by Glen Cook
“Exactly. Tell me everything you’ve left out about your adventures, Garrett.”
When I got to the part about the Michorite messenger Morley began to laugh. He said, “I guess that explains the kid who turned up here a few hours ago.”
“What?”
“He was a dark-haired boy of draft age, as handsome as they come, some mother’s son, wearing nothing but a loincloth. But he stank like an alley in the drought season.”
“How long did you fiddle with the words to put that together?”
“Then till now. Sounded good, didn’t it? He couldn’t remember why he was supposed to see me. The boys in the kitchen gave him some leftovers and sent him on his way.”
I grunted sourly. “Hey, Sarge, no need to hold back on my account. The kid asks for it, smack him. Probably won’t do any good. But he’s got to learn somehow, someday.”
Though I was just about convinced that Kip never would.
Only seconds later, Smack!
Kip bounced off Sarge’s fist, slammed into a wall, folded up into a very surprised pile of dirty laundry.
Morley said, “Sarge wasn’t just a medic. He did one tour training recruits.”
I asked, “How’d you teach that kind when you were in the army, Sarge?”
“Ain’t dat hard, Garrett. But foist ya do got ta get dere attenshun.”
Excellent, in theory. But we were dealing with Cyprus Prose who, I feared, could not be reached by mortal man.
The kid got up, still looking surprised as he shook his head. He started to say something.
Sarge popped him again. Harder.
And, moments later, again, harder still.
And that was all it took. Kip looked right at Sarge, as though really seeing him for the first time.
“Dere. Dat’s better. Let’s you an’ me talk, boy.”
Then a miracle occurred.
Kip paid attention.
Morley opined, “I believe it has to do with Sarge having no emotional investment. Everyone else who ever tried to teach the boy manners didn’t want to hurt him. Down deep he always knew they’d pull their punches. And they’d give up after they’d failed a few times. So he learned to outlast them. Sarge doesn’t have an investment. He doesn’t care if the kid lives or dies. He’ll just keep on hitting, harder and harder, until he gets results. People sense that. They give him their direction. The way the boy has. Ouch!”
Sarge had smacked Kip again, this time turning him ass over appetite.
“A smart mouth always calls for a little reminder. Let the master work a while. You’ll be glad you did.”
So I did. I kept one ear turned Sarge’s direction while Morley and I tried to figure out what the hell I’d gotten myself into this time. Sarge talked to Kip softly, gently, probing his core knowledge of courtesy and the social graces. Kip knew the forms. What he lacked was any understanding. Sarge managed to pound a few insights into his thick, young-adult skull.
I told Morley, “That sonofabitch just went up about ten notches on my approval board. He had me fooled. You think he could do anything with a blasphemous parrot?”
“Where is the lovable Mr. Big?”
“I’m sure he’s out there somewhere, spying on me.”
Morley chuckled, but said only, “There’s more to almost anyone once you get to know them, Garrett. But you knew that already. It’s the kind of thing you’re always throwing at me when I’ve decided it’s time to break some totally deserving jerk’s arm.”
Most of the time he goes for the neck, actually. “That’s different.”
“Oh, absolutely. Garrett, at the risk of causing you a seizure because of my departure from the norm, you’re full of shit.”
Morley gets a kick out of arguing morals and ethics with anybody who’ll sit still for it.
I said, “I need to get going. I only wanted to get the word to Reliance.”
“You’re beginning to pile up a real debt.”
“I don’t think so. You do still recollect who it was who didn’t bother to tell his buddy that he was lugging a coffin full of vampire to a certain meeting with the gentleman who was the kingpin before our current, lovable Chodo Contague? What was that villain’s name?”
Dotes rolled his eyes, looked to heaven and to hell. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I? I’m never going to hear the end of that.”
“Nope. At least not while I have a parrot on staff. Hey, Kip. It’s time to take you home.”
56
Naturally, Kip had to find out if it was possible to resurrect the old order. I told him, “I learned something today, too. Bottom line, what it adds up to is, I don’t put up with any more attitude from you. You give me any crap, I pop you. You don’t behave like a human being, I hit you even harder than Sarge did. Sarge is a good man but he never was a Marine.”
I led Kip to Kayne Prose’s co-op. Kayne was pleased. Kayne squealed in delight, like a girl younger than her daughter. She hugged and kissed her baby. She hugged and kissed her baby’s rescuer. She refused to turn the latter loose until he promised her an opportunity to demonstrate her gratitude more fully.
But when the smoke cleared away and the emotions settled out, Kayne still had sewing to do. She asked me to take Kip home. Where I found his sister Cassie trying on a new personality. This one was much more appealing. This one was very friendly indeed. I account it a miracle that I was able to escape still wearing my trousers, trailing a “Maybe later” that started me drooling every time I thought even a little bit about Cassie Doap.
What a life.
Rhafi did get the job.
57
One of the good things to happen in my life has been the unshakable friendship I’ve formed with Max Weider, the brewery magnate. I’ve done several jobs for Max. They didn’t all work out the way we hoped but we did become friends of the sort who trust one another absolutely.
Where money and women are not concerned.
Max has a very lovely daughter named Alyx. Alyx is a bit of an adventuress, in her own mind. Alyx could complicate things without even trying.
A new man answered the door at the Weider mansion. Max doesn’t go out much anymore. Like the old majordomo, this character’s pointy nose spent most of its time higher in the air than did that of any member of the Weider family. That nose wrinkled when he saw me. I told him, “Go tell Gilbey that Garrett is here. It’s business.”
I cooled my heels outside until I began to suspect that the majordomo hadn’t bothered to deliver my message. Manvil Gilbey, Max Weider’s lifelong sidekick, wasn’t as keen on me as everyone would be in a perfect world, but he was certain to let new help know... How do you get a job like that? If you’re the employer, how do you find somebody to do it?
The door opened. This time Manvil Gilbey himself stood on the other side. Behind him lurked a disappointed doorman. “I’m sorry, Garrett. Rogers only started yesterday. In all the confusion I forgot to let him know that you’re one of the people we always want to see. Is there something going on at the brewery?”
“Could be. But this don’t have anything to do with it.” I told the doorman, “Thanks for nothing, Bubba. Hey, Gilbey, how do you go about finding and hiring a guy who can be snooty about opening doors?”
“Max is in the study. Napping when last I checked. Let’s go up. Maybe if you needle him a little he’ll show some interest in life. Are you involved in anything? I believe it would be useful if we had you work your magic at a few of the smaller breweries we’ve acquired the past couple of years. Two or three of them keep showing some screwed-up numbers.”
“You kept the original workforces, right?”
“Top to bottom.” Max always did, till individuals proved themselves not worth keeping. Weider wasn’t sentimental about deadwood or crooks. “We only put in a handful of our takeover guys. To study their processes. We try not to change the final product. Unless it’s really awful. But we do look for ways to increase profitability. You’d be amazed how many inefficie
ncies persist in this industry simply because things have always been done a certain way.”
From the day they launched their first brewing operation Weider and Gilbey had produced a quality product the most efficient way possible. Today they control seventy percent of the human-directed brewing in the city. And they have shares in many of the nonhuman breweries. Even ogres understand enhanced profit margins and good beer.
Gilbey pushed through the second floor door to Max’s study, held it for me. I passed through into the heat.
Max always has a bonfire going in the fireplace there, these days.
I missed a step. Max had aged a decade in the weeks since last I’d seen him. He used to be a little round-faced, red-cheeked, bald on top, smiling, twinkling-eye sort of guy. Not now. He looked terrible. He had suffered a severe decline in a very short time. Which wasn’t that huge a surprise. Life had been exceedingly cruel to Max of late. He’d had two children murdered and his wife pass away, all on one horrible day.
Max wasn’t napping after all. “Garrett. I see that you’re not here to brighten my day. And that your wardrobe has begun to decline already.”
“I guess I’m just a natural-born slob.”
“Do we have trouble on the floor again?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Manvil did ask me to check out a couple of the new satellite breweries. And I’ll get to that right away. Before the end of the week. But what I came for this time is to beg the borrow of some business expertise.”
Weider steepled his spidery, blue-veined fingers in front of his nose. The rheum went out of his eyes. His now nearly gaunt face showed a bit of light. I’d managed to pique his interest.
Gilbey, who had moved to a post beside his employer’s chair, shot me a look that told me to get on with it while there was a chance of getting Max interested and engaged.
I could do this. I know how to keep a corpse awake and interested. Sometimes.
Manvil Gilbey isn’t just Max Weider’s number one lieutenant, he’s his oldest and closest friend. They go back to their war years together. Which makes for a hell of a bond.
“What it is,” I said, “is that I’ve stumbled across this kid who invents things. All kinds of things. Some are completely weird. Some are completely useless. And some are really neat. What I want is for somebody with a lot more commercial sense than I’ve got to eyeball the inventions and tell me if I’m fooling myself when I think somebody could get rich making some of them.”
“Ah,” Max said. “Another business opportunity. First time this week we’ve been offered the chance to get in on the ground floor, isn’t it, Manvil?”
I pretended to miss his sarcasm. “I’m not looking for anybody to go in on it with me. I have that part worked out. If I could just have Manvil give me his honest opinion of the stuff in the kid’s workshop, and if it matches mine, I’ll see if the Tates want to manufacture them. Now that the war’s over there isn’t much demand for the army boots and leather whatnots they’ve been making for the last sixty years.”
Max asked, “What’s your take, Manvil?” He was well aware of my precarious relationship with one of the Tate girls. And he thought I was a raving romantic instead of a tough, lone, honest man battling to scourge evil from the mean streets, which is what I know that I really am. As long as I don’t have to get up before noon to work the flails.
“I think friend Garrett might be even less devious than we’ve always thought. You weren’t going to cut us in, Garrett?”
“Huh? Why should I? You guys already got more money than God and more work than —”
Max stilled me with a wave. “See what he’s got, Manvil. Garrett, Willard Tate is a good choice. He’s an excellent manager. And he does have that gorgeous redheaded niece besides.” He knows about Tinnie because Tinnie and his daughter Alyx are friends. “I like your thinking there.” Maybe because a Garrett involved with a Tinnie Tate again meant a Garrett not involved with any Weider daughters.
We may be friends but he’s also a father.
Max leaned his head back and closed his eyes. End of consultation. For now.
Manvil actually smiled. I’d managed to get his buddy interested in something, at least for a little while.
58
“Sounds like a riot,” I said. Gilbey and I, in the Weider coach, were nearing Playmate’s stable.
Possibly it was a neighborhood war. A lot of sturdy subject types, armed with knives and cudgels, were trying to adjust the larcenous attitudes of the biggest daytime mob of ratmen I’d ever seen. There were dozens of them. And things weren’t going their way. The street was littered with ratmen already down. The survivors were trying to retreat, burdened with booty. And just as Manvil and I arrived the Domains of Chaos spewed another ingredient into the cauldron.
At least twenty more ratmen appeared. They attacked the smash-and-grab guys with a ferocity I hadn’t seen since the islands. They were determined to leave bodies behind. And they got as good as they gave.
I leaned out the coach door and told our driver, “Just stay real still and try to think invisible thoughts till this blows over.”
“What’s happening?” Gilbey asked. There was no color left in his face. He didn’t get out on the town much.
“We seem to have strayed into the middle of a factional skirmish amongst members of the ratman underworld. What it was before it turned into that I won’t know until I get a chance to look around.” But I had a feeling it boded no good for me and my industrial schemes.
“Your life is never dull, is it?”
“A little dull wouldn’t hurt, some days. I’ve thought about calling my autobiography Trouble Follows Me. The problem with that is, the troubles in my life are usually waiting when I get there.”
The battle outside turned tricornered. Playmate’s sturdy subject type neighbors couldn’t tell one ratman from another. And most of them just plain welcomed a chance to whack on a thieving ratman anyway.
Whistles sounded in the distance. The Guards were gathering. I expected that, like the Watch before them, they would move in only after they were confident that they had nobody to deal with but people who couldn’t crawl away.
I slipped down out of the coach. “Better stay in here for now, Manvil.”
“No problem. I used up my adventurous side a long time ago.”
One thing that’s never in short supply around Playmate’s stable is the rough hemp twine his hay-and-straw man uses to bundle his products before he brings them into town. Playmate saves the twine and gives it back.
I gathered a load and started tying rats. Neighbors thought that was a marvelous idea and joined right in.
“Not that one,” I told one of the sturdy subjects. “The ones wearing the green armbands are the good guys. Sort of. We can fail to see them getting away if they’re able to go.”
That earned me some dark looks but no real arguments. Emotions were surprisingly cool, considering.
I tied fourteen ratmen personally before the Guard arrived. There were more still unbound. Almost all of the neighbors had started to carry Playmate’s possessions back into the stable. They ignored instructions not to disturb the evidence. Most of that, I noted, was stuff that had been looted from Kip’s workshop.
I returned to the Weider coach. “Come on. Let’s see if they left anything I can show you.”
To my delight, the three-wheel, my three-wheel, hadn’t been disturbed. “This’s the main thing I want to make. The biggest thing. Right here. Watch this.” I climbed aboard, zoomed around as best I could in the confined space. “I can see every rich family in town wanting one of these for a toy. Come on. Try it.”
As Gilbey was trying to get the hang of making the big front wheel turn in the correct direction I caught a sound from behind me and whirled, expecting an attack from some desperado ratman who’d been knocked down earlier or who’d gone into hiding when the tide had turned. What I found was a weak, cross-eyed Playmate trying to get up from where he’d been laid low by a blow to
the head.
I gave him a hand up, which wasn’t the best thing to do for him in his condition. I supported him till he could get his backside planted on a bale of hay and his spine pressed against a post. “How bad does it look, Garrett?” I was checking the top of his head.
“You’re going to need a real surgeon. You’ve got a piece of scalp peeled back. The wound needs cleaning. You need a bunch of stitches. You’re going to be enjoying headaches for days. What did they want?”
“They never told me but they meant to haul off everything Kip ever made.”
“Didn’t I warn you?’
“Yes. You did. How’s Winger?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. She supposed to be here? I’ll look around. Manvil, would you keep an eye on my friend, here? You remember how to deal with a head injury? Don’t let him go to sleep.”
I found no sign of Winger anywhere. I went back to Playmate. “You sure Winger was still here?”
“I still have fresh blisters on my ears from the language she used when this started, Garrett. She was busting up ratmen like she was killing snakes or something. They won’t be good to her if they took her away.”
“You Garrett?”
I jumped. I hadn’t heard this guy come in. He was way shorter than me but plenty wide and all muscle. He had big, brushy eyebrows that met in the middle over mean-looking little blue eyes that, surely, concealed a bright mind. He was clad in businesslike apparel that managed to look shoddy even though it was relatively new. I knew what he was before I asked, “Who wants to know?”
“I do. Lucius Browling. Extraordinary Guard Services. Reporting straight to the director.” Lucius Browling didn’t offer to shake. Neither was he rude or confrontational.
“The director? What director?”
“Director Relway. Of the Emergency Committee for Royal Security.”
Good old Relway. Count on him to paint the outside of his house of righteous thugs with colorful, high-sounding monikers. Monikers that would change as fast as people figured out that each was a hollow mask for something more sinister, probably.
