by Glen Cook
A bar brawl had turned into major racial trouble. Humans were going after centaurs. Apparently, it hadn't gotten out of hand till somebody in The Call had served up an inflammatory diatribe and people had responded by firing the homes of centaur immigrants. Other species were becoming involved. There had been some kind of deadly guerrilla battle in the scaffolding festooning the Bledsoe. They were losing ground getting the hospital repaired.
The insanity had begun. I hoped Block and Relway could contain it. At least this time.
There would be other times. And they would get worse before they got better.
People were going to get polarized real soon now.
I walked carefully. And went about it visible to anyone who might have a tracking spell laid on me.
62
Slither and Ivy got on me the minute they let me in the house. "Guys. Guys! I want this kind of crap I can get married. I need food. I need sleep. I need a bath. I need that foul-mouth flamingo strangled so I can do the rest without getting so aggravated I have to kill somebody." The bird must have saved up for my homecoming.
I got some money from the Dead Man's room, studied him suspiciously before I left. Was that a restrained amusement I sensed there for just a second?
I sent Slither out for supplies. I told Ivy to let me have three hours of sleep. When he woke me up, I wanted food and bath water ready. Then I dragged me upstairs and splashed me into my bed. The Dead Man could get the bugs out later. I lay there tossing and turning and listening to the Goddamn Parrot cackle for half a sentence, then it was time to get up.
Ivy did his part like that was all he had to live for. I rose on time. I scrubbed up in my ten-gallon copper tub. Downstairs, I found a classic breakfast waiting. Ivy was as drunk as a skunk, the Goddamn Parrot on his shoulder. The bird wasn't talking. It needed its whole attention just to hang on. Its breath was worse than Ivy's. Maybe Slither got him his own bottle. Good old Slither, looking out for everybody.
I stuffed myself, then told the boys, "I was going to run you guys off again today, but I don't think I'm going to have time. Either of you has a good afternoon, I want you to get out and look for a place, find a job. I'm not going to take care of you forever."
Slither nodded. Ivy said, "There's some letters for you."
"Letters?"
"We didn't let nobody see you," Slither explained. "Mainly on account of you wasn't here. So some people wrote you letters. We put them on your desk."
There were three letters. Two showed no indication whence they sprang. The other bore Morley's chop. It was a nag about where the hell was I last night? He couldn't waste all his valuable time playing my games if I wasn't going to show up.
By now he would know why I hadn't. Him and his thugs probably thought it was funny.
I opened a letter that purported to be from Maggie Jenn. She wanted to meet. Oh? Right. "Slither! You remember who brought these?"
The big man leaned through the doorway. "That one was brung by a lady. Cute little bug of a thing with red hair."
Surprise, surprise. Bold little witch... Oh, horrible thought! What if this was the real Maggie Jenn, come in from her island hideout?
No. Because I didn't want that.
"That one you done opened come from your friend with the funny ears."
"Morley Dotes. I know." I picked up the last one. "How about this?"
"One of them fellas that was here when I had my seizure brung that one."
"One of those lunatics from the Call?"
"Them fellas what tried to push you around."
That didn't make sense. I supposed I'd have to open the letter to straighten it out.
It was from Emerald Jenn. She would talk to me if I would meet her at a certain estate south of TunFaire. I didn't know the estate, but I did know the area. I'd met Eleanor out there. Folks down there were a lot like folks from the Hill—only way more reactionary. Their wealth consisted of land rather than treasure or power. A more smugly self-righteous, bigoted bunch would be hard to imagine.
Emerald Jenn's suggested meeting place wasn't far from the main estate of Marengo North English.
Interesting.
"How is your memory, Slither?"
"I'm pretty good today, Garrett."
He didn't sound good, but I had to take his word. "Need you to run over to Morley's. Tell him I'm coming, he wants to get on with what we talked about last night. You manage that?"
He thought about it. "I can do it. You got it. Now?"
"Always a great time to start."
"Pretty rough out there, Garrett. They're killing each other in the streets."
"Take Ivy, makes you feel better."
"I was thinking about you."
"I'll take my chances." Wise ass. Do I carry a sign only I can't see? Garrett's ego. Kick here.
I occupied the stoop in order to field marshal Slither's departure. I checked the street, too. "I know how a horse apple feels," I told Ivy, who was inside the doorway and had to have the allusion explained. "Flies?"
All my fans were back. Except for the fierce pirates. Grange Cleaver friends seemed scarce.
I predicted that, didn't I?
I shrugged, went inside, and scribbled a note to Maggie Jenn. Ivy could give it to whomever came around to get my reply.
63
"Getting predictable in your old age," I told Dotes, settling beside him on the exact set of steps where I'd guessed he would be waiting.
"Me? I'm here because I knew this is where you would come looking. I didn't want you wasting time stumbling around looking for me."
Invisible sign. Absolutely. "Can we take him?"
"He's caught. Nobody is so lucky he gets out of what I have set." He glanced left, at smoke rising in the distance. "Quiet out." The street should have been busier.
All streets should have been busier. Slither was right. They were killing each other out here—though it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Block's heavies were fast on their feet. And they had the army garrison to help discourage disorder.
Trouble never got a chance to grow up.
Too, word was out that Marengo North English didn't approve. He said this wasn't the time. The captains of many sister nut groups agreed. They asked for restraint now, promising license later.
"Interesting times," I told Morley.
"It's always something." Like he hadn't the least concern. "Well, here's our guest."
The clumsy guy smelled a rat. He was moving carefully. Trouble was, his sniffer wasn't sensitive enough. It was too late by the time he got a good whiff.
Morley waved. "Come on over."
The guy looked around. Just the way he moved you could tell he thought his luck was with him still. He was in it up to his chin but knew he always got out. So maybe this time he would fall up and blow away on the breeze. A regular dandelion seed.
Morley's friends and relatives and employees closed a ring. Luck failed its compact with our man. Gravity didn't reverse itself.
I thumbed a wood chip while Morley watched the man get a grip on his disappointment.
"Pull up a step, Ace," I told him.
He did, but he had the fidgets. He kept looking for his lucky exit.
I told him, "I didn't really want you. But I can't get ahold of Winger." Not that I'd tried.
"What? Who?"
"Your girlfriend. Big blond goof with no common sense, always has an angle, never tells the truth if a lie will do. Her."
"Part of that fits everybody in this thing," Morley said. "Even up on the Hill, they turned the truth to quicksilver."
"Untruths, too."
"Quicksilver lies. I like that."
"Deadly quicksilver lies." I spotted friend C.J. Carlyle. "Look who missed the slaughter at Maggie Jenn's place."
Our guest eyed us as though he was sure we were loony. Winger must have mentioned my stint in the Bledsoe. He never noticed C.J. I said, "No telling what story you got from Winger. She comes up with some tall ones. I've known her since s
he came to town. I don't remember her ever telling the truth if there wasn't a profit in it."
Our man didn't reply, but his skill at hiding his thoughts did not exceed his skill at tailing.
He was inept but loyal. He stayed clammed. I told him, "I want to get ahold of her mainly as a friend." That hadn't been the case the night before. A few hours had altered my perspective. "I no longer think she could tell me anything I don't know. I am sure I know a few things she doesn't. Things that could get her killed. Maybe right after they get you killed."
Not only did I get him thinking, I got his attention.
He didn't plan to die for love. Guys just aren't romantic anymore. He had something going with Winger—and he had a real good idea just what that was worth.
He didn't speak up, though.
"She isn't going to get those books," I told him. "Not a chance. All the guts and luck you can muster won't get that done."
The man stayed clammed. So did Morley, though he looked like he wanted to hear more. I told him, "When you get past all the blown smoke, Winger and Cleaver are after a set of first editions of When No Ravens Went Hungry. Winger has the notion she can get them away from the Rainmaker." She had an even sillier notion that she could decipher the clues in them once she had them.
"The woman doesn't suffer from any lack of self-confidence."
"Trouble is, she's digging through the wrong haystack. The Rainmaker doesn't have the firsts. He could have grabbed them all, but he didn't pay attention so the one he did come up with got away."
Morley gave me a big evil dark-elf grin. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to explain everything again? How come I have the notion I ought to bet the deed to the Joy House against you?"
I snarled at our captive, "Tell Winger she's wasting her dreams. Cleaver can't lay hands on more than two books. Go on. Get out of here."
Baffled, the man went, maybe thinking he had found another angle to his luck.
Morley asked, "What was that? I set up a major operation, then you mutter some cryptic stuff at the guy and let him go."
"You fooling somebody? You know this mess has got to do with Eagle's treasure."
"Maybe. Sort of. I had a passing interest when I thought you'd stumbled onto something there in the West End."
"What you told me then was the key to the whole thing," I exaggerated. That wasn't a lie. Not really. Not exactly.
The truth was I was guessing again, playing with the known information. I had it figured out, but as Dotes hinted, I'd been wrong before. I yelled after Winger's friend, "Tell Winger what I said." To Morley, "She'll ignore me and do something dumb, but this way my conscience will be satisfied."
64
I expected more grief about letting Winger's guy go. But after the one snip, Morley leaned back and, apparently, never gave it a second thought.
I started to nag him... .
"Can it, Garrett. Once upon a time I had a notion. But I changed my mind."
I awarded him the grandfather of all raised eyebrows.
"Last night Julie wasn't there to distract me. I got to thinking about Eagle's saga. And guess what I realized? Nowhere does it say that the jerk was really rich—by our standards."
I indulged in a self-satisfied smirk. My good buddy was telling me I'd figured the angles right. "You ever wonder how Eagle murdered those slaves? If he was so blind and feeble he needed them to haul and bury his treasure, how could he get the angle on them slick enough to off them all?"
Obviously, Morley hadn't wondered. "Sometimes I do like the way your mind works, Garrett."
"Let me tell you something you maybe don't know." I hadn't known till I got it from Linda Lee, back when I was reading sagas. "Most of the sagas were composed at the instigation of the guys they're about. The No Ravens thing was done by Eagle's sister's grandson, partly in collaboration with the old man himself. And they started long before the business of the mocking women, the treasure, and the murdered slaves."
"I'm sure you'll get to the point eventually."
"You see it. Unless you're slower than you pretend. Say a guy is paying to have puff stories written about him. Not only will he decide what he wants put in and built up, he'll decide what gets played down or left out."
"You mean like maybe Eagle wasn't a big success just because he was treacherous and quick with a blade? Maybe he had a small natural talent as a wizard?"
"Bingo! He was accused by others, but obviously it wasn't anything major, nothing backed by formal training. He wouldn't have stayed quiet about it if he'd had a sheepskin declaring him a heavyweight ass-kicker. But he had something that helped him slide through the tight places."
"There'll be curses on the treasure, then."
"That's the way these things are done."
"There'll be ill-tempered ghosts in the neighborhood."
"What are murders for?"
The Eagle sort isn't uncommon. Usually he tries to parlay his lucky genetic draw into a big, fast score. Manipulating the fall of dice is a favorite pastime. Hobbling around on crutches after getting found out is another.
"Also, if you ask me, it couldn't be much of a treasure, even if it hasn't been found. They figured wealth different back then."
"Indeed. And here's a thought." Which he didn't bother to relate.
"Well?" I snapped.
"Just checking to see if you've taken up your partner's evil habit of reading minds. Or have started reasoning from the available evidence."
"Not me."
"Silver, Garrett. Silver. You said it. They figured wealth differently in primitive times. Silver wasn't worth much."
It was now, though. Even with the war seemingly settled and the mines solidly in Karentine hands, the silver shortage was severe. The disappearance of silver coinage threatened to strangle business.
Silver fuels most heavyweight sorcery. Lately its value has been on a par with gold. The Royal Mint has been valiant in its efforts to produce alternate means of exchange, some of which are pretty unwieldy.
Silver. An apparent opportunity to unearth an old cache would excite all sorts of greed.
"By the Devil Harry," I swore, rolling out one of my granny's favorites. "Maybe you just tripped over the real core of the thing." That might even explain why a nose-hoister like Marengo North English would take an interest in the daughter of the notorious Maggie Jenn. It might explain why all this insanity had come to a head at this point in time.
The silver shortage wasn't likely to ease soon. Maybe never if the wrong people grabbed control of mine production.
"But what do I do about it?" I muttered.
Morley frowned my way. "Excuse me?"
"I think you're right. We have all sorts interested in Eagle's treasure because of the distorted metals market. People who wouldn't have given it a thought in normal times. Probably including my honey's daddy."
"Here comes that explanation." He stunned me by hoisting an eyebrow.
I got my breath back. "You been practicing."
"Almost forever. What about Chaz's father?"
"Call it intuition, but I'd bet your deed to the Joy House that what he really hated losing to the Rainmaker and Maggie back when was a first edition of the middle volume of When No Ravens Went Hungry. Which Emerald took when she ran away from home. Which she gave to Wixon and White for safekeeping, or they got it away somehow. That book is why I was hired. It's why Emerald was framed up with the black magic stuff. Cleaver knew where she was. He couldn't get to her. He thought he'd toss me in there to butt heads with the human rights guys and maybe break her loose."
I rolled right along till I took note of Morley's smug smile. He stared into infinity, listening with half an ear. "What?"
"I was right. It's another explanation. You realize your theories clash?"
"We're not talking mutually exclusive, though. We have a lot of secret motives driving people. You aren't helping me for the same reason I'm helping Chaz's pop."
"I won't argue that, though I wish I w
as. You made up your mind yet?"
"Huh?"
"About what to do now."
"I'm going to stroll out to this estate. See what Emerald says."
"Flashing more nerve than brains, Garrett. You're jumping into deep doodoo."
I laughed. The professional lifetaker couldn't say one word that flowed easily from naughty six-year-olds. "With my eyes open."
"You're doing a Winger on me, aren't you?"
"What?"
"You've got an angle."
"I'm just not as paranoid as you. And I know how to talk to those people. You stroke their egos and let them think you love the cracks in their pots and they'll act like you're visiting royalty."
Dotes didn't agree but didn't argue. He suggested, "Maybe you'll take Saucerhead along?"
65
I didn't take Saucerhead. I didn't need any help. I was just going to chat with a teenage girl.
I didn't take anybody but me because I sold myself the notion that Marengo North English was committed to an old-fashioned, rigidly fair way of doing things.
So I fooled myself. Eagerness to meet Emerald Jenn didn't take me anywhere near Marengo North English. The estate belonged to the character who had sent his pals to roust me, a fact I could have determined had I bothered to do a little homework before hitting the trail. One Elias Davenport owned The Tops. Elias Davenport thought Marengo North English was a candyass who was just pussyfooting around the human rights thing. Elias was ready to act.
I didn't listen when Slither told me who brought Emerald's invitation.
Getting onto the grounds of The Tops wasn't a problem. Managing a sit-down with Emerald was a little more trouble.
Silly me. I thought they'd let me see her, get me out of their hair, forget the whole thing. I had no idea they were out of control.
I figured it out, though.
The guys who smiled me through the manor gate shed their senses of humor when the gate chunked shut. Their eyes got mean. They kept on grinning, but the only part of the joke they wanted to share was the punchline. Kidney high.
