by Glen Cook
Now I grew impatient. I wanted out. I wanted to make sure Moonblight didn’t get caught in some unexpected deep doo-doo.
63
I had a serious backup of beer dregs by the time I made my getaway. My luck was in. Garderobes were available inside the main entrance. They were a public relations gimmick. The barons of the Church could point and pat themselves on the back for that glittering example of the benevolence of their corporation. Anyone could stroll in and use the pot, no charge-though there was an alms box handy, painted scarlet, flanked by saints famous for having distributed their fortunes to the poor once they got religion.
Nothing said that they had beggared themselves for the benefit of the impoverished rather than the Church, though. The professionals are always all about tithing, then giving a little extra for the building fund, the education fund, the this fund, the that fund, the other fund, the fund-raising fund.
How much of the poor box fell into clerical pockets instead of finding its way to the truly needy?
So. I shared space with stench and flies for a bit, then eased on out of Chattaree, not far behind the man called Almaz, whom I had heard receiving instructions just before I was finally to make my toilet run.
Did Niea know what Almaz really was?
He was for sure not your everyday parish priest.
And he was no longer alone, which explained why he was only now getting around to heading down all those steps, toward Tara Chayne and that bench, which she shared with a fellow sporting an incredibly bright yellow hat.
Two feet separated Niea and Tara Chayne. Niea had his hands planted on his knees, sitting at attention, staring straight ahead like a nine-year-old in deep trouble. Moonblight was being conversational. He was being all “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am.”
It would have been amusing had not Almaz and three unpriestly priests been bearing down.
I hung back, both curious and calculating the value of an unexpected arrival. What would Moonblight do?
She registered the approach of the ill-wishers. She did nothing to tip Almaz and his gang.
Brownie and her pals were invisible. Had they gotten bored and gone home to the graveyard?
I couldn’t have that kind of luck.
In fact, it was time for luck of a whole ’nother kind.
Almaz never got a chance to bark because Moonblight waved some fingers and said something my wonder ear heard but my brain couldn’t process. All four men hit an unseen wall ten feet from the bench. In plain Karentine Moonblight said, “You can come out now and deal with this.”
People sporting red berets spontaneously generated. Those hats all carried the Specials badge. One was Target. Another was Helenia. Preston Womble and Elona Muriat were not among the others.
No one said anything. The Specials just got busy.
If ever I’d doubted that Deal Relway was on a mission from God and knew no fear, the last doubt died. Only insane lawmen would arrest Chattaree priests on their front steps without so much as offering a charge. Almaz and his henchmen were boggled. They surrendered meekly, neither arguing nor resisting, only Almaz asking what was happening but going no further when he got no answer. He did toss a long look back toward the cathedral entrance.
Struggle was pointless. They were sure to be released shortly, probably before these red top idiots drove them all the way to the Al-Khar.
The man who had sent Almaz out watched from above, his anger obvious. Brownie and the girls joined me as I moved to a better vantage, still close enough to jump in if it looked like Moonblight needed help.
A few gawkers clapped when the Specials bound the priests’ hands behind them. The clapping spread when the red tops tethered them together in a coffle.
I should roam the Dream Quarter more often. This was something new. Somehow these priests had managed to make themselves detested.
There was some laughter when Target sent the prisoners off herded by one woman not much bigger than a gnat, armed with a knobbly walking stick that she plied with the skill of a sword master. She needed to do so only once.
Target and the Specials removed their caps and vanished.
Was Relway getting crazier?
He had just challenged Chattaree to a pissing contest. Being Deal Relway, though, he wouldn’t have pushed that boldly if he wasn’t damned sure that the results would be happy.
First criminals, then priests. How long before he went to work on the lawyers?
I told my girls, “Let’s go see Tara Chayne.”
The red tops hadn’t bothered Moonblight or Niea. Niea still couldn’t get his mouth all the way shut.
He was staring after his comrades when I arrived. I sat down the other side of him from Tara Chayne, leaned back, spread out. “Be a great time for lunch, we’d thought to bring one.”
“What about Sasah’s?”
“Wasn’t lunch. More like punishment for my sins.”
“Plebe.”
“Born and raised. Me and Brownie, too.”
Big doggie eyes sparkled. I was talking about her.
“While you were hiding your light under a bushel, I introduced myself to Niea Syx here. A cool name. I’m sure he made it up. I presented our case. He doesn’t believe me, but he’s pretending to see the light.”
“Which light? Not the one under the bushel?”
Number Two settled to her haunches in front of our new friend, stared like she was waiting for him to offer her something to eat.
“The light he’ll follow will be ours instead of the one belonging to the Civil Guard. Otherwise we hand him over to them.”
“We can take him home for dinner.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
Brownie popped up suddenly, growling.
64
Civil Guard Senior Lieutenant Deiter Scithe, an old acquaintance, appeared as though having stepped out of an alternate dimension. The hedge wizards the Guard used must have been working on stealthy projects. Scithe said, “Make some room, Garrett.” Then, eyeing Brownie, “That’s one ferocious killer hellhound you’ve got there.”
“Able to bring down a woolly mammoth with one snap of her jaws. Easy, girl. The lieutenant is all right. He’s just not smart enough not to name names in front of strangers.”
“It’s Brevet Captain these days, Mr. Garrett. And since when are you worried about folks knowing who you are? You always have your dukes up telling the world to bring it on.”
“You might have heard, life hasn’t gone so great lately. Just between us, some bad people have been giving me grief.”
“I have heard. They’ve heard on up the chain, too. The Prince himself is pretending that he cares.”
Tara Chayne’s ears pricked up.
Mine lay down like those of a nervous mutt. I asked, “How come you’re out here? You don’t usually hang out with the Runners or Specials.”
“Special assignment. Monitoring the Director’s favorites.” A sweeping gesture included Target and others who could no longer be seen.
I wondered where Helenia had gotten to. She had been the last to disappear.
“Oh, snap! And you with a family to worry about.”
“Things aren’t like that anywhere but inside your fevered head. I’m not here to critique their behavior. I’m supposed to monitor their judgment. Inquiring minds want to know, are the boys being deceived by the tricksey, dastardly Garrett, or does his tall tale have any real substance?”
“You’re kidding me.” He had to be. Strafa was dead. Shadowslinger was laid up. Moonslight had been kidnapped. There were sorcerous battles in the night. People kept trying to kill me. They thought I might be working a scam?
Senior Lieutenant-Brevet Captain-Scithe couldn’t suppress a grin. “Now you know what it feels like.”
“I don’t get it.” But I did.
He eyed Tara Chayne, Niea, and the dogs again, lazily, but asked no questions. “You need to learn to relax, Garrett. Bad as things get sometimes, they’re never as bad as you make them out. The situ
ation in the Guard isn’t complicated. The Director stretches the boundaries of the law to make it work more effectively, but he never deliberately violates it.”
“That could be a matter of perspective.”
“Really? When only the perspective of the Guard actually matters?”
And there it was. The iron truth.
He asked, “How has it been going?”
“You just made it sound like you know that better than I do.”
“Yes. We have been watching.”
“No! Really?” Sarcastic.
Moonblight reached across behind Niea to pinch me. She asked, “You mind telling us your special reason why?”
Niea was trying to polish his invisibility skills. He wasn’t a master, but he was good enough for the brevet captain, who took him for some random civilian who had picked the wrong place to loaf and now wouldn’t run because he was afraid that would attract attention.
“Because Garrett is Garrett. Where he goes, weird shit happens. The hierarchy doesn’t like weird shit. And when the current crop of weird shit is considered, it looks like some serious villains might ooze out of the woodwork if we just stay quiet and wait.”
“The hierarchy? That would be?”
He eased back, suddenly cautious, probably recollecting having been briefed about me maybe running with some grim enigmas off the Hill. “The Guard leadership. Ah. I see. You’re thinking factionalism inside the Guard. I promise you, that’s nowhere near as sharp as a professional paranoid like Garrett might think. Our disagreements are familial. We don’t quibble about what needs doing, just about how to do it and how soon we should get it done.”
Man, that sounded like he was borrowing sentiments retailed to some other pain-in-the-ass outsider recently, by somebody like the boss who had sent him to monitor the behavior of Relway’s boyos.
Scithe went on to assure us, “It is a matter of inalterable policy at the Al-Khar, high and low, to see someone swing for what happened to Furious Tide of Light.”
“You don’t need to waste any public treasure making that happen.”
“It’s part of a larger picture, my lady.”
I made a decision. I told Moonblight, “I’m going to tell him about your sister.”
Her response was a knee-jerk natural. She began to puff up to argue, but then she reached a conclusion of her own. “That might be best.” She rested a hand on Niea’s shoulder, keeping him quiet while the rest of us talked. “Go ahead. I’ll fill in if necessary.”
So I explained why we had come to Chattaree.
“Interesting,” Scithe said. He was a long, lean man now so sprawled and relaxed he was like a scattered pile of sticks at the end of the bench. “You knew this man but he didn’t know you, Lady?”
“I knew I’d seen him before here. Because of his deformity. He had no reason to recognize me. He didn’t seem like the kind of priest who gets out in front of the punters.”
Niea stirred uncomfortably, his eyes grown big. He wanted to say something, but Moonblight’s grip reminded him to keep his opinions to himself.
The poor boy was in the grip of professional angst. He had a powerful inclination to defend what, more and more, looked indefensible. And Tara Chayne wasn’t going to let him argue his case.
More, he had begun to realize that we couldn’t just turn him loose to report that he had heard Magister Bezma ratted out.
Scithe said, “I’ll pass this on to the Unpublished Committee.”
He didn’t explain further.
I kept getting distracted by concerns about the relationship between Relway’s crew and the rest of the Guard. Brevet Captain Deiter Scithe was Westman Block’s creature. General Block was the voice of moderation and convention. But Scithe wasn’t uncomfortable being surrounded by the Director’s devoted thugs. Presumably the contest between moderates and extremists did not yet feature animosity.
Human nature being human nature, that would change once the Guard achieved the luxury of not having to stand united against everyone else.
I asked the air, “Isn’t there some way we could lure Bezma out?”
“They might have a good reason for him not to,” Tara Chayne said. “I didn’t know he was a magister till friend Niea let that cat out.”
Priestly sorcerers of magister status would find few friends on the Hill. Hill folks who started their own cult would find no sympathizers among the organized defrauders of the Dream Quarter.
Bezma would be safe from outsiders as long as he stayed inside Chattaree. His position there was perfect cover for one of the Operators.
Even Shadowslinger lacked a set big enough to try bringing him out against his will.
I did not miss Deiter Scithe’s secretive smile.
Maybe Magister Bezma wasn’t so secure after all.
I told Tara Chayne, “We blew a chance here.”
“Stuff happens. Think positive. We have a name and location now. A thread to pull. A big-ass mooring cable kind of thread. It’s only a matter of time till the tournament scheme collapses. If we can convince the right people to keep their emotions in check.”
What did that mean? Was she just whistling past the morgue?
But she had her evil smirk on.
Lots of folks were having thoughts they weren’t sharing.
Ha! I had the cure for that!
Niea looked lost.
Brownie and the girls didn’t care. They did look hungry again, though.
Tara Chayne suggested, “We ought to take our new friend back to your house. Your partner will be thrilled to meet him.”
The thrill would not be mutual.
Niea Syx knew plenty that he wouldn’t want to share with outsiders.
65
We headed back north, me now particularly conscious that a cloud of Specials must be swarming around us. The others, excepting Niea, were relaxed. Scithe chattered incessantly, digging into how Strafa’s passing might touch my connection, or lack thereof, with my former woman. Despite being married, with children, Brevet Captain Scithe was thoroughly infatuated with Tinnie Tate. Not that he would ever push past flirting-but he would certainly look out for the pretty red-haired lady.
I neither encouraged nor discouraged him. Tinnie was outside my personal orbit but not gone from emotional recollection. I lugged around a satchel full of guilt about the split. I like Tinnie. She is good people. I wish there was a way we could stay friends.
Belinda Contague crossed my thoughts.
We had stayed buds.
Belinda was unique, though. She was crazier than most.
Tara Chayne asked, “Working on your suicide program again?”
“Huh? My what?”
Then I got it. I’d drifted away again, escaping dread reality.
“I’m awake.” I checked to see where we were.
We hadn’t been wandering. We were only blocks from Playmate’s stable. I felt like I’d forgotten something important but hadn’t lost track of the fact that I needed to see my friend and to check on Little Moo.
Her I expected to be gone. Playmate was kind, caring, and gentle, but knew less than I did about the nurture of teenage girls. Especially those who were intellectually and emotionally challenged.
Lucky me, I had Dean, Singe, and Old Bones to help chip the edges off a reasonably normal Penny Dreadful.
I suffered a sudden blow to the right biceps. “Ow! That hurt!”
Not nearly as much as it might have had Tara Chayne not been older than stone and punching sideways off the back of another horse. “Stop fantasizing. Death is afoot.”
“What?” I didn’t see anything unusual. We were a block from Playmate’s place in one of the quietest neighborhoods in TunFaire. My encounter with Little Moo could be the biggest excitement there in months. “What do you mean?”
“Just trying to get your attention.”
One thing had changed. Helenia had joined us, limping badly. “Blisters,” she said when I caught her eye. “I’ll need to wear better shoe
s if Deal keeps sending me off on these fool’s errands.” She grimaced at each fourth or fifth word.
“Hang in there, eighty yards more. Then when we get rolling again I’ll let you ride.”
I should have been down off that monster already. We couldn’t travel faster than Scithe and Niea could walk.
“Trouble coming,” Tara Chayne warned, shifting to Moonblight mode. She hadn’t lost her edge since coming back from the Cantard.
I felt the change, too. The air became charged with crackling imminence and a touch of ozone. The dogs, Scithe, even Niea felt it, as did our hitherto invisible escort. Several materialized, drifted in around our party.
The imminence faded. I sensed irritation, frustration, and impatience tempted to take a chance.
More red tops revealed themselves. They had an idea whence those sensations had come. They closed in fast. In moments they were chasing several people.
None of my companions gave in to the impulse to join the chase.
That caused another wave of irritation.
Moonblight ripped off a peal of laughter right before she gave away the fact that she was a heavyweight off the Hill.
She said something in a demonic dialect that consisted mostly of grinds and clicks and consonants. The pure jet ink of a living centipede shadow materialized overhead, legs churning, body undulating like that of a snake in a hurry. A cry of despair rose somewhere between us and Playmate’s place. Moonblight spoke again. The centipede scuttled off after whoever or whatever had run away. It walked on air fast!
Moonblight said, “I’ve been looking to use that ever since they misspulled me in.” “Misspulled.” I’d swear that’s what she said, though she promises that she said, “Since this mess pulled me in.”
Some awful noises started up in the direction that the centipede had run. The roar of a panicked crowd followed.
“Caught them!” Moonblight crowed. “We’re having fun now, aren’t we?”
She didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded. In midchatter she had shifted attention from the sounds to some red tops bringing two prisoners our way. They weren’t coming to meet us. They passed by on their way to the Al-Khar, which lay back behind us. They nodded courteously to Scithe and winked at Helenia.