by Glen Cook
Come on, Garrett! This is it. They've handed it to you. All you have to do is fall through a door and roll down a hill. Or the other way around. You have the necessary skills.
My body told me, all right, I'll let you open one eye.
I did. I couldn't see squat because I wasn't facing the door.
The driver observed, "Something's up. He's slowing down "Like maybe the philosopher had bad eyes.
The philosopher called, "What is it, Winsome?"
I wished I had the energy to laugh. Winsome? Was that a nickname?
Did I have a death wish? The philosopher was talking from near the head of the team. They were handing me it on a platter and all I could do was turn my head enough to look outside and see that we were exactly where I'd guessed
Come on, Garrett!
I reached back for the old reserves and found I had enough to lever myself up enough to see that they hadn't dressed me up in ropes or shackles. I could leap up and dash away after leaving my dreaded mark slashed into the property of the evildoers.
Winsome yelled something about a bad smell.
I heard a footstep. Cunning me, I lay down where I'd been and made like a guy who was going to snore for another week. The philosopher must not have watched many guys come back from a thumping. He bought it.
He pulled an illegal sword from beneath his seat, told the driver, "Don't move," and went stomping up the road.
The driver cussed the horses. The animals were getting restless.
My body began to yield to my will. I got onto my knees slowly so as not to rock the coach and alert the driver. I looked out the open door at the woods. I don't usually have much use for the country, but from where I knelt at that moment ticks and chiggers and poison ivy didn't sound bad at all. I eased forward, poked my head out far enough to look uphill.
One guy was almost to the top. He seemed uncomfortable. Only his brags were keeping him up there. The other was striding toward him, sword in hand.
One quick dive over the edge, Garrett. Your best chance.
Ha! said my body. No you don't.
I was recovering. And they were giving me time I could use to recover some more, talking up there. I wondered what was going on. I wondered even more about that reference to a shoemaker.
Maybe if I lived, I'd figure it out.
38
If I didn't get off my ass soon, I was going to lose a lot of respect for me. Not to mention aforesaid ass. I'd regret it the rest of my life. So I did something, on the old Corps theory that doing anything is better than doing nothing at all.
I swung my feet over the side and settled them on the road. That took most of my energy. Unfortunately, it also wakened the driver. I'd hoped to have another minute before I went down the hill. But the guy up top yelled.
Winsome spotted me. He roared. The philosopher yelled. You'd have thought we'd won the war. They started running downhill.
The driver hollered again, but he wasn't worried about me now.
I heaved myself upright and tottered forward. I didn't look where I was going. I was too busy gawking at the scaly green barrel of a head, sleepy-eyed, that had risen above the ridge line. The monster made a puzzled whuffing noise, then grinned a grin filled with about ten thousand gigantic teeth, got up from where it had been napping. And got up and got up and got up.
The bottom went out from under me as the horses began a brief debate about the quickest way to get the hell out of there.
The slope was steeper than I'd remembered it. I couldn't control my descent. I went down ass over appetite, sliding, rolling, ricocheting off trees, bouncing through underbrush. Every stick and stone autographed my body. I ended up spread-eagle in a patch of last year's thistles. I wondered if it was worth it.
Up top, the horses had found a way to turn around and were headed south. The driver cracked his whip like maybe they needed encouragement. The philosopher and Winsome were fifty feet behind hollering for the driver to wait up. Big Ugly had gotten all of himself upright and over the ridge and was fixing to put on a burst of speed.
The whole thing would have been amusing had I not been part of it, down there in the ravine trying to blend into the landscape so I wouldn't look killable or edible either one.
No team and no men are going to outrun a critter that makes its living chasing things and has legs fifteen feet long. On the other hand, no critter thirty feet tall will have a lot of luck sprinting down a twisty road less than eight feet wide in the turns. The thunder-lizard over hauled Winsome as the man headed into a sharp turn with a cut on one side and a forty-foot drop on the other. The critter smacked into the hillside, rebounded, and off the road he went. He cussed in thunder-lizard all the way to the bottom.
The big greenie had stick-to-it-ivity, I'll give him that. He got up, shook himself off, tore up some timber just to express himself, then got rolling again. He wanted to catch something for all his trouble. He limped a little. Maybe he'd twisted an ankle, or whatever thunder-lizards have.
I barely breathed till the excitement took itself out of hearing. Then I moved carefully. I've heard that those things sometimes run in packs. And maybe he'd spotted me going over the side. Maybe he was waiting for a Garrett snack to come to him. Probably what he was doing up there on the ridge—just letting breakfast, lunch, and dinner come trotting up from town.
I glanced up the slope I'd descended "I got to find another line of work." I started limping. "People don't want to be saved anyway." Weider's standing offer at the brewery looked better all the time. Nobody to beat on me, no hills to fall down, nobody wanting to take me for a ride, all the beer I could drink. Just lean back and pour it down until I was as fat as the Dead Man. What a life.
The job would look good till the hurting stopped.
My myriad aches and bruises wakened the anger that had grown feeble since I'd learned that Tinnie was going to make it. I remembered her lying in the street with a knife sticking out of her, and that reminded me that complain as I might, I did have an interest in all this confusion and insanity. A very personal interest.
There will be Serpents with us always. With the best will it can muster, the race wouldn't be able to exterminate them all. And the race, of course, has no universal will to see them become extinct. We all have a bit of the Serpent in us, just waiting for the right moment to bloom.
Witness all these characters who wanted the Book of Dreams. Not all of them had been bad to begin.
I'd even begun to doubt Carla Lindo's honorable intentions.
We can't get shut of the Serpents but we can sure as hell lower the price in pain by snipping one off the social bush now and then. My attitude underwent adjustment as I limped along. My get-even list rearranged itself. Sometime during my trek homeward, my resistance toward participating in Crask and Sadler's adventure evaporated I donned my pain like a badge, let it flow through me, refused to be daunted by anything.
It's only six miles from Hornet Nest Hill to my place. A couple hours, loafing along. I didn't loaf but I didn't make that good a time. Too many injuries slowing me down
I never saw the nest for which the hill is named. I never saw a hornet. I didn't see friend Winsome or the philosopher again, either. I did, at a distance, spy some busted black wood that might have been fancy coachwork. I didn't go look for survivors.
By the time I got home I was mad at myself for letting the Dead Man get my goat and run me out to see the head dwarf. I'd known it was a pointless exercise when I left.
Dean let me in. He saw I was in no mood or shape for any discussion. He did a fade. I went into my office, shut the door, wouldn't even let Dean bring my beer. I communed with Eleanor. We made a pact. Despite the pain and discouragement, I'd keep plugging. I'd get that book, one way or another. I'd thin the ranks of the villains. Eleanor gave me one of her rare smiles.
"Hell, honey, I guess I can't help being Garrett, anyway." I headed upstairs, paused halfway to tell Dean to bring the pitcher and our first-aid stuff to my room.
It had been a full day and it wasn't yet suppertime I decided to eat light then lie down. Maybe my subconscious would produce a miracle while I napped and I'd end up turning the adventure against Chodo into a coup for the good guys. Assuming I didn't get so stiff and swollen I couldn't move at all.
That's how I figured. The rest of the world didn't share my vision.
Dean wakened me before I was completely asleep. "His Nibs wants you. He accused you of neglect."
So I hadn't taken time to report. He feels no pain. He doesn't get physically tired. He forgets that the rest of us do. Poor spirits and defeatism he understands better. His existence is entirely cerebral.
I went down to report
Carla Lindo was just slipping out. She gave me a smile that set my backbone vibrating despite my state. Old Bones was chuckling to himself. She had his ego puffed up enough to swamp small cities I wondered if she'd goaded him into disturbing me. She did seem to be getting impatient.
He took a quick riffle through my mind, saved me the trouble of talking. Any doubt that those were Chodo Contague's men?
I couldn't give the answer he wanted to hear. "None."
I hoped it would never come to this.
"You and me both. I was lucky. I got a pass. The bastard was sentimental enough to want to explain why he had to send me off. I won't get that option again." As soon as Chodo was sure things had soured he'd put the word out. Maybe even an open contract.
It is premature for that. First he will have to learn that you were not devoured with the others. Then, considering the highly public nature of his past favor, he will want to avoid a public reversal because he cannot yet answer questions sure to arise and threaten his credibility. He is proud and vain and his power in great part rests upon a widespread belief that he is an honorable man within criminal hghts. To tell the world he wants you dead would compel him to provide reasons. He cannot tell the truth. It would bury him
"That wouldn't keep the hard boys from carving me up for the bounty."
No, he admitted
"So? Suggestions?"
Survival now heads our priorities. Finding the Book of Dreams has become secondary.
And people wonder why he's considered a genius. Would I have thought of that myself? "Only way out is to take out Chodo first."
Indeed.
"I've never deliberately set out to kill somebody."
I know. He wasn't taking it lightly
"Is being able to live my life the way I want worth another man's life?" I could get out of town. Permanently. Because if I went, there'd be no one else to slow Chodo down-unless Crask and Sadler got lucky without me.
That is a decision you must make.
"You and Dean have a say."
I survived for centuries before we met. Whatever you decide, I will get by.
No doubt "You really know how to pump a guy up" But his welfare was only one consideration. My ego was going to take a whipping whatever I did. Run and I'd spend the rest of my life questioning my courage. Kill Chodo and I'd have to endure big dents in my self-image. "I can't win."
There is no question of winning or losing. Nor one of right or wrong. If you have one fatal weakness, it is your thinking too much. Your insistence upon viewing any choice as a moral decision. It is not immoral to fight for your life. Stop posing. Cease overcomplicating. Decide if you would prefer to spend your remaining days in TunFaire or elsewhere, then act to support your preference.
He can strip a thing to its bones when he wants. And he's damned good at twisting something till it looks like something else.
Dean stuck his head into the room. "There's a person to see you, Mr. Garrett
"Who?"
Hint of a smile. "A most unusual person."
I looked at the Dead Man. He didn't give me a clue. I went into the hall. "At the door?"
"I couldn't make up my mind whether or not to let her in. Personally, I don't feel she's your type."
"Huh?" My type is female, in the three primary colors, blonde, brunette, and redhead
"Ordinarily you do tend toward a certain physical type, Mr. Garrett. Mr. Dotes once observed that they could all wear the same underwear."
"Oh?" I thought of myself as an eclectic. I opened the door.
"About damned time," Winger said.
I gaped. Dean laughed. I'd forgotten events earlier.
Winger said, "I got to thinking. We ought to get an early start. We let them bozos Crask and Sadler call all the shots, then we only got ourselves to blame if we get hit by a stray bolt."
She had a point, but I didn't feel like conceding it.
"You going to leave me out in the weather or you going to invite me in for a brew?"
40
Joking aside, Dean was right. Winger wasn't my type. She wasn't anybody's type. I led her to my office, suggested Dean bring beer. I planted myself. Winger took the other chair, looked at Eleanor like she could read the truths of the painting. Maybe she could.
"One slick character painted that, Garrett."
"An unsung genius named Snake Bradon. A total lunatic. How come you're early?" I'd set a time figuring I could slide out earlier. She probably figured that's what I'd try. The woman wasn't stupid.
"Nice place you got."
"A couple of big cases broke right. You sneaking around before you get to something?"
"Broke right? Word on you is you're lucky, But it's dangerous to be your friend."
"Huh?"
"You got a sharp line of patter, don't you? Word's going around that somebody wants to take you down. Word is, stay away. It might rub off."
So, maybe just to keep myself awake, I told her about my adventures since we'd parted.
Carla Lindo brought the beer for Dean. That woman was turning into a spook, around sometimes, but more invisible than not. She looked at Winger like she'd stumbled into the men's loo. Winger looked back at Carla Lindo like she was trying to figure out what she was. Carla Lindo lost the staring match. She deposited the supplies and deserted. "You got something going there?" Winger asked.
"Just a client."
"Not much to her."
Debatable. Highly debatable, from where I sat. But I didn't feel like debating. I felt like finding out what Winger was up to. Even more, I felt like taking a nap. The beer didn't help.
Winger said, "Interesting. Chodo should take a poke at you right after you talked to his renegade. Think he'll be looking for company tonight?"
I shrugged. "He's no fool."
"Um. I got to thinking about them pets of his. Went out looking for some thunder-lizard hunters, figured on buying them a few drinks, pumping them for tricks of the trade. Know what? Ain't a whole lot of them around. Somebody's been hiring them up. Some shoemaker."
Shoemaker, eh? I could guess which one. That damned fool. "Shoemakers use a lot of thunder-lizard hides making army boots."
She said, "You know you got somebody watching you?"
"I've had that feeling for several days. I thought it might be you."
"Not me. Dwarves. Every time I come around here, there's dwarves. And morCartha. Somebody's hired one of the morCartha tribes to keep track of you. I couldn't find out who."
"MorCartha?" Things fell into place. No wonder I'd never been able to spot anyone following me. I hadn't looked up any more than anyone else does. If I had, I'd've accepted the morCartha the way I accept pigeons. One of the inevitable nuisances that are part of life.
MorCartha tails would explain the erratic nature of my intuitions about being watched, too. MorCartha are neither organized nor responsible. The watching would go on only when somebody actually felt like watching.
"Want me to take them off you? Ten marks, I'll do a job that'll have them staying ten miles from you."
"Not before I find out who wants me watched." I had ideas. Gnorst Gnorst seemed a likely candidate. Backup for his ground-bound dwarves. The kind of thing a dwarf would do. Cover every angle possible. I figured Chodo a likely c
andidate, too. He was cunning enough to see that morCartha would go unsuspected.
There had been morCartha aloft when I'd met with Sadler. Maybe Chodo ought to be number one on my list. "Thanks for the tip."
"One on me. For letting me come along tonight."
I hadn't planned it to go that way, but now I knew that I had to take a legitimate shot at Chodo I didn't mind as much. Any friend is better than no friend.
Again I wondered where the hell Morley and Saucerhead were. That was becoming a big worry, but events kept pushing it further and further down my list.
Winger considered Eleanor again. "You had something going with her, didn't you?"
How to answer that one? If I said yes, there might be more questions and I might end up mentioning that she'd been dead twenty years before I'd met her—and not like the Dead Man is dead. How to explain an affair of the heart with the ghost of someone who died when you were a child? "Something. I don't know what you'd call it and I sure can't explain it."
"That picture explains it good enough."
She was seeing everything that madman Bradon put into it. Would she ever stop surprising me?
"I can understand you not wanting to talk about it. So. What say we get going? I got some things lined up, give us an edge. You got to have an edge. You in any shape for this?"
She was nervous. She was getting close to chattering, which was how it showed. "Hell, no, I'm not. But I have to take my shot. If people haven't lied to me too much, tonight's the only night I'll ever have half a chance of doing what I've got to do." I told her about the supposed party.
"There's our edge right there. Even if the guy knows we're coming, he's giving up some advantage if he doesn't cancel his party."
Chodo wouldn't. He was a character who wouldn't let the gods themselves nudge him into changing his plans. "Guess we take what we can get." I was getting more down by the minute.
