Bleak Seasons tbc-7

by Glen Charles Cook

  I was not going to make him happy. “For the duration. They want their slice of Narayan Singh.” The Old Man still distrusted Uncle Doj.

  “They know about Smoke?”

  “Of course not! Damnit...!”

  “Keep it that way. You find his library again yet?”

  I had mentioned having stumbled onto that. “Not yet.” Fact was, I had made no more than a token effort. I had too much else on my mind.

  “Try a little harder.” He knew. “Don’t spend so much time with Smoke. And I think it might be useful to look at those old Annals before we head south.”

  “How come you never looked for the library yourself? You’ve had years.”

  “I heard it got destroyed the night that Smoke got mauled. Now it looks like that must have happened in some other room. The Radisha wouldn’t mislead me about something like that. Would she? Nah.”

  We paused while a Vehdna cavalry regiment passed in review outside the Palace. It had come from upcountry somewhere and was just paying its respects before taking the field. The robes and turbans of the troopers were clean and gaudy. Their lances were all brightly pennoned. Their spearheads gleamed. Their mounts were beautiful, admirably trained and perfectly groomed.

  “Too bad pretty don’t win wars,” I said. The Black Company is not pretty.

  Croaker grunted. I glanced at him. And surprised what might have been a teardrop in the corner of his eye.

  He knew what awaited all those brave young men.

  We crossed behind the horsemen, stepping carefully.

  One-Eye met us in the hall way outside Croaker’s apartment. “What’s the word?”

  Croaker shook his head. “No magic answers.”

  “We always get to do it the hard way.”

  I told him, “I’m supposed to look for that library room I found the other night. You got something to help keep me from getting confused?”

  He looked at me like that might be a tall order. “I already gave you something.” He indicated the yarn on my wrist.

  “That was for your spells. There’s probably still a bunch of

  Smoke’s left over, too.”

  The runt thought about that. “Could be. Give me that.” His gaze fell on my amulet as I removed the yarn. “Jade?” He held my wrist momentarily.

  “I think so. It belonged to Sarie’s grandmother, Hong Tray. You never met her. She was the old Speaker’s wife.”

  “You been wearing this all these years and I never noticed?”

  “I never wore it till Sarie... Until the other night. Sarie wore it sometimes, though, when she wanted to dress up.”

  “Ah, yes. I recall.” He frowned like he was trying to remember something, then shrugged, went off into a shadow and muttered to the yarn for a while. When he returned he said, “That ought to get you through anybody’s confusion spells. Except maybe your own.”

  “What?”

  “You had any of your attacks lately?”

  “No. Not that I remember.” I offered the amendment because I had had them before without being aware of them. Apparently.

  “You had any new ideas about what caused them? Or who you kept running into when you went back to Dejagore?”

  “I was escaping from the pain of losing Sarie.”

  One-Eye laid one of his more intense stares upon me, just the way he had whenever he helped fish me out of the past. Evidently he was not convinced.

  I asked, “Is it suddenly important again?”

  “It never stopped being important, Murgen. There just hasn’t been time to pursue it.”

  Nor was there now.

  He said, “We just have to let you take charge of yourself, to watch out and do the right thing in a crunch.”

  One-Eye being totally serious? That was spooky.

  Croaker had lost interest. He was back at his charts and figures. But he did reiterate, “I want to see those books before we hit the road.”

  I can take a hint, sometimes. “I’m on my way, Boss.”

  93

  I stopped in to make sure Smoke was still breathing. I fed him while I was there. Keeping him fed and clean was now my cover for being there should someone like the Radisha ever penetrate One-Eye’s network of spells, much augmented since I had begun working with the old wizard. Then I tried to recall the various twists and turns I had taken the night I found Smoke’s library. My memories were not clear. That had been a time of stress and a lot had happened since.

  I did know it was on this same level. I had not gone downstairs or up. And it was in an area apparently undisturbed since Smoke’s own last visit. The dust and cobwebs were heavy and untouched.

  It did not take me long to reach desert territory. It was almost as though the deep interior of the Palace became a vast and dusty maze, needing no spells of confusion to protect it.

  I found the dead man only minutes after leaving Smoke. I smelled him first, of course, and heard the flies. That told me what would be coming up before I saw anything. Only the who was a mystery until the Strangler appeared at the limit of my lamplight. He had fled here to die of his wounds, trapped by darkness and confusing spells.

  I shuddered. That touched my deepest fears, the wellspring of my nightmares, my crushing dread of tight, dark places underground.

  I wondered if his fickle goddess had taken delight in his unhappy end.

  I moved around the corpse carefully, averting my eyes and pinching my nose. In death he continued to serve Kina’s corruption avatar.

  Soon afterward I discovered evidence that at least one more Strangler had become entangled in the confusion of the Palace. I nearly stepped in it, being alerted only when my approach startled the attendant flies.

  I paused. “Uh-oh.” That looked fairly fresh. Maybe there was still a madman in here willing to dance for his goddess.

  I started moving much slower and more carefully, one hand at my throat. I started imagining noises. All the ghost stories I ever heard came back to haunt me. Each few steps I paused, turned around completely, searching for the gleam of eyes betrayed by my lamp. Why did I decide to do this alone?

  I began to see signs of recent traffic. I knelt, discovered what appeared to be my own previous footprints in the dust. Someone had been through since, armed with a battery of candles.

  Drops of wax had fallen into the disturbed dust. And somebody had been through after that, possibly crawling, perhaps even eating what wax drops he could find.

  I listened to the silence. This deep within the Palace even vermin were scarce. They could only eat each other.

  Still cautious, I followed the trails of those who had come after me. My heart thumped like it was about to explode.

  I started sneezing. And once I did the sneezes just kept coming. I could hold off for half a minute sometimes, but that only made the next sneeze worse.

  Then I started hearing all sorts of sounds. And could not still myself long enough to reassure me that I was imagining these noises, too, or to get a fix on their source if they were genuine. Maybe it would be better to do this some other time. Then the broken door loomed out of the darkness. I stopped and studied it. I had a notion it was hanging a little differently. Disturbances in the dust suggested that someone had visited since I had done so myself.

  Cautiously, touching nothing, I rounded the door, stepped into the room. “Shit!”

  It had been torn apart. Few of the books, bound or scroll, remained on their shelves or in their cubbies. The undisturbed items, where I could decipher titles, were prosaic inventories or tax records or irregular city histories of little interest. I wondered why Smoke would bother with those. Maybe just to hide the good stuff? Maybe because he was fire marshall as well as court wizard?

  Whatever, the good stuff was gone. And by that I mean not only any long missing volumes of the Annals that might have been lying around but also a number of what I had suspected to be magical texts when last I looked in.

  “Damn it! Damn it!” I wanted to throw things, to break things
, to bounce rocks off villains’ heads, Even before I found the single fallen feather I had a good idea of what had happened.

  I collected that feather.

  On the way back I definitely heard sounds that did not spring from my imagination. I did not bother to investigate. The man tried to follow my light but could not keep up.

  94

  Croaker looked up, puzzled, when I laid the white feather in front of him and said, “The books are gone. And there are Deceivers lost in there. At least one dead one and one still alive.”

  “Gone?” He plucked the feather off the document he was studying.

  “Somebody took them.”

  His distress was apparent only because his hand began to shake. “How?”

  “They just walked in off the street and carried them away.” I did not for a moment consider the possibility that someone inside the Palace had visited Smoke’s books.

  He said nothing for a while. “What perfect timing.” Another silence. “What’s this feather?”

  “Maybe a message. Maybe just a lost feather. I found one like it when I discovered that the Widowmaker armor had disappeared from hiding in Dejagore.” “A white feather?”

  “From an albino crow.” I ran through my catalog of encounters, real and possibly imagined.

  His hand shook again. “You never actually met her. But you recognized her? She was here the night the Deceivers struck? And you never said anything?”

  “I forgot that. That was the worst night of my life, Captain. That night has twisted everything else around me...”

  He gestured for silence. He thought. I stared. He was nothing like the Croaker who had been Company physician and Annalist when I joined up. After a while, he muttered, “That must be it.”

  “What?”

  “The voice you encountered whenever you were pulled back to Dejagore. Think. Was it inconsistent?”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “Did it seem like it might be different people talking all the time?”

  Now I got it. “I don’t think so. It did seem to have different attitudes and styles sometimes.”

  “The bitch. The sneaking bitch. Always playing another game. I won’t swear this for sure, Murgen, but I think the root mystery behind you tumbling all over time must have been Soulcatcher playing.”

  Not a wholly original theory to me. Soulcatcher rated high on my own suspects list. Motive was my big stumbling block. I could not figure a “why Murgen?” for anybody, Soulcatcher included.

  “Where is she now?” Croaker asked.

  “I don’t have the foggiest.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “Smoke balks every time I try to head her way.”

  Croaker considered that. “Try again.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “As long as it suits everybody’s convenience. You sure your in-laws won’t go home?”

  “They’re going wherever I go.”

  “Tell them we’ll be on the road before the end of the week.”

  “I look forward to that like a case of the piles.” I took my white feather and stomped off for a session with the fire mar’ shall.

  95

  I did not go straight there. I stopped by the apartment, collected a flask of tea, a gallon of water, a basket of fried chicken and fried fish, rice and some of Mother Gota’s special baked rocks. I expected a long session. There were things I wanted to do beyond my expected swift rebuff in a search for Soulcatcher.

  Smoke seemed unchanged. As always. I wondered what he would remember if, as sometimes happened, one day he just woke up from his coma. I hear tell people have done that even after being under years longer than Smoke has.

  I filled my stomach with water before I left the apartment. I took in more fluid when I reached Smoke. I went to work.

  Drifting. Quick check of all the villains. Mogaba and Longshadow, Howler and Narayan Singh and the Daughter of Night were all acceptably located, either at Overlook or Charandaprash. Blade was skirting the Shindai Kus with maybe twelve hundred men, trying to get behind the Prahbrindrah Drah, but the Prince had a screen of light cavalry out far enough to give him plenty of warning. The man had a knack.

  Before I carried out my obligation to look for Soulcatcher I took Smoke back in time to see just how early I could find and spy upon some of the principals. I wanted to see what had happened that night I had been held captive and tortured. I wanted to unveil the details of Mogaba’s defection.

  I found that I could not go back that far.

  I recalled that raft on the lake, Mogaba cursing in the darkness. That had to be it. He should not have been there. What honest mission could have taken him ashore? Had he changed allegiances while still holding Dejagore for the good guys? Was his deal already made when Croaker faced him down? Did he meet the Howler out there, far enough away that Goblin and One-Eye would not detect the sorcerer’s flying carpet?

  Maybe. And if he had that might explain why even Sindawe and Ochiba were willing to abandon him.

  All of us would be dead already and the war long since lost had Longshadow been in a position to seize that moment.

  The cold claws of death may have come closer than ever I had suspected.

  I wish I could have had eyewitness evidence, though.

  Smoke can be tricked. And he can be driven by a sufficiently-determined will.

  From the frontiers of past time I raced toward the night of my despair. I did not drive him to the center of its evil, though. Instead, I slowed and drifted into an earlier hour, as the Stranglers first approached the Palace and in best Deceiver form used two of their number, disguised as holy prostitutes of Bashra out to perform their obligated random acts of joy, to get close to the Guards.

  But that was not the history I wanted to review. I brought him forward to the moments of my own interlude upon the sallyport steps. I watched myself emerge from the Palace, vacantly settle to the stone. The seizure lasted scarcely a minute, for all the time I spent amongst the horrors of yesteryear.

  Now the slick move. The focus upon the woman in the shadows across the way, behind the hairy Shadar. The lock onto her despite Smoke’s increasing anxiety and spiritual wriggling.

  I never got to know Smoke in full life but, by most accounts, he had been a pure chickenshit, inalterably opposed to anything that might involve even the most minor risk to anyone in the court wizard or fire marshal rackets. Cowardice must have run right down to the foundations of his being because he writhed like a worm on a fishhook the whole time I watched Soulcatcher loot his library.

  She had no trouble with confusion spells. She had none with Stranglers, either, though she did encounter a band. They just gaped at her briefly, then decided their best interests ought to lead them elsewhere.

  She seemed unaware of my scrutiny, unlike that time in the wheatfield. Could it be that even she was unaware of the secret of Smoke?

  Wouldn’t that be lovely?

  I watched her for a long time, even after she departed the Palace. Smoke resisted every second.

  Then I went back and had a drink and a snack before I tackled the more interesting business of tracking Goblin down and, to slake my own curiosity, having a look at the final falling out between Croaker and Blade. I had been unable to find witnesses to the actual explosion.

  96

  To track Goblin I went back to the last time I saw the runt myself, then followed him forward in time. Soon after having helped me out of one of my plunges into yesterday Goblin walked out of his quarters carrying one modest bag, hiked to the waterfront, boarded a barge manned by trustworthy Taglians who had become professional soldiers, and drifted down the river. Right now-approximately today-he was in the heart of the delta, transferring the barge’s cargo, himself and most of the Taglians, to a deep-sea vessel wearing flags and pennons entirely unknown to me. Off on the sodden shore flocks of Nyueng Bao children and a handful of lazy adults watched as though this business of outsiders was the greatest entertainm
ent they had encountered in years. Despite my familiarity with the tribe they all looked inscrutably alien in their native context, more so than they had in Dejagore where we all had been out of place.

  For no reason clear to me I had never visited Sahra’s world. I just welcomed her into mine and savored the miracle.

  Goblin’s behavior was less interesting than his whereabouts, which I had now established. So why not see what life was like for the Nyueng Bao? Uncle Doj insisted that the delta was paradise.

  Possibly, if you were of the mosquito clan. I swear. The fact that I was a disembodied point of view was all that kept me from being devoured. Goblin was candyass enough to protect himself and his crew with potent spells, augmented by bad smells. But the Nyueng Bao had to deal with bloodsucking buzzards able to carry off small children. I reminded myself that I had seen all the bugs I wanted coming south through One-Eye’s home jungle and it was likely that Sarie’s people could manage excellently without the presence of Sarie’s husband.

  I drifted through the area, curious about how she had lived before we met. Hamlet, rice paddies, water buffalo, fishing boats, the same yesterday, last year, last century and tomorrow. Everyone I saw looked like someone I might have met in Dejagore or among the Nyueng Bao serving with the Company now.

  What?

  I was sweeping along like a darting swallow. I glimpsed a face looking up in a hamlet miles back from the river where Goblin and his crew were sweating their guts out. My heart flipped. For the first time out there with Smoke I enjoyed a really strong emotion. If I had been in my body I would have wept crocodile tears.

  Man eating crocs adorn the delta, too.

  I whipped back, around, hunting that face so much like Sahra’s that it could have belonged to her twin. Down there somewhere, near that old temple.

  No. I guess not. Wishful thinking, Murgen. Plain wishful thinking. Probably just another Nyueng Bao girl newly a woman, endowed with that incredible beauty they have for four or five years between childhood and the steep slope into despair.