Faded Steel Heat gf-9

by Glen Cook

  I sat down and waited.

  Alyx appeared on the tight little half-floor landing. She was watching her feet as she moved with exaggerated care. She squealed when she noticed me.

  "Got to watch where you're going, darling," I told her. "Which, by the way, would be where?"

  "What?"

  "Why are you up here?"

  "I'm looking for you." She made big eyes. She could do cute and dumb really well. But she couldn't work that one on me, no sir, not even when she leaned forward so the view down her bodice was open all the way to her waist, not much. I was onto her tricks. "I saw you go into the back stairs."

  "You're just as dangerous as you think you are, Alyx. Or maybe more so. You get me boiling like an unwatched pot. But we've both got to get along with Tinnie."

  Alyx squeezed down beside me. Those stairs were tight. And warm. They were awfully warm.

  "Alyx... "

  "Don't hurt me now, Garrett."

  I clamped my mouth shut. There are times when I can do that. Alyx's tone suggested that this time would be a good one.

  34

  "Shh!" Alyx rested a warning hand on my knee.

  I nodded. I'd heard it. Someone had entered the stairwell above us, carefully, barely making the door whisper. I signed Alyx to stay still. She nodded. I shifted my weight slightly.

  They made enough racket up there to let me rise without giving myself away. I helped Alyx rise, too. I pointed downward. "Slow. Careful," I mouthed, not even whispering. Alyx was pale now. This was no game.

  Carter didn't see me till it was too late to help himself. He was burdened with the downhill end of a body, backing downward.

  "Hey, Carter."

  He jumped. At the body's nether end, Trace froze. I popped Stockwell under the ear. He sagged. I thumped him a few more times while Wendover gaped. Somebody still out of sight barked, "What's happening?"

  I climbed over Carter. Trace groaned. He was trying to hold all the weight at his end. "It's me again," I told the guy from the stable. "I need to see your invitation."

  Wendover went right on trying to keep the body from falling—whether dead or alive I couldn't tell. The guy from the stable came down behind Trace. He was angry. I thought he might jump over Trace to get at me.

  He settled for slamming his fist into a wall so hard he dented the plaster. He retreated, whimpering and blowing on his knuckles. Trace finally let go and took off himself. I was almost close enough to grab him. I leapt, got a pinch of his trouser leg. Not smart, Garrett. Even a clerk can hurt you when he's scared. Good old Trace kicked me in the chops. Oh, that hurt! And me with bruises on bruises already, still not recovered from my last adventure.

  My eyes watered. Trace seized the day. He undertook the one-man version of the retrograde action the Corps would call an attack to the rear.

  I was beginning to think that me and Trace weren't ever going to get to be good buddies.

  Somebody grabbed my leg the way I'd grabbed Wendover's. I fell on the body. Lying there, face-to-face with it, I decided that it had to be Tom the Screamer. The face was that of an older, less vigorous Ty Weider.

  Was he breathing?

  Maybe... No time, Garrett. Somebody is trying to pound you.

  Actually, the somebody was climbing me like a ladder. Carter wanted to get back up the stair. Bright boy. He only needed to get by Alyx on the downhill side. I sat up so I could pretend to defend myself.

  Alyx, who had not listened and gone downstairs, yanked off a shoe and clouted Stockwell alongside the head with its heel. Thwack! Carter went down for his second nap.

  "Thanks." I wriggled out from under. "Is this Tom? And why didn't you go when I told you?"

  "Yeah." She didn't answer my other question. "Garrett, what the hell is happening? Why would anybody want to kidnap Tom?"

  "It makes no sense all right. Let's tie this clown up. We'll ask him about it later." I wanted to chase the others.

  I'm no math genius. Obviously. There were still two or three of them and one of me and there was sorcery in it. I shouldn't forget that factor.

  "Tie him up with what?" Alyx asked. And she had a point. There wasn't one single coil of rope hanging on a convenient hook.

  "All right. I'll find something upstairs. Whap him again if he gets frisky." I wasn't feeling charitable toward Mr. Carter Stockwell.

  I hit the fourth floor reluctantly. I'd worked out the math part now. It wasn't impossible for a gang of clerks to beat up on a solitary Marine if he'd lost a step since his glory days.

  The clerks, however, failed to discern their opportunity with equal clarity. They were in evidence no longer. The fourth floor was as still as a crypt.

  This was my first visit in years. The Weider sprats and some senior servants had quarters there, suites for the former and ratholes for the latter. One door stood slightly ajar. I approached carefully. Must be age making me cautious.

  I miss the old Morley Dotes. Used to be, whenever I went into something tight, Morley would be right behind me—or even out front if the mood was on him. But he was changing. He might even go legit—really—and slide away from the underworld. He seemed concerned about growing too old to keep up.

  Nobody jumped me when I did dash through that doorway. The bad guys were elsewhere, handling their business, snickering because they'd left me coughing in their dust.

  This was Tom's room. The furnishings were spare. A selection of restraints were available on pegs beside the doorway should Tom get frisky.

  The air was ripe enough to gag me.

  Maybe they should try Tom in a different setting. Something pastoral or sylvan. Wondering why I bothered, what with this world being just one endless bleak season milemarked by pain and death, I held my breath and dragged myself out where there was air that was fit to inhale.

  I stood gasping in the hallway while my head cleared, amazed that a place could become so infected by its tenant's madness. Or was it the other way around? Had the room created Tom? Could it be that stifling air?

  Someone started to step onto the floor from the main stairway, spotted me, ducked back. I caught just a glimpse of red fabric vanishing. I tried to dash over there but a terrible lethargy slowed me. I needed me a double shot of ambition just to keep on breathing.

  There was nothing to see when I got there. Of course.

  I checked the other rooms and suites, found no one and nothing interesting.

  Where was Alyx? I'd expected her to be underfoot again by now, despite my instructions.

  35

  As the mists of depression dispersed I grew more alarmed. I headed back to the stairwell.

  You're seldom disappointed when you always expect the worst but sometimes you're pleasantly surprised.

  This wasn't one of the latter occasions.

  Alyx was out cold. Somebody had bopped her upside the head and was beating feet down the stairs. Mr. Carter Stockwell was no longer in evidence. Tom Weider was gone. Somebody had started undressing Alyx before I interrupted, not a project any red-blooded Karentine boy would disdain but I wouldn't consider a stairwell the most romantic site. Nor are unconscious lovers much to my liking.

  "Wake up, sleepyhead," I said. "Alyx! Snap out of it!" I considered swatting her the way they do in stories. Not a bright idea here. I had plenty of people unhappy with me already.

  Alyx tried to sit up. I helped, asked, "What happened?"

  "Are you stupid? Somebody slugged me." I could understand her mood. "They came from downstairs. Didn't you hear me yell?"

  "No." It was true. I hadn't heard a thing.

  "Well, I did yell. Loud as I could. And when I tried to run away I tripped over Tom and got hit before I could get back up." She became aware of the state of her clothing. "What's this? You only need to say when."

  "It wasn't me. I like my girls awake."

  "I don't know if I should be glad or have my feelings hurt."

  "I wouldn't presume to tell you." Women always take me the wrong way. I assume they do it
on purpose.

  "I'm wide-awake now."

  "Sweet as that sounds, there isn't time. There're bad guys in the house. We don't have a clue why. Any idea what happened to Tom?"

  "They must've just gone ahead with whatever they were going to do."

  "Probably. Come on. Get yourself together. I'm going to go see your father."

  "Don't leave me here."

  "I don't intend to. That's why I want you looking less frazzled."

  "Oh." The merry hoyden reappeared briefly. Fright chased it away again. "What do you think is happening?"

  "I can't even guess. I hoped Stockwell would help us out."

  "Stockwell?"

  "The one who got away. I've run into him before. His name was Carter Stockwell."

  "Do I still look like we just crawled out of the hayloft?"

  "Not quite."

  "Darn." The hoyden was back. "I kind of hoped somebody would think I got lucky."

  "Lucky for you now would mean deep slop for me later, girl."

  She'd changed a lot in the last few years. "I won't tell if you don't." She was a little bit forward now.

  I'll bet, I thought. She seemed like a girl who would want to celebrate her conquests publicly.

  36

  Despite Alyx's efforts at self-reassembly, she drew a hard look from Belinda after we invited ourselves into Weider s study. Belinda was head to head with Marengo North English when we arrived. Their discussion seemed very amicable. Marengo's niece was not in evidence.

  The dark side always did get along well with the business community.

  Weider rumbled, "Garrett! Perfect timing! We were just talking about you."

  "We've got problems, boss," I said. "They just tried to kidnap Tom."

  "They did," Alyx reminded me.

  "She's right." I told it quickly. Then I asked North English, "You know anything about this Black Dragon freecorps or its commander, Colonel Norton?"

  Marengo made an effort to be egalitarian but only because he was a guest where I was held in high regard. I doubt that he would have spoken to me ordinarily. "I've never heard of either one before. But I'm no student of the war. I put it behind me when I came home. Norton and his Black Dragons may have operated without my permission."

  You sarky rascal. "They didn't get mine, either, but I wasn't in the army. I didn't spend much time in the Cantard proper. I'm not up on all the unit names."

  Weider beamed like a cherub. He was so pleased to see us kids getting along. He told us, "There'll be a bunch of generals in here later, Garrett. I'll ask questions."

  I noted, "You don't seem much worried about Tom."

  "How likely is it that anybody could carry someone out of here unnoticed tonight?"

  "I don't know. They got in. They have a plan. They must have a getaway scoped. All the suicide commandos got used up in the Cantard."

  Weider was not alone there with Belinda and North English. Staying quiet but handy were several men from the brewery docks. Weider told them, "You boys spread the word about what you just heard. And tell Gilbey to come up."

  "Tell everybody to watch for Kittyjo, too," I told them. "I haven't been able to find her. Max, these people have some kind of sorcery going. If you take your eyes off them even for a second, they disappear."

  That angle was scary. It could mean Black Dragon Valsung had dangerous connections on the Hill.

  "Weirder and weirder," Weider grumbled. "Why me? I don't know three people in the sorcery racket and none of them by their first names. They wouldn't pussyfoot, either. They'd stomp me like a bug."

  Fire danced in the fireplace. Weider went to stare into the flames. He crooked a finger, calling me away from the others. He murmured, "Am I going to get hurt again?" At the moment he seemed lost, storm-tossed, without compass or anchor.

  "Not if I can help it," I promised. I gave North English a hard look. He didn't melt. Somebody probably looked at him hard before. He was all tempered up.

  Alyx hugged her father. "Don't worry, Daddy. Garrett will take care of everything."

  Which Garrett was that? I wondered. This one hadn't shown me a lot so far.

  Weider settled into a comfortable chair. He looked befuddled, unable to keep up with events. I didn't blame him, though that was a side of him new to me.

  North English said, "I gather you're not in sympathy with the aims of The Call, Mr. Garrett."

  That was a leading remark if ever I heard one. "But I am in sympathy. Very much so. I just have trouble with some of the individuals involved. Some of your biggest big mouths. Are they really the kind of guys we want telling us how to run our lives? Not to mention that most of them aren't really interested in rights at all. They just think they can grab something for themselves."

  North English eyed me warily, as though he'd opened his bread-box and found a snake smiling back. "The most heartfelt cause will accumulate fanatics and exploiters, Mr. Garrett. That's human nature. It's unfortunate but it's difficult to recruit calm, rational activists like yourself."

  Now who was shitting who? "Us calm, rational activists should keep the wild-eyed, wooly-haired types under control. They alienate more people than they convert."

  North English's eyes narrowed. He didn't like being lectured by one of the unwashed. In his secret heart he approved of The Call's excesses.

  It doesn't take long for any of us to weave elaborate webs of justification and self-deception.

  I didn't think much of North English but he was Max Weider's friend and Relway did hope I could slide inside the movement. "I suppose I'm still bitter about my run-in with some of your rogue nutcases a while back."

  North English's negotiations mask came out. "Yes. I heard about that. We do try to weed that sort out—which is why so many splinter groups form. Those men were weeds already scheduled to be pulled."

  I entertained a suspicion that Marengo had misspoken but refrained from making myself less ingratiating than my history and social standing rendered me already. Relway wouldn't do me any favors if I wasn't in a position where I could help him.

  "Please excuse me," I said. "I'm just cranky. I've been trying to help Mr. Weider and things haven't gone well."

  "I understand. See me when you're in a better mood. The Call is looking for me like you, men who have been south and who have seen the worst and have given their best and have returned to face indifference, ingratitude, or outright disdain. Men who came home to find everything they fought for controlled by creatures who did nothing to defend it... Pardon me. Without my niece to restrain me I tend to rant. Unfortunately, ranting isn't a good way to attract worthwhile new friends, either."

  Marengo North English was one of the richest men of Karenta. Wealth is a superb insulator. Why did he find it emotionally fulfilling to involve himself in a working-class movement? Guys at his level didn't come home to find there was no work. They never worked anyway. "Garrett."

  "Mr. Weider?"

  "Time is passing."

  "Yes, sir." That was as close as ever he came to telling me how to do my job.

  37

  I was lost. I didn't know how to attack the thing. And the complications would increase as more guests arrived. These invaders—if they were around still—could be anybody in a waiter's outfit. And if they had applied half a brain while planning, they would have arranged not to be handicapped by that. The costume was just a way to get past the door.

  I had a horrible thought. An awful recollection, really. Carter and Trace had been inside my house, within yards of the Dead Man, but he hadn't caught a whiff of their villainy.

  Another horrible thought trotted in right behind the first. It scarred my brain with its little cloven hooves. The boys knew how to get around the Weider house entirely too well.

  Alyx followed me. "What're we going to do now?" I stood at the head of the stair that led down to all the excitement.

  "Good question. Find yourself a safe place. They might try to grab you or Kittyjo. Or Ty." Ty couldn't run and Lance was no
fighter.

  "Won't I be safe if I stay with you?"

  "The problem is I might not be safe with you."

  "Oh, Garrett! You say the sweetest things."

  "Let's find Gilbey."

  Gilbey was swamped. The mob was arriving faster than the majordomo could holler. Genord would have a sore throat come morning.

  "What?" Gilbey demanded, peckish.

  "They've grabbed Tom. At least three men were involved, probably four. They used the back stairs. Tom was alive but out cold when I tried to take him back. Also, I can't find Kittyjo."

  "I saw her a minute ago, coming down the main stairs. She's hard to miss. She's wearing bright vermillion. Damn. Another one who'll want to see Max privately." He turned to greet a spear shaft of an elderly gent I recognized belatedly as a retired cavalry brigadier. Gilbey continued, "I'll get word to the men watching the doors."

  "The old man sent word already."

  "Won't hurt them to hear it twice. Keep looking. They can't get out."

  "I'm on the job, boss," I muttered. I moved off as Gilbey offered a slight bow to the brigadier. The old soldier's gaze tracked me. Looked like he thought he ought to know me. Maybe he had me confused with somebody else.

  Alyx stayed a step behind as I headed for the service area. Gresser pounced on me. "What am I going to do? I no longer have enough men to cover—"

  "Misplace some more troops?"

  His cheeks reddened. A vein in his temple throbbed. "Your name is Garrett?"

  "I haven't had a chance to change it."

  "I don't want to apologize for my failings again, Garrett. If you'd like to discuss something positive that might be done, let's do. Recrimination wastes both our time."

  "Point taken. Here's the problem. The guys who sneaked in with your crew have grabbed Tom Weider. I don't know why and it doesn't really matter. I have this urge to mess them up, though. Any ideas about how they might get out?"