Dread Brass Shadows

by Glen Cook

  He looked at me in a way that told me he knew I was holding out, but he said only, “That’s true, Mr. Garrett. A first principle. Don’t let anyone get away with muscling you. For the moment, let me counsel patience. Let me put my eyes out. These people have dragged me into their affairs. Someone beholden to me will know something about them. It’s impossible for those people to exist in the cracks without being noticed. My people will catch some of them and ask questions. If I learn anything of interest to you, I’ll inform you immediately.”

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t tell him to get out of my face, go home, I didn’t need him stomping around in my life. Even if I’d wanted to.

  “I’m going to have Mr. Sadler set up headquarters here so my people have a central reporting site.” He meant the Joy House. That would thrill Morley all to hell. It would shoot the guts out of his business.

  Chodo read that thought in my face. He’s good at reading people. “Mr. Dotes won’t lose because of it.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Contague.” I managed to keep sarcasm from creeping in. Dean and the Dead Man would have been amazed. They don’t think I can do that.

  “Don’t thank me. You’ve done me numerous good turns. This may be my chance to pay some back. Maybe to lay a little good karma on my soul.”

  Another surprise. That old boy is full of them. I thanked him again, climbed out of the coach. It rolled away immediately. Most of Chodo’s bodyguards went with it.

  16

  Morley’s place was deserted. I stepped into half the usual light and none of the usual uproar. I looked across the desert at Puddle, behind the serving counter, polishing glassware. “What the hell?”

  “Not open tonight, buddy. Come back some other time.”

  “Hey! It’s me. Garrett.”

  He squinted. Maybe his eyes weren’t so good anymore. He was going to flab fast, but that didn’t keep him from being a bad man. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe I ought to say we’re double not open for you, pal. But it’s too late. You done got Morley dragged in.”

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Morley shut the place down. You think anybody’s going to come in here with that circus parked out front?”

  “He here?”

  “Nope.” He didn’t volunteer any information. Most of Morley’s people think I take advantage of his good nature. They’re wrong. He doesn’t have a good nature. And he owes me for a couple stunts he pulled on me back when he was hooked on gambling and he had to cut things fine to keep from taking that long swim in the river. “What you want him for?”

  “Just talk.”

  “Right.” His tone said I was full of it.

  “He leave any word for me?”

  “Yeah. Have a beer. Hang in there till he gets back.”

  “Beer?” Morley never has anything drinkable around except a little brandy upstairs for special guests of the female persuasion. The kind that always scurry for cover when I show up, afraid I work for their husbands.

  Puddle swung a pony keg onto the bar, grabbed the biggest mug he had, drew me one. I arrived as he topped it off. I noted that the keg had been tapped already. I noted that Puddle had brew breath. I grinned. Another of Morley’s bunch who didn’t share his boss’s religion. Puddle pretended he didn’t know why I was showing my teeth.

  “Seen Saucerhead?”

  “Nope.”

  “Morley supposed to be back soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Know where he went?”

  He shook his head, Probably afraid he was going to get a sore throat with all this yammer. A real heavyweight conversationalist, Puddle. Always ready with a lightning riposte. Rather than subject myself to any more abuse, I went to work on my beer.

  It went down smooth. Almost too smooth. I let him draw me another and finished half before I thought about all I’d put away already today. Where was the point of the running if I was going to fix myself up to look like Puddle anyway?

  “You got anything back there ready to eat?”

  A big, wicked grin grew on Puddle’s homely face. Before he turned toward the kitchen, I was sorry I’d asked. He was about to make me pay for my sins.

  He came back with something cold smeared on a bed of soggy noodles. “Chef’s surprise.” It looked like death and didn’t taste much better.

  “Now I know why all those breeds are so damned mean. Can’t help it, eating like this.”

  Puddle chuckled, pleased with himself.

  I ate. To get through a mess like that, all I have to do is recall what I’d had to eat as a Marine. I could dig in and feel pampered.

  Saucerhead ambled in. “Where you been, Garrett?” I filled him in.

  “I heard about Squirrel. Can’t figure it.”

  “What about the redhead?”

  He frowned. “She went home meek. And disappeared.” He shook his head. “Went in the place where she stayed. Wanted to ask her a question. I looked all over. She wasn’t in there no more. And I know she never come out. Only two people ever did and she wasn’t one of them. And she never came back.” He shrugged and forgot it. Not his problem anymore. “They tried to ice you, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sighed. “Hey. Puddle. Whup me up a double load of whatever this glop is Garrett’s got.” He asked me, “Where’s Morley?”

  “I don’t know. Puddle ain’t saying.”

  “Hmm. Chodo’s in it now. Account of Squirrel. What you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I have a couple grudges. And like Chodo told me, letting them slide isn’t good for business.”

  “You think that Winger smoked Squirrel?”

  “Maybe. I think Chodo’s going to find out.”

  “Pretty pissed, eh?”

  “Yeah. Probably hasn’t had a good excuse to off somebody for days.”

  Saucerhead drank about a quart of beer, inhaled the food Puddle brought him, shoved back, and said, “Well, it’s been an interesting day I got to get on home. Got a little gal waiting.” Off he went.

  I sat quietly for a while. It got dark outside. I waited some more. I asked Puddle, “You sure Morley didn’t say when he’d be back?”

  “Nope.”

  Puddle seemed to be the only body in the place. Where were all the help? Where was Sadler, who was supposed to set up his headquarters? Where the hell was Morley Dotes?

  I waited some more. Then I waited some. And when I didn’t have anything else to do, I waited. Then I got up and said, “I’m going home.”

  “See ya.” Puddle grinned me out the door. He locked it behind me in case I had a change of heart.

  The morCartha were zooming around, trying to undress the night. I recalled Dean saying we were going to have cobbler for dessert. I cussed. I’d eaten that sludge at Morley’s place and now I wouldn’t have room for decent cooking.

  Story of my life.

  17

  I almost made it home without getting distracted.

  I’d just crossed Wizard’s Reach. I was beginning to feel optimistic. I’d decided I was going to wrap myself around another gallon of beer, then throw myself in bed and sleep till noon. The hell with running and everything else. I justified future loafing the old-fashioned way. I told me I’d earned it.

  Somebody hissed at me from the shadows beside a neighbor’s stoop.

  I took a deep breath, sighed, looked for signs of trouble, looked at that shadow, didn’t go any closer. I couldn’t make out whoever was there. Mama Garrett didn’t raise many fools who lived to be thirty. I didn’t go over there. “Come out, come out, whoever you are. Allee allee in free.”

  “I can’t. They might be watching.”

  “Too bad.” Very too bad.

  My mood had plunged. I didn’t bother asking who might be watching.

  The voice sounded a tad familiar. I couldn’t place it, though.

  I laid a hand on my belt. No headknocker. Still down somewhere near Dwarf Fort. I resumed walking, wondering if I’d see that billy again. I
wasn’t ready to go looking. Too many dwarves down there and I can’t tell one from another. I don’t think they’d accept a kill-them-all-and-let-the-gods-sort-them-out approach.

  My egg might be scrambled some but it does me just fine, thank you.

  The dark behind me moaned. Feet pitty-patted toward me, I eyed the house, wondered if I’d have time to get Dean’s attention before somebody did something unpleasant and maybe left the old boy a mess to clean up.

  That’s the power of positive thinking there After having had my head redesigned—it was throbbing and pounding—I saw no dawn on any horizon Funny how one little thing can cause your mood to change so fast.

  I sidestepped, dropped into a crouch, and came around with a fist meant to drive right through somebody’s ribs and let me get hold of his backbone from the front. Then, if I was feeling mean, I’d shake him till his ears fell off

  I tried pulling it. I fell on my face, rearranged my nose into an even less appealing mess, and still folded the little darling up around my fist

  I got myself up, wobbled around a little, wiped the fuzz out of my eyes. The girl stayed down, holding herself and making strangling noises Hoo, boy. What a lady-killer, Garrett. It wasn’t my week for women. If it kept up, it wasn’t going to be my year.

  I felt my nose to see if anything was left Hard to tell from here, but there seemed to he a nub under the ick. It hurt enough to be my nose. I shook some more cobwebs and knelt. “You shouldn’t ought to run up on a guy like that.”

  She made noises like she was trying to heave up her stockings. I scooped her up and headed for home, caveman Garrett bringing home the goodies.

  She felt like a real treat, curled in my arms. It was hard to tell by eyeball in the available light. Curious morCartha cruised around as I climbed the steps, kicked the door, and hollered They didn’t bother me. I felt the Dead Man touch me, just to make sure it wasn’t somebody trying to get past Dean disguised as a freshly slaughtered side of beef.

  Dean opened the door after peeking through the spyhole. He looked at the girl. “Got lucky again, eh?” He stepped aside.

  I took her into the small front room, put her down on the daybed “See what you can do while I clean up.” I sketched what had happened. He gave me one of his better looks of exasperation.

  “You missed supper.”

  “I ate out. At Morley’s. Get a light in here so we can see. I’ll be back in a minute.” I left him and dashed upstairs faster than a wounded snail. After I washed my face and rechecked it for missing parts, I put on clean clothes and scooted downstairs and stuck my head into the Dead Man’s room “Company, Smiley.”

  I am aware of that, Garrett. Try to restrain your animal urges. She may be of some help, though I cannot get anything yet. She is too frightened and confused.

  “Restrain myself? I’m a paragon of restraint. I’m the guy they invented the word for. I’ve never burned the house down around you.”

  It was one of those rare times when he didn’t try to get in the last word Chalk one up in the history books. Might not happen again in my lifetime. She knows something, Garrett.

  Hell. Score one for him. That was worse than one of his standard digs. It was tone rather than words. He was accusing me of goofing off.

  I stomped into the small front room.

  Dean was bent over the woman, blocking her from view, talking softly. I paused, looked at him with an affection I’d never show to his face. He had been the luckiest find of my life. He did everything around the house that I hated, cooked like an angel, put in absurd hours, and more often than not was as emotionally involved in my cases as I was. I couldn’t ask for much more but maybe a little less lip and a little more enthusiasm about keeping the Dead Man clean.

  If he has a failing, it’s his disapproval of my work habits Dean believes in work for its own sake, as a tonic for the soul.

  I coughed gently to let him know I was there. He didn’t hear Was he going deaf? Maybe. He had to be pushing seventy, though he wouldn’t admit it.

  “How is she, Dean? Settled down any?”

  He tossed a glower over his shoulder “Some. No thanks to you.”

  “I should let somebody run up on me and maybe change the shape of my head?” I was getting irritable Can’t understand why My face hurt? My head ached? My shoulder throbbed? My legs were cramping from all the walking and running? That’s no excuse I was headed for despair mode, where you keep on fighting the fight but you’ve decided it isn’t worth it You just can’t stop.

  Facts don’t bother Dean much. He’s still fifteen years old inside. He never stopped believing in the kind of magic kids carry around inside them before reality beats them down. He gave me another look at his glower. He was on a roll, He said, “Give me a couple more minutes.”

  “I’ll go report, then.” I went and told the Dead Man about my excursion into that world where Dean’s brand of magic has died.

  He had no direct comment. Go meet the girl. Chuckle. You will be surprised.

  The Dead Man scores his points I was surprised.

  She was gorgeous. Luscious. I’d had my suspicions, of course. I’d carried her in and there’s nothing wrong with my sense of touch. But there hadn’t been light enough to reveal all that red hair.

  Yeah She was a ringer for the gal who’d told the Baron Stonecipher story, who was a ringer for the naked gal This one with a difference This one had an air of innocence “It’s raining redheads, Dean.”

  He grunted. Like he didn’t care.

  She was sitting up now, no longer green around the gills. She looked at me. Green eyes. Again. Gorgeous big naive green eyes Lips like I only dream about. Freckles.

  Down, boy.

  I gaped. Dean gave me the evil eye. I said, “We need a name for this case Maybe call it Too Many Redheads.

  “Mr. Garrett?” Whoo! That voice! Like the last redhead’s voice, but with added bells and promises . . . whatever.

  “That’s me. Garrett Ferocious dragon fighter and unwitting stomper of damsels in distress. And that’s on my good days.”

  She looked puzzled.

  “Sorry. It’s been a rough day I’m on edge Let’s start over. I promise not to sock you it you promise not to run up behind me in the dark In the street, anyway. We could put the Dead Man to sleep and run Dean off and she could chase me all ever the house if she wanted. I wouldn’t try too hard to get away In the interest of science, of course To see how closely she compared with my nudist visitor, say.

  She smiled. The freckles on her cheeks danced. That almost made my day worthwhile.

  Almost.

  “Dean explained,” she said Funny how he gets on a first-name basis so fast. “I should apologize. That wasn’t smart. I’m not used to the city.’ She stood. My eyes bugged. Her movements were unpretentious and unaffected and I had to grind my teeth to keep from howling and whistling She was a natural heart-stopper. Wherever she came from, she’d been wasted on them there. They’d been dumb enough to let her get away. Send more of her kind to TunFaire. Take our minds off poverty and war and despair. Talk about your bread and circuses. This gal was a three-ringer all by herself

  She stuck out a hand. It wasn’t half as big as mine. I took it. It was a chock full of warmth and life—which reminded me that Tinnie almost wasn’t. That brought me back to earth. She said, “I’m Carla Lindo Ramada, Mr. Garrett. I came here from—”

  Oh boy. “Hold it. Let me guess The castle of Baron Stonecipher in the Hamadan Mountains. Where you’re a chambermaid. The baron sent you after a guy named Holme Blaine who kyped a book from a witch called the Serpent.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  Outside, overhead, the morCartha started up. The racket was so close and so loud it sounded like they were using my roof for landings and takeoffs I told Dean, “They’re going to make themselves unpopular if they keep that up.”

  The redhead realized her pretty little mouth was open, so she closed it, but it sagged open again. She stood there like a goldfish gul
ping air.

  I asked, “Was I close?”

  “How did you . . .?”

  I wanted to brag about what a great investigator I was. No point exaggerating, though. “Take it easy. I’m not a psychic.” He was in the other room. “You’re at least the second gorgeous redhead named Carla Ramada who turned up today. You want me to find the book, right?”

  “Carla Lindo Ramada,” she said. Apparently that was important. “But . . . How . . .?”

  “I don’t know.” There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that this wasn’t the woman who had been here earlier. I was pretty sure she wasn’t the naked woman, either. I couldn’t tell you what it was. A subtle clue of some kind. I had only minimal reservations about her being the real Carla Lindo Ramada. She wore the name more comfortably.

  Her face went through the changes, all of them fetching. I was thinking the thing to do was get her Out of town before she started riots because there was only two or three of her to go around—then I finally started wondering how come there were two or three. Or were there four or five? Was there a whole legion of her out there? Did redheads grow on trees in the Hamadan? Gods, get me into the forestry racket.

  Her features settled into solid fear. “It must have been her ! She must have a page in the book that’s me.”

  “What?” It sank in. “The villain of the piece came here masquerading as you?” Well. Well again. And she was my client. More or less. “But how? If she doesn’t have the book anymore?”

  She didn’t ask how I knew what the book did. She thought about my question. “First draft? Maybe she brought draft pages with her. You couldn’t really mistake her for me, could you?”

  She wasn’t that naive after all.

  No. I couldn’t mistake her, having seen her. I thought back to that earlier visit. It wouldn’t come clear. That was odd. The Dead Man has taught me to pick up details and retain them. But I found only mists where I should have had cleat, crisp recollections.

  “Dean, make us a pot of tea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” And who could get any rest with all that racket going on outside? I was beginning to hope they’d wipe each other out. “We might as well relax before we start.”