Dread Brass Shadows

by Glen Cook

  Without a word she turned up the heat, piled on the come-hither, stacked up the promises. I kept the drool off my chin, but she did get me shivering. “You sure you’re no witch yourself?” She couldn’t be that old and crafty. She couldn’t have discovered my weakness that quick.

  She just smiled and tossed another sack of coal on the fire.

  I muttered, “You’re going to carrot me right into somebody’s whipping stick, woman.”

  “What?”

  “Yo! Garrett! Just the clown I want to see.”

  Oh, hell. Winger. Coming on like a galleon under full sail. Right behind her was the cadaverous old butler guy with the absurd name. I wondered if they were running a race. The old guy had stamina.

  Carla Lindo gave Winger a look all trimmed up with daggers but lost it in about a second. Then she just gaped and tried to keep a straight face.

  “Picked you up some new duds, eh, Winger?”

  Winger stopped to do a pirouette. The old guy gained on her. “What do you think?”

  “Colorful.” Old Mom Garrett’s favorite boy is shooting for another forty years He tries to stay neutral when somebody as mean as that dressed like that asks a question like that.

  “Knew you’d like it.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Colorful was understating the truth.

  Nobody has lousier taste and a worse idea how to dress than an ogre. This outfit would have stunned a nearsighted ogre. Splashes and panels of howling purples and screaming oranges and a limish green so virulent it fried your eyes. Some other colors in there that swirled venomously when she so much as breathed. Which meant what you saw was changing all the time. The total picture was so awesomely ugly it was almost hypnotic.

  “Bet you’re surprised to see me in a dress.”

  “Yeah.” Kind of a half-breed croak and squeak. I was in pain. I didn’t dare beg for mercy. That outfit should have been illegal. It was a deadly weapon.

  “A dress? Is that what that is?” Carla Lindo asked.

  Winger’s grin vanished. I got between the women fast. “Peace. Child’s new in town.”

  “Who is that dung beetle, Garrett? Just so I can apologize polite like after I squish her into frog food.”

  “Easy. She’s a friend of your boss.”

  “He ain’t got no friends. That old spook—”

  The old man caught up with her. He grabbed on to her arm and hung there puffing like he’d sprinted six miles. However dire his message, he couldn’t squeeze it out. In fact, he lost his grip and started to go down on his beak.

  Winger caught him by the scruff and hoisted him up. “Watch out you don’t kill yourself, Pop.”

  Carla Lindo stared at the old man. She wanted to say something, too, but couldn’t.

  “You come to see the boss, Garrett?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right. Then what I got can wait a couple. Maybe when we don’t got so many mouse ears around.” She turned the old man around and headed for home, holding him up with one hand. He kept trying to say something but couldn’t get it out. His collar was choking him.

  “What was that?” Carla Lindo finally managed.

  “That was Winger. Try not to aggravate her. She’s kind of like an earthquake. Not a whole lot of self-restraint.”

  “I believe it,” in a tone of total disbelief. Then, “Look at that!” as excited as a little kid Her attention span wasn’t much longer than Winger’s.

  I looked.

  Easterman had him a dragon.

  A flying thunder-lizard was tethered atop the battlements of the runt black castle. It was being tended by a whole gang of morCartha doing their best to look like little devils. Easterman had them outfitted in some kind of suits but I couldn’t make out details. When they realized we were watching, they started howling and carrying on. The thunder-lizard started screeching. It seemed more bewildered than put out.

  Carla asked, “Isn’t that neat?”

  I was beginning to wonder about that girl. “The loonies have taken over. Maybe I ought to start cutting out paper dolls and practicing talking backward.”

  Carla Lindo didn’t get it.

  Winger dropped the old man inside the entrance. He had caught his breath and, despite all, had lost none of his dignity “If you will follow me, sir? And madame.” Some kind of look passed between him and Carla Lindo.

  What now?

  He led us to the room where I’d met Easterman before. The place had changed. A wall or two had been knocked out to make it bigger and it had been redecorated in black and red. They’d brought in a big ugly black throne carved all over with the ugly sisters of those gals you wake up with the morning after a night when you drank one gallon of popskull too many. There was a lot of indirect, shifting red light that was supposed to make you think it had been piped in from Hell itself. And the resident mental basket case had added some new employees to the payroll. They included six of the biggest, ugliest, fangiest ogres I’ve ever seen. Tittering morCartha in formal evening wear were all over the place.

  Easterman’s regulars, the old thugs with seniority, seemed embarrassed by the company they were keeping. One actually whispered, “He pays real good.”

  “God, I hope so.” I began to wonder if Fido hadn’t picked out Winger’s wardrobe.

  Easterman waited till he could make an entrance.

  The fat man had him a new outfit, too. He’d chosen a few square miles of red accented with acres of black, I realized the black consisted entirely of little eyes.

  Oh, my. Every eye was alive and looking around, blinking, or maybe winking over some private joke.

  Easterman struggled up the steps of his throne, finally fell into its seat. There’s why I’m running, I told myself. So I don’t get like that . . . Oh, my, all over again. When his well-larded behind hit the seat, all those uglies carved on the throne got excited and started whispering to each other.

  I gaped and gawked and wondered how he had come up with all this when he couldn’t enchant a rock into falling down, Then I got worried. Had he won the race? Had he grabbed the Book of Dreams?

  I’d almost rather Chodo laid hands on it first. Chodo was predictable.

  Fido got himself settled. He beamed down benevolently More or less. “Mr. Garrett. I’m so happy you came calling, sir. What do you think, sir?” He gestured. “Is this not an impressive setting?”

  “Yeah. It’s that.” It was. “But I’m kind of partial to the old setup. Know what I mean?” It was only ninety percent whacko before.

  “We must change with the times, sir. We must change with the times, These present changing times are intriguing, are they not, sir? Here you are, an appellant, when but a short time ago you turned your back on me, a strutting cock. Yes sir, changing times

  Carla Lindo gave me a puzzled look. I guess she didn’t know about my earlier chat with Fido. I asked, “Where did you get the idea I came here to beg for something?” That fat clown had my nerves frayed already. I should have been amused, should have had trouble keeping a straight face, but something kept making me want to hop up there and plant a boot in his face.

  Not a smart move with all those ogres there to save his jowls.

  “Plague!”

  The old man did the hopping.

  Easterman and the old guy traded melodramatic whispers while taking turns staring at me. Fido’s gaze flicked to Carla Lindo. He started looking puzzled. I had the impression he’d expected me to drop on my knees and crawl. I wasn’t and didn’t look like I would and maybe had no idea why I was supposed to.

  Puzzled turned to troubled, Easterman stared at me, eyes narrowed more than seemed possible. “Are you making mock, sir?”

  ‘I’m not doing anything but standing here. I don’t know what your problem is, Fido. Sorry I’m not doing what you expect. I just dropped by with my friend Carla Lindo to ask who all you told about her business here in town.”

  “What?”

  “Miss Ramada stayed here when she first came to TunFair
e, right? She asked who could help her find a little bauble somebody swiped from her dad . . .”

  “I’ve never seen this woman before, sir.”

  “People told her to come to me. Right? So . . .” I stopped chattering.

  Fido popped up and glared around. He eyeballed Carla Lindo. He sputtered. Spit flew. For a second I thought he was going to have a seizure

  I didn’t really get it till Carla Lindo unfroze and started tugging on my arm and shaking her head long after the whole herd of cats had flown out of the bag. She maybe stayed here, but old Fido hadn’t been in on it.

  Easterman started roaring endearing sobriquets like Famine, War, and Pestilence. He took a moment out to tell his ogres, “Get that man out of here! I don’t want to look at his ugly face another second.” Then he went to foaming at the mouth.

  Well. I never. Ugly? Maybe a little battered around the edges, but the dogs don’t howl. . . . I didn’t wait for the ogres. I latched on to Carla Lindo and headed for the exit. No sense dancing with those boys. The mood I was in, suddenly I’d have tried to break a head or three. I wouldn’t have been able to do the job justice before the sky collapsed on me.

  “That was real bright, Garrett,” Carla Lindo said as soon as we hit the street. “You have a real golden tongue.”

  “You could have told me something up front. You could have given me one teensy hint. The Dead Man is the mind reader, not me.” I spun around and dared an ogre to bring it out into the street. He looked over his shoulder to see how much help he’d get. He had no cavalry on the way. He just waved bye-bye. An ogre with sense. The times they are a-changing.

  I faced Carla Lindo. “So what else haven’t you told me, sweetheart? You want me to help, you got to give me the tools. What the hell was that all about in there, anyway?”

  She shrugged, stared at the pavement. “I didn’t know . . . I never saw any of that before. I stayed with my uncle. My mother’s brother. One of the servants. When they took us to that room . . . I only ever saw that man from a distance before. My uncle just said he was a little potty.”

  “A little, yeah. Here you had me thinking you had an in with some Hill bigwigs.” I added another score to the list needing settling with the Dead Man. He could have warned me. His idea of a joke, probably, letting me find out the hard way.

  “I sort of wanted you to think . . .”

  “I figured that out.”

  A shadow fell on the conversation, which was about to sneak on toward making up. Making up is always full of promise when a guy and a gal are doing it.

  “Yo, Garrett! That was some brilliant show you put on in there. You foxed the old boy right out of his garters.”

  “Don’t you start on me, Winger You want something, spit it out. If you don’t, you better scoot back in there and make sure old Fido don’t choke on his rug. You might miss a payday.”

  “Hey. Here I come trying to be friendly, trying to build some bridges, and all you want is to start a fight.”

  “Want to build a bridge?” I grumbled. “Tell me what’s with the new look in there. What’s with the zoo on the roof?”

  “Old goof is getting set for the new era. Getting his props together so he’ll have the right look once he gets hold of the Book of Dreams.”

  “Huh?” That’s Garrett. Swift on the uptake.

  “Claims he knows where it is.”

  “Where?”

  “He didn’t tell me. He don’t trust me.”

  Couldn’t say I blamed him for that. Winger would sell him out to the highest bidder if she got the chance. “Any hints?”

  She shook her head. “Just said it’s there for the taking soon as he figures how to get past one big obstacle.”

  Probably like not knowing where it was. “The Serpent? Chodo Contague grabbed her last night.” Finding some guile at last, I figured maybe I could keep an eye on Fido, grab the book from him after he grabbed it, before he could start using it.

  “We heard. Who cares? He isn’t interested in her, except to stay out of her way and grab the book before she does.”

  All hell broke loose overhead. Daytime or not, the morCartha from Fido’s roof went on the warpath. Easterman’s human servants yelled at them to come back or get fired. I asked, “What the hell?”

  Winger said, “They do that. Probably spotted a critter from another tribe.”

  “I should’ve stayed in bed.” This was all Dean’s fault.

  “You know where the book is, Garrett?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, would I? I’d be waving bye-bye to my friend at the west gate.” I gave Carla Lindo a one-armed hug I’d at least be trying to collect a suitable reward.

  Winger ignored Carla Lindo. “We got to have a sit-down, see what we can come up with if we put our heads together.”

  “Right.”

  She didn’t catch my sarcasm. I think she was immune to it, or at least deaf. Besides being color-blind She said, “That thing’s still worth a fortune, Garrett. Word is, there’s a dwarf willing to put up big money for it. More than Easterman would.”

  “You going to turn on him?”

  “If there’s money in it.” Like maybe I had that kind of cash Sure. In my sock. She said, “He never did nothing to make me want to stay loyal. He treats them damned ogres better than me and they don’t have my seniority.”

  I chuckled. “You’re one in a million, Winger.”

  “I know. But don’t let it get to you. I ain’t ready to settle down. But you’ll be first on my list when I am.”

  I don’t often get caught without something to say. I did that time. I just stood there with my mouth open wondering if maybe she wasn’t a whole lot sharper than I thought.

  She said, “You get a line on that book and you need some help, get in touch. I’ll go in for a split.” She marched back toward Easterman’s hovel.

  Carla Lindo snickered. “You’ve made a conquest.”

  I bellowed. She took off, giggling. I took off after her. People stared. She didn’t run too fast. I didn’t either. The view was much too entertaining from second place.

  This was more like life ought to be.

  I caught her. She leaned against me, panting, making it plain she was willing to be caught. Hell. There we were in the middle of a street with nowhere to go.

  That’s the story of my life. Whenever I do win the prize, I can’t collect. “Let’s go home and try to figure out where the hell Easterman thinks that book is.” I had a feeling he Was sure he knew where it was. Thinking that gave me an idea. “Any chance this uncle of yours would know what his boss is thinking?”

  “No.” She looked sad. “And if he did he wouldn’t tell. He’s really afraid he’d never get another job if Easterman throws him out He’s too old.”

  “Wonderful.” We walked a ways, snuggling. I felt just a touch guilty doing that only a couple of blocks from Tinnie. Must be getting old. “You really still need the book? Chodo’s got the Serpent. I’d say it’s a safe bet she won’t be back to haunt your dad”

  She had to think about that awhile. Most of the way home, in fact. Then she said, “I could go home without it, I guess. But only if I was sure it’d been destroyed. My father would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

  Well, hell.

  34

  I was still explaining to the Dead Man and getting hell for not having snatched Fido by the short hairs and twisted till he sang when Dean stuck his head in the room. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Mr. Garrett.”

  I’d heard the knock. I’d hoped it was for me. The Dead Man was way up on his high horse, really smoking. I couldn’t get a word in to suggest he consider the facts of the situation. I guess I was supposed to have taken care of Fido’s troops with my free hand while I was twisting and yanking and humming along.

  The gentleman at the door wasn’t. That was Dean’s way of making a snide social observation. The guy was a mixed-breed kid of obscure antecedents sneaking up on adolescence. His outstanding feature was the most a
wful set of teeth I’ve ever seen. He could pass as an ugly ogre or uglier human if you needed a stand-in for one of those. He said, sneering, “You Garrett?” Like he’d heard of me and wasn’t impressed.

  “Last time I checked.”

  “Got a paper for you.” He shoved something at me and lit out before he saw if I had a grip on it. I didn’t, It fell onto the stoop, started tumbling on the breeze. I dashed out and hunted it down. Naturally, the door swung shut behind me. The latch fell and caught. I cussed it and kicked and pounded till Dean let me in. He didn’t say anything, just smirked, “Go scrub a pot or something,” I grumbled.

  I took myself to my office, planted me in my chair. I asked Eleanor, “Why the hell don’t I take that job at the brewery? There something wrong with me? I enjoy abuse? I could get me a room right there in the plant. You and me. I could go tap a vat whenever the mood hit me. I could spend the rest of my life holed up there.”

  Eleanor didn’t have any answers. She just gave me her enigmatic look Nobody was on my side anymore. I uncrumpled the wad of paper.

  It was a note, but it took me a while to decipher the primitive printing. Before it became a vehicle for deathless prose, it had been used to wrap fried fish or something.

  We got to talk. Sinkler. Statue. Soon. Sadler.

  Interesting. I hadn’t thought he could read or write. He wasn’t a threat to anybody doing illuminated manuscripts but he was a match for any educated seven-year-old. And he had all the words spelled right. Amazing.

  Sadler. One of my many missing men. I couldn’t turn him down.

  But when to meet? He didn’t state a time.

  I didn’t jump up and run over, though. Despite my interest. That sort of thing isn’t done if you care to survive in this line. There are proprieties one observes when dealing with mysterious messages. Like sending some sucker . . . er, friend . . . to scout the terrain. “Hey, Dean.” I didn’t have anybody else left.

  “I have dishes and laundry to do, Mr. Garrett. One extra body seems to triple the workload around here.” This from the kitchen, shouted.