by Glen Cook
It must be true that she wasn’t even supposed to offer a clue.
Irked, I imagined the Dead Man needling me with some remark to the effect that I had every clue I needed already. I should put in a little effort.
Oh, sigh. This had the feel of one of those face-offs with a moral tilting point that make life so damned uncomfortable.
I bet Belinda never suffered such quandaries. She never met a problem she couldn’t solve by breaking something or killing somebody.
It sucks, this “figure it out on your own or it has no value” crap. The real truth is, people are covering their asses so they take no blame if you make the sinister choice.
Paint me cynical. Very, very cynical.
“I’ll get you all, someday. You’ll have the shit raining down. You’ll be begging for a steel umbrella. And I’ll sit there in my rocking chair humming ‘God Save the Queen.’” Which is a particularly filthy drinking song about a cross-dressing fellow who has mad skills as a streetwalker but often gets into trouble because what he keeps hidden under his skirt has a mind of its own.
Singe told me, “You being deliberately disgusting changes nothing.”
It made me feel better, though not much.
109
The Black Orchid wasn’t where she’d been last seen, nor were any big people there, either. There was no evidence of a struggle. They had vanished right under Mud Man’s whiskers. He couldn’t understand how, nor even when. There were odors in the hide, thick, but no trail leading away. Even Singe could find nothing.
“Sorcery,” Dollar Dan suggested, cleverly.
“Indeed.” Of course, sorcery, assuredly courtesy of the Black Orchid, for whom sneaking to commit murder was a way of life.
We knew what Orchidia wanted. How would she get it? Was there any good reason to interfere?
Well, yes. Of course. I would be most unhappy if she got her revenge before I got my kids back.
Singe mused, “There is a possibility that the lady has made a pact with the big people.”
That did seem plausible. The little blonde and her friend had tried to thwart the attack on Orchidia’s twins. The basis for a partnership existed.
“Morley. The blond kid. Her big guy. Seen either one lately?”
“I have not. Which may mean only that they’re making more of an effort to stay out of sight. I do feel like we’re still being watched.”
I grunted. Sometimes I got that creepy sting-between-the-shoulder-blades feeling myself. “I haven’t smelled anything for at least a day.”
“That might be Bell’s fault. She put it out that Fehlkse’s health outlook would be rosier if he stayed away.”
I doubted that Lurking Fehlske would be intimidated, and recalled that Little Bit and her pal had swept the man up. I kept that to myself. “She figure out who he was working for?”
Morley shrugged. “Not yet.”
Mikon seemed antsy suddenly. He might have an uncomfortable idea.
I suspected that Lurking Fehlske no longer signified. That he had no place in the game anymore. We were coming up on a crisis, if not the crisis. Despite all the other distractions, that came down to last desperate attempts by Magister Bezma to salvage something from a scheme that never really came to life in the first place.
Funny notion. The incompetent villain. In the grand stories, like Jon Salvation’s dramas, the villains are all clever and brilliant and stay two steps ahead till virtue works its magic and triumphs at the end. This time, though, we seemed to be dealing with a self-deluded screwup who had spent two generations and several lives cobbling together a total cluster fuck.
Bezma/Stornes could do damage and cause pain in an effort to tie off tangled loose ends by midnight-assuming I had mined anything sensible out of the confusion. I was sure he couldn’t get his dream to unfold. I was just as sure that he could still cause a heap of pain and death.
Morley said, “I may have to bail on you, Garrett. I don’t have much go-power left.”
I was amazed that I hadn’t had to put him in the wagon already. Being selfish, though, and anxious to have the knife I most trusted covering me, I hadn’t volunteered to release him from any misplaced sense of obligation.
I hoped my selfishness didn’t cost him ground in his healing process.
Most of my friends were hurt these days, though, one way or another. And my wife was dead.
I tossed an inquiring glance toward the sky gods. How much of that lay at the end of a red thread of blame leading back to me?
A lone raindrop got me square on the forehead.
Some lesser deity in the rain racket had taken to sniping at me.
“John Stretch. Sir. Mud Man and Dollar Dan are bound to be wiped out, too, after this long day.” No rat man was ever famous for his stamina. “Perhaps they could see my friend safely to. .”
Morley said, “Wake up, Garrett. The vampire gambit has yet to be played.”
“Oh. Yeah. So you’re not going to bail?”
“Of course I am. But after that.”
“Then we’d better get that done.”
We didn’t need to concern ourselves with where the Black Orchid might be or what she might be doing. That itch on the spine was all her. She made herself known as we closed in on the place where Magister Bezma was hiding.
She had decided that her best means of acquiring her target was to join up with folks who knew where to find him.
Morley told me, while she still awaited us just ahead, “I don’t think she’s here alone, either.”
True. The sky gods were feeling capricious. There was no overcast at the moment. Orange moonlight was splashing in from somewhere over to the east, and that silhouetted my skywalking little friend atop a building behind Orchidia.
I said, “Good evening, Lady Farfoul. I presume that you have had your moment with Vicious Min and are now ready to rejoin me.”
“As promised.” Rather sarcastically.
The darkness was such that neither of us could get a good look at the other. Even so, I was at a disadvantage-though numbers and diversity of talents lay on my side of the ledger.
Orchidia seemed content to pretend that we were old pals. I know I was. And maybe we did have a deep commonality of interest.
She fell in beside me, walking carefully. “Blisters,” she explained. “Not in shape for this stuff anymore. I don’t get out of the house enough.”
“We’re all worn down to the nubs. If I understood Constance right, though, this mess still has to be wrapped up by midnight.”
“The Meyness Stornes part should be. If that happens, the rest will fall into place before All-Souls ends.” Before I could question her about Vicious Min and the big folks, she asked me, “You do know where to find Stornes, don’t you? You are on your way to deal with him?” She surveyed my companions like she was sure that this particular crew would not have come together otherwise.
“We’re on our way, yes, and working against that deadline.”
“You have more time than you think.”
“How so?”
“The midnight transition isn’t iron, as long as Meyness Stornes is thwarted. Dawn will see the real pressure begin to build. And even then your margin should be sundown.”
“His margin for what?” Morley asked, assuming that I wouldn’t ask for myself.
Orchidia frowned like she thought he must be intellectually challenged, then caught my empty look and realized that neither of us had a clue.
My best pal reminded her, “This fellow here is Hill people because he shares a bed with somebody from up there. Genius isn’t sexually transmitted. He wasn’t born to it. He wasn’t raised to it. And I only hang out with him, so I’m even further clueless.”
I added, “I’m the kind of guy you have to draw pictures for.”
Morley said, “He was fourteen before he could remember how to tie his shoes.”
“Hey! I had it down before that. I showed it off at my twelfth birthday party. Remember? I got it right fiv
e tries out of seven.”
The right corner of Orchidia’s mouth twitched, but her being amused didn’t help. “I see what you mean. Even Furious Tide of Light may have suffered from an unjustifiably optimistic illusion that you understood more than you did because everyone else she knew understood.”
“Finally. Somebody gets it.” I put on my most charming, big-eyed, eager-to-learn moon face-which she wiped off the slate immediately.
“Constance should have understood that when no one else did. Either health issues overtook her before she could deal with it or she wanted the situation to be what it was. What?”
“Huh?” seemed appropriate, though I thought I knew what came next.
“Whatever, the decision to advance your education isn’t mine to make. Make your ignorance clear to Constance first chance you get. It’s possible that she miscalculated seriously.” Under her breath, she added, “And that wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there might have been a time when Constance Algarda secretly suffered from the same disease that claimed both Machtkess girls, not just Mariska. Constance was the one who brought Meyness Stornes into the original Breakers gang.”
I started to ask how she could possibly know about stuff that happened before she was born but recalled that she had an uncle who had been there and was now supporting the hunt for the killer of his grandnephew and grandniece. I didn’t have to look like an idiot.
But. . I considered the Meyness Stornes I knew by report. Old, ugly, disheveled, and dirty, with a repulsive growth on his head. I couldn’t picture an entire generation of Hill girls straining for a chance to be exploited by him.
I tried asking Orchidia’s opinion.
She rolled her eyes in Morley’s direction.
All right. I got it. For ages I’ve watched women practically break down doors to get at Morley without understanding why. I’ve never heard one of them explain it in any way that makes sense. I don’t expect that I ever will.
Sometimes you just have to accept what is and forget figuring out why, like accepting the Will of God. It is what it is.
Orchidia suggested, “The time for analysis is after the action.”
“What?”
“There are things that need doing now. Time is running out. We should use what is left more profitably than this.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good point.”
Singe wanted to know our destination. I explained. Dollar Dan remarked, “The big main room there would be ideal for something on the scale of what Magister Bezma seems to be planning.”
My, oh my. How could he possibly know. .? Kevans’s bodyguard crew. Of course. They would have tracked her kidnappers. The derelict house would be swarming with ordinary rats by now.
I looked at Mikon D. Though he was intent on the cobblestones, he sensed my scrutiny. He nodded agreement with Dollar Dan’s assessment. “There aren’t many safe empty places with that much space,” he mumbled.
110
Orchidia turned spook. After several minutes she manifested again to report, “The children, the magister, and a dozen others, mostly dead or dying, are in there. Your Mashego was a true shinobi blade master.”
I held up a hand in case somebody felt like pursuing the standard Garrett strategy of charging in smashing people and things. I had a notion, though, that subtlety might be more appropriate this time.
Orchidia said, “The magister has erected an impressive array of warning spells, booby trap spells, and old-fashioned mechanical snares. He posted gray rats and gargoyles around the neighborhood, too. The grays deserted, however.”
“They ran when Fire Este and Mud Man arrived,” Dan said. “Without telling their boss that they were going.”
Perhaps some threats had been leveled.
The grays would be desperately dependent on John Stretch’s forbearance now.
Patient henchfolk listened as Orchidia continued, asking no questions. Even I kept quiet, though I did wonder how she had gotten such a good look around in the short time that she’d been gone.
Sorcery, the rat men would say.
I told myself she had to be an avatar of Enma Ai. Death goes everywhere unnoticed until it touches someone.
I had lost control. This was no longer my operation. It belonged to the Black Orchid. The rest of us had become supporting players. And that was good enough for me, for now. She had the tools. She had the skills. Even pursuing the ploy that was central to my plan would be more promising with her on the scene. She could do so much more than the rest of us.
Maybe fate was behind me. Maybe not every god had it in for me all the time. Maybe I’d just drawn my one random divine good hand.
Orchidia said, “The gargoyles have to be neutralized. Otherwise we’ll have them behind us and they can see in the dark better than humans, dogs, or rats. Wait here.”
She dematerialized before I could ask what she meant to do.
I had an idea. I didn’t like it.
Morley would have no reservations. That would be his own option were the decision his to make. It was not his custom to leave live adversaries behind him. His standard of necessity was lower than mine.
He made a small gesture. There was enough moonlight to let me catch it. I nodded, got Mikon’s attention. “One more time, friend. Are you going to help scuttle Bezma’s plan?”
He had agreed and agreed, but I hadn’t felt his conviction. He didn’t want to betray his cousin, however ugly that cousin’s ambition might be. He didn’t truly believe that the rest of us just wanted to abort the Ritual, save the children, and wreck the tournament.
It didn’t much matter what he believed, or even what he wanted, anymore. While I diverted him Morley climbed into the coffin. Mikon thought he would be delivering it empty. Part of his discomfort was his dread of Bezma’s displeasure once he opened the box.
Last time we worked this grift, we delivered a coffin full of extremely hungry vampire.
Orchidia rematerialized. “We may have a problem. Two of the gargoyles had been neutralized before I got there.” She described frail bodies brutally torn. “The others have fled, I hope without giving Meyness Stornes any warning. Garrett, your pretty girl has written herself into tonight’s play. However cute she may be, she is no paragon of sweetness.”
“Is she another shinigami?”
“What?”
I decided not to tell her that I thought she might be possessed by a death spirit. “Nothing. Let’s do what we’re here to do. We’ll deal with that when we have to.”
The blonde and her friend couldn’t be a threat. They’d had tons of chances to make my life miserable and dangerous. They hadn’t done so.
Whether they could be counted on to be on my side might be a whole ’nother bucket of monkey guts.
Lights had come to life inside the Hauser place while Orchidia was hunting. Several, scattered across the ground floor, feebly leaked through boarded windows. I suspected that somebody had lighted half a dozen floating-wick oil lamps. I patted Mikon on the left shoulder. “Time.”
He didn’t want to go. I didn’t blame him. He was in a solid pinch between the devil and the deep. There was no way out but treachery, with guaranteed despair if he bet wrong. The right bet only offered a slim chance to live on in shame.
He asked, “Isn’t it a little early?”
“Aren’t you already late?” If his mission had gone swimmingly, he would have arrived here with Strafa a while ago.
“All right. Moving out.” But before he started, Orchidia kissed him firmly, one final piece of dark psychological warfare. He didn’t need her to remind him, “If there is a next kiss. .”
A pale hope. The Black Orchid might forgive his part in the conspiracy that had claimed her children. All he had to do was. .
I was sure Mikon had had nothing to do with those deaths. Chances were, his cousin had kept him ignorant so his conscience wouldn’t lead him to do anything inconvenient.
I was equa
lly sure that his ignorant innocence meant nothing to the Black Orchid. I couldn’t find any forgiveness lying around loose myself.
“Scoot,” I hissed.
Mikon started moving.
So did everyone else.
The rat people gathered in a clutch of shadow where, it became clear, they were getting in touch with normal rats, to scout and observe.
The Black Orchid became invisible. I would have stayed near Mikon myself. Maybe she was so close he’d never get a chance to betray the scale of the peril closing in on Bezma-if he was foolish enough to try.
111
A noise from the wagon. . Morley. Very unhappy. “Garrett.” He rasped it. “I can’t do this. I can’t handle the closed space yet. Sorry.”
So he wasn’t all the way back psychologically.
“I’ll do it. Leave me the toys.”
I lay back in the coffin a minute later. He slid the lid into place, covered it with a blanket. I began to shake.
I have problems with dark, tight places. I have bigger problems with taking up premature residence in a coffin. I launched a calming mantra from wartime days, to keep the panic at bay.
Everything lurched and shifted. The wagon had begun to roll.
Oh, did I hope that Mikon D. was more scared of the Black Orchid than he was of Meyness B.!
This really didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea now that I was the guy wearing the pine tuxedo. Despite all I could do to remain calm, a big part of my head kept upchucking things that could go wrong, some stuff so unlikely that I marveled at my capacity to imagine such bizarre disasters.
The wagon stopped. I assumed we were at the door to Magister Bezma’s hideout, the erstwhile Hauser stead.
The hearing inside the box was surprisingly good.
Two people responded to Mikon’s arrival. I heard later that neither was a wild-haired old man with a momentous wen. One was a gray rat man. The other, a human, demanded, “What do you want here, little man?”
A voice from the house called, “Is that you, Mikon? What took so long?”
