by Glen Cook
Worried, Barate said, “Kyoga should. And Mash and Bash.”
“They the staff?”
“Mashego and Bashir. Yeah. They live here. They never go out.”
They had gone to Strafa’s to help with the wake, but I got it. Their odd, cadaverous builds, bountiful ritual scars, and religious tattoos would be social liabilities—unless they put on some serious disguises.
They weren’t Karentine. Shadowslinger had brought them home from the war zone. They were male and female, husband and wife, but I wasn’t sure which was which.
Barate jumped up too fast. “We’ve got to . . . Crap!” He wobbled, trailed off.
“What?”
“My little girl is a genius, Garrett. But you know she doesn’t have a lick of sense.”
“I can’t argue with that. I’ve got the scars to prove it. But she’s a good kid. She just . . .”
“She was whining about having to stay cooped up. She just can’t make the connection between what happened to her mother and something that could happen to her. This stuff isn’t real to her. It can’t happen here.”
At which point his mother’s left forefinger twitched. A quarter of an inch, last joint in the digit. I started to tell Ted, but he was staring at it already, smiling big.
Barate didn’t miss it, either.
Ted peeled back an eyelid. We all watched her pupil respond to the light. Ted muttered, “Most thoroughly excellent.”
I told Barate, “If Kevans is gone she probably went looking for Kip.”
“I hate repeating myself,” Algarda said. “But she has got to realize that she’s never going to beat out the red-haired girl.”
There was nothing encouraging I could say. Kip was as dense as granite when it came to realizing that Kevans wasn’t only his best buddy but also a living, breathing, feeling, female-type girl.
“Are you really worried? I have some rat men with me. They could track her.”
I expected him to wave me off. He was a proud man, stubborn when it wasn’t Constance pushing, likely to think he ought to handle all his problems himself. He surprised me. “You could arrange that? Would it cost much? Maybe I could have them hang around her all the time.”
“Cost? I don’t know. I’d need to ask. You’re sure?”
“We lost Strafa. Mother . . . Maybe. I couldn’t take it if Kevans . . . Of course I’m sure. I want a flight of guardian angels. What do you call a gang of crows? A murder? That’s what I want. A murder of black-hearted guardian angels, hungry for human flesh.”
“I’m not sure that rat men can meet that level of expectation.”
He grinned. “Then they can just hang around wherever she goes. She won’t notice if they don’t wave and shout.”
“I’ll talk to Dollar Dan.” Dan would milk it, certainly, but he wouldn’t be unreasonable. He would see a chance to make a valuable connection.
Never hurts to have a Shadowslinger in your debt.
“Doctor, I was meaning to ask and got distracted. Could the missing half of that broken quarrel be inside Vicious Min?”
“What?”
The nasty old sorceress twitched again.
Ted grinned again.
“Here’s my thinking.” But before I leapt I asked Barate, “Am I right about you using survey maps to work out where the ballista had to be to make that shot? There couldn’t have been more than one, right?”
“Yes and yes. There had to have been a misdirection spell hiding the ballista, too. You don’t cut somebody down with a monster engine and nobody sees you unless you’re working some heavy concealment sorcery.”
“My thinking exactly. So. Ted. I’m guessing the forensics sorcerers never found that bolt because it’s inside Min. And that’s because Min was the real target, with Strafa as collateral damage.”
“What?” Ted and Barate said that in perfect a cappella harmony.
“Look. Somebody shoots Min. The bolt maybe hits a collarbone, breaks, and the tip half ricochets up to get Strafa.”
Shadowslinger twitched again, now with the fun finger of her left hand. Barate said, “That may fit the facts, but it doesn’t feel right.”
I didn’t think so myself, but only because I wanted Strafa’s death to mean something more than just “shit happens.”
Ted said, “You find the demon, I’ll take a closer look. I thought the wound was through and through, but that was what I expected to see.”
“We’ll find her,” I promised.
Barate settled back into the fat chair. “Go see about covering Kevans.”
“Consider it done. You think Mashego and Bashir could visit the Dead Man?”
“No. Not because he’s what he is. I wouldn’t warn them. But they won’t go out while Mother is laid up. . . .” It occurred to him that they were out right now. “They won’t. I’m sure.”
“I understand.”
44
All the rat men but Dollar Dan were on assignment. Well, Dan was, too, but I was his task. Dr. Ted and I were sitting on the steps to Shadowslinger’s front porch. There had been a flirtation with sunshine earlier, but the overcast was now back and I expected rain. TunFaire had become locked into that cycle.
Ted and I played with the dogs. Dan stood around looking left out. The mutts had not yet warmed to him, which was no surprise. And he didn’t exactly hunger for canine affection. Ted and I didn’t talk much, but we were trying to like each other because of, or in spite of, our having had Strafa Algarda in our lives. We talked around most everything of consequence while hiding our true selves, each trying to learn something interesting about the other.
Dollar Dan suddenly stood taller, slamming into a better mood suddenly, like everything he valued had just begun to shine.
“Oh. Ah,” I observed, in the secret cant of the polished modern philosopher.
Singe had eased through the pedestrian gate into Shadowslinger’s gaudy front garden. Penny tagged along behind, nervous, gawking, surprisingly well dressed. Her style set off the fiscal alarms. I wondered when she and Singe had gotten together.
Penny got distracted by the flower beds, which I had paid no heed before. That sort of thing isn’t usually germane. I asked, “Ted, does Constance have a gardener? Maybe I should talk to him.”
Ted considered the flowers. His gaze lingered uncomfortably on Penny. “I’ve never seen one. But I don’t spend that much time here. I suppose she would have to have one, wouldn’t she?”
An accented voice said, “She does the gardening herself, with help from Bashir and me.”
Mashego was home. Silent as midnight death, she had moved in behind us. She—I was by then confident that Mashego was the she—went on. “We are trying to keep up, but as you can see, absent her direction we are losing ground.”
I couldn’t see that at all. But all I know about plants, farming, gardening, whatnot, is that I have a championship black thumb. Crabgrass and kudzu die when I want them to grow.
Mashego asked, “Who is that girl? She is quite pretty. A few strategic tattoos would turn her into a total heartbreaker.”
I sincerely hoped that tattoos never became fashionable. One look at Constance Algarda was warning enough that an appalling future awaited anyone who acquired body art.
Singe kindly gave Dollar Dan a moment while waiting as I explained about Penny. Done with that, I told Mashego, “If you like, I can find somebody reliable to help with the garden.” I was thinking Saucerhead Tharpe. The man has some surprising skills.
Once I paid attention the garden began to grow on me. It wasn’t just pretty and perfectly kempt; the plants and plantings had been laid out artistically. That was what had caught Penny’s eye.
So for the dozenth time since I became involved with Strafa, I had to recalibrate my estimate of a member of her family.
Mashego told me, “No need for that, sir. Master Barate has made arrangements for part-time help.”
“Of course.” People who would inspire his confidence. “Good enough. So, Singe,
true heart. You tracked me down. Is it critical?”
“Critical? I doubt it. Simply a report of general success. Lurking Fehlske has been taken into custody. Deployment of enough red tops can negate any individual advantage.”
I showed her my raised eyebrow, in interrogative mode.
“In such wise, Elona Muriat has been located and surrounded, too. She should be on her way to the Al-Khar by now as well.”
The underlying smugness said that she considered herself responsible. Equally, something in Dollar Dan’s stance said that he wasn’t so sure all that was something of which a rat person ought to be proud. Rat people and the law were natural enemies.
Singe winked at him, then dropped down and started scratching around Brownie’s big old floppy ears. Brownie not only tolerated it; she leaned into it. If she’d been a cat she would have purred.
Five seconds later every mutt but Dr. Ted’s favorite was in the love scrum.
Brownie backed out and came to sit watch beside me, abandoning her troops to their pleasures.
Dr. Ted observed, “Dogs are one of the good things the gods have given us. We’re always more relaxed and content when they’re around.”
“I’m not a dog person by nature. Never had one myself. But I do get what you mean.”
My remarks seemed to surprise Ted and Brownie both. Ted’s expression was one almost of pity. Brownie’s, adjusted for doggie nature, looked like serious confusion.
I told Singe, “Dan has some people out tracking. We’re basically loafing till we hear something.” I told the story.
“Vicious Min just got up and ran for it?”
“She was faking good enough to fool him.” I indicated Ted. “But I’m pretty sure she couldn’t do much real running.”
Ted agreed. “She lost a lot of blood. She couldn’t get far.”
He was distracted.
Penny began to play with the dogs, too. They really went for her. She won Number Two’s heart completely while gushing about the magnificence of Shadowslinger’s garden. She was inspired to try gardening in our tiny backyard at home. I thought, good luck with that. Those few square yards were a desert where weeds went to die.
Dr. Ted and Mashego both eyed Penny with an appreciation equaling what the girl showed for the flowers.
Singe winked at me, amused by the daddy stuff she knew must be going on inside my head. She was, probably, building haikus about karma.
While I had them there and thought about it, I asked Dr. Ted and Mashego to go see my partner.
Neither begged off, though Mashego probably understood the risk. I sensed strong reluctance. Dr. Ted, though, just wondered, “Should I stay away from Constance for that long?”
“The time will be in the journey. Old Bones is a clever interviewer. He gets right to the heart of the matter. And he’s a master at discovering clues and connections that you don’t realize you’ve made.”
Ted asked for directions. I provided them, considering Mashego as I did so. She didn’t want to get involved but was afraid that refusal would make her look guilty. Of something.
45
Kyoga Stornes trotted through the pedestrian gate, halted a dozen feet away, surprised by the crowd. He looked unhappy with a misery that had come with him, not because he had plunged into a mob.
“Is Barate here?”
“He’s up with his mother,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Moonslight. She’s been kidnapped. Maybe killed. But maybe they wanted Moonblight and got the wrong sister.”
“Eh?” I noted then that he was wet in spots, dirty in spots, and his clothing had come the worse for wear. “They go after you, too?”
“Uh . . . Hell. Maybe so. I never considered that. If they’d hit us ten minutes earlier, they could’ve gotten Bonegrinder, too. He took off because one of his grandkids came after him. Family emergency.”
Singe gave me a look. So did Penny. They waited to see what I would do, for different reasons. I asked Singe, “You want to get started?”
“I’m on my way.” She started moving.
Kyoga blurted, “Hey! What’s that about?”
“She’ll backtrack you to where this happened. Then she’ll follow Moonslight, whose odor she remembers from Strafa’s wake. And she will be very careful not to attract attention.” That I said loud. I didn’t want her to miss it. She waved a hand in a “yeah, yeah” gesture.
Penny and Dollar Dan decided they wanted to tag along. I yelled. Penny held up, scowled back at the interfering fuddy-duddy. Dollar Dan ignored me and Singe did not tell him to go the hell away.
“Well,” Kyoga observed. “Well. That was intriguing.”
Dr. Ted began checking him over and cleaning his abrasions—while giving Penny a more appreciative exam.
I ground my teeth.
The girl was not hideous, but . . . Mostly, I was just used to having her underfoot, considering her the Dead Man’s pet kid.
Kyoga grumbled, “I’m gonna live, Ted! Let me go see Barate.”
“Barate has come to see you.”
Indeed he had arrived, alerted by Mashego. Kyoga told his story in detail. We listened attentively. Barate asked the question that had occurred to me right away. “Why was Mariska there instead of Tara Chayne?”
“Not sure. Something to do with Tara Chayne needing to be somewhere else. Her youngest daughter was having her first baby.”
Wow. Hill folk could get excited about the same stuff as real people.
Kyoga said, “You know those two. They figure they’re interchangeable to the rest of us. Even if they feud all the time.”
Suddenly, I realized that Strafa and I would never see grandkids of our own . . . I shook it off. It could consume me. “Barate, one reason I’m here . . . I almost forgot . . . I was hoping Constance would be getting it back together, some, because . . .” I explained what we’d learned at Flubber Ducky and from Trivias Smith. “It’s a solid, genuine lead.”
Kyoga was disappointed because my belated news topped his. Still, he was encouraged. “Bonegrinder or Moonblight—either one can make a tracer you could hide inside a sword’s hilt.”
“And Mother won’t be making anything but poop for a while,” Barate said. “You trust this smith, Garrett?”
“Not really. No reason to.” But I wasn’t always sure about me. You get cynical in a racket where everybody lies to you, the majority are psychotic, and you run into them during the worst days of their lives. “But I got as good a feeling as I have from anybody lately. Belinda will check his background.” I doubted that she would find anything bleak.
I should get Trivias together with the Dead Man.
Singe came shambling back, mumbling to herself. “I need something to track that woman after all. I can’t separate her scent from her twin’s.” Of course. Maybe. Or maybe she just wanted to stall to keep an eye on Penny.
Dollar Dan looked miserable. It took only moments to figure out that Singe had changed her mind about letting him tag along.
Kyoga looked confused.
I promised him, “She really is the best. But even she has limits. If we get her started before the rain comes back, she’ll find Moonslight.” That should hold off till evening, though.
“Oh. All right.” Kyoga let Singe take him aside. He kept one distracted eye on Penny. Penny’s body language suggested that she was aware but not particularly conscious of his scrutiny.
Barate called Dollar Dan over to ask what it would take to surround Kevans with a cloud of ferocious rat men.
Mashego bent down to whisper, “Not to worry on Master Kyoga’s account, sir. He would never attempt anything of that sort.”
Barate overheard. “That’s right, Garrett. It’s not what you think, anyway. What’s got him going is, she’s a dead ringer for Scatura at the same age, wearing that outfit.”
“Who is Scatura?”
“His wife. She died a long time ago. I find the resemblance uncanny myself.” He considered Penny so intently that I got unco
mfortable all over again. Barate Algarda did have flaws where relationships with females were concerned. “Any chance there could be some connection?”
I couldn’t see how. “I doubt it. We have stuff to do.”
“Yes. We do. Ted. Take another look at Mother before we go. Update Mashego and Bashir about anything special they need to be doing. What about you, Garrett? Want to check on her one more time?”
We? “Well . . .”
Dollar Dan announced, “Here comes Firé Esté, meaning we are about to hear something concerning Vicious Min.”
A rat man hovered in the pedestrian gateway, unsure if he ought to come ahead without a specific invitation. Dollar Dan beckoned impatiently. I backed him up.
This Esté was new to me. He turned out to be a stutterer. It worsened around people he didn’t know. He needed several minutes to tell us what Dollar Dan had predicted.
“What do you think?” Barate asked, since the plan had been to go see Moonblight about her sister and the tracker inserts for the swords. I preferred her to Bonegrinder for those.
“The man is creepy,” Barate admitted. “It’s his special charm. Don’t take it personal.”
“If you think he’ll do better, I’ll defer to your wisdom.”
“No. Moonblight it is. For professional acumen, not personality.”
Acumen? That was one from the Dead Man’s lexicon.
Algarda awaited further remarks. I had none. Nor did anyone else. He added, “She can be quirky, too.”
“Really? Well . . . She should act her age . . . What? What did I say?”
Penny snickered behind her left hand. She pointed an indicting finger, also left-handed.
Yeah. She was a southpaw. So many artists are.
“Girl, I liked you better when you were scared of me.”
She still was, enough not to banter.
She had a point, though. I wasn’t being gritted teeth and steely eye enough. We had twenty things in the air and I had no control. I was letting stuff happen when I should be out kicking down doors.
If I just had some idea where to start kicking . . .
Nobody could do better than me right now. Shadowslinger was in a coma. The Dead Man was still dead—though he did have people out looking for likely doors. Likewise, Belinda, Morley, and Director Relway.
