by Glen Cook
Alyx asked, "What should we do?" like she suspected me of first-degree intent to ditch.
"Wait. I won't be long. I promise." The girl had a vulnerable air that made you want to make promises—even if they were promises you couldn't keep.
Maybe she did need Daddy watching out for her.
30
I wasn't long, either. The odors of cooking combined with the smells of too many unwashed bodies crushed into too tight and too hot a space quickly discouraged me. Also, few of these people appeared smart enough or stupid enough to get involved in a plot against the brewery. And if they did get out of the kitchen, my nose would warn me.
If I was a villain who wanted to make an impact, I'd get in with the serving crew. They would be more presentable and more socially adept. And they would be welcome in parts of the house denied the kitchen staff.
I rejoined Alyx and Tinnie. "Too hot in here." I herded them toward the exit. From the corners of my eyes I watched for anyone paying me any special attention. Once we were out I asked, "Either of you notice anybody watching me?"
"I did," Tinnie replied.
"Uhm? And?"
"I mean, I watched you. Close." She winked.
Which irritated Alyx for sure. "How about you, Alyx?"
"She stole my line." She stuck out her tongue, so maybe Tinnie had. "No. Nobody even looked at you. You blended right in. Looked like you belonged there. Even in that outfit."
Belinda had assured me the Tad Weider hand-me-down was perfect for the occasion. "What's wrong with this outfit?"
Tinnie smirked. "We're talking silk purses and sow's ears, Garrett."
"If I wanted verbal abuse, I'd get me a talking parrot." Speaking of whom, he'd disappeared. If there are any gods... What I mean is, if there are any responsible gods, one or two might make sure the Dead Man didn't fade while the bird was here. I shuddered to think what might happen if that gaudy cowbird became himself.
"He's not here," Tinnie explained. "Somebody has to take up the slack."
"Where're we going?" Alyx asked.
"Around the corner to where the serving folks should be getting ready to—Hello."
"What?"
"I see a familiar face. In fact, I see two." They belonged to Trace Wendover and Carter Stockwell, erstwhile recruiters, all spiffy in servants' livery. The outsiders were all dressed in the same threadbare outfits. The contractor probably rented them, trying to expand his margin.
Trace noticed me an instant after I spotted him. He didn't acknowledge my interest but did drift toward Stockwell. Carter came alert before Trace got close enough to whisper.
"I was right," I mumbled, smug. "There was something going on."
"What?" Tinnie asked.
"I see two rightsists who have no business being here." Stockwell and Wendover weren't the sort to be reduced to day work. Those pretty boys had to come from families of substance.
Alyx asked, "Should I get Manvil?"
"No. You guys just watch out behind me. Oh, hell!"
"What?"
I'd taken my eyes off the boys for a few seconds. "They're gone." But how? There was no exit they could have reached that quickly, nor did the server gang seem diminished. But Stockwell and Wendover weren't among them anymore. "You'd better get Manvil after all." I didn't like the implications of what was happening.
31
Gilbey brought Ty ‘s pal Lancelyn Mac and a brace of hulking, uncomfortably out-of-place dock wallopers. "You got something?" he asked. He was ready for war.
"I spotted two rightsists who definitely don't belong here. They called themselves Carter Stockwell and Trace Wendover when they tried to enlist me yesterday."
"Interesting coincidence."
"Ain't it, though? They came to my house claiming they wanted me to join a freecorps called Black Dragon Valsung."
"Doesn't ring any bells."
"Not for me either. Just now they spotted me the same time I made them. They did a grand disappearing act. I rounded up Mr. Gresser. That's him with the ladies. He says nobody named Stockwell or Wendover belongs to his crew." Gresser was boss of the contract servants.
"They wouldn't use their real names, would they?"
"Only if they're stupid." Entirely possible with TunFaire's bad boys. "Gresser did concede the possibility that he might have employed men who answer the descriptions of Trace Wendover and Carter Stockwell. He doesn't seem close to his help."
Gresser was a weasely little functionary type in a state of high agitation. He was a naturally nervous sort terrified that his plans for the evening would collapse and his reputation would follow. All because we insisted on making a fuss about a few of his people.
Gilbey skewered Gresser with a hard stare. "You know anything about your people, Gresser?"
I sighed. I hadn't been sure Gilbey would take me seriously. I still wasn't sure I ought to take me seriously. I was running on hunch power. Hunches are one of my more sporadic talents.
I listened with one ear while Gresser whined, "There just ain't no way to check them all out. You do the best you can in the time you got. You come up with a job, first you got to get word out that you need people. Then you take the ones you know. Then you look the rest over and pick the ones that seem the soberest and most presentable, that ain't gonna blow their noses on the table linen or grope the female guests. Then, if you got the extra minute, maybe you ask around does anybody know anything down." And so on.
I kept one eye on Tinnie. She was put out about the whole situation. I kept the other on Alyx. For her this had become a great adventure. She remained poised on the verge of bouncing around like an excited kid.
She did bounce nicely, thank you.
With my free ear I eavesdropped on Gresser's grumbling troops.
One voice stood out. I whirled. They all stopped talking, startled.
I didn't spot the man but I knew the voice from the brewery stable.
I jumped again as Lancelyn materialized beside me, tense as a hunting dog on point. "You heard that?" Then he relaxed. "Must have been my imagination."
"You thought you heard the big mouth from the stables yesterday?"
"Yes."
"So did I."
"I don't see him."
"And I just saw two guys who aren't there now."
"What's going on?"
"I don't know. But it smells like sorcery." Wouldn't you know, just when I'd started to think it would be straightforward. "And that's an odor I hate. How's Ty holding up?"
"He's in heaven. He's the center of attention. Which is where he always wants to be. Nicks is the one hurting. You're spooky in those clothes. When I came up behind you you were standing exactly like Tad used to."
"Sorry."
"No need. You think we need to do something more to protect the old man?"
"I don't think he should come out at all. What about those guys in the stable?"
"They didn't know anything. They joined a rights group just last week. They were asked to discourage you if you started nosing around. They didn't like bullying one of their own kind but you were always a pain in the ass so they didn't have much of a conscience problem. Until Ty told them this could get them fired."
"Did they cooperate?"
"Of course. They weren't so fanatic they wanted to go job-hunting. But they didn't even know the names of the men they were helping. They never introduced themselves. They just used the right recognition phrases."
"Things are getting absurd," I grumbled.
"People are scared, Garrett. Times are changing. It don't look like they're going to get better. People want to blame somebody. You put thousands of men used to violence into conditions like that and it would be absurd to expect nothing to happen."
He was right.
I spotted a guy who seemed very interested in me. I didn't recognize him. I tried to keep track as he moved around.
Lance asked, "Have you seen Kittyjo?"
"Not for several years." Kittyjo was older than Alyx by a deca
de. Like Ty, she was always unhappy. Rumor said she'd tried suicide.
Maybe there's one envious devil god determined to punish Max Weider for his success. Great villains steal and murder and torture and pay only if they get gobbled up by even bigger villains. Weider never played it any way but square, his tools intelligence and hard work. So he loses one son, has another driven mad, has a third crippled forever, has a daughter twisted by severe emotional problems, has a beloved wife dying unpleasantly by degrees, seemingly never more than one breath away from the end. And now the man who deserved none of that had poisonous political snakes trying to slither into his life.
Much more and I was going to get mad.
"She came down before you got here. She couldn't wait, she was so excited. She was like a kid on her birthday. It's the first time she's broken through the melancholy in months."
I asked, "Do I sense a more than casual concern?"
Lance showed me a sick smile. "You found out, Garrett. I don't know how it happened. I figured it would be Alyx. I worked hard at being interested in Alyx. Common sense says Alyx should be your choice if you have to fall for one of the Weider girls. She's the only normal one here. Besides the old man."
Me, I'd assumed he had an unhealthy attachment to Ty. Goes to show you. Nobody is what they appear.
I stared at Lance too long. Naturally, when I checked the serving crew I couldn't find my interested man. "We need to pin numbers on these guys."
There was sorcery in the air for sure.
Gilbey bustled up. "I sent word upstairs, Garrett. Max says screw you. He don't care if you've got Venageti rangers on the roof and commandos in the kitchen, we go ahead with the show. He says it's time to earn your keep."
"I hope his arithmetic is better than mine. Because I flat don't like the way things are adding up."
32
An uproar arose in the ballroom. Feminine shrieks preceded bellows of masculine laughter. "Oh-oh." I had a bad feeling but headed that way anyhow.
My bleak premonition was dead on. My partner's control had slipped. The Goddamn Parrot had done something. Women were trying to catch him. Men stood back offering valuable parrot-stalking advice.
It occurred to me that I wouldn't enjoy myself much if that foul-beaked feather duster fled to me for help.
Mom Garrett didn't raise her boy to die for the sins of overtrained pigeons. And nobody out there looked smart enough to believe I wasn't fooling around with some kind of ventrical locationism.
One of these days, Morley Dotes. One of these days.
"Aren't you going to do something?" Alyx asked.
"And admit I know that babbling vulture?"
"But—"
"He wants to run his beak, let him suffer the consequences. Manvil, do we have enough friendlies to watch all of the serving staff?"
Gilbey made a noise like a infant's whimper. He sputtered in frustration. The Weiders wanted to throw the social event of the season. Its legs were wobbling already. Any more security headaches and the thing might collapse. "Can't you just stay in the middle of them?"
"It's a big ballroom and there're eighteen guys."
Gresser had hung on. He protested, "There's sixteen, sir. Sixteen. That was what was contracted." Righteous indignation bubbled off the man. "I won't provide more than my specific commitment."
"I counted eighteen heads, Gresser. Twice. You got many two-headed employees?" The difference might be why Gresser never heard of Trace or Carter, though. "Why don't we take care of this? There're at least two imposters in your crew. Collect them up."
"Oh, gods! This is terrible! I'm ruined! No one will hire me... "
"Gresser! Please! We'll lie for you on your wedding night. Just don't hold us up now."
"Yes, sir." Gresser hustled off to assemble his troops.
"Changeable sort," Gilbey observed.
"Where did you find him?"
Gilbey shrugged. "Genord picked him. He's supposed to be good."
"Mr. Gilbey! Mr. Gilbey!" Gresser was back. Lance Mac was right behind him. Lance looked grim. Alyx, who had begun prowling out of boredom, headed our way, too. "Mr. Gilbey!"
"Yes, Mr. Gresser?"
"Mr. Gilbey, it is my sorrowful and shamed duty to admit that this gentleman was correct. There were more men here than I hired. They all agree there were more than sixteen. Estimates vary from eighteen to twenty. I can't understand how that happened. I concern myself deeply with the sanctity of my clients' persons and properties. I'm sure there were only sixteen of them when we entered the service gate."
I'll bet. Gresser found himself in sudden deep sludge and wanted his butt covered when the brown stuff flew.
Lance confirmed my suspicions. "A couple of waiters just did a dash into the kitchen. I couldn't find them again when I looked."
Alyx said, "Garrett, I just saw a waiter take off."
"I know. Lance says two of them just headed into the kitchen."
"Not the kitchen. This one grabbed a food tray and went into the ballroom."
"Another one?" I asked. "Or one of the two?"
Gilbey frowned at Gresser. "How many bandits did you bring?" I added my most ferocious glower to Manvil's. Gresser glowered back, sullenly defiant. We weren't going to make this his fault. We enjoyed a veritable glowerfest. Lance added his glower to ours and slid into position behind Gresser.
"I only hire them!" the little man protested. "For big jobs like this sometimes I have to take on people at the last minute that I don't know. I explained that."
I asked, "Anybody think the man is too enthusiastic in his protests?"
"Yeah. Way too. Bet you he never saw any of those men before today." Gilbey acquired a remote look. "Lance, stick close to Ty. Garrett, I'm going to send some men to watch over Max. Check in when you can."
"Will do. Meantime, I'll prowl. Wherever these villains go, they'll stand out."
I was worried. Those guys had to have a definite plan. Stockwell and Wendover didn't look like commando types but didn't have to be. Had I not been here they wouldn't have been found out.
Which was cause for speculation: How much had I been calculated into their plans?
I had to be. First, they tried to enlist me. Then they tried to scare me. Black Dragon Valsung had some strong interest in Weider brewing. I would worry what later. Right now we had baddies in the house, probably not inclined to be good guests.
I glanced around. Lance and Gilbey had left. Alyx and Gresser awaited instructions. "Carry on, Mr. Gresser. Make this the best damn shindig you can. I'll try not to bother you again. And I'll stop thinking bad thoughts about you."
He bowed. Damn, was he eager to please.
"You do realize that nobody is happy with you right now?"
He bobbed his head, stared at the floor.
"Scoot."
Alyx said, "I don't trust that man, Garrett. He's tiny and he's slimy and every time he looks at me I feel like he wants to pull my clothes off."
"Wow! You're as smart as you are cute. Of course he wants to pluck you naked. I'd worry about a guy who didn't give it a thought."
That improved her mood. She began to look at me like she hoped I might indulge in some plucking myself.
I didn't need to open that hogshead of worms. Not tonight.
I quipped, "Maybe he wants to wear your stuff himself. How about you keep an eye on him for me? What happened to Tinnie?" The redhead had become as scarce as Carter and Trace.
"I don't know." She was irked that I would even ask when I was with her and some banter about getting more comfortable was on her own agenda. "She was here a minute ago."
Ah, well. Might be better not to have her underfoot. I said, "I'm going to prowl." Before really big trouble caught up with me right here, right now.
33
I took the main stairs to the second floor. Bad guys headed up wouldn't use an open route, though, so I set course for the back stairs after pausing outside Weider's study door. Nothing loud was happening in there. And there w
as no one on the floor except the people in that room. I could hear nothing but the musicians tuning up downstairs.
I climbed the service stair cautiously. The way these spooks faded out indicated a fair knowledge of the layout. That suggested inside intelligence, which wasn't a thought I cherished.
I had no weapon sharper than my wits, which meant those guys might not have much trouble disarming me. And the ones I'd bested before would be laying for me.
Somebody fooled somebody. Or maybe I fooled myself. I was sure I would run into an ambush getting to the third floor. But nothing happened.
I didn't find anybody on that level, either, though I didn't check one suite. The Old Man's own was sacrosant. Hannah was in there, committed to the long, slow process of dying miserably. Everyone else was downstairs.
A spine-stiffening scream clawed its way downstairs. Tom would not join the festivities, either. But this shriek seemed different. Had the devils in his mind taken concrete form?
I didn't abandon caution. I did feel naked without my head-knocker. But that thing just didn't go with formal attire. I needed a fancy-dress something, maybe a cane, that could be applied to admonitory effect in genteel surroundings. Maybe a sword cane, good for thumping and stabbing. Morley carries one of those.
I saw nothing useful around me. The Weider house is sparsely furnished above the second floor. Not even an old mace or morning-star decorated the walls. All the stuff from downstairs was piled at one end of Weider's study now, out of temptation's way.
Another scream. This one spoke of true physical anguish. Were my missing servants torturing Tom? Why bother? Assume somebody had a grudge left over from the Cantard. How could he get any satisfaction out of hurting somebody who didn't know who he was? Tom lived in a world no one else could enter.
Nothing made sense.
That was only because I didn't have enough information. So the Dead Man would remind me. The bad boys wouldn't be confused about what they were trying to do.
I heard a light step on the stair below me, just out of sight around one of the tight turns. Somebody was being sneaky without being good at it. Easy meat—if I could get out of sight.