Old Tin Sorrows

by Glen Cook

  Tyler hadn’t come. His lantern hung about two feet off the ground as he knelt to study something. “Wait a second.”

  I asked, “What have you got?”

  “Looks like . . . ”

  Dark movement behind him. “Look out!”

  The draug grabbed Tyler by the throat and hoisted him into the air. His neck snapped. He made a sound like a rabbit’s scream; his lantern fell and broke. Fire splashed the draug’s feet. It lifted Tyler overhead, heaved him into the darkness, turned on the rest of us.

  “Spread out,” I said.

  “You damn well better do more than watch this time,” Chain told me.

  The fire blazed till the lantern’s fuel was gone. The grass didn’t catch. Neither did the draug. Both were too wet.

  “We’ll cut it up,” I said. “Like the other one.”

  Chain said, “Let’s don’t talk, let’s do.”

  I didn’t want to. But this draug wasn’t particular about whom it stalked. It hated life. If it had been after Tyler specifically, it would have fallen down, done, revenge complete. But it wanted the rest of us, too.

  It didn’t have much chance against three of us. We were faster and armed. But it kept coming. And coming. And coming. It’s hard to cut a body up when it’s chasing you.

  The horror and fear subsided after a few minutes. I got my head working. “Either one of you know who this was?”

  “Crumpet,” Chain said. He concentrated like a clockmaker, making every move and stroke count.

  “Crumpet? What kind of name is that?”

  “Nickname,” Peters said. “Real name was Simon Riverway. He didn’t like it. Crumpet was all right. The ladies hung it on him in Full Harbor. Said he was a sweet bun.”

  Weird. I unleashed a roundhouse cut at the draug’s neck. It got a hand in the way. My stroke sheered halfway through its wrist, one bone’s worth. The thing kept turning toward me while I was off balance, grabbing with its other hand.

  It grabbed hold of my sleeve. I thought I was a goner. Chain came in with a two-handed, overhead stroke, all his weight behind it. It hit the thing’s shoulder hard enough to shake its hold. “I owe you one, Chain.” I danced back a few yards, decided I’d follow Chain’s example, and set my lantern down.

  The draug kept after me—which was fine with Peters and Chain. Peters jumped in behind and took a wild cut at its right Achilles tendon, hamstrung it on his backstroke.

  And it kept coming, though not as fast as it had.

  It seemed to take forever, but we wore it down. It fell and couldn’t get up. We carved it up good to make sure, spending a lot of fear energy. Once we were finished, I recovered my lantern, said, “I think we’d better hole up till dawn. If there were two of them there might be more. We can explore later.”

  “You said they don’t run in packs,” Peters said.

  “Maybe I was wrong. I don’t want to find out the hard way. Let’s get out of here.”

  “First smart thing I’ve heard you say,” Chain said. He examined Tyler. “Dead as a wedge. You think he’s the one that killed them?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t bet on it. That one didn’t care who it killed. It just wanted to kill somebody.”

  “Like the old joke about the hungry buzzard? Let’s go. Before Tyler gets up and comes after us, too. I couldn’t take that.”

  I didn’t argue. Draugs are supposed to be dead a few months before they get up, but I wasn’t ready to field test the folklore.

  20

  As soon as we reached the house I went to check on Dellwood, Kaid, and Wayne. They were out back. They’d gotten a roaring bonfire going and were feeding it pieces of the first draug. I told them, “Throw it all in and get inside.”

  “Sir?” Dellwood asked. He had his color back.

  “There may be more of them out. We ran into one who used to be called Crumpet. It killed Tyler. Let’s not find out what else is waiting in the dark.”

  They didn’t fool around. They didn’t ask questions. They pitched the draug in the fire and headed for the house. I glanced around as I followed, wondering what had become of Morley.

  The survivors gathered at the fountain. They were chattering about Snake and Tyler when I joined them. Wayne and Kaid held the opinion that the second draug had gotten the right man.

  I told them, “I’m not so sure. It just wanted to kill. It wasn’t satisfied with Tyler. Dellwood, check the doors. Peters, are there other ways to get in?”

  “Several.”

  “Take Chain and Kaid and check them out. We stay in threes till the sun comes up.”

  “How come?” Chain asked.

  “I think the killer is working alone. If we’re stuck with him, we’ll outnumber him two to one.”

  “Oh.”

  Peters said, “Ask these guys about that sidhe thing.”

  Right. “Dellwood. Wayne. Kaid. You know anything about Kef sidhe? Especially a Kef sidhe strangler’s cord?”

  They frowned. Dellwood, puffing from his hasty trip to the doors, asked, “What’s that?”

  I described the thing I’d found around Snake’s neck.

  “The General had something like that in his study.”

  Peters brightened. “Yes! I remember it. It was with a whole bunch of junk, whips and stuff, in the corner by the fireplace.”

  I recalled the whips. I hadn’t paid much attention. “Dellwood, next time you’re up there, see if it’s gone. Ask the General where it came from. And where it went if it’s not there.”

  Dellwood nodded. I hated to turn loose but I couldn’t keep him on my suspect list. He just didn’t seem capable. If I discounted Peters, who’d have to be crazy to hire me if he was guilty, I didn’t have many suspects left.

  The others were thinking the same way. Chain, Kaid, and Wayne started giving each other plenty of room.

  Peters started to go.

  “Wait,” I said. “There’s one question I should’ve asked before. I’ve been too busy with murder to worry about theft. Does anybody have a drug habit? Or gamble? Or keep a woman on the outside?” All of those might explain the thievery.

  Everybody shook their heads.

  “Not even Hawkes or Snake or Tyler?” Three in one day. The old man wasn’t going to be happy about the job I was doing, though he hadn’t exactly hired me to keep people alive.

  “No,” Peters said. “You don’t stay alive in the Cantard if you’re the slave of your vices.”

  True. Though vice had been rampant in places like Full Harbor, where we’d taken our rare leaves and liberties. A hellhole for a kid, Full Harbor. But you learned what life was like there. You had no illusions when you left.

  Karenta hadn’t yet evacuated Full Harbor, though Glory Mooncalled said they had to go. His deadline had passed. Something would happen down there soon. A really big explosion. And Glory Mooncalled wouldn’t have his usual advantages. You can’t outrun, out-maneuver, or even sneak up on a fortified city waiting for you. I doubted he had friends inside the walls. His enemies there would include Karenta’s top sorcerers, against whom he had no defense.

  I didn’t think he could take Full Harbor. But he had to try. He’d shot off his mouth one time too many. He was committed.

  The fate of Full Harbor meant nothing now, of course. We had our own siege here, a siege of horror.

  Peters’s group split to make sure the house hadn’t been penetrated. The rest of us stayed at the fountain, in reserve. After a while, I asked, “Dellwood, what do you figure on doing after the General passes?”

  He looked at me funny. “I never really thought about it, Mr. Garrett.”

  That was hard to believe. I said so.

  Wayne chuckled. “Believe it, Garrett. This guy isn’t real. He ain’t here for the money. He’s here to take care of the old man.”

  “Really? And why are you here?”

  “Three things. The money. I got nowhere else to go. And Jennifer.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn’t gotten much chance to
show off my favorite trick lately. “The General’s daughter?”

  “The same. I want her.”

  Pretty blunt, this one. “What’s the General think?”

  “I don’t know. I never brought it up. I don’t intend to before he goes.”

  “What do you plan to do with your share of the money?”

  “Nothing. Let it sit. I won’t need it if I have Jenny, will I?”

  No, he wouldn’t.

  “Which is why I ain’t your killer, Mister. I don’t have to skrag anybody to get half the estate.”

  A point. “What’s Jennifer think about this?” She hadn’t shown any interest in Wayne.

  “Straight? She ain’t exactly swept away. But she ain’t got no other offers and she ain’t likely to get none. When the time comes, she’ll come around.”

  What an attitude. He sounded like a guy who could work his way up a hit list fast.

  “What do you think about that, Dellwood?”

  “Not much, sir. But Miss Jennifer will need somebody.”

  “How about you?”

  “No sir. I haven’t the force of personality to deal with her. Not to mention the fact that she isn’t a very pleasant person.”

  “Really?” I was about to probe that when Wayne jumped up and pointed.

  There was a vague shape at the back door, not clearly visible through the glass. It rattled the door. I figured it was Morley. I walked toward the door slowly. Make him wait.

  Halfway there a face pressed against the glass. I was able to make out decomposed features. I stopped.

  “Another one. Don’t panic. I don’t think it can get in. If it does, stay out of its way.” I returned to the fountain, settled, disturbed but not afraid. The draugs weren’t particularly dangerous when you were ready for them.

  One in a night was unpleasant enough, but not that unreasonable—except for the assault on reason. In this world almost anything can happen and it does, but I’d never seen the dead get up and walk before. I’d never known anybody who’d seen it—unless you counted vampires. But they’re a whole different story. They’re victims of a disease. And they never really die, they just slip into a kind of limbo between life and death.

  Once was unpleasant, twice was doubly unpleasant, but three times was just too much to have been animated by hatred and hunger for revenge alone. Not all in the same night.

  Mass risings of the dead, in story and legend, were initiated from outside, by necromancers. By sorcerers.

  “Hey, uh, Dellwood. Anybody around here a trained sorcerer? Or even an amateur?”

  “No sir.” He frowned. “Why?”

  I lied. “I thought we could use a little help laying some restless spirits.”

  “Snake,” Wayne said. “He could do some spooky stuff. Picked it up from a necromancer. He was her chief bodyguard for a while. He painted her picture and she taught him some tricks.” He snickered. Must have been a variety of tricks. “He wasn’t much good at it.”

  “And he’s dead.”

  “Yeah. That’s how you get off the hook around here.”

  But . . . “Suppose he could think like a sorcerer?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I . . . ? Let me reach. I was supposed to meet him. He was going to tell me who the killer was. He seemed sure he knew. He’d be wary. But somebody got to him despite his training and precautions. Suppose he knew that might happen? Suppose that, if he had a mind to, he could turn himself into a booby trap.”

  “Somebody’s a booby.”

  “Flatterer. Look, it’s in stories all the time. The curse that gets you after you kill a sorcerer. Suppose he fixed it so that, if he got killed, everybody else the killer killed would get up and go after him?”

  Wayne grunted. “Maybe. Knowing that spooky, paranoid bastard, he’d rig it so they’d get up and go after everybody.”

  That fit, too. Sometimes I’m so brilliant I blind myself.

  So what? Suppose that was true? It explained the draugs but didn’t settle anything. There was a killer on the loose—if that hadn’t been Tyler. No way to know unless he struck again.

  If he had an ounce of brains, he’d retire while he had the chance to get out free.

  I have such confidence in human nature. “Gents, I’m bone tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “Sir!” Dellwood protested.

  “That thing isn’t going to get in.” It was still trying.

  And getting nowhere. “Our killer, if he’s still alive, has got a great out now. He can let Tyler take the rap.”

  What you call planting a seed for the slow of wit.

  I was so tired, my eyes wouldn’t stay open. I needed to set myself up with some safe time. “Good night, all.”

  21

  Morley was in my sitting room when I arrived. He had his feet up on my writing table. “You’re getting old, Garrett, you can’t take one long night anymore.”

  “Huh?” I was right on top of things. We investigator types have minds like steel traps. We’re always ready with a snappy comeback.

  “Heard your speech to the troops, shucking them so you can make with the snores.”

  “My second long night in a row. How’d you get in? Thought we had the place buttoned up.”

  “You might. Trick is, walk in before the buttoning starts. You went off chasing the walking dead. I just strolled around front and let myself in. Poked around the house some, came up here when the troll woman started rattling pots and pans.”

  “Oh.” I got the feeling my repartee lacked something tonight. Or this morning. The first ghost light of dawn tickled the windows.

  “I looked through the kitchen. The things you people eat. The sacrifices I make.”

  I didn’t ask. Cook favored basic country cooking, heavy stuff, meat and gravy and biscuits. Lots of grease. Though Morley might have liked what she’d had for lunch my first meal here.

  He was saying he planned to stay around. He went a little farther. “I figure you can use a ghost to balance off theirs.”

  “Huh?” I wasn’t making a comeback.

  “I’ll haunt the place. Roam around where they’re not looking, doing things you’d do if you weren’t busy keeping them calmed down.”

  That made sense. I had a list of a hundred things I wanted to do, like look for hidden passageways and sneak into people’s rooms to snoop. I hadn’t had time for them and probably wouldn’t because somebody would be in my pocket constantly.

  “Thanks, Morley. I owe you one.”

  “Not yet. Not quite. But we’re getting up close to even.”

  He meant for a couple of tricks he’d pulled on me back when. The worst was having me help carry a coffin with a vampire in it he’d given a guy he didn’t like. He hadn’t warned me for the good reason that, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have helped. I hadn’t known till the vampire jumped up.

  I’d been a little put out.

  He’d been paying me back with little favors ever since.

  He said, “Fill me in so I won’t go reinventing the wheel.”

  I got myself a handkerchief first. “This cold feels like it’ll turn bad. My head’s starting to feel like the proverbial wool pack.”

  “Diet,” he told me. “You eat right, you don’t get colds. Look at me. Never had a cold in my life.”

  “Maybe.” Elves don’t get colds. I gave him the full account as I would’ve given it to the Dead Man. I kept an eye on him, watching for giveaways. He finds ways to profit when he weasels his way in to help me. I’d watched him enough to recognize that moment when he grabs onto something.

  The obvious way here would be to recruit a gang to loot the place. That would be easy. Not so easy would be eluding an excited and bloodthirsty upper class afterward. Not that that would intimidate him much.

  They might not have much use for General Stantnor, but as a class they couldn’t tolerate the precedent. Every stormwarden, firelord, sorcerer, necromancer, whatnot, would join in to pass out the exemplary torments.
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  “We have three separate things going, then,” Morley said. “Thievery. Slow murder, maybe. Mass murder. You have the wheels turning on the thievery. So forget that. The General . . . The thing to do is let me and a doctor look at him. On the other killer, the only thing you can do is keep talking to people. Eliminating suspects.”

  “Go teach grandma to suck eggs, Morley. This is my business.”

  “I know. Don’t be so touchy. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “You agree Dellwood and Peters look unlikely?”

  “Sure. They all do. The old man is bedridden and probably couldn’t be fixed up with a motive anyway.”

  I hadn’t considered the General.

  “The Kaid character is too old for the pace and not strong enough to shove these other guys around.”

  “Maybe. Sneakiness is the killer’s trademark, though. An old man would be sneaky.”

  “Sure. Then there’s the Wayne character, who plans to marry money. So who does that leave if everybody else is honest?”

  “Chain.” Obnoxious, argumentive, overweight Chain, to whom I’d taken an instant dislike.

  “And the daughter. And the outside possibility. Not to mention maybe somebody who went away but didn’t disappear because he’d been murdered.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. What’s that?”

  “You have four men who rode off into the sunset, right? Snake Bradon’s presumptive necromancy recalled three. Where’s the other one? Which one was he? What were the will provisions regarding those men?”

  I didn’t recall. One had gotten cut out, I’d heard that. But if somebody was good for a share even if he wasn’t around, and everybody thought he was gone, or dead now, he’d be in great shape to do dirty deeds, then turn up for the reading of the will.

  “Whoever got Hawkes headed for the house here.”

  “You lost the trail.”

  True. “If it was somebody who isn’t on the inside, he wouldn’t know about the General burning the will.”

  “Yes. He might keep on keeping on.”

  True again. “Somebody tried giving me the ax.”