by Frank Tuttle
I guess that’s something we’ll have to get used to.
My next stop was Avalante. I hoped to either speak to Evis through that sparking contraption we’d used before, or at least get an update on the Regency’s position. I was also going to need another all-night loan of a carriage. I was hoping they’d offer so I didn’t have to beg.
Jerle, the day man, was at his post. He greeted me with his usual beaming expression of utter and complete indifference. Yes, sir, you are expected, I was told. Yes, sir, I believe a message awaits you. If sir will follow me…
I followed. I expected to be led to the room, which housed the long-distance speaking device, but we just kept going down, and down, and down. Six stories down, and Jerle never broke a sweat.
I did. I don’t mind spending time in Evis’s office, which itself is some thirty feet, I believe, beneath the ground. I have long known that Avalante is more cavern than house—but I’d prefer to keep the details of what lies beneath comfortably in the realm of speculation.
Down we went, following a dizzying spiral of steps that passed firmly shut doors. The air grew noticeably cooler, though it never smelled dank. A couple of times, I felt a strong draft when we passed by ornate iron grilles set in the walls.
At last, we stopped at a door. Jerle opened it and beckoned me through.
As I crossed the threshold, a burst of noise struck me, grew, and kept going. I felt the telltale traces of a hex slide off my shoulders as we left a fancy be-quiet spell behind.
I won’t call it a room, because it was just too big. A chamber. That fits. It was so large I couldn’t see the ends of it. Massive stone columns rose up in regular rows all around me and faded off into the distance in every direction. Magelamps hung from the high smooth ceiling, casting odd shadows and making the movement around me a confusing, jarring hubbub that might have been anything from a riot to a dance.
Jerle let me take it in for a moment. Halfdead and human hurried past us without pause or note.
“Jerle, what is this place?”
“The sixth level, sir. This way.”
And he was off, moving easily through the maze of columns and bodies. I trotted along behind him, lest I be left there and forgotten.
There were no walls. There were, in places, long ranks of benches and tables, filled with odd devices about which vampires and day folk gathered. Some of them talked. Some poked at things with tools I couldn’t name. Some scribbled on paper, some smoked those fancy new smokesticks and some just stared off into space, oblivious to the din around them.
Devices flashed and spat tiny thunders and smoked and glittered. The smell of things burning was strong. One blaze broke out as we passed, but was quickly extinguished by a bevy of red-clad day folk who fought down the flames with buckets and blankets before it could spread.
“Almost there, sir.”
I was too busy huffing and puffing to reply.
Finally, Jerle came to a stop and exchanged a few whispers with a tall halfdead who regarded me over Jerle’s head with barely contained annoyance.
“So you’re the man who ruined the upstairs machine,” he said when the whispering was all done.
“I never touched the thing. I’m a pigeon man.”
He whirled and set about twisting this and pushing that on a twin to the machine I’d last seen six floors above.
Jerle moved to stand by my side. “Be seated,” he said, motioning me toward a table and a single chair. A curiously shaped brass funnel sat atop this table too.
I sat, leaned forward, waited for Evis’s voice to sound from within the thing.
For a moment, there was silence. And then a burst of noise, and then, just for an instant, the sound of something like music, if the musicians were Trolls and afflicted with serious throat infections.
The tall halfdead scowled anew at me and gave a brass wheel a savage twist.
The music vanished.
“…hit the bloody thing again,” said Evis.
“You’ll break it if you do and they’ll blame me,” I said. “Where are you? How are the ladies? Can I book a stateroom for the next pleasure cruise?”
A burst of noise drowned his next few words. “…are fine. Buttercup caught a fish. Miss Gertriss sends her regards. We are well ahead of schedule. Engines performing beyond expectations. Weather is holding. Any more visitors from the old country?”
“None. Mama is fine. Lot of people leaving the city, though. You may come home to find it empty.”
“Just so it’s in one piece. Have you spoken with our boss yet?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure. Will mention that you asked. Any sign of our friends from the north?”
“We started seeing their trash in the water yesterday. Stupid on their part. We now know they’re eating potatoes grown on Butler Farms and drinking Yotton beer from cheap pine kegs.”
“Hurrah. The war is won.” I wished for some privacy but wasn’t going to get it. “Is Gertriss there with you?”
“No. She’s taking a nap with Buttercup. Something wrong?”
“Mama’s taking some pretty big risks with the hex-caster. He's ex-army. From Prince. We all know Mama has a bad temper, but this isn’t some backwoods hex doctor we’re talking about.”
“She’s a tough old bird, Markhat. But if she loses this round, well, you and I will take a little trip that way once this is all over.”
“Hope it doesn’t come to that. When do you think you’ll hit the bluffs?”
“A good day early. Morning too. Plenty of time to make preparations. Did you know ogres get seasick?”
I never got a chance to answer. First came a deafening blast of that atonal music and a shower of sparks, and then a dozen red-shirts with their buckets of sand.
The copper funnel fell silent. The scowling halfdead shot me a look of pure hatred and called for help, and within moments the tall machine was surrounded by frowning workers who pointed and shook their heads and did a full week’s worth of heavy sighing in the time it took Jerle to arrive at my side and gently touch my elbow.
“I believe we should be going, sir,” he said.
We went. I pretended not to hear the unflattering commentary offered by the halfdead lamenting the fate of his machine.
Once we were three flights up, I relaxed a bit, but only a bit. Evis hadn’t shared anything worth ruining a long-talking dingus, and I didn’t think I’d revealed anything of worth to him. So why trot me down into the midst of Avalante’s secret machine works?
“I imagine sir will be wanting a carriage for the evening,” said Jerle. He opened a door. We were back up to ground level, and I’d not noticed.
“Now that you mention it, I would. With a driver who knows his way around a knocking stick, if you please.”
“I believe all our drivers are well versed in that particular art, sir. If you will wait here.”
I found a comfy chair and sat. Halfdead hurried past, all business, in greater numbers than I was accustomed to seeing. I wondered if they were preparing for the worst and decided they probably were.
I hadn’t even picked up an extra bucket of jerky for Three-leg. Or asked Evis about a room for Darla, should the cannons from Prince reach Rannit bombard our walls. Not that I was sure she would agree to take refuge with the halfdead.
“The carriage is ready, sir,” intoned Jerle. He pointed gently toward the door. “If you will show yourself out?”
“I will. And thanks.”
He nodded and was gone, a whispering halfdead on either side.
I showed myself out, as instructed. For the first time, there was no one at Avalante’s door to fetch my hat, so I fetched it myself and closed the tall thick doors carefully behind me.
Chapter Seventeen
“Of course I’m fine,” said Tamar. Mr. Tibbles looked up at me from her lap and growled. “I’ve caught up on my reading. I’ve written some letters. I’ve worked on the guest list for the wedding.”
“All from your room.” I didn’t as
k it as a question. I was hoping the inference would be clear enough.
“Of course from my room. I’m not a ninny, you know. Although I don’t feel as if anyone is watching me. They really do think I’m your pregnant wife. The maids have been bringing up extra bits of food from the kitchen. They’ve said the most unflattering things about you, even though they’ve never met you.”
“All true, by the way.”
“So. Tonight you meet with my future father-in-law.”
I nodded.
“You’ll find out where Carris is, and you’ll go and fetch him.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Well, you’re aware the wedding is in three days?”
“Painfully.” I spoke fast to cover the gaffe. “You know, when this is over, you and Carris may have to make some hard decisions about maintaining family ties with the Lethways.”
“It will make for some awkwardness at Yule meals, won’t it though?” She shrugged and fed Mr. Tibbles another bit of bread. “I don’t care, Mr. Markhat. If we have to go and live in Sutton or Carland or even by the Sea, we will. I’ve had quite enough of people telling me who I can and cannot marry.”
“Good for you.” I rose. “Coming back here after Curfew will raise too many eyebrows. So I’ll be around in the morning. Hopefully with good news.”
“We’ll be here. Mr. Tibbles will be waiting. Won’t you, Mr. Tibbles?”
The dog had sense enough not to bark in reply. But I swear he met my gaze and gave me a stern look of doggie reproach.
“In the morning, then.”
I left. Maids whispered at my back, but no one else paid me any undue attention. There were no toughs idling in the lobby or pretending to look at handbills by the street doors. I circled the place a couple of times to see if anyone from one trip was still there the next, but no one lingered in place.
From there, I set forth in search of Mills, thinking I’d need someone watching my back if only for the look of the thing. Finding Mills wasn’t hard, and neither was hiring him. Getting him into some semblance of respectable evening attire was another matter, but luckily some of my clothes fit and what didn’t wasn’t so bad that it would attract attention.
The sluggard sun was setting by the time we got that squared away. There was no time to rest at Avalante, so I set Mills at my desk and took to my bed for a quick nap before confronting Lethway at the Banner.
My plan to drag information out of Lethway was weak at best. Tamar might be under the wary gaze of plotting eyes even as I lay down my head. Dozens of armed plowboys might be creeping toward my door as I lay, eager to fulfill the hex that rode them unawares.
So naturally, I slept, and slept hard, right up until I heard boots scrape at my back room door.
“Rise and shine, boss,” said Mills from the other side. “Time to go make powerful people angry.”
“What a wit,” I muttered. “All quiet out there?”
“So far. I need to make water.”
“Bathhouse is down the street. I need to make a stop too.” I rose, grabbed my things, made for the door. “Let’s get this done.”
Mills grinned at me, his face diabolical in the dark. Then he walked away.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. He hadn’t seen Toadsticker’s hilt in my hand, hadn’t realized that just for an instant something in his grin had rendered me temporarily homicidal.
I shook my head. Too many people out to get me. Too many angles to see at once.
I sheathed Toadsticker and hurried out into the dark.
Darla is convinced I spent my time waiting at the Banner by dining. That simply isn’t true.
First of all, heading into a confrontation with a belly full of roast beef is a good way to wind up carved into giblets oneself. My plan was to let Lethway finish his meal and down a couple of good stiff drinks before I showed my pretty face.
And second, the prices at the Banner are far beyond the reach of a simple working man. I could barely afford two glasses of beer, and what I could afford was sour.
But beer it was.
I sat at the bar, my back to the dining room. I sipped at my sour beer and waited for Lethway and his whore to arrive.
Mills did the same thing, at the other end of the bar. We’d entered a half hour apart. We didn’t speak. I was hoping we blended in with the bankers and managers and other well-dressed ne’er-do-wells, drinking and talking and eyeing the room for any unaccompanied ladies that might be passing by.
A mirror behind the bar let me watch the entrance without turning. I kept my hat pulled down low. Toadsticker was hidden under my light coat. The other items in my arsenal were secreted here and there, out of sight but in easy reach.
But it was the brown paper envelope in my breast pocket I was counting on to keep sword and dagger in their places.
The time rolled around. Right on cue, a suited heavy prowled past the maitre d', made a circle of the room and then vanished without a word.
That would be one of Lethway’s bully-boys, I decided, making sure no pesky wives or other such impediments were dining.
I was right. A minute later, Lethway sailed in, a wobbly brunette a quarter of his age on his arm. The maitre d' whisked them to a table. A waiter appeared. Chairs were pulled out. Napkins and silverware and menus and wine were dispensed.
Lethway took it in with scowls and grunts. His lady found a vacant smile and used that to hide her disdain for her hawk-faced suitor.
Whatever she was getting out of the deal, it soon wouldn’t be enough.
I risked a single nod to Mills, who saw but didn’t return it.
The table next to Lethway’s was soon occupied by his bodyguards, who sipped at crystal goblets of water and pushed around soup with a pair of silver spoons. They each gave the room a damned good glare and then they began to visibly relax.
The dining room was filling up. Waiters and wine stewards darted and dodged.
I couldn’t hear anything Lethway said over the refined din of three dozen conversations and the attendant clinking of forks and tinkling of crystal, but I could see him clearly in the mirror before me.
He growled an order to the waiter and sent back the wine in a snit and snarled something brief and nasty at his woman when she dared reach for a cracker from the basket by the candles.
A fresh vintage was produced, glared at, tasted, and deemed acceptable, though only barely. Salads arrived. His was shoved to the side of the table and whisked away lest, I presume, some vagrant leaf of lettuce offend the Colonel by its festive green coloration.
The woman was silent. Her eyes remained lowered. The way she gripped her linen napkin with knuckles gone white and stiff said all she dared not say.
Lethway guzzled down the entire bottle of wine by himself well before any hint of a meal arrived. The man could drink, and he did.
Another bottle appeared. Was rejected. Was replaced. Again, Lethway set about emptying it with the kind of gusto one sees in most of Rannit’s seedier alleys.
Halfway through the second bottle of wine, the meal arrived. She never bothered to reach for her fork. Lethway grunted and emptied his glass and grudgingly began to carve his steak.
I rose. Mills watched, but remained seated, according to plan. I put on my best smile and ambled between tables.
If Lethway saw me, he didn’t recognize me, right up until the moment I hauled a chair to his table and seated myself upon it.
The whore’s eyes came up and no sooner than my ass hit the chair than hers was up and standing.
“I need to go powder my nose,” she said, her voice ghostly soft.
“Take your time,” I said. She hurried away. Her steak smelled of heaven. “Mind if I join you?”
Lethway went ashen pale.
I picked up his woman’s fork and stabbed a bit of beef.
“Now, now. No need calling for your associates. This is a nice place, and I’m just an old friend dropping by to chew the fat.” I put the steak in my mouth, chewed, swallowe
d.
He’d been about to call for his goons when Mills joined them, just as I had. Mills was just sitting there smiling. Maybe they knew his face. Maybe they didn’t. But something his smile of his conveyed all kinds of things, none of them warm and friendly.
“In fact, I have lots of friends here. But that’s hardly worth mentioning. You going to eat that potato?”
“You’re a dead man, Markhat. Dead. You won’t live to see the sun rise.”
“Whoa. Keep your potato. I guess asking for your toast is out of the question?”
His thin old face twitched, and his jaw muscles worked like he was chewing.
“I’ll see you dead, you common street trash.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But there’s no reason we can’t be civil and have a conversation. About fires, for instance. I’m sure you heard the Barracks burned.”
He didn’t reply, but something like a grin did creep across his lips.
“Burned to the ground, they did. A total loss. All those Army records, ashes and cinders. A pity.”
“Indeed.”
“What you might not know is that not everything was destroyed, Colonel. And can you believe that some of the surviving documents have your name on them? What are the odds?”
“You lie.”
I reached inside my coat and found the brown envelope. I dropped it on the table in front of him, unopened.
“You offend me, sir. I do not lie. There is proof. You can keep it, if you want. I have more such documents. A whole crate full, as a matter of fact. They’re really very interesting, if one has an eye for history.” I leaned forward, dropped my voice to a whisper. “History and larceny.”
He didn’t want to open it. He wanted very much to shout and bluster and threaten and demand. That’s what he’d done, his whole long life, and for the first time he was realizing none of that was likely to work.
I let the moment linger.
He snatched up the envelope, tore it open, pulled out the paper inside and read it.
I let that moment linger too.
“This is a damned fine steak.”
“You think this is going to save you?” He threw the paper that bore his name down, where it landed in a gravy bowl. I fished it out while he fumed. “It means nothing.”
