by Glen Cook
"You stay away, Garrett. Or they'll find parts of you all over town."
"I didn't know you had a woman. Who is she?" Fact was, I thought he and his sidekick Sadler had a thing.
"Huh?"
"I'm going to tell you this once, Crask. I don't know the girl. I have seen her before. Once. She walked into Morley Dotes's place night before last. Two minutes later a bunch of guys roared in and tried to kidnap her. Me and Morley and Saucerhead showed them what we think of guys who pick up their girls the rough way. She disappeared before we finished. Beginning and end of story. Now it's your go. Who is she? How come you got your balls in an uproar?"
"You don't need to know." The girl was out of sight now. Crask frowned after her, as much puzzled as angry. He'd bought my story, probably because I'd not lied to him much in the past. "What was she doing at Dotes's place?"
"You got me. Never said a word. Just came in looking scared, sat by herself, then three guys blew in and dragged her out."
He grunted. "I didn't know about that. Thanks, Garrett. I'll give you one back. Tell Tharpe it ain't going to be healthy hanging around with those guys trying to mess with the musicians."
"I was going to suggest that anyway after I saw you in there." I started moving, planning to put some distance between us before it occurred to him to bring up old business.
"Garrett."
Damn. "What?"
"You see the girl around again, pass the word. We'd like to know."
"Sure. But why? Who is she?"
"Just do it." He went inside without turning his back.
I hustled away, breathing hard. It had been an encounter I'd dreaded more than necessary. Maybe. Maybe the street in front of Hullar's place didn't strike him as the best stage for my demise.
25
Peace and harmony broke out all over. I had nothing to do but loaf, deliver the occasional report to Hullar, and keep an eye on Dean's crowd whenever he had them over for one of his rehab parties. You wouldn't believe how rowdy old men can get.
There weren't any cats around, and except for his barbs about me not working, Dean wasn't a nuisance. The Dead Man went to sleep, visions of Glory Mooncalled dancing in his head. Saucerhead resigned from the musician-organizing racket just before Morley reported that he was no longer obliged to endure the custom of that human smudgepot Licks. I got out and visited, bought a few rounds for friends, reforged contacts, even dropped by the brewery and spent a few days checking employee theft for Weider. As always, he wanted me to take the job full-time. As always, I couldn't overcome my horror of holding down a real job.
Nobody's life stays on that high and relaxed a level. Especially not mine. The gods have a special Garrett harassment squad dedicated solely to my persecution.
So I should have known the good times were over the morning I went out to run and found that the rains had returned.
I was in my office busting my skull trying to fake up numbers that would impress the tax thugs with the depths of my destitution. Somebody hammered on the door. I groaned. It was nearly suppertime and Dean was fixing a standing rib roast that would be bloody rare and would melt in my mouth, with all the extras. Smelling the odors from the kitchen had me drooling already.
Dean asked, "Shall I ignore it?"
"No. It's probably Saucerhead." Tharpe had been around a lot lately. His flame had walked. His luck hadn't been good since. "There enough to feed him too?"
"Barely." Saucerhead does put it away. "There won't be anything left over."
I shrugged. "I'll get even with him someday."
"You just want to get away from what you're doing." He tottered down the hall to the accompaniment of renewed pounding. Somebody was awfully anxious.
Dean was right. I did want to get away. I hate the whole idea of taxes. What have I ever gotten from the Crown? A pack and a collection of weapons and a five-year adventure in the war zone. I had to give back the pack and weapons. They just wanted to rip me off so they could give some other kid a chance to see the acne on the ass of the world.
I got out of having to be creative, but, all things considered, I'd rather I'd stayed with the taxes.
It wasn't Saucerhead. It was a guy I'd hoped never to see again, Captain Block. Dean showed Block into my office. Block looked frazzled.
I couldn't help myself. "Now what?"
Block planted his behind, settled his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands. "Same as before. You'll have to see it."
"Look, I bailed you out once. Isn't that enough? Dean's cooking supper. It'll be ready in half an hour."
"So he told me. Also told me you were busy doing taxes."
"Yeah."
"You wouldn't be the kind of guy who'd forget to report a fat cash payment from the Watch, would you?"
Damned right I would be. "Why?"
"One mission of the Watch is to investigate alleged tax fraud. We don't do much of that, but when there's a report, we have to act to cover our butts."
"I'll find my hat. How far do we have to go?"
"Not far." He smiled weakly. "I knew I could count on you. And I'm sure your purse won't get hurt this time, either."
No happiness came through his smile. He looked more stressed than last time. What had him by the short hairs now?
Something that would be politically painful, surely. By getting out, tapping the wind of rumor whispering through the streets, I knew Block had turned catching old bug-breath into a big score. Suddenly there was a lot of stuff going on in the shadows. Prince Rupert was getting behind Westman Block. Block had hidden irons in the fire. It all had the knights of the street feeling nervous.
I made sure I was equipped for trouble, just because of the company I'd be keeping. Trouble followed Block.
We talked about the Cantard as we walked. Glory Mooncalled had abandoned his effort to capture Quarache but had hamstrung the Venageti ability to project their power far into the desert. I'd also been on the mark about the Marines getting the job of retaking Full Harbor. That operation had begun. I had mixed feelings. They brag that when they turn you into a Marine they make you a Marine forever.
The more we talked, the more I realized that Block was thoroughly spooked. Whatever his problem, it was going to be something I wouldn't like.
26
Now I was spooked.
"Identical," I said, staring at the gutted, naked girl. She hung in an alleyway behind abandoned tenements on the near south side. Those tenements had been occupied by ratmen squatters until a few hours ago. They were long gone now.
In the rain and poor light the dead girl was a ringer for the one Block had shown me in the Bustee. "This can't be, Block. I got them." I had to believe I'd gotten them. I'm not made to shake off killing the wrong villains.
Block wasn't so scared for his behind that he couldn't see what was bothering me. "You got the right guy, Garrett. Don't doubt that for a minute. After we got the Prince's go-ahead, we took that place apart. You wouldn't believe what we found. They'd been in there a long time. They kept pieces of all their victims. There were bodies in the cellar, girls, but not the type. My guess is they used them for practice before they went after the real thing."
I stared at the new corpse, listened to the flies sing. "There was one thing... " I told him about that missing clothing and knives. I'd discovered that Morley hadn't taken away any souvenirs. I didn't mention Morley's name. It wouldn't appeal to Block.
"You didn't mention any of this before."
"I thought everything was wrapped up before. But—"
"Yeah. But. Elvis!"
A nondescript Watchman hurried over. "Captain?"
"Show Mr. Garrett what you found."
Elvis had a folded scrap of paper tucked into a pocket inside his rain cape. Inside it were three green butterflies. I shivered as though the rain had turned to sleet. "How long since the last murder?"
"Twelve days. This one was right on schedule."
"I was afraid you'd say that." I'd been confident he
would. I don't know why I asked. Maybe I hoped he'd show me I was wrong.
"The killer is dead but the killing goes on. How can that be, Garrett?" Now I understood why Block was so rattled. This wasn't just a matter of his career being in jeopardy.
"I don't know. What happened to the old man's body?"
"It was cremated. I saw them both go into the ovens."
"What did you do with the old man from the Bustee? Did you get anything out of him?"
Block looked embarrassed. "He died."
"Huh?"
"We tried too hard. Gave him too much of everything. He overdid himself to death."
I just shook my head. It could only happen around me. "You recheck the Hamilton place since you found this?"
"Got the report before I came after you. Nothing there. No connection."
"What about the coach?"
"Hasn't moved. The wheels are chained so it can't be. And the horses were sold. They didn't belong there. They were squatters too."
"Know who this girl is yet?"
"No. But it won't be long before we do. She'll be somebody."
He meant she'd be related to somebody. None of the dead girls had been important in their own right yet, but they'd all come off the Hill. "If the pattern holds." I was scared and confused. I told Block I was scared and confused and didn't know what to do now, except, "We'd better talk it over with the Dead Man before we do anything. He did interview all those people."
Block brightened. "Yeah. If there's anything to start on, he ought to have it."
I recalled my roast. That wonderful, expensive roast that had had me drooling for hours.
I wasn't hungry anymore.
"It probably don't mean a thing now," I said, "but did you ever find out who we caught?"
"The old guy?"
No, dipshit. The lead horse in the team in... "Yes."
Block glanced around, then whispered, "Idraca Matiston."
"Whoa! Scares me. Who the hell is... was... Idraca Matiston."
"Keep it down, will you?"
"Somebody, I take it, that was enough of a somebody that you don't want word getting around."
Whisper. "Idraca Matiston, Viscount Nettles. Lady Hamilton's lover. Had a bit of a bizarre reputation to begin, which is why we wrapped it fast and quiet and other quarters let it out he'd passed on from complications. He was in and out of the Hamilton house all the time and nobody thought anything of it because he'd always been. Now I know what I know, I'd go back and take a closer look at Lady Hamilton's mishap if the Prince would let me."
"I still don't know who you're talking about. I don't keep up with the ruling class's scandals. Guess it doesn't matter now, anyway."
"No, it doesn't. We're under orders to forget that episode."
I was willing to forget everything except when I looked at the young woman without her entrails. I shut up, did not press Block, but I did wonder about a woman who would take an antique like old butterfly-breath for her lover.
27
"Your dream came true," I told Dean when he let us in. "I'm employed. You'd better be more careful what you wish for."
"Is it that bad?"
"Worse. Go wake up the Dead Man."
"What about supper? Everything is overdone now." He almost whined. He's proud of his cooking.
"If you'd seen what I did, you wouldn't want to eat either."
"Oh. Then I'll have to get everything off the stove and put away right away." Thus he evaded having to deal with the Dead Man. He has a real talent for getting out of things by having something else to do that has to get done first.
I told Block, "We may have to light a fire under him. I think he's only been asleep about a week. Sometimes these spells last for months. Dean. Since you don't want to handle His Nibs, you get to go get Morley." That would fix him. He was less comfortable at Morley's place than in the Dead Man's room.
The brave Captain Block endured our juvenile maneuvers without comment. Maybe there was a human being in there. Maybe I could grow to like the guy, incompetence and all.
I led the way, storming the ramparts. Or whatever.
I hadn't been into the Dead Man's room since well before his nap began. Things had changed.
"Gods!" Block swore.
I made an inarticulate sound something like a squeal.
The place was full of bugs. Big bugs, little bugs, enough bugs to carry the Dead Man away if they got into teamwork. And I knew who was to blame.
The fat stiff had worked a deal with Saucerhead behind my back. The real question was, how had he worked it so the creepy-crawlies hadn't gotten into the rest of the house to give his scheme away? I muttered, "I hope you're enjoying your dreams about the Cantard." Despite my efforts, chitin crunched underfoot.
"What is this?" Block asked.
"He collects bugs. Believe it or not. And doesn't bother to get rid of them when he's done playing with them. Now I'll have to use sulfur candles again. I hate it when I have to do that." I wondered if Dean had been in on the deal. Probably. That would explain the absence of the cat. He'd know I'd start exterminating as soon as I found out. No cat would survive a thorough sulfur-candle job.
I started considering doing a sulfur-candle job on myself. It had been half an hour.
"He dead?" Block asked. "Like for good?" His Nibs hadn't twitched a mental muscle.
"No. Just napping. Really. He picks his times for when it's most inopportune."
"How come?"
I shrugged. "These things happen to me."
"What do you do?"
"Fuss and fume and threaten to light a fire under him. Scream and yell and run in circles."
"What if that don't work?"
"Then I muddle through on my own." I started loosening up to do my screaming and circling. I'd exhausted fuss and fume and threaten.
Block started wadding scrap paper from a trash box nobody had emptied in an epoch. He tossed the wads under the Dead Man's chair. I got attentive. "What're you doing?" My money was under there. I hoped he hadn't noticed.
"Going to start that fire you mentioned."
"Hell, you got balls after all." I talked about it but never seriously considered doing it. I leaned against the doorframe, watched. This could get interesting.
The bugs started getting excited—more excited than they usually do when someone is stomping around. I began to suspect that my partner wasn't as far away as he'd like me to think.
Block grabbed a lamp.
Damn. He was going to go for it. All the way. I wouldn't interfere in it for anything. Grinning, I observed, "I figure the fire will get his attention before it's big enough to be a threat to the house. After four hundred years he's pretty dried out. Ever hear about how when the Dewife invaded Polkta they couldn't find enough wood to heat their stills—no trees in Polkta—so they dragged old mummies out of the ancient Polktan tombs and burned them instead?"
Block paused. "Really?" He had a big dopey frown on.
"Really. A body dries out for a few hundred years, it'll burn. Not great, but good enough so you don't have to do without your liquor."
"Oh." Block didn't care about curiosa. In fact, he was baffled. What did this have to do with a bunch of drunken barbarian tomb robbers in a faraway land a hundred years ago?
I had to wonder about the man. And my cherished notions about the Watch. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they weren't all bone-lazy and graft-bitten. Maybe some were well-meaning—like Block most of the time—but were too stupid to handle their jobs.
Block squatted to shove the lamp under the Dead Man's chair.
Call him off, Garrett.
"It lives! Hang in there, Captain. I'm starting to get something."
Garrett!
"Take a peek inside a head or two, Old Bones. We've got a problem."
Block froze, flame a foot from the wastepaper, eyes a hair too high to spot my stash.
I have called you a curse upon my waning years, Garrett. I have been too kind. Many a time have I been tempt
ed to terminate our association. I should have yielded. You are rude, pushy, thoughtless, uncouth. Only a certain crude charm shields you.
"My mother loved me. But what did she know, eh?"
I could spend hours cataloging your shortcomings. But this is not the time.
"You've done it often enough that I know them by heart anyway."
Excellent. You do have your redeeming virtues.
First time I'd heard that from him. Tinnie and Maya and one or twelve other ladies had mentioned an occasional virtue and a more-than-occasional failing, but—
Including an all-consuming laziness. However, this once, you were correct to disturb me.
"Gods, you can carry me away. I've seen it all now."
Your manners are deplorable. You might have found a more civil means of obtaining my attention. But your assessment is correct. You cannot handle this without my assistance.
Smug character, eh? I signaled Block to back off. "He's awake." I breathed easier with the Watchman away from the household fortune.
I feared it would come to this. The hints were there. But I allowed your success on the Hill, come so swift and with such apparent finality, to deceive me. Because I wanted it to be true. Yes. Even master realists such as myself may, in a lifetime, succumb occasionally to wishful thinking. The mind and the heart naturally eschew horror.
Brag about your failures loudly, longly, humbly, and you can make a virtue of them. Make it look like you're a regular guy. I asked, "How come I get the feeling you weren't asleep at all, you were just rehearsing? Cut the aw-shucks comedy, Chuckles. Girls are dying right on schedule. They shouldn't be. You talked to everybody who had anything to do with the others. Did you get anything? Give us an angle. Tell us how to stop this thing for good."
That may not be possible. Not in the sense you mean. If it is what I feared at first glimpse. Captain Block, I need to know about that man you took from the Bustee. Garrett, I want to know about those ritual knives.