’d done my damage. The fixing up had hardly begun. I wasted a tear for Ivy and Slither.
The old woman suddenly wheeled like she had some mad idea about holding us off. She was a horrible vision, illuminated by the burning man. Her terror was absolute, but so was her determination. Death was in her eyes. She was a sow bear between hunter and cub...
Bingo. I knew her now, nose to nose and her eyes on fire. Take away a few decades of pain and poverty and you’d have another Maggie Jenn.
Maggie hadn’t said anything about her mother’s fate.
75
The topmost floor of the Bledsoe was reserved for those who had no truck with poverty except by way of charity. It sustained an environment those folks would deem minimally adequate while they decided the fates of TunFaire’s Waldo Tharpes.
We didn’t need the burning man up there. Good Old Fred let him go. He collapsed, burnt meat and charred bone. Direheart ignored the old woman. We didn’t need her. I tried to shoo her away. She wouldn’t go.
Chaz wasn’t frayed but didn’t seem to be in close touch with reality anymore, either. During my own occasional brushes with sanity I’d begun wondering if she really was the girl for me. Her good points were obvious, but something was missing. When Good Old Fred was around she could turn into a zombie.
That green-and-yellow-and-red feather duster on her shoulder didn’t betray any character, either.
Weird.
It got weirder.
First, Ichabod rernaterialized. Pardon me. Make that Zeke. Maybe he came back from the grave. I’d thought he’d got plenty dead on the Hill. But here he was, all skin, bones, and white hair, trying to heft a big black sword that was beyond his strength. Good Old Fred did some evil things. That sword turned on Zeke. The old boy didn’t even get out a good scream.
Mugwump emerged from the shadows. That human stump was not in a good mood. (He had to be immune to disaster.) I was glad Fred was in between us.
Direheart wasn’t ready for a Mugwump. Mugwump like to broke him into kindling before he conjured a bucket of eldritch fire. Mugwump ended up blind and burning. Direheart came away dragging a foot. He couldn’t use his left arm.
Chaz showed no distress. She drifted along, gorgeous and empty and handy. Her dullness worried me more and more.
The Goddamn Parrot’s silence didn’t help.
Then we found a sleep-fuddled Grange Cleaver trying to pull himself together. Twenty feet separated us from him. Fred went out of control. He snarled, cursed, pulled a knife, and charged. Cleaver got loose from his cot and discarded his surprise. He pulled two knives. Lucky he wasn’t one of those gods with a bunch of arms. He threw both blades. One knicked Direheart’s right shoulder.
The blow wasn’t crippling, but it did put the firelord’s good arm out of commission. Sorcerers don’t do well when they can’t talk with their hands.
I closed in on Cleaver. Cleaver had another blade. He assumed a knifefighter’s crouch, edged sideways. His eyes were hard, narrow, and serious. He didn’t seem frightened.
Chaz said something. I told her, “Take care of your father. After you lock the door.” The Bledsoe was crawling with guys who begrudged me my fine escape.
Direheart shook Chaz off. Calmly, he explained to the Rainmaker how he was going to feed his scum-sucking corpse to the rats. Direheart had him an awful big anger about that old burglary.
Cleaver kept his knife weaving between him and me. He edged toward an outside wall. His caution seemed to be taking him back into a corner.
I got it way too late.
Direheart tried to let me become Cleaver’s focus while he got ready to sneak in some deadly spell...
Cleaver lunged at me. I stumbled back. Quick as a conjurer, the Rainmaker spun and flipped his blade. It sank into Direheart’s throat.
I froze. Chaz screamed. Cleaver cackled, whirled, jumped out a window. Chaz grabbed me with one hand and her father with the other, pulled like I could do something.
A born gentleman, I grabbed blond hair and pried her loose. “You’re a physician. Do what you trained for.”
I threw one angry glance at the old woman, let her get on with her shuffling getaway. Oh, she was ready to go now. I went after Cleaver.
I’m not fond of heights — especially if Mrs. Garrett’s boy might conceivably fall therefrom. I paused to eyeball the scaffolding below me.
Sneering laughter electrified me. I dropped the eight feet to the highest level the workmen had reached. I made a lucky grab and didn’t plunge sixty
feet to the cobblestones, where shadows darted. I was too far up to recognize anybody — not to mention I didn’t consider trying.
The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, dove through the scaffolding. He zig-zagged like a bat, let out one serious squawk as he ripped past Cleaver. The Rainmaker cursed. Softly.
I concentrated on not achieving the unexpected experience of flight. All my hands grabbed anything convenient. All my feet assiduously maintained contact with whatever lay beneath them. I stormed slowly toward the Goddamn Parrot’s noxious racket.
Cleaver cursed again. He’d looked down into a dark future. Big trouble was waiting.
I checked the street, too. Its shadows harbored folks who wanted to talk to the Rainmaker up close and personal. They must have picked up a clue or two via denizens of the Joy House.
Instead of heading down, Cleaver fled around the Bledsoe. Through one open window I spied Outfit hardcases on the prowl. Belinda must have had a crew on standby.
I don’t quite get Morley’s relationship with those people. He’s no made man himself. He does them more favors than seems right.
The Goddamn Parrot kept beaking news of Cleaver’s progress. I really wondered about that bird. This was out of character. His natural style would be to betray me, instead.
The thugs below couldn’t see us. They tried to track the bird, too.
That hunk of spoiled hawk bait blew the big one. Cleaver set an ambush. He let me slink right into it.
I was twice Cleaver’s weight and twice Cleaver’s strength and that saved me a three-story decline in fortunes. He threw himself at me. I grabbed some scaffold and absorbed the impact. I tried to glom onto him while I was at it but didn’t do real well.
He ricocheted off me, banged into an upright, bounced back toward the stone face of the Bledsoe, let loose one whimper of outrage, dropped into the gap between scaffolding and building. He scratched and grabbed and banged around as he fell but didn’t verbalize at all.
I followed more cautiously. The Goddamn Parrot flapped around me but managed to keep his big damned beak shut. I caught up.