The Sword-Edged blonde

by Alex Bledsoe

  There was no reason to prolong this. I crouched by the gatehouse door and picked the lock with more speed and silence than I could’ve managed on the gate itself. I slipped into the tiny building, then through the opposite door and onto the estate grounds. I ducked behind a tree near the wall and again waited for any sign I’d been spotted.

  I could see the layout better from here as well. The driveway led in a graceful arc to a carriage house where guests could disembark with no fear of the weather. The main building’s first story boasted towering windows that opened directly onto the front porch, but were now closed and draped into darkness. Upstairs that single dim light still burned in one window, but I couldn’t see its source. A buggy passed on the street just over the wall behind me, and the noise echoed in the silence.

  It certainly didn’t seem like the hideout of a criminal mastermind. No guards, no vicious dogs, barely even a lock. I wondered if, like Lonnie, Tanko had rushed to warn them I was coming. More likely he’d given me the wrong address just to get us out of his office.

  I moved from tree to tree, each time closer to the house. There was a small, narrow moat around it that was likely a holdover from its pioneer days. Anyone not weighed down by armor could easily leap it, and small foot bridges crossed it at several places. The water in it was dark, and its surface sparkled just enough to tell me it was flowing, however slightly. I crouched in the bushes beside the carriage house and was contemplating forcing a window open, when I heard the distinct sound of splashing in the moat behind the house.

  It took several minutes of dodging from one bush to another to reach the rear wall of the estate. Torches lit the back of the house where a patio had been added, but I couldn’t see over the rows of damn hedges that formed a small, shoulder-high topiary maze.

  At the very back of the yard, a gigantic old blackjack oak towered over the newer trees that had been landscaped in. These oaks usually lived on gnarled rock outcroppings overlooking the ocean, which Brillion Hill had once been before men built things all over it. To have grown this large, this one must’ve been spared from the original clearing, because I’d never seen one with a trunk this thick. Wincing at every faint crackle of bark and creak of branch, I hoisted myself into the tree and climbed high enough to get a wide, unobstructed view.

  A section of the moat had been enlarged to form a kind of swimming pool. A lone figure traversed it with awkward, uncertain strokes. The swimmer was small like a kid, but lacked a child’s pale pudginess. This character seemed lean, tanned and somehow elderly. His exertions reeked of desperate effort, but he wasn’t drowning. He methodically reached one side of the moat, turned and started back. At this distance I couldn’t make out his face.

  A door opened, and my old friend Canino emerged from the dark house. He wore pale slacks and a pink tunic with rolled-up sleeves. He was barefoot and carried a tall tankard. I heard his voice clearly over the swimmer’s splashing.

  “The ledgers for this month are on your desk. Kandinsky was short again; I’ll pay him a visit.”

  The figure in the moat bobbed up and down, struggling to tread water. “His daughter is around fifteen now, isn’t she? Use her virginity as leverage, if she’s still got it. I can’t ignore that kind of shoddy management.”

  Canino sipped his drink. “How do you know he’s not doing it deliberately?”

  The figure in the water swam to the edge of the pool at Canino’s feet. “Because he’s the latest in a long line of idiots named Kandinsky.”

  “Then why do you still use him?”

  “Because I know him. He completely lacks the capacity to surprise me. His grandfather tried to cheat me once, and I made sure his child-fathering days were over. His father spent ten years in prison for trying to fix an election against the guy I was backing. I’ve seen him grow up, and I know fear of me keeps him honest. Too bad it can’t make him any smarter. Give me a hand out of here, will you?”

  Canino put his drink on a table and reached for the offered hand. He pulled the swimmer from the pool, and I got a rush of alternating terror and excitement.

  The naked man was no more than three feet tall. His head and torso were of normal size, and that’s all he was: a head with short black hair and a muscular, tanned torso. His hands stuck out directly from his shoulders, the right one up and the left horizontal. His feet dangled from his hips, the left one quite a bit lower than the right. His genitalia, at this distance, appeared normal.

  Canino lowered him to the patio. He moved with an understandably odd, jerky grace to the table and retrieved a bright red towel. Somehow he tied it around his chest, and it still dragged on the ground.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” the Dwarf said. “I’ll look over the ledgers and get back to you with any other problems.”

  Something nearby moved at the periphery of my vision, and I froze. There was no breeze, and I had not changed position. Anything that moved had to be alive.

  Close to my hand I both felt and saw motion on the branch. Curled up atop the wood, barely visible in the darkness, was a small furry shape. It could not be a squirrel, because they weren’t nocturnal, and it was too small for either a possum or a raccoon.

  Now that I’d noticed one, I suddenly realized the tree was full of these same creatures. It was a miracle I hadn’t grabbed one as I climbed. They were tiny, no bigger than my two fists put together. I felt a serious case of the creeps rising as I tried to figure out what the hell they were, until one suddenly rolled over, stretched and yawned. Both relieved and excited, I recognized it as a tiny monkey. They weren’t native to Cape Querna, yet a monkey had been essential to framing Rhiannon, and its presence on the Dwarf’s estate was at least a minor confirmation.

  As the Dwarf waddled toward the house, the door opened again and a girl walked out. She wore a skimpy top and a low, long sheer skirt. Her face was hidden behind what I thought at first was a white mask. She stood aside and held the door open.

  “Hey, Gretchen,” the Dwarf said with malicious cheerfulness. “You look thirsty; would you like a jug of water?”

  His laugh echoed in the dark house. Gretchen walked heavily over to stand next to Canino by the moat. He did not look at her as he said, “Care for a swim?”

  She shook her head. Her voice had none of its former cockiness. “The doctor said I shouldn’t get my bandages wet.”

  Canino smiled but still didn’t look at her. “You’d swim if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

  She nodded, thoroughly defeated. “Of course.”

  He handed her his drink. “That’s okay. I’d rather see you dance.”

  He picked up a lap drum and settled himself in a chair, the drum between his knees. Gretchen put his drink on the table next to him.

  “Please don’t make me dance,” she said in a voice so small I barely heard it. She pointed to her bandaged face. “It hurts when I move, even a little. The cuts start bleeding again.”

  Canino said nothing, and began tapping out a slow rhythm.

  “Why do you enjoy hurting me?” Gretchen choked out, sounding like a little girl. “All I ever did to you was like you.”

  Canino remained silent and motionless except for his hands on the drum.

  Gretchen slid her feet back and forth, her slippers skitching against the stone patio. She began to sway to the beat, although I heard her sniffle and choke as she did so.

  I’d never get a better chance, and carefully plotted my descent. I’d scaled the tree in blissful ignorance, but now I climbed down as a nervous wreck. If I disturbed one sleeping monkey, they’d all go off in a screeching, leaping cacophony. I timed my movements to the rhythm of Canino’s drum, and when my feet finally touched the ground, I almost wanted to cheer.

  If she’d glanced up at the wrong moment Gretchen might have seen me, but it was dark and I was good at stealth. I used the perimeter of the hedge maze to hide as I scuttled around the yard, until I crouched out of sight fifteen feet behind Canino in the shadow of a silver maple.


  I pulled a miniature crossbow with only a foot-wide prod span from a holster strapped to my lower leg. The weapon folded down to a slender tube no bigger around than my thumb. I snapped the prods out and wound the cranequin as tight as it would go.

  Gretchen had shed her top and was now dancing in only the sheer skirt. Her bandaged face showed wet stains from both tears and blood. She moved like a doll dangling from a string.

  I loaded a short, razor-sharp bolt into the crossbow. I’d get one shot if I was lucky. If this whole dance routine hadn’t been some ruse to lure me out. I felt no particular sympathy for Gretchen beyond what I would for any victim of cruelty; after all, she’d slipped me the sleepy-time and helped Canino torture me. But Canino might not comprehend that, and assume I’d react the way most men would at the sight of a half-naked damsel in distress and come to her rescue. If this was a trap.

  It was time to stop thinking. I stood, leveled the crossbow and shot Canino through the back of his neck.

  I don’t know what sort of reaction I expected, really. But I was surprised when he did nothing at all except stop drumming. Gretchen froze in mid-spin, eyes wide inside the holes cut in her bandages, then quickly crossed her arms to cover her bare breasts. Given our previous encounter, I thought her modesty misplaced.

  I waited, but Canino still didn’t move. Had I gotten lucky and sliced his spinal cord? I wondered if I dared take my eyes off him long enough to recock and reload the crossbow. I decided that would be foolish, so I dropped the weapon and drew my sword. I really didn’t want to get within blade-range, but I also couldn’t just stand there and wait for something to happen.

  I took a step forward, and Canino stood up and turned to face me. The movement was so quick and graceful I barely held back a yell.

  The bolt tip protruded from the front of his neck, to one side of his Adam’s apple. Blood stained the collar of his pink shirt, but not as much as I expected, because the bolt itself blocked the bleeding. He breathed with difficulty, but his demeanor was so calm it was terrifying.

  “Now this is ironic,” he said with a smile. His voice was suddenly rough and husky, with a raggedness identical to Spike’s.

  I didn’t say anything.

  His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the chair for support. “You didn’t even give me a chance,” he rasped.

  “Had a feeling you were too good to give a chance to,” I replied.

  Suddenly Gretchen stepped forward and yanked the bolt from the back of his neck. It popped free with a wet smacking sound. He spun to face her as blood gushed from both holes. She stood with the bolt in her hand, fresh tears soaking the bandage around her blazing eyes.

  Canino lunged toward her and she made no move to evade him. I never saw him draw the knife, but he drove it into her belly and then ripped it upward with all his fading strength until the bone of her sternum blocked it. He pulled her close and worked the blade deep into her, probing for her heart. He found it.

  They stayed motionless for a long moment, two lifeless bodies propped together like tent poles. Their mingled blood pooled at their feet. At last they collapsed, smacking into the wet patio stone beneath them. Droplets of red splashed into the moat and vanished into the night-black water.

  This whole lethal encounter had taken less than three minutes, and occurred in almost total silence. I sheathed my sword, slipped the crossbow back in its tube and quietly stepped into the shadows. The door through which the Dwarf had entered the house remained open, and no light showed anywhere inside. I listened intently, unable to believe the little freak was really alone inside the huge dark house. Where were the other guards, or the additional strong-arm thugs like Canino? Did he really feel so secure?

  I wouldn’t learn anything standing on the patio like some kid selling cookies. No one appeared to check on Canino, and no one moved about inside. I slipped through the open door into the main room, and waited until my eyes adjusted enough so that I wouldn’t trip over the furniture. The light from the patio torches reflected from an enormous chandelier over a long, elegant dinner table that ran lengthwise toward the door. Along the walls were overstuffed sofas, and beside each a little footstool to allow the Dwarf access.

  Huge paintings covered the walls, all with an identical motif: horses in agony. Some were drowning, some being burned alive, some simply ridden to the point of exhaustion. The styles were as varied as the subjects were similar. I recognized some of the artists, masters from across the world, and was impressed with the Dwarf’s resources, if not his taste. An original Finkelman must cost a damn fortune.

  Near the front of the room, a huge staircase swept upward in a graceful arc around the foyer’s entire perimeter. This puzzled me, until I saw that a smooth ramp ran alongside the steps, and explained the need for such a gradual slope. The Dwarf, unable to use steps, would need something like this to reach the upper floors.

  I took the steps silently, listening for any movement around me. The house was deathly quiet; I could even hear the pool rippling outside, and the occasional crackle of the torches. The staircase did not creak, but I felt it shift under my weight, and knew it might give me away. It made me, if possible, even tenser.

  I reached the second floor landing. To my right, the hallway stretched away into darkness, but down the opposite hall I saw the same faint glow I’d observed from outside. It came from under a door halfway down the corridor. No other goal presented itself, so I crept toward it. I passed several other closed, silent rooms before I reached the lit one.

  I paused. I had no idea what to expect, so I could really prepare for nothing. I could only hope that the clues and hints that led me here would see me through whatever happened, for the sake of my best friend and his wife. I put my hand on the knob, opened the door and stepped into the room.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The smell of incense surged over me the moment the door opened. I slipped in and closed it behind me, wincing at the hinges’ faint protest in the silence. Then I looked around.

  The dim light came from a dozen small candles on a tiny altar. It reminded me of the little girl praying in the mines below Poy Sippi. The place was filled with bizarre objects, some displayed on tables and shelves, some propped against the walls. Each had a vaguely equine theme, although there were as many winged stallions and unicorns as there were depictions of everyday horses. Some, I suspected, were parts of actual animals, preserved in all the arcane ways people use to hang on to the dead.

  I methodically scanned the room. The Dwarf was so small he could have found a dozen easy hiding places in the flickering shadows. I saw no sign of him, so I walked over to the altar. I wondered what sort of things he would offer to his apparent horse deity.

  I should’ve known. The central icon was a horse skull impaled by a golden spike. Vicious spur wheels covered in dried horse blood marked the four cardinal directions. A riding crop lay where a ceremonial knife normally rested. The Dwarf’s hatred of horses extended even to his religion. Hell, apparently it was his religion.

  As I stood by the altar, the door creaked open behind me. I froze. The polished side of a ceremonial bowl reflected a squat, furry shape about waist high. It had a peaked head, wide shoulders and long arms.

  I had a knife up my sleeve, probably my easiest weapon to draw in a hurry. But I didn’t. I slowly turned, careful not to make any abrupt motions. Whatever this creature was, I didn’t want to startle it.

  The light was too dim to make out any details, but the general shape was unmistakable. It was an ape, standing very still just outside the door. I could hear its breathing in the silence. I didn’t know much about these animals, so I had no idea whether I should be quiet, make noise, bluff an attack or fall to the ground and cover my head. So I just stood there.

  A long moment passed. Then the ape shuffled forward into the room. I may not have been an expert on gorillas and such, but I’d seen a lot of animals move, and this was all wrong. I crossed my arms and said, “Very funny.”

  The Dwarf laughe
d. The costume allowed most of his face to peek through, so I saw his big smile. “I couldn’t help it, I love wearing this thing. People never worry about what the monkey might hear.” He pulled back the furry hood and bent his head far to the side so his hands could smooth down his hair.

  In the candlelight, he looked younger than he had from a distance. His features seemed normal, even friendly. I knew better. He said, “Tried having a suit like this built to give me normal human proportions, but the technology just isn’t there yet. I have to settle for a chimp. It’s actually more useful than you might think.”

  “So you wear it around the house a lot?”

  “Nah. I just put it on to light the candles. My hands aren’t really good with fire.” I heard the slight squeak of wires and cables as the fake hands closed around a taper, lit it from one of the burning candles and then touched the flame to some others that had gone out.

  “So, here you are in my house,” he continued. “You trespassed onto my property and, if you got this far, killed two of my friends outside. I’m guessing that you’re not here collecting for charity.”

  “I only killed one of your friends. And I can really only take half the credit for that.”

  He waved one of the monkey-suit arms dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Canino was useful, but they all go quick eventually. There’ll be another one along.” Apparently satisfied with the number of lit candles, he snuffed the taper and wriggled out of the costume. Its framework kept it upright, so he resembled a molting insect. He wore a tunic cut to his odd proportions. I recalled Epona Gray’s description of the damage she’d wrought on the unfortunate sailor Andrew Reese: I snapped every bone in his arms and legs, then pushed them up into his torso. I twisted him into human jetsam, Eddie, and cast him back to the sea. This man certainly looked as if such a thing had happened to him. “Who knows? Maybe even you. Need a job?”