by Glen Cook
Everybody but me got into the mix-up. Ivy and Spud propped me against a wall and jumped into it. I stood there so focused on trying not to fall that I had little attention left for rooting for my pals. I did try fishing something useful out of my pockets, but the effort was too much for what meager energy I had left.
I didn't even realize who this bunch were till Mugwump appeared amid the second wave. By then things had grown too serious to be settled amicably. We had dead and bad hurt people everywhere, mostly on the Rainmaker's side, but poor addlepate Ivy made a wrong move and accidentally got himself stabbed in the back about forty-five times. The Goddamned Parrot ripped the scalp off the character responsible, a ratman so weeded up he couldn't stop stabbing long enough to brush the bird off his head.
Slither picked Mugwump up and tossed him about forty yards, then headed for the Rainmaker, who had just made his appearance, had spotted Saucerhead already headed his way, and was concentrating on evading that behemoth. Then Cleaver saw Slither coming, squealed and ducked between the two big men. I wondered where he had managed to find so many brunos stupid enough to work for him, what with everybody in TunFaire out to buy his head. Maybe he put on his girl disguise and let them think they were working for a woman.
His thugs sure were disconcerted when they recognized my friends.
Slither was altogether too determined to pay Cleaver back for Ivy and his own old grievances. He threw pieces of people right and left as he stormed after the Rainmaker, but he never quite caught up and he didn't keep an eye out behind him. I tried to yell, but my yeller was out of action. Just as he grabbed the raving runt somebody stuck a dagger in his spine. I would have cried for him if I could. Instead, I spent my last reserve to bawl, "Powziffle pheez!"
Slither was a dead man, but he didn't let that slow him down. Nobody he could reach enjoyed the experience. He broke Morley's arm. All Morley was trying to do was get out of his way.
I tried to get my feet moving toward a doorway, but they just wouldn't cooperate. Davenport's headbusters must have given me something more than a beating. I had a bad feeling I wasn't going to make a getaway the way I had at the Bledsoe, even with Slither demolishing the unenthusiastic crowd Cleaver had brought.
I did reflect that everyone who'd ever trailed me seemed to have come to the Tops. I guess everybody thought I was about to glom the mystic trilogy.
About the time Slither wound down, one of the Rainmaker's thugs got a knife into Winger's boyfriend. She had a blood fit, jumped some guys trying to get away. They didn't make it.
I glanced around. It looked like Winger and Grange Cleaver were the only players not hurt. Saucerhead was leaning against a wall, looking pale. Sarge was down, but I couldn't tell how badly he was injured. Spud, with T.G. Parrot on his back, cussing, was on hands and knees not having much luck getting back up. Morley, despite his injury, was making sure none of Cleaver's thugs ever inconvenienced him again.
Looked to me like the whole thing had been a blood sacrifice in aid of nothing. Nobody profited and a lot of people lost big.
I was proud of myself. With a little help from my pal the wall I was making headway toward a door.
Movement took all my concentration. I had to stop to catch up on the struggle.
Things had not gone well. The floor was littered with bad guys, but the good guys had vanished. Unless you counted the Goddamned Parrot, who swooped around exercising the slime end of his vocabulary. I wanted to yell for Morley or Winger or somebody, but my yeller was out of commission.
Cleaver was still upright. So was Mugwump, mainly because he was so wide he rolled back upright whenever somebody knocked him over. Slither had had the right idea: just hurl him through the wall.
Where were my pals?
Ducking somebody else's pals?
I was moving again when Cleaver and Mugwump got to me, just as yet another gang of players plunged into this pool of insanity.
I recognized one, Belinda's specialist, Cleland Justin Carlyle. I assumed his companions were Outfit heavyweights, too.
Now I knew why my friends had disappeared.
Carlyle and his buddies had blood in their eyes. Events at the Jenn house had to be avenged. Somebody messes with syndicate guys, somebody has to pay. Didn't matter then much who.
Mugwump grabbed me by the shirtfront. He snagged Cleaver with his other hand. He hauled us both to a door. I don't know what he was thinking. I guess he was a little distressed. He chucked Cleaver through, held me a second, rasped, "Even, fella," and chucked me, too.
Into some damned hidey-hole behind the ever-loving thrones of the lunatic judges of the Call. Not through an exit.
Mugwump made a whole lot of noise negotiating with the boys from the Outfit. Then the debate ended. Utter silence filled the universe... unless you counted the sonofabitching Goddamned Parrot, who wouldn't shut up if you drowned him.
Everybody else had left him behind. Maybe I could work it that way, too.
Not bloody likely. Not with my luck. The gods probably had me whipped up on like this just so I couldn't shed that talking feather duster.
It was real tight in that closet. It hadn't been intended to take two people. It hadn't been intended to take two people of the sorts we were.
Well, Mugwump had put me close enough to Cleaver to choke him, which is where I'd wanted to be for a while. But I didn't have the strength.
The squabble between the parrot and sanity continued as I blurted, "Get your hands off me!" I suppose prowlers nearby, possessed of sharp ears, might have heard. Might have understood, too. My diction was improving. "I don't play your game."
Cleaver giggled.
And I blushed red enough to glow in the dark. Because Cleaver's movements had nothing to do with me. Sometimes the man did dumb stuff, but only a total damnfool would make a pass with slavering cutthroats stalking around looking to chop him into beagle chow.
"Garrett, you're a wonder." That was the voice of Maggie Jenn, sizzling like a red hot poker. "Maybe I will lay hands on. If we get out of here."
"Back off!" I barked.
He backed. But his Maggie voice chuckled wickedly. Evil, evil person. A moment later, he became all business. "You have your strength back?"
"They gave me something. I'm not going to be any good for anything for a long time."
"We have to step out of here sometime. And I don't have so much as a nail file."
I said "Fooey!" which is dwarvish for "Oh, shit!" Getting out was a significant goal. Out of the closet—out of that closet, damn it!—out of the Tops, maybe even out of the province for a while, all seemed attractive goals. The mess here was beyond any cover-up now.
The closet door whipped open.
Light poured in. It nearly blinded me. I could barely make out the silhouette of somebody short and impatient. The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, cussing.
69
"Get out of there!" a hard voice snapped. I shuddered—then recognized the voice.
"Relway?"
"Yes." The little halfbreed secret policeman was curt always, impatient forever. "Move it."
"I wondered if you or the firelord's men would turn up."
"Direheart's guy was the first one here: you. And I find you in a closet with some bimbo in yet another place where we're gonna need wagons to haul the stiffs off."
Relway's men helped us out of the closet. They were particularly solicitous of the bimbo.
I covered my surprise. They said Cleaver was a master of disguise. Here was proof. That bit of wiggling in the dark had been him rearranging his clothing and donning a black wig. He looked like the devil woman lurking around many a man's fantasies.
Relway said, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for who owns this place. Block kowtows to the panjas, but I... " He stopped before he wasted half an hour on a favorite gripe.
"Panjas. I haven't heard them called that since I was a kid."
"Call me old-fashioned. What's your story, Garrett?"
"The girl I'm looking
for was supposed to be here. I got a letter supposedly from her. Wanted me to come talk. I came. Some thugs grabbed me, I woke up here drugged to the gills, tied into a chair. They started asking questions that made no sense. Then a bunch of people busted in, there was a fight, somebody cut me loose maybe figuring I was one of their guys. I headed for cover since I wasn't in any shape to help myself."
He seemed somewhat less than convinced that I was telling the whole story. Can't figure why. He showed no interest in Cleaver and didn't ask questions about known associates of one Garrett who might have been seen lurking.
I asked, "Why is Elias Davenport of interest?"
"He's a lunatic panja who makes the rest of the Call look like a social club. He's behind most of the rioting. What kind of magic did they use?"
"Magic?"
"Something made a lot of corpses. Put holes right through them. No weapon will do that."
"Didn't play no favorites, neither, Lieutenant," one of Relway's men observed. Relway grunted.
I said, "I never got a good look, but I thought it was a giant bug. Some guy took it out by whacking it with a shovel." Said guy and his guilty tool weren't lying all that far away. Relway stepped over for a moment, scowled down.
He asked, "You get what you came for?"
"Hell, no! Never saw her. I came straight here. Wherever here is—I never saw the in-between."
Again Relway's look said he lacked conviction in his acceptance of my tale. People just don't take your word anymore. "That so? I'll be busy picking up the pieces here now. I'll want to talk later. Meantime, you might report to the firelord. I have a feeling he's uncomfortable with the bloodshed that follows you."
"I can go?"
"Just don't go so far I can't find you."
"Perish the thought." I tried to recall old war buddies who lived outcountry and might put me up.
"Garrett."
I stopped oozing toward the doorway. "Yeah?"
"Unusual mix of stiffs. You happen to notice who brought them in here?" His tone and expression suggested his thoughts were on a plane not even vaguely connected to my own.
"Not really. Not that I recognized."
"Any centaurs? Anyone with an unusual accent?"
"Huh?" He really was somewhere else.
"You see anybody might have been a refugee from the Cantard?"
"Not that I knew was. Why? What's up?"
"There's cause to think the refugees have organized for their own protection. Directed by fugitive Mooncalled officers."
"Oh." Now wouldn't that be the bloom on the rose? TunFaire hiding Glory Mooncalled's survivors. "Interesting notion." Relway would give it up as soon as he identified a few bodies.
I resumed traveling. I made sure I kept a deathgrip on my bimbo. And a close watch on her free hand, lest it dart into her bosom in search of some equalizer.
Cleaver always had a fallback.
70
Looked like Relway had brought the secret police cavalry brigade. Must have been ten thousand horses outside the manor house. Every damned one gave up tearing up property to glare malice my way. I limped and lumbered in between police equipment carts and made my getaway before they could get organized.
They aren't so bright. If you catch them by surprise, you can get the best of them.
A guy had passed me while I was creaking up the stair from Davenport's cellar. He must have given the word I was free to go. Hardly anyone even bothered to notice me, except a few vaguely familiar guys who nodded.
Cleaver kept his lip buttoned till we were far from anybody who might listen in. "That was nice, Garrett. You could've ratted me out."
"I didn't do you any favor."
"I didn't think so, but I wanted to check." He made a feeble attempt to get away. You could almost hear him sorting options.
I glanced back. Those horses had decided to let me go. This time. They seemed nervous, preoccupied. Weird, considering this was a chance to hoof me some major grief.
Cleaver sensed my unease. "What's up?"
"Something weird here."
"You just noticed?" That in a Maggie voice.
"Besides our weirdness. Walk faster." I smelled politics. Relway was around. Relway's world didn't encompass good guys and bad. Heads there didn't get busted for profit but for the power to make people do what they were told rather than what they wanted.
I let myself become distracted. Cleaver tried to yank my arm out by the roots. He got loose. I chugged after him, running weakly. The front gate came in sight. The little villain was gaining when he went through. I kept on plugging. I could outlast him. I was used to running.
Galoop, galoop, I turned into the lane. And, behold, there was my pal Grange Cleaver, passing the time of day, ducking around and betwixt Morley, Sarge, and Spud, who were trying to surround him. Sarge and Spud seemed to be in moods as dark as mine. Morley, though, was grinning like a croc about to pounce on a not very bright wild pig.
Cleaver chopped him on the bum wing. He yelped. Cleaver pranced past and darted away.
"Hi," I puffed.
Morley said a few things. Surprised me. Spoke quite fluent profanity when he wanted. Then he added, "Your luck with girls never improves, does it! Even that kind runs away."
"He bet he could beat me back to town. I was gaining on him." There was no hope of catching Cleaver now.
"Of course you were."
"Where's Mr. Big, Mr. Garrett?" Spud rasped. The kid was putting on a show of boldly standing up to his pain.
"Damn! It's silver lining time." I glanced back at the gate. "If we're lucky, by now Relway has taken all the beak he can stand and he's twisted its fowl head off."
The kid glared daggers.
I asked Morley, "You going to be all right?"
"I'm giving up cartwheels. Listen. Somebody coming."
Turned out to be a lot of somebodies.
We faded into the woods opposite the Tops before another troop of Guards arrived, their mounts acting spooky. "Those look like regular cavalry," Morley whispered.
Did to me, too. "Relway is putting on a big show." I wondered if maybe there wasn't something to his paranoia.
"We better scat," Sarge suggested. " 'Fore they get so thick we cain't move."
Good idea.
"Not yet," Morley said.
Baffled, Sarge asked, "How come you want to hang out?"
Good question. We couldn't do ourselves any good.
"I'm waiting for Tharpe."
"He all right?" I asked.
"Was."
"How long we gonna... ?"
"I'll let you know, Sarge. Garrett!"
I'd begun shaking, had lost focus. I had passed beyond the immediacy of the moment and had time to reflect on what I'd lived through. And on the fact that a couple of mentally handicapped guys hadn't made it... "What?"
"You're the healthiest. Go watch for Saucerhead."
I sighed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to put myself to bed and sleep a week, till the pain and guilt were gone. Then I could get shut of this life. I could see Weider, tell him I was ready to take that full-time security job. They don't drug you and torture you and kill your friends at the brewery—and you're never far from a beer.
I found me a nice spot and settled to watch the manor gate.
I'd been there just seconds when buzzing flies and an odd odor grabbed my attention. Well. Fresh horse apples. And horsehair in the bark of a nearby tree. I looked around. Leaves on the ground had been turned. I found the impression of a shod hoof smaller than that of any riding horse. The shoe style would be recognized by anyone who had served in the Cantard.
It was a centaur's shoe.
The impression wasn't clear enough to tell me which tribe, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that a centaur had been watching the manor gate from this same spot until very recently.
The ugly angles grew heavier by the minute. I wanted away. None of this stuff out here had anything to do with me and my troubles.
71
That misbegotten Saucerhead. He didn't bother using the gate even though there was nobody there to contest it. He came over the wall, down the lane. I noticed when a major tree branch suddenly dipped its chin in the dust. It popped when Tharpe let loose.
He was carrying somebody.
How does the man do these things? He isn't human. I limped over. "What you got?" Like I hadn't figured it out at first glance.
Her mother had told me that she looked like her only with less wear. I promise you, Maggie Jenn turned them to stone in her day. The kid made it plain why Teddy went goofy back when.
"Spotted her when we was sneaking out. I figured it wasn't right we went to all that trouble, so many folks got hurt, you didn't get a crack at what started it all."
His shirt wiggled, heaved. Something made an ugly noise. I had a bad feeling.
Saucerhead worsened it immediately. "Oh. Yeah. I brung your bird. I stuffed him in my shirt on account of he wouldn't shut up."
I brandished a fist at the sky.
The breeze in the boughs sounded like divine snickers.
Saucerhead asked, "You want the bird or the girl?"
"Looks like I got the bird already."
"To carry." He did understand, though. "The chit, she don't really want to come."
"No. And you with your sweet tongue."
She hadn't said anything yet. She didn't now but did flash me a cold look that made me glad she couldn't do what she was thinking.
"Give me the talking feather duster. I can't manage anything bigger."
"Suit yourself." Saucerhead had kept the girl on his shoulder, sack of grain style. He asked her, "You want to walk? Or do I got to keep carrying you?"
She didn't answer. Saucerhead shrugged. He hardly noticed her weight.
The others joined us, drawn by our voices. Spud fussed over the bird. Morley had rigged himself some crude splints. I gestured at the parrot. "My pal had to do me a favor."
