by Glen Cook
For more than a minute father and daughter looked as content and happy as two human beings can be.
Their happiness conjured its object ever more clearly. The ghost assumed a form that I could make out, a woman who looked a lot like the Windwalker.
I struggled to disbelieve. I couldn’t let them pull me into their fantasy.
Work stopped. Everyone stared at the odd couple and their ghost, which had acquired substance. It joined hands with Algarda and his daughter. Those two acted like they had hold of something real.
Talking to myself, I muttered something about it might just be possible that my own personal freelance necromancer ought to commence to begin to explain what the hell was going on. Unfortunately, Belle Chimes was too far away to hear me croak.
Weirdness squared. The Algardas had themselves a happy ghost. Unlike all us morally upright twits who ran away from what our secret hearts conjured.
All right. They’d called up his wife and her mother. For both it was a reunion so sweet they welcomed the world to join them.
As their special ghost gained life and definition, the other shimmers faded.
Their ghost began to lose color. In a single minute it diminished till it was just another misty shimmer.
Neither Algarda nor his daughter seemed disappointed. The woman, in fact, had come to life. She was attentive and interested but had nothing to say.
Algarda said, ‘‘That was intriguing. Kevans really was involved in raising these create-your-own-specter things?’’
‘‘Presumably. If you visited my partner you should know as much as I do. Or more. He doesn’t share his speculations with me.’’
Algarda told me what they knew. That didn’t include the compliance device.
I explained what I was up to today. My goal being to get construction back on schedule. Said schedule having suffered ferociously because of the Faction.
Unintended consequences.
I didn’t mention the compliance device, either. We had excitement enough.
The Windwalker touched Algarda’s arm. He bent so she could whisper. Was she crippled by shyness? That would make her unique. Hill people aren’t bashful. Most have ego enough for a clutch of kings.
I filed her timidity under ‘‘Be wary!’’
There would be a lot of power there. Otherwise, she’d never have been invited into the senior caste.
I wasn’t yet clear on what made a Windwalker special. I did know that what you don’t know can kill you quicker than the devil you go to bed with every night.
Algarda said, ‘‘Having unskilled people down there might be counterproductive.’’
‘‘Meaning?’’
‘‘You sent dwarves down.’’
‘‘I did. To explore. Not to do anything else. Except get rid of any giant bugs they run into. Seemed like the sort of work dwarves are made for.’’
‘‘Underground? Indeed. But what damage are they likely to do? In their ignorance and arrogance.’’
‘‘We’re all going to do some damage. In our ignorance. Because nobody knows what’s down there. Which is why some people accustomed to living underground are doing the poking around.’’
‘‘My point, sir. We don’t know. Best guess would be, the thing down there is just stirring in its sleep.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ My sources all agreed.
‘‘So suppose you wake it all the way up? And it’s as cranky as you are when they make you roll out before you’re ready.’’
Who had been poking around inside whose head, back at the house? ‘‘I’m open to suggestions. Remembering that my job is to get this place slapped together with as little trouble as I can manage.’’
New trouble, however, had arrived already. In the form of that frail blonde. All work had stopped. The roofers had come inside to check her out. Most of the men didn’t pretend to do anything but drool.
‘‘Hang on a minute.’’ I moved over to Belle Chimes. Another stricken zombie. ‘‘Bill, wake up. Pull your eyes in. Pass this word. She’s off the Hill. Out of the inner circle.’’ I didn’t know that but it sounded good. And it for sure got his attention. He got those eyes they say are big as saucers. ‘‘Goes by Furious Tide of Light.’’ All making the point that she was someone you didn’t want to irritate. Which Belle seemed to have gotten in spades. He flat-out turned scared.
Interesting.
The effect was salutary once Belle started whispering. Though the workmen did not deny themselves the occasional hungry look.
Saucerhead proved himself smarter than he looked. ‘‘I got a fire going in the shack now, Garrett. You might take these folks out there. Be easier on everybody.’’
61
We decided that Barate Algarda and his daughter should follow the trail blazed by Rocky and the dwarves. They would go poke around the Faction clubhouse. They would evict the dwarves unless Rindt Grinblatt could show that he had done something especially useful.
They headed for the abandoned house, needing no guide. I stood around enjoying the fact that the snowfall consisted of fat, random globs that were not accumulating. If this kept up I shouldn’t have to do any shoveling.
Most excellent.
‘‘You have no idea how lucky you are,’’ Morley Dotes told me. As I considered Furious Tide of Light through the aforementioned random flakes.
‘‘Sir?’’
‘‘If Tinnie saw you come out of that shack, with that woman, with that look on your face . . .’’
‘‘That woman, with her father right there?’’
‘‘You honestly think that would make a difference?’’
‘‘Maybe.’’ If a brace of nuns had been in there, too. ‘‘She’s growing up. We both are.’’ Me whistling past the graveyard.
He gazed the direction I did. ‘‘Pity I’m single. Pity you’re not.’’
He must not have gotten the word. ‘‘You know who she is?’’
‘‘I’m sure you’re going to scare me off by telling me.’’
‘‘She goes by Furious Tide of Light.’’
It took a second. People off the Hill seldom cross his path as objects of amorous intent.
Him turning off the interest was like a lantern damping down. ‘‘You had to tell me.’’
‘‘You’re my bestest pal. I don’t want to see you turned into a big old hairy-ass hoppy toad.’’
‘‘You had to tell me. So. Why is a Hill-type bundle of heat getting heads-together with you?’’
‘‘She has a daughter. A teenager. One of the kids whose experiments blessed us with the giant bugs.’’ There weren’t any of those around right then. ‘‘She wants to make sure the kid is covered.’’
‘‘Typical.’’ He frowned at something behind me. I heard the measured clop-clop of a team approaching, along with the rattle of iron rims on cobblestones.
I turned mainly because Morley looked like he dearly hoped I wouldn’t.
I knew that big black coach. I’d ridden in it. I recognized the men up there on the driver’s seat. I didn’t know the footmen running at the corners but I knew their type. ‘‘Now, what would she be doing here?’’
‘‘She,’’ being Belinda Contague.
Belinda was not a complication I needed. Ever, anymore.
Belinda didn’t necessarily share my attitude.
It can be tough to argue with Miss Contague.
Morley isn’t often at a loss for words. He made an exception now. He stumbled around, hunting for a plausible answer. Failed. Decided to try the truth. ‘‘She’s my angel. She’s providing my financing.’’
‘‘You know what you’re doing?’’ Getting involved with the Contagues wouldn’t bolster his reputation. His places have always been neutral territory. Whoever you are, whatever your associations or alliances, you don’t have to worry about your back. Morley will watch it.
‘‘I hope so, Garrett. It’s supposed to be a straight-up deal. Front money for forty percent of the net. If word doesn’t get aroun
d I can keep it the way it’s always been.’’
He wasn’t convinced, though. He could see what I saw. Right here, right now, there were nine people who knew something was up. I could trust me not to speculate with my friends. But how about those footmen and the guys up on the coach? What about the dark lady herself?
How many times had Belinda tried to make it look like I’d sold out and was on the Outfit’s payroll?
Only plus I could see was, Belinda had no reason to cut Morley down. She saw a chance to get a piece of a lucrative business.
Hell, I could see a whole row of small businesses popping up if the World itself took off.
If, maybe, Heather Soames came up with some stage talent that wasn’t all amateur wannabe.
No point me going on at Morley about it. He’d still be busy debating with himself.
I couldn’t fathom his reasoning. Unless he was in truly bad odor with his debts everywhere else. He’d explain. Someday. Maybe.
Belinda Contague descended from the coach. She was beautiful, her skin pale as death, her lips painted scarlet, her hair uncovered, black and glossy as a raven’s wing. The rest couldn’t be cataloged because she was in winter dress. But, believe me, it was outstanding. I’d seen it all. And still regretted my weakness.
It gave her the idea she had a claim.
She beckoned.
I looked around to see who might watch me talking to the daughter of death.
Morley said, ‘‘You don’t have to tag along.’’
‘‘That summons included both of us. I’m on thin ice with her already. I’m not going to set her off. If she’s in one of her moods.’’
Belinda is crazy. Psycho killer crazy. Masking it with intelligence and beauty. In a rational world they’d keep her in a cage without a door. Instead, she’s the overlord of the syndicate that manages organized crime. She has at her disposal any tool needful to indulge any whim her madness tosses up.
‘‘What have I told you about avoiding women crazier than you are?’’
‘‘Hard to remember in the heat of the moment, sometimes.’’
‘‘But you’re unafraid. Fearless Garrett, champion of the disenfranchised and downtrodden.’’
‘‘That’s me. Absolutely. Lately having developed enough bruises to suspect there’s no need to push for another unnecessary round of hurt.’’ When it only takes a touch of manners to avoid the pain.
Morley gave me a look that told me I was so full of it my baby blues had just turned brown. But he didn’t pursue it. For now. We were too near the dire woman.
He was out in the wild and woolly himself, setting himself up to grab what might be the stinky end of a deal with the Outfit.
Belinda smiled. There might even have been some warmth behind the surface pretense. She’s always had a feeling for me. I’ve saved her from herself several times. Unfortunately, she isn’t the sort to let sentiment get in the way at throat-cutting time.
That’s part of what makes the woman scary. The fact that the machinery inside her noggin doesn’t work like anybody else’s. You never know what might set her off.
She uses that, of course. Like a sledgehammer.
And she has a few fears of her own. Especially Deal Relway. The Outfit has traditionally shaped law enforcement with carrot and stick. An incorruptible like the Director is one man. He could be removed if he became too obnoxious.
But Relway won’t let that happen.
Several dim candle baddies have gotten the Director stuck in their craws already. They all choked on him when they tried to swallow.
They overlooked the fact that he has a bigger gang and is as ruthless as any of them.
Civil and conversational, I asked, ‘‘What brings you to the wicked part of town?’’
‘‘Bad boys. You know how I love them.’’ She sneered at my queasy look. ‘‘Not to worry. You’re not on the spot. I came to look at my new investment.’’ She touched my arm in an intimate way. I managed not to flinch. ‘‘I’m looking for legitimate ventures.’’ Big smile. ‘‘This will be my first.’’
I didn’t disagree. But the Combine does have interests in a lot of legitimate businesses. They force their way into some. On the other hand, whatever he pretends to the world at large, Morley is not entirely legit. He wouldn’t keep the company he does if he were.
Belinda made me sweat with her too-friendly gestures on a public street. While Morley pointed out the place he had chosen and explained why it was perfect for serving the theater crowd. Then Belinda let me off the hook. ‘‘Just messing with you, sweetheart. I know Tinnie won the race.’’
‘‘Uh . . .’’ All right. That would work. For now.
‘‘I couldn’t live with myself if it turned out to be my fault all that planning went to waste.’’
‘‘Huh?’’ Conscience? Didn’t know she knew the word. Decided not to ask if she knew its meaning.
‘‘Not to worry, buddy. All you have to do is show up, on time, sober enough to stand, without a date.’’
My best pal looked at me like I’d sprouted a facial toadstool. A psychedelic toadstool, from the magnitude of his double take.
The beautiful woman unacquainted with mercy laughed. She headed for the place Morley had indicated. I retreated to the theater side of the street. Where I found Puddle and Morley’s other man considering their boss nervously. Puddle said, ‘‘I don’t like dis, Garrett. I don’ like it a’tall.’’
‘‘Got me a little less than excited, too, Puddle. Makes me wonder what’s happening inside his head.’’ But that wasn’t my problem. The World was. I needed to concentrate on that. I was making some headway. At last.
62
I didn’t get back in out of the snow. Pular Singe materialized, breathless. ‘‘I know where he is! I know how to catch him!’’
‘‘Great! Good for you, girl. Go! What’re you talking about? What’re you doing down here?’’ Since she hadn’t had anything to do with her brother’s latest efforts.
‘‘Oh. I had some stuff I needed to do. But I finished. I can help you here now. Oh. There’s Mr. Dotes. I’d better tell him right away.’’
‘‘Tell him what?’’
But she was gone. And Puddle was looking at me like he was trying to figure something out. He asked, ‘‘Dis ain’t gonna turn rotten on us, is it, Garrett?’’
Uncertain what his ‘‘this’’ might be, I went for reassurance. ‘‘I don’t think so. Though I don’t really know what Morley is thinking, any more than you do. Nothing to do with me, I’m pretty sure.’’
That part seemed to be what Puddle wanted to hear. Better his boss was hobnobbing with the queen of crime than getting into something with that Garrett guy.
I’m never quite sure what the problem is for those people. Like women, they think I ought to know without being told.
I went inside.
Despite the open doorways it was much warmer in there than out front.
John Stretch spotted me, beckoned. He looked smugly pleased. I went to find out why.
The lord of the ratmen indicated the under-stage pit. It was filthy with bug scraps. The Rocker himself had returned to his station. He no longer had anything to do.
‘‘All right. It’s a mess. But that isn’t it. Is it?’’
‘‘No. It is that there are no more bugs coming. The rats are finding very few down below now, too. Just grubs. The burned-out rats come up carrying them. Carrying food back to the nest.’’
‘‘Good. That’s good.’’
‘‘It is an instinct thing.’’
‘‘That’s good.’’
‘‘I have enough of them back out now to get a feel for the way it is down there. I am going to examine them.’’
‘‘By all means. That’s excellent.’’ Then, fearing he might think I was being patronizing, ‘‘Maybe that’ll give us enough to get this part wrapped up.’’
So, then, the ghosts. Once the spooks were settled my job would be done.
I could
hope. I could pray. Knowing prayer would set them to howling in the heavenly jakes. Nothing could work out that well. Hell, this had been going on for days. I hadn’t gotten my head kicked in once—though the Stompers did have that on their agenda. I’d received no death threats meant to scare me off. I’d run into no villainy that couldn’t be explained by simple stupidity. There’d been a corpse, or two—one barely qualifying as negligent homicide.
I did my damnedest not to invite recompense for hubris.
Pular Singe scooted in, all flustered, whiskers flaring, ears folded back. ‘‘You have to stop them!’’
All right. Maybe I could do that. Given something to go on.
Singe took a moment out of her excitement to greet her brother, who waved vaguely because he was communing with some of his unmodified cousins.
Sort of ironic. The sorcerous by-blow of a prior century trying to exterminate those of the present.
Singe reclaimed the frenzy. ‘‘I am afraid one of them will do something neither will be able to take back.’’
I thought I got that. ‘‘Ease up, girl. Who? What? Where? Basic stuff like that.’’
‘‘Oh. Yes. That. All right. Mr. Dotes. Miss Contague. They are having a huge fight. It started after I told Mr. Dotes that the stinking man is out there watching and I think I know how to catch him.’’
One eyebrow up and the other eye squinting because she isn’t usually so formal, I wondered, ‘‘Why would they argue? Does Lurking Felhske work for Belinda?’’
‘‘Oh. No. Mr. Dotes decided he would not need Miss Contague’s financial assistance after all. Since he was about to come into a large sum by selling the stinking man.’’
‘‘And, naturally, he didn’t have Lurking Felhske in the bag when he decided that.’’
‘‘Correct.’’
Counting chickens. I couldn’t do anything but shake my head. That was so unlike Morley, the born-again pragmatic realist. Had he caught something from Winger? Or maybe a Saucerhead with a hangover having an especially feeble-minded morning after one of his periodic breakups? No way. Not the count of cool, Morley Dotes.
