Faded Steel Heat

by Glen Cook

  Give him another generation and he’d be dancing in the streets.

  I glanced at the keg in the cold well. Tempting. But it was too early. And I had work to do.

  I shivered. Events had left me a mighty hill to climb.

  “Shut up in there!” I barked at Mr. Big, who was singing the marching song of ten thousand verses, each of which begins, “I don’t know but I’ve been told...”

  I poured tea, stirred in a spoon of honey, found a muffin young enough not to scar the hardwood if I dropped it, migrated to my office. “Good morning, Eleanor.”

  The lady in the painting smiled enigmatically, bemused by my morning dishabille. She didn’t surprise me when she didn’t have anything to say.

  The Goddamn Parrot was stuck on a verse about ratgirls. It didn’t flatter them. He must not have been completely comatose last night.

  Me, I thought better of ratgirls since meeting Pular Singe. Hers was an acquaintance worth nurturing.

  “So, darling. Did the Dead Man take off so he wouldn’t complicate my life now that I’m involved with righsists? Or did he feel unfulfilled and had to find himself and realize his potential?” That was a chuckle. Without continuous nagging Old Bones has the potential of an iceberg. He’ll slide downhill if he isn’t at the bottom already. If you give him a push.

  I finished my muffin and tea, went for another cup. I took the scenic route back to the office. The Goddman Parrot shut up as soon as I gave him some breakfast. Nestled in my chair again, I told Eleanor, “Listen to this and tell me what you think.” I started where I thought it began, did Black Dragon, Crask and Sadler, Belinda, Relway, shapeshifters, the Weiders, Marengo North English, Tama Montezuma.

  “So what do you think? Is it all connected? Or have I stumbled into several things all going on at the same time?” Occasionally it helps to bounce the facts off Eleanor or the Dead Man even though neither is inclined to respond. Sometimes the pieces fall into place.

  I twisted and kicked and whacked away at the facts with a big faded steel hammer to conjure the mess into a couple of complete scenarios. I was sure neither had much to do with reality. Neither made sense of what was happening.

  “I prefer the chaos theory,” I told Eleanor. “Shit’s flying everywhere and it’s by chance a lot is raining down where I’m standing. I’m what ties the whole mess together... Oh. Right. Isn’t this exactly what I’ve been waiting for?”

  Eleanor’s smile turned more teasing than enigmatic. She knows how thrilled I am when somebody pounds on my door.

  I don’t always hear them, though. The door, replaced often lately, is heavy. I’m thinking about getting one of those mechanical bells so I can be sure there’s somebody out there to ignore.

  59

  “Gods, Garrett,” Colonel Block growled. “You been on a three-day bender?”

  “You’re looking good yourself. We saw one another just yesterday. Remember?”

  “You really go to hell overnight, don’t you?”

  Maybe I did look a little ragged. “All right. So maybe I need a shave.” I let Block come inside.

  He doesn’t come around unless he has something on his mind. “That would be a start.”

  “Want a cup of tea?”

  The Goddamn Parrot broke off crunching sunflower seeds long enough to excoriate the head of the Guard, then the head of the household.

  “Can I drown that thing in it?”

  “I’ll brew you a bucket if you’ll do it and take the rap. What’s up?” I shepherded him into my office. He helped himself to a chair.

  “I wanted you to know what Relway got from the prisoners. And your thoughts about last night. Relway’s devotion colors what he sees.”

  “It was pretty straightforward.” I told him what I knew. Once I would’ve held out just because he was the law. I’m mellowing with age and accumulated head lumps. I concluded, “What I don’t have is a clue what it adds up to.”

  “I find it productive to forget the big question while I root out little answers.”

  “Uhm?”

  “Instead of worrying about what it all adds up to, work on why the shapeshifters chose the Weiders. There are a hundred questions you could ask. You can paint the big picture one brushstroke at a time.”

  He wasn’t offering advice that was new. But there was a subtext, an unspoken message. He was reminding me that collecting brushstrokes would involve me in my least favorite pastime.

  What I need to find is a way to cruise through life without having to work.

  “So what’s the word? Did Relway collect any brushstrokes?” He must have tormented up some random flecks of color.

  “He’s got a bunch of words for you, Garrett. But there ain’t many of them ones you want to hear. The big thing is, we didn’t get anything out of the shapechangers.”

  I must have looked doubtful. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m getting cynical. If you can’t believe the secret police, whom can you trust?

  “Really, Garrett. Before Relway got back to the Al-Khar the prisoners tried to escape.”

  “The place is a sewer any sane person would want to get away from, but how —”

  “They’re shapeshifters, Garrett. They can’t turn into mice or roaches or anything that’s not as heavy as they are but they can turn skinny or plastic enough to slide between bars and —”

  “I get the picture. Damn! We should’ve seen that coming.” I selected a quiver of choice expletives, used them up. This could turn real bad if those things could turn into furniture or the carpet underfoot. “So they’re all loose again —”

  “Not all. Three got away. And they were hurt. The others died trying. Relway says you can study the bodies if you want to.”

  “Did they all have tattoos?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Wild and lucky guess. Let me guess some more. The tattoo was a dragon with a Karentine military seal worked in. It was hard to see even when they weren’t trying to hide it.”

  “You’ve seen them before.” He was squinting now, suddenly troubled.

  “I have. Relway told me he’d try to find out what the tattoo means.”

  “He probably hasn’t had time.”

  “My guess is that they’re some special ops mercs left over from the war.”

  “That would be my guess, too. Which means that I made this walk mostly for the exercise. I’m not telling you anything new.”

  “Exercise never hurt anybody. I’m told. Come on in the kitchen. We’ll get that tea.” I was sure he had more to say. But maybe it was something he didn’t want to tell me. I asked him to come along because in my house we try not to leave visitors unattended. Especially not Winger or officers of the law. Both are almost certain to get into stuff I’d really rather they didn’t.

  I poured. Block communed with his inner demons. I asked, “Do you prefer the uniform?” He wore a slightly fancy version of the vaguely military, undyed linen outfit recently adopted by the Guard. It did little for the dignity of his office. Most rightsists street thugs dressed better.

  Block accepted tea. “We don’t have much of a budget. So it’s become a point of pride. Shows people we’re dedicated.”

  Maybe. “Anything useful come from those changers?”

  “No. Except that someone from the Hill, names I can’t mention, want the dead ones.” And there it was, his secret burden.

  “And I thought you were saving them just for me.”

  Block sneered. “A bunch of shifters turning up stirred a lot of curiosity.”

  “Think someone knew about the tattoos?”

  Block shrugged. “I haven’t mentioned them. Yet.”

  “How come?”

  “I wanted to see what happened when they figured it out. I’m just a dumb lawman. I wouldn’t notice, anyway.”

  And what might he be holding out on me? “You’ll let me know if anything comes of it?”

  He nodded. My coconspirator. “Some big-toothed hounds are going to be on this trail before long.”
Which was maybe as much as he dared tell me.

  That didn’t excite me. I don’t like sorcerers. They’re dangerous. And they’re unpredictable. Like lawyers. You don’t want to turn your back on one of them. Most of them aren’t even kind to their mothers. Still, it would be stupid not to hear what Block was trying to say. “You guys have been awful nice to me lately.”

  Block shrugged again. “That’s because you can help us. We need to make you want to cooperate.”

  He sounded like Chodo Contague about to offer an infernal deal. “It might be easier to leave town. My mother has cousins upcountry.”

  “Then you’d be stuck wearing scratchy homespun and couldn’t indulge yourself in all this elegant luxury.” He indicated my clothing. “I can’t see you as a peasant, anyway.”

  “They raise sheep.”

  “That’s different. You’d never have trouble finding a girlfriend.”

  “I liked you better when you were worried about hanging on to your job. You were crabby all the time, but...”

  He smiled. “I’m a much better person now.”

  “All right, much better. Where’re you headed on this? Let’s not duplicate each other’s work.”

  “Then concentrate on infiltrating The Call.”

  “My loyalty is to Max Weider. The Call isn’t going anywhere. The Weiders might. I’ve lost three of them already, when I was paying attention.”

  “Can’t fault your logic.”

  “Yeah? Relway mention that we caught up with Crask and Sadler?”

  “You fishing?” Block isn’t as dim as he pretends.

  “I’d like to know.”

  “He did. You rescued the fair maiden.”

  Interesting. Relway apparently kept his boss informed.

  Relway’s boss continued, “You let them get away, Garrett. What kind of hero are you?”

  “The living kind. I thought somebody was watching us.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “We got out of the tomb without help.”

  “Not what I meant. You came home instead of running after the bad guys. Your unsavory friend also chose to abandon the hunt. We can only assume that he was concerned for Miss Contague.” Looking out for Belinda was, of course, looking out for himself.

  “You have a point?” I asked.

  “Yes. Somebody did stick to the bad guys.”

  Came the dawn. “You know where they are.”

  “Sure do. And we wondered if you’d want that information.”

  “I took them on last night. With help and with them hurt. They still might’ve gotten the best of it.”

  “Did I say we’ll stand around and watch? These are famous villains. And they don’t have any friends now that Chodo don’t love them anymore. That gives the Guard a chance to put on a big show for some very important observers. With the invaluable assistance of a certain public-spirited subject. You want to be the public-spirited subject?”

  “That why you’re here?”

  “I want to be visible when the Guard is doing its job right. Let’s walk up there and see what happens.”

  “Let me get myself organized. I wouldn’t want your reputation bruised because of the company you keep.”

  “If that could hurt me, I’d have been exiled ages ago.”

  “You got a point. I won’t be long. Go settle in my office. Try not to poke around.”

  I knew the Dead Man couldn’t keep an eye on Block but Block didn’t.

  60

  I was beginning to like Tad Weider’s sense of style. I selected an outfit that he might have worn to the horse races. It included a lot of yellow and red and brown. There were ruffles at wrist and throat. I spiffied myself, considered the result in my little mirror. “Oh! The elf girls are gonna carry me off and make me their love slave.” I stepped back. “But if I’m going to dress like this, I’d better get a new pair of shoes.”

  My ragged old cobblehoppers sported memorabilia of a thousand city adventures. They didn’t complement the look.

  “What happened to you?” Block demanded when I got back. He looked me up and down.

  “The Weiders felt I should upgrade my wardrobe.”

  “People been telling you that for years. But... You really need new shoes. Those clogs look like you wore them in the service.”

  “That’s on my list. I thought we had a riot to attend. I’m ready,” I said.

  “New door?” Block asked as I locked up.

  “Yeah. Somebody busted the old one.”

  “There’s still snow piled up here and there. You sure you didn’t have anything to do with that? I hear rumors with your name in them.”

  “How could I make it snow in the summertime? Even if, according to Tinnie, everything is my fault.”

  “You put in a key lock? You must be doing pretty well.”

  I’d been doing very well lately but he didn’t need to know that. He might let something slip around crooks or tax collectors. Or crooked tax collectors. Or is that redundant? Doesn’t it take a unique breed of pyschopath to prey upon his fellows that way?

  The street was quiet except for the moans of stragglers nursing injuries sustained during the earlier debate. “This is better,” I said. “You should’ve seen it here a while ago.”

  “I did. I’d have been here an hour ago if it wasn’t for that damned parade.”

  We walked. I didn’t like the direction he chose. If he kept on, we would stroll right into the Bustee, the ultimate slum and the most dangerous neighborhood in a city famous for bad neighborhoods. The only law in the Bustee is the law you make yourself. Outsiders won’t go in except in big gangs. “I hope we aren’t headed where I think we’re headed.”

  “North side of the Bustee.”

  “I was afraid of that. Another reason to make a show?”

  “Yes. To show that the Guard won’t back off.”

  Relway I could see playing to the Bustee audience. Relway doesn’t have sense enough to be scared. I was surprised he got anybody to go in with him, though, let alone the sort of highlifes he and Block would want to impress. Maybe I was out of touch.

  When we arrived it was evident immediately that the Guard had impressed both the locals and the observers already. They had a dozen prisoners in chains, none of them the great villains Crask or Sadler.

  I’d expected troops or something. But Relway had brought only the dozen Guards he would have assembled for the same job anywhere else. Observers outnumbered working lawmen even after we arrived. Block introduced me around. I knew several of the witnesses, though none well. You run into people in my racket. Some are friendly. Some aren’t. You rub some the wrong way if you’re determined to do your job.

  I was overdressed. The most foppish dude there wasn’t showing any lace. They all wore grubbies.

  I faded away from the Names, joining Relway. Sullen neighborhood brats watched from a safe distance, as friendly as feral cats, waiting to spring their friends in chains. Or maybe to murder somebody from a rival gang. They were filthy. None wore clothing fancier than a loincloth. Several weren’t that dressy.

  In the Bustee sanitation is the exception rather than the rule. The quarter doesn’t have even the rudimentary street-center sewage channels found elsewhere. There are few streets as we know them, just stringers of space where there are no buildings. The Bustee has its own unique aroma, and plenty of it.

  “Figure Crask and Sadler know something’s up?”

  Relway glanced at his prisoners, then at me like he’d suddenly discovered that I was retarded. “Probably. We’ve been standing around here way too long, waiting to get started.”

  “I’m sorry. But —”

  “This’s going to be a blow, I know. But, as important as you are, we weren’t waiting on your account.”

  “I’m crushed. So what is the holdup?”

  “A dashing young gentleman sorcerer who uses the business name Dreamstalker Doomscrye. Or maybe Doomstalker Dreamscrye. He wants in. We don’t tell those people no. He wa
s supposed to be here hours ago. Evidently as an apprentice he wasn’t taught to tell time.”

  Relway’s sarcasm was quite daring. I was beginning to think the man had no sense. In TunFaire we restrain our opinions concerning the lords and ladies of the Hill. They can do worse than turn you into a frog if you irritate them.

  “Ulp!”

  “What?” Relway asked.

  “I forgot my bird.”

  “Then go fetch the prima donna chicken.”

  “Too late. Might as well enjoy myself.” I didn’t miss the fancy-pants crow at all.

  Relway’s man Ritter was headed our way. A kid maybe fourteen blistered out of a dark chink between tenements. He held a rusty knife extended ahead. I knew the tactic. He was a cutpurse. He just wanted to steal and run before his victim could react. It happened every day, everywhere in TunFaire, though elsewhere cutpurses usually selected more promising targets. This kid had to be counting coup.

  His pals were all set to cheer when Ritter sidestepped, snagged the thief’s long hair, slashed him several times with a knife that appeared as though by magic. The whimpering boy collapsed into the muck. Ritter came on as though he’d done nothing more significant than stomp a bug.

  That kind of cold demonstration was why the Guard was becoming feared.

  They were nasty, these new lawmen.

  Believers so often are.

  “Doomscrye is here,” Ritter announced. “What a jerk. He’s already complaining about us wasting his valuable time.”

  These secret policemen were too daring.

  “He’s young,” Relway told me. “He’ll learn.”

  Did he mean Doomscrye or Ritter?

  61

  As a place to squat the object of our interest was a long slide downhill from a tomb. It was an ugly little lean-to shanty hugging the hip of a three-story frame tenement that tilted ten degrees sideways while twisting around its own waist. “Good thing we don’t have to go in there,” I observed. “Our weight would bring it down.”

  “It’s tougher than it looks,” Ritter told me. “Ninety-two people live there.”