by Glen Cook
“Oh.”
The war taught me to suffer inconveniences and discomfort stoically, so I only grumbled a little about the thistles in the weed patch. Tinnie was more vocal. Poor spoiled city girl. But she did clam up, bug-eyed, when a squadron of centaurs hove into sight. They were all males with the hard look of campaign veterans. They maintained a warlike traveling formation. They were armed and alert. The army wouldn’t like this. I didn’t count them but there had to be at least sixteen.
They might have been looking for something. They didn’t see it in the pastures, though. They moved on quickly.
“What was that about?” Tinnie asked when the coast was clear. “What are they doing all the way up here?”
We had watched centaurs from hiding together before, a while back, in the Cantard, which is where centaurs properly belong.
“I don’t know. But those guys weren’t your everyday refugees.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It isn’t far now. North English’s dump is just past the next bunch of trees.” I hoped. I’d never been invited out.
72
Marengo North English’s digs were typical of Karenta’s ultra-wealthy gentry. The centerpiece was a huge red-brick manor house that crowned a knoll half a mile behind a tall hedge of some plant consisting mostly of thorns. There was a lot of green grass, numerous well-groomed trees, sheep, cattle and neat military squares of tents. An illustration of the place would have overlooked the livestock and bivouac. Workaday aspects of the rural idyll always get overlooked.
“You ever been here?” I should’ve asked earlier.
“No. I always heard he’s kind of reclusive.” She indicated the tents. “Lot of relatives visiting. You been here?”
“My folks never moved in these circles.” Tinnie started putting on her shoes. She’d been going barefoot, claiming she wanted to feel the dust squish between her toes. They were very nice toes, even dusty-dirty. But I decided to study the hoofprints outside the gate instead. Numerous oddly shod hooves had milled around there recently. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. The day was getting on.
“Why isn’t anybody on guard?” Tinnie asked, between shoes. She danced on one foot while she tried getting a shoe onto the other, tucked up behind her. Her effort had its moments.
I’d been wondering myself. Was North English that confident? I didn’t believe it. Not in this world. Not this near TunFaire. The gods themselves aren’t that confident. I kicked at hoofprints. “It worries me, too.” Those centaurs hadn’t looked like they’d been in a fight.
“Should we head back?”
“It’s late. It’d be dark before we got to the gate.” In darkness, outside the wall, is nowhere I want to be. Call it prejudice. The owners and workers of manors, farms, orchards, and vinyards get by just fine. Those without stout walls just dive into deep cellars via twisty, tight tunnels if the big thunder lizards come calling. Anything else they kill before it kills them.
I don’t take risks if I don’t have to.
The night can hold things worse than death in the jaws of a hungry beast.
“You scared, Garrett?”
“Sure. You understand what I’m doing? If you don’t, you’d better start —”
“We’re a team, big boy. You and me and our ugly baby.”
The Goddamn Parrot lifted his head long enough to give her a baleful look. I looked balefully at our surroundings. The spread seemed almost lifeless.
“Something I can do for you folks?”
Here came the missing guard, out of a cluster of evergreens not far inside the gate, next to the road. He was buttoning his trousers. He had trouble concentrating on his fingerwork. He was stunned by Tinnie.
I know the feeling. I get it all the time.
“Name’s Garrett. I’m doing some work for Marengo. He was supposed to leave word —”
“I guess he did. I recognize the name.” His nose wrinkled. “But he’s not here. There’s a big rally tonight.” He checked Tinnie again, probably wondering if she’d like to change her luck in men.
Things are bad when groat-a-dozen brunos take on airs. Maybe belonging to The Call boosts your self-confidence.
He said, “Go on up to the house. Front door only. Someone will be waiting.”
I lifted an eyebrow, started walking. Tinnie grabbed my arm. The gateman looked sad, soulful, constipated. Life just isn’t fair.
“You little heartbreaker,” I told my little heartbreaker.
“What?”
“You completely destroyed that man just by walking away with me.”
“What are you talking about?” She never noticed.
Then she bumped me with her hip.
Devil woman.
73
Somebody was waiting. She was long and lean and looked surprisingly regal observing our approach from above. She also looked like she had a sudden toothache come on. I don’t think she was glad to see me.
Tinnie offered me another solid hip bump. “That’s for what you’re thinking.”
The woman must be half Loghyr.
Miss Montezuma seemed less than thrilled to see Miss Tate, too, but put her disappointment aside. She was cool, elegant, imperial. This lady was always in control. “Welcome to The Pipes, Mr. Garrett. Miss Tate. You’ve chosen an inopportune time to visit. Everyone’s gone to town. Tonight is supposed to be important for the movement.”
We joined Miss Montezuma on the porch. I considered the manor, which dated from the middle of the last century and was supposed to be a minor fortress. Some tightwad had been skimping on the maintenance. It needed a lot of exterior work. The surrounding protective ditch hadn’t been cleared out in a generation. If I had friends like Marengo’s, I’d keep it filled with acid and alligators.
I surveyed the vast lawns. Or pastures. They were pretty enough. One frazzled kid was trying to convince some sheep that they wanted to head back to their paddocks. “Everybody went? Even Marengo?” North English never included himself in The Call’s public exercises. “What happened out there?” One area of lawn was torn up, as though cavalry had fought there. Maybe the livestock had been folkdancing.
Tama Montezuma frowned. “The cattle or sheep must have done it. Tollie has no help at all.”
“Why did everybody go?”
“Marengo doesn’t tell me everything. But he did say tonight will be a turning point for The Call and Karenta.”
“It’s a shame I missed him.”
Miss Montezuma’s gaze brushed Miss Tate. “Isn’t it?”
My luck turns fantastic when there’s no possibility of benefiting.
Tinnie kicked my ankle. I glanced at her. She had a flower petal in her hair.
The Goddamn Parrot snickered.
“So what do I do now?”
“’Come in. Have supper. I was about to start my own. Then I’ll find you rooms. It’s too late to go back to town. And you might not want to be there anyway. We could talk about why you came out. Maybe I can help.”
I said, “Ouch!”
“Sorry.” Miss Busyfeet took her heel off my big toe. “I’m so clumsy today.” The Goddamn Parrot snickered again.
Who am I to argue with a beautiful woman?
She could’ve left her shoes off, though.
The Goddamn Parrot began to dance on my shoulder. He had not yet eaten today. He said something. It was just a mumble, garbled, along the usual lines but intelligible only to me.
I hoped.
The impact of the presence of two beautiful women must have weakened the spell binding his beak. Or we were too far away from the Dead Man for him to control that beak completely. Or His Nibs had become too distracted to stay on that job — or maybe he had turned routine buzzard management over to one of his less attentive subsidiary minds. None of those were very bright.
Certainly he would not have taken his attempt to mislead rightsist observers so far as to abandon completely his ability to spy on me. That would deprive him of so many opportunities to gather ammun
ition for future nag sessions.
Yes, Old Bones was still out there somewhere, playing his own hand, involved in some way, whatever appearance he tried to project. This case touched upon too many of his fascinations for his defection to be complete and real.
“You’re so sweet,” Tinnie said. She scratched the quacking feather duster’s head. “How come you never say things like that, Garrett?”
Tama Montezuma offered me a dose of my own medicine. She raised one eyebrow and smiled a thin little smile that dared me to open my yap.
I took that dare. “Shut your beak, you perverted vulture.” To the multitalented Miss Montezuma, I said, “Besides reporting in I hoped to do some research on shapeshifters.”
She jumped. “Research? On shapeshifters? Here?” Ha! I’d blindsided her with that.
“The Royal Library referred me to The Call’s Institute For Racial Purity. Which is supposed to have a library chock-full of books about nonhumans.”
“Oh. That. I’m amazed any outsiders take it seriously. The books are piled all over the old dining hall. They keep collecting books without knowing what to do with them. They can’t get anybody who knows anything to come out here. I suspect because they think a librarian should work out of conviction instead of for a salary.”
“They” probably meant Marengo North English, well-known skinflint.
Tinnie said, “Sounds like a job for Garrett. He can read and everything.”
“I’m no good at organizing.” Which was why I hired Dean, way back when. The old boy started out part-time. Next thing I knew he’d moved in.
“You hungry?” Miss Montezuma asked.
“Famished,” Tinnie chirped. I didn’t doubt it. The woman could eat a whole roast pig and never gain an ounce.
I smiled over her shoulder, nodded. I didn’t want Miss Montezuma thinking my friend did all my talking for me.
Tama was amused. “I’ll take you past the library on our way to the kitchen. You can poke around there after we eat.”
“Marengo won’t mind?”
“Marengo isn’t here.”
“Doesn’t seem to be anybody here.” There was no sign of staff although Marengo’s shanty dwarfed the Weider hovel. “Though how you can tell in all this gloom...” Hardly a candle was evident.
“There aren’t any servants anymore,” Miss Montezuma replied. “And we’re frugal with all consumables. If we need light to work, we’d better get the job done in the daytime. Though I suppose I could find a lamp for you.”
They just fall at my feet, willing to do anything.
“There aren’t any windows in the old dinner hall.”
The Goddamn Parrot snickered.
“You better do something about that sneeze, bird.” I asked Miss Montezuma, “What’s going on? They say Marengo is tight, but...”
“The Cause is a vampire. Its hunger never goes away. He has to cut back somewhere.”
Did North English start out less rich than everybody thought? The impedimenta of great wealth seemed plentiful enough, if old and mostly threadbare. “At least he hasn’t had to sell the candlesticks to make ends meet.”
“Don’t be cynical. Marengo believes he has a divine mission.”
I doubted that, being a cynic. “What about Miss Tama Montezuma?”
“It doesn’t matter what Miss Montezuma thinks. She’s just Marengo’s fancy woman.”
“If I buy that, will you try to sell me maps to hoards of fairy gold? Bargain-priced?”
“I’m sure Miss Tate is far too alert and levelheaded to let me take advantage of you.”
I didn’t look at Miss Tate. I had a feeling Miss Tate would be hard at work restraining her redhead’s temper. My smirk might overtilt the load.
“I’m curious,” Tinnie said, reasonably enough. “If you have no servants, how do you eat?”
“I cook better than I do what I’m famous for.”
Whew!
Miss Montezuma cooked very well indeed. With Tinnie and I following her instructions we collaborated in constructing a meal featuring a wild rabbit Tama claimed to have caught herself. “A woman of many talents,” Tinnie observed.
“Yeah.” I made a mental note to check Miss Montezuma’s background. Street legend didn’t dwell on her antecedents, which was unusual. Everybody loves a scandal.
74
During supper I was ordered to call Miss Montezuma Tama and learned that North English’s place really was deserted.
The man from the gate was named Stucker. He avoided conversation with a passion. Tollie was a Montezuma-stricken fourteen-year-old who managed the livestock. There was a silent old man who had one eye and a hook for a right hand. Venable constituted security at The Pipes. Venable thought thunder lizards were the most wonderful things the gods ever created. He couldn’t understand why they were unpopular. He could go on about them forever. He kept a pack of his own as pets and security associates. They would have the run of the estate tonight. Venable claimed his babies only ate strangers.
I suspected that, if you got yourself eaten, Venable’s position would be that you couldn’t possibly have been friendly.
An advantage of thunder lizards as guards is their stupidity. You can’t bullshit them. But stupid is exploitable, too. They’ll forget everything and go for the snack if you toss them something like, say, a squawking parrot with his wings clipped.
Tama discouraged table talk, though Venable wanted to bring me up-to-date on things to do with thunder lizard fandom. Tollie couldn’t stand to look at Tinnie or do much more than croak if he tried to talk to Tama.
After supper we headed for the library. I insisted. Marengo might say no if we waited. His racist treasures might be damaged by eyetracks.
Long ago I learned that nobody wants to share information that looks like a resource.
The room set aside for the library was huge and cluttered. Most of the stuff there had to predate any notion of a specialized library. Some, I’d bet, predated any notion of Marengo North English.
Tama said, “Marengo wants to set up his research center here. But he’s never found time to get started.”
I got the impression she’d heard talk till she didn’t listen anymore. “It’s not like he’s short on manpower. He could drag in a bunch of true believers and set up in a day.”
“He’s too paranoid.”
“Yeah?” I set my lamp on a dusty side table, assayed the job ahead. Books were jumbled into small wooden crates in no obvious pattern. Scrolls were tied in bundles of four or five. I selected a bundle. “How do you feel about what he’s trying to do?”
“My thoughts aren’t consulted.” She wasn’t going to offer an opinion.
Did she know anyone well enough to take that risk?
Tinnie prowled the room slowly. She used her lamp to illuminate books where they lay, maybe hoping to luck onto something. Luck did seem as sensible a strategy as any. She harrumphed.
I said, “Miss Montezuma, you’re being disingenuous. I asked your personal opinion, not if you’re a consultant to the Inner Council of The Call.”
“Tama, Garrett. Tama. Listen to me. I’m Marengo’s companion. His mistress. Strictly utilitarian. What I think doesn’t matter any more than what the chamber pot thinks. Unless one of us actually says something. I like my life here.” Most of the time, her eyes said.
“And when the bloom begins to fade?”
She understood. She’d thought about that. That was obvious immediately.
I recalled how North English had slobbered over Belinda.
Uncle Marengo was in a mood to expand his horizons.
I dropped the subject.
Tinnie exercised uncharacteristic self-restraint. “Here’s something.” Her timing was flawless. The volume she handed me looked like it might actually be useful. It was Werebeasts: The Monsters That Walk Like Men.
The title turned out to be the most interesting part of the book. It dealt only with people who turn into wolves or bears or big cats or critters of a
more mythological conviction. Those gods or devils who turn into eagles or snakes or whatnot, with no problems in the weight differential department, were the only self-directed changers mentioned. The creatures I wanted to demystify were anything but divine.
Tama neither dug in nor read over my shoulder. Was she illiterate? Probably. A pity but common enough, especially among women. I learned to read and write because that was a good way to kill time in the long, dull intervals between war’s storms of high terror. A lot of guys did. It was encouraged. Written communications get less garbled over time and distance. Karenta’s more literate forces proved marginally more efficient and effective than Venageta’s over the war’s final generation.
Now Karenta’s masters are troubled. They have begun to suspect that allowing commoners access to books may have been a grave mistake. Literacy puts crazy ideas into heads more useful when empty. Books let guys who have been dead for a hundred years pass on the one original notion they ever had, which meant immortality for countless social insanities.
There was scare talk about the mob possibly teaching their young to read, too, thereby perpetuating the abomination. Today’s free-thinking insanity might continue for generations. It might destabilize the natural order.
Few girls get much education. Tinnie is an exception because amongst the Tates everybody produces. The Tates are more like dwarves than people, some ways. Tinnie manages their bookkeeping.
In time, Tama said, “I’m no night person, Garrett. And I’ve been up late a lot recently. I need to get to bed.”
I missed her point. She reiterated, more directly.
“I need to hit the sack, Garrett. Marengo will strangle me if I leave you unsupervised.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll show you your rooms. I’ll trust you not to sneak off with the North English family treasure during the night.”
Without light, tippytoeing between the thunder-lizard pups? Wouldn’t Venable be pleased?
I didn’t run with Tama’s straight line. Tinnie waited for it, watching me with smouldering eyes.
Tinnie noted Tama’s mention of rooms, plural, as in closed doors for everybody, maybe with nobody knowing where anybody was.