Old Tin Sorrows gf-4

by Glen Cook

I walked over to the door, peeked out. Nothing out there. "Saucerhead, want to warn us when the mob comes?"

  He grunted, came over. I whispered, "Did you rehearse those two?"

  He grunted again. He didn't have time to explain. I had to trust his judgment. "General, shall I take the position I did last time? Mr. Tharpe and Mr. Dotes can hold the door."

  "I suppose. I suppose." As the fire grew and threw more light, I saw that his color was as bad as it had been the other day.

  I took my place. A few minutes later Saucerhead announced, "People coming."

  "Let them in but don't let them back out."

  "Check."

  The doctor retreated into a corner. So did the fence. Morley moved to the side of the door opposite Saucerhead.

  They came in looking tired and wary and dispirited. They looked at Morley and Saucerhead like they all thought they'd been caught doing something. Even Peters, and he knew what was happening.

  The General said, "Mr. Garrett has some news."

  Mr. Garrett looked at the fence. So did Mr. Tharpe, glowering like the man wouldn't get out of the house alive if he didn't point a finger.

  He didn't have to. The bad boy gave himself away.

  I said, "Somebody's been stealing doodads from around here, about twenty thousand marks' worth. The General wanted to know who. Now we know that, Dellwood. I'm curious why."

  He took it pretty well. Maybe he'd figured that being found out was inevitable. "To meet household expenses. There was no other way to raise the money."

  The General sputtered through a bad case of not wanting to face the truth. He ranted. His people kept blank faces but I got the feeling their sympathies didn't lie with their employer.

  For one second I entertained the possibility that they all wanted to do him in.

  Dellwood persisted, "The General provides funds suitable for maintaining a household of ten at the time he left for the Cantard. He won't believe that prices have risen since then. Not one copper has gone into my pocket. Not one has been spent needlessly. Our suppliers refused to extend further credit."

  Must be hell to be rich and broke.

  The General managed, "You might have told me instead of subjecting me to this humiliation."

  "I told you repeatedly, sir. For two years I told you. You had your eyes firmly fixed on the past. You refused to believe that times have changed. I had the choice of doing what I did or allowing you to be hounded by creditors. I chose to shield you. I'll collect my things now." He turned to the door.

  Saucerhead and Morley blocked his way. I asked, "General?"

  The old man didn't say anything.

  "For what it's worth, sir, I believe he's telling the truth."

  "Are you calling me a miser?"

  "I said nothing of the sort. But you do have that reputation." I was piqued. I've never gone out of my way to cuddle up to a client—of the male persuasion, anyway.

  He sputtered some more.

  Then he had one of his fits.

  For a moment I thought it was a ploy. The others did, too. Maybe he'd cried wolf a few times. Everybody just looked till it was over. Then they all moved in, tripping over each other. I gave Saucerhead the signal to turn the fence loose.

  Dellwood led the charge. Nobody hung back. Which did not bode well for my hope that breaking one of the cases within the case would start everything unravelling.

  "Back off," I told them. "Give him some air." He was past the worst. "Saucerhead, let Dellwood go, too."

  Dellwood managed his exit with considerable dignity. I reflected on the fact that my pay, and Saucerhead's, and everyone else's, was likely being financed by his efforts. I glanced at Cook. She'd told me the old man didn't have a pot to pee in. Here he was, living on his principal without even realizing it.

  Was some other helpful soul trying to salvage the estate by hurrying an incompetent, tightwad manager to his reward?

  The General got himself under control. "I shan't thank you for what you've done, Mr. Garrett, though I asked for it. Dellwood. Where's Dellwood?"

  "He's gone, sir."

  "Get him back. He can't leave. What'll I do without him?"

  "I have no thoughts on the subject, General. I think we've accomplished all we can here."

  "Good. Yes. You're right. Leave me. But get Dellwood back here."

  "Everybody out. Peters, you'd better stay. Kaid? Morley, Saucerhead, I want to talk to you." I scooted out first.

  29

  I caught Dellwood in his quarters. He hadn't bothered to close his door. He was stuffing things into bags. "Come to make sure I don't take the family jewels?"

  "I came to tell you the old man wants you to stay."

  "I've spent most of my life attending his wants. Enough is enough. It'll be a relief being my own man." He lied. "A man's loyalty will only stretch so far."

  "You're upset. You did what you had to do and it brought you trouble. Nobody holds it against you. Not even me."

  "Bull. He'll hold it against me the rest of his life. That's the kind of man he is. Whatever my reasons, I rubbed his nose in something. He doesn't forgive, no matter who was right."

  "But—"

  "I know him. Give me credit for that."

  I did. "You walk, you lose everything."

  "The bequest never meant much to me. I'm not poor, Mr. Garrett. I had few expenses while I was in service. I saved my money and I invested it well. I don't need his bequest to survive."

  "Your choice." I didn't move.

  He stopped throwing things into bags and looked at me. "What?"

  "The General didn't just hire me to find out who was kyping the family trophies. He also wanted me to find out who's trying to kill him."

  He sneered. "Kill him? Nobody's trying to kill him. That's just his imagination at work."

  "So was theft when I arrived. Except to you. He was right about that and I think he's right about this."

  "Bull. Who'd profit?"

  "Good question. I don't think the estate has anything to do with it. I can't supply another motive, though. Yet." I looked at him expectantly. He didn't say anything.

  "Any friction with anybody? Any time, ever?"

  "I can't give you what you want, Mr. Garrett. We've all had our troubles with the General—none of them the kind you kill over. Matters of discipline, that's all."

  "None of these people are inclined to hold grudges?"

  "Chain. He's a big, stupid farm boy gone to fat at the hips and between the ears. He can hold a grudge forever, but he's never had one against the General. If you'll excuse me, sir?"

  "Not yet. You've known this moment was coming since I got here, haven't you?"

  "I wasn't surprised you found me out. I was startled that you found the man who bought from me. Will that be all?"

  "No. Who killed Hawkes and Snake?"

  "I wouldn't know. I expect you'll find out. You're a first-class finder-outer."

  "It's what I do. You didn't perchance try to discourage me when you decided I could cause you trouble, did you?"

  "Sir?"

  "There have been three attempts on my life since I arrived. I wondered if you'd thought you could cover your tracks—"

  "That's not my way. I made it through a Marine career without killing anyone. I have no intention of starting now. I told you, I have nothing to lose here."

  Maybe. And maybe he was just a convincing liar.

  I shrugged. "For what it's worth, I don't think you did wrong and I don't feel that proud of rooting you out."

  "I bear you no ill will. You were only the agency by which the inevitable arrived. But I would like to get on the road before dark."

  "You won't reconsider? I don't think the old man will last without you."

  "Kaid can handle him. He should've been all along, anyway."

  "Do you know who the blonde woman is?" He had nothing to lose by telling me now.

  "A figment of your imagination, I suspect. There's no blonde woman here. No one but you has seen her."<
br />
  "Bradon did. He painted her portrait."

  That stopped him cold. "He did?"

  "He did."

  He believed me. He didn't get much push behind his "Snake was crazy."

  I was pretty sure he knew nothing about any blonde. Which made her that much more interesting an enigma.

  I moved out of the doorway, indicating he was free to go. I said, "You can't tell me anything that might keep somebody else from getting killed?"

  "No. I'd tell you if I could."

  He picked up his bags. I suggested, "Catch a ride with my associates when they go."

  He wanted to tell me to go to hell. He didn't. "Thank you." It was raining and those bags were heavy.

  I asked, "One more thing. What happened to Tyler and the draug from out front?"

  "Ask Peters. I don't know. My duties confined me to the house."

  "The draug that tried to get in the back isn't accounted for. It didn't go back to the swamp. Where could it hide out during the day?" Assuming, like story draugs, that it didn't dare hazard daylight.

  "In the outbuildings. I really must go, Mr. Garrett."

  "All right. Thanks for talking to me."

  He headed out, back stick-straight, unapologetic. He'd done what had to be done. He wasn't ashamed. He wasn't going to be talked out of leaving, either.

  Another one down, I reflected.

  Now there were six heirs. The cut for the minority people was up near a half million apiece.

  Morley, Saucerhead, and the doctor awaited me beside the fountain. I didn't approach in any hurry. I was trying to figure out how to launch a draug hunt.

  Cook came out as Dellwood headed for the front door. They went into the entry hall arguing. She didn't want him to go, either.

  30

  I joined Morley and the others. "What's the verdict?"

  Morley shrugged. "He didn't shake enough or have trouble enough talking for it to be what I thought. He show any of those symptoms earlier?"

  "Some shaking. No real trouble talking. What about the fit?"

  "I don't know. Ask the doc."

  I did. He said, "I don't quite know. I should've had a closer look and a chance to interview the patient. But from where I stood it looked like you need an exorcist more than a doctor."

  "A what?"

  Morley was as startled as I was. I'd never seen his eyes bug before. The remark had caught him from the blind side.

  "An exorcist. A demonologist. Maybe a necromancer. Possibly all three. Though the first step should be a physical exam to make sure I'm not imagining things."

  "Start over. You've got me all turned around."

  "Between us, Mr. Dotes and I have a comprehensive knowledge of poisons. We know of none that produce the combination of symptoms the man shows. Not without affecting him more dramatically, physically, leaving him unable to control his speech and extremities—if he stayed alive at all. Disease is more probable than poison. Who knows what he brought home? I spent eight years down there. I saw a lot of strange diseases, though nothing quite like this. Is he taking any medication?"

  "Are you kidding? He'd die first." I had a thought. "How about malaria?" I'd been one lucky Marine. I'd never contracted malaria. "Or some kind of yellow fever?"

  "I thought of that. A virulent strain of malaria, with massive quinine treatments, might produce most of the symptoms he shows. Tainted medication might account for the rest. But you said he'd die before accepting medication. I really must know his medical history before I hazard a guess."

  "Why that business about an exorcist?"

  "My chief suspicion lies in the supernatural realm. Several varieties of malign spirit could produce the symptoms we see. My advice would be to examine his past. You might find something there to explain what's happening. You might also look for an origin in unfriendly witchcraft. An enemy may have sent a spirit against him."

  Black Pete showed up in time to catch most of the discussion. I asked, "You make anything of that? The General have enemies who'd off him that way?"

  He shook his head. "The answer is here, Garrett. I'm sure. He doesn't have enemies who'd want to kill him. The worst ones he does have are the kind who'd send somebody like your friend." He twitched a hand toward Morley.

  "There's no sorcerer around here. Unless you count Bradon, who's gone. Doctor, could an amateur necromancer have sicked something on him, say accidentally, that would stick after the spirit-master died?"

  "An amateur? I doubt it. Somebody really potent, maybe. If they stuck around themselves, as a ghost. Hatred is the usual force animating spirits that devour a man from within. And I mean hatred strong enough to bend the laws of nature. Hatred that wants its object to suffer for all eternity. But I'm no expert. Which is why I suggested a demonologist, an exorcist, a necromancer. You must discover the nature of the spirit, then banish it. Or raise it up, find out what animates its hatred and appease it."

  Peters said, "This is crazy, Garrett. The General never made that kind of enemy."

  "We're talking possibilities. The doc says the whole thing could be physical. He needs to do a hands-on physical exam. And he needs a detailed medical history. What're the chances?"

  He looked at me, at the doctor, glanced at Morley and Saucerhead. "Better than you think." His voice turned hard. "The old bastard can only threaten so much. We don't have to give him a choice. I'll be back in five minutes." He strode toward the kitchen.

  Morley settled on the fountain surround, in the shadow of the dragon's wing. "Now what?"

  "Let's wait. He'll talk to Cook. If she goes along, you'll get to look at Stantnor." Cook might not be mother to the world but she was queen of the Stantnor household. "Doctor. Can you suggest any experts who might help?"

  "Let's see if we get to examine the patient. If I find no physical cause, I'll provide referrals. They won't come cheaply, though."

  "Does anybody but me?"

  Morley had a big yuk. "This is the man who paid cash for a house with the take from one case."

  "And for every one of those, I have fifty where I give Saucerhead half my fee to get them to pay up. You know anything about the art world?"

  "That's a change of subject. I know something about everything. I need to. What do you need?"

  "Say I discovered an unknown painter genius whose work deserves display. Who would I see to get things moving?"

  He shrugged, grinned. "Got me. Now if you had some hot old masters I could help. I know people who know morally flexible collectors. If you have something like you're talking about, you should see your friend with the brewery."

  "Weider?"

  "He's got fingers in all the cultural pies. Honorary director of this and that. He has the contacts. You don't have some old masters, do you?" He glanced around. I'm sure he'd been inventorying potential plunder.

  "You won't find anything here but portraits of old guys with whiskers who scowl a lot, all painted by people you never heard of."

  "I noticed the welcoming committee. I wondered how long it takes the Stantnors to train their young not to smile."

  "Might be hereditary. I've never seen Jennifer do more than fake it."

  "Your buddy's coming."

  Peters was coming from the kitchen under a full spread of sail. I knew what he'd say before he said it. He said it anyway. "We don't give the old man a vote."

  "He'll cut you out of his will."

  "Ask me if I give a damn. Let's go." But he hung back, gave me a look that said he wanted a private word. I let the others move upstairs a flight.

  "What?"

  "That crack about the will. In all the excitement I plain forgot to tell you before. The copy the General burned wasn't the only one. He always made two of every document. Sometimes three."

  "Oh?" Interesting. That meant nothing had changed, if the killer knew. "How many are there?"

  "One for sure. He gave it to me to give to you. Like you asked. I put it in my quarters, then got distracted till I was talking to Cook and she said
the same thing you did, about getting cut out."

  "It wasn't that important to you?"

  "No. I did you a favor, then forgot to carry through. Till it hit me what that copy could mean."

  "It could mean the killer won't back off. If he knows about it. Who knows?"

  "Dellwood and Kaid. They were there. And everybody else knows the General made copies of documents."

  "Where'd you put it? Give me your key. I'll grab it now. You go ahead and get after the old man."

  He gave me a nasty look. I knew what he was thinking. I wanted to toss his quarters. I told him, "I don't think you've got anything to hide."

  "You're a bastard, Garrett. Put me in a spot where I'm damned whatever I do."

  "You do have something to hide?"

  He glared. "No!"

  "Then get it yourself. I'll take your word." I recalled the fire, for which he could have been responsible. I hung in there, taking a chance on my guts. "But hurry."

  He gave me the key. "In the drawer of my writing table."

  Cook came rumbling up, the stair shuddering to her tread. "We going to do this?" she demanded. "Or we going to gossip?"

  Smart woman, Cook. The old man couldn't dismiss her. If she went in and sat on him, all he could do was cuss and take it. "Thanks," I told her.

  She gave me half a sneer. "What for? He's my baby, ain't he?"

  "Yeah." I watched them hurry to overtake the others. The General would be in the worst tactical position of his life. He couldn't do anything to Morley, Saucerhead, the doc, or Cook. And he'd be damned stupid if he did anything about Peters. If he ran Black Pete off, he'd be damned near out of help. He had to think survival in more than personal terms. He had to think about keeping the estate in shape.

  I suspected its value was dropping fast.

  I fingered Peters's key, glanced around. I had the feeling I was being watched, but I saw nobody. My blonde again, I thought. I wondered where the others were. At work, presumably.

  A vampirous spirit, eh? On top of draugs? What a lovely place to live.

  31

  Something wasnt right. Black Pete's door wasn't locked. He wasn't the sloppy type.

  It worked before, so I grabbed a shield and stormed inside. And didn't find anything this time, either.