Petty Pewter Gods gf-8

by Glen Cook

  Enough, Garrett. Listen. You can do your tongue exercises later.

  The reprimand seemed to get through to everyone else.

  Behind the contest for the last place on the Street of the Gods, behind the feminist schemes of Imara and her allies in several pantheons, beyond even Magodor's secret ambition to anoint herself the senior power of a grim new all-female religion, there has been a manipulator whose sole mission has been to provoke clashes like those at the Haunted Circle.

  Wait! he snapped as Magodor started to snarl something in reply.

  The ultimate cause behind the conflict is not that animating Imara and her sisters. Garrett. You told me that numerous gods not of Godoroth or Shayir provenance joined the fighting. But there is no reason they should have favored one cause above another. Revenge amidst confusion, of course, makes sense. But they would have needed to be primed and ready for sudden opportunity. Having followed the road this far, the questions I come up against are Who? and Why? And the why comes easier than the who.

  "I'll bite," I told him. Magodor and the owl girls, even Cat and Fourteen, were intrigued, too.

  Your dream, in which Magodor showed you the home of the gods, indicates that at some level it is possible to communicate between this world and that. I am going to strut out onto a limb now. I am going to postulate that the Great Old Ones over there have seduced someone here into opening the way. He or she has failed a few times. Another effort will be imminent. Even the dullest conspirator would have to be concerned that enough random evidence is loose to suggest the truth to anyone interested enough to put the pieces together.

  Add the fact that I am known to be involved, and desperate measures are sure to follow.

  The Dead Man lacks nothing in his confidence in his own significance.

  I thought maybe he was reaching a little, but I couldn't think of any reason to reject his big picture. It did not contradict any known facts, nor did I notice any left over. That wasn't the case with any of my theories.

  "Maggie?"

  "Garrett, I weary of your familiarities. But I will restrain my ire. There may be substance to what you say. It illuminates many strangenesses of recent times." She became introspective. Her appearance deteriorated. She developed a bad case of too many arms and fangs. Body odor began to be a problem, too.

  I started to say something. She raised a hand. "Wait." She thought some more. "I cannot guess who is at the center. But I am sure that someone knows or soon will know whatever the Adeth thing learned here. There will be an effort to silence us."

  Oh boy. What a promotion. I always wanted to be the dot at the center of a really big target. "Ah... "

  "Word must be spread, even if it isn't believed. Fast. Everywhere, like a tree spreading a million seeds. So that one takes root somewhere. You. You. You." She seized the owl girls and Fourteen. She glared into their eyes. They shuddered, whimpered, disappeared. For an instant I feared Magodor herself might be the mole of darkness.

  "I scattered them, Garrett. Sent them to deities I know well, armed with tokens guaranteeing that I sent the message. I asked for help, too. I will stay here. Adeth will come here."

  "I applaud your confidence."

  "I am Magodor the Destroyer. I deal in violent confrontation."

  "I know, but... "

  "Reinforcements will be welcome."

  "Witnesses, too."

  I looked at the Dead Man. He sent, I am trying to fathom the identity of the traitor. There is insufficient evidence.

  I relayed that to Magodor, said, "There isn't any evidence. But at this point I don't think it much matters. We just don't turn our backs on anybody who might be a holy shapeshifter."

  In a tiny voice Cat suggested, "It must be my mother."

  I hadn't seen a lot of Imara, but I felt comfortable saying, "No. She isn't smart enough."

  The Dead Man offered his own opinion. Not impossible, Garrett. If the genuine Imara has been displaced. You said it yourself. Adeth is a shapechanger.

  I saw something then. "The plan wouldn't have been for Imara to replace Cat. It would've been for Adeth to. Cat has a real history, even if it's been secret. And a mortal is easier to do away with and dispose of. Cat's demigoddess nature would cover a lot of questions about her replacement being odd. And the whole imposture would only have to last till the breakthrough came."

  My guesses meant it had to be an old, old plot, reaching back for decades, always pointed toward the moment when pantheons like the Godoroth and Shayir could be brought into conflict. But the gods have time to unwind protracted schemes.

  Cat was in a bad spot emotionally. I was willing to bet that she'd entertained similar suspicions for quite a while. Like everyone dealt a cruel hand, she had trouble facing the truth squarely.

  The tears started. I held her. She shook violently with the hurt, with the grief.

  67

  We do not know that Imara was lost.

  "Doesn't matter, though. If we've guessed right."

  No.

  "You feel Magodor?" Old sweet and deadly had vanished while I was getting Cat settled.

  She is all around us. I have a better sense of her inner being now that she is not incarnate.

  "For some reason that don't sound good."

  He avoided the implicit question about the nature of the soul of a goddess. Such a goddess! She is troubled. There has been no response to her messages. She fears they were intercepted.

  It could not have been more than ten minutes, but, "Shit!" I don't swear a lot, but I don't make last stands against hordes of male-bashing goddesses very often, either. And that is what I expected. All Imara's pals would turn up to put the last seal on their triumph. "It was nice knowing you, Old Bones. Once in a while. We'd better get Dean out of here." I didn't see any reason for them to be after him. He didn't know anything.

  Make haste.

  I went into the kitchen. Dean was boiling water for more tea. But it was just boiling. He was terrified, trying to cope by working to rote. "Go to one of your nieces' places, Dean. Now. Don't stop to pack. Don't stop to do anything. Just put the pot down and get out."

  He looked at me, jaw frozen. He must have overheard and guessed enough.

  Too bad. He'd been a religious man.

  "Now, Dean. There's no time for anything else." I gripped his shoulder, shook him gently. His eyes un-glazed. He moved, but without much speed. "Hurry!"

  There were people in the street when I let him out, but only the most daring souls. There was a crackling sense of expectancy out there. I saw no sign of the Adeth golem.

  Mrs. Cardonlos seemed positively orgiastic, so eager was she for the gathering shitfall to head my way. Someday I need to take time out to figure why she has so much bile for me.

  I waved, tossed her a kiss.

  That will help.

  "Nothing will help. Might as well have fun with her." Considering what could be headed our way, Mrs. Cardonlos' displeasure wasn't particularly worrisome.

  The light began to take on a strange quality. It went to a dark butter tone and on to butterscotch.

  "What's happening, Old Bones?"

  Magodor is forming herself into a protective dome.

  Sweet, sweet Maggie. I never had a bad thought about you, darling.

  She was just in time. As Mrs. Cardonlos began to glower nervously at whatever she saw from her vantage, and as the handful of folks in the street hastened to correct their error, a lightning bolt struck from the cloudless sky. It ricocheted, crisped down the street scant yards from my irksome neighbor, spent itself on the lightning rod of a small apartment building.

  Its sparkle had not yet died when a humping lump of darkness appeared, coming down Macunado. Nog is inescapable. Just in case I had forgotten.

  "Gods damn."

  Easy.

  "He's not alone." All the Shayir females except Black Mona accompanied him, as did that flutter of black leaves. Quilraq had not been lost at Bohdan Zhibak. I chuckled. Today Mrs. Cardonlos could see the
m, too.

  Lila and Dimna got through.

  I glanced down Macunado's slight grade. Dean was still visible, but he was wasting no time. I wished he would turn into a side street and get out of sight.

  He staggered as something flashed past. An instant later, Jorken materialized in the middle of Macunado. He trailed a mist that gathered itself to become Star. She certainly bugged Mrs. Cardonlos' eyes.

  The Godoroth and Shayir ignored one another. The air crackled as Magodor communicated with everyone. My head began to hurt.

  "Old Bones, how come Star and the Shayir girls are here? Weren't they part of Imara's plot?"

  Another lightning bolt ricocheted and racketed around.

  In Star's case, Imara probably was not willing to trust so shallow a mind. With regard to the Shayir, the question deserves close scrutiny. Obviously, Lang was slated for disposal. Black Mona remained loyal and shared his fate. Therefore one or more of...

  Whatever he sent I repeated aloud. As I said "Therefore... " small hell broke loose. Paving geysered amidst the Shayir. A frosty brick fell at my feet. One female surrendered immediately. I got the feeling, on that level where pain was gnawing its way into my head, that she accepted Magodor's accusations and wanted to change sides. She was a spring-type goddess, into renewal and that sort of thing.

  Another, darker sort ran for it. Nog whooped, Nog is inescapable and took off after her. I sensed an old animosity.

  Minutes of quiet followed. There was nobody in the street but gods. Each time I glanced in a new direction, I saw that more had appeared. I didn't recognize many, but I was pleased. Somewhere, somehow, Lila, Dimna, Fourteen, and now Jorken were getting the message out. The owl girls must really have been concentrating.

  A fusilade of lightning ripped the neighborhood. Not one bolt did any damage.

  "Maggie, Maggie, I love you," I said. "Just keep going this way. Passive and controlled."

  Apparently she did understand that this was no time to let herself be provoked into drawing energy from the other side. And I could sense that she was trying to get that message across to the gathering crowd.

  Gargoyles settled onto neighboring rooftops. Things with no name floated on the wind. Shapes almost human gathered in the street. Shapes not human moved among them, some bigger than mammoths.

  Mrs. Cardonlos saw them all. Nothing was going to intimidate her into going inside.

  A massive bombardment began. The temperature dropped swiftly. The wind rose. Clouds formed. Rain fell. Soon it became sleet.

  And then it stopped, sharp and sudden as a knife slash.

  The sun came out. Shadows scampered across the city.

  Word had reached the big guys in the high end of the Dream Quarter. The air throbbed with their irritation. Their hands moved. Messages went out like puffy cloudlets, spinning off truths to Adeth's dupes. Wherever they fell, something happened. Each happening I sensed as a slight turning of the tide.

  Those top guys were near Three-O.

  A wobbling lump rolled into sight. Triumphantly, it announced, Nog is inescapable.

  Good old Nog. I hoped he didn't think he still had a contract on me.

  The pain.

  Damned right, the pain. There was pain enough for seven hells.

  Cat came outside. She stared in awe. Gods filled the street. They perched on rooftops and flew through the air and clung to balconies. They wore every size and shape ever conjured by the imagination of man. And they kept coming, most now females who seemed chagrined and eager to make amends.

  There was one truly huge difference between here and the Haunted Circle, where they'd all been farther away. Here they smelled. Awful. Apparently not many ever bathed their physical avatars.

  "All-smelling" isn't usually listed among the divine attributes, is it?

  The pain began fading. The really big guys started going back to their cribbage games or whatever filled their time. The sense was that it was all over but the weeping. Only a handful of villains were unaccounted for. Hardly any of those would dare be so recidivist as to actually stick to a plot to bring the Great Old Ones across.

  I even spotted Imara amidst the crowd, looking seriously sheepish as she came toward the house.

  I nudged Cat, pointed. "All's well that ends well."

  68

  Cat started forward. I caught her arm. "There's still no reason to let those guys know about you." Many were the sort who didn't mind erasing mistakes.

  In the back of my aching head I wondered if I had any chance to survive this thing.

  Fourteen fluttered down to perch on a rail post. The Goddamn Parrot flapped around above the god mob. It looked like he was following Imara, but that made no sense till Cat, staring, said, "That's not my mother." She eased back behind me.

  Get inside fast, Garrett.

  I whirled and dove. Fourteen hit me in the back in his own sudden desire to be anywhere but out there. Cat and I rolled around in a tangle of limbs. Thunder barked, drowned out imaginative remarks by the Goddamn Parrot. Lightning struck the remains of hinges and locks in and around the remnants of my door. Splinters flew. Wood smoke filled the entryway. I separated myself from Cat, cursing. Good doors are expensive. As Cat rose, I swatted her behind to get her moving. I could make no tracks with her in my way.

  The very air reddened with rage as Magodor realized she had been caught flat-footed. I yelled, "No!" for whatever good it might do. Even as I tried to keep from drizzling down my leg in terror, one screwball part of my mind wondered if I could sue some Dream Quarter temple for damages. Your mind goes weird places under stress.

  A blow hit like an earthquake, banged me off the wall, spun me around, dropped me to my knees. I clung to the bones of my doorframe with one hand. It felt like all the air was being sucked out of the house.

  Uh... Well. Maybe all the air was being sucked out of TunFaire.

  There was a hole in the air out there, halfway between my place and the Cardonlos homestead. The hole was fifteen feet across. It gave you a tourist's-eye view of that huge black city on the other side, along with a gang of characters distinguished mainly by festoons of tentacles. They galumphed in mad circles while what had to be a raging hot wind blasted across their treacle lake, blowing harder than any hurricane. All sorts of trash and loose whatever was whipping through that hole.

  The big boys got busy doing a little trash duty. A few unfortunates suddenly found themselves deported to the old country. Despite the howl of the wind, I heard Mrs. Cardonlos' bellow of rage when part of her roof pulled away and ran off to visit another world. She was far too damned solid to go there herself.

  She would become impossible now.

  Look on the bright side, Garrett. The Goddamn Parrot was outside when the big guys opened that interdimensional oubliette. That damned talking chicken had to be over there where they deserved him.

  Gah! He might take over and do a better job breaking through next time.

  "Gather up all the ratmen," I muttered to the wind. "Get all the human rights nutcases. Sweep this burg clean while you're at it."

  A nice sentiment, perhaps, but all the gods were involved in this. That meant everybody's gods, including the gods of the ratmen and the nuts. Nobody's prayers were going to get answered today.

  The hole to the other realm shrank. In moments it was a point, then it ceased to be.

  The street was now almost the same as before my dive. Every god and goddess and weird supernatural critter was right where it was before, excepting Imara who was Adeth, nearly the most perfect redhead of all time.

  I could shed a tear.

  Almost.

  All of a sudden one fine-looking woman was standing in my doorway, right shoulder leaning against the frame. She looked like she had done a lot of research on arc and proportion. Definitely legs that went all the way to the ground and ample amplitude in the curves and softnesses departments. Somebody must have been peeking over Star's shoulder when she was doing her design layouts.

  "I
t over?" I gasped.

  "Wrapped, Garrett. It's time."

  "Uh... " I said. "Like... " She was for sure no Destroyer now. "I'm not feeling real suicidal right now, Maggie."

  Her smile was deadly. My spine turned to gelatin. "No risk, Garrett. Except you might not want to come up for air." Her eyes were as hypnotic as those of the snake that supposedly entrances a rat.

  Help! Eleanor! Save me! But I didn't want to be saved. Not really.

  One divine arm went around my neck. Then another. Then a hand trailed down each of my sides, toward my belt buckle. Interesting, those extra...

  69

  "Excuse me."

  The voice came from behind the new, improved, impossibly sensual Magodor. She glanced back, displeased. Can't honestly say I was thrilled, either.

  I said, "Go away."

  I could see parts of the street. There were no gods out there now. There was no strangeness at all. Just silence. My part of TunFaire was five minutes short of being back to the way things always had been.

  "I cannot. I remain the Board agent assigned to you. And you remain the key to the untenanted temple on the Street of the Gods."

  "You sonofabitch. Godsdamned bureaucrat. Where the hell were you when my ass was in a sling?"

  I caught a whiff of weed. Fourteen drifted up in a cloud, an all-time smouldering banger in his mouth. His eyelids drooped. He was happy. "You tell 'im, Chief."

  I guess my complaint was the last straw. Strait went off on all the grief I had caused him. I was amazed. You don't often hear that much whining outside Royal offices, where some functionary always represents being asked to do his job.

  "Go away, Strait."

  Open the temple, Garrett. It is the last act necessary in this divine comedy.

  Maggie, snarling, leaned forward. Her lips touched my left ear. "Later, Garrett," she whispered. Sudden pain. Blood trickled down my neck. A needle tooth had pierced my earlobe.

  Then Magodor was gone.

  Maybe Eleanor was on the job after all.

  Magodor never came back. Thank you very much. Because I had a bone to pick with Miss Nastiness, and not the one you think.