by Glen Cook
“Who was that?” I asked the guard.
He scratched his head. “Who was who?”
Dollar Dan, his crew, and the girls had not missed the kid. Dan spoke softly. Two of his guys and Number Two scooted around the patrolman and sniffed for a trail.
I said, “This is good. This will get us somewhere.” Whistling in the dark in broad daylight.
Meanwhile, flustered, the patrol guy fussed and blustered. He left me no choice. “You got a problem with me, take it to my grandmother. Shadowslinger. She’ll satisfy your needs. She’s been thinking a lot about you people lately.”
Hardly fair of me, really.
He blanched.
The guards would know that the Algardas were looking for goats to roast because of Furious Tide of Light. More than one jaundiced, angry eye was focused on the overpaid muscle that had failed to protect her.
Shadowslinger had been sharpening her teeth in public.
The man in the retro hat stepped aside. “You shoulda said who you was, sir.” Feebly trying to salvage some face while sweating grease.
Yes. My Algarda connection was a tool I should remember to use.
Half a block later Dollar Dan said, “That fool made a good point. You should not hesitate to use the old witch’s name.”
“Old habits are tough to break.”
“Oh, do I not know the truth of that!”
42
I took Dollar Dan into the kitchen of my place on the Hill. My place. That was a tough one. Race and Dex were enjoying an afternoon snack consisting of a gallon of fortified wine. Me and my troop of rat man gangsters didn’t rattle them. They had heard all about me. Plus, they had been nibbling that lunch for a while.
Dex sealed the bottle and put it on a shelf too high for Dollar Dan to reach. Race gathered knives and silverware and everything else small enough to fall into a pocket. Neither showed an inclination to be apologetic.
I considered a crack indicting them, of all people, for prejudice but chose to save my breath. They wouldn’t get it. “You two the only ones here?”
Some folks just can’t answer a question directly. They’re made so they have to go somewhere else to get the job done.
Race said, “Barate was here but he left. He went up the Hill to visit.”
“I see. One of you go fetch Dr. Ted.”
Dex had had lunch enough to fuel a spark of attitude. He considered arguing. Race took him by the right elbow, burying a thumb in the joint, got his attention.
I said, “Dex, there are some dogs in the garden. They’re with me. Give them something to eat. Race, get the doctor.” I deployed my sergeant voice, the voice of the god that admits no possibility of debate.
The arrogance of my assumption that Dr. Ted would drop everything never tickled my consciousness.
In the nethermost background of my directions, unstated, was the fact that Race and Dex were facing the arbiter of their continued employment. Dr. Ted was, too, some, because of my Shadowslinger connection.
Dex said, “He’s probably at the old witch’s house with Barate.” For Race’s benefit, not mine, as he gathered scraps suitable for doggie dining.
Despite a major onset of the surlies, both men got busy.
Rat men tagging along, I went to have a gander at Vicious Min.
There was no Vicious Min.
There was an empty bed where a demon woman was supposed to be laid up. “Dan, get that clown I told to feed the dogs.”
Dex turned up fast, eyes bugging. “What the hell? Where did she go?” He began to shake.
“I was hoping you could explain, Dex.”
He swallowed some air. “I don’t know. She was in that fracking sack twenty minutes ago, when we was trying to get some soup inside her. She looked the same old, same old, in a coma. Worse than before, even. We figured she’d be gone in a day or two. You could smell the pus.”
“And then there was a miracle,” I grumbled.
“I guess.” Dex stirred the bedding like he might find that big beast hidden in the fold of a blanket. “This is still warm.”
He was right. Min had cut out moments before I walked in.
Dex said, “She must have been faking. But that would be tough to do, man.”
I agreed. I was suspicious. But in my racket you’re always suspicious. If you’re smart you keep a jaundiced eye on yourself. “Dan, there any chance your guys can follow her?”
“Garrett, take a whiff. You could follow this one.”
The bedding certainly reeked. “You give me too much credit. I just smell sickness and infection. Dex. When was the last time the doctor was here?”
“The day she went down. You was here.”
“Not since then? Why not?”
“Shadowslinger said.”
I didn’t get it. “She say why?”
“She didn’t want that thing having no outside contact with nobody.”
There might be some logic behind that, but I missed it. “I’ll ask why when I see her.”
Dex chose to reserve his thoughts about that. His employment was at risk already. “I hope she’s in good enough shape to talk. She looked awful when I saw her.”
There was a ruckus elsewhere in the house, which turned out to be Dollar Dan running into Race and Dr. Ted.
“Damn, Race, that was fast.”
“We said he was just up at Madame Algarda’s.”
“I thought it would take longer. Thanks for coming, Doctor, but things have turned sour. The patient has absconded.”
Dr. Ted sighed, shook his head. “She must be tougher than I guessed. I expected her to die.”
“I wouldn’t want you wasting your time, especially if you were working on Shadow. . On Constance. Who is doing how well, anyway?”
“She’s making progress. I’m cautiously optimistic, though I can’t quite say why. She’s in a vegetative state right now. With a will as massive as hers, she’ll probably bull her way through.”
“That’s good news.” The expected response, but I wondered if some folks might not consider it discouraging. “Can I visit her?”
Ted eyed me as though consulting a checklist of possible motives. “A visit should be all right. Don’t expect a response. Remember that even fierce people with hard hearts deserve consideration once they’ve been struck down. She might be aware of you. That could stiffen her resolve. But no business. No pressing. No bullying. I’ll throw you out if you try.”
I couldn’t stifle a grin at him doing his damnedest to be fierce. I could get to like the guy. “Where did you do your five, Ted?”
Nobody over twenty-two would misunderstand. When we were young anyone who turned eighteen still equipped with an approximately appropriate number of limbs and digits and a working eye could expect to spend his next five years trying to enforce the Karentine crown’s will on Venageta. For more than a century, that war was as much part of life as weather and the seasons. When I was a boy, even the concept of dissent had no life anywhere. Evaders were rarities held in contempt by all.
The state and polity still struggle with the consequences of victory. The end of the long war caused huge dislocations.
Ted reddened, did one of those indirect answer things. “I volunteered for a maneuver unit. Twice. Both times they told me I was too valuable to risk in a combat zone.”
Translation: His skills were such that they wouldn’t be wasted on less than the most exalted among us. Those days would have been when he made his connections on the Hill.
“Thank your patron god.” Guys like Ted, never stewed in the cauldron of blood, would be best suited to pilot Karenta into the postwar age. We who had seen the elephant knew only one way to cope.
Our Shadowslingers, who had been to war many times over, had to be heralded for their courage, but that sustained exposure seriously distorted their thinking.
Ted said something that I missed. I had wandered into the wilderness of my mind again. That was getting irksome. “Excuse me. I zoned.”
“Understood. I have flashbacks and never got closer to the fighting than Full Harbor with Prince Rupert the first time he went. I was a medical orderly then, officially.”
Naturally. He would have been taken into service before he finished hopping through all the hoops. “Your father was a physician, too?”
“Both parents. My mother was a medical genius. She never became a doctor officially. They didn’t accredit women back then. But she was a pet of the Royals. She saw to it that women can get accredited now.”
He probably started learning his stuff while he was learning to walk.
He observed, “There is no reason for me to stay here, the patient having chosen to desert.”
“Right. I’m sorry. I’m rattled. Dex, should any rat men turn up here, tell them I’ve gone on to the old woman’s place. And ease up on the wine.” I’ve never understood why some people prefer rotted grape juice. I can’t quite trust their sort.
Dex restrained himself. “Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.”
“Good. I’m sure we’ll be glad we decided to keep you, Dex.”
43
Ted flirted with the dogs all during the short journey to Shadowslinger’s place. He found a friendly side to Number Two that she had hidden from me. “Are you sure that these are feral dogs?”
“They were till they adopted me. They live in the Orthodox cemetery.” I gave him a rundown on them and Little Moo.
“Really? That’s strange. And there was no connection with Strafa?”
“Not according to Constance. And she could tell if anyone could.”
“No doubt. No doubt. I was never that close to her.”
I liked Ted better and better, for no definable reason. He was just a nice, comfortable guy, rather like Strafa had been.
“You were interested in Strafa, weren’t you?”
“I was.” Confessing made him uneasy. “Once upon a time. Barate didn’t approve. She could never defy him.”
“I see.” Best to drop it. Aspects of that were too creepy to discuss.
Ted was ready to let it go, too. He had smelled the same shadows.
Shadowslinger’s place seemed deserted. Ted and I headed upstairs, to the witch’s hide. The dogs and Dollar Dan stayed down, on guard.
I’d never left the ground floor before, but encountered no surprises. Upstairs was as grim as down till we entered Constance’s own bedroom. And that was only slightly better.
Barate Algarda was asleep in a fat chair beside his mother’s bed, troubled even while out. He started awake.
“Garrett. Hi.” Sleepily. “Ted. Excuse me. This is kind of rough.”
“I understand. No problem.”
“Hey! Ted says he thinks she’ll come back.” The ugly old tub of goo lay on her back, upper half slightly elevated, arms and hands lifeless beside her, atop a quilt probably sewn for a pittance by some refugee even older than Shadowslinger herself.
I studied her hands. They were slightly deformed, the way arthritis does. Chronic pain might explain why she was always cranky. Ted and his kind, and magical healers of the quality accessible to someone of Constance’s status, might not be enough to beat that bitch. It was one of those things that could be immune to sorcery.
Some things just naturally are resistant, and some people, too. Penny has the knack, a little. A few metals and minerals disdain or even negate witchery. Iron and silver are the best known.
Still muzzy, Barate asked, “Where is Kevans?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t seen her.”
Ted said, “We didn’t see anyone. No one answered the door. Is she supposed to be here?”
Worried, Barate said, “Kyoga should. And Mash and Bash.”
“They the staff?”
“Mashego and Bashir. Yeah. They live here. They never go out.”
They had gone to Strafa’s to help with the wake, but I got it. Their odd, cadaverous builds, bountiful ritual scars, and religious tattoos would be social liabilities-unless they put on some serious disguises.
They weren’t Karentine. Shadowslinger had brought them home from the war zone. They were male and female, husband and wife, but I wasn’t sure which was which.
Barate jumped up too fast. “We’ve got to. . Crap!” He wobbled, trailed off.
“What?”
“My little girl is a genius, Garrett. But you know she doesn’t have a lick of sense.”
“I can’t argue with that. I’ve got the scars to prove it. But she’s a good kid. She just. .”
“She was whining about having to stay cooped up. She just can’t make the connection between what happened to her mother and something that could happen to her. This stuff isn’t real to her. It can’t happen here.”
At which point his mother’s left forefinger twitched. A quarter of an inch, last joint in the digit. I started to tell Ted, but he was staring at it already, smiling big.
Barate didn’t miss it, either.
Ted peeled back an eyelid. We all watched her pupil respond to the light. Ted muttered, “Most thoroughly excellent.”
I told Barate, “If Kevans is gone she probably went looking for Kip.”
“I hate repeating myself,” Algarda said. “But she has got to realize that she’s never going to beat out the red-haired girl.”
There was nothing encouraging I could say. Kip was as dense as granite when it came to realizing that Kevans wasn’t only his best buddy but also a living, breathing, feeling, female-type girl.
“Are you really worried? I have some rat men with me. They could track her.”
I expected him to wave me off. He was a proud man, stubborn when it wasn’t Constance pushing, likely to think he ought to handle all his problems himself. He surprised me. “You could arrange that? Would it cost much? Maybe I could have them hang around her all the time.”
“Cost? I don’t know. I’d need to ask. You’re sure?”
“We lost Strafa. Mother. . Maybe. I couldn’t take it if Kevans. . Of course I’m sure. I want a flight of guardian angels. What do you call a gang of crows? A murder? That’s what I want. A murder of black-hearted guardian angels, hungry for human flesh.”
“I’m not sure that rat men can meet that level of expectation.”
He grinned. “Then they can just hang around wherever she goes. She won’t notice if they don’t wave and shout.”
“I’ll talk to Dollar Dan.” Dan would milk it, certainly, but he wouldn’t be unreasonable. He would see a chance to make a valuable connection.
Never hurts to have a Shadowslinger in your debt.
“Doctor, I was meaning to ask and got distracted. Could the missing half of that broken quarrel be inside Vicious Min?”
“What?”
The nasty old sorceress twitched again.
Ted grinned again.
“Here’s my thinking.” But before I leapt I asked Barate, “Am I right about you using survey maps to work out where the ballista had to be to make that shot? There couldn’t have been more than one, right?”
“Yes and yes. There had to have been a misdirection spell hiding the ballista, too. You don’t cut somebody down with a monster engine and nobody sees you unless you’re working some heavy concealment sorcery.”
“My thinking exactly. So. Ted. I’m guessing the forensics sorcerers never found that bolt because it’s inside Min. And that’s because Min was the real target, with Strafa as collateral damage.”
“What?” Ted and Barate said that in perfect a cappella harmony.
“Look. Somebody shoots Min. The bolt maybe hits a collarbone, breaks, and the tip half ricochets up to get Strafa.”
Shadowslinger twitched again, now with the fun finger of her left hand. Barate said, “That may fit the facts, but it doesn’t feel right.”
I didn’t think so myself, but only because I wanted Strafa’s death to mean something more than just “shit happens.”
Ted said, “You find the demon, I’ll take a closer look. I thought the wound was through and through, but that wa
s what I expected to see.”
“We’ll find her,” I promised.
Barate settled back into the fat chair. “Go see about covering Kevans.”
“Consider it done. You think Mashego and Bashir could visit the Dead Man?”
“No. Not because he’s what he is. I wouldn’t warn them. But they won’t go out while Mother is laid up. . ” It occurred to him that they were out right now. “They won’t. I’m sure.”
“I understand.”
44
All the rat men but Dollar Dan were on assignment. Well, Dan was, too, but I was his task. Dr. Ted and I were sitting on the steps to Shadowslinger’s front porch. There had been a flirtation with sunshine earlier, but the overcast was now back and I expected rain. TunFaire had become locked into that cycle.
Ted and I played with the dogs. Dan stood around looking left out. The mutts had not yet warmed to him, which was no surprise. And he didn’t exactly hunger for canine affection. Ted and I didn’t talk much, but we were trying to like each other because of, or in spite of, our having had Strafa Algarda in our lives. We talked around most everything of consequence while hiding our true selves, each trying to learn something interesting about the other.
Dollar Dan suddenly stood taller, slamming into a better mood suddenly, like everything he valued had just begun to shine.
“Oh. Ah,” I observed, in the secret cant of the polished modern philosopher.
Singe had eased through the pedestrian gate into Shadowslinger’s gaudy front garden. Penny tagged along behind, nervous, gawking, surprisingly well dressed. Her style set off the fiscal alarms. I wondered when she and Singe had gotten together.
Penny got distracted by the flower beds, which I had paid no heed before. That sort of thing isn’t usually germane. I asked, “Ted, does Constance have a gardener? Maybe I should talk to him.”
Ted considered the flowers. His gaze lingered uncomfortably on Penny. “I’ve never seen one. But I don’t spend that much time here. I suppose she would have to have one, wouldn’t she?”
