by Glen Cook
"I have to."
19
I tripped over the old man's sidekick as I stepped into the garden. Well! Another mystery. Some wicked soul had come along and stabbed him in his sleep.
I scowled at Morley. Morley wasn't abashed. "Didn't need him, Garrett. And now you won't need to keep looking back." Just because the guy had caused a scene at the Joy House.
I didn't argue. We'd had the argument more times than I liked to recall. Morley knew neither pity nor remorse, only practicality. Which, he had a habit of reminding me, was why I turned to him so often.
Maybe. But I think I go to him because I trust him to cover my back.
I'd grabbed the old man's lantern. It was out now, after my spill. I pushed it aside, dragged the body into the coach house, closed the door, and headed for the big house by the light of the lantern Morley carried. I snagged the extinguished lantern as I went.
The house wasn't locked. It took us only moments to get inside and find something.
We entered through a dusty kitchen. We needed go on no farther. Seconds after we entered, Morley said, "Check this, Garrett."
"This" was a three-gallon wooden bucket. A tribe of flies had made it a place of worship. Their startled buzz and the smell told me that it was no water pail. Rusty cakes of dried blood adorned it.
"They had to use something to carry the blood away." I shone my light around, spotted a set of knives on a drainboard. They were not ordinary kitchen knives. They were decorated with fancy symbols. They were decorated with dried blood too.
Morley observed, "They didn't take good care of their tools."
"You didn't see the way they moved. After they'd danced with Saucerhead they probably didn't feel much like doing housework."
"You satisfied now?"
I had to be. "Yeah." No point lollygagging around, maybe getting ourselves hanged with all that evidence.
Morley grinned. "You really are learning, Garrett. I figure maybe another hundred years and you can get by without a baby-sitter."
I wondered if maybe he wasn't a little too optimistic.
Being no fool, Morley went his own way. I found Captain Block the last place I expected, at the bachelor officers' quarters at the barracks the Watch shares with the local army garrison. Those troops are less use than the Watch, coming out for nothing but ceremonies and to stand guard at various royal edifices.
I got the usual runaround trying to reach Block, but it had no heart in it. Maybe he'd left word a certain battered old Marine might want to get hold of him sometime.
He was dressing when I walked in and started dripping on his carpet. "I take it you've got something, Garrett." For the life of me I couldn't figure why he wasn't thrilled to see me, just because it was after midnight.
"I found your man."
"Huh?" Dumbstruck is really amazing on a naturally dumbfounded face.
"That villain you wanted found? The fellow who entertained himself by whittling on pretty girls? If you want him, I've got him."
"Uh... yeah?" He didn't believe me yet.
"Put your slicker on, Cap. I've had me a long, hard day and I want to get on home."
"You found him?"
Ta-da! First thing you knew, he'd figure it out. "Yep. But you'd better get rolling if you want to cash in."
"Yeah. Sure." He was in a daze. He couldn't believe this. For a moment I entertained suspicions. They didn't get too rowdy. "But how? I had a thousand men looking. They never caught a whiff."
"Didn't know where to sniff. You get the nose when you have to make your living at it."
"Sounds like you plain got lucky."
"Luck helps."
"Should I bring some men?"
"You won't need them. They won't give you any trouble."
Must have been an edge to my voice. He looked me askance but was too shocked still to pursue it. He shrugged into an army overcloak, jammed a waterproof hat onto his head. "You don't know how much we appreciate this, Garrett."
"I have my suspicions. Just show me by making sure you don't forget to drop my fee off at my place."
"What?" He managed to look affronted. Somebody had the audacity to question the integrity of the Watch? "You think we'd screw you?"
"The gods forfend. Me? Think a thing like that about our brave Watchmen? Surely you jest, Captain."
He heard the sarcasm and didn't like it, but had become too excited to take offense. Hell, he took off like the proverbial bat, dashing boldly into the night and rain—till he realized he didn't know where the hell he was headed.
"I'm moving as fast as I can, Captain," I told him. And I was. I did want to get home. I had big ambitions in the night lumber trade. "I put in about two thousand miles of legwork today, tracking these monsters down."
"Monsters? There's more than one?"
The man didn't listen. I shook my head. He fell into step beside me, as bouncy as a five-year-old.
"One more than one, Captain. The big villain was a guy about a thousand years old who was some kind of wizard. The other was your basic street bruno, middle thirties."
"Was?" Now he sounded nervous, even wary. "You keep saying ‘was.' "
"You'll see."
20
He saw. He was less than thrilled. "Did you have to kill them?" He stared at the old man like he hoped the crazy bastard would rise from the dead.
"No. I could've let them kill me. But then you'd still be looking, wouldn't you?" I stared at the old man, rattled. Block didn't notice.
First, the old boy had crawled to the garden door before he'd checked out. Then he'd gotten naked. What there was of him was so dried up it looked like something had sucked out everything inside his skin. That skin was dead white. I wondered if maybe he wouldn't rise from the dead. If he hadn't already, a time or two. Then I shook off the fit of superstition and concentrated on a problem that was real and immediate.
Someone had been into the coach house in my absence. Somebody who had stripped the dead man and had ripped off a crazy miscellany from the tack and tool racks. That smelled of a crime of opportunity committed by some down-and-out amateur. By someone who had seen a door open, had darted in for a nervous peek, had taken what he could use, and had grabbed everything else he could carry that looked like it might sell for enough to make a down payment on a bottle of cheap red wine. Was I to go a-hunting this thief, I'd keep an eye peeled for a short, skinny wino all cocked up in a new suit of old clothes, complete with one of those absurd deerstalker hats.
Block complained, "Would've had a lot more impact if I'd been able to bring them to trial."
"I don't doubt it a bit. It would've been a circus. The show of the year. I would've loved to have seen it. But he was belching butterflies and staring green fire and getting ready to lay some serious sorcery on me. I couldn't talk him out of it. Come on. Let me show you some evidence."
I led him to the kitchen, showed him the bucket. I wanted to show him the knives but they weren't where I'd seen them last. That damned Morley, collecting souvenirs. I felt more comfortable in the house now that I had an officer of the law along to explain to the local custodians. I took time to look around more carefully. I didn't see anything new. "You satisfied?"
"I expect." He held up a big glass jar Morley and I had overlooked. It contained a human heart in a clear fluid. "I'll have my people come take the place apart."
"You know who owns it?"
"I know. Ironic coincidence. There won't be any problems, though. The Prince is determined. He'll just be doubly pissed because somebody dared. He'll breathe fire."
I chuckled. "You're welcome to collect the kudos, Captain. I don't want his kind noticing me. Just see that I get paid. Then you're happy, I'm happy, and TunFaire is happy soon as word gets out. Now, unless you insist on my help, I'm dragging my weary ass home and putting it to bed."
"Go ahead," he said distractedly. "And, Garrett?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. You'll get your money. And I'll still owe you for this mirac
le."
"There you go." I got me out of there while the getting was good.
The Dead Man was still doing interviews when I got home. There were people in with him and people waiting in the small front room. Dean was doing a shift on the door. I gave him my most malicious smile and sneered. "Now you know what it feels like to be up at an absurd hour." I made a quick sally into the small front room in search of feline game but did not find my prey. Dean eyed me nervously and kept his mouth shut.
Excellent, I thought as I trudged upstairs. First thing in the morning we'd have a talk about that cat.
21
First thing in the morning, I didn't talk to Dean at all. About cats, anyway. He rolled me out at some absurd hour before noon, told me, "His Nibs wants you in his room. I'll bring your breakfast there."
I groaned and rolled over.
Dean didn't bother with the usual roust. That should have warned me. But it was morning. Who thinks in the morning? I just grumped some ill-placed gratitude in the general direction of heaven and burrowed into my pillow.
Bugs started chewing on me.
Felt like bugs biting, anyway. When I started flopping and swatting and cussing and digging around, I couldn't find a thing. But the nibbling kept on keeping on.
It was morning. It took me a while to figure it. Old Dean hadn't salted my bed with insects. The Dead Man was prodding me.
Still cussing and dancing and swatting, I pried myself out of bed. That part of my mind that was working duly noted the discovery of a hitherto unsuspected aspect of my partner. He would persecute his allies as readily as his enemies.
Though my eyes only pretended to be open and my legs rebelled at every step, I made it downstairs without suffering any disaster. I stumbled into the Dead Man's room and dropped into my chair, weakly looking around for something I could use to start a fire as soon as I got the ambition.
Good morning, Garrett. You wouldn't think you'd get much expression out of his style of communication, but he sure managed to sound as happy as a clam that didn't know it was being fattened up for a chowder. I am so pleased you could join me.
The sentiments I expressed were less sociable. "What the hell you bubbling about? What the hell did you drag me down here for? The sun ain't even up yet." Which wasn't strictly true. Somewhere out there, above the rain clouds, there was a sun that had been up for hours. It just hadn't been up for enough hours.
I could contain my curiosity no longer. The gentlemen of the City Watch came round to pay their respects and debts this morning. They were generous beyond belief.
"Don't mean much. Them showing up with one sceat makes them generous beyond belief. How much?"
The full one thousand marks. Moreover—
"Only a thousand?" I grumped. Naturally, I grumped. A thousand was a major score, but I'd have grumped if they'd brought money around by the wagonload. "You could've waited till a decent hour."
Moreover , he continued, ignoring me completely, they brought the latest news from the Cantard. My theories have been vindicated at last. The expected collapse of Glory Mooncalled's revolution, indicated by all those defections and desertions, has proved chimerical. He was just biding his time against the ripe moment.
"Aw, hell." Now I understood why he'd dragged me out. Didn't have a thing to do with money. He'd gotten his big chance to crow—with me in no condition to fight back.
I'd figured Mooncalled was on his last legs. The evidence was there. Defections and desertions had been strong indicators that the rebellion was about to fold. Hell, there were refugees from the Cantard scattered all over Karenta now. I'd seen plenty right here in TunFaire.
I didn't bother asking how Mooncalled had conjured another miracle. The man did these things. I went to work on the breakfast Dean brought and waited on the Dead Man. He would want to rub it in. He loves it when I lose an argument completely.
He let me have it blow by blow, the uneconomical way. The way I do him when I want to yank his beard.
He claimed most of the defections and desertions hadn't been genuine. Furthermore, Mooncalled had just been lying low, staying ahead of the various armies, occasionally encouraging the Venageti forces or Karentine to come to blows while he awaited one of those rare but exceedingly violent storms that sweep into the Cantard from the gulf. I saw a few of those while I was down there. All you can do is take cover and hope the cover stands up to the wind and rain.
While his enemies were paralyzed, Mooncalled had struck. In both directions. One force attacked Full Harbor, Karenta's biggest bridgehead in the Cantard. He'd tried before and had failed. This time he'd succeeded, taking Full Harbor with all its supplies and munitions.
Another force attacked Quarache, Venageta's logistical bastion in the southern Cantard. Quarache is bigger and far more important than Full Harbor. It surrounds the only big, reliable oasis in that part of the desert. The Venageti war effort hinges on continued control of Quarache. Without it they wouldn't be able to project their power far enough to threaten the silver mines.
Losing Full Harbor would hurt the Karentine effort but not cripple it. Karenta has other bases along the coast. Venageta doesn't.
I tried a weak sally. "Your boy is in deep shit now, Chuckles. They'll send the Marines to take the Harbor back. He's never gone up against Marines."
Except for a sly touch of amusement he ignored me. He continued his story.
Quarache didn't go the way of Full Harbor. Mooncalled hadn't had the strength to carry it completely. Fighting continued as the Venageti rushed reinforcements in from everywhere, were reclaiming Quarache in prolonged, desperate, expensive house-to-house combat.
Like most ordinary Karentines, I've developed an affection for Glory Mooncalled. Not that I want my kingdom to lose a war. But when you spend your whole life a witness to the corruption, incompetence, and greed shown by our overlords, you can't help but admire a guy who makes rude noises in their faces and brassily dares them to do their worst—then dances around mocking them while they stumble over their own feet. Too, I think a lot of us nurture the secret hope that Mooncalled's antics will compel an end to the endless war.
"This is really why you dragged me out of bed?"
This and the fact that I wish to hear details of what happened last night. And he did seem intensely interested. I recalled that he had been from the beginning, like he'd suspected something he didn't want to share. How was it that you managed to conclude the thing so quickly?
"Ah? I think I detect a hint of jealousy. A note of disbelief."
The law of averages suggests you should be capable of stumbling through unaided occasionally. It is true that I remain amazed at your ability to flout that law so frequently.
Yes. He was piqued. He'd put all that time into all those interviews, which we hadn't yet discussed, expecting to dazzle one and all with a startling indictment. Then I'd had to go spoil his game by tracking down that jinxed coach. Garrett the Killjoy, that's me. "You want to tell me what you thought was going on when Block first told us about the women?"
Somebody pounded on the door, timing it as though the Dead Man had had him waiting in the wings.
That will be Mr. Tharpe. I allowed him to return home last evening. He had personal matters to settle. Stay seated. Dean will handle the door.
I yelled, "Dean, throw that cat out when you let Saucerhead in." I waited till Tharpe came in before I started my story.
"You got lucky," Saucerhead said when I finished.
"Lucky, hell. That was a prime piece of deducting and detecting."
Tharpe grunted, unconvinced.
"I didn't see anybody else thinking about attacking it by looking for the coach."
"I still say you lucked out, Garrett. How about if the old geezer used some regular coach? How about if he walked?"
"But he didn't. And that's the point. And that's what cost him. He decided to break in on a closed house and use it for his base, and found him a spiffy, neato coach there and just couldn't resist going in st
yle. And it cost him." For a second I wondered if the jinx had gotten old butterfly-breath. But I didn't care. I wasn't much bothered by having croaked him, now. I hadn't run into many people who'd needed killing more. I couldn't feel bad about doing the world a favor.
"You lucked out," Saucerhead insisted. And wouldn't be swayed. Neither would the Dead Man.
Mr. Tharpe, I have an errand for you, should you care to extend your employment.
"You pay, I play." Saucerhead liked the Dead Man for some reason.
This building has become suspiciously free of vermin. That was because I'd burned a dozen sulfur candles one day while he was taking one of his six-week naps. I thought I'd do him a favor. Bugs like to snack on him. I am accustomed to employing large numbers of insects when I examine the various permutations of action available to the forces operating in the Cantard. I cannot indulge my curiosity without them.
"You already heard what Glory Mooncalled done, then?"
Yes. I am excited. I need a few thousand insects with which to evolve through the options available to the surviving combatants.
He had a habit of lining bugs up on the wall, like soldiers, and running them through maneuvers. A disgusting vice.
"Now, wait a minute," I protested. "I just got this place deinfested." Bugs and mice are the Dead Man's worst enemies. Left unchecked, they would devour him in no time.
So. You are the villain responsible.
He knew darned well I was, he just hadn't brought it up before.
"I am he," said I. "I'm also the guy what owns this dump. I'm also the guy what's feeling damned put upon on account of I've got a housekeeper who's moved in uninvited and figures it's his duty to drag in every stray cat he can find. I'm also the guy what don't like the floor crunching under his tootsies whenever he starts looking for the chamber pot in the dark. Never mind about the bugs, Saucerhead. Let him use his imagination."
The Dead Man sent me an exaggerated mental sigh. So be it. I fear, then, Mr. Tharpe, that we have no further need for your services.