by Glen Cook
The Grinblatts entered, all hair, clatter, and attitude. Which began to change after one look at Rocky. Rindt shed surly with every step. Had he had a few miles to warm up he might have mustered a passable diplomatic smile.
“We kind of got distracted over there, boss. Sorry.” He was awash in remorse. But Rindt Grinblatt just being aware of the concept was more proof that he had gone native. “Some people showed up and run us out.”
“Those would be the owners,” I exaggerated. “You weren’t rude to them, were you? They’re off the Hill. The skinny one is Prime Circle, though you’d never guess to look at her.”
Dwarves can’t manage the color changes we see in the paler breeds of human. Otherwise, Rindt Grinblatt and his lady would have gone white as death.
There was an event somewhere deep in dwarfish history that marked them with a dread of sorcerers that had gotten into the blood itself.
“Rindt, they aren’t looking for trouble. They just want to know what’s been going on behind their backs.”
“You knew that when you sent us down there?”
“I did not. No. They turned up. They asked questions. I answered. That’s how it’s done.” He knew. He’d gone native. “Now. Your job was to go down under and scout around. So tell me what you found.”
I noted several people sliding our way, meaning to eavesdrop.
Then came Morley. Through the front door, looking like he’d barely survived a heavy date with a vampire.
Rindt Grinblatt was calm enough to earn his pay now. He began a detailed report. His family felt free to jump in wherever a point needed clarification.
It took a while. As I’d suspected, Kip and his friends had done a good deal of housekeeping.
Before the Grinblatts wrapped it up Belinda wandered in, curious. At which point I noted that I was now the only other one hundred percent pure member of the master race in the whole damned place. Most everyone else had gone off without saying good night. “Singe, you want to take Rindt back to the house so you can pay him?”
“Sorry, Garrett.” She had been muttering with my best pal. “Previous obligation.”
“Damn! Rindt, you go on back out to my house, my man Dean will see that you get what you’ve got coming. Damn! Poor choice of words, that.” They were accurate but that lineup usually rolls out only where vengeance is about to be done.
Grinblatt was distinctly unhappy. He had a few things to say about my ancestry, incestry, and sexual proclivities. But Rocky was standing by. And Rindt was hungry. He went. Leading his family gang and grumbling all the way.
I hoped the Dead Man drained him dry.
Belinda screamed.
64
I’d forgotten the ghosts. They hadn’t been much of a nuisance since the dwarves showed up. They’d faded, maybe because they were kind of used up. Or maybe the cold getting down under had begun to have an impact.
But now they were back and there were only two human targets, one already immunized by knowledge.
Belinda screamed. Her behavior baffled the nonhumans.
The shade troubling her was, to me, an indistinct, pus-colored shimmer.
She screamed again. Why didn’t she just run away? That would solve it. Though the racket sounded more horrified than terrified. A distinction sometimes difficult to see. Stipulated.
I shed my marvelous loaner coat, stepped over, wrapped Belinda’s head so she couldn’t see. I don’t know where that came from. Maybe from having seen a tinker do it to his cart dog when the mutt had a seizure.
It worked.
The shimmer faded right away. It tried to assume several familiar shapes. I showed it my back and hung on to Belinda till she stopped struggling.
Saucerhead appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Garrett. The drivers are here to get your ratpeople.”
I turned to look for John Stretch. The ratman nodded my way. He’d heard. He went to gather his henchrats.
Belinda let me know she was ready to come out. I turned her loose.
“Wash that damned thing, Garrett. It’s ripe.” She looked around nervously.
“What did you see?”
Her honesty surprised me. “My mother. Looking exactly the way she did when I found her the day she died.” Her voice turned chill. Her mother had been murdered. By her father, Chodo, the world assumed. For fooling around. A sport in which Chodo himself had indulged, regularly. Belinda asked, “What happened? And will it happen again?”
I tried to explain. Without being sure myself. “I don’t know why people see what they see. Most get something bad. But I’ve seen my mother, my brother, and a couple people who aren’t dead yet. You saw your mother. Some Hill types who were here earlier shared one ghost and brought it into focus so good that I’d recognize the woman in the street.”
Aside, I said, “Good night, Rocky. Thanks for helping.”
Morley and Singe had vanished.
Belinda maneuvered to keep the ghost behind her.
Did it mean anything that there was only one, now? Why not one for me?
There had been a platoon of the damned things before the Windwalker and her dad showed up.
John Stretch’s people moved out. Soon I’d be alone with Belinda. Not an eventuality to which I aspired. “Where did your thugs get to?”
It was absodamnlutely guaranteed that if she maneuvered me into any position where temptation could be laid on, I’d be drowning in furious redheads before the smoke cleared away.
Belinda mused, “I hadn’t thought about that. Yet. It’s a question I'll need to explore.”
Really. She should have had six guys all over her the second she screamed.
She was herself again. “I’d better go. We don’t want Tinnie frosted about us being alone together with only twenty ratpeople and a few thousand rats for chaperones.”
“You surprise me sometimes.”
“I surprise myself. I have these impulsive moments when I turn human.”
She was a sociopath fully aware of her psychosis.
I meet sociopaths in my line. Most know their heads don’t work like regular people? s. None of them consider that a handicap.
We went outside. Belinda’s men were gathered around the new guard shack, trying to keep their bits and pieces warm. To a man, supported by Tharpe’s crew, they hadn’t heard anything from inside the World.
Curious.
I saw Belinda off, then John Stretch and the last of his mob, with their harvest of succulent grubs. It was twilight, the sky now cloudless, the night coming up indigo. Shivering flying lizards perched high above, disappointed by the absence of game.
“Don’t got much use for them things,” Saucerhead said. “Though their skin makes a damned good bootlace. But they help keep down the vermin.”
“Really? How so?”
“How many pigeons you see?” Tharpe isn’t fond of pigeons. Something to do with a strategically placed load at a critical juncture during a pickup game of outdoor passion at some point in the past. He won’t talk about it.
“There is that.”
“Silver linings, brother. Silver linings.”
65
I went back inside. It was lonely in there. A couple of ghosts floated aimlessly. They weren’t interested in me. They were too feeble to be scary.
I shut down most of the lamps. Thoughtful Garrett, trying to save the boss a bit of silver.
It was freezing in there now. I closed vents and exits that I couldn’t watch directly. Saucerhead and his guys were good, if they bothered, but there are some slick operators in this burg. I didn’t want any of those faced with too much temptation.
I had no real plan. My hanging around belonged to the category “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
I settled against a wall not far from the main entrance and thought about clunky music.
I dozed.
Somebody called, “Garrett? You in here?” Then, in a softer voice, “You’re sure he didn’t go home, Tharpe?”
“No, sir, Mr
. Gilbey. No, sir. He never would’ve gone off and left the doors unlocked.”
“Over here.” I went to work getting my feet under me. It was hard. I’d stiffened up. “I fell asleep.”
Hand on the wall, I looked around. I saw three ghosts, little stronger than heat shimmers, uninterested in the new-comers. The air was warmer now.
Gilbey and his niece stood just inside the main entrance. A nervous Saucerhead Tharpe filled the doorway behind, reluctant to come any farther. Gilbey said, “I stopped by to see what headway you made today. Looks like some work did get done.”
“There'll be a full crew tomorrow. They don’t show, they lose their jobs to the breeds who tossed up that guard shack out front.”
“We had a complaint about you pushing the workmen around.”
“And?”
“I see some work got done today.”
I took time out to be smug.
Gilbey asked, “What about the other problems? I see some things that might be ghosts.”
I explained that we did seem to have dealt with the giant bugs. “For now. I'll be amazed if more don’t hatch out. You know how hard it is to get rid of roaches.”
“And the ghosts?”
I talked about that, too.
“Interesting. Answer me this. How do we make it so cold down there that we don’t hear from this thing anymore?”
Heather Soames drifted off in pursuit of a shimmer that appeared to prefer to avoid her.
“I think we just need to keep the bugs off. It’s been content to hibernate for the gods know how long. I figure, keep the bugs away and the cold run down, it'll fall asleep for another thousand years.”
“No idea what it is yet?”
“My partner took over that research. I had a couple Hill types in here earlier. They weren’t excited so it can’t be something sorcerers whisper about or shop for behind our backs.”
Heather caught up with a ghost. She poked it with a silver hat pin.
I swear, vague, pus-colored shimmer that it was, it began to sweat. Fine drops rained down on the floor planking, speckling briefly before evaporating. The ghost fled.
Then the music started. The zinc orchestral maneuvers. Bill had done a good job describing that clunky sound. What he had failed to capture was the ferocious volume.
It was loud! this time. The building shook. Despite the fact that the World was so new that it was still only half-finished, dust and dirt drifted down from overhead.
Saucerhead called from the doorway, “What’s up, Garrett?”
“I think it’s under control.” I had to yell.
Meantime, Gilbey caught Heather and told her, “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
“You think?” Though she was stalking a second ghost at the time.
The music changed. A children’s game song became pounding jungle rhythm. And got louder.
Its mood I could not discern.
I’d started to sweat. The place was heating up.
I got busy opening things up again.
Outside temperatures had plunged since sundown. The barking wind was bitter.
The music did not falter.
Finished opening up, I rejoined Gilbey and his niece. Beautiful woman, Heather Soames. Bright. But solidly equipped with a taste for self-destruction.
Saucerhead remained in the doorway. He wouldn’t come inside but he wanted to keep track. He had his hands over his ears. For what good that did.
Then he moved, pushed aside. Barate Algarda and Furious Tide of Light had returned.
66
Algarda looked drained. The Windwalker could not have gotten paler without going albino. There was no guessing her mental state. She moved like she was ready to collapse.
The beat of the music picked up. I’m not a religious sort, except maybe in the trenches, but I spun off a poorly remembered childhood singsong prayer. By the time I finished Algarda and daughter were up close. Algarda made a megaphone of his hands. “What happened?”
I explained. He scowled at Heather but didn’t put much power behind it. Beautiful women always get that extra edge.
The Windwalker poked him exactly the way Tinnie would have poked me.
There are a hundred thousand stories in the city. Most of them will boggle or baffle the shit out of you. That one boggled me. I saw what I saw but rejected it after a moment’s reflection. Some things you just don’t want to believe.
Algarda shouted, “Let’s move outside!”
“Sure couldn’t hurt.”
Everybody headed toward Saucerhead, still standing in for the angel with the sword blocking the gateway to heaven.
Several ghosts wanted to stay close to Furious Tide of Light. But they couldn’t get past her big ugly protector.
It was cooler outside. Also less noisy.
The music remained, hammering away without a touch of silver to it. Yet with my new advantage against loud I was able to pick out a few nuances and chords.
It really was music, from a genius whose natural instrument was rocks.
Xylophone. That was the thing Belle Chimes and I hadn’t been able to remember. A lot of that racket did sound like a big old clunky pot metal xylophone.
Barate Algarda said, “We can hear ourselves think now.”
“But do we have to?” I asked. Twenty minutes ago I was planning to spend the night in order to live the whole experience.
My weariness was not unique. Exhaustion had a hold on everyone. Algarda and the Windwalker in particular, since they had started already worn out.
“Possibly not, in your case. However, I rather enjoy my thoughts.”
“So. What did you learn from your adventure today?”
The Windwalker startled me, her voice strong for someone so slight. This wasn’t the squeaky little girl voice from before. “We learned that nearly adult children require closer supervision than we thought.”
I hoisted an inquiring eyebrow.
Algarda said, “They were up to all kinds of mischief down there.” He shrugged. “When I was that age girls were the only experiments that interested me.”
“And he hasn’t changed much since. Which is why he’s a running footman instead of a Man of Standing.” Which was someone considered an insider by the community of sorcerers.
Algarda looked like he’d bitten into an alum-crusted lemon. This would be an old argument being dealt up fresh.
He swallowed. And let it go. “The oversize insects are a product of their experiments. There may have been other experiments potentially as embarrassing. We may have to twist their arms. They’ve done a lot to clean up and cover up.”
The Windwalker said, “I blame the Prose boy. He’s filled their heads with crazy ideas.”
Kip wasn’t my kid but I defended him. Obliquely. “To understand the Faction you need to consult my associate. He discovered some interesting facts about those kids.”
The Windwalker didn’t listen. She was too tired. Algarda would have to carry her home if they stayed much longer.
He told me, “We wore ourselves out over there, making sure their experiments don’t create any more trouble. Tomorrow, we'll come help with the thing they wakened.”
The clunky music shifted tempo, coincidentally but disconcertingly.
“Are they likely to go back down there?”
“They might,” he said. “It’s perfect. It’s a good place for young people to get together.”
“You want to keep them out? I could bring back Rindt Grinblatt.”
“There’s no need to banish them. So long as they aren’t doing things that they shouldn’t.”
The Windwalker nodded emphatic agreement. Her eyes, I noted, were an intimidating shade of steel gray.
Algarda added, “No. We'll do some research in the morning. She can maybe consult a few of her...” He stopped. He’d been about to take a bite of the same sour apple his daughter had chomped a moment ago. “I doubt that it’s some forgotten god who dozed off a thousand years ago and got buried in
the mud when the river changed course.” That was more sniping, but subtler.
The Windwalker may have presented that hypothesis.
Gilbey liked the notion. “It couldn’t be a human god. The river wandered, back when, but its course hasn’t run through here in human history.”
In recent centuries TunFairens have taken care to keep the big muddy confined to the same channel. It'll flood a couple times a century, but...
Furious Tide of Light collapsed. It wasn’t a faint for effect, as practiced by some young ladies of spoiled and self-centered status. Algarda caught her before she hit the planks.
Heather Soames said, “I’m about to pass out myself, Manvil.” She sounded puzzled, though. Like she thought she shouldn’t be so tired.
I suggested, “Let’s all get some shut-eye.” Which clever turn of phrase earned me several vaguely worried looks. But nobody had the energy to comment.
Saucerhead took hold and steered me toward his guard shack. He should’ve been more worn out than anybody, having been awake a lot longer. But he hadn’t spent much time inside the World.
New problem rising, then, maybe.
A theater that naturally puts people to sleep. Not so good for people in the entertainment racket.
Not so good at all.
67
In the Corps they told us you can get used to anything. Which they proceeded to prove by sending us to the islands, where everything, from bugs no bigger than a pin-prick to forty-foot crocodiles, and the snakes who ate the crocs, had people on the menu. While we hunted and were hunted by the Venageti who sometimes had the same taste. So a little remote midnight mood music from down in the ground didn’t keep me awake longer than about eight seconds.
I had some remarkable dreams. I remember that. But I don’t recall what they were. Not even the Dead Man could winkle them out later. Which he found more irksome than troubling.
Sunshine was sneaking through cracks in the guard shack’s wall when Saucerhead shook me awake. Bent-nose types snored around me. The place was crowded. But that wasn’t keeping Figgie Joe from cooking breakfast. “How you like your eggs, Mr. Garrett?”
“Just scramble them up. It’s iron rations time. Something up, Saucerhead?”