by Glen Cook
Quick calculation. Did I dare ignore the Windwalker while I tried to hammer information through Tinnie’s default stubborn disbelief? How long before Furious Tide of Light slapped me for the slight?
Inspiration!
It was my lucky day.
‘‘Ma’am. Windwalker. Welcome back. Might I introduce my fiancйe, Tinnie Tate, of the manufacturing Tates? Tinnie, the Windwalker, Furious Tide of Light.’’
That left the fair Miss Tate with her mouth agape.
It didn’t stop the gasps and giggles of her henchwomen. The Windwalker never focused on us. She murmured, ‘‘Pleased to meet you,’’ vaguely, and drifted toward where the floor planking was being installed. The workmen tried hard not to pay attention. Right now she wasn’t firing their animal instincts. But they definitely remembered her from before.
Miss Tate remained tongue-tied.
The unexpected complication now coming through the main doorway might have explained that.
Furious Tide of Light had not come alone. I’d just gotten fixed on her having shown up without Barate Algarda to hover menacingly.
A representative selection of our most dread, dire, Hill-dwelling types had followed the pitiful waif. A half dozen alert, glowering, ready-for-anything secret masters. I recognized a couple. The interior of the World went quiet as the workmen recognized some of them, too.
That whole mob belonged to a class that no rational person wants to offend, whatever the circumstances.
The refugee-looking hot thing was traveling with some of Karenta’s more dread names.
Why? What could possibly interest them here?
Did it mean anything? Anything at all?
An amazing thing happened. A thing wilder than seeing people walk through the sky or seeing actual gods getting on about their venal sacred business. Both of which I have done.
Miss Tinnie Tate deferred to another woman after that other woman had dared show an interest in Mama Garrett’s ever-lovin’ blue-eyed baby boy.
Furious Tide of Light planted herself in front of me. Because she was slight she seemed younger than she was. But there was steel in that wisp of a frame.
This apparent child was nothing of the sort. She could be a lot more harsh than could the quiet little girl who traveled with Barate Algarda.
Big blue eyes locked on mine. ‘‘Tell me everything. From the beginning.’’ The Hill folk began to form a circle around me, laying to rest the concept of Mr. Garrett hastily relocating somewhere more congenial.
Not even totally self-focused Alyx Weider managed a word of comment.
No need to be difficult with these people. That could only cause me unnecessary encounters with pain.
I did exactly what Furious Tide of Light said. Kind of.
From the beginning. Editing cautiously. Just enough to shield a few most precious souls. Especially my favorite. Me.
John Stretch wouldn’t end up having to explain his connection with ordinary rats, nor his control of the rattish horde that had, effectively and efficiently, finally gotten rid of the giant bugs.
I found it intriguing, having these folks on hand. In their presence the ever-opinionated Miss Tate actually held her tongue. Likewise, all her pack. But it was plain that the Tate woman couldn’t hold off forever.
Tinnie had something on her mind. It took everything she had to hold it while I dealt with the Windwalker. But it would come. Not even the end of the world would stop that.
I was comfortable enough with the sorceress. She was an attractive woman smack in the middle of my favorite age range: alive. And those amber eyes to die for . . . I let manly appreciation override the nerves that come when I have to deal with Hill types who have no doubts that they’re living demigods. Breathe a little heavy and those lethal attributes just sort of fade away.
Despite the volcanic potential on the Tate horizon, I leaned into the little bit with the delicious green eyes. ‘‘Who are those people?’’
‘‘People worried about their children.’’ She didn’t name names or offer to make introductions. Just as well, say I.
I gulped air. I eyed those people. Those were the parents of the Faction? No wonder Kip’s friends were screaming freaks. Just standing downwind of some of these grotesques was enough to turn you strange.
I murmured, ‘‘I’m wondering who goes with who but I’ll save that till later.’’
The weird people mumbled amongst themselves. Tinnie overheard something uncomfortable. She turned pale and started oozing away. That clued her whole crew that this might be a most excellent time not to be noticed.
She told me later that she had recognized a couple of names when they were mentioned.
Me, I recognized faces.
Some of the Windwalker’s companions had crossed my path before, in little ways. I hoped they wouldn’t remember me as a serious annoyance.
There was nowhere to run.
They began to pepper me with questions. At a glacial pace, with long, thoughtful silences between queries. I answered so honestly it hurt.
One was an old guy who looked like somebody had shrunk a big brown giant down to five feet tall without taking away any of the skin or subcutaneous fat. He asked an elliptical maze of a question I gave up trying to follow. Behind him, the main entrance stood open to the weather. Everybody would’ve been bitching about the cold breeze had it not been for the sorcerers. Then Belle Chimes popped in, looking his youngest, boldly headed for the visiting firewomen. He was four steps in and still under full sail when he recognized the situation. He made a strong U-turn without missing a beat and stepped out briskly, headed for parts anywhere but here.
A lump of indeterminate sex and execrable fashion sense, built along the lines of Rocky the midget troll, somehow left my besiegers and became an immovable fixture in the doorway before Bill got there.
Bill halted, heaved an audible sigh, slumped. The nemesis lump wheezed, ‘‘Look what Dierber found, Avery.’’
Dierber? Link Dierber? Firebringer? Frontrunner in the pack competing for the title of foulest of all the wickednesses infesting the Hill? Not good. Not good at all. Rumor said nobody knew what Link Dierber looked like. And he kept it that way.
Avery, then, would be Schnook Avery. Dierber’s companion. His partner in life and evil. His accomplice. Said to delight in torture.
How could they be the parents of a Faction child?
I glared at the Windwalker, silently demanding, ‘‘What hast thou wrought?’’ Because this situation had become fraught with scriptural foreboding in a scant few seconds.
A tall, black-clad, pallid thing resembling the oversize praying mantises of yesterday already tainted with the nostalgia of blissful ignorance, husked out, «O Frubious Serendipity! Years and years spent in the hunt, then we just go and stub our toes on him. Ring-a-ding-ding Hello, Bellman. Doesn’t look like you’re dead, after all.’’ He used ‘‘Bellman’’ as a title, like Stormwarden, Windwalker, or his own Night Whisperer.
Belle Chimes said, ‘‘I blame you for this, Garrett. It wouldn’t have come to this if you hadn’t surrounded yourself with irresistible women.’’
A sentiment I’ve heard from the Dead Man, Dean, and others.
Would that it were true.
‘‘Get to work!’’ I hollered at the tradesmen. ‘‘You aren’t getting paid to gawk at this freak show.’’
Tinnie, behind Furious Tide of Light, shook her head like she could not believe I’d just said that.
Kind of like the cat that just fell out of the tree I put on my best ‘‘I meant to do that!’’ expression. And told my sweet, violet-eyed Windwalker, ‘‘My turn. What’re you doing? I’ve got a theater to build. And we’re way behind already.’’
‘‘We all want to know what our children have been doing.’’ She seemed indifferent to the drama unfolding between Belle, Dierber, and Avery. ‘‘Tell me more about the Felhske person. I find his interest troubling.’’ Her eyes were a businesslike steel gray.
I told
her what I knew. It was close to a compulsion to give her whatever she wanted. It was necessary to please her. She might give something back.
And Tinnie wasn’t there to thump on me, to keep me focused. Then I exploded, ‘‘Oh, damn it!’’
Behind Furious Tide of Light, behind Tinnie, behind the rest of the women, Heather Soames had become distracted by another opportunity to do something self-destructive. She was stalking a ghostly shimmer with her silver hat pin.
‘‘Heather! Stop that!’’
Too late.
69
The sound was like the low of the great mother cow in the origin myths of several primitive religions, complaining because she needed milking. Then the zinc wind chimes started. New ghosts formed all round. I saw bland shimmering pillars but, obviously, they presented intimate detail to everyone else.
One Hill type murmured, ‘‘Oh, excellent!’’
The music grew loud enough to rattle skulls. As more ghosts materialized.
And the place began heating up.
All of which thrilled the Hill pack.
Belle Chimes made a swift departure while Link Dierber and Schnook Avery were distracted. Quick as he went, though, he came close to getting trampled by Luther and his crew. Not to mention Bobbi, Lindy, and Alyx.
I made hand gestures advising Tinnie to keep up with her friends. She replied, ‘‘You don’t get shut of me that easily, Malsquando.’’ She glared at my hazel-eyed friend. She was shaking all over but she meant to stand her ground.
Sometimes the girl doesn’t have sense enough to add up to a penny.
Heather kept stalking ghosts.
That great planetary bray sounded again as she skewered another apparition. The zinc xylophone hammered out an even louder, more energetic tune. There was a tremor in the earth.
Dust and dirt fell again. There must be an infinite supply. Maybe there’s universal continuous creation when it comes to dirt and dust.
The wonder folk from the Hill commenced to begin to fix to get ready to start considering the possibility that they ought to get the hell out because none of them had a clue about how to stop the racket. Several, like Schnook Avery and his good buddy, definitely decided that the wisest sorcerer would contemplate future events from outside the World.
Where they got distracted by a row over who had lost track of the Bellman.
Then there were just four of us left inside. Me, Furious Tide of Light, loony Heather, and Tinnie Tate. Tinnie was not going to leave me unchaperoned, be the final trumps of doom themselves a-braying.
Which she paid for in good old-fashioned wet-your-pants terror.
I was having no courage crisis. I was too damned dim to be scared.
Furious Tide of Light snapped, ‘‘Stop that woman!’’ Meaning Heather. Her eyes rolled up. She went away somewhere, the way her sort sometimes do.
‘‘Tinnie. Help me get Heather out of here.’’
Green eyes big, freckles standing out against skin gone dead white, Tinnie got herself going. My gal. Never panics. She had enough clever still engaged to get in Heather’s way while I sneaked up behind.
I held on tight and managed not to lose focus because of the hottie wiggling. Tinnie pried the hat pin loose, flung it through the doorway. All the while snarling, ‘‘What in thehell were youdoing, telling these people that I’m yourfiancйe ?’’
Uh-oh.
Did I do that?
‘‘I don’t remem . . .’’
My survival instincts kicked in.
I was caught in a cleft stick. Nothing I said would be the right answer. And silence would be a loser, too. Again.
‘‘Ow!’’ I let go of Manvil’s favorite niece. ‘‘She stomped on my foot!’’
‘‘Which is what you’re supposed to do when a bad guy grabs you, Malsquando.’’ She stayed put.
To do anything, stupid or otherwise, Heather had to go through Tinnie first.
Oh, I’m so clever! Oh, I’m so smart! That saved me having to answer for minutes and minutes.
Heather was in no mood to be moved. Or subdued.
The two of us had just enough push to get the job done.
I helped herd Heather through the doorway, gave Tinnie an encouraging swat on the behind, then went back to give the Windwalker a hand.
Not quite the same hand. Though it was a cruel strain, keeping my favorite pair to myself. With her magic engaged that beanpole radiated sexual compulsion more potently than the wildest elfin girl. And elf girls are the lodestars of sex. They define the irresistible, compulsive attraction. In fact, the Windwalker so resembled an elfin woman that I was sure elf sap ran in her family tree. Not far back, either.
The ghosts were all over her now, tight as a gang of constrictors. And that didn’t bother her.
I guess she knew they weren’t dangerous.
To her.
Curious.
Furious Tide of Light had no guilt. Or understood the ghosts so well that she wasn’t vulnerable.
I fought an urge to throw her down and make her squeal. I did go grab hold and begin tugging her toward the exit. Gently.
The ghosts felt the same attraction, I suppose. And they didn’t need to show any self-control.
‘‘Whoa! Hey!’’
The Windwalker had begun making little noises. Suspiciously sensual sounding. While the zinc racket took on an urgent rhythm.
Then silence as we reached the doorway.
The Windwalker collapsed.
Outside, in a voice loud enough to be heard for blocks, Tinnie said, ‘‘You still got some explaining to do, Malsquando!’’
70
Next thing I heard was ‘‘Mom? Are you all right? What happened?’’
And, right there, right in front of me, closer than the stormy-browed pyrotechnical redhead, were most of my least favorite teenagers. The backbone of the Faction, including Kevans and Kip Prose. I couldn’t tell immediately which of the others were connected with the visitors.
Excitement across the street told me that the escape of the Bellman rated beside the end of the world with Link Dierber, who showed no interest in the kids at all. Schnook Avery, on the other hand, wasn’t much invested. He was talking to the kid they called Slump.
Somebody mentioned Felhske in conjunction with a failure to locate the Bellman. But that sounded like something that had happened years ago.
Odd juxtapositions arise because people with special skills are so uncommon. I needed an under the table necromancer? How many were there likely to be? Why would he be in hiding? Given his calling, Belle’s reason would be a desire not to be found by someone off the Hill. So this would be a less fierce coincidence than it appeared at first glance.
I wondered what Belle had done to make Link Dierber go all bubbly when they ran into one another again.
What would Deal Relway think? Might be interesting to find that out, too.
Relway was likely to know the real story.
‘‘Young Mr. Prose. So not good to see you. Your timing is impeccably awful. See the freaks squabbling over there? You do? You know them? Kevans’ mom brought them. To see what the Faction accomplished here.’’
Kip Prose had been through a previous quarrel with smack-you-in-the-mouth reality, as a more central player. He had one set of toes stained by a dip into the real world. He knew he wasn’t invulnerable, immortal, or immune from the humors of beasts like Link Dierber, Schnook Avery, and whoever the rest of those people were.
Meanwhile, Kevans whined because somebody had gotten into their clubhouse and wrecked it. She had no idea of the real situation. None of the youngsters understood the impact they had had because of what they had been doing. They were playing around. The world saw the foundations of civilization shifting.
And everybody exaggerated.
‘‘Kip, go inside, cut through, go out one of the back doors, then haul ass to my house. Take your friends. Stay there till the grown-ups sort things out.’’
‘‘I can’t. . . . I have a d
ate with Kyra to go three-wheeling.’’
‘‘Kip! Kid. You aren’t listening. Look over there. With Slump. Those two doing all the fussing. The stubby one is Link Dierber. Even you have to know that name. The long, tall mortician is Schnook Avery.’’ That pair were famous for their devotion to torture, to cruelty as personal amusement. They used their real names and didn’t care if everyone knew them. They considered themselves their own law.
Director Relway would have them on a special list.
‘‘The fat woman must be Shadowslinger. She kills people, eats them, and enslaves their spirits. The only one of this whole mob likely to give a rat’s ass about you is Kevans’ mom. And I wouldn’t bet a wooden Venageti denario on her.’’
‘‘Uh . . . you’re wrong, Mr. Garrett. I know all of them. I’ve been to all of their houses. They aren’t any different than my mom.’’
‘‘Just go, will you?’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘Kip! Shadowslinger is checking us out. Getting interested.’’
And still he didn’t want to listen.
His friends were even less inclined. They hadn’t listened at all. They saw no need to be afraid.
Furious Tide of Light backed me up. ‘‘Kevans, Kip, do what the man says, please.’’ Over the youngsters, to me, she said, ‘‘It could be that I miscalculated when I brought the other parents. But I couldn’t know that we’d run into that man, could I? Kevans. Sweetheart. Seriously. Do go, just so I feel more comfortable.’’
And still the girl wanted to argue. Of course.
And yet, so many do survive to become disgruntled old farts like me.
I had, for sure, begun to understand Medford Shale, my crabby antique of an only living relative.
Scary.
Life was turning around on me, big time.
Shadowslinger started toward the World.
‘‘Get your ass movingnow !’’ I told Kip. Adding a hearty slap upside the head.
You do have to get their attention.
I asked the Windwalker, ‘‘Who comes with this one?’’
‘‘Hard to imagine her as a parent?’’
