Bitter Gold Hearts

by Glen Cook

  One asked me, “Your name Garrett?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s him. Let’s do it.”

  I did it first. I kicked the nearest in his daydreams, spun and punched another in the throat — then tripped over my own damned big feet. The first guy bent over and started puking. The second lost interest and wobbled away holding his throat and sucking air.

  I rolled and leg-whipped another one, catching him by such surprise that he fell on his back without trying to break his fall. His head bounced off the street. Lights out. It was a good start. I began thinking I might make it without getting hurt.

  The other two stood around trying to get their muggy brains untangled. I got in the finishing licks on the two I had hit already. A crowd began gathering. The last two decided to get on with the job. They closed in. They were more careful. I was faster but they took advantage of superior numbers to keep me boxed. We waltzed for a while. I got in a few hits but it’s hard to hurt guys like that when you can’t get in a sucker punch. They got a few in on me, too.

  The third such blow murdered my optimism. It left me seeing double and concentrating my considerable intel­lect on the age-old question: which way is up? One of them started saying something about me staying away from the Stormwarden’s family while the other wound up to finish me off. I grabbed a big gnarly walking stick from an old bystander and smacked the one be­tween the eyes before he could unwind. I went after the talker while the fighter was seeing stars and his hitting arm was flaccid. Yakety-yak did a good job holding me off, stick and all, until I got in a whack that broke his arm.

  He was ready to call it quits. So was I. The bystanders were scattering. I returned the old guy’s stick and scat­tered myself. What passed for minions of law and order in TunFaire were coming. I didn’t want to get hauled in and charged with intent to commit self-defense, which is about the way the law worked when it worked at all. I left the ogre boys trying to figure out what had happened.

  My lucky day indeed.

  The Dead Man was all enthusiasm when I told him about the incident. He gave me a good mental grumble about wishing the ogres had been a little more compe­tent. But when I was about to leave, to get washed up and changed, he sent,/told you to be careful.

  “I know. And I’m going to keep that a little more closely in mind. Watch the cockroaches. They’re about to flank the silverfish at Yellow Dog Mesa.”

  He detached a part of his attention from his war and used it to levitate and throw a small stone Loghyr cult figure. It smacked the other side of the door as I shut it.

  I decided to ease up. When he gets that irritable, he’s hot on the spoor of a solution to a problem that has been bugging him for a long time.

  __VII__

  Amiranda was waiting and looking uncomfortable when I got to the Iron Liar. I wasn’t late, she was early. In my experience a woman on time is a rarity to be treasured. I didn’t remark on it.

  She asked, “What happened to you? You look like you were in a fight.”

  “First prize to the lady. You should see the other guys.” She seemed excited by the idea of my getting into a fight. Point taken away from Amiranda Crest. I tried the story on her just to see how she would react. She appeared befuddled and frightened, but got con­trol quickly. “Why would the kidnappers do that?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” Then I turned to more interesting subjects, notably Amiranda Crest. “How did you get hooked up with the Stormwarden?”

  “I was born to it.”

  “What?”

  “My father was a friend of her father. They worked together sometimes.”

  The brain had to run some numbers before I could say anything more. The Stormwarden’s father had died be­fore I was born. Fairy folk lived a long time and aged slowly. Could this morsel be old enough to be my mother?

  “I’m twenty-one, Garrett.”

  I gave her the famous Garrett raised eyebrow.

  “I’ve gotten too damned many of those glassy-eyed stares when human men suddenly realize there’s a chance I might be older, more knowledgeable, and more experi­enced than they are. Sometimes it turns into panic or terror.”

  I apologized where I was guilty, then told her, “You jump to too many conclusions. I suspect the reactions you get don’t have anything to do with how old you might be. You’re Molahlu Crest’s daughter. Even though he’s gone, his reputation lingers. And its got to hang on you like a shroud. People have to wonder if the wicked­ness is in the blood.”

  “Most people have never heard of Molahlu Crest.”

  I didn’t answer that. If she wanted to believe it — which she did not for a moment — let her. It could be her way of coping with a difficult ancestry.

  The Stormwarden’s father (who had taken the name Styx Sabbat), and Molahlu Crest had clawed their ways up from the bottom of the Hill, the former riding a talent for sorcery, the latter an absence of conscience or com­passion. A corduroy road of bodies was their route to the heart of the circles of power. They had been takers and breakers and killers, and the only good thing anyone ever said about either was that they had remained true friends from beginning to end. Neither greed nor hunger for power had come between them. Which is something. How many friends do any of us have that we can count on forever?

  Molahlu Crest, they say, had a small talent for sorcery himself, and that had made him doubly deadly. In the old days everyone in TunFaire was scared of him, from the richest and most powerful to the least of the waterfront bums. No one knows what happened to Molahlu Crest, but the conventional wisdom is that the Stormwarden Raver Styx got rid of him.

  I wondered if Amiranda knew differently. After a while in my business, professional curiosity becomes habitual curiosity. Then you have to watch yourself so you don’t stick your nose in everywhere. You can get it mashed and have nothing to show for your trouble but a cauliflower schnoz.

  We talked of light things and she began to relax. I splurged and ordered the TunFaire Gold with our meal. It helped. It’s a cynical device, but I have yet to encounter the woman who won’t loosen up if you buy the Gold. The wine’s reputation is such that your buying it makes them feel they’re something special. I like the Gold better than any other wine, but to me it is still spoiled grape juice with a winy taste. I’m a beer man born. I don’t begin to pretend to understand wine snobs: to me even the best is nasty.

  When the mood was better, I asked, “There been any more word from the kidnappers?”

  “Not when I left. I think Domina would have let us know that much. Why are they waiting so long?”

  “To get everybody so worried they’ll do whatever it takes to get Junior back. Tell me about him. Is he really the kind of guy they say he is?”

  Her expression became wary. “I don’t know what they say about him. His name is Karl, not Junior.”

  I pecked at her from a couple directions. She gave me nothing.

  “Why are you asking so many questions, Garrett? You did what you were paid for already, didn’t you?”

  “Sure. Just curiosity. It’s an occupational hazard. I’ll try not to be a nuisance.”

  I wondered about her. She was a woman with troubles, very much turned inward. Not my usual sort. But I found myself interested in her for her own sake. Odd.

  The meal ended. She asked, “What now? Evil plans?”

  “Me? Never. I’m one of the good guys. I know a guy who runs a place you might find interesting, since you’re slumming. You want to give it a try?”

  “I’m game for anything but going back to that...” She was trying to be pleasant company and to have a good time, but she was having to work at it. Thank heaven for TunFaire Gold to support my naturally irre­sistible charm.

  Morley’s place was jumping — as much as it ever does. Which means it was packed with dwarfs, elves, trolls, goblins, pixies, brownies, and whatnot, along with the curious specimens you get when you crossbreed the races. The boy
s looked at Amiranda with obvious approval and at me with equally obvious distaste. But I forgave them. I would be sullen and sour too if I was in a place where the drinks were nonalcoholic and the meals left out every­thing but the rabbit food.

  I went straight to the bar, where I was known and my presence was tolerated. I asked the bartender, “Where’s Morley?”

  He indicated the stairs with a jerk of his head.

  I went up. Amiranda followed, wary again. I pounded on Morley’s door and he told me to come in. He knew it was me because there was a speaking tube running from the bar upstairs. We stepped inside. For a rarity Morley did not have somebody’s wife with him. He was doing accounts. He looked worried, but his beady little eyes lit up when he saw Amiranda.

  “Down, boy. She’s taken. Amiranda, this is Morley Dotes. He has three wives and nine kids, all of them locked up in the Bledsoe mad ward. He owns this dump and sometimes he acts like he’s a friend of mine.”

  Morley Dotes was a lot more to those who knew the underside of the city. He was its top physical specialist, meaning for enough money he broke heads and arms, though he preferred ladies’ hearts. He did that for free. He was half human, half dark elf, with the natural slight-ness and good looks of the latter. He wasn’t what I would call a close friend. He was too dangerous to get close to. He had worked with and for me a few times.

  “Don’t you believe a word this thug tells you,” Morley said. “He couldn’t tell the truth if he got paid for it. And he’s a dangerously violent psychotic. Just this afternoon he whipped up on a bunch of ogres who were minding their own business hanging out on the street smoking weed.”

  “You heard about that already?”

  “News travels fast, Garrett.”

  “Know anything about it?”

  “I figured you’d be around. I asked some questions. I don’t know who hired the ogres. I know them. They’re second-raters too lazy and stupid to do a job right. You might keep a watch out over your shoulder. You hurt a couple of them bad. The others might not consider that a simple hazard of the business.”

  “I have been watching. You could pay back a favor when we leave by taking a look at the guy who’s follow­ing us.”

  “Somebody’s following us?” Amiranda’s question squeaked. She was frightened.

  “He was with us from the Iron Liar here. He wasn’t on me before that. Maybe he picked us up there. But the implication is that he was on you all along.”

  She got pale.

  “Get her a chair, dope,” Morley said. “You have the manners and sensitivity of a lizard.”

  I got her into a chair, not without a glare for Morley. The man was bird dogging, making his points for the timeAmiranda and I went our own ways. Not that I blamed him. 1 was developing the feeling that she was worth it. On mainly intuitive evidence I’d decided she was a class act.

  “What are you into this time, Garrett?” Morley re­treated to his chair, came up with a flash of brandy from somewhere behind his desk. He held it up questioningly. I nodded. He produced a single cup. He knew I pre­ferred beer. He didn’t touch alcohol himself. I was mildly surprised that he would have it in his place. For his ladies, I supposed.

  I took the cup and passed it to Amiranda. She sipped. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly. I should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as...”

  Morley and I exchanged glances while pretending we hadn’t heard her murmur. Morley asked, “Is it a secret, Garrett?”

  “I don’t know. Is it a secret, Amiranda? Might be worth telling him. It won’t go any farther if that’s what you want, and he might do you some good down the line.” I raised a fist to Morley’s smirk, silently cursing myself for that brilliant choice of words.

  Amiranda pulled herself together. Not a girl for the traditional waterworks. I liked that. I was liking Amiranda more all the time. Damsels in distress were fine, and good for business, but I was tired of the kind who clung and whined. Much better the woman who got up on her hind legs and stood in there punching with you after she put you on the job.

  Though in this case I didn’t have a job, strictly speak­ing. I had a dispute with somebody who sent ogres around to thump on me. Amiranda thought a bit and made a decision. She told the kidnapping story. She told it so damned good I smelled a rat. She told Morley exactly what I knew, and not an iota more or less.

  “It’s not a pro job,” Morley said. “Have you gotten yourself into something political, Garrett?”

  Amiranda looked startled. “Why do you say that?”

  “Two reasons. There’s nothing shaking in the kidnap­ping business right now. And the pros wouldn’t touch that family. Raver Styx may not look as nasty as her father and Molahlu Crest, but she is. In her own quiet way. Nobody who lives on the underside of TunFaire society would think the potential payoff worth the risk.”

  “Amateurs,” I said.

  “Amateurs with enough money to hire head crackers and tails, Garrett. That means uptown. And when up­town does dirty deeds, it’s always political.”

  “Maybe. I’m not so sure. It don’t have that stink. I’ll wait before I make up my mind. There’s something cock­eyed in the whole mess. But I can’t see where the prof­it lies. That would clear it up. But I’m not on a job and looking. I’m just trying to watch out for me and Amiranda.”

  Morley said, “I’ll peek in the closets and look under the beds and get back to you tomorrow. Least I can do after the stunt I pulled in that vampire business. You still living with the Dead Man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re weird. Let me get back to work.” He grabbed his end of the tube connecting with the bar. “Wedge. Send Alan and Sarge and the Puddle up here.” I shep­herded Amiranda toward the door.

  “See you.” We went down and out, easing past three high-class bone crushers headed up. I call them high-class because they looked smart enough to be trusted with work more intellectually demanding than skull busting. My old buddy Saucer head Tharpe had come in down­stairs while we were up. He wanted me to join him for a pitcher of carrot’s blood and some yakking up old times, but I begged off. We had to keep moving if Morley was going to do us any good.

  I told Amiranda, “You ever feel like you need protect­ing, you come down here and hire Saucer head Tharpe. He’s the best there is.”

  “What about the other one? Morley? Do you trust him?”

  “With my money or my life but never with my woman. It’s getting late. I’d better get you home.”

  “I don’t think I’m going home, Garrett. Unless you insist.”

  “All right.” I do like a woman who can make up her mind, even though I may not understand what she is doing. The Dead Man would have fits. But that was all right. What did he live for but to chew me out and to march his bugs around the walls?

  Only one thing further about that night needs to be reported. When we were slipping into bed, I noted the absence of a gewgaw worn by every woman who doesn’t want to hear little voices piping, “Mommy!”

  “Where’s your amulet?”

  “You’re a gentleman in your heart, aren’t you, Garrett? Most men would have pretended not to notice.”

  I don’t often get caught without something to say. This was one of those rare times. I kept my mouth shut. She slipped in beside me, warm and bare, and whis­pered, “You don’t have to worry. I can’t make you a father.”

  And of that night nothing more need be said. She was gone when I awoke the next morning. I never saw her again.

  __VIII__

  Morley himself stopped by to let me know what he’d learned. Old Dean let him in and brought him to the overconfident closet I call an office. I didn’t rise and I didn’t offer the usual banter. Dean went off to the kitchen to get Morley some of the apple juice we keep in the cold well against those millennial moments when I don’t feel like having beer.

  “You look glum, Garrett.”

  “It happens. The strain of being Mr. Smiles catches up.”

  “Well, you
may have good reason. Even though you don’t know it yet.”

  I showed him my eyebrow trick. He wasn’t impressed. Everyone knows what familiarity breeds.

  “I put out feelers that touched everybody in the snatch racket. Nobody has gone underground. Nobody is scop­ing out a job on the Hill. I got the personal guarantee of some of the best and the worst that there’s nobody in this burg crazy enough to go for the Stormwarden’s kid. Not for a million in gold. Gold don’t do you any good when you’re getting your toes roasted in the sor­ceress’s basement.”

  “That’s what’s supposed to give me a sour puss?”

  “No. You get that when I tell you about the guy who was tailing you last night. Or your lady, actually. You should have told me she was Amiranda Crest, Garrett. I wouldn’t have made remarks about her father.”

  “She’s used to it. What about the tail?”

  “He trotted right down here after you, not even think­ing somebody might be following him too. Fool. He hung around watching the place for a couple of hours. About the time even a moron would have figured out that she was spending the night he took off and headed”

  Dean stuck his head in through the doorway. “Excuse me, Mr. Garrett. There’s a Mr. Slauce here to see you, representing somebody he calls the Domina Dount. Will you see him?”

  “I can wait,” Morley told me.

  “Out that door.” I indicated the closet’s second exit, which opened on a hallway leading past the Dead Man’s room. “Bring Mr. Slauce in, Dean.”

  Slauce was a blustery, potbellied, red-faced little man who was way out of his element. I think he had me pegged for a professional killer. He worked hard at being polite. It was obvious he wasn’t accustomed to that.

  “Mr. Garrett?”

  I confessed that I was that very devil.” Domina Dount would like to see you again. She said to tell you she’s received another letter from her corre­spondent and would like further professional advice. I assume you understand what she means. She didn’t ex­plain to me.”