by Glen Cook
“Yep. Yep. I remember.”
Ha! Nervous. Maybe even feeling a little guilty, though the Guard’s inquisitors wouldn’t get her to admit that.
“The sausages aren’t as bad as they look,” she promised. “And the toast will be fine if you scrape it a little with your knife.”
“Kip Prose has a thing for making perfect toast.” I let it go, though. She had used one of the prototypes to burn this toast.
“I just wanted a normal life.”
I said nothing. Let her have the argument with herself. Of course, silence is my best tactic in this sort of situation, four times out of five. I let her ramble where she liked.
She ran down. She glared at me. Then she got her second wind. “Gods damn it, Garrett! I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t you that those thugs came for. It was me.”
Admitting that cost her. Getting any Tate to admit being wrong about anything, even obliquely, is more rare than hens’ teeth. And certainly more precious. Having one’fess up without provocation, voluntarily, is rare beyond compare.
I soldiered on, keeping my big damned mouth shut, a skill I’m still having trouble mastering. Had I done so years ago, I could’ve saved myself a lot of hard knocks.
“All right! You’re right! It never would have happened if I hadn’t insisted that we live up here. The Dead Man would have wrapped those idiots up before they damaged the door.”
They might not have come at all. Hardly anybody is stupid enough to take a chance with the Dead Man anymore. They would have caught Tinnie somewhere else. They would have made her disappear quietly.
Which they should have done anyway. Why try for her here, at night, when there was such a damned good chance that I would get involved?
They wanted me involved. Had to. Or whoever sent them did. Ha! Butch and his brother hadn’t been well briefed on what to expect before they set off to capture the savage redhead.
Maybe Jimmy Two Steps hadn’t had a clue, either.
That is the way I would have worked it if I was in the villain trade. I’d make Jimmy a cutout.
I put some toast and sausage down and did not gag. I took a relaxing breath, announced, “I’m going to visit Singe and the Dead Man.”
Tinnie stopped rattling pots.
“Singe won’t know Two Steps but her brother might.”
“You told Lieutenant Scithe that you would let it alone.”
“The Dead Man might have a perspective that I overlooked.”
“You promised.”
“I’ll stop by Morley’s place and see what he thinks, too.” Morley Dotes is my best friend.
“Garrett, you aren’t —”
“He should be able to get word out that it won’t be healthy to mess with my number-one girl.”
Tinnie chomped some air. That made it all about her. Further argument now would make her look petty.
Not a failing she has concerned herself with much in the past.
“Nobody is likely to come after you here, now.” She has a raft of draft-age male relatives. Two were outside as we spoke, illegally armed and ready for war. “Stick to business and you’ll be fine. No bad guy will ever make it as far in as the financials office.”
I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Tinnie way far more than normally insecure. And every word out of my mouth was one she didn’t want to hear. Including, “You are supposed to be getting the books straightened out today, aren’t you?”
One of the draft-age cousins, Artifice, redder in the head than Tinnie, walked in without a knock or an invitation. “There’s somebody out here wants to see you, Garrett.” He seemed nervous. He evaded Tinnie’s basilisk stare.
I made the head knocker at home in my hand. “Duty calls, my love.”
My love sent me off with the kind of language used by men in combat. Then decided to come along and see what was what.
She began showing fierce verbal skills once we stepped outside.
My sweetie isn’t one hundred percent contrary. There are times when reason will take hold. Times when she will accept a valid argument without herself arguing for the sake of being difficult.
This was not going to be one of those.
For half a minute she was incapable of doing anything but sputter vile accusations.
6
A big black coach sat twenty feet from our door, just up Factory Slide, the broad street running along the northeast face of the Amalgamated manufactory and the Annex that had been thrown up during the war with Venageta. Factory Slide saw very little traffic not involved with Amalgamated.
This coach had nothing to do with the manufactory.
There was only one coach like it. It belonged to an acquaintance. I hadn’t seen her in a long time. I didn’t want to see her now. Especially not when Tinnie would know I was seeing her.
Belinda Contague, empress of organized crime, deadly sociopath, one-time girlfriend, briefly, and, theoretical current friend, owned that coach. And was the kind of friend you might wish you didn’t have because they can complicate your life to no end.
Two armed men perched atop the black behemoth, behind a six-horse team. A brace of armed horsemen preceded it. Four more waited behind. Not a one looked pleased to see Mama Garrett’s number-one son.
Though she had a few quiet shares in Amalgamated, Belinda was not here on business.
The beautiful madwoman herself opened the near side door. “Hop in, Garrett. I’ll give you a ride.” From the gloom inside, louder, she said, “I need to borrow him for a while, Tinnie. I won’t keep him longer than I have to.”
Tinnie outdid herself. For a moment I was scared there would be a skirmish between Belinda’s thugs and the draft-age cousins. That would not go well for the cousins but would be bad news for the thugs in the long run. The Tates have a lot of pull.
But my honey was not as far out of control as she put on, which was often the case. She was fond of putting on the drama. This scene, though, could lead to some really unhappy reviews.
Belinda seized the day. She announced, “Someone tried to kill Morley Dotes. He’s hurt bad. He may not make it. I need Garrett to help look out for him.”
That fired Tinnie up all over again.
“Who is going to look out for me? It’s his responsibility to look out for me. Garrett! I want...” She went on and on.
I asked Belinda, “Is he really that bad hurt?”
She whispered. “Yes. I really don’t think he’ll make it.” She surprised me by choking up a little as she said that. “Worse, I think there’s a better than even chance that somebody might try to make sure that he doesn’t.”
It could be argued that the Outfit was capable of handling that without me. But if Morley was on his way out, I had no choice. He was my best friend. I had to be there.
I went back to Tinnie, took hold of her shoulders. “You’re going to be all right. This is something I have to do. For my friend.”
My attempts to make her understand didn’t have much success.
She wasn’t going to let that happen.
She was mad and she was scared and she was thoroughly accustomed to being the Tate princess who got whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it, even from me. She was the ruling goddess in her own little universe. Right now, because she was unhappy, the wants or needs of others had no meaning.
This was not the first time I had seen her this way. Talking wasn’t going to do any good. Only time would have any effect.
And she couldn’t get any more angry.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, darling. Midge, take good care of her.”
The cousin who had not come inside nodded. Sweat fell from his forehead. He gave up a huge sigh of relief, suddenly sure that he would not have to become the first casualty in a war so small it wouldn’t be noticed while it was going on.
I tried to kiss Tinnie. She wouldn’t have it. I backed away. “I do love you. But you can’t own me.”
She managed to keep from saying something really awful.
I got in. The coach rolled before I settled the back of my lap on the plush opposite Belinda.
Time had been kind. She was as striking as ever. Her best feature was her long, glossy black hair. It accentuated her pallor and the red she used to paint her lips.
But today her hair was unkempt, stringy, in need of washing. Her complexion had gained a sickly yellow-green cast — though maybe that was the light. She did not wear any of her usual makeup, crafted to create a vampire look. And she had given little attention to her clothing.
I guessed she hadn’t changed in days. She had that air.
Being an accomplished observer, I sensed that she was deeply upset. “Talk to me.”
“Somebody took a run at Morley Dotes.”
“You said.”
Morley had been my best friend for so long that I couldn’t recall when he hadn’t been. Well, not before the war. But almost forever. I hadn’t seen much of him lately. Tinnie didn’t approve. Her disapproval was not ethnic, or social, but intellectual. Morley Dotes had the capacity to distract her special guy from what she wanted him focused on: Tinnie Tate.
I appreciated the courtesy of being informed but wondered why Belinda would involve herself in Morley’s affairs. Maybe because she was the silent money behind his very successful restaurant enterprises.
“I’ll tell you what I know. Three nights ago he staggered into one of our knock shops on the edge of Elf Town. He was full of holes but not so full of blood. The backstairs crew was turning out his pockets when somebody recognized him and decided to keep him alive till they tracked me down. I went there the night before last. He was six inches short of dying. I waited around but he never came to.”
“What was he doing up there?” And why had she gone running to a cathouse when she heard? “Rhetorical question. Thinking out loud. I have no idea what he was up to these days. We don’t get together much anymore.”
“I understand. Red hair.”
I doubted that she did. She had no one special in her life. She couldn’t possibly know... “My god!” Could it be? It couldn’t be.
Morley’s First Law is, never get involved with a woman crazier than you are. But... There it was, between the lines. Something was going on between the Queen of Darkness and my best pal.
“What do you need from me?”
“Stay with him. Make sure nobody helps him spring any more leaks. When he comes around, find out what we need to know.”
Which meant, find out who to hurt.
“All right.” She was saying plenty without stating it direct. There were ears up top and she wasn’t in a trusting mood. She counted on our shared experiences to convey what she wanted me to know. For example, that she couldn’t count on her own people to protect a boyfriend they didn’t approve. “But I have my own problem.” I told her about my visit from Butch and his brother.
“Tit for tat. I’ll look out for Tinnie. Any way I could get my hands on those two?”
“What for?”
“To ask if there’s a connection.”
Stranger connections have turned up in my life. “They’re inside the Al-Khar. You could ask General Block but I don’t think he’d cooperate. Go after Jimmy Two Steps.”
“Two Steps?”
“That’s the name they gave up. You know it?”
“I don’t. But there are too many of them to keep track. TunFaire is like a dead dog and they’re like flies.”
“There was mention of Raisin’s Bookshop.”
Belinda frowned. In that light, doing that, she looked much older. “A bookstore?”
Carefully, I said, “Think back to when we met. That was one of the places.”
She had been hard at work committing slow suicide in the worst dives TunFaire boasts. The Bookshop was one where I interfered with her self-destruction.
“I must’ve been all the way to the bottom. I don’t remember it at all.”
“It’s bad news on wheels.”
“Not part of the family enterprise?”
“It wasn’t, then. I doubt there’s been any reason for that to change.”
“It’s a place to start.” She thumped the wood behind her head. “Marcus!”
A panel slid aside. A guard showed his face. “Ma’am?”
“How much longer?”
“A minute. Two, tops.”
“Excellent.” Of me, she asked, “Do you know a place called Fire and Ice on the north side?”
“No. I’ve been weaned off any such useful knowledge.”
“You’ll find it. Take the Grand Concourse north. Stay with it after it turns into an ordinary street. When you get close to Elf Town, ask. Somebody will know it.”
“I’m going there because?”
“That’s where Morley is. I don’t want to move him till he can do it under his own power.”
He was my pal. I ought to be all over this. But I wasn’t sure I was getting the whole truth.
Belinda understood. “I’m not working you, Garrett. You take care of Morley. I’ll take care of Tinnie. And her family if it’s a trade dispute.”
That hadn’t occurred to me. There were magnates capable of such shady tactics.
The coach stopped. “We’re here. You need anything up there, you tell them. They’ll handle it. I’ll see you as soon as I can.” Before I could protest her presumption she opened the door and gave me a shove.
Belinda is one of those people whose expectations become unspoken commands.
7
I turned an ankle, not badly, when I landed on the cobblestones of Macunado Street in front of my old house. It was still my place, I just didn’t live there anymore and had not been around to visit for a while.
The place had gotten a face-lift: paint and some tuck-pointing. The cracked window pane on the second floor had been replaced. There were new curtains up there. And there were planters on the front stoop with unstolen flowers in them.
The siege of law and order had become quite epic.
I stood there considering, wrestling a dread that when I went inside I would be entering a foreign country. I climbed the steps. I didn’t feel the Dead Man.
I dug in my pocket for a key I wasn’t carrying, then knocked my personal “I’m not here at knifepoint” knock. I waited. I examined the brickwork to the right of the door frame. The hole into the voids inside the wall had been sealed with mortar and a chip of brick. Which explained why, on a fine, warm day, I didn’t have pixies swarming around me.
I’d have to get the story there. Melondie Kadare and her mob had been handy friends, if a little rowdy and unpredictable.
The door opened. The lady of the house stepped aside so I could enter.
Pular Singe had matured. She had put on a few pounds and was both better and more carefully dressed. I had nothing ready to say. “How’s business?”
“There has been a slowdown. That is Director Relway’s fault. But we get by. Dean is making fresh tea. Come into the office.”
Her office was what we had once called the small front room, in the front of the house on the right side of the central hallway. It hadn’t been used much before Singe cleaned it up and made it our bureaucratic headquarters.
“What happened to the pixies?”
“Melondie Kadare died.”
“They don’t live long but she wasn’t that old.”
“She got run over by an oxcart. She was drunk. She flew into something, bonked her head, fell down in the street. The wheel got her before anyone could drag her away. Afterward, the colony moved. I will find out where if it matters.”
“It doesn’t. Not right now.” I settled into a chair. She had gotten some comfortable furniture in. I considered her.
Pular Singe was a ratgirl, a touch over five feet tall when she stood as upright as she could. Her sort — there are several species of ratpeople — were created by experimenting sorcerers several hundred years ago. The majority aren’t very bright. They subsist at the lowest social level, doing the meanest jobs.
>
Singe is a freak among freaks.
She’s a freak because she’s a genius — not just among her own kind. She’s brighter and more clever than most humans, too. So, a freak.
She scares people. Sometimes she scares me.
I adopted her, more or less, while working with her, when I realized that a dramatically fine mind would go to waste if she remained in the paws of the villainous ratmen exploiting her then. She’d been an early adolescent at the time.
Dean Creech, ancient live-in cook and housekeeper, arrived with a tray bearing tea, cups, and sandwiches. He had been generous constructing the latter. He said only, “You’re looking fit.”
“More exercise and less beer. It’s hell.” He headed back to the kitchen. I noted, “He’s moving slower.”
“We all are. What’s the trouble?”
Singe knew I wouldn’t be home if there wasn’t something. That stirred her resentment. She didn’t really like me walking in like I owned the place now that she was running it. But, more deeply, she did not like Tinnie telling me who my friends were and when I could see them.
I explained what had happened to me and what Belinda said had happened to Morley.
“Is there a connection?”
I shrugged. “Not logically.”
“But you have no faith in the power of coincidence.”
“True.”
“First thing we will need to do is get Morley moved in here.”
That hadn’t occurred to me. I did see her reasoning. There couldn’t be a safer place to stash him.
“Belinda says he’s too badly hurt to move.”
“You will be with him. You will know when he can take it.”
I nodded.
She stared into nothing briefly, then said, “I am considering knocking out the wall between this room and your old office. Any objections?”
“Only emotionally. There are a few thousand memories haunting that room.” It was the smallest in the house. I used to describe it as a broom closet with delusions.
“We will be too busy to have workmen in, anyway. The Dead Man is asleep. If you were hoping to consult him.”