Deadly Quicksilver Lies gf-7

by Glen Cook

Cleaver lunged at me. I stumbled back. Quick as a conjurer, the Rainmaker spun and flipped his blade. It sank into Direheart's throat.

  I froze. Chaz screamed. Cleaver cackled, whirled, jumped out a window. Chaz grabbed me with one hand and her father with the other, pulled like I could do something.

  A born gentleman, I grabbed blond hair and pried her loose. "You're a physician. Do what you trained for."

  I threw one angry glance at the old woman, let her get on with her shuffling getaway. Oh, she was ready to go now. I went after Cleaver.

  I'm not fond of heights—especially if Mrs. Garrett's boy might conceivably fall therefrom. I paused to eyeball the scaffolding below me.

  Sneering laughter electrified me. I dropped the eight feet to the highest level the workmen had reached. I made a lucky grab and didn't plunge sixty feet to the cobblestones, where shadows darted. I was too far up to recognize anybody—not to mention I didn't consider trying.

  The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, dove through the scaffolding. He zig-zagged like a bat, let out one serious squawk as he ripped past Cleaver. The Rainmaker cursed. Softly.

  I concentrated on not achieving the unexpected experience of flight. All my hands grabbed anything convenient. All my feet assiduously maintained contact with whatever lay beneath them. I stormed slowly toward the Goddamn Parrot's noxious racket.

  Cleaver cursed again. He'd looked down into a dark future. Big trouble was waiting.

  I checked the street, too. Its shadows harbored folks who wanted to talk to the Rainmaker up close and personal. They must have picked up a clue or two via denizens of the Joy House.

  Instead of heading down, Cleaver fled around the Bledsoe. Through one open window I spied Outfit hardcases on the prowl. Belinda must have had a crew on standby.

  I don't quite get Morley's relationship with those people. He's no made man himself. He does them more favors than seems right.

  The Goddamn Parrot kept beaking news of Cleaver's progress. I really wondered about that bird. This was out of character. His natural style would be to betray me, instead.

  The thugs below couldn't see us. They tried to track the bird, too.

  That hunk of spoiled hawk bait blew the big one. Cleaver set an ambush. He let me slink right into it.

  I was twice Cleaver's weight and twice Cleaver's strength and that saved me a three-story decline in fortunes. He threw himself at me. I grabbed some scaffold and absorbed the impact. I tried to glom onto him while I was at it but didn't do real well.

  He ricocheted off me, banged into an upright, bounced back toward the stone face of the Bledsoe, let loose one whimper of outrage, dropped into the gap between scaffolding and building. He scratched and grabbed and banged around as he fell but didn't verbalize at all.

  I followed more cautiously. The Goddamn Parrot flapped around me but managed to keep his big damned beak shut. I caught up.

  Cleaver had broken his fall and dragged himself onto planking maybe ten feet off the ground. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He wasn't in good shape. But he bit down on his pain.

  The vinegar was out of him, but I moved carefully anyway. A guy has the Rainmaker's rep, you're careful with him even after he's dead.

  76

  I dropped to one knee. A hand seized mine. I jerked away for an instant, startled. That hand was warm and soft.

  "We could have had... something. But you're... too damned dumb... Garrett. And stubborn."

  I don't know about stubborn, but I was doing dumb pretty good. I didn't get it right away.

  Cleaver was fading. Didn't seem right, considering his record. A long, agonizing cancer was more in order, not this just kind of drifting off into oblivion.

  My hands were trapped. I didn't try hard to pull away. I had empathy enough to guess what was happening in Cleaver's mind. Though broken, he pulled himself toward me, closer, closer...

  Realization came slowly, sort of sideways, without generating much shock. This creature desperately grasping at one final moment of human contact wasn't male at all.

  I held her. I murmured, "Yes, love," when she returned to her notion that we might have had something remarkable.

  I'd been wrong from the beginning. But so had all TunFaire. Past and present, high and low, we'd all seen only what society had conditioned us to see. And in her madness, she had exploited that blindness.

  There never was any nasty little villain named Grange Cleaver. Not ever. Never.

  I shed a tear myself.

  You had to if you encompassed any humanity, recognizing the enduring hell necessary to create a Grange Cleaver.

  You could weep for the pain of the child while knowing you had to destroy the monster it had become.

  77

  I lost Chaz at the Bledsoe. I don't know why. Maybe, emotionally, she chose to blame me for what had happened to her father.

  Her medical skills hadn't been adequate.

  Whatever the reason, the magic failed that night.

  It was not one of my better nights. I blew the rest of it retailing explanations. Seemed anyone who'd ever heard of me or Grange Cleaver wanted all the dope. I was actually pleased when Relway materialized.

  He was a magic man was Relway. People vanished in droves.

  "It's all straightened out now, Garrett," Colonel Block told me. I was visiting him again. After having been allowed another ten hours of cell time to ripen. I'd had to do my time with the Goddamn Parrot, too. "Weren't nearly so many bodies this time." He looked at me expectantly.

  I tried not to disappoint him but kept it short and got out. He wasn't much interested. Didn't even ask much about the Tops. He was preoccupied with the racial strife.

  I headed for home. I didn't manage to leave the bird of doom behind. For no obvious reason, that breathing feather duster didn't have much to say. Even while we'd been locked up he'd held it down most of the time.

  Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had some terminal bird disease. I couldn't be that lucky.

  Dean didn't respond when I pounded on my front door. Irked, I used my key, went in and stomped around hollering and cussing till I was convinced the old boy wasn't there after all. There was no sign he'd come back.

  Huh? How'd the bird get loose?

  Add another puzzle. Why hadn't Emerald taken advantage of my extended absence? The kitchen suggested that she had visited several times and was less than fanatical about order and cleanliness. But she hadn't tried to bust out.

  Strange.

  Stranger still, T.G. Parrot went to his perch without a squawk.

  That was more than strange. It was suspicious.

  "Justina? I need to tell you something." It wasn't going to be easy.

  She was seated on Dean's bed. She looked at me without emotion but with what seemed too-knowing eyes.

  Straight ahead seemed the best way. I told her.

  She continued to look at me, apparently unsurprised.

  But she did love her mother—despite knowing the truth about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver. She broke.

  I held her while the tears flowed. She accepted that but nothing more and never said a word, even while I led her to the front door and told her she was free to go.

  "Chip off the old blockhead," I muttered, a little put out, as I watched her fade into the crowds. "Oh, but she was beautiful, though."

  I was in no way pleased with the case. I don't like unhappy endings even though they're the most common kind. And I wasn't certain that much had been settled or wrapped up.

  78

  I locked myself in. I didn't answer the door. I just used the peephole whenever some sociopath compulsively exercised his knuckles. I argued with the Goddamn Parrot. That squawking squab was slower than normal but nailed me with the occasional zinger.

  Suspiciouser and suspiciouser.

  Ever bold in the face of despair, I sent a letter up the Hill. Never got so much as a "Drop dead!" back.

  And I'd just about decided Chaz was the lady for me. Oh, well. Live and learn.

/>   I asked Eleanor, "Don't know what she's missing, does she?" That killed the ache, boy.

  I swear Eleanor sneered. I could about hear her whisper, "Maybe she does."

  I got the distinct feeling Eleanor thought it was time I stopped being stubborn about not apologizing to Tinnie Tate for whatever it was I didn't know I did, or maybe never did.

  "Or I could look Maya up. She looked good the other night. And she's got her head on straight." Eleanor's smile threatened to become a grin.

  I broke training once, allowed one special visitor inside. You couldn't refuse the kingpin of crime. Belinda Contague spent an enigmatic half hour at my kitchen table. I didn't disabuse her of her notion that, with the invaluable assistance of my acquaintance Morley Dotes, I'd engineered the fall of Grange Cleaver just for her. I guess for old time's sake.

  She's one spooky black widow of a gal, bones of ice. Probably a real good idea she decided we should stay "just friends." Anything else could turn fatal.

  Belinda expressed herself the one way she knew well, learned at daddy Chodo's knee. She gave me a little sack of gold. I passed it quickly into the Dead Man's care.

  The Rainmaker business had been profitable, anyway.

  Days slipped away. I sneaked out on several little errands, each time discovering that I still had one watcher on me. Becky Frierka was determined to collect her dinner. I saw no evidence her mother discouraged her from dating older men.

  Mostly I kept it up with the bird and Eleanor, then went to reading with a frown that threatened permanent headache. I began to think Dean wasn't coming home and Winger might actually have the sense to stay away from me. Or maybe her luck had run out.

  "It's gotten awful damned quiet," I told Eleanor. "Kind of like in those stories where some dope says, ‘It's too quiet... ' "

  Someone knocked.

  Starved for real conversation, I scurried toward the door. Hell, a night out with Becky didn't sound that bad anymore.

  I peeked. "Well!" Things were looking up. I yanked the door open. "Linda Lee Luther. You lovely thing. I was just thinking about you."

  She smiled uncertainly.

  I grinned. "I've got something for you."

  "I'll bet you do."

  "You're way too young and beautiful to be so cynical."

  "Whose fault is that?"

  "Can't possibly be mine. Come on in here. Got a story to tell you."

  Linda Lee came in but made sure that I saw she still had her cynical face on. And that after she'd come all the way down to see me.

  The Goddamn Parrot let out a whoop. "Hey, mama! Shake it up!"

  "Stifle it, catfood." I closed the door to the small front room. "You interested in a new pet?" So happened I knew she had a cat.

  "If I wanted one that talks, I'd pick up a sailor."

  "Marines are way more interesting." I set us up in the kitchen, which was clean. Life had been that slow. I poured Linda Lee a brandy. She nursed that while I talked about the Rainmaker business.

  One of Linda Lee's less blatant charms is her ability to listen. She doesn't interrupt and she does pay attention. She didn't comment until I paused to freshen my beer and pour her a dribble more brandy. Then she cut right to it. "What did you find when you went back?"

  "Wreckage. The Guard tore the Tops up. Sending a message to the Call. Most of the Venageti were still there. They didn't know where to run. Guys like them could turn out to be another big headache. Come on to my office."

  She gave me a kind of puzzled look, like my office was the last place she expected to be lured. She stretched like a cat as she left her chair. Woo!

  I got my breathing under control. "Plop it into that chair." I squeezed around and into mine, dropped a hand down under my desk, dragged out one of those masterpieces that had been giving me wrinkles. "Look at this."

  "Oh, Garrett!" She squealed. She bounced up and down. She squealed some more, jiggling deliriously all the while. "You found it!" She dashed around the desk and hopped into my lap. "You great big wonderful hero."

  Who am I to complain? I had an idiot bird in the next room covering that. He went to carrying on like he was being murdered. I smirked and surrendered to Linda Lee's excitement.

  When she paused to catch her breath, I leaned down and coaxed another book out of hiding. "Apparently nobody who knew those were there survived the excitement at the Tops. None of the interested parties thought to check, either." At least they hadn't before the notion came to me.

  "This is a true first, too! I've never seen a Raging Blades before. Where did they find it?"

  "It's the book Emerald stole from her mother. Her mother stole it from Firelord Direheart. No telling who he stole it from. The boys at Wixon and White got it away from Emerald somehow, but she complained to her pals in the Call. That wasn't real bright, but how many kids her age, spoiled the way she was, have a full ration of sense?"

  Linda Lee snuggled down and opened the book.

  "Wish you'd treat me that tenderly," I observed.

  "Oh, no. I'm not going to be tender at all." She purred and turned a page.

  I stretched down and retrieved the third book of the trilogy.

  "The Battle-Storm! Garrett! Nobody's had a complete set for three hundred years." She let Raging Blades fall into her lap and grabbed Battle-Storm. I leaned back, relaxed, felt smug.

  I got so relaxed I almost dozed off while Linda Lee sighed over her treasures.

  A squeal of fury ripped me out of a reverie wherein I stood idly by while my old pal Winger enjoyed her just deserts. "What?" Silly me, for a second I thought she'd stumbled onto the secret of Eagle's treasure.

  "This is a forgery! Garrett, look at this page. It shows a watermark that didn't appear till two centuries after Eagle's sagas were recorded." She seemed totally deflated.

  "You were floating a yard off the floor when you only thought you had your Steel-Game back. Now you've got two originals and a copy... "

  "Grrr! Yeah, you're right. But it really makes me mad. It isn't really all a copy or forgery. Part is original. You see what they did? They took out some pages and replaced them with forgeries."

  I showed more interest then. I leaned over. She was examining the book I'd seen at Wixon and White, not, as I'd expected, The Battle-Storm. "Emerald's book. Any idea how long ago it was altered?"

  "The paper is old. It's just not as old as it ought to be. And if you look really close at the ink, you can see it isn't nearly as faded as it should be."

  "Never mind the paper, love. I wanted old paper I'd steal an old book somewhere and scrape some pages down." Which is what master forgers do when a document has to look old.

  "Oh. You're right." She studied the book some more. "I'd guess it was done quite recently. Somebody dismantled it, then put it back together with the new pages but couldn't match the original thread. This looks like a standard bindery thread like what we use at the library." She got after the other two books. "Damn! This Battle-storm isn't even a first. It's early, though. Maybe a student's copy of the Weisdal Illumination. And look! Somebody's tampered with Steel-Game, too. This whole signature is a replacement. They're going to hang me out, Garrett. This book was all right before it was stolen."

  Interesting. It occurred to me to wonder if Emerald Jenn wasn't just as clever and conniving as the woman who'd borne her. "You do have a copy, though. Don't you? Squirreled away, just in case?"

  Linda Lee scowled. "Maybe."

  "Of course you do. It might be interesting to compare texts."

  Up front the Goddamn Parrot started having a fit. Sounded like he was laughing.

  Linda Lee hugged a book to her chest with one hand, gulped the rest of her brandy. "I need you to walk me back to the library."

  "Right now?" Boy, don't whimper.

  "There's nobody there." She took a big key out of a pocket in her skirt. "They're gone for the weekend."

  My white knight side took over. "Of course I'll go with you. People kill people because of these books."

>   I locked my door, pranced down to the street. I waved to Mrs. Cardonlos. She hoisted her nose so fast she threw her neck out of joint. Then I stuck my tongue out at my own house.

  I was sure the gesture wasn't wasted.

  79

  Two days passed. I was distinctly distracted when I headed home. I entertained only one non-nostalgic thought during the walk home. Was I the only sucker who hadn't known about the tampering with the books? Was that why nobody raced to the Tops after the Guard cleared out?

  My door opened as I dug for my key. An old guy about as impressive as Ivy glared out at me. "About time you made an appearance. You turned this place into a shambles. The cupboards are bare. You didn't leave me a groat to shop with."

  Beyond him, the Goddamn Parrot went to work on me, too.

  "I had a feeling my luck wouldn't last."

  "What?"

  "You didn't stay lost." He'd aged, it seemed. Must have been rough work, keeping reality from setting in on the young couple. "You know where the money is."

  He didn't like getting close to the Dead Man so he'd moped around hoping to con me. He didn't say so, though. "And you let someone use my bed."

  "Couple of someones. And a good thing you took your time getting back. Your heart couldn't have taken being around the last one. You going to let me get into my own house? It's too early to be out here." My master plan included half a dozen hours in my own bed. I'd had to vacate the library at that wormcatcher time of day when only abnormals like Dean are awake.

  "Mr. Tharpe is here."

  "Saucerhead? Now?" Tharpe's attitude is more flexible than mine, but he isn't fond of getting out while there's still dew in the shade.

  "He arrived moments ago. Inasmuch as you were expected shortly, I settled him in the kitchen with a cup of tea." Not to mention with most of the meager supplies I'd laid in recently, I discovered.

  Saucerhead seldom lets a polite refusal get between him and a free meal.