Greenmantle

by Charles de Lint

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just the way you’re talking.”

  “Yeah,” Valenti said. “I know him. He’s a punk. A small-time, smart-ass punk. But that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.”

  “If he is my father, why would he wait so long to come after me?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” Valenti said, “and I figure he heard about your momma winning that lottery. He probably figures there’s some bucks to be made—wants his own cut of the action.”

  Ali nodded. “What happened after I left? I thought I heard some shooting…”

  Valenti studied her for a moment. She was holding up pretty well. Maybe right now she wasn’t exactly the same happy-go-lucky kid that bounced around his place and told him jokes and stuff, but she was holding her own. Spunky kid like her, you wouldn’t be able to keep her down too long. He decided to level with her while he could. Might as well, seeing how after tonight he probably wouldn’t be seeing her again.

  “They threw around some lead—at me and the stag,” he said. “I clipped one of them, but they got away before I could do any real damage.”

  Ali regarded him a little wide-eyed. “You were… Were you trying to kill them?”

  “Guns aren’t toys, Ali, and what happened tonight wasn’t a game. If you pull a piece, you’d better be ready to use it. And if you use it, you’d damn well better kill whatever you’re shooting at, or it’ll up and get you.” The rules of the business, courtesy of Mario Papale, Valenti thought mirthlessly.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Remember I told you I was a soldier?”

  Ali nodded.

  “Well, that army I was in, they weren’t too happy with me when I left. They put a contract out on me that fell through, but only because I disappeared. Now this Ernie Shaw, he used to—”

  “Oh, jeez.”

  “What is it?”

  “That was my father’s name,” Ali said. “But not Ernie. It was Earl.”

  “Earl,” Valenti repeated. Yeah. That fit.

  “So he is my father.”

  Valenti nodded. “Anyway. This guy recognized me, and he’s going to be passing the information about where I am over to the people I used to work for, see? And that means they’re going to be gunning for me again.”

  “Tony, what kind of army were you in?”

  For all that he’d told her, for all that at this point it didn’t matter anymore, his own vow of omertà—the law of silence—wouldn’t let him come right out and say it.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was a family business, that’s all. The thing is, they’ll be coming for me. That’s why I was shooting at Shaw. Because now that he got away, I’ve got to hit the road, too.”

  “But…”

  “I can’t stay, Ali. I’m a dead man if I stay.”

  She regarded him for a long moment. “You know what this sounds like, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “The makings of a B-movie. All we need now is for Jimmy Cagney to come walking in your front door.”

  “It’s no joke, Ali.”

  “I know. I’m not smiling. Can you call the police, Tony?”

  He shook his head.

  “You were a criminal, weren’t you?” When he didn’t answer, she shrugged. “Okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s what you are now that’s important, right? So you can’t run, Tony.”

  “Are you nuts? If I stay—”

  “If you go, where do you go?”

  “I’ll make out.”

  She shook her head. “Tony, I may be just a kid, but I know that nobody can live that way—always on the run. Remember what you just told me? If you want something bad enough, nobody can stop you?”

  “Yeah, but it’ll be me against a lot of guns.”

  “So get some help.”

  Valenti couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Here he’d been trying to comfort her and she turned things around and was giving him the advice. And maybe she was an innocent, but there was something to what she was saying.

  “You sure you’re not some vertically-challenged forty-year-old with a facelift?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re some kid, you know that?”

  Ali looked away, blushing.

  “No, I really mean it. There’s not many people could go through all that you’ve been through today and come up smiling.”

  They were quiet for a long moment, then Ali regarded him seriously.

  “Tony,” she said. “That stag…it was like it was rescuing me.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s got something to do with the music.”

  “I think so.”

  “What is it?”

  Valenti shook his head wearily. “I don’t know, Ali. I wish I did, but I just can’t figure it.”

  * * *

  An hour or so later, Valenti had tucked Ali into the bed in his guest room and was sitting in the living room, staring at the phone. Ali had started out protesting that she wasn’t tired, but by the time he’d walked her up to the room, she was yawning so much that she gave in. He sat with her until she fell asleep, then softly left the room.

  Downstairs, the first thing he did was get out his weapons. He checked to make sure they were all loaded and in good working order, then stashed them in strategic places around the house. He’d made plans for this kind of thing before. He’d always planned to run if trouble came, but it was best to cover every contingency. He hid the weapons in places he could easily get at, but where people wouldn’t be liable to run across them unless they were looking for them. Then he sat down to stare at the phone.

  He sat there for a long time going over the day, from the piping and the stag and Ali’s horned girl, whom he might have met himself the other night, to Earl Shaw and the trouble he could bring down on Valenti with just one phone call.

  “Fercrissakes,” he said softly. “Make the call already.”

  He lifted the receiver and dialed a memorized number, then waited until the connection was made and the phone rang at the other end of the line, halfway across the world.

  “Pronto!” a familiar voice said after the sixth ring. “Chi va là?” Who’s there?

  “Hey, Mario. Come la sei passata?” How’ve you been?

  There was a moment’s pause, then, “My line’s clean—are we using names?”

  “It’s Tony, Mario.”

  “Yeah, I’m hearing that. You got trouble?”

  “I’m making a stand.”

  “You’re one crazy bastardo—you know what I’m saying?”

  “I got made—but I don’t want to run.”

  “Okay,” Mario said. “I know better than to argue with you by now. What do you need?”

  “A couple of unconnected men. Bread’s no problem, but I got to be able to trust them. And I don’t want to see your face over here, capito?”

  “’Ey, you’re a good friend, Tony, but I’m not crazy.”

  “That’s good.”

  “When do you need ’em?” Mario asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “So you want some local talent?”

  “You got somebody here?” Valenti replied.

  “Depends where ‘here’ is.”

  Valenti told him, keeping the directions simple.

  “I’ve got a friend in Toronto,” Mario said. “He’ll be with you by morning. He’ll be driving a white Mazda—two-door. The other friend’s gonna need some papers, so figure late Monday, your time. Say, Tony, you want I should talk to the family, maybe the consigliere?”

  “Not much he can do,” Valenti replied. “Besides, I’ve figured it was Ricca put the finger on me—him and Joe. I mean, who else?”

  “So? A little talk don’t hurt.”

  “Okay,” Valenti said. “But you be careful, Mario.”

  “No problem. Coraggio, Tony.”

  “Grazie, Mario.”

  The connection went dead and Valenti
cradled the receiver. He was committed now—too late to run. He stood up and killed the lights when he heard a car in the driveway. Automatic in hand, he eased open a curtain by the front door, then saw it was just Ali’s momma. He thrust the .32 back into his pocket and flicked on the porch light before going out to ask Frankie in for a nightcap.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Frankie said. “I’m pretty tired and it’s…it’s not been a good day.”

  Christ, she was some fine-looking woman, Valenti thought. There was really something going on inside her, too. That was something he never would have noticed if he’d still been in New York, working for the family. What she had was a kind of sensibility that reminded him of the artwork and crafts he’d gotten into collecting after he’d moved up here for good. He wished he didn’t have to lay this shit on her.

  “I think you’d better come in,” he said. “You see, your ex-husband went after Ali tonight and I figure he’s still in the area, so it wouldn’t be such a good idea for you to go home right away.”

  “Earl?” Frankie’s face blanched. “Ali—is she—?”

  “Ali’s doing great. She came through it like a trooper.”

  Frankie slumped against the side of the car. “Thank God for that. It’s my worst fear. Sometimes I wake up in the night, you know, and I…I think she’s going to be gone….” She shivered, then looked up at Valenti. “He was really here? My ex?”

  Valenti nodded. “’Fraid so. He was down by your place and chased Ali up the road. Luckily I was coming down to meet her, so I scared him off, but he might be planning to come back. You could call the police, I suppose, but by the time you convince them that there really is a danger, well…” He shrugged.

  “I suppose you’re right….”

  Valenti went down and closed the car door, then took Frankie’s arm and led her back to the house. Busy night, he thought. It looked like he’d be sleeping on the couch. He just hoped he wasn’t leading them into more danger by having them stay over. Still, it was just for one night. In the morning he hoped to convince them to take a little trip for a week or so until this all blew over one way or another. They didn’t have to go too far to be safe. Australia should be far enough.

  “Where’s Ali?” Frankie asked as she looked around the living room.

  “She’s asleep in the guest room. You can have my room for tonight.”

  “No. We can’t impose like this.”

  “You’re not imposing,” Valenti said. “I’m happy to have the chance to do you this favor, Frankie.”

  She looked at him, her eyes tired, her face showing the strain of her day and now this. But she wasn’t giving in, Valenti saw. He knew which of her parents Ali took after, that was for sure. He resisted a sudden urge to take her in his arms. Christ, what was he thinking?

  “Have a seat,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”

  Frankie shook her head. “Maybe some tea?”

  “You got it.”

  For the second time that night he was in his kitchen with a female member of the Treasure family.

  “Can I help at all?” Frankie asked after she’d followed him in.

  Valenti smiled. “Sure. Tea’s in the cupboard on the right there—second shelf up, beside the cocoa.”

  “Cocoa?”

  Hearing a certain tone in her voice, Valenti put the kettle down and went to the fridge for some milk instead. Looked like both Treasures were chocolate junkies.

  * * *

  A half hour and a mug of cocoa later, Valenti showed Frankie to his bedroom and left her there while he went back downstairs. He sat in front of the dying fire trying to put it all in perspective.

  The immediate worry was Shaw, how soon he’d call in, how soon Ricca would send in his soldati. But there was still the strangeness to deal with. The wild girl that both he and Ali had seen now. The music. The stag. There was something happening with all that as well. How much trouble it was going to be, Valenti had no way of knowing. He just had a feeling that the real strangeness hadn’t even started yet.

  After a while he lay down on the couch, not sleeping, just lying there with his hands behind his head, thinking, waiting now for either Shaw or Ricca’s men to show up, or the help that Mario had promised him. He couldn’t afford to sleep.

  A little later he got up and put Ali’s cassette on the stereo, so low that the sound of it wouldn’t bother Ali or her momma. The music relaxed him. He lay there thinking of Frankie, wondering how things might have turned out if it had been him instead of Shaw that had gotten together with her all those years ago.

  Trouble was, he wouldn’t have been any better for her than Shaw had been. Not that he was into hurting women or anything, but both he and Shaw were in the business, and the business tended to get in the way of any kind of a relationship with someone who wasn’t part of it. Even when you tried to get out of it. Christ, look at him now, two years retired, and here it was all happening again.

  By the time the cassette had ended, he had a bittersweet feeling inside, but he was alert and ready for whatever might come. When the cassette machine clicked off, he made a tour around the outside of the house. Except for the bugs, nothing was stirring, so he went back inside and made himself a capuccino. Studying the books that Ali had brought up, he chose one, the Guide to Nature Observation and Tracking, and started to read.

  14

  The stag ranged far that night. Originally sent from Wold Hill by the spell of Tommy’s piping, something in its encounter with Ali and Valenti, Earl Shaw and Howie Peale, caused it to run farther afield than ever before. It wandered Lanark County like an autumn wind, through backfields and up into farmyards where dogs woke from dreams of hunting to bark at its passing like a ghost wind; along Highway 1, up through Hopetown and across the Clyde River, looping back to cross Highway 16 at Middleville; through the marshland between Gillies and Ramsbottoms Lakes, crossing the Clyde again to clatter through Lanark village, before completing its sweep back up toward Snake Lake Mountain.

  Where it passed sleepers, dreams were suddenly filled with resonances never sensed before, while those who were awake paused in their conversations for that one moment it took for the stag to go by, resuming them again then, knowing they weren’t quite the same, but not knowing why. The stag was unconcerned with either dreamers or those still awake, for it was following its own need through the night, chasing down the moon. There were few that didn’t sense its presence in the night, but fewer still actually caught a glimpse of it—the branch-spread of its antlers briefly outlined against the sky, perhaps, or the white flag of its tail. Nothing more.

  It wasn’t until it was closing in on Wold Hill once more that it heard the sound of the pack keening in the night air. Their distant black shapes were no more than shadows running on silent pads, tracking it. And if sometimes they looked like hooded monks, like men running upright behind it, sometimes the stag itself seemed to be a man, too, running on cloven hooves, the stag’s antlers shrunken to goat’s horns, dirt-brown skin gleaming and sweaty in the starlight.

  * * *

  Two figures stood up from where they’d been sitting under the shadow of the gray-blue stone on Wold Hill. They looked southward.

  “He’s coming back now,” Mally said.

  Lewis nodded. “The dogs are right on his tail.”

  “They won’t catch him—not this time.”

  “But they will?” Lewis asked, making a question out of what could as easily have been a statement.

  “Not if you don’t let them.”

  “I’ve talked to Tommy, but I told you, he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Mally nodded. “You’d better go now, Lewis. I’ll see you later.”

  He looked at her, trying to read the expression on that fox-thin face, but the brim of the hat made a deeper shadow of what the night already hid from him.

  “See you then,” he said and hurried, as much as his old body could, out of the little glen and down to his cabin.

  Mally watched him go,
then turned to look at the southern end of the clearing. A man came running out from the trees—half-goat, half-man, then more stag than goat, then fully stag. Mally puckered her lips and whistled softly.

  “Come, now,” she said.

  The stag paused before soft-stepping its way across the grass to where she could lay her hand on its flank. She stroked its wet coat, murmuring all the while.

  “It’s not belief that binds you here,” she said, “nor disbelief—no matter what all their scholars say. It’s just reason—all those straight lines that they lay on the land and in their minds….” The stag nuzzled her shoulder. “You’d better go now—they’re close. Too close.”

  She slapped it on its rump and it sprang toward the stone. The shadows were thick there. It might have disappeared inside the stone, or changed its course at the last moment and dodged around it, but by the time its pursuers bounded into the glen, the stag was gone without leaving a sign. Mally met the hound-shaped shadows, arms akimbo.

  “Too late again,” she said softly.

  The lead shape moved forward and she doffed her hat, reaching inside. When she brought out her hand, it was full of light—tiny sticks of light, the size of small bones or twigs. The lead shape paused, then they all scattered as she flung the light in an arc toward them.

  Where the sticks touched their shapes, they hissed and burned, but most came nowhere near their targets as the shapes fled. In moments the glen was empty again, except for Mally. She stuck her hat back on her head, tapped a pair of fingers against its brim in a salute to the standing stone, then slipped in among the trees on the side of the clearing that was closest to Lewis’s cabin.

  * * *

  The Toyota’s engine had developed a knocking noise by the time Earl turned onto the dirt road that led to his friend’s cottage on the southeast shore of Calabogie Lake. The car rattled along in the ruts, trees scraping its sides for at least half a mile, before the square glow of a lighted window appeared ahead of them. Earl steered the Toyota in beside a Dodge van and a Honda Civic, then cut the engine. Going around to the passenger’s side, he opened the door and hauled Howie to his feet.