Faded Steel Heat gf-9

by Glen Cook

  To make sure I added several silver groats in case I ran into some big meal expenses, like, say, with a particular redhead while we were doing research, then passed the bag back. Eyes watched eagerly, hoping North English would open it up and reintroduce himself to all the survivors and mourn the departed.

  He resisted temptation. "I'll leave your name with my gateman, Mr. Garrett. He'll have you brought to me immediately if you have anything to report."

  Just a glance at the rest of the room told me North English had numerous "friends" perfectly willing to pay nicely for an opportunity to learn what I discovered before I reported it to the man who had hired me.

  North English told me, "That should be all for now, Mr. Garrett." Embarrassed, he didn't take time to offer specific instructions. Fine. I like it like that. Means they haven't told me what not to do, where not to poke.

  Excellent.

  I backed out of there.

  Weider and his bodyguard were waiting. The old man asked, "What're they up to in there?"

  "You'd know better than me. They're your friends."

  "Only a few. North English and Clive. Faudie and Slink. They asked me to invite the others. They subsidized expenses. They wanted to get all the names in the rights movement together where they wouldn't attract much attention. I get along where I can. It oils the hinges when I want something myself."

  "Favor for a favor. I understand."

  "Exactly." He nodded toward Tinnie. "I'm all right. We'll all be all right now. You and your friend go have fun."

  "Thank you." I headed for Tinnie. But I wasn't about to take time off now.

  42

  Let me sip a few pints of Weider dark reserve and I turn into a dancing fool. I made all the girls unhappy. I danced with them all. Tinnie got the most attention but simmered when I took a turn with Alyx or Nicks or Kittyjo—once, guardedly. I even spun a couple with the matron who had fallen in lust with me earlier. She told me she was Dame Tinstall. That rang no bells. Dame Tinstall had outstanding legs for a woman of her maturity. She made sure I noticed them, too.

  Alyx was less pleased than Tinnie. Nicks was too friendly for a girl getting engaged, though she didn't mention her feelings about that. Kittyjo, who looked like a shopworn version of Alyx, had little to say—good, bad, or indifferent. She did seem willing to let bygones be bygones. And Dame Tinstall left me in no doubt that she wanted to tuck me under her arm and take me home. I didn't ask what her husband would think of her plan.

  I took the occasional timeout to nurture my relationship with the boss's product. I'm a very loyal kind of guy.

  I wondered what had become of the Goddamn Parrot.

  "What's the matter?" Tinnie asked.

  "Something's wrong with me. I'm worrying about that damned talking ostrich of mine. Have you seen him?"

  "Yes. I wouldn't claim him right now. If I were you." She had her devil smile on.

  "How come?"

  "He got thrown out of the house. You're lucky nobody remembers who he arrived with."

  "I hope the owls get him." He'd asked for it.

  The majordomo, Genord, who hadn't had a chance to yell much lately, approached us. He bypassed Alyx and Kittyjo. Alyx appeared incapable of harboring a kind thought about her big sister. Kittyjo, though, seemed only about half-alive and was completely indifferent to Alyx.

  The majordomo handed me a folded scrap of paper. It had been used and reused. "A gentleman sent this in," he husked. "He said it was important."

  Tinnie scowled, sensing more trouble. I feared she was psychic. Just when the evening was starting to roll, too. But that was my kind of luck. Wasn't it? "Thank you, Gerris."

  The note said: Must see you now. Critical. R. The handwriting was primitive.

  R? Who or what might R be? Who would know where to find me tonight? Relway? Who else? And didn't that stir up the mixed feelings?

  "Now what?" Tinnie demanded, her psychic side simmering.

  "I don't know. But I can't ignore it."

  "Right now?"

  "Maybe sooner." It would be significant. I didn't doubt that. Relway wouldn't contact me unless it really did matter.

  "You're going to ditch your date?"

  "What? Oh. Damn. No. I shouldn't be gone long. And she isn't a date, Tinnie."

  "Maybe not. But I see how she looks at you when you're not paying attention. Like she wants to devour you."

  "Kind of like I look at you even when you are paying attention?"

  The ghost of a smile twitched the corners of Tinnie's mouth. "Right, Garrett. Try that line when I have time to notice. All right. I'll tell her why you ran out."

  "Huh?" That didn't sound promising.

  "I know you. You'll go out there and either get yourself knocked over the head and dragged off or you'll get interested in something and forget everything else or there'll be a pretty girl and your pig-dog nature will take over and—"

  "You wound me, woman. Now that you acknowledge my existence again how can I possibly stay away more than minutes at a time?"

  "I'm wearing new shoes, Garrett. Specially made. Don't pile it up too deep."

  "And they're the most amazing shade of green I've ever seen. They set off your eyes perfectly." Maybe I didn't need to find out what Relway wanted. Not tonight, anyway.

  I looked into Tinnie's eyes for a few long seconds. No. I definitely didn't want to find out what Relway had.

  Her devil smile wakened. "Go on. Take care of it. Then get your big goofy self back in here. We'll see if maybe this threat to the Weiders doesn't require you to stay all night so everybody is protected."

  Whoo-hoo! I moved out with a real bounce to my step.

  "Mr. Garrett! Mr. Garrett!"

  "Yes, Mr. Gresser?"

  "Two more of my men have deserted. What am I supposed to do? How can I manage?"

  Why me? Maybe Gilbey and Genord were fleeter of foot. "I'm here to handle gate-crashers and bad boys, Gresser, not to make sure Mr. Weider's guests are well served. You're the professional. Surely you know your business better than I. Why not grab a tray yourself?" I pushed past him.

  I almost made it before Alyx caught up. She pushed up close, radiating availability. "Where're you going, Garrett?" She looked so damned kissable I had to bite my tongue. Why is it always feast when I can't do anything about it and famine when I can?

  "I've had an emergency message, kid. I've got to go out for a few minutes. But I'll be right back." I glanced back to see if Tinnie was scowling. I didn't see her.

  I did see Kittyjo watching from a shadow thirty feet away. She didn't look nostalgic for the good old days when we'd been very close friends till she changed her mind. She did look troubled. I winked at Alyx and headed for the door.

  Maybe Kittyjo would warn her off me. That would be useful. I don't deal well with temptation.

  Morley has a personal rule he recommends often: Yield to temptation whenever you can because every opportunity might be your last. I don't subscribe to that completely. Yielding could bring on the lastness. But I'm weak when blonds, brunettes, or redheads are part of the temptation.

  On the other hand, a good rule of thumb would be: Never get involved with a woman crazier than you are. The trick there is to recognize the craziness before you get pulled in. Some hide it well. Kittyjo did.

  As I departed a raw-throated Gerris Genord began to croak for attention. It was time Ty and Nicks made their announcement.

  43

  I stopped to see the security guys out front. They knew me. I told them I'd be right back. I stepped into the street, watching for the Goddamn Parrot as well as whoever wanted to see me. I didn't expect Relway himself. Relway prefers to stay out of sight. But the little guy emerged from the darkness like a whispering ghost. I squeaked, "You startled me."

  "Sorry." Like hell. He smirked. "Sorry about interrupting your evening, too. But you have to see this."

  "It's big enough to bring you out personally?"

  "I'm here because every player in the right
s game is here. That's significant. Something I have to look over with my very own eyes."

  I wondered if he had people inside. I wondered again, aloud, as we walked. I got only silence in response. Which was answer enough for me. It was likely that several of Gresser's workers were secret police. Poor Mr. Gresser.

  "It's quiet tonight," I observed. That wasn't a good sign, really. Not in TunFaire, where, by day or by night, completely quiet streets generally mean big trouble.

  "Very."

  The silence deepened as we walked.

  The flicker of torchlight shone around a corner. We had walked only a few blocks, to the far side of the brewery. The torchlight had no noise attached. No excitement. We weren't headed toward a street party or toward a riot.

  We turned a corner.

  There was my missing wagon. There was my venomous new equine acquaintance. Four men surrounded them. Three carried torches. The fourth held a short spear to the spine of a man lying facedown in the street. Two of the torchbearers wore Gresser's corporate livery. How did they get away unnoticed?... Hell. They didn't. Gresser did complain. But the guys covering the front hadn't mentioned them... . Were they Relway's people, too? Of course they were. Which meant they were everywhere. Too bad I couldn't con them into doing my job for me.

  The wagon was open on the side I'd been about to investigate when somebody decided to put me away for the night. Or a slab of sky had fallen on my noodle.

  Relway told me, "These guys saw you get knocked down. They thought it might be interesting to trail the wagon and see what was going on."

  I forbore complaint. I now had a notion about one guard who might be in with Relway.

  The fellow with the spear forced the captive to keep his head turned away. Relway didn't want his face seen.

  These four would be among his best and most trusted men, then. I tried to memorize their faces without being obvious.

  "Shit!" I said softly when I looked inside the wagon. "This is what I was afraid of when—" Three corpses had been stuffed in there. Two were naked. Tom Weider still wore the dirty nightwear he'd had on when I was wrestling Carter and Trace. "Aw, shit," I said again. I couldn't express my despair any more articulately. This would crush the old man.

  "You know them?"

  "These two are Weider's kids, Tom and Kittyjo. The other one worked on the brewery's shipping dock. His name was Luke. He was helping tonight because he liked his boss. I don't think he was getting paid. He had four kids. We got a major problem here, friend. An enigma compounded by a mystery, as they say."

  "Please be a little more specific."

  "I saw all of these people in obvious good health inside the Weider place after this wagon left. I saw Kittyjo as I was coming out the door to meet you."

  Relway grunted. "That doesn't sound good."

  "Listen. We had gate-crashers who kept disappearing into the crowd whenever you weren't looking. But we never came up short on a head count."

  Relway had to say the nasty word first. "Shapeshifters?"

  "I'm willing to bet. Or, at least, somebody who always has some pretty tricky little spells handy."

  "Changers have never been a problem here. But—"

  "But?"

  "The colonel got a letter. Off the Hill. Out of the blue. He didn't share all of it but it had to do with shapeshifters."

  "We've got all these outsiders coming in. Some might be shapeshifters. Some up there would be interested." Traditionally, shapeshifters have preferred to play their deadly games where there are no sorceresses or wizards to winkle them out. They aren't a beloved breed. As they do with vampires, most races murder shifters as soon as they give themselves away.

  "I didn't want to entertain the possibility until now," I continued. "You never want to see anything this ugly."

  Shapeshifters have murdered people and replaced them for a lifetime, but not often. They prefer to hit and run, impersonating someone they've gotten to know well, briefly, without killing anyone. Even when they do commit murder they change guises frequently. Few have the ability to hold a shape and age it. And fewer can fool families and lovers for very long.

  Their ultimate provenance is uncertain. They appear to be human most of the time. Maybe, like vampirism, their malleability is the result of some bizarre disease. What does seem to be true, or at least what everyone believes to be true, is that shapeshifters can't survive very long as themselves. They have to mimic. Maybe they even have to kill occasionally in order to appropriate a new soul.

  They don't appear to be related to werewolves—though I expect they could become werewolves if they had one to pattern from.

  "Anybody got any silver?" Relway asked. That made sense. As vampires and werewolves do, shapeshifters supposedly find silver poisonous. Relway wanted to run a test.

  Nobody volunteered so I fished out one of Marengo North English's groats, the smallest silver coin I had. You've got to minimize your risks.

  "Looks like your racket pays better than mine does," Relway chided. He knelt beside the captive. I repeated my morality tale about the nutritional value of idealism. Relway laughed. His life must be more fulfilled nowadays. He didn't use to have a sense of humor.

  Relway slit the prisoner's shirt down it back. "I'll open his skin and flay it back so you can tuck the coin underneath." He tapped the captive's back in the spot you and I can't reach without a stick. "If they really don't like silver, we'll just let him hurt till he offers to help us find out what we want to know."

  He never spoke to the captive directly. He carved with no more emotion than a battlefield surgeon.

  The silver hurt the changer from the instant it touched him. He twitched, spasmed, shook, fought back a scream with every gasping breath.

  Relway said, "Stay alert. That letter was right, this could attract more of them. They supposedly touch one another mind to mind."

  I noted shadows moving in the surrounding shadows. "Did you bring a whole army?"

  "Enough so I could handle any rightsist trouble if it happened."

  Shapechanger minds were like a Loghyr's? Might that explain why the Dead Man hadn't seen what Trace and Carter were? "I've never heard that about them being mind readers. That could mean real trouble."

  "Not like your roomie. They can only read other shifters. And only for general emotion, not specific thoughts."

  "You sure?"

  "No, Garrett. I'm not. Somebody told the colonel. He told me. Just in case. He didn't tell me why. He likes to pretend the Hill doesn't really influence him. Did anything interesting happen in the Weider place? Did you get a chance to spy on the big meeting?"

  "I was mostly too busy. I got in once. By accident. Nobody gave anything away. But while I was there they asked me to investigate the Black Dragon bunch."

  "You accepted that commission, I hope."

  "That's what I said, did I? That groat you're abusing came out of North English's own purse."

  "No. I thought he squeezed them till they squealed." The prisoner groaned. He would've screamed if he'd had any breath left. Relway covered his mouth and nose with a hand, just to make life more difficult. "Let me know when you're ready to talk."

  A scuffle broke out in the darkness. It lasted for several seconds. I still marvelled at the absence of witnesses. TunFairens always scatter at the first hint of trouble but, once they feel safe personally, they usually come back looking to be entertained. Maybe the changers were radiating some stay-away emotion so potent even humans felt it.

  But then why would I be hanging around?

  "Damn!" I said. "If these things really do read each other from a distance, the ones at the house will realize that they've been found out."

  "Not necessarily. Not if they just feel emotions."

  "How did you know they were out here tonight? Block?"

  "No. I didn't know anything till I stopped the wagon. Which I did because I thought it might have something to do with what the rights people are scheming. I wasn't looking for what I found."
r />   "Seems like a lot of trouble just to keep an eye on the rights guys." I gestured at the surrounding night.

  "They're dangerous people, Garrett. Until I caught this thing here I would've said that rightsists are the biggest danger Karenta faces. They get people hurt and killed and businesses destroyed and it's only going to get worse. I can't just let that happen. But the danger posed by these things might be even darker."

  "I think he passed out." I indicated the changer.

  "So he did." Relway let the thing breathe. "You know anything about shapeshifters, Garrett?"

  "No. I ran into one once. A Venageti spy who'd replaced a Karentine counterintelligence officer. That's it."

  Relway sat down on the changer, ready to use his hand. "I was afraid of that."

  "Of what?"

  "Not yet. Maybe this thing can confirm my suspicions."

  Relway's men dragged someone over. This one shifted slowly between several sets of features. I recognized none of them. Relway searched it after making sure the other one would remain unconscious.

  "This is interesting." He showed me a tattoo on the new captive's right forearm. It was black. It resembled a dragon, though the light could have been better. It incorporated a simple Karentine army crest.

  "That is interesting."

  "I do believe I'll have to do some digging. I suspect an untold story has begun to surface."

  The changer recovered. His features became fixed. The tattoo faded. We pretended not to have noticed it.

  I glanced at the wagon. "I need to go break the news. And grab the villains still inside. Bring the bodies back. The old man will want them."

  "You need help?"

  "Send your waiters back. Mr. Gresser will be infinitely grateful."

  Relway grinned. He had an all-new and challenging bunch of bad boys to eradicate.

  I told him, "Let me know what you get from those two."

  "Goes without saying. Long as you let me know about the crowd in there."

  "They're dividing turf, making peace with the Outfit and making rules about who they can and can't push around. They don't want to irritate anybody who can send troops out and they don't want to waste time fighting each other."