Sweet Silver Blues

by Glen Cook

That scalawag Hornbuckle flipped Morley a mock salute.

  “How many?”

  “Four. Two humans. Very nervous. One centaur. Worried and grumpy. Oneother. They’re awaiting a report from someone and that someone is late. Sugar?”

  “Not yet. Are there wardspells? Alarms? Booby traps? Dangerous guard animals?”

  “None.”

  “Any reason for us to fear?”

  “They are wicked creatures. All.”

  “Silence the peafowl so we can pass.”

  “Sugar?”

  “All the sugar I have when we come out.”

  “You might not get out.”

  “Why not?”

  Titter. “They are wicked creatures. Very wicked. Especially one.”

  “All right.” Morley took out his candy. “One piece for you. A half piece for each of your friends. The rest if we come out. Tell me the best way to get to them.”

  Their boy Switz did it to us, so we did it to them.

  Kaboom! One groll after another went through the huge double doors of the ballroom. Then Morley. Then me. Then Dojango to guard our rear.

  It was thoughtful of them to have waited in the only room where the grolls would have space to maneuver. The ceilings were eighteen feet high.

  They scattered like squeaking mice when the cat pounces.

  Doris and Marsha each snagged a man. Morley streaked between them, pursuing a shadowy something that crashed through a window at the far end of the ballroom.

  Where the hell was the centaur?

  There he was, a one-critter cavalry charge. I managed a leg whip that tangled some fetlocks or forelocks or whatever they’re called. It was a sin, what his hooves did to the carpets and flooring.

  Impetus flung me against something made of mahogany or teak, very hard and very immovable. I practiced exhaling a bushel more air than any human being normally inhales. Somebody was hollering.

  “Help, Morley! I got him, Morley! Help!”

  I staggered to my feet.

  Dojango had him all right.

  Zeck Zack was about average for his tribe, about the size of a small pony. He was not built to carry a hundred thirty pounds of Dojango on his back. His problem was complicated by Dojango having his arms and legs wrapped around his skinny chest. He couldn’t breathe. He staggered around, banging into things, then went down on his knees.

  I got a choke rope on him, pried Dojango loose, then looked around.

  The grolls had their men subdued. Morley was coming back from the window empty-handed and looking puzzled.

  I caught my breath, straightened my clothing, and led Zeck Zack into a better light, where Morley patted him down for hardware and other lethal surprises. The centaur remained glassy-eyed.

  “What happened?” I asked Morley.

  “I don’t know. I got there three seconds after it went through the glass. And there was nothing. Not a sign of it.”

  “What was it?”

  “I can’t even tell you that. I never got a good look.”

  The grolls brought the two men over and plunked them down on the floor. They were in a playful mood after events at the inn. They had plucked these birds, too.

  “Did you see me, Morley?” Dojango bubbled. “Did you see me? I mean, actually, I took the damned thing down. Did you see me, Morley?”

  “Yes. I saw. Shut up, Dojango.”

  Morley seemed troubled.

  He kept looking toward the broken window.

  “Well, you’ve got him, Garrett. Are you going to do something with him?”

  “Yeah. All right.” I looked at Zeck Zack. “I have a problem, Mr. Zeck.” Centaurs stick their family names up front, figuring their antecedents are more important. “People keep trying to whip me and I can’t figure out why.”

  Zeck Zack had nothing to say. He’d heard me, though.

  “All right. I’m going to tell you a story. Then you can tell me one. If I like yours we can part as friends.”

  Still no reaction. I had a feeling Zeck Zack was tough, and had been through the narrow passage before. He was cool enough. He would do what had to be done.

  “Once upon a time up north a guy died. He left everything to a gal he knew when he was in the army. His father hired me to come find her and see if she wanted the legacy. A simple job. A kind I do all the time. Only this time I get people ambushing me and sending thugs to work me over, and nobody anywhere giving me a straight answer. So you might say I’m a little fussed.”

  I gave him a chance to comment. He did not. I hadn’t thought he would.

  “People are trying to push me. So now I’m pushing back. I’m asking questions. I want answers. What’s with this woman Kayean that’s worth knocking heads?”

  He had nothing to say.

  “What’s in this to die for? Are you ready to die for it?”

  I got a reaction that time. Just a flicker around the eyes. He didn’t think I looked the killer type. But he didn’t know me so couldn’t be sure.

  “He’s starting to listen, Garrett,” Morley said. “But we ought to convene this somewhere else. The one that got away could bring reinforcements.”

  “I have faith in sugar as an alarm potential. You know anything about centaurs? I’ve never dealt with one.”

  “A little. They’re vain, avaricious, mean in most senses of the word, miserly. Overall, not much to recommend. Did I mention that most of them are thieves and liars?”

  “Where are their pressure points?”

  “Did I mention cowardly? You’re on the right track with that rope. Strangle him slowly. He’ll come across.”

  “I don’t want to do it the hard way. Nobody’s been hurt yet. I’d rather talk, work something out where we could get off each other’s backs, and get on with finding the woman. I’m tired of this job. Too many people are interested in us and I don’t know why.”

  Zeck Zack sort of nibbled at the bait. He spoke for the first time, piping. I almost laughed at his voice. “Can you prove you’re what you say you are? If you were nothing more, there would be no difficulty between us.”

  A wedge!

  Morley told Dojango, “Tie up those guys so Doris and Marsha can have their hands free.” One of the two was the greeter who had thought we were hilarious gagsters. He looked the worse for wear.

  The grolls helped form a circle around Zeck Zack once they were free of their baby-sitting chores. I handed over every piece of documentation I had. He examined it all minutely. Meanwhile, Morley got antsy.

  Zeck Zack said, “This is all silly enough to be true. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. For the moment.”

  Morley said, “Garrett, we’re running out of time. Choke him.”

  “That would do you no good,” Zeck Zack said. “I might tell you many interesting things but I would tell you nothing of value. My position is exposed. Therefore, I am allowed to know nothing of importance. However, I do know one thing of value to you. If you are what you say you are.”

  I waited.

  “I know someone who knows someone who could bring you face-to-face with the woman.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did I mention treacherous?” Morley asked.

  “One more test, of sorts,” Zeck Zack said. “I will recite a list of names, phrases, places. You tell me if you know or have heard of them. I have an ear for the truth.”

  I’ve lied successfully to men who thought that. Many times. “Go ahead.”

  I scored a mere one half on this one. The same half I scored on the army list. Zeck Zack was amazed by what he heard with his ear for the truth. “You could just be what you say.” He gave me a squint-eyed look. “Yes. It might even make sense . . . I think I know what is happening. It should be put to the test.”

  He did some thinking. The rest of us did some waiting, Morley with very poor grace.

  Zeck Zack asked,”Where can I leave you a message?”

  I used my best raised eyebrow.

  “Not trusting me, you will, of course, remove fro
m your present lodgings. I will not possess sufficient manpower to locate you again quickly. I am going to attempt to arrange for you to see the woman and complete your mission. If I am successful, I must be able to get that word to you.”

  I had a strong feeling he meant to do just what he said, though not out of any inclination to make my life easier. He had motives I couldn’t fathom. Everyone but me seemed to have shadowed motives.

  “The innkeeper where we’re staying now. We’ll leave him feeling kindly toward us.” I removed the choke rope. “I’m going to play a hunch, a long shot, and take a chance on you, centaur. Maybe because I’m getting desperate. If you’ve been bullshitting me to get your behind out of a bind, or if you’re planning on taking another crack at me, you have a problem.”

  “Indeed I do. As I said, I am exposed. And vulnerable, as you have demonstrated tonight.”

  I thought I would leave everything on that very unsatisfactory note.

  Morley, who had been eager to evacuate some time ago, now jumped all over me for wasting half a night.

  “Come on, Morley. It’s time to go.”

  31

  We sat on a patch of grass not far from the witch’s house, surrounded by little folk stoned on sugar. Only a couple were sober enough to titter occasionally.

  Morley had turned from argumentative to reflective. “You know what made it interesting, Garrett? That list. Sixteen items. But six of them were the same thing: a name, translated into six different languages. Curious. Especially because it isn’t a name either of us recognizes in any of its forms.”

  “What was that?”

  He rattled off a jawbreaker. “I’d give you the Karentine, but it wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “Try it anyway. Karentine is all I speak.”

  “There’re two possible translations. Dawn of Night’s Mercy. Or Dawn of Night’s Madness.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I told you it wouldn’t.”

  “What language uses the same word for mercy and madness? ”

  “Dark elfin.”

  “Oh,” I glanced toward the centaur’s house. Not a thing had happened since our departure. I looked at the witch’s place. A light burned in an upper-story window. It hadn’t been burning when we’d come down the path. “Why don’t you guys head on up to the cemetery? I’ll catch up in a few minutes. There’s something I want to check out.”

  I expected Morley to give me an argument. He didn’t. He just grunted, got to his feet, got the triplets moving, and vanished into the night.

  Somebody small with a man-sized grin had passed out leaning against me. I tilted him over gently, patted his shoulder when he mumbled something, rose, and headed for the house. I prowled around looking into windows.

  “I’m up here, Private Garrett.”

  “Good. I was hoping to see you. But I was a little leery of waking you.” I couldn’t see her.

  She laughed. Her laughter was mostly merriment, but it also carried a trace of mockery. She didn’t believe me. But she knew I didn’t expect her to.

  “How can I help you, Private Garrett?”

  “You could start by not calling me Private Garrett. I’m out of the Marines. I’d just as soon forget them. Then you can tell me if you know anything about somebody named Dawn of Night’s Mercy or Dawn of Night’s Madness.”

  She was silent so long I feared she had deserted me. Then she threw down the dark elvish gobblewhat Morley had used, applying a distinctly interrogative inflection.

  “That’s right.”

  “Gobblewhat is not a person, Mr. Garrett. It is a prophecy, and an unpleasant one from your point of view. The name Gobblewhat is dark elfin, but the prophecy is not. It is an echo, a rumor, an aspiration, out of a deeper night.”

  Being what she was, she naturally stoked the drama on her declamation, then clammed up, leaving her answer obscure.

  I tried asking questions. That was a waste of time. She was done talking about gobblewhat. She closed the subject by saying, “That was spur of the moment. What did you really want?”

  There was no point playing games. “Are you still in business? I’d like to buy a few of your special tools.”

  She ripped off a first-class witch’s cackle. It was hilarious. I grinned. The peafowl even got into the act, though their mirth was confused and sleepy. “Go around to the front door,” she told me. “You’ll find it unlocked.”

  When I rejoined Morley and the triplets, I carried five tiny, folded pieces of paper. I had hidden each carefully. Each bore a potent and potentially useful spell. I was still repeating the witch’s instructions to myself. Basically, all I had to remember was to unfold the papers at the appropriate moment, though a couple required a whispered word at the right time.

  Morley said, “So. You survived the trail. I was about to go looking for you. What now?”

  “We go back and get what sleep we can. Then early tomorrow we hit the road for Fort Caprice.”

  “I thought you were going to let the centaur do the finding for you.”

  “Contrary to the false notion formed earlier, I don’t trust him to do anything. If he comes through, fine. Meantime, I go on looking. He expects us to hide from him. I can’t think of a better place than out in the Cantard. Two birds, one stone.”

  Morley was as thrilled as I might have expected. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”

  32

  Fort Caprice was a bust.

  It was four days out of Full Harbor, pushing hard all the way, shielded every step by more luck than any five fools deserved. Not only did we not encounter one of our own Karentine patrols, but we didn’t fall in with Venageti rangers or representatives of any of the nonhuman races of the Cantard, most of which are at least marginally involved in the war. Their loyalties shift like a chameleon’s color, according to where they think the most profit lies.

  Fort Caprice was not in the heart of the caldron, though. The richest silver country lay a hundred miles farther south.

  Major Kayeth Kronk proved to be brevet-Colonel Kronk now, at the tender age of twenty-six. I did not remind him that we had met before, though I’m sure he remembered me before we reached the end of our short interview. I told him I was looking for his sister Kayean, and told him why. And he told me that he didn’t have a sister Kayean.

  And that was all he would say about it. When I kept after him he got stubborn. Then he got mad and had a couple of soldiers show me the street.

  We poked around among the hangers-on Fort Caprice had acquired—like fleas, ticks, and worms to a hound—and found out nothing more interesting than which men were watering their wine and which women would send you away with something you hadn’t had when you arrived. So we made the four-day journey back to Full Harbor, with fool’s luck cleansing the way ahead of us again.

  It was a lovely time to visit the Cantard.

  I hoped the centaur would come through so I wouldn’t have to do it again.

  That would be tempting fate a bit too far We were out of Full Harbor nine days, all told.

  33

  The major from the military city hall was waiting at the gate through the Narrows Wall. There was nothing magical about it once I realized that without sorcery, a trip to Fort Caprice takes a predictable amount of time. He cut me out of my herd.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “Zip. Zero. Zilch. What can I do for you?”

  “I have another list of names.”

  “And getting my reaction is important enough for you to lay in wait for me out here?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Fire away.”

  He did.

  I knew five of the twelve names this time. Father Mike. Father Rhyne. Sair Lojda. Martello Quinn and Aben Kurts, of Denny’s old crowd. I admitted knowing the latter two only as friends of a friend, saying I thought they were in shipping. Then I asked, “What ties this together? What’s up?”

  “All these people, and three more for whom we have no names, have died or dis
appeared during the last eleven days. I’m certain you would recognize more if you saw them. Imelo Clark was a guard at the civil city hall. Egan Rust was a clerk there. You interviewed them. I was not sure you had any connection with Kurts and Quinn, but since you did, then I assume there’s also one with Laught and the three unknowns, all of whom seem to have come off a yacht from TunFaire.”

  “What the hell are you trying to say?”

  “Don’t get your hackles up, Garrett. You’re safe. You were out of town during the excitement. In fact, the only time I place you or yours near anyone at a critical time is Father Rhyne. I’m satisfied your associate found him dead.”

  I didn’t say anything. My thoughts were pounding off in twenty directions. What the hell was going on?

  “It seems apparent that, in most of these cases, someone is cleaning up after you. It’s a wonder you haven’t been turned invisible yourself.”

  Thoughtlessly, I admitted, “It’s been tried a couple times.”

  He wanted details. He demanded details. I gave him some without mentioning centaurs or dead men or much else that would do him any real good. He thought it was crafty of us, setting the one group up for a career in the mines.

  He observed, “I have a feeling that there are a lot of things you wouldn’t tell me no matter how nicely I ask. Like where the others from TunFaire fit in.”

  “I wouldn’t be even a little shy about telling you that if I knew. What’s the story on them, anyway?”

  Kurts and Quinn had died the evening we left Full Harbor. They had been found in an alley on the far south side. At first it had looked like they had fallen foul of robbers. Laught—identified because his name and that of the yacht were stitched on the inside of his jumper—died later that night in the graveyard where Kayean and I had played when we were kids. At almost the same time a tremendous explosion and fire had consumed the yacht. No one knew how many had died in that. The unburned remains of the yacht had sunk. It was a miracle the whole waterfront hadn’t gone up.

  “That’s pretty rough stuff,” I said. “The stakes must be big. I don’t want to sound dumb or impertinent, but what’s your interest? Seems to me it’s a civil problem, gaudy as it is.”