Dragons Luck gm-2

by Robert Asprin

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the tour guide said, “but all the sites on today’s tour are, of course, private residences. We don’t have permission—”

  “You mean we are just going to stand on the sidewalk and listen to you talk?” cut in someone else.

  “Well, one of our stops is Jean Lafayette’s Blacksmith Shop, one of the oldest taverns in the Quarter. It is said that many of the pirates who used to run with Lafayette still come back to have one last drink at their old… haunt.”

  “A bar… go figure.”

  “ ‘Haunt’? Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “A piece of eight says he will use the line ‘dead drunk’ before the night is over.”

  The tour guide’s jaw tightened noticeably, and Griffen almost stepped in. However, he also knew that tourists, any tourists, put the locals through worse. For now, he would just hang in the background, and pay a little bit more attention.

  The tour moved on, and after a few more stops and unimpressive narratives, the guide obviously decided it was time to spice things up a bit. He glanced a bit nervously at the changelings. Probably, Griffen figured, wondering who in the group were their parents.

  “Now, this was the château of a famous marquis in the late eighteenth century. In the tradition of the Marquis De Sade, this perverse nobleman entertained members of the French aristocracy by beating and tormenting servants and local wayfarers. It is said—”

  “Said by who?”

  Griffen stifled a laugh.

  “Tha… What?” the guide said.

  “Said by who?”

  “Yes, you keep using that line, but never quote a source.”

  That last was from one of the vampires, who was beginning to sidle up to the guide as he became more and more distraught. Nothing like an easy meal.

  “Not to mention completely glossing over your facts. You didn’t mention the marquis’s name, the actual year, or even what ‘aristocrats’ he was entertaining,” Johansson said.

  “And ‘wayfarers’? Come on, man,” Drake said.

  The tour guide pressed on, showing much admirable determination.

  “It is said that you can still hear the moans of pain from his victims.”

  Then a woman Griffen had not yet seen at the conclave stepped forward.

  “See, now you are way off. The marquis’s château was three blocks from here. This was an old brothel. And believe me, it’s not moans of pain you are hearing.”

  The tour guide threw his hands up.

  “Moving on!” he said as he walked down the street.

  The others all seemed to share a glance before following him. Only Griffen paused, some instinct in him telling him to watch the woman who’d spoken. She turned to him and winked, before turning transparent. The specter walked toward the building in question as she faded away.

  When he caught up to the group, they were standing behind Saint Peter’s Cathedral. He was just in time to hear a line so tired and clichéd, he was shocked that he hadn’t heard it earlier.

  “And if you listen closely, you will hear them,” the guide said to wrap up whatever tale he had been spinning.

  Almost as one, the entire group turned and cocked their heads. Listening.

  They waited, and waited, and the guide started to fidget. “Nnoooo…” one said carefully, “can’t hear a thing.”

  “There are going to be ghosts on this ghost tour, right?” Griffen laughed.

  “Maybe if we had a goat.”

  That came from one of the voodoo practitioners. Griffen was almost sure he was kidding.

  “Hey, isn’t Jackson Square on the other side of that church?” Robin asked.

  Again, there was a pause, and almost as one the group surged past the guide, down Pirate Alley, and into the Square. Griffen smiled and, as he passed the befuddled guide, clapped him on the shoulder and tipped him a twenty. It did Griffen much good to see some of the conclave actually unified for a change.

  Now, Griffen wasn’t obligated to keep an eye on everyone, even in his own mind. That night he was more playing host than anything else. Still, most of the ex-tour members were congregating around the various tarot readers. There were over half a dozen tables set up, spaced well apart, and each was promptly filled by one of his attendees. Griffen strolled from table to table listening not too discreetly.

  Some were good.

  “Give me your hand,” a reader said to Johansson.

  “Be gentle,” he said with an easy smile.

  “Hmm… very compassionate. A gentle touch… especially with children? No, animals. You have much skill with animals. Have you ever thought about show business?”

  Some were bad.

  “The cards say you will marry but never have children. You will excel in business but never own one. You need to learn to communicate more with people.”

  Drake smiled at the reader across from him. His smile did not match his young features.

  “I’ve already had three kids, no wives, and my youngest is about your age. Don’t get me started on the businesses.”

  And some… well, “ugly” just didn’t describe it.

  “This… this is impossible. No one can have this many life lines… and they keep changing! Don’t you ever stay the same?”

  “Well… hold on. Let me try.”

  The young shifter looked down at her hand and focused. The reader’s eyes crossed as the lines on her hand truly changed, the many wrinkles merging into one deep line, almost in the exact center of her hand.

  “Is that better?” she asked innocently.

  “That… that… that’ll be twenty dollars if you please.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Griffen’s attention was drawn to Robin and Hobb. They were actually standing behind one of the vampires, who was getting his cards read. The reader, an elderly man with an exaggerated lisp and a pink cowboy hat, was having some difficulties.

  “Death card… again,” the reader said.

  All the cards on the table were death cards. Five of them in all.

  “Is that some kind of trick deck?” the vampire said, scowling.

  “No… no… someone must be playing a trick on me. The readers are competitive here… Let me try another deck.”

  Neither noticed Hobb elbow Robin in her ribs soundly. Griffen could just make out her comment as she giggled and elbowed him back.

  “What? James Bond did it… kinda.”

  “Say, that gives me an idea.”

  Hobb leaned closer and whispered in her ear. She giggled.

  “Ah, that’s better,” the reader said as he laid out the cards, “the Lovers.”

  “That woman on the card…” said the vampire.

  “Yes?”

  “That’s my mother!”

  Griffen was already hauling the two changelings away by their collars. He could hear the reader try to apologize fifteen feet away.

  He was about to lay into them when again his instincts hit him in the pit of his stomach. He looked around and saw a very sedate shifter sitting at a table Griffen hadn’t noticed before. The woman reading his cards had a shawl over her head, her face hidden. The shifter got up, walked right past Griffen, and left the Square. His face was troubled.

  Griffen, forgetting the changeling couple for a moment, walked toward the now-vacant seat. The reader lifted her head, a faint smile playing across her lips then fading just as quickly.

  “Hello, Rose,” Griffen said.

  “Read your cards, young man?” she said.

  She didn’t acknowledge his greeting, not even with her eyes.

  “Look, I…”

  “Sit, I can’t say much right now, but I can read your cards.” Griffen sat.

  Rose nodded and began to shuffle an old battered deck. She blew on it before handing it to him. The cards felt oily and thick, more like fabric than paper. She had him cut the cards, then hand them back.

  She laid out seven cards in a line. Griffen had never had his cards read, but from
what he had seen, most readers used an intricate pattern, a cross or a horseshoe or even a star. She merely laid a line.

  “Turn over the first card,” she said.

  The first card was Death.

  Griffen looked up and around suspiciously.

  “No, it isn’t the changelings this time. You know what is on your mind, and what is causing you the most grief. This is the card of the now.”

  “Is Slim—”

  “I may only read the cards. Turn over the next two.”

  The Five of Wands, the Seven of Wands, both reversed. “You are conflicted inside, and at the same time spreading yourself too thin. These two cards together are disaster. Continue to try and do everything when you don’t know what you even want, and you will only rip yourself up inside,” Rose said.

  “So what else is new? But how can I—”

  “Flip the next two.”

  Griffen did. They were the Hermit reversed and the Seven of Swords.

  “My, you do like conflicting pairings,” Rose said. “The Hermit reversed, you can’t do everything on your own, you have to accept the help of those who offer it. But the Seven of Swords, you can’t trust many of those around you. They are poised to stab you in the back. You must be very careful to know your true allies.”

  Griffen reached toward the last two cards.

  Rose reached out and rapped his knuckles with something long and hard. He didn’t see what exactly before it disappeared again. It was covered with beads and a few hanging feathers, and it stung.

  “I didn’t tell you to turn over the cards,” she said with a smile.

  “I thought ghosts couldn’t hurt you unless you let them,” Griffen groused.

  “You chose to sit down, didn’t you?” she said, smiling more. “Turn over the cards.”

  The Princess of Swords and the Princess of Cups, both reversed.

  “Women, it always does seem to come down to that. One unbalanced of the mind, one frustrated of the heart. Neither is a solution card, so these are the end of this road, but not a full answer. You will be left wanting.”

  “I repeat, so what else is new?”

  “Nothing,” Rose said, and she stood.

  Griffen took that as a cue and stood as well. She smiled and reached out, as if to brush her fingers over his cheek. Only they passed through with only a bare whisper of sensation. She had seemed perfectly solid before.

  “Good luck, Griffen. I will probably see you before the end of all this. Oh, and would you tell those adorable little changelings something for me?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “That their child will be fey.”

  With that, she and her table were gone. No one seemed to notice but him, but then no one had noticed them arrive. Griffen stood there and, with a frustrated sigh, rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, sure, how am I supposed to work that into a conversation?!”

  He was almost sure he could hear Rose’s laughter on the wind.

  Forty-nine

  All good ideas get screwed up in committee.

  There were multiple reasons the conclave utilized speakers for each of the groups, and those representatives were not chosen at random. Simply put, some of the members of the conclave weren’t the sharpest. Not to mention well behaved.

  Rumor already ran rampant among the lesser members attending. They debated back and forth constantly. Was Griffen guilty? Innocent? What would the speakers do either way? What should be done about the police? Most of those attending were concerned, and afraid. A few, though, found this to be the most exciting conclave ever, and were constantly playing devil’s advocate to keep the conversation flowing.

  Within hours of the impromptu decision to investigate the murder independent of the police, everyone knew. No one quite knew how the rumor leaked so fast, though a few of the vampires were likely candidates. They had been stirring up the discussion and sitting back with happy smiles as the emotions flared.

  However, Tail, whether he knew it or not, was part of what made it worse. He had, in effect, spoken for the shifters on how they could, or would, help such an investigation. It was a small thing, but he had gone over Jay’s head. Jay, the chosen representative. Any other time, it would have been no problem. But when things are unstable, a bubble of vacuum in the power structure, no matter how small, can be a catalyst.

  Griffen didn’t know any of this. All he knew was he had been called in, again. And once again, he had to leave his home and rush over to deal with conclave matters. At four in the morning, because some young shifter had decked one of the garou.

  Griffen nodded to the desk clerk, who looked dead on his feet and barely managed to wave. Then he braced himself and walked down to one of the conference rooms. Whether it was the hour, or some weeding had been done before he got there, he was happy to see that there were only about a dozen people in the room. Jay, Tink, Tail, and Kane were seated. He almost missed Tammy, who sort of huddled in one corner away from everyone. Standing at opposite ends of the room were a group of shifters and all of Kane’s garou. One of the garou, Kevin from the demonstration, had tissue stuffed up a nose that looked as if it had recently been broken. Griffen couldn’t tell at a glance who his opponent had been.

  Small group or not, they all started talking at once as he came in. Except Tammy, who merely glared sullenly at him. It was loud enough, and he had enough lack of sleep that he almost shouted back, but figured it would only make his head throb more. Griffen waved them all silent.

  Basking in the silence for a moment, he tried to decide who to ask for information. It wasn’t easy, tempers being what they were. Griffen was too tired to want to deal with any more unintended insults. He turned to the wounded garou, Kevin.

  “What happened?” Griffen said.

  “Got hit,” Kevin said.

  Griffen fought the impulse to throttle the life out of him.

  “A little more detail please,” Griffen said.

  “Well, we was talking about the investigation. And he said we couldn’t do it. Said we needed some fairy to bail us out.”

  Griffen blinked and tried to rub some of the sleep from his eyes.

  “What investigation?”

  Kevin looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “Us findin’ out who killed Slim, of course,” he said.

  “I done tol’ you, ain’t gonna be done dat way,” Kane said.

  “You mean it’s true!? You trust the fairies instead of your pack?” Kevin said, shocked.

  “No, it ain’t like dat, boy…” Kane said.

  One of the shifters, whom Griffen didn’t know, spoke up.

  “How come Tail is talking for us now? Why is he stepping on Jay’s toes and keeping us out of things?”

  “I only said that we aren’t trackers like that,” Tail said.

  “Which we?!” another shifter demanded.

  “Packless riffraff,” one of the garou muttered.

  Several people started to talk at once, along the lines of traditional prefight rituals such as “What did you say?” A few of the garou and shifters took a step forward. Nails were starting to grow into claws.

  “Hold it!” Griffen shouted.

  He brought his fist down on the table, then had to recover as it went through the oak and he nearly lost his balance. He stood, trying to regain his control, watching his own claws fade away.

  When he spoke again, it was dangerously soft.

  “Tink, what are they talking about?”

  Tink looked uncomfortable, and his eyes kept flicking to the damaged table.

  “Well, it was maybe suggested that we do some investigating without the police knowing. See if we can’t find out what really happened. There was some question as to whether any shifter could do any good, and I suggested maybe Tammy could try to help.”

  Griffen glanced at Tammy, but she seemed to have no comment to make. She crossed her arms over her small breasts and looked away from him.

  “And no one thought about checking with me be
fore sending packs of vigilantes through my town?” Griffen demanded.

  “It wasn’t like that. We weren’t going to hunt that way. The rumors just sort of blew things up,” Tail said.

  “We won’t be cut out,” the young shifter said.

  “No one is cutting anyone out, this isn’t a game,” Tail said.

  “You don’t speak for us, old man.”

  Tail bared his teeth in an expression that no one would confuse with a smile. Griffen hadn’t seen anything like them before; they were all pointed and jagged, almost like a shark’s.

  Jay put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “I do speak for you, at least at this conclave,” Jay said.

  The other shifter backed down, but the garou stepped up. “We don’t need a fairy to hunt for us.”

  Some people, Griffen thought, have little survival instinct. Still, he was curious. After his talks with Harrison, he needed some help. He thought he would toss the idea around a bit.

  “Really? You can find and track a scent, in a well-traveled public place, without knowing anything but it will cross Slim’s and maybe have a little blood spoor on it?” Griffen asked.

  “Well… we could try,” said the garou.

  “Werewolves. We can do it,” said one of the shifters.

  “Oh? What’s your specialty?” Griffen said.

  “Uh… I mean ‘we’ as a group.”

  “You think like a group now? Things must have changed drastically this afternoon. Evolution at work, I suppose. Still, I’m curious. Always trying to learn, that’s me. What type of shifting do you do?” Griffen said.

  “I can change my density,” the shifter said, and hung his head, his cheeks flushing red.

  “That counts as shape-shifting, does it?”

  Griffen realized he was feeling more than a little nasty and indulging the feeling too much. He moved on.

  “Still, that doesn’t seem to be a lot of help in a murder investigation,” Griffen observed.

  There were a few moments of awkward silence. Another shifter, Gustov, the one who had demonstrated with Kevin, spoke softly.

  “Mr. McCandles, sir. If they want to help, can you… no, will you really stop them?”

  Griffen stopped his knee-jerk reaction. Not only was he already getting a bad reputation, but that had been the most polite voice so far in the meeting. Griffen wanted to say it sounded like it would cause more trouble than it could possibly solve, but that would anger pretty much everyone. He was really beginning to hate politics.