by Glen Cook
I continued to nurse a paranoid streak on that matter.
The door opened. Nobody came in right away. I held my breath. I was thinking that only a blind man could’ve overlooked the scorching on the wall across the hallway. Only a man with no sense of smell would miss the stink of burnt hair.
But then somebody did a little hop forward, over the throw rug.
I shoved the door shut. “Play.”
Playmate popped out of the other room before the man finished turning toward me. He considered his options and elected to do nothing immediately. He was trapped in a confined space, between two men much bigger than he.
He was just a little scrub, maybe five-foot-seven, and skinny. He was much too well dressed for the neighborhood.
I asked Playmate, “You know this guy?”
Playmate shook his head.
“Rhafi? How about you?”
“I seen him around. I don’t know him.”
“Sit, friend,” I directed. “Hands on top of the table.” Playmate moved the chair for the elf, then positioned himself behind it. Mindful of what we’d found in the other room, I said, “Pull his hair.”
His hair came off. And when it did bits of flesh began to peel back along the former boundary between hair and naked skin. The part of the head that had been covered by the wig was hairless and pale gray.
I tugged at the peeling edges of the face. It came off. What lay beneath was a ringer for one of Playmate’s elf sketches. The gray face betrayed no more emotion than had the motionless human mask when that had been in place.
“Holy shit!” Rhafi burst out. “It really is one of them things Kip was always talking about. I never believed him, even when he got Mom to say she’d seen them, too. He was always making up stories.”
“I’ve seen them, too,” Playmate said. “So has Mr. Garrett. But never quite this close.”
“Which one is this?” I knew it wasn’t any of the ones I’d seen before. It had more meat on it.
“I don’t know. Not one of Kip’s friends, though. It might be the first one who came looking for them.”
I considered the elf. So-called because we didn’t know what he really was. The Dead Man’s suggestion of kef sidhe half-breeding didn’t seem more likely than true elven origins. Maybe it hailed from the far north or from the heart of the Cantard. Some strange beings have been coming out of that desert since the end of the war with Venageta.
The elf seemed calm. Even relaxed. Without a concern.
I said a little something to Playmate in the pidgin dwarfish I could manage. Playmate nodded. He thought the elf was too confident, too.
I told the critter, “I owe you one for bopping me in that alley, guy. But I’m going to try not to remember that while we’re talking.”
My words had no effect. In fact, I got the distinct impression that the elf felt that he was in control of the situation, that he was playing along just to see how much he could find out.
I said, “Rhafi, go into the other room and see if you can find something we can use for a bag. A pillowcase, for instance. Anything will do.”
Rhafi was back in seconds with an actual bag. It was made of that silvery stuff we had found right after Kip was taken.
I said, “Just start throwing in all the little odds and ends and knicknacks. Keep your back to us when you do. And stay between whatever you’re bagging and our friend.” I wasn’t quite sure why I was giving him those instructions but it sure seemed like the right thing to do. And Rhafi was a good boy who did exactly what he was told.
I told Playmate, “Kayne maybe did her best job with this one.”
“Don’t be fooled,” he whispered. “You’re on him at a good time. He can be more trouble than the other two put together.”
I jerked my head toward our captive. “Does this guy talk?”
“I expect so. He’s been getting by by pretending to be human. Can’t manage that without saying something sometime.”
A touch of tension seemed to have developed in the elf. He wasn’t pleased with Rhafi’s activities.
“Good job, Rhafi,” I said. “When that bag is full I want you to take it downstairs and leave it in the street.” It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes for the contents to disappear forever, whether or not anyone could figure out any use for the trinkets.
I watched the elf closely. So did Playmate. This would be the time when he would try something. If he was going to do so.
The gray elf’s strange Y-shaped nostril opened wide. Air whistled inside. The nostril closed. The elf s skinny little mouth began to work, though no sounds came forth.
The elf exhaled, then drew a second deep breath. I got the notion he’d tried something he hadn’t expected to work and had been disappointed by the results.
The elf spoke. “Mr. Garrett. Mr. Wheeler.”
Who the hell was Mr. Wheeler?
Oh. I’d never known Playmate by any other name, except once upon a time when I’d told everybody his name was Sweetheart, just to confuse things if they decided to go looking for him.
Playmate shook his head and pointed at Rhafi. Three different fathers. Well. I hadn’t thought about the kid’s patronymic. Or even that Kayne might have used it if she wasn’t married to the man. But she had been, hadn’t she? As I recalled Playmate explaining it.
Meantime, my new pseudoelven buddy was going on, “I believe that we may be able to help one another.” His Karentine was flawless, upper-class, but more like a loud, metallic whisper than a normal voice. It took me a moment to realize that that was because he wasn’t really using a voice.
More legs on the millipedal mystery. Every intelligent creature I’ve ever met had a voice. Even the Dead Man did, back when he was still alive.
“Who are you?” I asked. “What are you?”
“Policeman? One who tracks and captures evildoers and delivers them to the justiciars? Do you have that concept?”
“Sure. Only in these parts it’s track and catch lawbreakers, not evildoers. Big difference, here in TunFaire. Where are you from?”
He ignored my question, more or less. “The distinction, perhaps, is not always observed in my country, either, though there are those of us who refuse to bend in the wind.”
Damn! I got me a gray-skinned Relway?
He continued, “Be that as it may, I have come to your country in search of two criminals. They have proven extremely elusive. And lately my search has been complicated by the arrival of other hunters, newly alerted to approximately where these two now can be found.”
Damn. Wouldn’t it be great to have the Dead Man listening in here? The guy’s story was good, so far, though hard to follow because it was delivered in six-or eight-word puffs separated by long inhalations.
I was inclined to suspect that the creature normally communicated mind to mind, like the Dead Man.
I asked, “How can we help each other?”
“You wish to recover the boy, Cypres Prose, who has been taken captive by the recently arrived Masker elements. I wish to capture the two villains I was sent to apprehend. My superiors are growing impatient. I believe I may be able to locate the boy by locating the criminals holding him. I do not have the power to wrest him from the hands of his captors alone, however. Join me in doing that. Then get the boy to tell us where my criminals are hidden. Once I have them in hand I’ll go away. Life here can return to normal.”
“That’s just about good enough to gobble up. Even if life here is never any normaler than it is right now. What do you think, Play? Are Lastyr and Noodiss desperate criminals?”
“I don’t think they’re any danger to Chodo Contague, based on the little I saw, but they never really acted like innocent men. Sounds like a workable swap. What are those two wanted for?”
“They are Brotherhood of Light. Their exact crimes are unknown to me. I do not need to know those to do my job.”
I said, “If we’re going to be partners we’re going to have to call you something besides, ‘Hey, You!�
�� You got a name of your own?”
He had to think about it. “As If, Unum Ydnik, Waterborn. Which I cannot explain so that you would understand. Call me Casey. I heard that name recently. I like the sound. And it will be easier for you.”
In words my friend Winger might have used had she been around, this old boy was slicker than greased owl shit. He always had a good answer ready to go. Though I got no sense of insincerity from him. I was almost certainly less sincere than he was.
All the time we were talking Rhafi kept maneuvering back and forth, trying to reach the door with his sack of plunder. While trying to keep facing away from Casey and keeping me or Playmate in between.
I told him, “You can forget what I said, Rhafi. I think we’re all going to work the same side.”
The boy stayed behind Playmate while he said, “Kip won’t give those guys up.”
“Then maybe we’ll just toss him back to the bad guys.” I hadn’t fallen in love with Cypres Prose during my brief exposure to the kid. I kept wondering what I was doing, not just dropping the whole thing. Doing a favor for a friend? I did owe for all those times when Playmate had done really big favors for me.
“Just leave the bag on the table, please,” Casey told Rhafi. “I will return everything to its proper place. Mr. Garrett, when would you like to pursue this matter?”
“I’m going to take it as stipulated that you’re the expert on the people holding Kip. How dangerous is that situation?” There was a time when I did a lot of work related to kidnappings and hostage holdings. Unless the villains belong to one of just a handful of professional gangs the victim’s chances are slim. And they deteriorate with time.
“By the standards of your city those scoundrels are a waste of flesh. You people are more casually cruel to your own families and friends, without thought, than Maskers can be under full force of malice. The dangers enveloping Cypres Prose are almost entirely emotional and spiritual, perils of the soul your people almost entirely discount as irrelevant at best.”
I could buy that. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Which was, probably, his point. “They aren’t breaking his teeth or shoving hot needles under his nails?”
Casey managed to project an aura of horror so strong that it got me thinking about some of the other feelings I’d experienced since he’d shown up. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Then, if he’s in no immediate physical danger, I’m going home and getting something to eat. And maybe I’ll take a nap.” And then maybe I could dash over to Katie’s and see what I could do to patch things up. Hoping her father wasn’t home. Katie’s father doesn’t realize that she isn’t twelve years old anymore. “And I’m sure Playmate is worried sick about his stable.” Down deep Playmate has to know what monsters he’s harboring.
Casey shuddered. He projected quietly controlled terror. He knew the truth.
I might like this guy after all. Even if I didn’t trust him farther than I could throw the proverbial bull mammoth.
I suggested, “Why don’t we all wrap up all our other business, then meet at my place in the morning. We can go find Kip from there.”
“Your morning or real morning?” Playmate asked. “We need to get that established.” He couldn’t conceal his sneer.
In addition to his completely self-delusory regard for the equine race Playmate is a devoted adherent of that perverse doctrine which suggests that it’s a good thing to be up and working ere ever the sun peeps over the horizon. Which goes to show just how broad-minded a guy I am. I still consider him a friend.
“Solar morning. But no before the crack of dawn stuff. Moderation in all things, that’s my motto.”
“Even in telling us what your motto is, evidently,” Playmate cracked. “Because I’ve never been there to hear you state it. Before now.”
“After sunrise,” I grumped. “Rhafi, we’re leaving now. You go out first. Playmate, you follow. Casey, I know you’re a stranger here. But you’ve been here a while and those books tell me you’ve been trying to learn your way around. Here’s a tip. Don’t ever leave your door unlocked again. I guarantee you, next time you do these people here, your neighbors, will steal everything but your middle name before you get down the stairs to the street.”
I backed out of the room myself. I retreated cautiously until I reached the head of the stairs. Needlessly. Casey never stuck his head out of his room.
29
“That was clever, Garrett,” Playmate said after we hit the street.
“I thought so myself. But, knowing my luck, the Dead Man will be sound asleep when Casey shows up tomorrow.”
Playmate chuckled.
I stopped the parade half a block from the yellow tenement. “Rhafi. What did you take?”
“Take? What do you mean? I didn’t take...”
I had been fishing because it seemed in character. His response betrayed him. “I saw you. I want it. Right now. And no holding back.”
“Aw...”
Playmate explained, “Look, if you make Casey mad he might not help us get Kip back.”
There followed an exchange during which Playmate almost lost his temper because he couldn’t make the kid understand how Casey could guess that he had taken anything that turned up missing.
Rhafi hadn’t gotten the brains or the looks.
Rhafi began to look like he wanted to cry. But he held it in. He produced three small gray objects, two dark and one light, in varying shapes and sizes, though none had a major dimension exceeding four inches. Except for colored markings on their surfaces all three items looked like they had been cast from some material that resembled ivory or bone when it hardened. All three items had slightly roughened surfaces.
We stood in a triangle, facing inward, examining Rhafi’s loot. I handled everything with extreme care. There was almost certainly some kind of sorcery involved with those things and I had no desire to wake it up. I concealed them about my person carefully. “Good. Now I have a job assignment for you, Rhafi. I want you to stay right here and watch that yellow brick tenement. See if anybody who might be our friend Casey ever leaves. Keeping in mind that he’ll be wearing some kind of disguise. You saw the clothes and stuff he had.”
“You want me to see where he goes?” As I’d hoped, he was all excited.
“No. No. Don’t do that. I don’t want you to end up like Kip. You just stay here till a man named Saucerhead Tharpe shows up. You’ll know him by how big he is and because he has bad teeth. If Casey does leave, make sure you can give Saucerhead a good description of his disguise. Whatever, once Saucerhead shows up, you go home. I want you to tell your mom that we don’t think Kip is in any physical danger, that we’re on the trail, and that it looks like we might get them back as early as tomorrow. Got all that?”
“Sure, Mr. Garrett.”
“Excellent. You make a good operative.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, Playmate asked, “Do you believe that? That Kip’s not in any real danger?”
“I think our new pal Casey believes that. I’m not sure how come but I could tell what he was feeling. Maybe it’s because of all the time I spend around the Dead Man. Then I get close to somebody who probably communicates the same way and I just kind of cue in. I’ll ask His Nibs.”
“Uhm. Darn. I’ve got to find somebody to watch the stable. I can’t keep walking away like this. The horses need attention. Somebody has to be there to deal with customers.”
“Not to mention thieves.”
“That’s not a problem in my neighborhood.” He stated that with complete conviction. I hoped his optimism wasn’t misplaced.
“You ought to get yourself a wife.”
“I’m reminded of an old saw about talking pots and black kettles.”
He would be. “I’m doing something with my bachelorhood. I’m laying in memories for those long, cool years down the road. Look, I’ve got to send Saucerhead down to relieve Rhafi. Saucerhead will know where to find Winger. I can have him tell her t
o come over and cover for you.”
Playmate made growlie noises. He grumbled. He whined. Winger has a million faults but her country origins qualified her to baby-sit a stable. And she’d probably do a decent job as long as she was getting paid. Assuming Playmate had sense enough not to leave any valuables lying around. Winger has a real hard time resisting temptation.
It was the getting paid part that had been giving my large friend problems throughout this mess. He’d made commitments without first considering the fact that somebody would have to part with some money to see them met.
Winger would expect to be paid. Saucerhead would expect to be paid. Garrett the professional snoop might be gouged for a favor or two but you couldn’t expect him to pay his own expenses. And he was out of pocket already for help from several people, including Mr. Tharpe, Pular Singe the tracker, and the generous assistance of the Morley Dotes glee club and bone-breaking society.
Hell, even my partner, who didn’t have much else to do and didn’t require much upkeep, might insist on some sort of compensation, just so the forms of commerce were observed.
He can be a stickler for form and propriety.
Sometimes I suspect he isn’t aging all that well.
Playmate said, “There isn’t any money in this, Garrett! You saw Kayne and her kids.”
“We could always auction off a few horses. They’re begging for them down at Kansas and Love’s, way I hear.”
Playmate was so aghast he couldn’t even sputter. From his point of view my simple mention of a slaughterhouse was so far beyond the pale that he found it impossible to believe that such words could have issued from a human mouth.
And I just couldn’t resist needling him. “Which is hard to understand, what with all the surplus horses there ought to be these days.”
“Garrett!” he gasped. “Don’t. Enough. Not funny, man.”
“All right. All right. You’ll wake up someday. And I’ll sing a thirty-seven-verse serenade of ‘I Told You So,’ outside your window.”
He just shook his head.
“I’ll get Winger headed your way. Maybe we can work out a deal where we’ll all take a percentage of the profits from Kip’s inventions.”
