Faded Steel Heat gf-9

by Glen Cook

  "I'm not going after them. They're Relway's now." For now.

  I was very worried about the Dead Man.

  57

  There was no deadly silence in my neighborhood. The night people were out in force and they were busy. Commerce was king. No political dialogue was under way. I exchanged greetings with those I knew. There was no tension in the air. Nobody seemed interested in my movements. A stroll around the area didn't uncover anyone watching my house.

  Even Mrs. Cardonlos was otherwise occupied.

  I got a strange feeling as I climbed my steps. Not like something was wrong. No. It was more like something was missing. An emptiness I hadn't felt for years. "What's the story here?" I asked the Goddman Parrot. This close he had no excuse for being out of touch.

  The bird was stubborn. He still refused to talk.

  "Old Bones?" I tried my key. Miracle of miracles, Dean didn't have any bolts bolted or chains chained. I shoved the door, cocked an ear to the silent darkness.

  The house didn't feel right.

  It was darker than a priest's heart in there. Dean hadn't refilled the feeble lamp we leave burning in the hallway. I hoped he had a fire in the stove so I could light it again. I'm not big on flint and steel, though I manage if I have to. It was way too late to go mooching from the neighbors.

  I felt the wall till I found the lamp. I took it and headed for the kitchen, carefully. There was no knowing what Dean would leave lying around.

  I completed my pilgrimage without getting hurt.

  The stove was warm. I dug in, found some live coals, got a kitchen lamp burning so I could find the oil to fill the hall lamp. Its wick needed trimming but I was bone-tired. I would mention it to Dean tomorrow.

  Tinnie would be cussing me big-time now, I figured. I ought to start rehearsing my apologies.

  Once I had a light I took the Goddamn Parrot to the small front room. He was just aware enough to move to his perch. Maybe he was worn-out, too.

  I put the hall lamp in its bracket and shoved into the Dead Man's room. "All right, Chuckles. What's the story? If you've gone to sleep on me I'm gonna... "

  He hadn't gone to sleep on me. Not this time. No way.

  What he'd done was, he'd gone missing.

  For a while I stood there with my mouth open. Then I retrieved the hall lamp and prowled the Dead Man's room like maybe a quarter ton of moth-eaten corpse might have gotten lost amongst the dust bunnies. I faced the unusual and weird as a matter of course but this was beyond comprehension.

  The Dead Man was gone? How? He couldn't have gotten up and walked. Nor could Dean have carried him.

  There were no signs of a struggle. There would've been had he been abducted.

  He was just gone.

  Dean was going to get rousted out after all.

  No, Dean wasn't.

  He didn't respond to my knock. "You awake, Dean? I need to talk." I pushed his door open hoping I didn't get him started cranking.

  His room was empty.

  It wasn't just untenanted or deserted, it was barren. Not one scrap of clothing or stick of furniture remained.

  "My gods! They've eloped!" I didn't imagine Dean. When I imagine people I pick them put together like Tinnie or Nicks or Tama Montezuma.

  I petitioned the air with the intensity of an actor in a passion play, "What the hell is going on?" A waste of time. I'd asked already and hadn't gotten an answer.

  I went back down to the kitchen. A hasty inventory left me baffled. I made something to eat, drew a beer off the keg in the cold well, shuffled around the ground floor balancing food, drink, and lamp while I searched for messages or clues.

  I found nothing. Not even a Dear Garrett note.

  "Hell with it," I grumbled. "Hell with them. Hell with everybody." I dragged myself up to bed, enumerating the names of everyone who ought to join the infernal pilgrimage.

  I don't recall lying down.

  58

  I don't recall getting up. My first clear thought surfaced when somebody groaned in pain. A moment later I realized that the groaner was right there in my bedroom and he was making those noises with my dried-out mouth. Then it dawned: The pain was caused by sunburn of the backs of the eyeballs. I was staring out at a morning where the gods, or devils, of daylight were putting on one of the great sunshine shows of all time.

  It was almost noon. The sun seemed to span half the sky.

  That information developed, I tried to reason out why I wanted to stare into that unholy furnace.

  The proximate cause made itself apparent instantly. Which is to say that there were hundreds of idiots out there holding another political discussion. Sticks and stones and broken bones.

  Hundreds of guys in brown, wearing a variety of rightsist armbands, showing colorful standards and banners, were proclaiming their message with enthusiasm, not only to the fey but to any handy humans who had a foreign look on them or maybe just parted their hair a little strange.

  Maybe my mom didn't raise me right after all. I don't quite grasp politics. Despite claims to the contrary substance has no relevance. Apparently conflicts are decided by whoever shouts the loudest and whacks away with the biggest stick.

  Why did they keep doing it in Macunado Street? Why couldn't they take it into the countryside? Nobody but farmers or mammoths or woods elves would be bothered out there. I wanted to grab a big megaphone and yell, "People, we got folks trying to sleep around here!"

  I dropped the curtain. After a minute I felt fine. I didn't have a hangover. What did I drink? One beer? Good. Still, maybe I should ease up on the health food for a while.

  As I descended to the kitchen I recalled my housemate shortage. I'd have to build my own breakfast. Boy. Life just ain't fair.

  The Goddamn Parrot heard me moving around and squawked. He started the thing where he pretends to be a small child begging not to be abused.

  He was back to his old self. I'd feed him if I started feeling generous and forgiving. Which could not possibly come anytime but later.

  I got some bacon frying and some water heating for tea, then went over the ground floor one last time, hoping I'd find something I was too tired to notice last night. I came up with the same big batch of nothing. No getting around it. Dean and the Dead Man were gone. There was no suggestion of foul play. They'd gotten up and gone because they'd wanted to get up and go.

  I sipped tea and nibbled bacon and snacked on halfway stale bread dipped in bacon drippings while I tried to get my mind wrapped around the notion that the Dead Man had moved voluntarily. That would make twice in my lifetime. Last time was when I moved him in here.

  Give him another generation and he'd be dancing in the streets.

  I glanced at the keg in the cold well. Tempting. But it was too early. And I had work to do.

  I shivered. Events had left me a mighty hill to climb.

  "Shut up in there!" I barked at Mr. Big, who was singing the marching song of ten thousand verses, each of which begins, "I don't know but I've been told... "

  I poured tea, stirred in a spoon of honey, found a muffin young enough not to scar the hardwood if I dropped it, migrated to my office. "Good morning, Eleanor."

  The lady in the painting smiled enigmatically, bemused by my morning dishabille. She didn't surprise me when she didn't have anything to say.

  The Goddamn Parrot was stuck on a verse about ratgirls. It didn't flatter them. He must not have been completely comatose last night.

  Me, I thought better of ratgirls since meeting Pular Singe. Hers was an acquaintance worth nurturing.

  "So, darling. Did the Dead Man take off so he wouldn't complicate my life now that I'm involved with righsists? Or did he feel unfulfilled and had to find himself and realize his potential?" That was a chuckle. Without continuous nagging Old Bones has the potential of an iceberg. He'll slide downhill if he isn't at the bottom already. If you give him a push.

  I finished my muffin and tea, went for another cup. I took the scenic route back to the office. The
Goddman Parrot shut up as soon as I gave him some breakfast. Nestled in my chair again, I told Eleanor, "Listen to this and tell me what you think." I started where I thought it began, did Black Dragon, Crask and Sadler, Belinda, Relway, shapeshifters, the Weiders, Marengo North English, Tama Montezuma.

  "So what do you think? Is it all connected? Or have I stumbled into several things all going on at the same time?" Occasionally it helps to bounce the facts off Eleanor or the Dead Man even though neither is inclined to respond. Sometimes the pieces fall into place.

  I twisted and kicked and whacked away at the facts with a big faded steel hammer to conjure the mess into a couple of complete scenarios. I was sure neither had much to do with reality. Neither made sense of what was happening.

  "I prefer the chaos theory," I told Eleanor. "Shit's flying everywhere and it's by chance a lot is raining down where I'm standing. I'm what ties the whole mess together... Oh. Right. Isn't this exactly what I've been waiting for?"

  Eleanor's smile turned more teasing than enigmatic. She knows how thrilled I am when somebody pounds on my door.

  I don't always hear them, though. The door, replaced often lately, is heavy. I'm thinking about getting one of those mechanical bells so I can be sure there's somebody out there to ignore.

  59

  "Gods, Garrett," Colonel Block growled. "You been on a three-day bender?"

  "You're looking good yourself. We saw one another just yesterday. Remember?"

  "You really go to hell overnight, don't you?"

  Maybe I did look a little ragged. "All right. So maybe I need a shave." I let Block come inside.

  He doesn't come around unless he has something on his mind. "That would be a start."

  "Want a cup of tea?"

  The Goddamn Parrot broke off crunching sunflower seeds long enough to excoriate the head of the Guard, then the head of the household.

  "Can I drown that thing in it?"

  "I'll brew you a bucket if you'll do it and take the rap. What's up?" I shepherded him into my office. He helped himself to a chair.

  "I wanted you to know what Relway got from the prisoners. And your thoughts about last night. Relway's devotion colors what he sees."

  "It was pretty straightforward." I told him what I knew. Once I would've held out just because he was the law. I'm mellowing with age and accumulated head lumps. I concluded, "What I don't have is a clue what it adds up to."

  "I find it productive to forget the big question while I root out little answers."

  "Uhm?"

  "Instead of worrying about what it all adds up to, work on why the shapeshifters chose the Weiders. There are a hundred questions you could ask. You can paint the big picture one brushstroke at a time."

  He wasn't offering advice that was new. But there was a subtext, an unspoken message. He was reminding me that collecting brushstrokes would involve me in my least favorite pastime.

  What I need to find is a way to cruise through life without having to work.

  "So what's the word? Did Relway collect any brushstrokes?" He must have tormented up some random flecks of color.

  "He's got a bunch of words for you, Garrett. But there ain't many of them ones you want to hear. The big thing is, we didn't get anything out of the shapechangers."

  I must have looked doubtful. I don't know why. Maybe I'm getting cynical. If you can't believe the secret police, whom can you trust?

  "Really, Garrett. Before Relway got back to the Al-Khar the prisoners tried to escape."

  "The place is a sewer any sane person would want to get away from, but how—"

  "They're shapeshifters, Garrett. They can't turn into mice or roaches or anything that's not as heavy as they are but they can turn skinny or plastic enough to slide between bars and—"

  "I get the picture. Damn! We should've seen that coming." I selected a quiver of choice expletives, used them up. This could turn real bad if those things could turn into furniture or the carpet underfoot. "So they're all loose again—"

  "Not all. Three got away. And they were hurt. The others died trying. Relway says you can study the bodies if you want to."

  "Did they all have tattoos?"

  "How did you know?"

  "Wild and lucky guess. Let me guess some more. The tattoo was a dragon with a Karentine military seal worked in. It was hard to see even when they weren't trying to hide it."

  "You've seen them before." He was squinting now, suddenly troubled.

  "I have. Relway told me he'd try to find out what the tattoo means."

  "He probably hasn't had time."

  "My guess is that they're some special ops mercs left over from the war."

  "That would be my guess, too. Which means that I made this walk mostly for the exercise. I'm not telling you anything new."

  "Exercise never hurt anybody. I'm told. Come on in the kitchen. We'll get that tea." I was sure he had more to say. But maybe it was something he didn't want to tell me. I asked him to come along because in my house we try not to leave visitors unattended. Especially not Winger or officers of the law. Both are almost certain to get into stuff I'd really rather they didn't.

  I poured. Block communed with his inner demons. I asked, "Do you prefer the uniform?" He wore a slightly fancy version of the vaguely military, undyed linen outfit recently adopted by the Guard. It did little for the dignity of his office. Most rightsists street thugs dressed better.

  Block accepted tea. "We don't have much of a budget. So it's become a point of pride. Shows people we're dedicated."

  Maybe. "Anything useful come from those changers?"

  "No. Except that someone from the Hill, names I can't mention, want the dead ones." And there it was, his secret burden.

  "And I thought you were saving them just for me."

  Block sneered. "A bunch of shifters turning up stirred a lot of curiosity."

  "Think someone knew about the tattoos?"

  Block shrugged. "I haven't mentioned them. Yet."

  "How come?"

  "I wanted to see what happened when they figured it out. I'm just a dumb lawman. I wouldn't notice, anyway."

  And what might he be holding out on me? "You'll let me know if anything comes of it?"

  He nodded. My coconspirator. "Some big-toothed hounds are going to be on this trail before long." Which was maybe as much as he dared tell me.

  That didn't excite me. I don't like sorcerers. They're dangerous. And they're unpredictable. Like lawyers. You don't want to turn your back on one of them. Most of them aren't even kind to their mothers. Still, it would be stupid not to hear what Block was trying to say. "You guys have been awful nice to me lately."

  Block shrugged again. "That's because you can help us. We need to make you want to cooperate."

  He sounded like Chodo Contague about to offer an infernal deal. "It might be easier to leave town. My mother has cousins upcountry."

  "Then you'd be stuck wearing scratchy homespun and couldn't indulge yourself in all this elegant luxury." He indicated my clothing. "I can't see you as a peasant, anyway."

  "They raise sheep."

  "That's different. You'd never have trouble finding a girlfriend."

  "I liked you better when you were worried about hanging on to your job. You were crabby all the time, but... "

  He smiled. "I'm a much better person now."

  "All right, much better. Where're you headed on this? Let's not duplicate each other's work."

  "Then concentrate on infiltrating The Call."

  "My loyalty is to Max Weider. The Call isn't going anywhere. The Weiders might. I've lost three of them already, when I was paying attention."

  "Can't fault your logic."

  "Yeah? Relway mention that we caught up with Crask and Sadler?"

  "You fishing?" Block isn't as dim as he pretends.

  "I'd like to know."

  "He did. You rescued the fair maiden."

  Interesting. Relway apparently kept his boss informed.

  Relway's boss
continued, "You let them get away, Garrett. What kind of hero are you?"

  "The living kind. I thought somebody was watching us."

  "Lucky for you."

  "We got out of the tomb without help."

  "Not what I meant. You came home instead of running after the bad guys. Your unsavory friend also chose to abandon the hunt. We can only assume that he was concerned for Miss Contague." Looking out for Belinda was, of course, looking out for himself.

  "You have a point?" I asked.

  "Yes. Somebody did stick to the bad guys."

  Came the dawn. "You know where they are."

  "Sure do. And we wondered if you'd want that information."

  "I took them on last night. With help and with them hurt. They still might've gotten the best of it."

  "Did I say we'll stand around and watch? These are famous villains. And they don't have any friends now that Chodo don't love them anymore. That gives the Guard a chance to put on a big show for some very important observers. With the invaluable assistance of a certain public-spirited subject. You want to be the public-spirited subject?"

  "That why you're here?"

  "I want to be visible when the Guard is doing its job right. Let's walk up there and see what happens."

  "Let me get myself organized. I wouldn't want your reputation bruised because of the company you keep."

  "If that could hurt me, I'd have been exiled ages ago."

  "You got a point. I won't be long. Go settle in my office. Try not to poke around."

  I knew the Dead Man couldn't keep an eye on Block but Block didn't.

  60

  I was beginning to like Tad Weider's sense of style. I selected an outfit that he might have worn to the horse races. It included a lot of yellow and red and brown. There were ruffles at wrist and throat. I spiffied myself, considered the result in my little mirror. "Oh! The elf girls are gonna carry me off and make me their love slave." I stepped back. "But if I'm going to dress like this, I'd better get a new pair of shoes."

  My ragged old cobblehoppers sported memorabilia of a thousand city adventures. They didn't complement the look.