by Glen Cook
“I will talk to her when she gets back.”
87
Playmate leaned in the doorway. “Dean says come and get it. You lot first.”
Singe and I were up and going immediately. She said, “You’ll have to wake him up.”
Morley had not responded to the mention of food, though he had been making up for lost time lately.
“I’ll do it when we get back.”
We left Playmate setting up folding tables.
Dean had reorganized. The kitchen table was set up so customers could come in, grab a plate and tools, circle the table taking food from platters and bowls, then snag a ready-filled mug of beer or tea and be gone. Playmate held the door due to our lack of extra hands.
Singe again suggested that I waken Morley. “We should start getting him onto a normal schedule.”
I set my mountain of fried chicken down to cool. I went after my best pal.
“Don’t make a passion play out of it, Garrett. You can see he isn’t going to wake up. Go ahead and eat.”
Playmate arrived with a pitcher as I chomped on my first drumstick. Then he crossed the hall to collect the crowd over there. Dollar Dan, licking grease off his whiskers, passed the doorway, headed up front.
Penny and the Bird sounded excited about supper. I expected that Bird didn’t eat well normally.
Dollar Dan reappeared with John Stretch. “Just in time for supper,” Singe said, her tone critical.
“Not this time, sister. I had a nice cheese pie before I came over. I can afford to feed myself, you know.”
Singe had taken mostly vegetables. She attacked a baked yam, no apology to her brother or the yam.
“Got news?” I asked with my mouth full.
“Bad news that is good. We have located three places that smell of death and chemicals. Two are much like the warehouse in Elf Town, particularly in the way they fit into their locales.” He gave rough addresses.
I said, “Neither one is in a human neighborhood.”
“Exactly. Though with so many dwarves gone back to the mountains their neighborhood is mostly human now. But all foreigners who don’t speak a word of Karentine.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful. What about the third place?”
“That one is different. Death and chemicals smells are there, too, but not as strong. The stench of human madness and terror overrides all that.”
“Where is that one?”
“In the Landing. Another abandoned warehouse. My people could not get close. There were guards out.”
I said, “We’re getting somewhere, Singe!”
Playmate showed up with another pitcher and a mug for John Stretch. He left again but was gone for less than a minute. He brought his own supper in and joined us.
“Too busy in the kitchen. I’m not barging in on secret stuff, am I?”
“Not hardly. You’re part of the game. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I have in years. That Kolda is high up on my good guys list.”
“Let him know when you see him. He doesn’t get many strokes.”
Singe and John Stretch kept quiet. They were among the folks who had reservations about Kolda.
John Stretch asked, “What should we do with this information?”
Considering the constraints on me, and Morley’s condition, the logical course was to pass it onto the Civil Guard. But they were operating under restraints of their own and might get warned off before they could do any good.
“Did your people notice anyone else poking around?”
“No. Why?”
“I have trouble believing that we can find out stuff before the people who are supposed to be doing the digging.”
Singe, thumbing through papers in search of something, said, “Do not overlook the fact that we have not been trying to make something go away by sweeping it under the rug.”
“They are not looking very hard,” John Stretch opined.
Morley made a noise like he was choking on phlegm. He got over it before Playmate reached him. He opened his eyes for a moment but was not awake or seeing.
“Here it is,” Singe said.
“What’s that?”
“The list of properties registered to Constance Algarda. There are no matches with the properties Humility has located.”
“Be interesting to find out who does own them.”
“We have no one we can send to find out.”
“I could go. Dollar Dan and his crew can manage here.”
Singe reflected. “You may be past caring but... how would that play with Tinnie? You leaving the house for a title search but not for her?”
“I’ll do what I always do. Apologize later.”
“It’s too late to do it today. I’ll put it on the list.”
Now I had a young-adult ratgirl telling me what to do.
When God scribbled my fate on my forehead, He included a glyph saying I had to be a toy of the yin half of the universe.
Morley mumbled something.
Playmate popped up. “I’ll get him some dinner.”
I went over, lifted Morley’s chin.
“I’m fine, Garrett. I was just asleep. Now I’m awake.”
“And cranky.”
“And eager to break some bones. I had a dream.”
I held back on the wisecrack. This might be important.
“It’s trying to get away, now. But the guy in the picture the nut job painted. He was in it. He had me chained up in a bad place. Hypnotizing me. I wasn’t the only one there. There were lots of others. But their situation was different.” He raised a hand because he saw me getting ready to ask questions. “That’s all I have.”
“It might be from when you were a prisoner.”
“I must have escaped. Maybe I got stabbed when they caught me.”
“That makes sense.” I recalled that Belinda still hadn’t found that witness again. “Hey, Belinda has one of those wooden masks and some scraps of gray cloth she found where she thinks you were attacked.”
Morley and Singe both said, “What?”
“When we talked about what happened to you, first or second time, she told me she visited the place where you were attacked. A witness took her. She found the mask when she was looking around.”
“So?” Singe asked.
“So we have some evidence that nobody knows about. The other stuff got confiscated.”
Morley said, “That’s interesting, but does it matter? With what John Stretch found, this shouldn’t go on much longer.”
Good point. Maybe I just wanted to feel clever. Maybe I just felt a need to do something.
Were we getting close?
We didn’t know who the real villains were. We didn’t know what they were up to. The Director’s theoretical conspiracy to overthrow the monarchy seemed weak. A lot of people thought it was political, though. Maybe because politicians thought everything was.
We didn’t know why Morley was full of holes but I thought I could guess.
He had seen something he shouldn’t have. For that he had been snatched and locked up, probably with other prisoners. Somebody had tried to hypnotize him. Being Morley, he had found a way to escape. His captors had resented that. They had chased him. He had headed for Elf Town thinking he could shed them there. Outsiders threatening someone with elf blood wouldn’t last long in that quarter.
He had never gotten there. Maybe forewarned folks from that ugly warehouse had intercepted him.
Those people and the gray things had left him for dead. His body had no value because it wasn’t human. Later, they had heard that he had survived. Belinda and I had led them to Fire and Ice. They had tried to get him there. Failing that, they had bribed Brother Hoto. Hoto would have brought out the news that Morley hadn’t yet said anything.
Eventually they undertook the raid on my place. That did not go well.
Now they were hunkered down. False trails had been laid and red herrings dragged.
The more I reflected the le
ss likely it seemed that the mess was political.
What else it could be I had no idea.
“Garrett? Are you still with us?” Morley demanded.
“I know you aren’t used to witnessing it, but I was thinking. Somewhere inside your noggin, though you don’t know what yet, is a nugget of info that can ruin the lives of the folks involved in the resurrection scheme.”
“They think so. But what? I still have only a general impression of the place where they penned me up.”
Singe pounced. “Penned?”
“That’s probably not exact. It was more like a filthy cellar. It stank because it was so crowded...”
“You weren’t alone.”
“I told you that.”
“Did anyone else escape when you did?”
“I don’t know.”
Singe said, “If they did and talked, word would have gotten around.”
I said, “How about this? Maybe our villains aren’t waiting for people to die to use them.”
Morley reminded me, “That many people disappearing would cause a big uproar.”
“No. We figured that out. Block was going to look into it.”
“The operation in Little Dismal Swamp,” Singe said. “The convicts. As good as dead when they’re sentenced. Nobody expects them to survive. If you were in charge you could sell them and put them on the books as having died in the swamp.”
I said, “They don’t have to produce the bodies.” Then, “Some whats and hows might be falling into place. It would be nice to stumble over an occasional why.”
Singe said, “Just be patient. It will all bubble to the surface — unless the cover-up crowd shoves Block and Relway into their own cells.”
Morley growled. He thought he was more ready than he was. Now was when he would be most dangerous to himself.
Singe said, “Think before you do anything, boys.” She pushed her chair back, rose, left the room.
88
Singe called, “Garrett, you better come see this.”
I went. She was at the peephole, looking out.
I took her place.
The view wasn’t great but it was broad enough to be disturbing. “Let’s go upstairs and get a better look.”
I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the window that was Strafa’s preferred entrance. Singe leaned past to look out. “Your loose lips did it this time.”
A big coach and a covered wagon had parked across the street. Teamsters were unhitching the horses. Men in strange uniforms meant to stick around for a while.
There were twelve of those.
Another big wagon and a more modest coach arrived with another dozen men. Teamsters got the team for the wagon out of harness.
An officer stepped down from the smaller coach. He surveyed the street, then my place, nodded, unfolded and consulted a large sheet of paper. He barked. A guy who looked like a career sergeant major joined him after bellowing at four men putting up an awning beside the big coach. That had a chimney. Smoke began to drift out.
The sergeant major stood beside the officer. He poked the map with a beefy forefinger. The officer nodded. Moments later ten armed men had been distributed around my house. The rest went on making the big coach and two wagons into a home away from home.
“What the hell are they up to?” I muttered.
“They want to isolate us.”
“But those are Palace Guards. Probably most of them. Why are they here?”
“Gee, Garrett, what did I just say?”
“Really. This is ridiculous. Prince Rupert wouldn’t go all hard-ass because I didn’t come running like Good Dog Nagel.”
“You think? You want to consider the time factor? Somebody else sent them. Say, like, I don’t know. The guy they actually work for?”
“The King? Well, he is the one they’re supposed to protect. But why me? He can’t have any reason to come after me. He’s never heard of me.”
Singe asked, “Are you sure? He wants the man-building mess left alone and his cronies on the Hill agree. Where do all the noseys get together? Here.”
“This makes sense if Rupert is under pressure.”
“Dinklebrain. Forget Rupert!”
“All right.” Prince Rupert didn’t have that small a mind, anyway. Narrow, certainly, but not petty.
And this was beyond his budget.
“First thing we need to do is find out what’s what.”
She demanded, “Do you have shit in your ears?”
“What?”
“I just told you. It’s a blockade, blockhead. Nobody will come in. Nobody will go out. People could get arrested for the crime of knowing you. Eventually, we will get hungry.”
“You’d better wake the Dead Man up.”
“I’m considering options already.”
I said, “Oh, crap!”
Belinda’s big black coach had turned onto Macunado off Wizard’s Reach. It was accompanied by the usual footmen and outriders.
Singe said, “This could prove illuminating.”
“Or disastrous if she’s been drinking.”
Belinda had not been drinking. She remained respectful and courteous in her exchange with the officer, who did not recognize her. I could see she was in a seething rage. “We’re good for now, but let’s hope she doesn’t drink anything stronger than small beer before she calms down. The Crown’s armed gang is bigger than hers.”
Singe grunted. She said nothing till Belinda’s coach was out of sight. “Miss Contague is astute but dangerous. She will make this personal between herself and the Palace Guard. And they are not a gang bigger than hers.”
I said “Crap!” again. The Palace Guards would not number fifty men if they had every slot filled. Twelve would be assigned to the Crown Prince, the rest to the King. Meaning most of the King’s share were outside now.
Belinda might think she could handle them if she got some firewater in her.
I asked Singe, “Do some of those guys look like they might not be real soldiers?” Some uniforms did not fit right. Some faces were not as cleanly shaven as they ought to be.
“You are correct. Nice catch. If the Windwalker were here, I suspect she might recognize men from the private patrol on the Hill.”
If that was true Belinda could get herself into even deeper poo.
Those people might declare war if she yanked their beards. But that prospect wouldn’t give her a moment’s pause even sober. She lived her life on a bull’s-eye.
“This could get ugly.”
“Yes. I am going down to see Dean. We will take inventory. Then we can plan for the siege.”
“I wish I had a crossbow. I could pick those guys off.”
“Are you serious?”
Not really.
“Because it would be just as easy for them to sneak around back and set the house on fire.”
“I was joking, Singe.”
“Be a little less deadpan, then.” She stomped out.
Bright as she was, she had trouble grasping the full range of human humor.
Of course, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t get me.
I moved my little nightstand over so I could settle my butt while I watched the King’s men work.
89
Those guys weren’t even real soldiers, let alone Marines, but, despite themselves, they even kept a miserable, drunken, fighting-mad Winger from getting to my front door, without getting physical.
Those guys might be candy-asses in a fight but as public-relations operators, they were smooth.
That left me feeling optimistic.
Somebody would come along and ruin their day.
Strafa appeared outside. This time, for whatever reason, she sat astride a great, honking broomstick. She wore dark clothes that did not flatter, but she had disdained the traditional pointy hat.
I opened the window wide.
Down she swooped, face aflame with adolescent mischief. She spun, plunged, tugged the sergeant major’s mustache, then
sideslipped and swiped the commander’s fancy hat.
Hands grabbed at her. She shot straight up. The hat drifted down, carried by the breeze. Strafa followed but leveled off at the height of my window. She stretched herself out on her broomstick, shot forward into my room.
There was almost no clearance but she came through unscathed. “That was fun.” She laughed. It was the first time I heard her let it all go. She was totally happy. She was totally at peace. She rolled off her broom, bounced into my arms. “Did you see the looks on their faces?”
For one instant I saw the face of a redheaded woman. I felt pain, guilt, then a sourceless admonition to do the right thing.
Strafa’s simple joy over having thumbed her nose at gloomy functionaries changed things more in a moment than had the physical connection earlier.
I was lost. I was hooked.
I was miserably guilty. I did love Tinnie Tate, but I had been ambushed by something hugely more potent. Something that Strafa had sensed and been frightened by way back when our paths first crossed. She had teased me then, but that was all she had risked.
Strafa shared some psychology with DeeDee: neither looked or acted her age. Both were more simple and innocent than seemed plausible. Each had a daughter more touched by and in tune with the real world.
Crush, though, was better equipped to survive there than Kevans was. Kevans lacked sufficient cynicism.
“Damn, darling, that was as good as you making me groan! Why are those buttheads out there, anyway?”
“Your guess would be better than mine. You know the people who tell them what to do.”
“Kiss me.”
I did so, to the best of my ability, with considerable enthusiasm.
“Wow! That was all right. I forgot the world completely.” She went to the window. “You have to wonder who was thinking what, sending them out to harass subjects in the city. You bad man. Keep your hands to yourself. I’m trying to think.”
She had more to say, mostly playful, but I didn’t pay attention. One final shard of rationality was trying to figure out what had happened to us and why it had happened so fast.
Then I recalled any number of friends, across the ages, telling me I think too much.
This time Strafa was the responsible one. “Down, boy! I’m as eager as you are, but we have bigger issues to deal with.”