by Glen Cook
The prisoners wore clerical mufti. Collars proclaimed their professions. Civilian clothing declared them off duty. They belonged to the same litter as the prisoners taken in front of Chattaree.
Niea froze. He blanched. He stared at the bowed backs of the captives.
“Friends?” I asked.
Apparently not. “I know what they are. I’ve heard the rumors.”
Smiling enough to reveal her need for dental attention, Moonblight said, “He’s marked.” Which I understood. She asked him, “Are you carrying some token that your bosses insist you keep with you all the time?”
“I don’t understand.”
“It could be anything. Jewelry. A badge. A uniform bit of clothing. A handkerchief with a Church monogram. Anything. Just something they gave you and told you to keep on you.”
He got it, turned to gape at the departing prisoners. “They were here after me. Maybe they were supposed to kill me!” He fumbled in a shirt pocket, produced a painted wooden plaque bigger than a playing card but smaller than those used to read the tarot. It slipped out of his shaking fingers, clattered on the cobblestones. Brownie gave it a sniff. Her hackles went up. She began to growl.
Number Two and the others hurried up the now empty street, formed a skirmish line. Tin whistles who had been nearer the source of the trouble had all dematerialized again.
Niea took hold of his death card, passed it up to Moonblight. He began shaking so badly he could hardly move. More than to the terror he was reacting to the opening underfoot of a depthless abyss of betrayal.
The thing that was a hundred-legged absence of light returned. It circled above Moonblight, widdershins of course, legs flailing like the oars of a galley where the rowers were totally wasted. It looked fatter than before.
Scithe opined, “I think a new Special just got born.”
“Recruit him if you want. My partner gets to see him first, though.”
Moonblight studied our surroundings. Some red tops from earlier reappeared buildings up ahead, each of two pairs carrying a corpse slung from a commandeered pole. Tara Chayne muttered, “And I guess that will be that.” She swatted her centipede. It shattered into a thousand fragments, each of which faded to amber and evaporated.
I had to admit, “That was impressive.”
“Thank you. It was all show. I don’t get many chances now that we’re not at war anymore.”
“Can’t say as I feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want the excitement back. I enjoy the quiet life. My sister is the one in mourning because of the peace plague.”
“Then she’s having a good time today, isn’t she?”
“And that’s why I want to leave her where she is. Hoping she’ll suffer enough to realize that she’s too old for this shit. You’re all goggle-eyed. What now?”
I pointed.
Little Blonde stood atop the peak of a roof tree up the street, hands tucked into her sleeves in front of her, untroubled by the fact that she was three stories above the cobblestones and the weather was about to get damp again. She wore an aquamarine winter coat with a white lace collar. A little white pillbox of a hat sat cocked atop her head. Her shoes were out of sight, but I didn’t doubt for a second that they were shiny black leather over low white socks. Very in for the well-to-do girl-child these days.
She offered me a slight bow and a small smile once she saw that I had spotted her. I didn’t see her sidekick but was willing to bet the farm he was within stabbing distance.
Moonblight said, “I know her.” Her tone was one of awe.
“Who is she, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Uh. . That don’t make much sense.”
“Right. All right. I’ve seen her before. Somewhere. But I can’t remember where or when.”
That was no help and I said so.
She wasn’t going to apologize. “She the one who turned up before?”
“She is.”
“She’s cheating. She isn’t what she seems. She might even be a spirit or demon.”
66
We had been oozing toward Playmate’s stable since the fallen had gone by, presumably off to spend quality time with the forensics sorcerers at the Al-Khar. I wondered if General Block was bold enough to have a real necromancer on staff.
Target materialized as I was about to quiz Tara Chayne. “You’ll be uncovered for a while. Every swinging dick will be busy cleaning up. Be careful. Helenia? You doing all right?”
“I’ll make it. They’re going to let me ride.”
“Keep an eye on our boy. And keep the stupid under control. The boss don’t want to lose him yet.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Target trotted after the body haulers. Those guys were drawing local attention.
I was just realizing that Target had disrespected me when I noticed Playmate and Little Moo up ahead, a whole fifteen feet away, waiting outside his office’s street door.
Brownie and friends started bouncing around Little Moo. She had acquired a fresh outfit. Not something new, nor stylish, nor even that fit particularly well, but it was clean and didn’t draw attention. Her expression was less bewildered. She was happy to see the dogs. If Playmate hadn’t said something, she would have gotten down and rolled around with them.
Tara Chayne grunted, startled, then muttered, “Well, that was just a little bit remarkable.”
I glanced over. She was looking up rather than at Little Moo. I decided to help her stare back at the sky. “What?”
The baby blonde was gone, a “So what?” to me, being accustomed to not having her in my life anyway. “And?”
“She flew away. Well, floated, if you want to be precise.”
“She’s a Windwalker?”
Moonblight shrugged. “Not a talent we usually see before puberty.”
“Not to mention, it’s just damned uncommon. That ought to make her easy to identify.”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Windwalking being so unusual that everyone on the Hill always knows the people who can.”
“I have a bad feeling.”
“Good guess. Furious Tide of Light was TunFaire’s only active Windwalker.”
“So there might be another sorcery at work.”
“There must be.” Her interest waned as she considered Playmate and Little Moo.
Playmate wasn’t much to see, just a tall, bony black guy gaping because he saw me on a horse. He was at a loss for words except a mechanical “Bring your mounts inside. They’re worn out and hungry.”
“I don’t have much cash.”
“Singe is good for it. And it’ll be at cost. I owe you big.”
“Speaking of. Himself wanted me to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m good. Better than anybody had any right to expect.” He rested a hand on Little Moo’s shoulder, lightly. She stopped doing whatever it was he thought she shouldn’t do. I hadn’t caught what. “You don’t need to keep fussing over me.”
“Sure we do. You’re important to us. He wants you to come by so he can check on the cancer. He might want to see Kolda, too.”
“And he wants to meet the girl.”
“Yes. He does.”
We managed physical business while we talked, taking the horses inside, loosening their tack but removing only their bridles. Play brought water and oats. The mare looked at me like she might be having second thoughts about my fitness to be sharing the world of the master race.
Little Moo helped Play. She said a few words, not clearly, not to me. They didn’t have “Hate you!” among them.
Playmate crouched, examined my mare’s left side. “You’re right. You have a good eye, child.” He conjured a pail of stinky salve, grabbed a handful, and slathered it onto a raw spot developing where the saddle’s left-side fender had rubbed. He wanted to chide me about it but restrained himself. I couldn’t know any better. I hadn’t spent time in a mounted unit.
And I was known for my bad a
ttitude toward the equine tribes.
Playmate is the goodest guy I know, but he does come afflicted with bizarre prejudices where animals are concerned. They’re freaking animals, Play!
We would get into a tiff if we kept on about horses. Time for something else and I was more interested in the girl.
So was Tara Chayne. She seemed captivated and awed, uncertain, determined to be disbelieving, and professionally confused.
I told Playmate, “You’ve obviously been a good influence. What happened?” And, to Moonblight, “What? You see something interesting or do you just have to pee?”
“I’m not sure. Eight of one and four of the other. I can’t believe it’s what it looks like.”
In TunFaire we see the improbable and implausible every day. The impossible comes up once a week.
Playmate said, “It just takes patience. She’s a good kid, eager to please. Truly slow, though.” Said softly.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Who is she? Who are her people? What’s her story? You got her into less ridiculous clothes. You managed some kind of communication.”
Meanwhile, Tara Chayne extended a hand, gently beckoned. Brownie and the girls surrounded Little Moo, looked to her for cues.
Playmate said, “The name she gave, once she understood what I wanted, was Hagekagome.” Hah-gay-kah-goh-may.
“Really?” Definitely not TunFairen, and not likely Karentine.
“Really.”
“That’s a strange one. But. .”
“You think you’ve heard it before.”
“I do. Oddly enough.”
“I do, too, Garrett. A long time ago. Near as I can tell-she is truly confused-she thinks you should know it because you used to live together. And she loved you very much.”
I opened my yap to declare that completely impossible. Tara Chayne laid a forefinger across my lips. “No.” Then, “As Constance told you, be kind, be gentle, and be patient. It won’t cost you a copper.”
“Why?”
“You would prefer to bruise feelings?”
“I’d prefer to know why I’m getting special instructions.”
“She’s a special child. Like none other.”
“Special how?”
“Consider her your challenged little sister. That’s enough to know.”
I flashed Playmate a look of appeal, saw that I would get no help there. He said, “She’s coming along but she’s still confused. She can form sentences part of the time but doesn’t make much sense with them.”
I showed him my best baffled frown.
“She’ll keep getting better if she’s treated well.”
Tara Chayne agreed. “She will. For a while.”
Plaintive, I demanded, “What does that mean?”
“It means that you will treat her well, treat her right, and be gentle and loving for as long as she’s with us. If you don’t, I’ll hurt you.”
Ooh! I felt the steel behind that.
“Damn it, if. .” No. Rein it in, Garrett.
I got skills. I got resources. I got the Dead Man to slash and burn through the smoke and mirrors.
I said, “Play, come by my place as soon as you can. And bring Little. . Hagekagome?”
The girl stopped playing with the dogs, stared at me with big, sparkling brown eyes, thrilled because I’d used her name. She waited several seconds to see if there would be anything more, then turned back to the dogs.
Number Two gave me a hard doggie glower before jumping back into the fun.
Playmate said, “We’ll be there. I’ll have my brother-in-law cover. What time is supper?” He had to yank my leash.
Everybody but Hagekagome snickered.
67
We still had places to visit, people to see, things to do, but I declared, “We’ll head back to Macunado Street now. Helenia, Captain Scithe, we’ll drop you off on the way.”
Those two had been keeping quiet, trying to go unnoticed, with ears the size of saucers. Helenia, though, was pleased. She now knew she wasn’t a fieldwork kind of girl.
Scithe made himself look as bland as wild yogurt.
I wouldn’t be rid of him as easily.
I told Playmate, “I’ll let Dean and Singe know you’re coming.” I might have Dean boil up a kettle of grits if I had to feed a crowd.
Playmate touched Hagekagome lightly. “Would you help me in the stable?”
She bounced up, grinning, eager to help.
I looked to Tara Chayne for a reaction.
“You’re trying to be clever. Get your answers from your partner.”
Something smelled funny there.
“He’ll tell you what he thinks you need to know.”
And there it was. She thought Old Bones would keep me in the dark, too.
It made no sense.
But why did it have to now? A dab of patience would bring whatever knowledge I needed. I just hated waiting.
Playmate and the girl readied the horses. I installed Helenia aboard the mare, who finally betrayed her true self by nipping me.
Playmate, Hagekagome, and Helenia all barked at me when I popped the monster in the snot locker. Brownie put on the same look of disappointment that my mother used to get when she was unhappy about something that I’d done.
I asked her, “You weren’t my mom in another life, were you?”
Niea gasped, horrified, reminding us of his presence. Reincarnation theory was anathema to all true-believing Orthodox.
The mare just looked dumbfounded.
• • •
We delivered Helenia to the Al-Khar. Scithe did drop out there, too, only asking once if he could take Niea with him. He took “No” for an answer. The Specials faded away, too, probably because their shifts were up. We weren’t far along before I spotted Preston Womble again, though.
He didn’t care if he was seen, probably because he didn’t care what we were doing. He was working because he had been given no choice.
I chose to go past Frenkeljean’s roach wagon, where I treated everyone to sausages, including the mutts-though they got surplus that had been around too long for people to eat. Grease running up my arms, I told Tara Chayne, “Now, this is what I call good eating. Yo. Frenkle-man. Give me another one.”
Tara Chayne’s reaction to her sausage approximated mine to her pepper-based abomination. She took a few bites, made ladylike retching noises, and passed the rest to Number Two, who totally agreed with me. How could anybody not love a big old juice-dripping pork sausage?
Frenkeljean filled me in on local gossip. That didn’t take long. My activities hadn’t gotten any rumors started. Folks didn’t care what happened on the Hill as long as the Hill didn’t include outsiders as collateral damage.
It was an attitude I knew well. I’d shared it before Strafa came into my life.
From Prince Guelfo Square it was a short trek to Macunado, where several red tops deliberately showed themselves. I heard grumbling from neighbors who objected to the possibility of excitement.
Tough.
The Dead Man was awake. I began to feel him when we were a block away. He was playing ambush predator, but why wasn’t clear. He might not know that himself.
Penny opened the door. She said something nice to Moonblight, looked down to where I was trying to make the horses comfortable. She told Brownie, “I’ll get something for you guys in a minute.” To me, “Can you put them in back?”
I asked the air, “What happened to the real Penny Dreadful?”
Your Church friend is most intriguing.
“What have you got?”
It is too early to concern yourself. Do as Penny suggested.
“Huh?” Did she suggest something? I must have missed that.
The dogs! With exasperation.
That let me know that I really did have to get it together. A lapse so small shouldn’t trigger the impatience of someone normally little pressed for time. There must be a frustrating pattern.
Well, of course. Especially since I’d lost Strafa.
I kept recognizing it, then failing to do anything about it.
“Come on, girls. Follow me.” Down a narrow breezeway alongside the house stood gates into my garden and that of my neighbor to the left. I had not, literally, been back there for years. I expected masses of windblown trash and the rotted memory of a gate. I found neither.
The breezeway was clean. The gate was new. “That Singe,” I muttered. “She’s spooky efficient.”
The breezeway had been cleaned after someone had tuck-pointed the mortar on the side of the house. A few missed slate chips told me that some roof repairs had been made, too.
The girls and I found Dean on the back porch, juggling bowls. Penny was there to help, a pot in each hand. She must have opened the back door. Dean couldn’t budge it. It seldom gets used and is stubborn about sticking shut, then is tough to close again once you do get it open.
They set out four bowls of mutt grub in ridiculously generous portions. Penny’s pots held water. Somebody had gone out of his or her way while I was off earning a living. Sic. Such as that was.
The pay had been lousy lately, and, being self-employed, I had me a really cheap-ass boss.
Penny reddened slightly, patted a couple of canine heads on critters too busy to notice, grumbled, “Got to go answer the door.”
There was no point raising my concerns with Dean. That old boy has no shame when it comes to spending my money.
“You girls be sure to thank the nice man.” I glanced around, saw essentially a desert the size of a handkerchief. Dean had started an herb garden once upon a time but couldn’t keep it up. Singe kept talking about creating a fancy flower garden, but she never got past the talk. She was too busy.
Penny and I were too damned lazy, and I didn’t care, anyway.
Gardens are nice when somebody else does the planting, watering, weeding, and grooming. I used to hit the Royal Botanical Gardens about once a year, then more often after I hooked up with Strafa.
I went back around front wondering if we should put the horses back there, too, and arrived just in time to see Penny close the front door behind Dollar Dan Justice, then to spot a slowly moving Playmate, with a patently worried Hagekagome, turning onto Macunado off Wizard’s Reach.
