Angry Lead Skies

by Glen Cook

I finished feeding. The medication in the tea had begun its work. The world seemed a less dark and cruel place already. “Singe, let’s go see old Chuckles.” Got to keep that premature optimism under control. And he was just the boy to rein it in.

  “Hey, Old Bones. What’s on the table today? Bic Gonlit. How you doing this morning, man? Dean get you something to eat?”

  Whatever Dean put into the tea, maybe he used a little too much.

  I got no response from the Dead Man. Gonlit did respond with a big scowl. “I want my boots, Garrett.”

  “I’m sure you do. They say you’ve got your whole personality tied up in those things. So why do you want to get them all filthy, romping around in the alley behind my house?”

  Bic rolled his eyes. “Not again!”

  I have exhausted that line of inquiry, Garrett. Mr. Gonlit sincerely believes that he has never been in that alley. There is no shaking his conviction on that count. Therefore, I am inclined to believe him. However, he cannot account for his whereabouts at the time of the alley event. He is more troubled about that than we are.

  I wasn’t troubled at all. “Maybe it was him being used by one of the silver guys the way you use the Goddamn Parrot.”

  That possibility occurred to me. There is no residue in Mr. Gonlit’s mind of the sort I would expect to find if he had been manipulated. What is there consists of hints that he may have been asleep. Inasmuch as he does not recall sleeping, we might reasonably suspect that the sleep was induced. Perhaps by the same means as were used on you yesterday.

  “All right. And?”

  The boy, Cyprus Prose, brought Mr. Gonlit’s name into play first.

  I’d just been thinking that. Had Kip set us up somehow? Could the Dead Man have missed that while the kid was here?

  No.

  “Bic, did anybody hire you to hunt down a couple elves name of —”

  “Lastyr and Noodiss. I’m tired of that one, too. Give me my damned boots.”

  He believes he never heard those names before he came in here last night.

  I growled. The excitement and optimism were beginning to fade. “Then how come he was following me and you were following him with the Goddamn Parrot?”

  Are you genuinely certain you want Mr. Gonlit to hear more about my abilities than you have given away already?

  “All right. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Not a first, I might note.

  “You might. You might also answer me.”

  He was following Miss Pular, Garrett. Mr. Big was following you. Insofar as I have been able to determine, their appearance of being together was caused by the proximities of yourself and Miss Pular.

  “There’ve been too damned many coincidences already, Old Bones. You know I believe in them but I don’t like them. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that good buddy Bic just happened to stumble over Singe as she and Saucerhead were coming to help me out. And being the ingenious fellow that he is, Bic just latched right on. Seizing the day, as it were.”

  That is quite close to the truth. As Mr. Gonlit knows it. Except for the fact that he was hunting Miss Pular long before we became involved in events. He had traced her to the area where we had her hidden. My call for assistance, unfortunately, brought her out just in time to be spotted.

  I generated harrumphing old man noises. I didn’t like the way things were going.

  You never do. But you have a knack for blundering around, knocking things over, until everything works out.

  I harrumphed some more. Practicing. I have plans for an extremely extended old age.

  I was profoundly embarrassed by the fact that it took me so long to discover Mr. Gonlit’s presence on your backtrail.

  “Oh-oh.” The Dead Man seldom admits lacks, flaws, or shortcomings. He is, after all, the most perfect of that perfect race, the Loghyr. Just ask him.

  When he messes up it’s always someone else’s fault.

  Behold! Then I began to understand. The description I had was entirely inadequate.

  “So you didn’t figure it was unusual for a guy to be turning up everywhere Singe and I did?” It really is pointless to indicate the holes in his excuse-making. At best he just ignores you.

  I should like to engage in a much deeper look into your encounter with the false Bic Gonlit of the alleyway. It is entirely possible that you may have noticed something we passed over as trivial when we were confident that we knew who your conqueror was.

  The real Bic Gonlit had grown very restless. “Let me give the man his soles back so he can go on his way.” Charged up with uncertain ideas about his place in the grander scheme, his head a nest of confused, false memories.

  Turn the bird loose once Mr. Gonlit is a block down the street.

  “Of course. There’s always hope he’ll run into a parrot-eating eagle. Bic, here’re your boots. Get going. Stay away from me and stay away from Pular Singe. I guarantee you, Reliance’s reward isn’t worth it. Belinda Contague used to be my girlfriend.”

  Bic went pale. He’d heard that rumor. I was still alive. So maybe I could conjure the helpmate of death.

  Foolish, Garrett.

  He was right. That was a stupid threat. If word got back to Belinda I could end up on crutches. If she happened to be in a generous mood.

  I waved bye-bye from the stoop. Then I flung our lowlife, low-profile spy into the air. Then I rejoined Singe and the Dead Man.

  21

  Returning to life after having the Dead Man dig around in the muck in the cellars of my mind was less painful than getting whomped unconscious by a silver elf’s spell but it did leave me feeling just as lousy emotionally. It left me wanting nothing more than to go back to bed, where I could curl up in a ball and suck my thumb.

  That kind of invasion doesn’t happen often. And never happens without my permission. But each time it does I swear I’ll never let it happen again, no matter how desperate the crisis. But when the time comes I always go ahead, trusting him and knowing I’ll get through it. And maybe it’s even good for me in the long run. That dark, unhappy memories always seem to settle a little deeper and a little more comfortably, like a bucket full of gravel when you shake and beat it.

  I took some cleansing breaths. Some of that martial arts stuff of Morley’s really does work if you let yourself believe in it. I found a place removed from my center by just a few miles. “Did we learn anything that makes it worth all my misery?”

  I believe we did. Though it is indeed a small thing at first glimpse.

  He didn’t go on. He wanted me to ask him to show off his brilliance. I wasn’t feeling patient enough to get involved in the usual games. “And that was?”

  The Bic Gonlit in our alleyway was not wearing the signature boots. You had mentioned missing seeing them earlier but at that time I overlooked the chance that you had not s een them because they were not there. At that time there was no reason to look beyond the obvious. Also, the Gonlit you met out back was several inches taller than this specimen, even without the leather lifts.

  “So where does that leave us?”

  Essentially still lost but now forearmed with the knowledge that the opposition might appear to us in the guise of someone we know. But not in the form of a perfect replica.

  Grumble. “Don’t tell me it’s shapeshifters again.”

  I promise. There are no shapeshifters here. There does seem to be some remarkable illusory sorcery, however.

  “You said there wasn’t any sorcery in the alley.”

  I did. I do not believe there was. It is a conundrum, is it not?

  “Great. So good old Bic is innocent of everything more sinister than trying to score the bounty on Singe. Stipulating that, I want to know how come Kip knew the name and thought Gonlit was after his strange friends. And I’d like to know how that elf got to know Bic well enough to masquerade as him without Bic knowing there was anything going on.”

  All excellent questions, Garrett. You are learning to think. Unfortunately, Mr. Gonlit does not have
any of the answers. We will have to flush those out somewhere else. Inasmuch as we have no hope of uncovering a direct trail to the boy I suspect a visit to the mother has some chance of being productive.

  “You think she might know...? I see. Anything she can give us could be a thread to pull or a pointer to a path that might lead to somebody who does have an idea where to look for the boy.”

  Indeed. Which is why I suggest the mother. She may even have an idea where to find the mysterious Noodiss and his associate.

  A possibility that, no doubt, must’ve occurred to the people already in that hunt.

  “I get the feeling these others are real amateurs.” How much less gentle would have been the hunt had the Outfit been seeking the missing elves?

  True. Miss Pular should remain here. It is a certainty that Reliance has people watching the house.

  “Relway, too, probably.”

  Just so.

  “Then maybe I shouldn’t go out there, either.” A career in the home-based beer-tasting industry sounded good at the moment.

  You are too concerned about your reputation. I will ensure that any spies remain ignorant of your departure.

  Once again, a hint that he had greater abilities than those to which he admitted. Though this was a trick he had used before, several times. I’ve never been sure how it works. It might blind everyone in the neighborhood to my movements.

  Which would be handy if I had to raise some cash real fast.

  I had been considering a career change. Why not become an invisible pickpocket?

  The air seemed to crackle. Like the sharp whispering of river ice just starting to break up. My partner didn’t approve of my thoughts. Not even with those being entirely in jest.

  When this day was done I was going to get away from all these people. Maybe I’d get me off to one of the taverns where old Marines gather to slough off the dust of lesser mortals. Or possibly somewhere where I might glimpse a shapely ankle.

  Garrett, there will be no diversions, neither of the heart nor of the mind nor of the flesh, if you do not get out and try to find some threads that I can unravel while you are reviving your reputation as a rogue, a rake, and a wastrel.

  He did have a point.

  22

  I went to Playmate’s stable first. He’d have to show me where to find Kip’s family.

  “I don’t know if that’ll do any good,” Playmate said when I explained what I wanted. “I guarantee you his mother doesn’t know anything useful. If she did she’d already have been out there wherever yanking those elves’ ears till they talked.”

  “Thought they didn’t have ears.”

  “Maybe they ran into Kayne Prose already.”

  “Hardcase, eh?”

  “A very determined mom. You don’t mess with her kids. Otherwise, she’s just a hardworking widow looking for enough work to get by.”

  There’re a lot of those in TunFaire, though in the final few, most desperate years of the war the Crown tried taking younger conscripts so there wouldn’t be as many widows created.

  “Uh...” I said. “I must be confused. You didn’t say anything about her being a widow yesterday.”

  Playmate looked at me like he wondered if I was really that dumb. Widow is a euphemism as old as mothers without husbands. “She wouldn’t brag about having three out-of-wedlock children by three different fathers, one of them maybe off the Hill. Though two of the fathers really are dead. And the maybe wizard probably is. He hasn’t been seen since the supply boat he was aboard left the TunFaire waterfront. When Kip was still a bun in the oven. The Leitmark never made it to Full Harbor.”

  “Pirates?”

  Playmate shrugged. “At this date it doesn’t matter. Kayne has bad luck with men. They die on her. Or they go away. But she’s an unswerving optimist. She keeps on trying. After Kip came along I finally managed to convince her she should invest in avoiding any more pregnancies. She owed that to the kids she already had.”

  “You sound like you might have a little emotion invested in the Prose family yourself.”

  “I like the kids. They turned out pretty good, considering. And Kayne is a good woman who doesn’t really deserve everything she’s suffered. But she does bring it on herself.”

  “Self-destructive, eh?” I might know a little about that myself.

  “Definitely. But mainly in the area of men. She keeps rejecting everybody who might be good for her and welcoming the villains who’re sure to treat her badly.”

  There might’ve been a slight hint of disappointment there. If so, it was so faint that I didn’t think it was worth pursuing.

  Time would tell me about Playmate and Kayne Prose. I was about to see how they acted around each other.

  23

  Leaving Playmate’s stable, we walked about a mile toward the river, skirting Prune Tastity, to reach the southwestern-most fringe of the garment district. Which actually takes up less land area than Prune Tastity. It was on the fringe that we found Kip’s mom.

  Kayne Prose was doing seamstress work in a small coop operated round the clock by teams of women whose situations were all much the same. They were all dirt-poor, with children, without husbands, without other salable skills, and most with too many miles on them to compete as prostitutes or taxi dancers. I found the atmosphere inside that place oppressive. The walls had become impregnated with despair.

  But every woman there had an air of grim determination. They were survivors, those women, doing what they had to do. Same as me, back when it was crocodiles on the one hand, Venageti rangers on the other, and poisonous bugs, snakes, spiders, and bats everywhere else. Neither we, then, nor these women, now, would let the despair work its seduction. These ladies would battle on until doom sounded its final bell.

  Give them the supreme compliment. They would’ve made good Marines.

  There were eight women sewing when we arrived. I picked Kayne Prose out immediately. There was a lot of her in Kip. Only...

  “Damn, Play. She’s a looker. You sure...? That woman’s got three kids, one of them nineteen years old?” No doubt the weak light did her a favor but she didn’t look much older than me. If that old. She could have competed in the flesh markets. And would’ve done pretty well, I’d guess.

  Maybe it was the long blond hair that shone like that of a girl half her age. Maybe it was her skin, which seemed far too smooth for a woman of mature years. Maybe it was her face, which the hardships of poverty hadn’t etched nearly as deeply as I would’ve expected. Maybe it was some sort of inner fire. There are those one-in-a-thousand people who just never seem to get old.

  I guess I stood there stunned, maybe dribbling from the corner of my mouth, for a while, because I heard this whisper: “That’s exactly how everyone reacts when they meet her for the first time.”

  Everyone male, I figured.

  Kayne Prose’s sparkling baby blues met mine. The twinkle there told me she could read my mind as surely as the Dead Man could. A tiny smile told me she didn’t mind my sort of thinking, either.

  Oh, the gods had been generous when they’d shaped Kayne Prose. And some real artists had gone in on the architecture. Nor had childbearing been unkind. There would be plenty of women ten, even fifteen years younger who’d just plain hate Kayne Prose for existing.

  Seven of that sort were planted right there in that room.

  “Hello, Play,” she said. And, oh my, her voice was as deep and husky and sensual as Katie’s. It turned my spine to water. And I was there on business. Feeling guilty because I’d let her son get spirited away. And she was fully aware of the effect she was having. It was an effect she’d been having on men for twenty-five years, probably.

  I was willing to bet there was elven blood in her, no further than a grandparent away.

  She said, “I can’t get up. I fell behind yesterday. Who’s your friend?” She looked me over like she was checking out vegetables at the market, yet from her it was flattering rather than offensive.

  And the s
ame from me right back.

  She definitely liked being looked at. Which was probably a symptom of her problem.

  Playmate’s expression soured. Proof that there was substance to my earlier suspicion. I tried to rein in my boyish charm.

  Playmate said, “Kayne, this’s Garrett. The man who was going to help Kip. Now he’s going to help us find Kip.”

  For a moment Kayne Prose turned entirely into a worried mother. She turned up a look I remembered from childhood. Which left me nose to nose with the scary speculation that my mother might have been capable of that other, nonmotherly behavior, too.

  No. Never. She was Mom.

  “Whatever I can do to contribute, I will, Mr. Garrett,” she said. All business now, I’m afraid. Well, almost all business. Kayne Prose was incapable of stifling her sensual side.

  Man.

  I said, “I’m here because I don’t know where else to start. Can you talk while you work?” The place wasn’t a sweatshop, it was a co-op, but none of the women were pleased to have Playmate and me upsetting their routine. Though a couple of them eyed Playmate like they were measuring him for a wedding suit.

  It being a co-op there wouldn’t be killer piecework quotas but, still, for the women to make much income they’d have to put in fourteen-hour days. They’d have some formula for a fair division of the co-op’s income.

  “Talk away. But there ain’t much I can tell you. If I knew anything I probably wouldn’t’ve lost my kid. Those two goofballs don’t mean anything to me.”

  “Noodiss and Lastyr?”

  “We know any other goofballs in this mess?”

  “The four who weren’t those two, that took your son. And the three who tried and failed earlier.” I didn’t think the two crews were the same. But I hadn’t seen Playmate’s female elves. Then, inspired, I said, “Tell me about Bic Gonlit.” If Kip knew the guy, then so might she.

  Pay dirt.

  Her needle slowed for a moment, possibly snagging somehow. She studied her last stitch for half a second. Then she glanced up at Playmate. Her stitching fell back into rhythm. “What do you want to know?”