by Glen Cook
I caught a sparkle of purple. That news irked the centipede of night.
The Phila Menes are an order that does charity work. Mikon Dungenes Stornes wasn’t a bad man, he was a weak-willed guy with a true bad man in the woodpile, a cousin willing to use and discard him. He knew that despite turning a willful blind eye.
He met my gaze briefly. “You’re wondering where he got the money to underwrite his scheme. He stole it from the Church. No one at Chattaree was in on it but me. Meyness’s position, that he schemed and maneuvered to get, let him manage Church finances. He could take all the money he wanted. Nobody can keep track of coin donations. He was creative with numbers on paper, made some shrewd investments, and knew where enough bodies were buried to control most anyone who needed controlling.”
And he probably buried some bodies himself when that was useful.
This insanity had been festering since a kid named Meyness Stornes started running with Constance Algarda, Richt Hauser, the Machtkess girls, and the Breakers. He helped wreck that tournament so he could run his own game later. But being sure of that didn’t do me any good just now.
Mikon Stornes gave up on killing himself.
“I’m baffled, Mikon. Why did Meyness suddenly change up after being so careful for so long?”
“He’s dying. From something slow that he picked up in the Cantard. He’s spent a lot of time in the infirmary recently. He saw the Children of Light several times.”
That was suggestive. The Children started out something like the Phila Menes, providing health care for the poor, but got outrageously good at it. They morphed into a gang that sold top health care to the high bidder. These days they are last-resort providers to the desperate rich-and have become desperately rich doing so.
“I see.”
“I think they decided his condition was hopeless last month. That’s when he stopped being patient. The point of the tournament and of being an Operator became all about collecting power for himself. If he achieved demigod status he could beat his disease.”
Not so hard to understand. “And he was going to take you along.”
“So he said. I never completely believed him, but he might have done. After he saved himself.”
Though I understood Stornes’s motivation, the rationale of the tournament still seemed loony. Fear of death is a powerful driver, especially inside Magister Bezma’s intellectual community. He wasn’t the first sorcerer willing to devour the world in order to beat Death.
Near as I knew, nobody had won that contest yet. At best you could buy time, a few centuries at most. The universe insisted on balance. When an Izi Bezma distorted the fabric of what Is, a countervailing force produced a Black Orchid.
Therein lay the calling of the shinigami, the death spirits. Enma Ai or Yama, in particular, could step out of the ether and deliver not only oblivion but damnation to the deserving.
Or such was the belief of some of the cults with which TunFaire is cursed and blessed. Izi Bezma, being Orthodox, might think he had found a mystical means of lawyering his way around the pitfalls that had claimed those who had failed before him.
Orchidia Hedley-Farfoul, though, might indeed be Enma Ai embodied, in the sense that she might be the device the universe chose to press Meyness B. Stornes back onto the thread the Fates had spun him at the hour of his birth.
I shook like a wet dog. So did all the mutts around me. Some chill had touched us all.
Maybe it was just my uncharacteristic, introspective ramble through realms of mystic speculation.
All so intriguing, this. I got most of it now, yet there was still plenty to mystify me. And, then, there was the whole other puzzle of Hagekagome, Brownie, and the dogs who dwelt here in the nation of the gone-before.
There was plenty I didn’t yet get. Something big was missing still. Something that would make sense of what had happened to my so-beautiful gift from the good gods, now beneath that sheet of glass. Something that might be out in plain sight if I but had eyes with which to see. No doubt the Dead Man would have seen it long since.
107
I stared at Strafa for several minutes. Inspiration did not come in a flash. It was more like a slowly developing infection. “Where were you supposed to take her? And how were you supposed to get her there?”
Mikon D. took a while because he hadn’t visited the place himself but eventually had me picturing the shack where Moonblight and I spent the night on the floor. Bezma meant to conduct his ritual there, with help from Mikon and his hired hands.
“There’s supposedly another place if it’s needed.” Mikon didn’t know where that was, though. Considering Bezma’s jackleg style so far, it probably didn’t really exist.
The how for moving Strafa turned out to be the wagon previously used to haul plunder away from Flubber Ducky and Trivias Smith’s, which waited behind a big mausoleum nearby, positioned so it couldn’t be seen from the sextons’ shack. Mikon had been sent to get Strafa after off-loading the goods at the Hauser place.
“So, where does Bonegrinder fit?”
“Bonegrinder? He doesn’t. He’s one of Constance Algarda’s Breakers.”
“He owns that house. And he’s Orchidia Hedley-Farfoul’s uncle.”
“Meyness probably. . Maybe there’s some intent to misdirect, or to deceive by omission.”
No doubt.
“Meyness acted like he owned the place.”
I had seen no sign of recent visitors during my stay there.
Mikon said, “You need to decide what you want to do. Meyness will be racing midnight. If I don’t turn up in a reasonable time, he’ll know something went wrong. He’ll go with whatever backup he has planned. And he always has another plan.”
I glimpsed something sly peeping out the corner of Mikon’s downcast eyes. He was putting on a show of cooperation and contrition, but he hadn’t bailed on Meyness completely. The sneaky bastard had a faint hope left in keeping the faith.
“No way will I let you take my wife anywhere. But since you’ve had an epiphany and mean to dedicate the rest of your life to righteous works, I’m going to let you join the rush to drive a stake through the heart of the Tournament of Swords concept.”
All right. I didn’t say it quite so grandiloquently, but that’s what I meant. And I wanted to suggest that I wasn’t as clever as I pretended, which hasn’t ever been that hard to do. I wanted to get him thinking that he could manipulate me by pretending to go along to buy time.
He agreed without hearing specifics. Good thing, because I was woefully lacking on those and winging it completely.
“Let’s move, then.” Outside, I told Brownie, “Mikon says he’ll help us. You keep an eye on him anyway. If he does something suspicious, kill him and eat the evidence.”
The strays probably wouldn’t attack a human, but it couldn’t hurt to have the notion rattling around in Mikon’s head.
The dogs looked like they understood. Several sniffed Mikon like they were checking to see if he’d be tender and tasty or tough and stringy.
I grinned at the old watchman. He kept a straight face. “I want the tomb closed up. Make any repairs that you have to. I also want to rent or borrow a coffin like the one that my wife is in.” Grin controlled, I asked Mikon, “Meyness wouldn’t be familiar with Strafa’s coffin, would he?”
Mikon was puzzled. He lacked a ghost of a notion what I was thinking. I had only a ghost of a notion myself. It involved Morley Dotes and a recollection of a vampire we’d known. He and I were the only people living who knew what had happened.
Mikon and I collected the wagon. Me, he, and the watchman headed for the gatehouse, where I reminded Morley of the bad old days and offered my suggestion by implication. He got it, was amused, and said nothing to tip Mikon off.
After a liberal tip and my signature on a promissory note covering mausoleum repairs, Morley, Mikon, I, and my regular complement of mutts headed north, leading a covered wagon carrying a blanket-draped coffin. Though that did not have a
glass top, it might pass for the one Strafa now called home.
The cemetery guys swore on God’s True Name that mausoleum repairs would commence immediately in the morning. One lone mention of Shadowslinger was encouragement enough for those old men.
We were half a mile from our destination when Pular Singe and Dollar Dan Justice materialized, apparently having lain in wait.
“For three minutes, maybe,” Singe said. “No longer.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d be coming past here?”
“Rat rumor,” Dan said. “We asked where you were. Regular rats reported a rough track. This seemed like a good place to wait.”
I didn’t buy it. I smelled a high bull dung content that suggested a new level of secret rat powers. That couldn’t be anything but propaganda.
Singe, though, said nothing to undermine the scam.
Mikon boggled at rat folks acting like they were real people but steadfastly ignored the suggestions of rat magic.
“All right. I get it. How doesn’t matter. What’s happened?”
Singe is never deeply shy about delivering bad news. What has to be done has to be done. “Barate Algarda, Kyoga Stornes, Richt Hauser, that weird man Bashir, and Shadowslinger have gone missing.”
“They invaded Chattaree this afternoon. They went after Magister Bezma because of Feder and his friend. We were outside. It got exciting. There were earthquakes and clouds of poison dust. We decided not to get involved. We’ll hear way more than we want after the Specials find us again.” Moonblight must have ridded me of all official tracking devices. It had been a while since I’d had tin whistles underfoot.
Mikon was aghast at the idea that anyone, even from the Hill, would invade the cathedral. He would be but one of thousands so shaken. The invasion would stir a huge uproar, possibly violence, and some pointed questions from the Director to everyone involved.
The Breaker side just might have included that in their calculations.
I asked, “What’s the disaster that I need to know about right away?”
“Sometime this afternoon, probably while you were at the cemetery, thugs invaded Shadowslinger’s house. They tore the place up, stole everything they could carry, killed Mashego, and kidnapped Kevans and Kip. Magister Bezma led them. The sorcery holding off the private watchmen caused widespread property damage. Mashego killed four raiders and wounded so many others that the survivors weren’t able to take their dead away.”
“Kevans and Kip? Kidnapped?” I hadn’t considered that possibility. How would Bezma know that Shadowslinger wasn’t there? Or had he just assumed that she was still in a coma? “What about the bodyguards who were supposed to be protecting Kevans?”
Embarrassed, Dollar Dan admitted, “They were not there. She ordered them to go away, they were fired, she did not want their ugly asses underfoot anymore, she did not want to see any of them ever again-no more than an hour before the bad guys turned up. They are back on the job, strongly reminded that she is not their employer, and are looking for her.”
How would a kidnapping fit in with the concept of a tournament? I glared at Mikon.
Mikon appeared one hundred percent chagrined. “I don’t know anything about that. Meyness was supposed to be setting up for the Ritual.”
“You know who we’re talking about?”
“I do. Their names head Meyness’s list of most-wanted gamers.”
“And if he had done his research, he’d know that neither kid has any supernatural powers.”
“But. .” He didn’t believe me. Or didn’t want to believe me. “The girl is the daughter of Furious Tide of Light! The boy conjures all those incredible inventions. He has to be tapped into another world.”
“The girl has no talent except being inventive. More so than the boy does because she does know about sorcery even though she has no aptitude for it. The boy has to be smacked in the chops with the supernatural just to recognize it. But if it’s something mechanical. . He thinks stuff up. He and the girl refine it.”
Kip’s best friend who was a girl but not his girlfriend, to her dismay, was his female mirror image, often more clever creatively.
I said, “I presume we know where to find our people.”
Dan said, “Mud Man and Wiley Baw are on that.”
“Good. I was on my way to see Magister Bezma, anyhow. Now he has me motivated. And, since his name came up, what’s Mud Man’s story for this afternoon?”
We resumed moving with no course adjustment. John Stretch would be waiting up ahead with word about any changes in what we needed to do.
108
Mud Man had trailed Vicious Min to one of the rooftop hideouts belonging to the little blonde and her friend. Dollar Dan had trailed the other big people and the Black Orchid to the same place. Nobody paid attention to rat people.
The blonde and her friend left Orchidia with injured Min, the slow youth, and the crippled elder.
I said, “I hope Orchidia isn’t in a black mood when she wakes up.”
Dan said, “She was awake before they got her to the place where they meant to keep her.” Before I asked, he volunteered, “An unconscious human gives off a different odor than one who is only pretending.”
“Good to know.” Might even be useful, someday.
Singe made a chuckling noise. “You smell different when you are faking sleep, too.” A trick I employ often when I don’t feel like getting out of bed.
“I see. Good to know again.” Then I yelped and jumped about a yard straight up. “What the hell was that?”
“Fireworks. Premature fireworks. It is the Day of the Dead. We should start seeing costumes once the moon comes up.”
There was always a huge orange full moon, assuming the overcast let it be seen. And, as midnight approached, there would be fireworks.
Yes. Fireworks. But later.
Morley said what I was thinking. “Costumes and fireworks would make great camouflage for serious villainy.”
People wouldn’t pay much attention, would they? Weird and unusual were supposed to happen tonight.
Shadowslinger had anticipated that, and something else she felt compelled to go the whole mystery route about.
A second rocket went up. This one exploded huge, presenting a globe of gold and pink sparks. The dogs pulled in close, made uncomfortable by the boom and subsequent crackle of secondary explosions.
Morley laughed. “You know what that’s all about, don’t you?”
“I know exactly what it is. Some enterprising kid found a way to get into the fireworks magazine. He liberated some of the bigger shells.” Boys try every year. It’s a tradition. “The summer before the summer I went off to boot camp, Mikey and I got three star shells.”
So there I was, thinking about my departed brother on an evening when you were supposed to do exactly that. Mikey and I had had a great time that summer, but the shadow of the future had begun to loom. I would be off soon, on a road that had proven cruel for so many Garrett men already.
Till the information officers brought Ma the news and Mikey’s medals, I never considered the possibility that he would be the next Garrett not to come back. I’d been sure that I had a lock on a one-man lie-down six feet under in the land of the giant snakes and spiders, if I didn’t turn to croc shit first.
I’m not sure what brought Mikey so strongly to mind. I mean, yes, it was that night, but I’d gotten through Days of the Dead and All-Souls untroubled for several years. Why should this one be different?
I launched a general question. “Should we consider rescuing Orchidia? She’d be handy to have around if we end up slow-dancing with a magister of the Church.”
Dollar Dan opined, “It is likely that she will rescue herself when the time seems right. She may have done so already.”
“Singe, for the gods’ sake, lie to this guy. Tell him you’ll marry him. Or tumble him blind. Or something, because he’s starting to make me feel inadequate, he’s working so damned hard to show off his smartic
als.”
“Smarticals? A new word for that special occasion when one of the Other Races amazes you by being able to tie his own shoes?”
That was kind of saying sideways that no way was she, the inimitable Pular Singe, going to be impressed by anything done by Dollar Dan Justice. He was just doing what he was supposed to, as far as she was concerned. Publicly.
But she was impressed. She was my little girl. She had grown up in my house. I knew her better than anyone but maybe the Dead Man. Dollar Dan was wearing her down.
John Stretch intercepted us soon afterward. “I stopped by your house on my way.” Talking to Singe, not to me. “Those girls are not happy. Penny thinks she is going to miss the fireworks. The other one has her feelings hurt because she has not been able to spend any time with Garrett, and that is her whole reason for being with us.” He turned slightly, to me. “You should give her more attention.” As though I knew exactly what he meant and why.
I did not, and I tried to make that clear. “Why? She’s a cute little thing. . But she’s just another stray. .”
I’d said something wrong. I had no idea what, but all four dogs growled and showed me their teeth. I got wicked, irritated looks from some of the others.
“Godsdammit! Tell me!”
Morley was not one of the irritated. He answered with a shrug. He didn’t get it, either.
“Well?” I demanded of Singe.
“I cannot help you. I should not. It cannot work that way.”
“I do believe that I am about to lose my temper.”
“This is one of those thing you have to work out for yourself, for good or ill. It is a moral bridge. No one can cross it for you, nor should anyone ease your way. It is all on you. And you are running out of time.”
“And patience!” No shit.
I knew Singe wanted to help. She owed me. I had made it possible for her to become the prodigy that she was. But there were witnesses.
