by Glen Cook
"I saw that when you waved that damned wig in my face. The real Maggie Jenn is probably on her island with her feet up and not a suspicion that her old pal Grange Cleaver is blackening her reputation by pretending... "
"You have to wonder how much he did that in the old days. When she was involved with the crown prince."
"Not around the prince, he wouldn't have. The prince definitely preferred girls and wasn't patient with girls who played hard to get. He knew the real Maggie Jenn."
"But a fake Maggie could have gone around looking at places that interested the Rainmaker."
"Somebody told me Cleaver might be her brother. Maybe they were twins."
"He was his sister's pimp?"
"Like that'd be the first time a guy ever sold his sister?"
"You're right. I lost it for a second. Wishful thinking. Thought I'd outgrown that. Shouldn't ever forget what slime humans can be."
"We've still got rooms to search." I didn't want to get into the subject of necessity—though Morley would have to slither down there under a snake's belly to hold an opinion of my species lower than I do.
Necessity I understand. Necessity I won't condemn. The despicable are those who sell their sisters and daughters and wives because that saves them having to work. "Bear with me, Morley."
"I do, Garrett. And with all your kind. Like it or not, you're the present and future of the world. The rest of us are going to have to find what niches we can. Otherwise, time will pass us by."
"Bravo!" I clapped. "You've got the vision. Get yourself appointed to the city board of aldermen."
"I'm not human enough. And I wouldn't have time."
I boggled for an instant. My facetious remark had been heard seriously. Interesting. Morley Dotes, bone-breaker and lifetaker, your alderman and mine?
Actually, that could be an idea whose time had arrived. The Goddamned Parrot could do as well as the crooks and incompetents and senile halfwits running things now.
TunFaire is a human city in the human kingdom of Karenta. This is established by numerous treaties. It means human rule prevails except in such ways as may be modified by treaty in particular regards or areas. TunFaire is also an "open city," meaning any race with a treaty can come and go freely, essentially with the same rights and privileges as Karentine subjects. And, in theory, the same obligations.
In practice, all races come and go, treaty or no, and a lot of nonhumans evade their civil obligations. Centaurs are the outstanding example. All treaties with centaurs perished when the tribes went over to Glory Mooncalled. Legally, they're enemy aliens. But they've been flooding into city and kingdom as Mooncalled's republic fades and nobody except extremists seems to object.
Guest workers and resident nonhumans make up half of TunFaire's population. With the war winding down and ever more folks realizing that society is headed for dramatic changes a lot of resentment is building.
Shouldn't be long before the nonhuman question becomes a central fact of politics. It is now for splinters like the Call. You won't find any euphemism or circumlocution in the message of the Call. Their strategy is kill nonhumans till the survivors flee.
Gods, I didn't want this mess of mine to lead me into the snakepit of racial politics. Lords Above or Below, render me outside politics of any stink.
Morley and I pressed on. We searched high and low, right and left, north, south, east, and west. We placed special emphasis on the suite supposedly belonging to Justine Jenn. Morley opined, "Nobody lived here, Garrett. It was stage-dressed."
I agreed.
"Think there's anything else to find?" he asked.
"I doubt it. Want to try the basement?"
"Do you?"
"I remember the last time we did a basement. I'm more inclined to go shopping."
"Wixon and White. The hens' teeth salesmen. They actually knew the girl?"
"A girl," I grumped, identities being so shifty lately.
"Good point. But it's a start. Mind if I tag along? I haven't been out that way for a while."
"Gee. I'm psychic." I'd just known he would want to go. "Wasn't for those buccaneers, I'd have serious doubts that the girl exists."
"A girl. Like you said. What say let's don't just hit the street?"
"Good thinking." We checked for observers. Winger and a ferocious pirate type were holding down the alley, pretending they couldn't see each other. "Nice to see folks get along."
"Makes the world run smoother. Crack that view slit up front and check the genius out there."
The front face of the house wasn't as featureless as it had looked from the street. I peeked.
The pro had decided we would walk out the front door like we lived there. Which he'd have done himself. He had done and admirable job of fading into the background. Nobody looking for him was going to miss him, though.
There was no sign of the inept guy. Curious.
Chuckling, Morley asked, "How long will they wait if they don't know we're not in here anymore?"
"How?"
"The rooftops."
I chuckled right back. "Sounds like an experiment worth making. Let's do it."
"We could even sic the brunos on them after we're clear."
"No, no. That's too much. I don't want to spend the rest of my life watching over my shoulder for some of Winger's paybacks."
"Good point. Let's go."
We went. It was easy. The roofs were all flat. The only hitch we encountered was getting down.
40
We tried three downspouts. None would support me. "Need some home repairs in these parts," I grumbled. "People ought to show some pride. Ought to keep up their property."
"Or we could start a weight loss program at the Garrett dump." Morley, the little weasel, could have gone down any of the spouts.
Worse, last try we had caught the eyes of some prematurely cynical kids who'd jumped to the conclusion we were up to no good. Just because we were running around on the roofs. We could have been roofers shopping for work.
No more fun. The patrol would be along soon.
Morley bent over the edge, tried another downspout. A herd of preadolescents watched from the street. I made faces, but they didn't scare. Morley said, "This will have to do."
I shook it myself. Not that I didn't trust him. He was right. It would have to do. It was more solid.
Still...
"We have to get down now, Garrett."
"I'm not worried about getting down. What concerns me is how many pieces of me there're going to be after I get there."
Morley went over the side, abandoning me to my fate. I gave him a head start, then followed, my weight taken by different supports. I had descended about eight feet when furious elvish cursing broke out below me. For a second, I thought I had stepped on his fingers.
"What?" I demanded.
"I'm hung up."
I leaned out so I could see. Sure enough. His shirt was out and tangled in one of the supports that anchored the downspout to the building. He tried to climb a little to get loose. For reasons known only to the gods who engineer these things that only made things worse. I heard cloth tear. Morley started cursing all over again. He let go with one hand and tried to work his shirt loose.
It would not yield. But he was being awfully damned delicate about it.
Down below, some kid came up with the notion that it would be fun to throw rocks at us. First shot he got Morley on the knuckles of the hand he was using to hang on.
Only thing that saved him was that his shirt was hung up.
The gods give and the gods take away.
Morley's shirt tore a little more.
Morley's temper ripped. He invented new curses.
"Cut it loose!" I yelled.
"It's a new shirt. First time I ever wore it." He continued fighting with it.
Stones peppered the wall. A racket from up the street gave warning of the patrol. "You'd better do something. In a couple of minutes, you're going to have people throwing more than rock
s at you."
"I am?"
"You am. I'm going to climb down over you and leave you hanging."
He started to say something testy, but a small stone hit him in the back of the head.
Blur of steel. Pretty cloth flying. Morley down that spout like a squirrel as kids shrieked and scattered. I caught up while he was trying to decide which kid to run down. "Let's go." The patrol were damn near in spear-chucking range.
Morley looked like he'd rather stay and fight. He wanted to hurt somebody. He rubbed the back of his head and got set.
"Come on!" I commenced the old high-speed heel and toe work.
Morley opted not to take on the world alone.
41
Even Morley was puffing before we shook the pursuit. Staggering, I gasped, "It was torn already. And you've got another shirt. I've seen it."
He didn't respond. He was holding a wake for his apparel, though you could hardly tell there was a problem if he stayed tucked in.
I croaked, "Those guys've been working out." My legs were rubber.
"Good thing you started before they did." He wasn't puffing nearly enough to suit me. I don't know how he stays in shape. I've seldom seen him do anything more strenuous than chase women.
Maybe he just lucked out when he picked his ancestors.
"How about we take five?" We could afford it. I needed it. Before I puked up my toenails.
We had ended up dodging into one of those small sin sinks that cling to the skirts of the Hill and cater to and prey upon the idle rich. Nobody would help trace us there. Patrol folks weren't welcome.
Morley and I planted our posteriors on a stoop where traffic seemed limited. Once I had sucked in enough air to rekindle my sense of humor, we began fantasizing scenarios wherein Winger did Winger sorts of things to find out what we were up to inside Maggie's house—only with her suffering my kind of luck instead of her own.
You would have thought we were eleven again. We ended up with the giggles.
"Oh, damn!" I couldn't stop laughing, despite the bad news. "Look who just showed up."
The clumsy guy almost tripped over us before he realized that he had found us. His eyes got big. His face went pale. He gulped air. I gasped, "This clown has got to be psychic."
"Want to grab him?"
The suspicion that we might try occurred to him first. He went high-stepping around a corner before we finished swatting the dust off the backs of our laps.
"Damn! Where did he go?"
"What I expected," Morley said, suddenly morose as he stared down that empty cross street.
"Expected?"
"He's a spook. Or a figment of your imagination."
"No. He's no ghost. He's just lucky."
"I've heard luck called a psychic talent."
"Give me a break, Morley. How can random results have anything to do with talent?"
"Luck was really random it would even out, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose."
"So you ought to have some good luck once in a while, right? Unless you're directing it somehow."
"Wait a minute—" Our squabble wandered far afield. It kept us entertained all the way to the West End. For the heck of it, we set a couple of ambushes along the way. Our tail evaded both through sheer dumb luck. Morley did a lot of smirking.
I told him, "I'm about to come around to your way of thinking."
"You say this Wixon and White place has a flimsy back door?"
"A bad joke. Unless it's a trap." There are spiders that specialize in catching other spiders.
"Show me. We'll treat your friends to chills and thrills."
Right. Morley was along just for the fun.
Wixon and White were open for trade. We lurked, watched a few customers come and go. "We'd better get on with it," I said. "Their local watch is a little too serious for my taste."
Morley grunted. I introduced him to the alley door. He scoped it out, suggested, "Give me ten minutes."
"Ten? You going to take it out frame and all?"
"No, I was considering doing it quietly. You wanted fast you should have brought Saucerhead Tharpe. Finesse, Garrett. Surprise. I don't do Thon-Gore the Learning Disabled."
"Right." I left the artist to his easel.
My old pal was hustling a personal agenda again. I had a good suspicion, too. And I didn't care. I just wanted to get on with my job—the way I had defined it.
I wondered if I had an employer anymore. I hadn't heard.
I waited in the breezeway while Morley did whatever. He did keep the racket down. I never heard a thing. No butternut thugs showed up to inconvenience us, either. I tried to psych myself into a role.
Time. I walked to the shop door and invited myself inside.
42
"Howdy." I grinned. Wasn't nobody there but them and me. I locked the door. I put the closed sign in the window.
One bold corsair demanded, "What are you doing?" He wanted to sound tough, but his voice scrambled right up into a high squeak.
The other one didn't say anything. After ten seconds frozen like those mythical birds that stare down snakes, he bolted for the back room. A moment later, he squealed like Morley was whipping him with a naked woman.
I trotted out my cheerful charlie voice. If you do that right, it's really sinister. "Howdy, Robin." It had taken me a moment to sort them out. "We just dropped in to get the real skinny on Emerald Jenn." I pasted on my salesman's smile. Robin squeaked again and decided to catch up with Penny.
Both those fierce buccaneers were taller than Morley. They looked pretty silly being held by their collars from behind, facing me, when I entered their lumber room. They were shaking.
I closed the door. I barred it. I leaned back against it. I asked, "Well? Want to pick a spokesman?" The room was an extreme mess. I'm sure it was a wreck to start but now had the air of a place hastily tossed, perhaps by a dedicated bibliophile in quest of a rare first edition. "Come on, fellows."
Heads shook.
"Let's don't be silly."
Morley forced them to kneel. He hauled out a knife way too long to be legal. He made its blade sing on his whetstone.
"Guys, I want Emerald Jenn. Also known as Justina Jenn. You're going to tell me what you know about her. You'll feel better for it. Start by telling me how you met her."
Wixon and White whimpered and whined and tried to exchange impassioned farewells. Boy, I was good. Oh, the drama. Morley did his bit by testing his edge on Penny's mustache. A big hunk of lip hair tumbled to the floor. Morley went back to work with his whetstone.
"Don't nobody need to get killed," I said. "I thought I'd just skin one of you." I toed that glob of hair.
"Immigrants," Morley observed.
"Probably." Karentines don't rattle easily, having survived the Cantard. They would have made us work. "Talk to me, outlanders."
Robin cracked. "It was almost a year ago."
Penny glared.
"What was almost a year ago?"
"The first time the girl came to the shop. Looking lost. Looking for any handle."
"Just wandered in? Wanting to borrow a cup of frog fur?"
"No. She was just looking. In more ways than one."
"Uhm?"
"She was a lost soul, drowning in despair, looking for straws to grasp. There was a young man with her. Kewfer, I believe she called him. He was blond and beautiful and young and that was the only time he came around."
"Sorry he broke your heart. Don't go misty on me."
Penny didn't like Robin's wistful tone, either, but he just kept the glare cooking.
"Kewfer?" I stressed it just as he had.
Thoughtfully, Morley suggested, "Quince Quefour?"
"Quince." Left me thoughtful, too. Quincy Quentin Q. Quintillas was pretty enough to launch a thousand ships filled with fierce pirates. He was a small-time conman of the smallest time, too damned dumb to amount to anything. He was part elvish. Made him look younger than his real years and got him out of army time. A fa
ked spook thing would be right up Quefour's alley.
I barely knew him, didn't want to know him better. I described him.
Robin nodded vigorously, eager to please. I wondered if he was just telling me what he thought I wanted to hear.
"Thank you, Robin. You see? We can get along fine. What was Quefour up to?"
Baffled look. "He wasn't up to anything. He was just with the girl. Wasn't much special about her, either."
Of course not. You were lusting in your heart. "Please explain."
"She wanted an easy answer. She was looking for easy answers."
"I thought she was desperate."
"Desperate after the fashion of her age. Kids want results without work. They believe they deserve magical answers. They don't want to hear that real magic is hard work. Your stormwardens and firelords spend twenty years studying and practicing. These kids think you just wiggle your fingers... "
Morley's magic fingers darted, slapped Robin's hand. Robin had started wiggling fingers as if by way of demonstration. He might have suckered us had we not been in the back of a shop that supplied witches and warlocks.
"Stick to Emerald Jenn. I develop a taste for social commentary, I'll head for the front steps of the Chancery." The most marvelous lunatics hold forth there. "Emerald, Robin. Quefour didn't come back but she did. Talk to me."
"You don't need to be brutal. Emmy was a runaway. Came from upcountry. We knew that but not much more till a few weeks ago."
"A runaway," I repeated, trying to put an evil twist on everything I said. Morley rolled his eyes. "On her own here for a year." Scary idea. A girl can live a lifetime in a year on the streets of TunFaire. "What did she run from?"
"Her mother."
Who had been worried because her baby had been missing six days. "Go on."
"She didn't go into detail, but it was obvious the woman was a horror."
"Emerald spend a lot of time here?"
"She helped out. Sometimes she stayed back here." Gesture toward a ratty pallet. I didn't apologize for what I had thought about that. "She was a wounded bird. We gave her a place to feel safe." Hint of defiance.
