Dread Brass Shadows

by Glen Cook

  There will be Serpents with us always. With the best will it can muster, the race wouldn’t be able to exterminate them all. And the race, of course, has no universal will to see them become extinct. We all have a bit of the Serpent in us, just waiting for the right moment to bloom.

  Witness all these characters who wanted the Book of Dreams. Not all of them had been bad to begin.

  I’d even begun to doubt Carla Lindo’s honorable intentions.

  We can’t get shut of the Serpents but we can sure as hell lower the price in pain by snipping one off the social bush now and then. My attitude underwent adjustment as I limped along. My get-even list rearranged itself. Sometime during my trek homeward, my resistance toward participating in Crask and Sadler’s adventure evaporated. I donned my pain like a badge, let it flow through me, refused to be daunted by anything.

  It’s only six miles from Hornet Nest Hill to my place. A couple hours, loafing along. I didn’t loaf but I didn’t make that good a time. Too many injuries slowing me down

  I never saw the nest for which the hill is named. I never saw a hornet. I didn’t see friend Winsome or the philosopher again, either. I did, at a distance, spy some busted black wood that might have been fancy coachwork. I didn’t go look for survivors.

  By the time I got home I was mad at myself for letting the Dead Man get my goat and run me out to see the head dwarf. I’d known it was a pointless exercise when I left.

  Dean let me in. He saw I was in no mood or shape for any discussion. He did a fade. I went into my office, shut the door, wouldn’t even let Dean bring my beer. I communed with Eleanor We made a pact. Despite the pain and discouragement, I’d keep plugging. I’d get that book, one way or another. I’d thin the ranks of the villains. Eleanor gave me one of her rare smiles.

  “Hell, honey, I guess I can’t help being Garrett, anyway.” I headed upstairs, paused halfway to tell Dean to bring the pitcher and our first-aid stuff to my room.

  39

  It had been a full day and it wasn’t yet suppertime I decided to eat light then lie down. Maybe my subconscious would produce a miracle while I napped and I’d end up turning the adventure against Chodo into a coup for the good guys. Assuming I didn’t get so stiff and swollen I couldn’t move at all

  That’s how I figured. The rest of the world didn’t share my vision.

  Dean wakened me before I was completely asleep. “His Nibs wants you. He accused you of neglect.”

  So I hadn’t taken time to report. He feels no pain. He doesn’t get physically tired. He forgets that the rest of us do. Poor spirits and defeatism he understands better. His existence is entirely cerebral. I went down to report.

  Carla Lindo was just slipping out. She gave me a smile that set my backbone vibrating despite my state. Old Bones was chuckling to himself. She had his ego puffed up enough to swamp small cities I wondered if she’d goaded him into disturbing me. She did seem to be getting impatient.

  He took a quick riffle through my mind, saved me the trouble of talking. Any doubt that those were Chodo Contague’s men?

  I couldn’t give the answer he wanted to hear. “None.”

  I hoped it would never come to this.

  “You and me both. I was lucky. I got a pass. The bastard was sentimental enough to want to explain why he had to send me off. I won’t get that option again.” As soon as Chodo was sure things had soured he’d put the word out. Maybe even an open contract.

  It is premature for that. First he will have to learn that you were not devoured with the others. Then, considering the highly public nature of his past favor, he will want to avoid a public reversal because he cannot yet answer questions sure to arise and threaten his credibility. He is proud and vain and his power in great part rests upon a widespread belief that he is an honorable man within criminal lights. To tell the world he wants you dead would compel him to provide reasons. He cannot tell the truth. It would bury him.

  “That wouldn’t keep the hard boys from carving me up for the bounty.”

  No, he admitted

  “So? Suggestions?”

  Survival now heads our priorities. Finding the Book of Dreams has become secondary.

  And people wonder why he’s considered a genius. Would I have thought of that myself? “Only way out is to take out Chodo first.”

  Indeed.

  “I’ve never deliberately set out to kill somebody.”

  I know. He wasn’t taking it lightly

  “Is being able to live my life the way I want worth another man’s life?” I could get Out of town Permanently. Because if I went, there’d be no one else to slow Chodo down-unless Crask and Sadler got lucky without me.

  That is a decision you must make.

  “You and Dean have a say.”

  I survived for centuries before we met. Whatever you decide, I will get by.

  No doubt “You really know how to pump a guy up” But his welfare was only one consideration. My ego was going to take a whipping whatever I did. Run and I’d spend the rest of my life questioning my courage. Kill Chodo and I’d have to endure big dents in my self-image. “I can’t win”

  There is no question of winning or losing. Nor one of right or wrong. If you have one fatal weakness, it is your thinking too much. Your insistence upon viewing any choice as a moral decision. It is not immoral to fight for your life. Stop posing. Cease overcomplicating. Decide if you would prefer to spend your remaining days in TunFaire or elsewhere, then act to support your preference.

  He can strip a thing to its bones when he wants. And he’s damned good at twisting something till it looks like something else.

  Dean stuck his head into the room. “There’s a person to see you, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Who?”

  Hint of a smile. “A most unusual person.”

  I looked at the Dead Man. He didn’t give me a clue. I went into the hall. “At the door?”

  “I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not to let her in. Personally, I don’t feel she’s your type.”

  “Huh?” My type is female, in the three primary colors, blonde, brunette, and redhead

  “Ordinarily you do tend toward a certain physical type, Mr. Garrett. Mr. Dotes once observed that they could all wear the same underwear.”

  “Oh?” I thought of myself as an eclectic. I opened the door.

  “About damned time,” Winger said.

  I gaped Dean laughed I’d forgotten events earlier.

  Winger said, “I got to thinking. We ought to get an early start. We let them bozos Crask and Sadler call all the shots, then we only got ourselves to blame if we get hit by a stray bolt.”

  She had a point, but I didn’t feel like conceding it.

  “You going to leave me out in the weather or you going to invite me in for a brew?”

  40

  Joking aside, Dean was right. Winger wasn’t my type. She wasn’t anybody’s type. I led her to my office, suggested Dean bring beer. I planted myself. Winger took the other chair, looked at Eleanor like she could read the truths of the painting. Maybe she could.

  “One slick character painted that, Garrett.”

  “An unsung genius named Snake Bradon. A total lunatic How come you’re early?” I’d set a time figuring I could slide out earlier. She probably figured that’s what I’d try The woman wasn’t stupid.

  “Nice place you got.”

  “A couple of big cases broke right. You sneaking around before you get to something?”

  “Broke right? Word on you is you’re lucky. But it’s dangerous to be your friend.”

  “Huh?”

  “You got a sharp line of patter, don’t you? Word’s going around that somebody wants to take you down. Word is, stay away. It might rub off.”

  So, maybe just to keep myself awake, I told her about my adventures since we’d parted.

  Carla Lindo brought the beer for Dean. That woman was turning into a spook, around sometimes, but more invisible than not. She looked at Winger like she’d stu
mbled into the men’s loo. Winger looked back at Carla Lindo like she was trying to figure out what she was. Carla Lindo lost the staring match She deposited the supplies and deserted. “You got something going there?” Winger asked.

  “Just a client.”

  “Not much to her.”

  Debatable. Highly debatable, from where I sat. But I didn’t feel like debating. I felt like finding out what Winger was up to. Even more, I felt like taking a nap. The beer didn’t help.

  Winger said, “Interesting Chodo should take a poke at you right after you talked to his renegade. Think he’ll be looking for company tonight?”

  I shrugged. “He’s no fool.”

  “Um. I got to thinking about them pets of his. Went out looking for some thunder-lizard hunters, figured on buying them a few drinks, pumping them for tricks of the trade. Know what? Ain’t a whole lot of them around. Somebody’s been hiring them up. Some shoemaker.”

  Shoemaker, eh? I could guess which one. That damned fool. “Shoemakers use a lot of thunder-lizard hides making army boots.”

  She said, “You know you got somebody watching you?”

  “I’ve had that feeling for several days. I thought it might be you.”

  “Not me. Dwarves. Every time I come around here, there’s dwarves. And morCartha. Somebody’s hired one of the morCartha tribes to keep track of you. I couldn’t find out who.”

  “MorCartha?” Things fell into place. No wonder I’d never been able to spot anyone following me. I hadn’t looked up any more than anyone else does. If I had, I’d’ve accepted the morCartha the way I accept pigeons. One of the inevitable nuisances that are part of life.

  MorCartha tails would explain the erratic nature of my intuitions about being watched, too. MorCartha are neither organized nor responsible. The watching would go on only when somebody actually felt like watching.

  “Want me to take them off you? Ten marks, I’ll do a job that’ll have them staying ten miles from you.”

  “Not before I find out who wants me watched.” I had ideas. Gnorst Gnorst seemed a likely candidate. Backup for his ground-bound dwarves. The kind of thing a dwarf would do. Cover every angle possible. I figured Chodo a likely candidate, too. He was cunning enough to see that morCartha would go unsuspected.

  There had been morCartha aloft when I’d met with Sadler. Maybe Chodo ought to be number one on my list. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “One on me. For letting me come along tonight.”

  I hadn’t planned it to go that way, but now I knew that I had to take a legitimate shot at Chodo I didn’t mind as much. Any friend is better than no friend.

  Again I wondered where the hell Morley and Saucerhead were. That was becoming a big worry, but events kept pushing it further and further down my list.

  Winger considered Eleanor again. “You had something going with her, didn’t you?”

  How to answer that one? If I said yes, there might be more questions and I might end up mentioning that she’d been dead twenty years before I’d met her—and not like the Dead Man is dead. How to explain an affair of the heart with the ghost of someone who died when you were a child? “Something. I don’t know what you’d call it and I sure can’t explain it.”

  “That picture explains it good enough.”

  She was seeing everything that madman Bradon put into it. Would she ever stop surprising me?

  “I can understand you not wanting to talk about it. So. What say we get going? I got some things lined up, give us an edge. You got to have an edge. You in any shape for this?”

  She was nervous. She was getting close to chattering, which was how it showed. “Hell, no, I’m not. But I have to take my shot. If people haven’t lied to me too much, tonight’s the only night I’ll ever have half a chance of doing what I’ve got to do.” I told her about the supposed party.

  “There’s our edge right there. Even if the guy knows we’re coming, he’s giving up some advantage if he doesn’t cancel his party.”

  Chodo wouldn’t. He was a character who wouldn’t let the gods themselves nudge him into changing his plans. “Guess we take what we can get.” I was getting more down by the minute.

  “Won’t get nothing done sitting here.”

  “Sure. Back in a jiffy.” I went across and got the amulet stone from the Dead Man’s room, wondering what the hell a jiffy was. He didn’t have anything to say. I rolled upstairs and outfitted myself as well as I could from my depleted arsenal. I included the little padded case with the bottles. This was no time to wimp out. I’d do what I had to.

  Winger awaited me in the office doorway, eyes sort of glazed. I frowned. She’d had another run-in with the Dead Man. What now? I didn’t ask.

  Being a born gentleman, I opened and held the front door for her. Even if she was a Saucerhead type in physical drag. She stepped outside. “You hang on here.”

  “What?”

  She eyed the street. “Wait here.” She took off down the steps and up the street Fast. She ran without throwing her arms and legs all over, the way so many women do.

  I closed the door and leaned against the wall, trying to stay awake, trying to avoid thinking about my aches and pains.

  A knock. I peeked Winger’s eye stared back at me. She backed off only far enough for me to see her grin. I opened up.

  She had a dwarf slung over her shoulder, out cold. “He was a feisty little bugger “

  “Huh?”

  “He was watching your place. Thought you might want to talk to him before we shove off.”

  “Bring him back here.” I led the way to the Dead Man’s room. “Hey, Chuckles. You want to take a look at this and tell me what we’ve got?”

  A dwarf.

  “What an eye. Could you maybe give me a little something more?”

  He has been watching the house for about three hours. My old friend Gnorst sent him. I will send him back bearing a strong protest.

  “Wonderful. You do that Why was he on us?”

  In case you locate the Book of Dreams, I presume.

  “Anything else useful?”

  He was selected for his lack of direct knowledge.

  Naturally. Gnorst knew the Dead Man. Wasn’t much point putting the little hairball through the wringer. “See you later, then.”

  Have you come to an accommodation with your conscience?

  “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” He got a chuckle out of that. Right. My moral discomfitures always amuse him. He’d have no trouble slicing Chodo into cold cuts.

  “I can do it. The alternative is unacceptable.”

  A sneer radiated from that pile of lifeless lard.

  “He’s the one made it him or me.”

  You need not justify. The day has been inevitable for some time. He and I knew. Mr. Dotes and Mr. Tharpe knew. Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler knew. Only you insisted on pretending otherwise.

  Hell, I’d known it, too. I’d hoped it would come to a more clear-cut case of good guy against bad guy, though.

  Take care, Garrett.

  “I plan to.”

  41

  I followed Winger once we hit the street, lost in my own thoughts. After a few blocks, she asked, “You scared?”

  “Yes.” I was. Nothing to be ashamed of. A body who wasn’t afraid of a Chodo Contague was a damned fool. Or worse.

  “Thought you were a heavyweight tough guy.”

  “I eat nails with acid on them for breakfast, Then I kick thunder-lizards around for my morning workout. Hell, I’m so tough I don’t change my socks but once a month. But tough don’t help when the kingpin is after you and your only pal can’t get out of his chair to help.”

  She was amused

  I asked, “You sure you know who Chodo is?”

  “Sure. Bad mojo” She laughed. “Doing him will be good for my reputation.”

  “His reputation doesn’t bother you?”

  “Who needs to live forever?”

  I slipped the little padded case out of my pocket. I
eyed those little bottles. The red one, the deadliest, seemed to sparkle all by itself.

  “What’s that?”

  “Something left over from another job. Might come in handy.”

  “So don’t tell me

  “I won’t. Knowing you, you might knock me over the head and grab them. This way I can feel confident that if you pull something, you’ll kill yourself messing with them.”

  “You’re a suspicious wart

  “Helped me reach the ripe old age of thirty. Where the hell are we going?” She was headed south instead of north.

  “I told you, I made arrangements. Figured we’d come in from a direction nobody’ll expect.”

  “Like what?”

  “I got us a boat. We’ll go up the river to the Portage. From there it’s four miles over a range of hills, mostly through vineyards, to Chodo’s place.”

  I groaned. I was dragging already. Every ache and pain was still with me I’d taken a powder for those and the headache, but relief was marginal.

  “I take it you ain’t overwhelmed by my brilliance.”

  “Ha. That’s the trouble with being a boss, Winger. Whatever you do, you’re always in the wrong. Whatever you do is dumb and could be done better, faster, cheaper, by your minions.”

  She got a laugh out of that. “I noticed that when I went to work for Easterman. My smarts level went way up.”

  “Probably because you knew he had to be dumb to hire you.”

  “You got such a line of sweet talk.”

  The boat was one of those usually devoted to ferrying people to the east bank, to the side sometimes called Nether TunFaire. Winger had chosen one run by a breed family with no prejudice against rowing upriver if we paid in advance. I paid up and snuggled down amongst cargo and sails and closed my eyes. I might still get my nap.

  Winger seemed content to do the same.

  The chief ferryman stirred me with his toe. His name was Skid. He was about a hundred years old but spry. The river life was healthy. I snorted and gurgled and otherwise made it seem my intelligence approximated that of a turtle, cracked an eye, and asked, “We there already?”

  “Nope. Got a boat following us. Shouldn’t be.” Maybe Skid was still alive because he hadn’t used up his ration of words.