Faded Steel Heat gf-9

by Glen Cook

  Alyx joined us. "That's an awful lot of men who don't like each other crammed in nose-to-nose in one place." She'd dressed. Gorgeously. She looked like she wanted to go down and set the mob at one another's throats. "I'm surprised you got them all to come."

  "Hey. We serve the best beer in town. And it's on the house." My gaze drifted to Trail and Storey and Miss Trim. And Medford Shale. Shale had refused to be left at Heaven's Gate. All four were demonstrating an heroic dedication toward making sure they got a fair share of Weider's best.

  The real reason most of these people had come was that they were afraid not to. They might miss something critical. It was a tense time in the history of TunFaire. It was a time not to let yourself fall a step behind. It was a time when the future was rewriting itself from minute to minute and you wanted your hands and nose right in the middle of anything that might nudge the pen of destiny.

  "Manvil, tell... " He was gone. "Oh, good. Better late than never." Saucerhead had completed his mission. Below, Ty had entered the hall from the family dining room. He was on crutches. Nicks was beside him, trying not to look like she was there to catch him if he fell. Ty was directing a crew from the brewery who were dragging one of those huge, thousand-gallon wooden settling tanks where beer sits briefly while the grossest sediments settle out. Later the holy nectar would migrate onward to occupy the kegs and barrels the customer sees. Questions about the tank stirred every little cluster but people were too wary of their neighbors to ask outside their own cliques. Ty gave me a thumbs-up. I blew him a kiss. We were getting along today. I told Alyx, "Go tell your pop. I just dealt myself another ace. Everything's set and we're just waiting for Relway."

  "Waiting for Relway. Right."

  "He'll understand."

  She went. Tinnie asked, "Think she'll remember all the way over there?"

  "You're vicious. And she's your friend."

  "You keep that in mind. All right. You've got everybody that you've ever met gathered in one place. What the devil do you plan to do with them?"

  "Oh, I'm going to make them all unhappy. Real unhappy. Unless I manage to make me real unhappy by making a complete fool of myself."

  "You think the bookies are giving odds? Is there a point spread?"

  "Lift your skirt."

  "Right here? I can be conned into a little adventure sometimes, Garrett, but... "

  "Three inches will be far enough." Her hemline dragged the carpet. "Ha! I thought so."

  "What?"

  "You're wearing the green shoes. I don't know if they turn you wicked or you just wear them when you're feeling wicked, but—"

  "Somebody's here."

  Yes. Somebody was. The boys from the Lamp brewery had arrived. They looked sexy in their shiny new silver-plated chains. I'd expected the logistics to be a problem but Relway had been on the job already, having anticipated having to control shapeshifters again, and better.

  "Five... six of them. I thought there'd be more. There should be more. Hell, there're only five of them." The sixth was a ringer, Relway himself, in disguise and not really part of the coffle. He was pretending to be a little hunchbacked torturer's apprentice, jingling the ends of the chains. Probably no one but Singe and I recognized him.

  Singe showed more courage than I'd thought possible. Not only was she on the scene, she was out where people could see her. She stayed close to the walls, though.

  The rightsist types were surprised by her presence but it didn't distress them. Not nearly so much as did the presence of Morley Dotes and Belinda's swagging toughs. Ratpeople knew their place.

  Everyone I wanted there had arrived. Singe had not yet found any shapeshifters other than those Relway was delivering but she kept on looking. I was counting on surprise visitors of several kinds.

  Marengo North English wove his way through the crowd hurriedly, headed my way. He seemed to cringe from the touch of the crowd. He wanted out of the press, fast. His lovely niece trailed a step behind him. Tama seemed uncomfortable and deeply troubled. Maybe that was because there were so many really bad people around, though I couldn't picture her having much difficulty managing in even the direst circumstances. She'd already impressed me as a first-class survivor capable of cool thinking and quick decisions.

  While Marengo had been eyeing the Belindas and Tinnies and Wingers and developing an itch, she had been formulating plans of her own, I was sure. Whatever silverware Marengo still had lying around The Pipes might not be there much longer.

  Now Colonel Block was whispering with a fawning Relway. Both kept glancing my way. He nodded several times, started toward the stair himself.

  Marengo arrived first. He asked, "Are you ready to start?" Oddly, Tama seemed more interested in my answer than he did.

  I was, though I hadn't achieved the perfect and optimal mix I'd hoped for. But the crowd was better than the one I'd expected. The front door had been locked. Sarge and Puddle stood between it and the room, looking like some pudgy guardian temple trolls. Them dressed up formal was a vision to behold. Out of a bad dream. Unfortunately, I'd never get joy out of having seen them looking pretty. I was outfitted in Ty Weider's second best get-up. I looked like some limp-wristed, lilac-scented lordlet bent on embarrassing his family publicly. "Yes."

  Singe moved around the edge of the room. Marengo glanced down at her frequently, unhappily. Playmate, Saucerhead, and Winger were never far from the ratgirl. Winger cleaned up astonishly well. Marengo's gaze brushed her a time or three. I wouldn't interfere if they decided they were made for each other. They deserved one another. And I had a parrot that would make a wonderful engagement present.

  A glance showed me that the future nuptial knickknack was still paying attention.

  Singe drifted off to check Mr. Gresser's crew and Neersa Bintor's kitchen gang.

  Block puffed his way to the head of the stair. He clung to the rail, sucked in a bunch of air, gasped out, "You've got to stall, Garrett."

  "But—"

  "Got a good reason?" Max demanded from behind me, as I made a small gesture that brought a colorful lightning bolt down to strike my shoulder. I guess Alyx had gotten all the way there with the message. Her old man sounded darkly suspicious. Which is probably the healthiest attitude if you're dealing with minions of the Crown.

  "I think so," Block said. "Though you're free to disagree, of course."

  "What?" I asked. I knew it would be ugly. The Goddamn Parrot cocked his head, the better to hear.

  "An acquaintance took the liberty of inviting himself down." Slight weight on the last word. I understood perfectly but Max didn't catch it. Block's way-so-mysterious chum from the Hill had decided to stick his nose in. That was wonderful. That was more than I'd hoped for. That made my evening nearly faultless. That was one snake I hadn't really expected to lure in out of the weeds. Now if just one more old shit-disturber, lately of the Cantard republic, couldn't control his curiosity and chose to become a surprise guest, I would've contrived a flawless machination.

  Block continued, "He can't make it for a while yet. And I'll tell you, you'll feel more comfortable once he is here." He winked, a very unBlocklike action. "I think." Meaning Block was going to feel more comfortable. His mystery guest must have been riding him hard.

  Max clucked his tongue, irked. Max's opinions of folk from the Hill were blacker than mine.

  Marengo didn't seem to be disappointed. In fact, he seemed more relaxed. Then I realized he wasn't listening to us, just to the crowd on the floor below.

  I asked, "Is your buddy's identity a secret?"

  "He's the Stormwarden Perilous Spite."

  Never heard of him, I didn't say because Max got in the first word. "Why?" He seemed distinctly unfriendly now. Could this be somebody he knew and disliked? Did everybody know Spite but me? I'm supposed to know things. It's what I do. Know where to make connections. But I couldn't connect this glorified witch doctor to anything.

  "Because the Stormwarden is extremely knowledgeable in matters having to do with
ranger, commando, special forces, and covert operations inside the Cantard. He was involved. He has unfinished business. He's been following this since he heard about the dragon tattoos."

  How did he hear? I wondered. Would Colonel Westman Block be saddled with standing orders to report certain discoveries to certain interested parties? Might such reports be a condition of his appointment? Why, Garrett, how could you be so cynical? You developing a case of creeping realism?

  Block surged onward, ingenuously "I don't know why, Garrett, but that got his attention in a big way. He's been nagging me like the proverbial fishwife. And seems to know more about what's going on than Deal does... " Block decided he was talking too much, which is a liability in his trade. He finished, "Him joining us was his idea."

  "But he keeps Hill time, of course," I grumbled. Meaning I figured the Stormwarden couldn't be bothered catering to the schedules of us lesser creatures. But that was all right. I wanted this devil out in the open where I could see him. "Tell me, old buddy, how did this guy hear about my party in the first place?"

  Block shrugged. "I don't know. Not from me. I told you. He's well informed."

  "Hmm." I glanced at Marengo, there with his old pal Max Weider, being mousy quiet. The very man who was grumbling and muttering about the caprice of sorcerers the other day. "I see."

  North English lacked the grace to be embarrassed.

  "I see," Max said, too. "So we'll wait, Garrett. Use the delay to build the pressure till these fools blow smoke out their ears. Then let the Stormwarden land in their midst like a cat in a mouse nest."

  I said, "You're the boss." A little time sweating might indeed make somebody a tad more amenable. "Excuse me." Block had retreated halfway down the stair, then had stopped, looking my way. He had something on his mind.

  I went to find out. The colonel whispered, "Relway says to tell you you have to come visit the Lamp brewery."

  "He find something interesting?"

  "Apparently so. He wouldn't explain. He did say that he didn't understand it but that you might and you probably ought to see it before you go ahead with what you're doing here."

  Now? "Maybe he didn't notice but here is just a wee bit busy. And every time he wants me to see something that turns out to be dead bodies. I've seen enough dead people... Oh, shit!" Medford Shale and his Heaven's Gate cronies had been admiring the settling tank like it might be the doorway to paradise. I'd been keeping an eye on them in case they decided to try tapping it, the results of which were sure to amaze and distress almost everyone. "Bird, go down there and get those drunks headed in another direction. Go on. Shoo."

  The arrival of the talking bird had the desired effect. The old folks retreated toward the kegs already tapped. But their bickering orbit around the settling tank brought them face-to-face with the arriving prisoners.

  Storey went berserk. He flailed away at one of the shapeshifters with his walking stick. I murmured, "Apparently it can be the same Carter Stockwell who was involved in the Myzhod campaigns."

  "What?"

  "Long story. Those old men were soldiers a long time ago. Some shapeshifter mercenaries sold them out to the Venageti. It was a big disaster for our side. Looks like these could be the same shapeshifters. Storey—that's the guy being so stylish with the walking stick—mentioned the one he's whipping by name."

  "I do believe I'm beginning to get an idea of why the stormwarden is interested."

  Me, too, if Perilous Spite was what I suspected. "Let's go calm them down."

  "Let's have a whisper with Deal."

  100

  Storey settled down only after, for a moment, it looked like Trail had suffered a stroke. Several shifters bled liberally. The silver fetters took the strength right out of them. Trace whimpered like a whipped puppy. The voice of the guy who'd been in the stable and on the stair to Tom's room said, "We should've killed the sonofabitch when we had the chance." I couldn't tell if he meant me or Storey.

  The boys from Brotherhood Of The Wolf were chained to the next pillar over. Several seemed stricken. They saw faces they recognized. Faces that belonged to people who weren't even human. People who had been manipulating them... A glance at Gerris Genord told me he'd figured that out already. Maybe while he was in the Al-Khar, maybe even the night he killed Lancelyn Mac. Maybe he knew the key answer, too.

  Who.

  I had an idea, name of Mooncalled. Only I couldn't make him fit. Going strictly by the available evidence, Marengo North English seemed more likely.

  There was no coolness toward Genord on the part of the other Wolves. Block and Relway hadn't sold them a thing. They trusted their buddy. Kind of touching, that. These days trust is moribund and fading fast.

  It did mean I had guessed wrong about Genord not being the commando type. It takes going through hell with a man to develop that kind of trust. I asked Genord, "You want to put somebody on the spot?"

  He looked through me. He wasn't going to tell me jack. If there was any settlement due, his pals would handle it. We couldn't hold them forever.

  That attitude came out of the going through hell together, too. I remember that attitude. I miss it. But all the guys I shared it with are gone. I'm left with just the pale ghost of it in my friendships with Morley and a few others.

  An uproar loud enough for all the guests to hear erupted out in the kitchen. Neersa Bintor bellowed like an angry she-elephant. Before I finished making sure everybody didn't rush that way and thereby leave the rest of the mansion unwatched the big woman stormed into the great hall. She had a body over her shoulder, a shifter caught in mid-change, flopping like a crippled snake. In her offhand she carried a kitchen maul that looked like it could be used to drive the stakes that hold up circus tents. She searched the gawking crowd, spotted me, flung the shifter from thirty feet away. It left some skin on the uncarpeted floor.

  "I an' I, I be tryin' to manage de kitchen, you Garrett, you. You be gettin' me better help dan dat t'ief, you. You be keepin' you rat out a dere, too, you." Behind her Pular Singe managed to look sheepish and proud at the same time. She'd winkled out the interloper.

  It occurred to me that we'd neglected our obligation to inform Neersa Bintor of our full plans. Not an oversight the goddess of the cast iron would easily forgive. In the heirarchy of the Weider mansion Neersa Bintor ranked right behind Max and, just possibly, Manvil Gilbey.

  I apologized profusely in front of the mob. A certain gaudily constumed woodpecker had a grand laugh at my expense. "Lend me your cane there, Storey." I whacked the side of the settling tank three or four times. The bird said "Gleep!" and flew back to his perch on the chandelier.

  "You listen, you bird-boy, you. I an' I got no room in my kitchen for vermin, be dey talk or no. You unnerstan', you? I will catch my own t'iefs, I an' I." The shifter at my feet stirred. Neersa Bintor raised a prodigious sensible shoe, brought it down hard, then exorcised her venom through a hearty application of her maul. She kept her foot in place while a couple of Guards got the changer fitted with chains.

  I whispered to Singe, as though she hadn't understood what had been said, "Maybe you'd better stay out of the kitchen."

  She whispered back, "You tink so, you?"

  Singe the wonder child. She was being sarcastic. "Yeah. Scoot." When I turned back to the crowd I saw the Bintor phenomenon withdrawing.

  I told the Guards, "You guys better get this thing shackled to its friends before it remembers what kingdom it's in." I suspected the passivity shown by the changers was partly due to their psychic connection, which must be charged with a communal sense of despair. Block, near Relway, beckoned impatiently.

  101

  Relway is predictable some ways. For example, you can count on him to bring out the melodrama in any situation. He did that at the Lamp brewery, where he had guys with torches creeping around the interior ruins generating wonderfully creepy, dancing, slithering shadows. "It's in worse shape than I thought it would be," I told the little guy. The brick exterior remained sound but
the inside walls and floors were falling down and caving in.

  "Smells odd, too," Morley said. He drifted over and through rubble and ruin without attracting a speck of dust.

  Relway grumbled, "The smell comes from what we're here to see." He wasn't pleased with his pal Garrett. Garrett had let Morley Dotes and Pular Singe tag along. Deal Relway wasn't dim. He knew Morley would try to memorize some identifying detail about him and that Singe, without even realizing it, would accumulate a battery of olfactory clues. I hoped he didn't feel threatened enough to consider some unpleasant form of rectification later.

  "Through here." Relway ducked under a sagging floor joist. I had to duckwalk in order to follow him. The dust showed that there had been a lot of traffic before us. "What a glamorous life they lead."

  Relway grunted. Block made a small speech about evil always seeming glamorous from a distance but being squalid and ugly when you saw it up close. It was hard to argue with that. I saw proof every day.

  On the other hand, the wicked do prosper while the upright perform hopelessly in the theater of their own despair.

  "Kind of like my shoulder ornament, you mean?"

  The Goddamn Parrot, who hadn't wanted to miss this adventure, made a sneering noise—really! And Morley announced, "I resent that. That avian gem was a gift from me."

  "For which you'll never be forgiven. Yech!" The smell was getting stronger fast. Though repellent it had a familiar edge, a malty—

  "Here," Relway said, indicating a couple of old copper fermenting kettles that should've been stolen for their scrap value ages ago. "Take a torch and climb up there." He indicated a crude platform fashioned from old crates. "You too, Wes."

  I borrowed a torch from a Guard. Colonel Block snagged another. We accomplished the climb with a minimum of injuries, though the wonder buzzard also lost some tailfeathers to a waving torch.