Dread Brass Shadows

by Glen Cook

  Do not act the fool, Garrett. For once in our acquaintance astound me by pausing to reflect before you leap.

  That’s the way he is. Usually more so. My tenant and sometime partner, sometime mentor. Despite his control I croaked, “Talk to me, Chuckles. Tell me what it’s all about.”

  Calm yourself Passion enslaves reason. The wise man . . .

  Yeah. He does go on like that, hokey philosopher that he is. Only not in the really grim times . . . I began to suspect something.

  Once you get used to a particular Loghyr, you can read more than words when he thinks into your head. He was angry about what had happened but not nearly so outraged and vengeance hungry as he should have been. I began to control myself.

  “I did it again, eh?”

  You get more exercise jumping to conclusions than you do running.

  “She’s going to be all right?”

  Her chances seem good. She will need the attention of a skilled surgeon, though. I have put her into a deep sleep till such time as one becomes available.

  “Thanks. So tell me what you got from her.”

  She had no idea what it was about. She was involved in nothing. She did not know the man who wielded the knife. He left out his usual stock of sarcastic comments when he added, She was just coming to see you. She went to sleep completely bewildered.

  He loosened his hold on me, let me settle into the big chair that’s there for me when I visit.

  Till you lumbered in with your recollections, I assumed it was random violence.Meaning he had sorted through my memories of the chase.

  Saucerhead joined us. He leaned on the back of my chair, stared at Tinnie. He jumped to the same conclusion I had. I admired his self-control. He liked Tinnie and had a special place in his heart for guys who wasted women. He’d lost one once, that he’d been hired to protect. No fault of his own. He’d wiped out half a platoon of assassins and had gotten ninety percent killed himself trying to save her. He hadn’t been the same since.

  I told him, “Smiley over there put her to sleep. She’ll be all right, he thinks.”

  “Sons of bitches must pay anyway,” he growled, hanging on to the tough, but he looked relieved all over. I pretended I didn’t see his show of “weakness.”

  The book?the Dead Man asked. That is all you got before the sniping started? Like it was my fault. Some sniping was about to get started here. He knew damned well that was all we’d gotten. He’d sifted our minds.

  “That’s all.” Play it straight. That was my new tactic. It drove him crazy when I didn’t fight back.

  There was nothing in her thoughts about a book.

  “Ain’t much to go on,” Saucerhead said. He had lost his mad urgency. Tinnie was going to be all right. He didn’t have to go out and lay waste. Not right away, anyway. He—and I—would keep an eye out for the characters responsible, though.

  No. I suggest you both calm yourselves, then recall those blackguards carefully. Any insignificant detail might be consequential. Garrett, if you feel this is of great importance, you might consider collecting the debt that Chodo Contague imagines he owes you.

  A reflection of my thoughts, that. “I will if I have to. Too soon to think about that. I need to see Tinnie taken care of and get my mind straightened out before I go off on any crusade.” That was a straight line of the sort he scarfs up usually, but this time he let it slide. “Something happens and she goes, I’ll ring in Chodo like that. . . .” I snapped my fingers. I’m a fountain of talent.

  Chodo Contague, often called the kingpin, is the grand master of organized crime in TunFaire. In some ways he’s more powerful than the King. He’s no friend. He’s damned near the embodiment of everything I hate, the kind of creep I got into my line to pull down. But just by doing my job I’ve managed to do him some accidental favors. He has an obsessive, if skewed, sense of honor. The slimeball thinks he owes me, and I’ll be damned if he won’t do almost anything to pay the debt. If I wanted, I could say the word and he’d put two thousand thugs on the street to make us square.

  I’ve avoided collecting because I don’t want my name associated with his. Not in any way. Be bad for business if people suspected I was on his pad.

  Hell. I haven’t really said what I do I’m what the guys who don’t like me call a peeper. An investigator and confidential agent, the way I put it. Pay me—up front—and I’ll find out things. More often than not, things you didn’t really want to know. I don’t dig up much good news. That’s the nature of the racket.

  On the confidential-agent side I’ll do a stand-in, like pay off a kidnapper or blackmailer for you, and make sure there’s no last-second comedy. I’ve worked hard to build a rep as a straight arrow, a guy who plays square, who comes down like the proverbial ton if you mess with my client. Which is why I wouldn’t want anybody to think I’d roll over for Chodo.

  If Tinnie died, I’d change my rules. For Tinnie it would be dead ahead full speed, and whoever got in my way had best have his gods paid off because I wouldn’t slow down till I ate somebody’s liver. If Tinnie died.

  The Dead Man said she ought to pull through. I hoped he was right. This once. Usually I hope he’s wrong because he’s damned near infallible and works hard reminding me of that.

  Dean came in with a tray, beer, and stronger spirits if we needed them. Saucerhead took a beer. So did I. “That’s good. That hits the spot after all that running.”

  The Dead Man sent, I suggest you go see her uncle. Inform him what has happened and find out about arrangements. Perhaps he can give you a clue.

  Yeah. He had to bring it up. I’d been wondering about who was going to tell the family. There had to be somebody I could stick with that little chore.

  The candidates constitute a horde of one, Garrett.

  He figured that out all by himself. He is a genius. A certified—and certifiable—genius. Just ask him. He’ll tell you about it for hours.

  Any other time I would have given him a ration of lip. This time the specter of Willard Tate got in the way. “All right. I’m on my way.”

  “Me too,” Saucerhead said. “There’s some things I want to check out.”

  Excellent. Excellent. Now everything is under control I can catch up on my sleep.

  Catch up. Right. In all the years I’ve known him his waking time hasn’t added up to six months.

  I let Saucerhead out the front door. Then I headed for the kitchen, got Dean to draw me another of those wonderful beers. “Have to replace everything I sweated out.”

  He scowled. He has some strong opinions about the way I live. Though he’s an employee, I let him

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  speak his mind. We have an understanding. He talks, I don’t listen. Keeps us both happy.

  I hit the street without much enthusiasm. Old Man Tate and I aren’t bosom buddies. I did a job for him once, and for a while afterward he’d thought well of me, but a year of me playing push-me pull-you with Tinnie had somehow soured his outlook.

  4

  The Tate place will fool you. It’s supposed to. From outside it looks like a block of old warehouses nobody bothered to keep up. You can see why from the street out front. First, the Hill. Our overlords are buzzards watching for fortunes to flay through the engines of the law Second, the slums below. They produce extremely hungry and unpleasant fellows, some of whom will turn you inside out for a copper sceat.

  Thus, the Tate place pretending to be poverty’s birthplace.

  The Tates are shoemakers who turn out army boots and pricey stuff for the ladies of the Hill. They’re all masters. They have more wealth than they know what to do with.

  I gave their gate a good rattle. A young Tate responded He was armed. Tinnie was the only Tate I knew who faced the world outside un armed. “Garrett. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “Tinnie and I were feuding again.”

  He frowned. “She went out a couple hours ago. I thought she was headed your way.”

  “She was. I came to see Uncle Wi
llard. It’s important.” The kid’s eyes got big. Then he grinned. I guess he figured I was going to pop the question. He opened up. “Can’t guarantee he’ll see you. You know how he is.”

  “Tell him it can’t wait till it’s convenient.”

  He muttered, “Must have been hell being snowed in.” He locked the gate. “Rose will be devastated.”

  “She’ll live.” Rose was Willard’s daughter, his only surviving offspring, hotter than three little bonfires and as twisted as a rope of braided snakes. “She always bounces back.”

  The kid snickered. None of the Tates had much use for Rose. She was pure trouble. And she never learned.

  “I’ll tell Uncle you’re here.”

  I went into the central garden to wait. It looked forlorn. Summertimes it’s a work of art. The Tates all have apartments in the surrounding buildings, They live there, work there, are born and die there. Some never go outside.

  The kid came back looking pained. Willard had scalded his tail for letting me in but apparently hadn’t told him to get hurt trying to throw me out.

  The thought made me grin. The kid was as big as any Tate gets, about five two. Willard once told me there was elvish blood in the family. It made the girls exotic and gorgeous and the guys handsome but damned near short enough to walk under a horse without banging their heads.

  Willard Tate was no bigger than the rest of his clan. A gnome, almost. He was bald on top, had ragged gray hair that hung to his shoulders in back and on the sides. He was bent over his workbench tapping brass nails into the heel of a shoe. He wore a pair of TenHagen cheaters with square lenses. Those don’t come cheap.

  One feeble lamp battled the dark. Tate worked by touch, really. “You’ll ruin your eyes if you don’t spring for more light.” Tate is one of the wealthiest men in TunFaire and one of the tightest with a sceat.

  “You have one minute, Garrett.” His lumbago was acting up. Or something. Couldn’t be me.

  “Straight at it, then. Tinnie’s been stabbed.”

  He looked at me for half the time he’d given me. Then he put his tools aside. “You have your faults, but you wouldn’t say that unless you meant it. Tell me.”

  I told him.

  He didn’t say anything for a while. He just stared, not at me but at ghosts lurking behind me. His had been a life plagued by loss. His wife, his kids, his brother, all had gone before their time.

  He surprised me by not laying it off on me “You got the man who did it?”

  “He’s dead. I ran through it again.

  “I wish I could have had a piece of him.” He rang a bell. One of his nephews responded. Tate told him, “Send for Dr Meddin. Now. And turn out a half-dozen men to walk Mr. Garrett home.” Now I had me a “mister.”

  “Yes sir.” The nephew bounced off on a recruiting tour.

  “Anything else, Mr. Garrett?”

  “You could tell me why anybody would want to kill Tinnie.”

  “Because she was involved with you. To get at you.”

  “A lot of people don’t like me.” Present company included. “But none of them work like that. They wanted to get my goat, they’d burn my house down. With me inside it.”

  “Then it has to be senseless. Random violence or mistaken identity.”

  “You sure she wasn’t into anything?”

  “The only thing Tinnie was involved in was you.” He didn’t say it but I could hear him thinking. Maybe this will learn her a lesson. “She never left the place except to see you.”

  I nodded. Undoubtedly he kept track.

  I wanted to believe it was random. TunFaire is overcrowded and hagridden by poverty and hardly a day passes when somebody doesn’t whittle on somebody with a hatchet or do cosmetic surgery with a hammer. I would have bought it except for those guys who danced the waltzes with me and Saucerhead.

  I said, “When we caught him, the guy said ‘the book’ just before his friends croaked him.” If those were his friends. “Mean anything to you?”

  Tate shook his head. That straggly hair pranced around. “I didn’t figure it would. Damn. You get any ideas, let me know. And I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You do that.” My minute had stretched. He wanted to get back to work.

  The nephew returned and announced he had a squad assembled. I said, “I’m sorry, sir. I’d rather it had been me.”

  “So would I.” Yes. He agreed a hundred percent. Man. You be nice to some people . . .

  5

  I plopped into my chair, reported to the Dead Man while the Tate boys collected Tinnie. They had a cart to carry her home. The best medical care would be waiting. It was out of my hands now.

  Nothing gained, the Dead Man sent when I finished.

  “I think Tate hit it. They got the wrong woman. You’ve been around awhile.” Like half of forever. “You sure ‘the book’ doesn’t ring any bells?”

  None. There are books and books, Garrett. Even some men would kill for, considering their rarity or content. I do not hazard uninformed guesses. We cannot, now, be sure that man even meant a book as such. He may have meant a gambling book. He may have meant a personal journal capable of indicating someone. We do not know. Try to relax. Have a meal. Accept the situation, then put it behind you.

  “Nobody came around asking about the dead men?” TunFaire’s Watch aren’t exactly police. Their main mission is to keep an eye out for fires or threats to our overlords. Catching criminals is way down their list, but sometimes they do bumble around and nab a baddie. TunFaire is blessed with some pretty stupid villains.

  No one came Go eat, Garrett. Attend to the needs of the flesh. Allow the spirit to relax and become refreshed. Forget it. All is well that ends well.

  Good advice, even coming from him. But he’s always so damned reasonable and wise—when he isn’t trying to play games with my mind. He got my goat, being cool and sensible. I headed for the kitchen - Dean was in shock still, distraught because uncaring fate had cast a cold eye so close to home. His mind was a thousand miles away as he stirred some kind of sauce. He didn’t look at me as he handed me a plate he’d kept warm. I ate without noticing what, which is a crime itself, considering the class cook Dean is. I was drifting around a few yards away myself. I didn’t interrupt the old man’s brooding. I was pleased that he cared.

  I rose to leave. Dean turned. “People shouldn’t ought to do like that, Mr. Garrett.”

  “You’re right. They shouldn’t ought. You’re a religious sort. Tell the gods thanks for not making it worse than it was.”

  He nodded. He’s a gentle sort generally, a hardworking old fellow trying to support an ungrateful gaggle of eligible but terminally homely nieces who give him more grief than any ten men deserve from their female kin. Generally. Right now he had him a bloodthirst bigger than a vampire who hadn’t fed for a year.

  I couldn’t relax. It was over, but my nerves just wouldn’t settle. I prowled up the hail to the front door, peeked outside. Then I checked the small front room to the right like there might be a forgotten blonde cached in there. I was fresh out. I trudged back to the deluxe coffin I call an office, waved at Eleanor on the wall, then crossed the hall to the Dead Man’s room. That takes up most of the left side of the house. It contains not only himself but our library and treasury and everything we particularly value. Nothing for me there. I glanced up the stairs without going up, went into the kitchen, and got a mug of apple juice. Then I did the whole route over, taking a little longer at the door to see if my place had become a dwarfish tourist attraction. I didn’t see any watchers. Time dragged.

  I got on everybody’s nerves. That’s what I do best, anyway, but now I was fraying my own. Now even I resented my mumbled wisecracks. When Dean growled and tested the heft of his favorite frying pan, I decided to take myself upstairs. For a while I looked out a window, watching for Saucerhead or somebody in a black hat watching me back. The watched pot didn’t boil.

  When I got tired of that, I visited the closet where I keep the more
lethal tools of my trade. It’s a nifty little arsenal, something for every occasion, something to go with every outfit. You never catch me carrying a weapon that clashes.

  Everything was in tip-top shape I couldn’t work off any nervous energy sharpening and polishing. I eyeballed the ensemble. Nothing I had was worth much in a scrimmage with crossbowmen.

  I did have a few little bottles left over from the time I’d done undercover work for the Grand Inquisitor. I took the case down, looked inside Three bottles, one emerald, one royal blue, one ruby, each about two ounces. You threw them. Once they broke, the stuff inside took the fight right out of guys. The contents of the red one would melt the flesh off their bones I was saving that for somebody who really got on my nerves. If I ever used it, I’d have to stand back a ways.

  I put the case away, secreted knives all over me, hung the longest tool legal on my belt, then took down my most useful all-round instrument, an oaken headthumper eighteen inches long. It had a pound of lead inside the business end. It did wonders making me more convincing when I got into an argument

  So what was I going to do now? Go looking for some villains, just on general principles? Sure. Right. The way my luck runs, I’d have a building fall on me before I found any bad boys to astonish and dismay.

  I managed to kill time till supper came along. I spent most of it trying to figure out why I was restless and uneasy. Tinnie had been hurt, but she was going to make it. Saucerhead and I had—sort of—dissuaded her attacker from becoming a repeat offender. Everything had turned out all right. Things were going to be fine.

  Sure.

  6

  I didn’t get much sleep that night.

  It was a time of weirdness for TunFaire, maybe because of the weather. The whole world had turned cockeyed, not just me with my running and my going to bed early so I could get up before anybody sane was oriented vertically. Mammoths had been seen from the city wall. Saber-tooth tigers were at large within a day’s travel. There were rumors of werewolves. There were rumors of thunder-lizards being sighted near KirtchHeis, just sixty miles north of TunFaire, two hundred south of their normal range. To our south, centaurs and unicorns, fleeing ferocious fighting in the Cantard, had penetrated Karentine territory Every night, here in the city, the sky filled with squabbling morCartha, weird creatures who traditionally confined their brawls to rain-forested valleys on the marches of thunder-lizard country.