Wicked Bronze Ambition: A Garrett, P.I., Novel

by Glen Cook

  Human nature being human nature, that would change once the Guard achieved the luxury of not having to stand united against everyone else.

  I asked the air, “Isn’t there some way we could lure Bezma out?”

  “They might have a good reason for him not to,” Tara Chayne said. “I didn’t know he was a magister till friend Niea let that cat out.”

  Priestly sorcerers of magister status would find few friends on the Hill. Hill folks who started their own cult would find no sympathizers among the organized defrauders of the Dream Quarter.

  Bezma would be safe from outsiders as long as he stayed inside Chattaree. His position there was perfect cover for one of the Operators.

  Even Shadowslinger lacked a set big enough to try bringing him out against his will.

  I did not miss Deiter Scithe’s secretive smile.

  Maybe Magister Bezma wasn’t so secure after all.

  I told Tara Chayne, “We blew a chance here.”

  “Stuff happens. Think positive. We have a name and location now. A thread to pull. A big-ass mooring cable kind of thread. It’s only a matter of time till the tournament scheme collapses. If we can convince the right people to keep their emotions in check.”

  What did that mean? Was she just whistling past the morgue?

  But she had her evil smirk on.

  Lots of folks were having thoughts they weren’t sharing.

  Ha! I had the cure for that!

  Niea looked lost.

  Brownie and the girls didn’t care. They did look hungry again, though.

  Tara Chayne suggested, “We ought to take our new friend back to your house. Your partner will be thrilled to meet him.”

  The thrill would not be mutual.

  Niea Syx knew plenty that he wouldn’t want to share with outsiders.

  65

  We headed back north, me now particularly conscious that a cloud of Specials must be swarming around us. The others, excepting Niea, were relaxed. Scithe chattered incessantly, digging into how Strafa’s passing might touch my connection, or lack thereof, with my former woman. Despite being married, with children, Brevet Captain Scithe was thoroughly infatuated with Tinnie Tate. Not that he would ever push past flirting—but he would certainly look out for the pretty red-haired lady.

  I neither encouraged nor discouraged him. Tinnie was outside my personal orbit but not gone from emotional recollection. I lugged around a satchel full of guilt about the split. I like Tinnie. She is good people. I wish there was a way we could stay friends.

  Belinda Contague crossed my thoughts.

  We had stayed buds.

  Belinda was unique, though. She was crazier than most.

  Tara Chayne asked, “Working on your suicide program again?”

  “Huh? My what?”

  Then I got it. I’d drifted away again, escaping dread reality.

  “I’m awake.” I checked to see where we were.

  We hadn’t been wandering. We were only blocks from Playmate’s stable. I felt like I’d forgotten something important but hadn’t lost track of the fact that I needed to see my friend and to check on Little Moo.

  Her I expected to be gone. Playmate was kind, caring, and gentle, but knew less than I did about the nurture of teenage girls. Especially those who were intellectually and emotionally challenged.

  Lucky me, I had Dean, Singe, and Old Bones to help chip the edges off a reasonably normal Penny Dreadful.

  I suffered a sudden blow to the right biceps. “Ow! That hurt!”

  Not nearly as much as it might have had Tara Chayne not been older than stone and punching sideways off the back of another horse. “Stop fantasizing. Death is afoot.”

  “What?” I didn’t see anything unusual. We were a block from Playmate’s place in one of the quietest neighborhoods in TunFaire. My encounter with Little Moo could be the biggest excitement there in months. “What do you mean?”

  “Just trying to get your attention.”

  One thing had changed. Helenia had joined us, limping badly. “Blisters,” she said when I caught her eye. “I’ll need to wear better shoes if Deal keeps sending me off on these fool’s errands.” She grimaced at each fourth or fifth word.

  “Hang in there, eighty yards more. Then when we get rolling again I’ll let you ride.”

  I should have been down off that monster already. We couldn’t travel faster than Scithe and Niea could walk.

  “Trouble coming,” Tara Chayne warned, shifting to Moonblight mode. She hadn’t lost her edge since coming back from the Cantard.

  I felt the change, too. The air became charged with crackling imminence and a touch of ozone. The dogs, Scithe, even Niea felt it, as did our hitherto invisible escort. Several materialized, drifted in around our party.

  The imminence faded. I sensed irritation, frustration, and impatience tempted to take a chance.

  More red tops revealed themselves. They had an idea whence those sensations had come. They closed in fast. In moments they were chasing several people.

  None of my companions gave in to the impulse to join the chase.

  That caused another wave of irritation.

  Moonblight ripped off a peal of laughter right before she gave away the fact that she was a heavyweight off the Hill.

  She said something in a demonic dialect that consisted mostly of grinds and clicks and consonants. The pure jet ink of a living centipede shadow materialized overhead, legs churning, body undulating like that of a snake in a hurry. A cry of despair rose somewhere between us and Playmate’s place. Moonblight spoke again. The centipede scuttled off after whoever or whatever had run away. It walked on air fast!

  Moonblight said, “I’ve been looking to use that ever since they misspulled me in.” “Misspulled.” I’d swear that’s what she said, though she promises that she said, “Since this mess pulled me in.”

  Some awful noises started up in the direction that the centipede had run. The roar of a panicked crowd followed.

  “Caught them!” Moonblight crowed. “We’re having fun now, aren’t we?”

  She didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded. In midchatter she had shifted attention from the sounds to some red tops bringing two prisoners our way. They weren’t coming to meet us. They passed by on their way to the Al-Khar, which lay back behind us. They nodded courteously to Scithe and winked at Helenia.

  The prisoners wore clerical mufti. Collars proclaimed their professions. Civilian clothing declared them off duty. They belonged to the same litter as the prisoners taken in front of Chattaree.

  Niea froze. He blanched. He stared at the bowed backs of the captives.

  “Friends?” I asked.

  Apparently not. “I know what they are. I’ve heard the rumors.”

  Smiling enough to reveal her need for dental attention, Moonblight said, “He’s marked.” Which I understood. She asked him, “Are you carrying some token that your bosses insist you keep with you all the time?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It could be anything. Jewelry. A badge. A uniform bit of clothing. A handkerchief with a Church monogram. Anything. Just something they gave you and told you to keep on you.”

  He got it, turned to gape at the departing prisoners. “They were here after me. Maybe they were supposed to kill me!” He fumbled in a shirt pocket, produced a painted wooden plaque bigger than a playing card but smaller than those used to read the tarot. It slipped out of his shaking fingers, clattered on the cobblestones. Brownie gave it a sniff. Her hackles went up. She began to growl.

  Number Two and the others hurried up the now empty street, formed a skirmish line. Tin whistles who had been nearer the source of the trouble had all dematerialized again.

  Niea took hold of his death card, passed it up to Moonblight. He began shaking so badly he could hardly move. More than to the terror he was reacting to the opening underfoot of a depthless abyss of betrayal.

  The thing that was a hundred-legged absence of light returned. It circ
led above Moonblight, widdershins of course, legs flailing like the oars of a galley where the rowers were totally wasted. It looked fatter than before.

  Scithe opined, “I think a new Special just got born.”

  “Recruit him if you want. My partner gets to see him first, though.”

  Moonblight studied our surroundings. Some red tops from earlier reappeared buildings up ahead, each of two pairs carrying a corpse slung from a commandeered pole. Tara Chayne muttered, “And I guess that will be that.” She swatted her centipede. It shattered into a thousand fragments, each of which faded to amber and evaporated.

  I had to admit, “That was impressive.”

  “Thank you. It was all show. I don’t get many chances now that we’re not at war anymore.”

  “Can’t say as I feel sorry for you.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want the excitement back. I enjoy the quiet life. My sister is the one in mourning because of the peace plague.”

  “Then she’s having a good time today, isn’t she?”

  “And that’s why I want to leave her where she is. Hoping she’ll suffer enough to realize that she’s too old for this shit. You’re all goggle-eyed. What now?”

  I pointed.

  Little Blonde stood atop the peak of a roof tree up the street, hands tucked into her sleeves in front of her, untroubled by the fact that she was three stories above the cobblestones and the weather was about to get damp again. She wore an aquamarine winter coat with a white lace collar. A little white pillbox of a hat sat cocked atop her head. Her shoes were out of sight, but I didn’t doubt for a second that they were shiny black leather over low white socks. Very in for the well-to-do girl-child these days.

  She offered me a slight bow and a small smile once she saw that I had spotted her. I didn’t see her sidekick but was willing to bet the farm he was within stabbing distance.

  Moonblight said, “I know her.” Her tone was one of awe.

  “Who is she, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Uh . . . That don’t make much sense.”

  “Right. All right. I’ve seen her before. Somewhere. But I can’t remember where or when.”

  That was no help and I said so.

  She wasn’t going to apologize. “She the one who turned up before?”

  “She is.”

  “She’s cheating. She isn’t what she seems. She might even be a spirit or demon.”

  66

  We had been oozing toward Playmate’s stable since the fallen had gone by, presumably off to spend quality time with the forensics sorcerers at the Al-Khar. I wondered if General Block was bold enough to have a real necromancer on staff.

  Target materialized as I was about to quiz Tara Chayne. “You’ll be uncovered for a while. Every swinging dick will be busy cleaning up. Be careful. Helenia? You doing all right?”

  “I’ll make it. They’re going to let me ride.”

  “Keep an eye on our boy. And keep the stupid under control. The boss don’t want to lose him yet.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Target trotted after the body haulers. Those guys were drawing local attention.

  I was just realizing that Target had disrespected me when I noticed Playmate and Little Moo up ahead, a whole fifteen feet away, waiting outside his office’s street door.

  Brownie and friends started bouncing around Little Moo. She had acquired a fresh outfit. Not something new, nor stylish, nor even that fit particularly well, but it was clean and didn’t draw attention. Her expression was less bewildered. She was happy to see the dogs. If Playmate hadn’t said something, she would have gotten down and rolled around with them.

  Tara Chayne grunted, startled, then muttered, “Well, that was just a little bit remarkable.”

  I glanced over. She was looking up rather than at Little Moo. I decided to help her stare back at the sky. “What?”

  The baby blonde was gone, a “So what?” to me, being accustomed to not having her in my life anyway. “And?”

  “She flew away. Well, floated, if you want to be precise.”

  “She’s a Windwalker?”

  Moonblight shrugged. “Not a talent we usually see before puberty.”

  “Not to mention, it’s just damned uncommon. That ought to make her easy to identify.”

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? Windwalking being so unusual that everyone on the Hill always knows the people who can.”

  “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Good guess. Furious Tide of Light was TunFaire’s only active Windwalker.”

  “So there might be another sorcery at work.”

  “There must be.” Her interest waned as she considered Playmate and Little Moo.

  Playmate wasn’t much to see, just a tall, bony black guy gaping because he saw me on a horse. He was at a loss for words except a mechanical “Bring your mounts inside. They’re worn out and hungry.”

  “I don’t have much cash.”

  “Singe is good for it. And it’ll be at cost. I owe you big.”

  “Speaking of. Himself wanted me to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m good. Better than anybody had any right to expect.” He rested a hand on Little Moo’s shoulder, lightly. She stopped doing whatever it was he thought she shouldn’t do. I hadn’t caught what. “You don’t need to keep fussing over me.”

  “Sure we do. You’re important to us. He wants you to come by so he can check on the cancer. He might want to see Kolda, too.”

  “And he wants to meet the girl.”

  “Yes. He does.”

  We managed physical business while we talked, taking the horses inside, loosening their tack but removing only their bridles. Play brought water and oats. The mare looked at me like she might be having second thoughts about my fitness to be sharing the world of the master race.

  Little Moo helped Play. She said a few words, not clearly, not to me. They didn’t have “Hate you!” among them.

  Playmate crouched, examined my mare’s left side. “You’re right. You have a good eye, child.” He conjured a pail of stinky salve, grabbed a handful, and slathered it onto a raw spot developing where the saddle’s left-side fender had rubbed. He wanted to chide me about it but restrained himself. I couldn’t know any better. I hadn’t spent time in a mounted unit.

  And I was known for my bad attitude toward the equine tribes.

  Playmate is the goodest guy I know, but he does come afflicted with bizarre prejudices where animals are concerned. They’re freaking animals, Play!

  We would get into a tiff if we kept on about horses. Time for something else and I was more interested in the girl.

  So was Tara Chayne. She seemed captivated and awed, uncertain, determined to be disbelieving, and professionally confused.

  I told Playmate, “You’ve obviously been a good influence. What happened?” And, to Moonblight, “What? You see something interesting or do you just have to pee?”

  “I’m not sure. Eight of one and four of the other. I can’t believe it’s what it looks like.”

  In TunFaire we see the improbable and implausible every day. The impossible comes up once a week.

  Playmate said, “It just takes patience. She’s a good kid, eager to please. Truly slow, though.” Said softly.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Who is she? Who are her people? What’s her story? You got her into less ridiculous clothes. You managed some kind of communication.”

  Meanwhile, Tara Chayne extended a hand, gently beckoned. Brownie and the girls surrounded Little Moo, looked to her for cues.

  Playmate said, “The name she gave, once she understood what I wanted, was Hagekagome.” Hah-gay-kah-goh-may.

  “Really?” Definitely not TunFairen, and not likely Karentine.

  “Really.”

  “That’s a strange one. But . . .”

  “You think you’ve heard it before.”

  “I do. Oddly enough.”

&
nbsp; “I do, too, Garrett. A long time ago. Near as I can tell—she is truly confused—she thinks you should know it because you used to live together. And she loved you very much.”

  I opened my yap to declare that completely impossible. Tara Chayne laid a forefinger across my lips. “No.” Then, “As Constance told you, be kind, be gentle, and be patient. It won’t cost you a copper.”

  “Why?”

  “You would prefer to bruise feelings?”

  “I’d prefer to know why I’m getting special instructions.”

  “She’s a special child. Like none other.”

  “Special how?”

  “Consider her your challenged little sister. That’s enough to know.”

  I flashed Playmate a look of appeal, saw that I would get no help there. He said, “She’s coming along but she’s still confused. She can form sentences part of the time but doesn’t make much sense with them.”

  I showed him my best baffled frown.

  “She’ll keep getting better if she’s treated well.”

  Tara Chayne agreed. “She will. For a while.”

  Plaintive, I demanded, “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you will treat her well, treat her right, and be gentle and loving for as long as she’s with us. If you don’t, I’ll hurt you.”

  Ooh! I felt the steel behind that.

  “Damn it, if . . .” No. Rein it in, Garrett.

  I got skills. I got resources. I got the Dead Man to slash and burn through the smoke and mirrors.

  I said, “Play, come by my place as soon as you can. And bring Little . . . Hagekagome?”

  The girl stopped playing with the dogs, stared at me with big, sparkling brown eyes, thrilled because I’d used her name. She waited several seconds to see if there would be anything more, then turned back to the dogs.

  Number Two gave me a hard doggie glower before jumping back into the fun.