by Glen Cook
“Venable.”
Morley and Neersa ushered Tama and Singe and a short, incredibly ugly little woman into the room. Montezuma was more frightened than the ratgirl was. She had been in the clutches of the Guard for twenty hours, with nary a whiff of opium. The short woman pretended to be a terrified servant of some sort. Nobody bothered to explain her presence. I stifled a grin.
Relway made one truly repulsive woman. But he’d insisted that he couldn’t loan out his prisoner if he couldn’t come along himself. I hadn’t had the nerve to disappoint the head of the secret police — particularly when I had no good reason to shut him out.
I do believe he nurtured some idea of making a connection and being invited to The Pipes with Lieutenant Nagit.
Nagit never noticed Relway. He blurted, “You found Montezuma. How? We never caught a trace.”
“Somebody out your way sure did, Ed. Some of the Wolves. Who’d gotten a word or two from Gerris Genord. Remember, they weren’t wiped out, either.” Nobody had a big enough grudge. Hell, the Wolves were heroes to a lot of men whose minds followed the same paths theirs did. Good old Bondurant Altoona was publicly very vocal about the treachery of The Call. Altoona might have profited more had he not been blessed with the personality of a toad.
I told Nagit the whole story, the way I saw it now, and added, “Tama says she’ll cooperate. Reluctantly.” She was a survivor. The only way she might get out of the pit she was in now would be to help save a man who might then hunt her for the rest of his days. I asked Nagit, “How’s your status with North English?”
“It’s weak. I know too much. He’s reminded of that every time he sees me. But he does still talk to me. He doesn’t have a choice — until he finds somebody dumb enough to want my job. I don’t believe he’s been replaced.”
“Figure out how we could be alone with him long enough to check his reaction to silver, if we have to. Meantime, tell him whatever he wants to know. And you could isolate your senior officers and check them one at a time. That shouldn’t be difficult. The real trick will be dealing with the shifter if you find him.”
Nagit shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it.
“There is one out there, Ed. Has to be. Otherwise, Tollie would still be chasing sheep and Mr. Venable would only be short the one hand.”
Nagit rose. He made appropriate remarks concerning his invitation and the quality of the meal. He bowed in Neersa’s direction to let her know he knew who was responsible for the latter. Then he asked, “Can I take Montezuma?”
Weider said, “No.” Like it was his call. He was grim. In his heart Max had convicted Marengo of being a changeling already. The wounded Max within was looking for somebody to share his pain.
Nagit didn’t argue. He did remark, “The boss will be disappointed.”
Max observed, “Mr. Nagit, should you find that your employment with Marengo has become too honorous for your conscience, don’t hesitate to contact Manvil. We can find a place for a man of your caliber. Don’t you think, Garrett?”
“I can’t see any objection to that.” Well, except for a sudden sparkle in Alyx’s eye and a little smile Nicks failed to keep corralled. And a dig in the ribs, in the same old sore spot, that I got for noticing those responses and maybe turning just the faintest bit dour.
Nagit headed for the street door.
Relway went after him. I didn’t hear anything he said, but I assumed he was selling himself somehow, while Nagit was distracted by a headful of horrible possibilities.
“Satisfactory?” I asked Weider.
“Satisfactory. I’m going to turn in now.”
As Gilbey rose to help Max, he said, “We’ll be continuing those interviews tomorrow, Garrett. You and Ty will need to make yourselves available directly after sunrise.” He smirked. He knew well my feelings about that godsforsaken chunk of the day forced in before the sun is sensibly standing directly overhead.
The Goddamn Parrot laughed and laughed.
I just sighed. Nobody promised me the world would be fair. Or even a little sane.
114
I thought that would be the end of it, as dramatically unsatisfactory as it seemed. I judged Nagit to be the sort who would save me the trouble I’d set myself up for, just to keep everything inside The Call’s goofball family. But life — mine, anyway — doesn’t come stocked with a surplus of dramatic unity. I resigned myself to the boredom of posing trick questions to men interested in replacing workers dismissed from the brewery. Everybody in town wanted to work for Max Weider. But halfway through the third day of tedium following that dinner the gloom parted when Giorgi Nicholas stepped forth for no better reason than wanting to see me.
Or maybe just to visit my stylish shoulder accessory, I concluded, when her killer smile and sparking eyes seemed to be aimed off center of what I considered the appropriate target. She extended her hand. I started to take it.
“This came hidden inside a note I got from Ed Nagit. It’s addressed to you. It might be important.”
The Goddamn Parrot began charming her as she started scratching his head. I made a growling noise. She was getting letters from Nagit now? Brother Ed wasn’t wasting any time.
Lieutenant Nagit wanted to meet. He offered suggestions as to how we could manage that without distressing Colonel Theverly, whose influence in The Call had swollen substantially lately. Theverly had strong ideas about how a freecorps should be run. Those included excluding contacts with outsiders as questionable as me, be those business or social. I might be dressed in human flesh but the True Believers could smell the Other hidden inside me.
“I assume you’ll be answering your own mail. Tell him I’ll meet him there.”
It was a nice autumn day. Big hunks of cotton cruised around a deep blue sky. The birds and bees were extravagantly cheerful and the temperature was almost perfectly comfortable. It was almost possible to forget this was morning, that half of the day the gods laid on us as punishment for original sin.
Lieutenant Nagit awaited me in that same pasture where Tinnie and I had hidden from the centaurs — who had been, only yesterday, finally discovered by cavalry supported by several sorcerers off the Hill. Official TunFaire had a big hunt on for the Dead Man’s onetime role model, Glory Mooncalled, too. I was sure nothing would come of it. That old man had been running his enemies in circles for decades.
“Thanks for coming,” Nagit told me.
“How could I resist?” His note insisted he had identified the last shapeshifter but claimed he couldn’t do anything about it without help. And he wouldn’t name names. “Why not handle this in-house?” I had an overdressed dwarf turkey riding one shoulder and a full-grown shrike of paranoia nesting on the other.
“Colonel Theverly insists the matter is closed. Very pointedly. There’s no one else I can ask for help. Out here they all want to believe it’s over. They want to get on with the mission. And they especially don’t want to catch Theverly’s eye by doing something he’s forbidden.”
“What about you?”
“He’s a pain in the ass, not a god.” A declarative statement which seemed somehow evasive. Lieutenant Nagit had something on his mind. And didn’t want to share.
Gee. I never ran into that phenomenon before. “Why me?”
“Because you could bring her.” He indicated Tama Montezuma, whom I had borrowed back from the Guard by sweet-talking Colonel Block and making several promises I have no intention of keeping. “And with her along we can get to the changer before anybody reacts.”
He was right about that. He definitely held back on me.
Nobody challenged us at the gateway to The Pipes even though an increase in security had been mounted. Nor did anyone prevent us from entering the house. There was a lot of gawking and whispering and finger pointing because of Tama, though.
Montezuma looked worse than she had when I found her. Winger would’ve said she looked like death on a stick, well warmed over. Her will had collapsed in the cruel torment of withdrawa
l. She had little reason to go on. But she’d been lucky, in a way. Relway hadn’t been around to abuse her.
I didn’t go in there with nerves of steel. I had only Tama and Nagit to count on and no faith that either would stand behind me. I was betting to an inside straight. And Moms Garrett had taught me better over twenty years ago.
Was Lieutenant Nagit conning me? Or worse? The man was a true believer in the raging lunacies of The Call. He shared a domicile with numerous gentlemen who bore me huge grudges. I’d seen several familiar Wolf faces already.
Then came a shock that flipped the old pump. We ran into the ugly little woman who looked so much like Deal Relway’s twin sister, scrub scrub scrubbing the hallway floor.
Lieutenant Nagit considered her beneath notice even though it was his fault she was haunting the manor. Apparent inconsequence is Relway’s great and frightening strength.
The man guarding Marengo’s sanctum didn’t quite know what to do when Lieutenant Nagit stomped past without bothering to ask to see North English. The fellow must have been a soldier in his earlier days. Marines are taught to think on their feet.
We were through the doorway before he reacted.
As Lieutenant Nagit had promised as we walked, there were several men cozied up with North English. One was my old skipper, Colonel Theverly, who still didn’t remember me. Another was the gent who had spoken for the Wolves at Weider’s. What was his name? Tilde? Evidently he was back in good odor. There were others, all elderly. Great. I didn’t see a spry bodyguard anywhere around.
Our advent interrupted a heated discussion. A frustrated Theverly wanted North English to approve something operational. North English seemed unable or unwilling to grasp the fact that this was the perfect moment for whatever the colonel had in mind. I did catch the Weider name, though.
There was a lot of anger in the air. It blistered in North English’s eyes. He surged out of his chair, about to vent that rage on whatever idiot had dared to enter his sanctum uninvited.
He saw Tama. He froze. There couldn’t have been anyone he less expected to see.
We kept moving. Lieutenant Nagit said, “See what Mr. Garrett caught. I was sure you’d want to see her right away.”
“Uh... Yes.” Confused and puzzled as well as angry, North English finished rising. And fear began to drive earlier emotions off his face. That seemed to shimmer momentarily as he gawked at Tama. Maybe that was a trick of flickering bad candlelight. Or of my imagination.
Theverly, Tilde, and the old men gawked, too. They hadn’t expected to see Tama Montezuma again. Which effect was exactly what Lieutenant Nagit wanted her to produce. Tilde seemed almost distraught. Was it possible that Tama’s hoard hadn’t found its way back into the loving embrace of the chieftain who had denied the Wolves repeatedly?
I shoved Tama forward. She fell at North English’s feet. He would be target the first. Tama played her role flawlessly. She was a superb actress, her skills honed in a harsh school. I couldn’t have pushed her around if she hadn’t been willing to cooperate.
Tama lunged into Marengo’s legs. He squawked, flung himself backward. Colonel Theverly had an impulse to help North English but he couldn’t manage much on one leg. He would be target two, chosen so because of his handicap. I kept an eye on him because, the way I’d worked it out, he was more likely a villain than North English, despite my prejudicial preferences.
Lieutenant Nagit surprised me by slipping a silver-chain noose over Marengo’s head. He got behind North English. I grabbed Marengo’s right arm. Tama caught his left and held on for dear life, which was about all she could expect to get out of this.
Nagit had scammed me mildly. I hadn’t thought he believed his boss was the shifter. But he had started murmuring a mantra of a prayer that he’d figured this correctly. If he hadn’t, he was going to wish he was doing his time in Hell already. With me right across the dining pit saying, “Please pass the brimstone.” When this was over I was going to kick his scruffy butt. He could’ve given me a little more to go on if I needed to change my mind again.
As Nagit had hoped North English’s companions remained so stunned they did nothing for the vital few seconds it took him to get Marengo under control. A long moan escaped North English. He shimmered, began to get soft, spongy, loose, and I knew for sure now that Max Weider had yet another loss to mourn. And I had to go back and tell him. And I had to go back and think all the evidence through yet again because I’d been ready to give North English a pass despite his odd behavior.
When did his replacement occur?
The old men began to babble in confusion as it became obvious that their boss not only wasn’t Mama North English’s beloved son, he was one of them. One of the Other Races.
North English gave one violent surge, then just lost control. He strained to change but couldn’t manage it in any useful way. Silver poisoning caused his body to grow more and more limp. By the time Tilde managed a lame effort to pull Tama away the arm she held had stretched two feet. Marengo’s face had wax-melted into something not human at all. It looked like a giant slug’s head.
I used a foot to push Tilde away, said, “Find more silver, soldier. Anything silver.” Theverly kept hopping and I kept watching him closely. A glare was enough to control the old men. The paranoia I’d brought with me began to whisper of the possibility that there were still more shifters to be found. I was developing the suspicion that I might spend the remainder of my life as worried about changelings as I was about horses. In a few strange years I could be one of those street prophets who screech doom and despair and weird conspiracy at the most embarrassing times...
The Marengo changer didn’t fight with the ferocity and vigor we’d seen from others earlier. Maybe he was young, not yet at his full strength and wickedness. Maybe he’d worn himself out passing as Marengo. Maybe it was because he was alone, the last of his kind, lacking the psychic support of fellow changers. He had sunk to the floor before Tilde and the old men began to jabber about the implications this had for The Call. I held on, shaking, wondering what insanity had put me here. I couldn’t imagine myself committing deliberate murder even though that was the custom in these situations. I felt the changer weakening, losing its plasticity. Soon it just lay there shivering.
I kept that eye on Colonel Theverly every second. His gaze locked with mine. I let go the shifter with one hand, plucked my own silver chain from inside my shirt. I’d brought it just in case. I hadn’t wanted to reveal it. Theverly’s face changed, but only into a slight frown. “I should know you from somewhere, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah. You should. The islands campaign.” I couldn’t find a “sir” inside me anywhere.
“Ah. I was there only a few — Three Force. Black Pete’s bunch. Sergeant Peters. You were the kid who could find a girl anywhere, even in the middle of an uninhabited swamp. Garrith? Garrett.” Shucks. He was embarrassing me. “Did I pass, Garrett?”
No changer could’ve learned all that. I nodded. The door opened. A butler type with a refreshments tray invited himself into the room. “Damn my eyes!” I muttered. What a clever pose for a mastermind.
“The tea you requested, sir...” Mooncalled’s eyes bugged as he took in the scene. The tea service crashed and splashed.
Through clenched teeth I told anyone who cared to listen, “Grab him! That’s Glory Mooncalled. He’s the one behind everything that’s gone wrong.” Theverly responded instantly. Unfortunately, the race seldom goes to the one-legged man.
The old man was spry. He was out of there before anyone else made up his mind that I might be right. They were just getting their minds around the fact that Marengo North English wasn’t Marengo North English anymore. And Tilde was handicapped by his opinion of Colonel Theverly, who tried to order him to get after Mooncalled.
That old man hit the hallway and vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. Even now I don’t quite accept Relway’s assurances that the man didn’t change shape as soon as he was out of our sight.
Relway isn’t what I call an unimpeachable witness. But the Dead Man also insists Mooncalled was no shapechanger. However, it hasn’t exactly been that long since the world proved that His Nibs can be fooled, too.
No matter. Like Tama Montezuma, Glory Mooncalled is a survivor. But he’s definitely out of business now.
We didn’t finish strangling the shapeshifter. Once Lieutenant Nagit got a good, controlling choke on the thing and had breath of his own left to gasp out a few words he started lobbying Tilde and Theverly alike. His chatter became a constant in the background, like a ringing in the ear. Eventually, he won his point. His mutiny was excused. But Theverly and the Wolf, having formed an alliance without a word being spoken, insisted on taking possession of the changer.
Both men looked like they had a score or two to settle. Both were wondering just how long this thing had been managing and manipulating the movement. I didn’t tell them it couldn’t have been more than a few days. Already it was their messiah of misfortune, assuming the blame for every screwup in the last three millennia.
Damn! If they were clever enough, they could gain back everything The Call had lost — and more — by playing the existence of the changer off against rightsist prejudice.
You could see Theverly and Tilde evolving, the way humans do when huge changes in their power ecology occur. I made a small sign to Tama. I let go of the shifter’s now-rubbery, flaccid limb. “It’s all yours now, Ed.”