by Glen Cook
Deal Relway may be on to something. He’s clearing the raging idiots out of the criminal class.
There are people out there in definite need of disappearing. Problem is, once you start, how do you confine yourself to the ‘‘right’’ bad guys? And do we want our only surviving criminals to be people too smart to get caught?
Garrett. It is past time you dragged your self-deluded posteriorout of bed.
Everybody has an opinion. And, as my old platoon sergeant explained, they all reek like the waste sphincter everyone also has.
Garrett.
The sending was gentle. Like the soft voice of your father just before he lets you have it upside the head.
Old Bones wasn’t in a patient mood.
Truth on a silver tray. Get dressed. Eat. Then get in here.
While I endured attitude from my sidekick, my favorite redhead vanished. She dressed, headed downstairs, ate, and was gone before I tied into my own sausages with biscuits and gravy. A country-style breakfast Dean uses as a hammer when he thinks I need reminding that I’m not nobility.
‘‘You’re losing it, old man. Or maybe you’ve just gone loony.’’
He was ahead of me. Knowing I’d think the menu was a statement. ‘‘The thing in there expects you to work a long day. What little is left. I wanted you to eat something that will stay with you.’’
‘‘Dean, you need to test the job market. See what’s available for a man your age, with your skills. After that, come give me another ration of shit.’’
Oh. I was feeling it now. My head throbbed. My patience was short. I couldn’t work up a good goddamn’s worth of care about anything. Faced with the worst atrocity in all history—or its all-time best moment—my response would have been an indifferent, ‘‘Ain’t that some shit?’’ While I felt around for my beer mug.
‘‘I hope your attitude improves before you have to deal with people who might not suffer in silence.’’
I grumbled some. Fortified by breakfast and armed with a fresh round of honeyed tea, I trudged off to play dueling sullens with my business partner.
46
Singe came out of the Dead Man’s room. She glowed like fresh-minted sunshine. Her arms were full. I didn’t volunteer to help. She chirped a bright greeting. It’s hard to be nasty toward Singe, however bleak I feel. The guilt afterward is poisonous.
She explained, ‘‘I’m moving my business stuff. The furnishings are supposed to come today.’’
Even a mention of frittering my money didn’t set me off. I grumbled politely. Though not politely enough to suit. She got huffy.
I settled into my chair. I drank tea. As he sometimes does, Dean had spiked the pot with something to ease my headache and stomach.
The biscuits and greasy gravy were lying heavy already.
I said, ‘‘I never learn. Is it possible that I can’t?’’
His Nibs was feeling less confrontational.That is not quite the case. Your people, despite their gifts of memory and senses of history and mortality, despite their being able to foresee the consequences of actions taken, seldom bother.
‘‘Huh?’’
You people cannot shed your animalistic tendency to live life in the moment. Even the most brilliant of you ignore tomorrow’s certain pain in order to enjoy today’s fleeting pleasure. The hangover is Nature’s perfect metaphor.
‘‘All right.’’
He did have that right. Dumb as it sounds when you have your reason kicked in. You tipple of an evening, you don’t think about how you’ll feel in the morning. No matter how often you’ve been disinclined to wake up and suffer the consequences.
And you for damned sure do not want anyone to remindyou.
‘‘Hey!’’
Singe was back. She made a startled squeak.
‘‘Sorry. I was barking at him, not you.’’
She loaded up, went away.
Are you ready? There is work to do.
He seemed eager. That was disturbing. He is more allergic to real productivity than I am.
We face a mighty challenge! You cannot imagine how much I am enjoying myself, winkling out the hidden meaningsof everything going on with all that you have stumbled into or over.
He was going to be cheerful? Sickening. Just sickening.
‘‘I do hope you enjoy yourself. Big time. Because it just occurred to me that my boy genius, Cypres Prose, on whose freaky brain the company depends for product ideas, is a serious candidate for Mr. Deal Relway’s special justice.’’
Pursuant to his bad habits, which keep getting badder, Old Bones took a look inside my head without asking.
Oh my! That had not occurred to me, either.
Two bodies had been found at the World, both mutilated by bugs. One was still breathing when the vermin started chewing. The law could lay that death on whoever created the bugs.
Kip Prose might be facing a manslaughter rap. Him and the Faction.
I regained confidence quickly. Kip’s pals came off the Hill. Their mommies and daddies would cover them. They’d cover Kip. And my cut of the ingenious ideas would keep right on coming.
After his moment of self-disgust—he was supposed to see things I didn’t, and had lapsed several times lately— Old Bones moved on.None of that is germane at this point. We are being paid to end the problems at the World. Anythingelse would be incidental and serendipitous. Not so?
‘‘So.’’ He was right. He always is about business responsibility.
But it is all still a hugely exciting puzzle.
What the hell was he thinking? I was getting worried.
We are going to do two things immediately. And a few things more once the right people have passed through my sphere of influence.
Naturally, he did not explain his thinking.
You are too easily distracted. Though, admittedly, less so now that your involvement with Miss Tate is progressing beyond the adolescent.
That involvement ought to concern him. If it gets much more serious, him and Dean and Singe will have to find new digs.
Diffuse amusement. Cause not explained.
Your immediate task is to visit the Royal Library. See if you can find anything that sheds light on our situation.
‘‘And then what?’’ Because I wouldn’t be at the library long. They weren’t going to let me in. I was in deep, bad odor with my friend there because of all my hanging out with Tinnie. I hadn’t been round to see Lindalee in ages. And Lindalee’s boss has me on her all-time shit list.
Bad memories. Last time I went to the library I’d been ambushed by a guy who was mostly troll or ogre. I wasn’t sure which. I was too busy getting away.
Fond recollections of Lindalee, though. Fond recollections.
Stop that.
‘‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to kick your prude-sparking trip wire.’’
You are wasting time. You must visit the library. You must see Mr. Tharpe at the World. You must organize an expedition into the hidden places beneath that abandoned house. We need more information.
‘‘Hey! There are only so many hours . . .’’
And you have wasted a significant fraction lying in bed. You continue to waste it on argument. The truth you refuse to acknowledge is that neither wickedness nor good fortune willingly conform to your preferred schedule.
Ouch! How do you come back hard once you’ve been slapped in the chops with a brass-bound Truth? ‘‘When I’m King of the World—’’
Go to the library. Now. I do wish Miss Winger were available.I could use her literate shadow. We could get a great deal more accomplished much more quickly.
Were he among the breathing I would’ve wondered what he was chewing.
Get going. Patience exhausted. Cranky again.
Nagged unto death, I donned my loaner coat and went. A Singe all thrilled because she had her own office now, bigger than mine, all to herself alone, shut the door behind me.
I saw all kinds of unhappy truths during my descent to the pavements of Macunad
o Street. Inthat direction Little Miss High Priestess in Exile, Penny Dreadful, waited for me to disappear so she could cadge a meal and, probably, make me look even badder. Inthis direction lurked a guy I couldn’t see who radiated a cosmically bad odor.Yonder , a clutch of nonchalant loiterers in mufti, with tin whistles under their shirts, looked forward to getting some exercise trudging around TunFaire behind the city’s most lovable former Marine.
Barate Algarda was in the gallery, too. Lurking with less success than Felhske. Could I lure him close enough for the Dead Man to snap up?
Head east. Turn south on Wizard’s Reach. Then take the alley. Try not to frighten Penny.
A pear-shaped, bug-loving teen sat on the steps to Mrs. Cardonlos’ establishment, uphill. He had fallen asleep. Thereby failing to note the magnitude of his folly. The Relway Runners avoided disturbing him as they came and went. I wondered what the hell he was doing but did not want to put him on the spot by stopping to ask.
I followed the Dead Man’s suggestion. Except for the part about not scaring Penny Dreadful. I couldn’t resist.
Round the block I went, in a direction I seldom travel. And came back into Macunado nose to nose with the Cardonlos place. I was tempted to drop in unannounced. Or maybe play a game of wild goose with the widow’s houseguests, leading them around till the spring thaw came.
I would have done it, too. A few years ago. Deal Relway be damned.
That old devil maturity had a hold on me.
Absent Barate Algarda, I toddled onward, onward, into TunFaire’s black bureaucratic heart. To the Chancellery, where I took time to enjoy the ranting of the hardy lunatics spouting paranoid conspiracy theories and political absurdities on the building’s steps. A last taste while I could get it. This tradition wouldn’t last. Some raving conspiracy theorists lack the sense to leave Deal Relway out of their formulae.
A sizable percentage of the city’s population waited impatiently while I indulged. All those potential witnesses wanted me to get on along and do something interesting.
In ages past, in the long ago, when I’d wanted to get into the Royal Library—which isnot for the use of any hairy Tom Dick who claims he’s Karentine—I’d shown up at a particular side door. A small cash transfer blinded the guard there. The unstated rule being, I’d start no fires and wouldn’t pee in the corners while I was inside.
No tip, however, ever sheltered me from the wrath of sweet Lindalee’s superiors. Who were sure thumbscrews and branding irons were too good for someone who actually wanted to look inside their books. Or maybe wanted to get close to a particular young librarian.
No reasonable man expected exemption from betrayal under the circumstances obtaining at the Royal Library. A smart man handled his business fast.
And here, now, with the weak half of an army tracking me, where was the point of expecting privacy?
47
I went to my special side door. No way a lowlife like me could walk in through the front. There are maybe fifteen Royals who enjoy that privilege.
Snootiness doesn’t keep us lesser beings out. If we’re armed with the silver key.
The old soldier watching the door was new. He didn’t know me, either. But he liked my coat. I could tell. And he was old pals with the dead king on the chunk of silver I passed him. He didn’t even speak. He just closed his eyes as a stray gust whiffed into the library. Probably planning an outing with his old pal, King Whoever.
I headed for the rare books, not sneaking. Hardly anyone visited them, though Lindalee always enjoyed their company.
For a moment I feared I might feel guilty about how I’d treated Lindalee. Maybe even about how I’d treat her now, considering I was fenced in by Tinnie.
Curses! This was worse than the hives. I was breaking out all over in abad case of growing up. And wasn’t worried about finding a cure.
I took a wrong turn. In the sense that I rounded a stack and buried my beautiful honker in the brown sweater armoring the belly of a familiar ogre. Wool on an ogre? Yes. This big boy looked like the male equivalent of the librarian stereotype. He even wore reading glasses, which are expensive. Even when their lens don’t have to be custom-ground.
The ogre didn’t move. There was no way around him. He had an acre of foot at the end of each tree trunk of a leg. The outsides of those lapped against the bases of the stacks to either hand.
In the real world ogre expressions are easily read. There is snarling while they sleep. And there’s snarling as they try to rip bits off of you. They don’t stand around looking at you like the unexpected rat dropping that just surfaced in the porridge.
That’s what this one did. He stared. Then he stared some more, upper lip rising in a sneer. He did nothing else but breathe. And take up space.
I apologized for my clumsiness and stepped back.
With my nose in brown wool I was too close to handle easily. I did him a favor by opening the range. He took advantage, latching on to various limbs. In seconds I was back in the weather, floundering in nasty slush, my spiffy borrowed coat all wet, filthy, and torn. Poindexter the literary ogre was back inside. Through the open doorway I heard him suffer harpy shrieks because he had been too gentle.
That wasn’t Lindalee being shrill. That was her boss. A lovable spinster—for whom they invented the word ‘‘harridan’’ because nothing already out of the forge was harsh enough to fit. She never did like me.
The man I’d reunited with his dead pal stuck his head outside, curious to see how far I had flown before splash-down. He looked guilty round the edges. Like he might have operated some kind of silent alarm.
So much for a cerebral line of investigation.
What now?
48
The Dead Man opened with an oblique, snide observation about pigeons coming home to roost. Singe helped me out of my wet things. She hustled the loaner coat into the kitchen for a drying session. Meanwhile, I nearly panicked, thinking Old Bones had found him a way to get the Goddamn Parrot back.
He was just being a pain.
We will access the library another way. Do we know a respected member of the community who owes us a favor?
‘‘And can read? No. People like that try to stay away from people like us.’’
Unless they go into business with us. Surely, there are those who might be induced. He offered suggestions, including Max Weider, Manvil Gilbey, even Tinnie Tate.
‘‘Tinnie? You looking to start a war?’’
I doubt there would be problems. What competition there may have been is over. I expect Miss Tate and the other woman would spend an afternoon amusing themselves by trading war stories. Or horror stories, as the mood demanded.
That was worth being nervous about.
Go to the World. See what Mr. Tharpe has to report. Ask Miss Winger to come see me.
‘‘What do you want with her?’’
Nothing. As I mentioned recently, I can use her shadow. Who will not come if he knows he is the object of my interest.
‘‘The Remora?’’ I’d thought he was just making mental bathroom noises. Jon Salvation was a standout among the dozen most useless human beings I’d ever met.
Indeed.
I shook my head. No more questions. He might give me answers I didn’t want to hear.
I will want Cypres Prose, too.
Had he mentioned that before? Maybe when I was more focused on beer? My mind wasn’t at peak today.
Or most any other day, inasmuch as you refuse to exerciseit.
‘‘Use it or lose it.’’ See. Mind at half speed. Handing him a straight line like that.
Of late, he’s made a habit of ignoring these opportunities. Leaving me to stew in my own humiliation.
I did not mention Kip Prose before. Perhaps your undermindis engaged even while the rest lies fallow.
It could happen. ‘‘If I run into him. If he’s willing to come back.’’ I reminded him, ‘‘He has been here before.’’
Yes. And I may have missed something
important.
Oh, it pained him to confess. Especially when I observed, ‘‘Hubris.’’
Close.
He was irked with himself. He had gotten sloppy. Too full of himself, and sloppy.
Garrett!
Though you could not have pried it out of him with a giant’s crowbar.
I heard the front door open and shut. ‘‘Where is Singe going?’’
Miss Pular is on a mission.
‘‘And Penny Dreadful? I saw her hanging around out there.’’
She had a report. And hoped I would have more work for her. Likewise, Joe Kerr and his countless siblings.
Uh-oh. It’s not good when he starts playing general and king spider tugging strings from the heart of his web. He has too much fun. And I get scared. And too soon penniless.
Web-spinners are, generally, female. And the brewery is underwriting expenses.
‘‘There are limits, even for Max Weider. Who has a nose for financial bullshit better than Singe’s for a track. What about Barate Algarda? Did you get anything out of him?’’
Embarrassed pause.No. I was unable to gain control. His protection was stronger than before.
‘‘That’s kind of scary.’’ I told him about seeing the pear-shaped boy asleep on the steps of the Cardonlos mansion.
That is odd.
‘‘For a while I was thinking he might be on Relway’s payroll. But that wouldn’t make sense. If he was he wouldn’t be out where people could see him. So I figure he didn’t know where he was when he sat down.’’
Dean appeared. He brought a fine meal. I know that because Dean cooked it. But I was too distracted to enjoy it. I don’t recall what it was. He told me, ‘‘I’ve packed something for you to take along. Since you’ll be out late. Your coat is almost dry.’’
I suffered a fleeting inclination to visit my old-time haunts. Get a take on the pulse of the city today. Very fleeting. I ate. I listened to the Dead Man wax eloquent on the possibilities inherent in a rumor that Dean had stumbled over during a shopping run he hade made while I was off enjoying a lesson in humility.
Glory Mooncalled may be back.
