by Glen Cook
First job would be a run to Trivias Smith’s place with the tracers-and a Moonblight eager to meet him. Then we would go to the Dream Quarter to find a man with a wen. If we located him, somebody might deliver a robust midnight invitation to a conversation with my partner. Relway would disapprove, being a born-again authoritarian, but he would get over it-fast if there were laurels to be won.
Next stop would be Playmate to see how he was holding up. Too, Old Bones hoped that Playmate had done better wrangling Little Moo than he had Brownie and her crew. He wanted to meet the girl.
He had some ideas that he wasn’t ready to share. He doesn’t like putting something out there that he might later have to admit was incorrect.
If all goes well, we may have some interesting developments by this evening. He then reminded me that, given the chance, he wanted direct interviews with the people we’d see today.
“Good luck with that,” I told me under my breath. I didn’t see anybody but Playmate volunteering.
Lady Tara Chayne observed, “You appear to be stalling.” When I didn’t respond fast enough to suit, she added, “I’m getting no younger. And Shadowslinger is moving toward recovery.”
She would come back, wouldn’t she?
Moonblight made a statement of objective truth sound totally sinister. Had my partner contributed a touch of emotional harassment?
No.
She had delivered that dose of dread all by her own self.
She did come from way up high on the Hill.
54
Brownie and two of her gal pals gamboled round, yapping joyously. It was the beginning of a great day!
Number Two shared my bleak attitude.
I blurted, “What the hell?” I stared. I shuddered. I started to sweat. I turned back, but the door had shut behind me. My hands trembled. My knees knocked. “What in the hell?”
There were horses tied up at a street-side hitching post just downhill from my steps. Intuition shrieked that they were there because of me. I am cursed with a powerful instinct when it comes to the darker blessings. Just seeing those monsters guaranteed that all things dreadful were about to come down.
My reaction was maybe a wee bit melodramatic. The fact remained: I should have vandalized that post as soon as the neighborhood association put it in. Hitching posts attract horses the way horse apples attract flies. Right now my stretch of Macunado was suffering a surfeit of all three.
Moonblight announced, “We will cover more ground faster if we ride.” My vote having no real weight. She strode manfully to the larger beast, a gelding whose ears brushed the bellies of the clouds. She checked its tack, swung aboard with the ease and grace of a feline cavalier.
The lesser beast was a mare, old, saggy, not much bigger than a kiddy-ride pony. She gave me a sideways look three seconds long, all sad and resigned, smoothly masking the evil in her heart. I psyched myself up to commence to fix to begin working my way closer.
“Will you stop dawdling? You could get annoying if you insist on being a drama queen.”
Oh boy. Struck to the macho heart.
Tara Chayne’s stallion pranced and caracoled impatiently.
All right. Her gelding shuffled sideways a little while my ego shrank till it could slither under the bellies of night crawlers. I stepped in, checked cinches, bridle, and stirrups like I knew what I was doing. The saddle did not fall off while I levered myself aboard and, age of wonders, settled facing the same direction as the nag. My toes did not quite drag the cobblestones.
“That isn’t so terrible, is it?”
Curses. She knew that I suffered a slight neurosis concerning horses.
Yes. It was terrible. The view from way up there was. .
I bit down on that. I needed no aggravation from anyone who suspected my secret foibles.
The mare stepped out, sadly trudging along beside the sorceress and her beast, one step back like a good Venageti wife. Brownie and the gang, no more enthusiastic about horses than I was, moved out with us, in synch with the monsters despite being ill at ease. Number Two and another roamed ahead, scouting. Brownie assumed her standard station a foot outside the range of any surprise kick. The remaining mutt fell back as a one-dog rearguard.
I clutched saddle and reins and awaited the dark moment when my steed commenced her mischief.
It is gospel absolute. Sometimes “they” really are out to get you!
The mare might be working for the people who had been out to get me the past few days.
I worked on my nerves, using relaxation techniques learned back when I was a national hero in training. I reserved a fraction of my attention for taking advantage of my new high vantage point.
TunFaire’s streets teem by day when, as this morning, rain is only a threat, though come nighttime, some areas turn into deserts. By day it can be easy to follow someone through all the busy, and more so if they rise above the press on horseback. A professional eye, however, can discover followers. They will be the frequently seen people impatient with folks who impede their parallel progress.
It helps to be operating with clever dogs, too. They notice things when you don’t if you’re preoccupied with feeling sorry for yourself.
Hangovers and horses. Could it get any worse?
Of course it could.
“Lady Tara Chayne, we’re being followed. And not by guardian angels.”
“Tara Chayne will do. Titles get cumbersome.”
I grunted.
“I’m not surprised. Your partner warned me that we might be stalked. He sensed watchers who weren’t close enough to read. Are they friends or enemies? Enemies might be more fun. Guardians? I see a lot of rat people.” Her tone suggested that she found being of interest to bad people particularly flattering.
“I don’t know. You’re right about the rat men. I don’t recognize them, though. They’re grays. John Stretch would use ones I know. And his own kind.” I didn’t recognize any of the humans, either.
The followers weren’t together and seemed unaware of one another.
Me. Me. I wasn’t alone. Moonblight had people interested in what she was doing, too. We might each have our own stalkers.
Hell, for that matter somebody could be watching those weird dogs. Or they might be agents dedicated to exposing equine treason.
I had to admit that equine treason was a stretch, even in an unlimited universe.
Moonblight shifted course next intersection.
She had been hot to get those tracers to Trivias Smith. But, more than I, she didn’t want the transaction witnessed. Why mark the swords if the creeps who took delivery had reason to be suspicious?
My steed stomped on in the lee of the gelding, resolutely indifferent, just getting through another day. I wondered if she wasn’t blind and navigating by sound and stench.
Tara Chayne’s beast definitely had a horsy pong.
55
Moonblight headed for the Al-Khar, to that same entrance I’d used before. We found the watch post womaned by the usual greeter. Helenia looked “rode hard and put away wet.” I couldn’t help saying, “I hope you had half as much fun as it looks like.”
“I’m hoping with you. But I’m not holding out much. I don’t remember much after you turned up. I woke up in my own bed, alone, and don’t remember how I got there. I don’t know what happened to Merry. He didn’t show up for work. Why are you here?”
“Barnacles?”
“Huh?”
Tara Chayne watched and listened and didn’t say anything. Odd. Her mouth had run nonstop till now. I told He — lenia about the folks slowing us down without mentioning our destination. I said I thought that the Guard might be interested in some of them. I was still explaining when Target and half a dozen heavyweights stopped to gather relevant points before charging out into the weather. How had Helenia summoned them? A capability worth keeping in mind. And why, before she heard my full tale of woe? Because she knew Moonblight was accustomed to premium service?
That
I doubted.
This was Relway ground.
The devil himself turned up. I had to go back over the high points. Meanwhile, Target and his playmates exfiltrated to the street.
I was wrapping my sad tale when the prisoners arrived, three men and a woman. Target announced, “The rat men scattered like rats, boss,” ever so proud of his wit. “Just being close to our place had them spooked.”
I reminded Relway, “They were grays. Not John Stretch’s people.”
The little thug’s brushy eyebrows leapt up. “Yes?”
He assumed he was about to hear a confession.
“I need somebody to run a message to Pular Singe.” That smelled like a way around an admission of trafficking with undesirables.
“Certainly. Target, see to that. Helenia, give Mr. Garrett what he needs to write his note.” He struggled with a self-satisfied smirk. “And you two.” He wheeled on the captives, isolated a man and the woman. “I thought I made myself clear yesterday.”
At which point I penetrated Preston Womble’s excellent disguise. The woman, then, must be his habitual associate, Elona Muriat. She was tricked out as a homeless immigrant. I could get no fix on the real her inside the rags. She wouldn’t stand out on a busy street.
How come she hadn’t lived up to her reputation for being elusive?
Which wakened a curiosity as to how people were tracking me so easily.
So. Pals Womble and Muriat had been tagged, without noticing it, while they were in custody before. I had been tagged, too, somehow, probably more than once, since Strafa and I made our first visit to Shadowslinger’s place.
Had that little blonde gotten close enough? No. Little Moo? She’d been all over me twice, but I had Shadowslinger’s guarantee that she wasn’t part of the tournament mess. I checked the dogs, all staying close and low-key. I wouldn’t be able to blame anything on Brownie, either.
When or how didn’t matter. Neutralization would be good enough.
Helenia showed me where I could scribble a note to Singe, which I did assuming that Target would sneak a peek. I stated the facts. Unknown rat men were following me. They were grays who did not seem friendly.
John Stretch would be interested. The sneakers weren’t his people. That meant that someone out there dared risk his wrath.
John Stretch hadn’t been challenged since he became top rat. Rat people liked his ways.
Moonblight went on not saying much but stared hard at Relway. Her self-satisfied smile assured everyone that the Director was an open book. Relway himself showed discomfort, so even he could be intimidated by Hill folk who were there to look him in the eye.
He took it out on Womble and Muriat, who had made bail by agreeing to sneak for the Unpublished Committee.
Tara Chayne smirked at Relway’s back.
I folded my message and handed it to Target, no seal. No point making the Guard’s specialists bust their butts to make it look like it hadn’t been opened. Target understood. So did the Director. There would be no rowdy secrets hidden in there.
Hell, knowing that, there was no point to looking.
But he would, just to make sure that I wasn’t counting on him not to because it wasn’t worth the trouble.
Thinking so much makes my brain swell up and the backs of my eyes hurt.
Relway asked, “Want a couple of my men along while you wander?” not being the least thoughtful except toward his own people. They wouldn’t have to work as hard if they could just tag along.
Preston and Elona hadn’t been freelancing. They had made the mistake of letting themselves be noticed.
“Not necessary,” Tara Chayne said, lapsing fully into Moonblight mode. “Show us an exit point away from where we entered.”
“An excellent strategy, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Really? That got my attention, and Tara Chayne’s even more. I was startled and amused. She was. . One eyebrow began to twitch. Relway’s eyeballs were about to get boiled in their sockets.
He looked as bland as milk soup.
Tara Chayne had the lastest, biggest, and stinkiest laugh.
Relway told Helenia to take us across the heart of the Al-Khar to an exit opposite her home post, a level down because the Al-Khar stood on sloping ground. Our critters made the journey with us. Both horses insisted on delivering proof of their innate evil by leaving handsome piles in the busiest work areas.
Tara Chayne, being what she was, dared tell Helenia, “Be glad the dogs are all bitches.” She glared at the oddly built red top, perhaps suspecting unauthorized thought-usage of a female descriptive/pejorative in a nearby Civil Guard mind.
Good boy me, I kept a straight face.
56
We were coming up on Flubber Ducky. I kept fighting the snickers. We had no shadows at the moment. Tara Chayne was not feeling talky. I was positively chatty. For me.
Moonblight pulled up, eyed the costume and props shop, finally spoke. “That was fun, pulling the little man’s ears.”
“It was,” I admitted. “But don’t make a habit of it. Deal Relway is the most dangerous man in Karenta because he’s one of those guys who knows he’s right. The gods themselves are behind him. He is the anointed voice and fist of justice. He has no reservations and doesn’t care who gets in his way, except tactically.”
“Stipulated. He could be dangerous. But I suspect you exaggerate that danger as much as you do everything else. This is the shop, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll look inside.” She swung her mount in to the horse trough and hitching post. “Did anyone touch you while we were inside the Al-Khar?”
She had been insultingly reluctant to allow anyone near her.
“I don’t think so.”
“It could be important. You had two tracers on you when we started. You picked up another passing through the Al-Khar. We’ll tamper with that one so it looks like it doesn’t always work right. That might be handy later.”
I chewed some air, surprised. “Helenia touched me a few times. Light brushes. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Because you’re used to women touching you during a conversation.”
Well, yes. That happened. Tara Chayne had done it herself sometimes when there wasn’t room for me to increase my personal space.
“They have a good book on you at the Al-Khar.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that before, but it exactly fit Relway’s character, tracking the habits and foibles of people of interest.
I dismounted without embarrassing myself, to the amusement of the sorceress. She had a book on me herself, inside her head. “We’ll have you cavalry-qualified in no time.”
Oh my gods! I suffered a horrified flashback. What if they had put me in the cavalry when they called me up? What a nightmare, that would be rolling along still because I would still be down there slumbering under the cacti right now if I hadn’t been lucky enough to have become a Marine.
“Get it together, Garrett. I’m beginning to see why Strafa fell so hard. You’re as distracted and flaky as she was. How have you stayed alive so long?”
“You aren’t the first to ask. I don’t know. I wasn’t always this way.”
She shrugged, indicated the shop door. We waited as a party of eight came out, stage crew folk from the World led by Heather Soames-Gilbey. Heather eyeballed me, Tara Chayne, the mutts, and the horses. “Garrett.” And that was it. She focused on the horses, stifled a grin. She knew about my horse allergy.
The World gang moved along, Heather shaking her head.
Tara Chayne and I seized the opportunity to operate the otherwise unoccupied door.
The first native we encountered was the little baldish guy I’d nicknamed Feisty, real name Pindlefix, that Belinda had sent to party with the Dead Man. “Welcome to Flubber Ducky, sir and madam.” He pronounced “madam” old-fashioned, so it sounded like “my lady,” from ages past. Pretense was part of the Flubber Ducky ambience. “How might we be of service?” He recognized Tara Chay
ne’s status. But then he decided to see what her man-toy looked like, recognized me, and became all attitude. He sputtered instructions to me to get my ugly butt out while trying to summon some security thug to chuck said homely delectation into the nearest horse apple pile. Somebody hunt one of those up if none was readily available.
Moonblight extended a delicate, timeworn hand to Feisty’s throat, as though to make sure that nub really was an Adam’s apple. Pindlefix continued his rant in silence. People gathering for some flash entertainment suddenly lost interest.
It took Pindlefix a few seconds to realize that his voice box was hoarse de combat. “Frog in your throat, buddy?”
He was fresh out of interest in me. Life was all about the dread in front of him: a Hill creature who could silence him with a touch.
A mercurial sort, Feisty adjusted, becoming deeply obsequious in just a few heartbeats.
Moonblight told him, “Gently, sir. Gently. A good customer service attitude is critical to business success. Don’t you agree?”
Feisty mouthed, “Yes, ma’am!” and bobbed his upper torso as if she were a foreign dignitary, or he was from one of those countries where their heads are always wobbling up and down.
“Much better.” She touched his throat again. He regained the power of speech, sagged in relief. “I can make that permanent.”
Feisty stopped trying to suck up by expressing his gratitude.
I let him know, “We just want to browse.”
“As you will, sir. As you will. Summon me if I can help. I will be close by.”
I told Tara Chayne, “I wish I could do that trick.” Hoping my envy wasn’t totally obvious.
“It takes a special talent. Otherwise every husband would do it.” Grinning, she began to wander, pushing her fingers and nose in everywhere. Pindlefix stuck close, usually staying ahead to warn everyone to look out, till someone came in talking a sizable order. With Feisty distracted, Tara Chayne invited us into a back room normally closed to the punters. Teams of seamsters were building costumes. Tara Chayne found one little man stitching a long, heavy, hooded robe, vaguely clerical, in dark umber with planned embroidery rough-sketched in yellow chalk. She asked nothing and touched nothing but made the little man intensely aware of her presence. She got scary close, maybe shedding girl cooties.
