by Glen Cook
Shares of the legacy were worth over six hundred thousand now. If the value of the estate wasn’t falling faster than the murderer could expand his share.
Peters. Cook. Wayne. Who? For no sound reason I gave Wayne top billing. And Cook was starting to look better, though she had pretty good alibis. But alibis aren’t everything.
“I guess the killer knows there’s a copy of the will,” I told Peters. “That means the General could be in double jeopardy.”
“What?”
“After last night the killer has to worry about the other copies going, too. They do, all his risks have gone for nothing. So maybe he’ll want the old man to check out before the last copy of the will does. Better find out exactly how many there were and where they’re at now.” I tapped my shirt to make sure I had my copy.
Not that it was particularly safe with me, considering I was no more immortal than Chain, Hawkes, or Bradon.
Snake popped into mind, and after Snake, his paintings. I had to get those inside.
But it was pouring out. Maybe headed for something worse. There was the occasional flash of lightning. I said, “Getting around to the kind of weather that suits this place. All we need is something howling and ghost lights puttering around outside.”
Peters snorted. “You get the next best thing. A frisky draug.” He pointed.
There it was, back at the rear again, trying to get in. A lightning flash illuminated it. I got my first good look. It was more decomposed than the others.
Peters selected a few items from the stockpile in the fountain. “Shall we take care of it?”
“That’s my old sergeant, Morley. Cool in the face of the enemy.”
“Uhm.” He went through the arsenal himself. Here was something he could get a hold on.
“All right. I guess we should take care of it. Get it out of the way.” I checked their leavings. They’d taken all the best stuff already. “Hell with this.” I went and disarmed a retired knight.
I had to be getting close to the end. There weren’t many suits of armor left for me to vandalize.
35
Morley sat on the fountain surround hugging cracked ribs. Peters was curled up on the floor in a pool of vomit, clutching his groin. He did his manly best not to whimper. Me, I’d been luckier. All I’d come up with was a shin bruise and a badly stomped foot. Not on the same leg. “Maybe next time I’ll save myself some grief and let whoever wants kill me.”
Morley gasped, “Why didn’t you say the man was a hand-to-hand specialist when he was alive?”
“Don’t look at me! I didn’t know anything about him. Not even who he was.”
Pieces of draug were scattered all over. Some still moved.
“What now?”
“Eh?”
“You burned the other two. Right?”
“One of them, I know.”
“Both,” Peters groaned. He got onto his knees, his forehead on the floor. His knuckles were bone white. He’d gotten hit bad. “They dumped the other one into the stable fire when they saw there wasn’t no stopping it.” He didn’t say that in one chunk but in little gasps, a word or two at a time. The effort cost him a spate of dry heaves.
I felt for him, though not as much as I would have if I hadn’t been hurting myself.
I got up. “Better make sure we got the job done.” The thing looked like it was trying to get itself back together. The pieces were trying to get to a central point. I hobbled, pitching random limbs back.
“What the hell’s going on down there?”
I looked up. Wayne and Kaid had appeared for their shift, at the third-floor rail. “Come on down. We’re in no shape to finish this.”
Wayne beat Kaid by a floor. He looked at what was left of Chain, at the pieces of rotted corpse, at Chain again. “Man. Man, oh, man. Man.” He didn’t say anything else till he asked, “What happened?”
I told him. Kaid arrived in time to get it all.
“Man. Man, oh, man.” Wayne was scared. For the first time since I arrived I saw one of those people convinced of his own mortality.
“Hell. You’re all a hundred thousand richer now.”
“Man. I don’t care about that. I don’t need it. It ain’t worth it. I’m out of here soon as it’s light enough that nothing can sneak up on me.”
“But . . . ”
“Money ain’t everything. You can’t live it up if you’re dead. I’m gone.” The man was almost hysterical.
I glanced at Peters. He was preoccupied, though he’d made it to the fountain surround. He hoisted himself up and perched with his misery. He had no attention left for anything else.
Morley was no help. But he couldn’t be. He didn’t know the people.
I looked at Kaid. He was as pallid as a man could get, as shaken as Wayne, equally eyeball to eyeball with death. It had come home. The field was so narrow, each knew he might be next.
He swallowed about three times, then managed, “The General. Somebody’s got to take care of the General.”
Wayne snarled, “Let that bastard take care of himself. I’m gone. I ain’t dying for his money or for him.”
Pain will distract you some, but mine wasn’t so all-devouring that I couldn’t spend some effort trying to figure out what the hell would happen next. I wondered which of the three was acting and how he’d gotten so good.
I wondered some about Cook, Jennifer, even the old man, and how I could figure one of them for the killer. Or more than one. That was an angle I hadn’t given much thought. Maybe there was more than one killer. That would take care of alibis.
And my ivory lover. What of her? The mystery woman suddenly looked like a top bet for the villain.
Who the hell was she?
I plunked myself down on the fountain surround, as nimble as a quadraplegic dwarf. Kaid and Wayne came out of shock enough to start thinking and doing. Kaid went to the kitchen, got some big burlap sacks. He and Wayne stuffed them with pieces of draug and tied them shut. They gagged while they worked. My cold was that much of a blessing. I didn’t have to take the smell.
Morley was three feet away. I asked, “How you doing?”
“Be running windsprints in the morning.” He grimaced, spat on the floor, winced again as he leaned to look at it.
“What?”
“Wanted to see if I was spitting blood.”
“Come on. You rolled with it.”
He flashed me a down under smile. He was putting on a show. He wanted folks to think he was hurt worse than he was. Might be an edge for him later.
I shut my mouth.
Peters managed to say, “What now, Garrett?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do we stop this before we’re all dead?”
“I don’t know that, either. Unless we just scatter.”
“In which case the killer wins by default. Wayne walks tomorrow, it’s the same as if he got killed.”
Morley said, “Makes your job easier, Garrett.” He did a grimace. He was overacting.
“Eh?” I was at top form.
“Shortens the list by another name.”
Black Pete grunted out, “Garrett. How’re you going to catch him?”
Him? I wasn’t so sure now. If Wayne walked and Peters was clean, the crowd was so small I’d have to lynch Kaid. But I thought Kaid was too old and feeble to have done all the killer had.
“I don’t have a clue, Sarge. Don’t press me. You people know each other better than I know you. You tell me who it is.”
“Shit. It isn’t anybody. Logically. One way or another you can discard everybody. Except maybe your phantom blonde, that nobody sees but you.”
“I saw her,” Morley said. I looked at him, puzzled. Was he lending moral support?
Hadn’t he said something about seeing her last night? Or was that the other Morley?
I’d forgotten that. The thing that could be somebody else. Probably the spook that the doctor was sure was here.
It didn’t get any easier.
“Your picture,” Morley whispered.
I frowned.
“Get it and find out who she is. Besides a hot tumble.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe. I wanted to say the hell with it for now. We were out of the woods for a while. That draug had been cared for. The killer wasn’t likely to make another move for a while. I hurt everywhere. I just wanted to slither upstairs and finish what I’d started before I’d been interrupted.
But I’d put off seeing Bradon for a few minutes and look what that had cost. Not just Snake but Chain. Not to mention the stable, those paintings, and however many horses had vanished into the sunset because there was no one to round them up.
I got my feet under me. “Peters. Any rain gear handy?”
Morley got up, too. He scrunched over, held his side with his left arm.
“Rain gear? What the hell you need to go outside for?”
“Got to get something while it’s still there.”
He looked at me like he thought I was crazy. Probably right, I thought. “To your left at the end over there, through that arch. The old guest restrooms.” He still wasn’t talking in big gobbling chunks.
Morley and I went to the arch, which was barely five feet wide. A crack of a doorway for this place. It opened on an alcove, eight by eight. There was a door in front of me and one to my left. “Check that one,” I told Morley, and opened the one in front of me.
Mine was the women’s, the only pissoir I’d seen in the house. I hadn’t noticed any plumbing downstairs. Maybe it wasn’t there anymore. The place was dried up, used only for storage.
There were no raincoats.
I went to check on Morley.
His room was the men’s. Surprise, surprise. One wall was all marble that fell to a trough. The flush pipe whence water ran, at eye level, had rusted out. I spied the rain gear but not Morley. “Where are you?”
“Here.” His voice came from beyond a copse of brooms and mops and whatnot in the left-hand rear corner. He’d found another movable panel. He was halfway up the narrow stairway behind it.
“We can check it out later.” I spied a lantern amongst the junk on the marble four-holer. It smelled like it had been used in the modern era. When Morley came down I was getting it lighted.
Morley said, “If there weren’t people hanging around, you’d think the place had been abandoned for twenty years.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged into an oilcloth coat so big it hung long on me. “Let’s get with it.” While Morley tried to find something smaller than a circus tent, I snapped up a few extras to wrap Bradon’s artwork. We put on hats and dashed out into the storm.
Actually, we stumbled. I wasn’t getting any friskier. Neither was Morley. I had to spend most of my energy keeping the lantern from blowing out.
There was a brisk wind blowing, throwing barrels of water around. It came from every direction but up. The thunder banged away. Lightning, over the city, carried on like a battle between hordes of stormwardens. We reached the barn in spite of all.
“Thank heaven we found rain gear,” Morley said. “We might have gotten soaked.”
Sarky bastard. I was wet to the skin. I rooted through the place where I’d squirreled the paintings. “Damn me! Something’s gone right.”
“What?”
“They’re still here.”
“Watch out for a booby trap, then.”
I almost took him seriously. That’s the way my luck runs.
I shook the water off the extra coats. Morley held the lantern and cursed and dodged bats. “Those coats aren’t going to be enough. Let me look around.” He scurried off, leaving me halfway convinced I’d never see him again.
He came back with a couple of heavy tarps. We wrapped the paintings in two bundles. We took one apiece and slogged into the storm. I got soaked all over again. I had mud up to my knees when we reached the house, but the paintings arrived dry.
We shed our gear.
“Guess we better take these up to the suite,” I told Morley. He was looking at the paintings. “What do you think?”
“The man was disturbed.”
“And good, too. That’s her.”
“I’m in love.” He stared at the portrait like he might dive in.
“Let’s admire her upstairs.”
But we had to pass Kaid, Wayne, and Peters to get to the stairway. Black Pete asked, “What’s all that?”
No reason not to tell the truth. “Some of Bradon’s paintings. I saved them from the fire.”
They wanted to see. They hadn’t seen Bradon’s work before. The man never had shown it.
“Yech!” Kaid said after a couple of war scenes. “That’s sick.”
“It’s good,” Wayne said. “That’s how it felt.”
“But it doesn’t look like—”
“I know. It’s how it felt.”
“Man,” Peters said. “He didn’t like Jennifer much, did he?”
Somehow I’d managed to save four portraits, the blonde and three Jennifers. Just as well I hadn’t salvaged any of these guys. They wouldn’t have appreciated them. I’d gotten more than one Jennifer by accident. It had gotten hurried toward the end.
Peters lined the portraits up against the fountain. The third and probably most recent Jennifer I hadn’t seen before. It was the ugliest. Jennifer was radiant yet something horrible about her made you doubt the artist’s sanity.
Kaid said, “He was crazier than we thought. Garrett, don’t ever let Miss Jennifer see these. That would be too cruel.”
“I won’t. I took them by accident more than anything. I was just grabbing. But the blonde, now. I took that one on purpose. That’s the woman I’ve been seeing. Who is she?”
They looked at me, at the painting, at me again. Their studied blandness said they were unsure about my sanity. They thought I’d let my imagination attach itself to the first thing handy.
Peters played it straight. “I don’t know, Garrett. Never seen her before. You men?”
Wayne and Kaid shook their heads. Wayne said, “There’s something familiar about her, though.”
That seemed to cue something in Kaid’s head. He frowned, moved a step closer. I asked, “You know something, Kaid?”
“No. For a second . . . No. Just my imagination.”
I wasn’t going to argue with them till I could produce physical evidence. “Let’s get these tucked away, Morley.”
We started gathering the paintings. Now Peters was frowning at the blonde, something perking in the back of his head. He was a little pale and a whole lot puzzled.
He didn’t say anything, though. We collected the paintings and headed for the stairs.
Maybe intuition nudged me. When I reached the fourth floor I went to the rail. Peters and Kaid had their heads together, yakking away. They kept their voices down but were intense.
Morley’s ears are better than mine. He told me, “Whatever they’re talking about, they’re determined to convince each other it’s impossible.”
“They recognized her?”
“They think she looks like somebody she couldn’t be. I think.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
36
Morley perched the mystery woman on the mantle in my sitting room, contemplated her intently. I misread his interest. I seldom do that because his interest in the female tribe is definite. “Can’t have her, boy. She’s taken.”
“Be quiet,” he told me. “Sit down and look at the painting.”
He wouldn’t be sharp if it wasn’t important. I planted myself. I stared.
I began to feel like I was part of the scene.
Morley got up and snuffed a few lamps, halving the light in the room. Then he threw the curtains open, apparently so we’d get the full benefit of the storm. He settled and resumed staring.
That woman came more and more to life, grabbed more and more of my being. I felt I could take her hand and pull her out, away from the thing that pursued her.
The stor
m outside intensified what was going on in the painting’s background. That damned Snake Bradon was a sorcerer. The painting, once you looked at it awhile, was more potent than the swampscape with hanged man. But this one was more subtle.
I could almost hear her begging for help.
Morley muttered, “Damn her. She’s too intense. Got to block her out of there.”
“What?”
“There’s something else there. But the woman pulls your attention away.”
He’d lost me. The rest of the painting was decoration to me. Or arrows pointing out the crucial object.
Morley got paper from my writing table, spent ten minutes using a small knife to trim pieces to cover the blonde. “You damage that thing, I’ll carve you up,” I told him. I had a notion where it ought to be displayed. There was a big bare spot on the wall of my office at home.
“I’d cut my own throat first, Garrett. The man was crazy but he was a genius.”
Curious, Morley calling him crazy without having met him.
Morley killed another lamp. He hung his cutouts over the canvas.
“I’ll be damned.” The painting was almost as intense without the woman. But now the eye could rove.
Morley grunted. “Let your mind go blank. Just let it sink in.”
I tried.
The storm carried on outside. Thunder galloped. Swords of lightning flailed. The flashes played with the flashes in the painting. The shadow seemed to move like a thunderhead boiling. “What?”
It was there for just a second. I couldn’t get it back. I tried too hard.
“Did you see the face?” Morley asked. “In the shadow?”
“Yeah. For a second. I can’t get it back.”
“Neither can I.” He removed the cutouts, settled again. “She’s running from somebody, not something.”
“She’s reaching out. You think Bradon has her reaching for somebody particular?”
“Running from somebody to somebody?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Him?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged.
“You? You’re the one who—”
“You said you saw her.”
“I saw somebody. Just a glimpse. The more I stare at this, the more I think it could have been the other one.”
