Dread Brass Shadows gf-5

by Glen Cook

  "You guess. That's you, Garrett. Guessing and stumbling around in the dark till you fall over something. Reason 1 wanted to talk to you, we got a line on some dwarves. Probably won't do you no good. They was in a big dust-up down on the Landing. Dwarfish gang fight. One bunch jumped another bunch. After, some headed for Dwarf Fort, some headed toward the Bledsoe. I'd call it a draw, far as how mt turned out. I got some guys trying to track the ones went toward the hospital. Thought you'd want to know."

  "Yeah. Thanks." I forgot to mention Winger and I were on a trail. Better to have the hard boys headed somewhere else. "This is turning into the longest leak in history. Anybody was watching me they'd be getting suspicious."

  "You worry too much. Crask can handle them. But go on. Catch you later." He drifted into shadow, taking his aura of menace with him.

  "Yeah. Later." I stomped out of there hitching my pants and shaking my head.

  Winger said, "You must have a five-gallon bladder, Garrett." She was breathing heavy.

  "Yeah. Something happen?"

  She gave me a mocking smile. "Nothing I couldn't handle. Some guy tried to pick me up. I discouraged him."

  "Oh. Let's move." I wanted to see what I could see before Chodo's boys stumbled into my way. Always seemed to be people turning up dead when they did.

  Winger seemed disappointed that I didn't have any banter or follow-up questions about her encounter. I shrugged it off.

  It was hard to make any speed. The streets had filled with people gawking at the pigeon exterminators. One glided over, pathfinding. I said, "I hear those things only go thirty, forty pounds." This one went night over the Tate compound, which wasn't far away. I wondered if Tinnie was watching, too. For no reason I could finger I was feeling blue.

  "Cheer up, Garrett. We'll find that book and get rich."

  Or dead. Lots more likely dead.

  26

  The longer we walked the more certain I became that I'd have to renegotiate with Winger. I glanced at her, big as me, strutting along like she dared the world to take its best shot. Something about her unjustified cockiness appealed to me give her a dose of sense, she might be all right.

  "Hey, Winger. That twenty isn't an open offer. I won't buy a pig in a poke. You got to deliver dwarves."

  "No cat in this bag, Garrett. You'll get dwarves."

  Cat and pig, both expressions come from an old country con. Once upon a time peasants took piglets to market in a ‘poke.' Some grifter got the idea of stuffing the bag with a cat and selling it to somebody gullible enough not to look inside before he handed over his money. So. Pig in a poke, cat out of the bag.

  I wanted dwarves. I got them. But not exactly in mint condition.

  "What's going on?" Winger muttered. People were milling around a tenement that had seen its best days a hundred years before I was born. People who weren't interested in the ongoing airshow.

  "Trouble," I told her. "Past tense. Else we'd have a desert here."

  "Ghouls9"

  "You could say that."

  She pushed through the crowd, not caring who she shoved or elbowed. She was mad, perfectly willing to get in a fight. I wondered if I ought to be around somebody who had herself a war on with the whole world.

  The first dead dwarf lay sprawled in the tenement entrance, hacked and stabbed and twisted up into an unnatural position. He clutched the hilt of a broken knife. "Got swamped in a rush, looks like," I said. "Anybody see it happen?" I'm a dreamer.

  The nearest vultures looked at me like I was crazy. I shrugged, pushed inside. No crowd in there, which suggested the folks outside expected city busybodies any minute. People not worried about the Watch would have been inside collecting anything the dead couldn't use anymore.

  The Watch seldom bothers doing much policing or chasing, but they do grab folks found on the scene, then make life miserable for them. I told Winger, "We'd better do this quick."

  "Do what?" She sounded depressed. I supposed she was thinking about all the things she couldn't buy with the money I wasn't going to pay her.

  "Look the place over. See what's to be seen."

  "Why? All you're going to see is more dead guys."

  She had a point. There was another on the first floor landing and three in the hallway on the second. Two of those may have been attackers. They were better kempt, better clad. Gnorst's bunch.

  The fight had proceeded along the hallway, scourged a half-dozen sleeping rooms, and tumbled down a cramped rear stairwell. None of the rooms had doors. Most had been torn apart by somebody in a hurry looking for something. We found a ratman and a dwarf, both critically wounded and a lot of nothing else. I asked, "Was this the place you wanted to sell me?"

  "Sure was." Still depressed.

  "You tried."

  "That don't put money in my pocket. What's that racket?" She meant the yelling out front.

  "Watch must be coming. People telling each other to make themselves invisible. Which isn't such a bad idea." I stomped down the back stairway. Behind me, Winger muttered about her luck couldn't turn worse if she prayed. Her vocabulary wasn't unique or imaginative, but it was colorful.

  The back way out featured a broken door. I squeezed through. The mess beyond suggested somebody tried to hold Gnorst's dwarves there while the renegades made their getaway. One of Gnorst's dwarves lay partially buried in litter, alive enough to groan. I tried asking him questions. If he spoke any Karentine, he was too involved in his own misery to respond. He did manage one dwarfish outburst filled with fireworks, the only word of which I caught was "ogre." I told Winger, "This one will be all right. If the Watch don't lynch him just to make believe they're doing something useful."

  "I think they're in the building." There was a racket inside.

  "Time to go. Watch your step." TunFaire's alleys serve many unplanned uses, especially those of trash dump and public relief facility. The quality of cleanup attention they get from the city ratmen declines as one moves farther from the Hill. What the lords don't see don't exist. We were far from the hub of the wheel here, in a stretch so foul it boasted no homeless tenants.

  A Watchman stepped into our path as we approached the street. Being a naturally courteous kind of guy, I'd let Winger go first. The Watchman was about five six and tricked out in those gaudy blues and reds, a pretty little devil who got him a nasty grin when he saw he had somebody boxed. He started to say something.

  What did he want to say? Who the hell knows. Winger grabbed him by the throat, planted one on his nose, hoisted him up, and flipped him into the mess behind us. Like he weighed about six pounds. I wanted to gawk but knew it wouldn't work. He had friends. "Bright move, Winger. Real bright." I hoped he hadn't seen me well enough to know me if we met again.

  I put the old heels and toes to work doing what the gods intended and didn't slow down till I was ten blocks away. Huffing, puffing, snorting like a bilious dragon, I looked for Winger. Not a sign of her. She'd gone her own way. Which was maybe an excellent idea and one I ought to hope she'd pursue indefinitely. A guy could get hurt hanging around with people like her.

  27

  I trust the light was feeble there, the Dead Man sent Winger's behavior amused him. Is there any likelihood the Watchman recognized you?

  "Why should he?"

  You are a known character.

  That sack of petrified lard was worried about losing his free ride!

  He wouldn't have admitted it if I'd set a fire under him but the truth smoldered through. If he lost me, he might actually have to work to keep a roof over his head. There's nothing in this world he loathes more than work.

  The fact that he was worried worried me. It was out of character. I take my life in my hands every time I go sniffing around after the bad boys. That never bothered him before. It got me thinking and that's always dangerous. Wondering if he hadn't had some premonition. Wouldn't surprise me to find he could peek into the future. Especially after the way he'd been guessing what Glory Mooncalled would do.

  "Wh
at's happened?" I thought it a perfectly reasonable query. He ignored it. "Be that way, then." I took my question to Dean.

  "Nothing," Dean told me "Except that he did hint that he was getting something like a black vibration out of the Cantard. I think he meant he felt something happening down there."

  "Oh, my. It'd have to be big." Oh, my, oh, my.

  I couldn't believe it was anything but imagination. Dead men got nothing to do but fantasize. But... If something that big was happening, it had to involve Glory Mooncalled.

  When the going gets tough, the tough get going. When the going gets tough, Garrett puts his feet up and has a beer. I took a pitcher into the office and snuggled up with Eleanor. We had us a chat about whether or not I had any obligation, anywhere, now I could be sure Tinnie was going to be all right. Eleanor didn't have much to say, but somewhere along the way, after things got a little dizzy, I recalled that I'd taken on a client, a wee lovely who thought me finding an improbable book could save her father's bacon.

  I didn't want to believe in the thing, but people and dwarves were dropping like flies. We were playing morCartha down here on the ground. I was caught in it, like it or not. Somebody wanted me to join the flies.

  Dean brought beer and a stern look I asked, "Where's Carla Lindo?"

  "Guest room. Worrying." He assumed his human roadblock stance. "She doesn't need comforting. She needs help."

  "Yeah. Sure. So do. I You don't see me getting any. Hell. I'm done waiting for it to come to me. I'll go round it up." I drained another mug of courage, checked my portable arsenal, headed for the door. Dean trotted along behind grinning like an old death's-head.

  His romantic notions would be the death of me yet.

  I'm immune to romantic notions, of course. I'm a block of heavy metal unshakably planted at the center of a plain of common sense, illuminated by the sun of reason.

  Right. Look up. See the swarms of pigs flying south for the winter.

  I hadn't been inside, isolated from the city ambience, for long, but something had changed. Some new level of tension had been reached. There were fewer people out. Those who were seemed nervous. I could see no real reason.

  I visited Morley's place but found no Morley. I went away puzzled, headed for Saucerhead's shabby den.

  Tharpe was out, too. Not one of his mouse-size lady friends was there to clue me where he'd gone, either. 'Twas a puzzlement

  I went away frowning. Something had to be going on. Especially with Morley. He faded from sight sometimes, but I'd never known him to take his whole crew with him. There'd always been some way to get in touch.

  I headed for home.

  I got the news from a neighbor moments before I reached the house.

  "Big roughhouse in the Cantard, Old Bones," I told the Dead Man. "Word's just in. All mixed up. Sounds like our troops and the Venageti caught up with Mooncalled at the same time, some place called Broken Back Canyon. No word how it came out yet, though." All the neighbor knew was that the battle had been all-time big. I assumed the northbound dispatches had been sent immediately on contact. The mere catching of Mooncalled was news of major importance.

  I suspected as much. To yield vibrational energies I can detect here... It must be the battle of battles and still going on. I would not have expected Mooncalled to be capable of so violent a defense.

  "Cornered rats. But Mooncalled always did the unexpected.

  Perhaps. Let us not concern ourselves overmuch before more coherent information arrives. I sense that you are troubled.

  "What a genius. Amazing how you figure things out." I told him about my day, such as it was so far.

  Go eat. Let me think.

  I did that, without a squabble. I was that down, feeling that inadequate.

  "He's had an hour," I told Dean, who was thoroughly sick of me hanging around the kitchen. "That ought to be long enough for even a genius." Stomach full, now optimistic enough to have put aside thoughts of suicide, I hit the hallway.

  Carla Lindo stepped out of the Dead Man's room. She carried a broom and dustpan. I stopped to gape. Behind me, Dean started apologizing "She wanted to do something, Mr. Garrett. And he doesn't bother her."

  "Fine." No broom ever took my breath away. No. She'd just turned my spine to jelly with a look that should have gotten the fire bells sounding all over town.

  I grabbed myself by the collar and dragged me into the Dead Man's room before I soaked the carpet with drool.

  She is attractive, is she not?

  "Huh? You too." We lived in an age of wonders indeed. The millennium was at hand. He never said anything nice about persons of the opposite sex. But maybe Carla Lindo was opposite enough to touch even the dead.

  You have something to report?

  Report it may help you avoid hyperventilation.

  "I already told you everything."

  Oh.. So you did.

  Somebody started pounding on the front door. The Dead Man didn't appear interested. I ignored it. Whoever might go away. It was time to uncomplicate my life.

  I have been thinking, Garrett.

  "Hey, that's great. I'm glad to hear it. Especially since that's what you get paid for."

  Garrett! Time is of the essence.

  "So quit wasting it. I've only got maybe thirty years left.''

  I have been mulling this Book of Dreams. it occurs to me that Chodo Contague must soon, if he has not already, discover the nature of the root of all this excitement. It occurs to me that, then, his interest will intensify, passing beyond professional revenge.

  "Huh?" He does go on like that "You lost me." Not really, but he does like to feel smarter than the rest of us and the best way to keep him moving is to appeal to his ego.

  The more I consider this Book of Shadows, the more sinister and seductive it seems.

  I made appropriate noises indicating awed curiosity

  We all play roles all the time, Garrett. We all develop multiple faces we don according to the situation and companion of the moment and, perhaps, according to the advantage we hope to acquire. How terribly convenient it would be to have the ability to become whatever we wanted, filling the role to perfection, whenever that suited our whim. He sounded wistful. Having a Carla Lindo around can do that to anybody. How very convenient if we happen to be afflicted with terrible handicaps.

  Like being dead, maybe? "I get you. But my inclination is just to squat here till we see how the wind's blowing"

  Unacceptable. There is a balance that must be rectified. Not to mention the fact that we have undertaken to aid Miss Ramada. I must do some additional thinking on how best to proceed. While I do so, I suggest you cross the hall. Dean has installed Mr. Tate in your office. He appears to need reassurances.

  "Willard Tate? Here?"

  The same.

  "The old boy never leaves his compound. What the hell is he doing here?"

  You might ask.

  Nothing like a subtle hint. "Yeah. Right." I headed for the office.

  Tate had taken the guest chair. He didn't fit. Too small. Like a wispy gray old gnome. Dean had settled him with a pitcher He was working on that and flirting with Eleanor. I said, "Three minutes more and you wouldn't have caught me home " Just to suggest that I was a busy man.

  He glowered. "Tinnie's taken a bad turn, Garrett "He gestured reassuringly, though. "Won't kill her, they tell me. But it's enough to leave me an emotional wreck. I came here to find out if you've learned anything new"

  "Not a lot." I told him about my day

  He shook his head slowly, angrily, looked at Eleanor as though he was talking to her "I'm wasting my time and yours. I know that. But I couldn't work. Couldn't sit still " As he spoke he changed, gaining an edge of steel. "I want to meet this woman who calls herself the Serpent. I want to tell her a thing or two."

  "She's a witch, Mr. Tate. And not any tealeaf reader, either. Not easy to reach and big trouble if you do. Moreover, my partner has cautioned me that Chodo Contague should be developing a more than passin
g interest in her " I explained why.

  Tate rose. He would have paced had there been room. "I don't like seeing Tinnie hurt, Garrett. Nor any Tate. Especially not for no reason. I won't endure it. Chodo isn't a problem. I have money. I have proven connections. I can buy myself a stormwarden if I care to."

  "Sounds like the frying pan to the fire to me. Suppose you do buy you one. What happens when he figures out whatthe book is?"

  "I don't much care

  "You ought to. I do. We have obligations that transcend—"

  "Crap."

  "It's not quite law of the jungle and survival of the fittest out there, Mr. Tate. Not yet. And that's mainly because some of us do what's right. Listen to me. That book is evil incarnate. Even if every character recorded in it is as sweet and naive as Tinnie, the book is an instrument of darkness. Its only use can be to do evil."

  Was this me speechifying? My oh my.

  I'd started thinking about how I could use the book myself. I suspected anybody who heard about it would do the same. Human nature. How could anyone who possessed it resist abusing the power it would confer?

  "Think about this. If the Book of Shadows didn't exist, would Tinnie be a step from death's door? How about all the people who've already died because of it? It's pure evil because it brings out the worst in everybody."

  In his best moments Tate looks like he's noshirig lemons. This wasn't one of his best times. "I think you're splitting hairs, Garrett. That book didn't kill anybody. People made decisions and acted on them. Only then did people die."

  "Those decisions were warped by knowledge of the existence of the book."

  "You're quibbling. We're quibbling. Why? Are you trying to get money out of me? Why on earth are you sitting there talking to me at all?"

  Best question he'd asked so far. "Courtesy, Mr Tate. Courtesy."

  "Why don't you toss me out? I'm just art old pain in the ass who's keeping you from doing something useful."

  He was in a mood, he was. "You have a suggestion what? Maybe I should rent a horse and go galloping around yelling ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.'