by Glen Cook
“Then they’re in for a nasty surprise.”
Indeed. The nastiest. There is no practical brake on Mr. Relway but Westman Block. Who removes the Colonel sows the whirlwind.
“Did we find out anything else useful?”
If you are interested in making a chain-of-command chart for the Watch, we now have all the names. Or if you’re interested in the identities of informants and undercover operatives who work for Colonel Block, we have that. The list includes one Sofgienec Cardonlos. Never legally married.
“Aha! I was sure she belonged to Relway.”
That is not impossible.
Of course. “Anything about the Green Pants Gang?”
He is not allowed near them. But he hears rumors.
We went back and forth until I knew what he wanted me to know. I asked, “So how about we get back to the dog statues?”
Jackals! Are you stupid?
“No. Why is the distinction a big deal?”
Words are important, Garrett. Especially when they are names. The same is true of symbols. Religious symbols in particular. The jackal is important in many religions. None more so than those with a dark view of earthly existence. The cult of A-Laf appears to hold one of the darkest.
He’d clue me in about the jackals in his own sweet time. If he had any real notion. He isn’t above claiming knowledge he doesn’t actually have. He doesn’t just have multiple minds-he has multiple egos.
“You reached that conclusion based on what?”
Their behavior. The all-round implication that the cult is blacker than its feminine counterpart, which seems grim itself. Combined with recollections of historical precedents.
“You mentioned past cults before. Without explaining.”
Past cults, yes. None quite like this. These people are not creating the pain and despair they harvest on behalf of their god. They collect it where… oh.
“What?”
We are about to have company. Again. Get them inside as quickly as you can.
“You keeping an eye on Mulclar? He’s seeing a lot of coming and going.”
He is oblivious. His entire being is focused on his work and his unfortunate flatulence. The possibility that his gassy nature is responsible for his outcast status never occurred to him before. Get those people inside.
So he wasn’t going to explain the jackals now, either.
Did he have any real idea?
40
“Those people” arrived aboard a big black coach driven by Morley’s man Sarge. The guy I knew only as Theodore rode beside Sarge. They were alert.
The coach door facing the house opened. Puddle popped out. He cursed when he banged into the cart abandoned by Comstock and Nicolist, looked around like he expected to see Venageti skirmishers. I saw no weapons but suspected an arsenal was available.
Puddle beckoned. A man descended from the coach, pushed. He had his hands bound behind him. He was blindfolded. Welby Dell. Ah. Interesting. Puddle made him run.
Theodore jumped down and helped Puddle extract a reluctant Teacher White. Teacher had no idea where he was headed, but he meant to fight all the way. It took Puddle and Theodore both to get him in the house.
There were two more passengers. A Combine third-stringer named Trash Blaser and my very good pal Mr. Morley Dotes. I wasn’t entirely surprised to see him. Nor was I stunned when neither of Teacher’s imported thugs tumbled out of the coach. Which headed on up the street as soon as Sarge saw his boss slide past Mr. Mulclar.
There was a roar that could only be the tradesman losing control of something he’d been holding far too long. Morley gasped, “Oh, gods of the Rime!”
I delayed a half minute, hoping the breeze would disperse the miasma. While waiting, I noted that my pixies were as busy as bees, to sling an old chestnut.
My wait was pointless. Mr. Mulclar repeated himself with a true cathedral clearer just as I got there.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. I can’t help it.”
“I know that, Junk. None of us can. But we can watch what we eat. How much longer are you going to be?”
“It shouldn’t be long. What the problem is, the screws-”
“I’m not concerned. It’s your craft. One thing you can do for me, though, is keep an eye out for anybody who looks like they’re interested in my place. The kind who try to break doors down might try to get in while this one is off its hinges.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Rumble! “I never even thought about that. I’ll keep a eye out for sure.”
“Excellent. You’re a good man, Junk.” I beat a hasty retreat. Teacher might have done me a favor, fixing it so I didn’t have to breathe.
The new arrivals gathered in the Dead Man’s room. None of them were happy. Morley less than most, probably. He sensed the truth immediately. The Dead Man wasn’t napping anymore.
I confirmed his suspicion. “You and your guys want to get on out of here, go. If you’d be more comfortable.”
They would. The whole bunch tramped back out, Morley leaving me with a dark look and an invitation. “Come by the club when you get a chance.”
“Sure.”
He followed his guys.
The ghost of a chuckle filled the psychic atmosphere.
“They didn’t get out fast enough, did they?”
No. More psychic mirth. They never do.
He was having a good time, glad, now, that he’d wakened.
Singe came in, halfway slinking. She still isn’t comfortable with the Dead Man, either.
His Nibs gave us our instructions.
Singe removed Teacher’s blindfold and gag, but left his hands tied behind him. He found me seated facing him.
“So. Teacher. Things change. You got anything to say?”
Teacher wasn’t happy. Not even a little. But he couldn’t see the Dead Man from where he sat. He didn’t yet know true despair.
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t a complete mental lightweight. He wanted to scope out his situation before he did anything.
“Here’s how it is. Your poison didn’t take. Not completely. So I’m not going to hold a grudge.” I raised an eyebrow, then winked. He wasn’t naturally as pale as Skelington, but he came close. He couldn’t see the Dead Man. Skelington was in plain sight.
His mind is well shielded. I am making headway. While moving carefully enough not to make him suspicious. Distract him.
“Teacher, didn’t you do your homework? Why didn’t you know that you couldn’t pull something like you tried and get away with it?”
Teacher had nothing to say.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time, though, eh?” I gave him a few seconds. “Somebody put you up to it? Dean, I’m getting dry. Can you bring me some water?”
The supporting staff know little of any value. Although, between them, they have developed an extended list of places that Mr. Contague and Mr. Temisk cannot be.
“And might there be a pattern? A hole somewhere?”
Your continued queries have alerted Mr. White to the possibility that I may not be fully expired.
I didn’t need Chuckles to tell me when Teacher grasped the truth. He turned paler than he had been already.
I asked, “What did you do with my stuff you took?
“In your wallet? Good. So. Who killed Spider and Original? No? You can’t tell me? You didn’t know? You left them there with me.”
“They was supposed to look out for you. To make sure you didn’t croak or nothing before you woke up.”
He believes that to be true.
“What happened to Brett and Bart?”
“I didn’t need them no more. I paid them off. Cut them loose.”
Dean arrived with water. And a shopping list. Which looked all right. And made clear just how expensive all the entertaining was getting. “We’re completely out of tea?”
“We are.”
Grumble. “What’s Singe up to? She get the kittens settled down?”
“They aren’t happy. They’re all huddl
ed in their bucket. But they’re not in a panic anymore.”
The voice in my head told me, The gentlemen from out of town were subcontracted through one Squint Vrolet.
A ladder of wickedness popped into mind. Squint worked for Green Bean Ractic. Neither ran a patch where they’d have need of Bretts and Barts. But Green Bean reported to Tizzy Baggs. Tizzy’s sister was married to Merry Sculdyte, Rory Sculdyte’s stupid but enthusiastically homicidal brother.
Rory’s psychotic little sibling managed a stable of violence specialists.
“Teacher, any chance you’ve been doing legwork for somebody without knowing? Merry S., maybe?”
He thinks so now.
Teacher had nothing to say, though.
Our reluctant guest is extremely angry, Garrett.
“I would be, too. Teacher. What about my antidote?”
White looked at me like he wondered if I was hopelessly naive. He asked, “Am I going to get out of here?”
“You got a good chance. What shape you’ll be in remains to be determined. Think we could get Squint and Green Bean in for a sit-down?“
He understood me perfectly. “There is an antidote.”
“I know that. But I don’t trust you enough to send you after it. Not until we fix you up with an unpleasant situation of your own.”
Easily done.
“Huh?”
This man has a strong natural wall around his thoughts. But he cannot protect them consciously.
“Where are you going?”
He has friends inside the Watch. Inside the Al-Khar. Properly pushed, he might help us lay hands on one of those Green Pants fellows.
“Interesting. But why waste the knowledge? Block himself might bring them over.”
You could be right, he admitted. Reluctantly.
“Here’s your situation,” I told Teacher. “My friend just planted a Loghyr mindworm in your brain. It’ll make you go crazy. Slowly. Like those guys you see walking around arguing with themselves. Only it’ll keep getting worse. Until a Loghyr pulls it back out. And there’s only one Loghyr around these days.”
I didn’t highlight any ironies. I didn’t say anything about who did what to whom. At the Dead Man’s urging, I told White, “Get any of these people over for a chat-your life will get a whole lot easier.”
The Dead Man sent him a roster that included the heaviest heavyweights of TunFairen crime. Teacher promised to get someone into the Dead Man’s clutches somehow, but it might not happen fast enough to suit us.
It will, the Dead Man predicted, including Teacher in his sending. Or it will not happen at all. Moments later, White was loose. The Dead Man surrounded him with confusion so he could get a head start.
41
“Was that mindworm business for real?”
He will think so. That will be sufficient.
“I hope. Those people don’t like to be bullied.”
They tolerate it from one another. Did you recover the egg?
“I’ve got it right here.” He doesn’t miss much.
Bring it here.
I did so. That put me in position to see the doorway. Several kittens were watching from the hall. Singe slid past them. “Mr. Mulclar has finished.” She made an entry in the ledger, took money to pay Mulclar. Finally.
The miasma had reached the Dead Man’s room.
I asked, “Are Saucerhead or Winger likely to be around soon?”
I do not expect them.
“I was hoping one of them could go shopping with Dean. We need groceries. And he’s a little old to be out there alone in times like these.”
I see. Are you certain this is the egg that was thrown at you?
I looked closer. “The light ain’t so good, but… it looks a little different.”
This is a stone. And nothing but a stone. Either Bittegurn Brittigam spun you a tall tale or you no longer have the original.
“I’ll take it out into a better light.”
I went to the front door, intending to go out into the daylight. I peeked past Singe, saw Mr. Mulclar just getting his cart moving. And… a couple of pedestrian women stared at Mr. Mulclar in awe. Then began gasping and waving their hands in a vain attempt to make it go away. “Hey, Chuckles. That Penny Dreadful is right across the street.”
Where?
“In front of Elmer Stick’s apartment building.”
I sense nothing. Be as precise as possible.
“On the steps. Second step up, left side, leaning against the railing.” I eased on outside, to get a better view.
Ah!
Penny Dreadful leaped like somebody had just branded her bottom. She ran, bumping off pedestrians who flung curses after her. She had trouble controlling her limbs, but she never fell down.
The farther she ran, the more control she gained.
I studied my rock in the better light.
It wasn’t the same stone. There were tiny red veins in its surface. It wasn’t as smooth. And it didn’t produce that warm, relaxed feel when I fiddled with it.
I stepped back inside. “She too slippery for you?”
Exactly. She presents an incredibly small target. And an elusive one. One that senses my interest the instant it touches her.
“This isn’t the same rock.”
I did not think so. It is time we examined your memories concerning that rock.
“Why?”
It must be important. Certainly, important enough to be switched
“Teacher White-”
Do not get ahead of yourself. Things do happen without the connivance or awareness of Mr. White. Sit down. Relax. Consider how useful it would be to have that parrot available for situations like the one with the Dreadful urchin.
“I do wish you wouldn’t keep harping on that.”
A good partner nags. To The Palms. To your first encounter with the stone.
I felt his mental tentacles slide into my brain, down deep into my memories of those brief moments.
I’m used to this-though I don’t like it-so I focus on something else while he relives my life, rooting out details I failed to note consciously. I concentrated on breathing.
Done.
“And?”
You made some incorrect assumptions.
“That would be a first. Bring them on.”
It starts when you walked out the door of The Palms. You did not, in fact, see the Green Pants Gang member sling the stone at you. The stone whizzed past you; you ducked; then you spotted the Green Pants thug. You put three and three together and came up with five. Green Pants did not do the dirty deed. His presence may have been happenstance.
“He ran away.”
Did he?
“That’s the way I remember it.”
He did not. You do recall that he was amazed when you and Mr. Dotes set upon him.
“Yeah.” Green Pants had acted like he was completely boggled. “I get a feeling we’ll never find out the whole truth there because that guy got himself dead.
“If he didn’t do it, who did? And why?”
Excellent questions, both. You did not see anything, even at the unconscious level, at the time, that sheds any light. And, with wicked glee, he nailed me. So you may have been right in the first place, but for all the wrong reasons.
“What the hell are you blathering about?”
The Green Pants goon may have slung the stone at you after all.
“Is this where I jump up and run in circles, shrieking and yanking out my hair?”
The point is, you may have come to the truth back then, but if you did, you did not do so based on the evidence. You harkened to your own prejudice and the fact that you saw no one else in the street.
“I’m thinking about setting fire to this place and walking away. So I don’t have to suffer these convolutions again.”
I am exposing you to the sort of thought processes that unravel …
What could’ve turned into a fun squabble over not much went on hiatus when a frazzled Tinnie slipped
in and demanded, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I tried. You said you’d chop my ears off if I didn’t leave you the hell alone. That you were up all night and you needed some sleep.” Tinnie hasn’t been much of a morning person lately. Either.
The other thing we have in common, from a redheaded point of view, is that I’m always wrong. “Guess I should’ve been a little more firm, eh?”
She used to snap up that kind of straight line. Maybe we’ve gotten too comfortable. Her language wasn’t ladylike. “I was supposed to be in the office four hours ago.”
“Sorry I disappointed you by surviving, love. I’ll time it more conveniently for you next time.”
She glared but kept quiet.
I said, “Since you’re late, and since everybody in your family will assume that a woman your age who was out all night in a situation involving somebody named Garrett was up to no good…”
Usually that sort of stuff winds Tinnie up. This time she was in no mood. She just kept scowling.
“Since you’re going to be late anyway, how about you take Dean to the market?” Tinnie is a recognizable personality. People would stand back, not because she’s my girl but because she’s Willard Tate’s niece. Willard Tate is one of those New Wave industrialists whose genius has begun to make him a huge power in postwar TunFaire.
Tinnie’s expression was priceless. Too bad there’s no way to record all those freckles in motion. “You want me to bodyguard Dean? Why? So you can lay around with your beer and any bimbo who drops in?”
Her eyes glazed over. For half a minute she was the perfect girlfriend. Drop-dead gorgeous. And quiet.
The Dead Man was talking to her.
Tinnie clicked back. “I’m sorry,” she said, moving in and bringing the heat. “I forgot what that villain did with his drugs.”
I suffered her consolations for as long as it took Old Bones to become impatient.
“All right!” she snapped, pulling away.
I’d reconsidered. “You just go on home, sweets. You don’t have the skills to protect Dean from the kind of people who’re bothering us.”