by Glen Cook
Right. Sure he did. But why argue? Let him have his little fantasies. I headed up the hall..." Whoa!" There was Saucerhead. Inside. "What the hell?"
He looked a little croggled himself. "It just opened up when I knocked." He stared at the door like it would maybe sprout fangs.
Couldn't be. I'd locked it myself. That's a prime rule. There are people on those mean streets dumb enough to drop in. Dumb enough not to worry about the Dead Man. I just sent one packing.
I puzzled it for half a minute before I caught a glimmer of a possibility. "Three geniuses!" Saucerhead scowled, baffled I popped my head into the small front room.
My guest had vanished "Dean!" I'd forgotten her in the excitement of my run and those cozy moments with Winger
"Mr. Garrett?"
"Something's missing." I indicated the small front room. "And Saucerhead found the door open."
Dean looked properly amazed. He went into the room and sniffed around, making sure everything was there. Like it was his own stuff. "The blanket is gone."
She would've taken something. You have to work to attract attention on a TunFaire street, but naked will do it every time
Saucerhead asked, "What's going on?"
"You know as much as I do. Dean, get Mr. Tharpe a beer. I'm going to talk to the Dead Man."
Dean herded Saucerhead toward the kitchen. I dropped in on my permanent guest, who—I sensed before I said a word—had fallen into a surly mood. His natural state. "What's eating you all of a sudden?"
You failed to mention this visitor who has vanished.
"Why should I?" He knew all the comings and goings. He was so disturbed he didn't prance around it. I was unaware of her presence. This is unprecedented. I had not thought it possible. He went off somewhere inside himself, looking for explanations for the impossible.
He was disturbed? I was beside myself. On both sides. All three of me were one breath short of a panic. Somebody could come and go around here without us having any warning?
"This doesn't sound good, Mr. Garrett," Dean said from behind me.
"Not only a genius but a master of understatement." I considered. "She can't have much of a head start. She'll stand out in the crowd. I better catch her."
"Catch who?" Saucerhead asked. So I explained. "Naked women just falling through your door." He sneered. "How do you do it? That don't never happen to me."
"You don't live right. We don't have time to hang around yakking."
"We? You got a pixie in your pocket?"
"You'd be impressed. That is, if you ever saw her. Imagine Tinnie but with a little more in the lung department."
"I wasn't up to much else anyway. Let's go."
But that little weasel of a god who watches out for Garrett's affairs didn't figure I ought to go chasing redheads. No sense of proportion at all.
9
Maybe he was just trying to save my legs. He did deliver another one to my door.
Dean was there already. He'd been fixing to let us out when the knock came. Now he was wringing his hands. I asked, "What have we got?"
"Another woman."
I opened up and looked her over. That took a while. You're going to do a job, do it right. There was plenty there to appreciate, though in a small package. I was surprised the whole neighborhood wasn't howling. Hot stuff. All the right goodies packed together in all the best ways. Big green eyes. Big, big green eyes. Lips a dangerous red and puffy, the kind that yell, "Come and get it, I can take it, what are you waiting for?" Breasts like man oh man how did she get that on and how does she keep them in there?
But.
She was a little thing, maybe five feet two on her tiptoes. And she was another redhead. She had lots of wild red hair the way Tinnie had wild red hair. The way my naked visitor had had wild red hair. In fact, she was a ringer for that gal but definitely not the same woman. I wondered if she was a sister. Or was that little weasel in the sky just poking me in the eye by piling on the redheads?
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just led her into that pretentious closet I call an office. Dean brought a pitcher without being asked. He looked numb. The way I was going to be numb if I kept getting pitchers delivered.
Another redhead. I hoped some light was going to get shed here. Real soon.
All of a sudden I was convinced that guy with the mustache had thought he was hitting this woman, or the naked one, when he'd stabbed Tinnie. 1 settled, drank a mug, studied her. She looked back boldly, still without having spoken. She didn't go for come-hither but, damn, it was built in, part of the package. She was the kind of woman who'd sit there and smolder while darning her grandfather's socks. The kind that makes me want to run out back and yell at the sky in sheer joy that I share the same world.
I squeaked. "I'm Garrett. I guess you want to see me." Sometimes I'm so cool I amaze even me.
"Yes."
Yes what? I took a drink so I wouldn't pant all over her. I believe in long courtships. Fifteen minutes at least. I swallowed and croaked, "So?"
"I need someone to help me. Someone like you."
I grinned from ear to ear. Could I help her? You betcha... I'd give it my best shot... . Hey! Garrett! Let's calm down a little. Let's get the chemistry under control. Anyway, I'd already begun to suspect that this wasn't a match made in heaven. She was smoldering, but that wasn't my fault. That, was just her being her. Whoever she was. "Well?"
"I need someone to find something for me."
"That's what I do. Find things. But sometimes people are sorry when I do."
She just sat there heating the place up while I started to sweat. I turned sideways and studied Eleanor out of the corner of my eye. A tall, cool, slim, ethereal blonde, Eleanor has what it takes to bring me back to earth. I talk to Eleanor when no one else will listen. She's my rock in turbulent seas. I wondered what the real Eleanor would think if she knew how I used her portrait. I didn't think she'd mind.
The redhead asked, "Is that someone special?"
"Yes. Her name was Eleanor Stantnor. She was the wife of a client. I never really met her. He murdered her twenty years before he hired me. All he got for his trouble was found out for his old crime. I took the painting for my fee. Yeah. She's special. And if she was around, she'd be as old as my mother. But I'd probably fall in love with her anyway." I faced the redhead. "Let's get down to it."
"Have I come at a bad time?"
"You've come at the perfect rime. You're almost a ringer for a friend of mine somebody tried to kill out front yesterday. I have a feeling you could maybe shed some light on why."
She started to say something. What I'd said sank in. Her mouth made an 0. Her eyes got even bigger. She started to get up, sank back, shook fetchingly.
"My friend's name is Tinnie Tate. She never hurt anybody. She's got hair like yours and she's about your height. A little less rounded, here and there, near as I can tell from here, but not enough so anyone could make a case of it. She was coming to see me when some scumbag stuck a knife in her. For no damned reason I could figure till I got a look at you."
"Oh, my," she breathed. "I've got to get out of here. He knows. I've got to go."
"You aren't going anywhere, sweetheart. Not till I know what the hell is going on."
She just sat there oh-mying and heating up the room. I thought about having Dean throw cold water on her, but that would just steam the place up and cause the wallpaper to peel. I said, "Tinnie getting hurt makes me mad. Some other guys, too. Some bad people. Rich people. Her people. They want blood. You look like a gal who knows how to take care of herself. Maybe you wouldn't want to get caught in the middle of all those angry people."
Her pretty little face turned puzzled.
Was I trying to scare her? You bet I was.
She just said, "Oh," like it wasn't very important.
"I figure the guy who stuck Tinnie thought he was getting you." Sure, I was fishing. You don't throw out a hook, you never get a nibble. "That's the only way it makes any sense. He misto
ok her for somebody else. So let's you and me get to the point." I got up and walked around the desk.
"I made a mistake coming here." She started to get up.
I sat her down. "You made your mistake when you told somebody somewhere that you were thinking about coming here. That worried somebody. He tried to off my lady. Spill. I'm not in a good mood anymore."
Actually, I was being gentle. I had the Dead Man across the hall. All I needed to do was keep her mind frothing so he could get at anything interesting in there.
She tried to get up again. I sat her down with more force. She looked more irritated than scared. That didn't fit.
"The story, lady. Maybe starting with your name."
She looked down at her hands. Man, those were fine hands.
"My name is Carla Lindo Ramada. I'm a chambermaid in the home hold of Lord Baron Cleon Stonecipher."
"Never heard of him." But if all his help looked like this, I'd consider relocating. "Out of town, I take it. What about this baron?"
"He's kind of at the edge of the story. He's about two hundred years old and just lies in bed waiting to die. Only he has a curse on him. He can't. He just keeps getting older. But that's not important. The witch is. The one that put the curse on him. They call her the Serpent. She lives in the castle, too, only nobody ever sees her. Nobody knows what she looks like except her own men. All anybody really knows is she won't take the curse off the baron until he makes her his heir."
"Huh?"
"She wants the castle. It sits way up in the Hamadan Mountains, near the border between Karenta and Therpra.
Both kingdoms claim it, but neither has any real control.
The Serpent wants the castle because it's invulnerable.'
I wondered if Miss Ramada could be half as slow as she sounded. I glanced at Eleanor. She didn't give me a clue. Hell. If she wasn't a genius, so what? She'd never had to use her head. In this world women who look like that never have to work for anything. The only lesson they need to learn is how to pick the times to wag their tails.
"To the point. What're you doing here? I want to know why Tinnie got stabbed. We'll get into background if it seems important."
She showed that flicker of irritation again. "The Serpent was making a book. They called it a book of dreams or a book of shadows. The Baron thought she was putting most of her powers into it. He thought if he could grab it, he would run her out of the castle. He told his men to steal it. They waited till her guard was down. They grabbed the book. There was a fight. Most of the Baron's men were killed. So were a lot of the Serpent's guards. A man named Holme Blaine escaped with the book, but he didn't take it to the Baron. He brought it to TunFaire. The Baron sent me to get it back because I was the only one he trusted. When I asked around for someone who might help me your name kept coming up. I decided to see you. Here I am. But I think I made a mistake."
I had a strong feeling she wasn't telling me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But the Dead Man could straighten out the little details. "See me why?"
"I want you to find the book of dreams."
Sure. I looked at Eleanor. She gave me a blank stare in return. Not much help there, honey. I checked the redhead again. Damn, she was a sizzler. "So who tried to kill my friend? And why?"
"The Serpent's men, probably. I know they're here. I've seen them. Did you see them?"
I described them carefully.
"The man with the mustache sounds like Elmore Flounce. Even his friends won't mourn him. The ratman might be Keem Lost Knife. Nastier than Flounce. The ogre could be Zacher Hoe, a hunter and tracker. But the Serpent has other ogres. The dwarves... I don't know. She had dozens around."
"Hunh. Somewhere to start." I hoped the Dead Man was taking her apart inside
The redhead started wringing her hands. That isn't something you see much, especiafly in younger people. The only wringer I know is Dean. It seemed studied. "Will you help me find Holme Blaine, Mr. Garrett? Will you help me recover the book of dreams? I'm desperate."
All alone and desperate, battered by powerful forces. A sure way to sew Garrett up. Only I didn't feel her desperation. I was becoming disenchanted so fast I almost had to work to pant. String her along, Garrett. What's to lose? "I have problems of my own. But if I come across your book, I'll snap it up."
She gave me a look that melted my spine despite my restored cynicism. It made me want to grab up Dean and the Dead Man and toss them into the street. She took out a doeskin sack, removed five silver coins. "I have to keep a little to live on while you find the book. I'm sorry I can't give you more. It's all we could scrape together. The Serpent grabs all the silver she can find."
Silver had gotten scarce since Glory Mooncalled took over the mines in the Cantard. I opened my mouth to tell her she didn't need to beggar herself. The sucker side of me was wide-awake.
Face it
The Dead Man seldom sends a thought beyond the confines ot his own quarters. If he does, I don't argue. His reasons generally stand up. But having him jump in ruined my concentration. There were a hundred questions I should have asked the woman, but instead I said, "I'fl have a friend of mine see you safely to wherever you're staying" Saucerhead was hanging around somewhere.
She stood "That's not necessary."
"I think it is. There's been a knife used once already. Probably meant for you. By now I expect the people who did it know they missed. Understand?"
"I suppose." That irritation again. "Thank you. I'm new at this. I don't expect people to be that way."
Really?
She was good. Give her that. She really was good. I called out, "Dean, tell Mr. Tharpe to see the lady safely tucked away home. Ask him to scout the area, see if she's being watched."
Dean stepped into the doorway, nodding. As I'd suspected, he'd been out there eavesdropping. "Miss? If you will?" He could turn on the charm for a guest, that old boy.
I didn't think about the questions I should've asked till after I heard the door close. But what the hell? I could get the answers from the Dead Man.
10
Dean came back from the front door as I headed across the hail. "She was lying, Mr. Garrett."
"She wasn't telling the whole truth, that's for sure."
"Not telling a word of it if you ask me."
"It shouldn't matter. Let's find out what old Smiley plucked out of the air between her ears
Dean shivered. I can't figure it, After all this time he ought to be used to the Dead Man.
I added the Ramada woman's money to the pile under the Dead Man's chair. I settled into my own, glanced around. Dean had been slacking again. He gets the creeps in there, so he lets cleanup slide till I jump on him or do it myself. The bugs were ready to take over. "What did you think of my visitor?"
Will you never outgrow that adolescent sense of humor?
Crumbs. Now he was getting on me for what I was thinking "I hope not, Chuckles." There. Damned for it, I might as well say it. "Grownups are so stodgy."
As Dean observed, she was lying
"So what's her real story?"
I dare not hazard a guess.
Oh-oh. This didn't sound good
I was unable to capture any but the most fleeting surface thoughts.
Oh, my. What the hell? "I thought you could read anybody " This was getting to be a bad habit. Was he getting near the end, slipping over the edge?
Only simple minds
Ouch! "And you complain about my sense of humor? What's it mean?"
That she is no chambermaid. She bears close observation—not that way—though we have no real business mixing in here. I got the distinct impression he wanted to mix.
Not in the manner you have in mind.
"What's wrong with mixing business with pleasure? She was..."
Yes. She was. And what else?
"Hey! She's a client now. A paying client."
And it is quite obvious why. Amaze me sometime, Garrett. Think with your brain instead of your gla
nds. Just once. Astonish your friends and confound your enemies.
I considered sulking. I considered mentioning the fact that I hadn't broken a sweat over Winger—though even that wouldn't have been a definitive truth. Winger's only distracting feature was her size. "Hell. You're just being sour grapes because you can't anymore."
Which was near enough the truth that he changed the subject. How do you propose finding the book she wants? With no more information than you cozened out of her? You are such a clever interrogator.
"How was I to know you'd gone feeble?"
You have to learn to carry yourself, Garrett. I cannot do it all for you. Rather than start a quarrel, I suggest you try to overtake Mr. Tharpe and engage him to watch the woman.
"How about the book she wants? It has to be the book we heard about before. What about it?"
Nothing about it. A book of shadows, a book of dreams, you tell me. Something mystical, presumably. But the concept is unfamiliar. Knowing what that book is might well illuminate everything else. She suggested a great many dwarves were associated with the woman she called the Serpent. That is unusual. Even unlikely, I would suspect. Perhaps you should visit the local enclave and see if anyone can elucidate. I believe the dwarf Gnorst, the son of Gnorst of Gnorst, is still canton praetor. Yes. By all means. Go see him. Invoke my name. He owes me a favor.
The old bag of bones was getting going. He was more interested than I was. But he s a sucker for a puzzle.
"Come on, Old Bones. Not even a dwarf gets stuck with a name like a hay-fever attack. Does he? And how can he owe you one? I've never seen any dwarves around here."
They are long-lived, Garrett. They have excellent memories and a delicate sense for the proprieties of balance.
That was supposed to put me in my place. Water off a duck, man. Us short-lifers don't have time to worry about gaffes.
Once you visit the dwarves, you might enlist Mr. Dotes. If Mr. Tharpe learns nothing useful, and the Squirrel person likewise, you might begin researching the woman's story, detail by detail. Heraldry and peerage experts should know this baron and his stronghold. Traders and travelers who visit the region might cast light on events there.