by Glen Cook
24
"Are we making any headway?" Morley asked as we climbed aboard the rented rig.
"Oh, yes. We've eliminated some legwork, like making the rounds of every Orthodox parish in Full Harbor. We've added a visit to the army office at the military city hall to see if they will help us locate Major Kayeth Kronk."
I did not look forward to that. They'd probably assume we were Venageti spies.
"What now?"
"We can try that. We can try the civil city hall, too, though I don't think we'd get much there. Or we could go back to the inn and I could lay around staring at the ceiling and wondering what a sensible young woman can do to get herself excommunicated."
"That doesn't sound productive. And butting heads with the army, even to get them to tell us to get out and leave them alone, is likely to be an all-day job."
"The civil city hall it is, then."
We were headed up the steps when a voice roared, "Hey! You two."
We stopped, turned. Near the rig stood a city employee, the type who carries weapons and is supposed to protect citizens from their neighbors' villainies, but who spends most of his time force-feeding his purse and sparing the reputations of the wealthy and powerful. "This yours?"
"Yes."
"You can't leave it here. We don't want no horse apples tracked all over the hall."
Despite his friendly way of putting it, his position had merit. I marched down the steps. "Have you a suggestion what I can do with it?"
He did not know who we were. We had come in a fancy rig. We were well dressed. Morley looked a bit like a bodyguard. I wore a look of cherubic innocence. A suspicion slithered through his slow wit. I had handed him that straight line so he would stick his foot in his mouth. Then I would choke him on it.
"We usually ask visitors to leave their conveyances in the courtyard behind the hall, sir. I could move it back there for you, if you like."
"That's very thoughtful of you. I'd appreciate that very much." I dug out a tip about one and a half times the going rate for such a task. Enough to impress, not enough to arouse resentment or suspicion.
"Thank you, sir."
We watched him drive into a narrow passageway between one end of the hall and the city jail.
"Slick, Garrett."
"What?"
"You should have been a con man. You sold him using nothing but intonation, bearing, and gesture. Slick."
"It was an experiment. If he'd had two ounces of brain to rub together, it wouldn't have worked."
"If he had two ounces of brain he'd be making an honest living."
I think Morley's attitude toward so-called civil servants is as cynical as mine.
The next public employee we encountered—on a more than which-way-do-we-go? basis—had two ounces of brains. Just barely.
I was digging through what passed for vital statistics in Full Harbor and finding that four of the Kronk children were not listed at all. Morley, in pursuit of an inspiration of his own, dug through the property plats and brought one over. He sat on the floor reading it.
Two-Ounces appeared out of nowhere and bellowed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Research," I replied in my reasonable voice.
"Get the hell out of here!"
"Why?" Reasonable again, of course.
That got him for a moment. Both ounces went stumbling after something with more authority than a bottom-rung city flunky's "because I said so."
Morley dealt himself a hand. "These are public records legally open to public inspection."
That left Two-Ounces armed only with bluster because he didn't know for sure. "I'm going to call some guards and have you wise guys thrown out on your asses."
"That won't be necessary." Morley closed the plat book. "No need for a scene. The matter can wait till after you've explained to the judge tomorrow morning."
"Judge? What judge?"
"The judge who's going to ask you why a couple of honest investigators like ourselves, sent down from TunFaire, can't look at documents any vagrant off the streets of Full Harbor has a right to see." He went off to return his plat book.
Two-Ounces stared at me while I neatened up after myself. I think he saw nothing but potential disaster. There is no man so insecure as a bottom-level functionary in a sinecure he has held for a long time. He's done nothing for so long that nothing is all he can do. The prospect of unemployment is a mortal terror.
"Ready?" Morley asked, returning.
"When you are."
"Let's go. See you in the morning, friend."
The man turned slowly to watch us go, his face still drained. But the poison had begun to creep into his eyes. It was the hatred and power greed that make vicious liars out of people who tell you they're public servants.
25
"How'd I do?" Morley asked as we pushed out the front door. He was grinning
"Not bad. Maybe one slice too much ham."
He wanted to debate but I cut him short. "You learn anything?"
"Not unless you care that the house was sold by Madame Kronk, a decent interval after the date on that memorial obelisk, to a character with the unlikely name of Zeck Zack, for what seems like a reasonable market price. You ever heard of him?"
"No."
"You find out anything?"
"Only that the civil city administration keeps pretty loose track of who's dying and being born."
"Oh. So with those Kronks being prominent, imagine what they've got on ordinary, real folks."
I shrugged. "You leave no stone unturned till you find a trail. Where's that clown who took the carriage?"
"Probably at the nearest swill pit guzzling your tip."
"Then we'll just get it ourselves. We're big boys. We can handle it." We turned into the alley between the hall and the jail. It was clean for a city alley—probably because of where it was—but gloomy because of the hour.
Morley said,"We could probably find a judge we could bribe to back us with that guy."
"I don't think old man Tate would buy it when it showed up on my expense sheet."
A large somebody stepped out of the wall a dozen feet ahead. His appearance was vague in that light. Morley said, "Behind you," let out a screech, and flung himself through the air.
I whirled, ducking. Just in time. A club whipped the air where my head had been. I gave the guy a kick in the root of his fantasies, then clipped him on the cheek as he bent to pray. Behind him was a guy who was more surprised than me. I jumped and grabbed his arm, tried giving him a knee. He tried to pull a knife while he stared over my shoulder, a big wad of fear in his eyes.
I figured Morley was about finished behind me.
My man tried to knee me and I tried to knee him again and sometime during our dance he decided he really ought to get the hell out of there. He twisted away and started hiking.
I was satisfied. I turned to check behind me.
Morley's man was out. Morley himself was bent double, holding up a wall, puking his guts out. His man must have gotten in a good one.
My first was down, thrashing and twitching and making disgusting handsaw noises. The light was too poor to be sure, but I thought his color looked bad.
"What did you do to him?" Morley croaked.
"Kicked him."
"Maybe he swallowed his tongue." Morley went down on one knee. He moved gingerly.
The guy finished up with one wild convulsion, then he was done. Literally.
Morley trailed fingertips over the corpse's cheek. One of my rings had cut him. The cut had a nasty color.
I looked at my hand.
So did Morley.
The poison chamber on one of the rings had been torn open by the force of the blow.
"We'll have to get rid of him," Morley said.
"Fast. Before somebody stumbles in here."
"I'll get the rig. You drag them to the side so they don't get run over." He ran away as fast as he could.
I wondered if I would see him again.
It might be in his interest to find a back way out and just keep on going.
He returned but it seemed like he'd been gone for about twenty hours. He tied off the traces and clambered into the back of the rig. "Hoist him up here."
I hoisted. Morley pulled. When the cadaver was in, Morley set it up with its back against the driver's seat.
"People will see him."
"You just worry about driving. I'll handle this. I've done it before."
I had done my share of driving that day. Horses and I can enjoy an armed truce while they are in harness. But this was too grand an opportunity for that devil tribe to revert to the war rules. "You'd better handle the traces."
"I'll be busy back here. Get moving before somebody comes or the other one wakes up."
I climbed up and took the traces.
"We're just a bunch of guys out on the town. Don't hurry. But get us out of this section fast."
"Make up your mind!" I snapped. But I knew what he meant.
At first Morley sat back with his arm around his buddy slurring some song so thickly that Garrett could only understand about every third word. Later he started cussing the corpse out, telling him what a fool damned no-good he was for getting blasted before the sun even went down. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, what am I going to tell your old lady, how're we supposed to have any fun dragging you around? You ought to be ashamed."
Later still, once we were in an area where a bunch of drunks in a carriage were as unusual as eggs under a hen, Morley stopped rambling and asked, "Who were those guys, Garrett? Any idea?"
"No."
"Think it was a robbery?"
"You know better. The place, the timing, the behavior of that clerk, the disappearance of the guard from out front, all say it wasn't."
"Off the striped-sail ship? One of them went to the hall."
"I doubt it. Only a local could set up something like that so fast. We've obviously stepped on a toe somewhere."
"Why?"
"My guess is it was a warning whipping, a Saucerhead job. Pound us around awhile, then tell us to take the next boat home. But we blew up in their hands."
"That's what I figure. Then the real questions are who sent them and why do we make him nervous?"
"Him?"
"I don't think we need to count the Old Witch. Do you?"
"No. Nor the church people, probably. I guess we'll have to find out who Zeck Zack is."
"Too bad we can't ask this guy here."
"You checked him?"
"Dry as a bone. It's time we started thinking about how to break up the party."
"We can't dump him in the drink here. After dark Marines watch the shores like hawks in case Venageti agents try to sneak in. They never catch anybody, but that doesn't stop them." I did my share of watching in my time. I was very young and very serious about it.
My successors would be just as young and just as serious.
Morley said,"Find the busiest, sleaziest cathouse you can. We go in drunk with him between us. We find a dark corner in the waiting room, squat, order drinks for three, tell the madam not to bother our buddy because he's dead drunk, take our turns at the trade, then get out. They won't bother him till the crowd thins out because they'll want to roll him. By then they'll have forgotten us and he'll be their problem."
"Suppose we run into somebody who knows him?"
"There are risks in everything. If we dump him here in an alley, whoever sent him will know what happened. My way he'll have to wonder. That was blockshaush in the ring, wasn't it?" He used the elvish name for the poison. On our side of the line we call it black sauce.
"Yes."
"Good. By the time his boss finds him it'll be too late for even a master wizard to tell he was poisoned." He sounded very thoughtful. I knew what he was thinking. He was wondering what other uncharacteristic surprises I had in store. He was thinking I was tight with the Dead Man, and that was probably why I was carrying poison. He was wondering just how much and what kind of advice the Dead Man had given me.
I figured a little worry would do him good. It might take his mind off his stomach for a while.
We ditched our friend Morley's way. I expected tribes of his buddies to swarm, but it came off smooth. The guy's boss would never really know what had happened.
Who was his boss? Why did he want to discourage me from doing my job?
26
I packed a lunch, knowing it would be a long day of runaround at the military city hall. Because they would not let Morley in, I told him to go find out what he could about Zeck Zack. The triplets I sent to watch incoming harbor traffic again.
"But be careful," I told Dojango. "They might decide to take you in to ask if you're Venageti spies."
"Actually, that possibility occurred to us yesterday," Dojango told me. "We've lived on the fringes of the law long enough to know when we're pushing our luck."
Maybe so. Maybe so.
I hefted my picnic basket and went to work.
First there was a clerk, then a senior clerk, then various sergeants followed by a couple of lieutenants who gave me to a captain who admitted he did not think I would have much luck before he dropped me in the lap of a major. One and all checked my bona fides before sending me on. Sometimes twice.
I kept a smile on my mug, stayed polite, and kept my tongue on a tight rein. I could play the game.
I figured I would earn every mark I would gouge from Tate for that day. Besides, it was all part of the plan.
Outlast the bastards.
The major was halfway human, and he even looked like he might have a sense of humor. He apologized for the shuffle and I offered to share my lunch.
"You packed a lunch?"
"Sure. I've dealt with the army before. If it was something complicated, I would have brought a blanket and an overnight bag. You get in the craw of the system and stay there, disturbing routine, somebody is going to go out on a limb, take a chance, tell you what you want to know or make a decision to throw you out, just to get you out from under foot. I get paid exorbitantly for letting people give me the runaround, so I don't mind."
For a moment I thought I had misjudged him. He was not pleased. Knee-jerk response. Give him credit. He gave it a think before he came back. "You're a cynic, aren't you?"
"Occupational hazard. The people I meet leave my faith in human nature mostly negative."
"Right. Let's try again, with the understanding that I'll be the man who ends your quest with an answer or by having you booted out. You want?"
"Some way of getting in touch with Major Kayeth Kronk, cavalryman, the only one of the woman's family of whom I have been able to catch wind. I want to ask if he knows where I can get in touch with his sister. The simple, obvious thing for the army to do is tell me he's out at Fort Whatever. I'd go interview him. But it won't work that way. The army will act on the perfectly reasonable assumption that the entire Venageti War Council has been holding its collective breath for years, waiting to discover the major's whereabouts. So any communications will have to be managed the hard way."
"You are a cynic."
"I'm also right. Not so?"
"Probably. What's your hard way?"
"I write him a long letter explaining the situation and asking him to meet me here or, if that's impossible, to respond to a list of questions. The weakness of the method is that I end up having to trust the army both to deliver the letter and to get the reply back to me. My cynical side tells me that that's too much to expect."
He looked at me from a face of stone. He knew I was setting him up for something and was trying to figure out how I was boxing him in. "That's probably the best you'll get. If that. It isn't the army's problem. But we do help with family matters where we can."
"Any help I get will be appreciated. Even if it isn't much help."
He had not figured any angles yet, which might mean that he did not know how a headquarters really worked. "I'll check with my boss. You check with me tomorrow morning. Just
to be safe, bring your letter with you, unsealed but ready to go."
That took care of the aboveboard.
I figured I'd been around long enough—and had explained my problem to enough people—for the word to have spread throughout the headquarters. So I thanked the major, shook his hand, and said I would be heading back to my inn. Did he want to keep the rest of the lunch?
No.
I dawdled through hallways. I loitered in corners. Finally, he found me. He being the first staffer to convince himself that I was not a Venageti agent, and therefore safe, and therefore maybe he could pick up a small gratuity by telling me where I could find the man I wanted.
That had been the whole point of taking the runaround.
"Fort Caprice?" I asked back. He nodded. I crossed his palm with silver. We both got out of there.
I went off disappointed. Major Kronk did not, at least now, belong to the same outfit that Denny and his buddies had.
Dojango and his brothers got back to the inn before I did. When I arrived they were eating like they meant to use up my expense money before the end of the week.
Dojango reported,"Nothing to report, actually. Nothing came in today. But we did bribe a piermaster to let us go down there mornings and wait for the rest of our family to arrive. Quite a coup, I thought, actually."
"Quite a coup," I agreed. I forbore asking where they had gotten the wherewithal to grease a piermaster. Nothing about those boys was going to surprise me anymore.
And I have yet to report half their tricks.
Morley wandered in an hour after I did. "Any luck, Garrett?"
"I found out where her brother is stationed. You?"
"Some."
"Zeck Zack?"
"An interesting character. Nothing secretive about him, supposedly. Everybody knows him. Nothing obvious to connect him with your Kronk people. He's a centaur, an auxiliary veteran who was given citizenship for his service. He's some sort of middleman between the centaur tribes and the merchants of Full Harbor. The darkest rumor about him is that he indulges in a little night trading. He likes to play with human women. The bigger and fatter, the better."