Old Tin Sorrows gf-4

by Glen Cook

  The damned place was haunted by practical jokers. I tossed the shield against the doorframe, put up my head-knocker, went to the writing table. The room was a mirror image of my sitting room. I sat down at an identical table.

  I guess I heard a sole scuff the carpet. I started to turn, to duck. That's all I did, started.

  Something hit me like a monument falling. I saw shooting stars. I think I howled. I lurched forward. My face met the tabletop. It wasn't a friendly meeting.

  It's pretty hard to knock somebody out. You either don't hit hard enough, in which case your victim gets after you, or you hit him too hard and he croaks. If you have any idea what you're doing, you don't bash him up top the head. Unless you want to smash his skull.

  This blow was aimed at my skull. I moved that much. It hit the side of my neck and bounced off my shoulder. It didn't put me out—not more than ninety-nine percent. It paralyzed me. For half a minute I was vaguely aware of a shape in motion. Then the lights went out.

  Got to stay away from the hard stuff, I thought as I came around. Getting too old for it. The hangover isn't worth it.

  I thought I was slumped over my desk at home. The truth dawned as I tried to get up. I saw unfamiliar surroundings. My head spun. I fell, banged my jaw off the edge of the table, curled up on the floor, and dumped Cook's lunch. When I tried to move, the heaves started again.

  Sometime during the fun somebody ran past, headed for the door. All I saw was a flash of brown. I didn't much care.

  Concussion, I thought. That scared me. I'd seen guys with their brains scrambled after getting hit on the head. I'd seen them paralyzed. I'd seen them go to sleep and never wake up.

  Got to stay awake, Garrett. Got to stay awake. That's what the docs say. Get up, Garrett. To hell with the heaves. Take charge, Garrett. Make the flesh obey the will.

  Trouble was, there wasn't much will left.

  After a while I got my knees under me and crawled to the door. I fell down a few times during the trek. But the exercise did me good. I arrived so chipper, I was afraid I wasn't going to die. I worked up so much ambition that I swung the door open and moved out a yard before I collapsed and passed out again.

  Gentle, delicate fingers slid lightly over my face, feeling my features the way a blind woman once did. I'd turned over somehow. I cracked one eyelid a millionth of an inch.

  My sweetheart in white had come to succor me. At least she looked concerned. Her lips moved but I didn't hear anything.

  Panic. I'd heard of guys who'd lost their hearing, too.

  She jumped away. Not that she needed to. I was in no shape to run down a brigand snail. More, Black Pete's door had closed on my legs. I was caught like a mouse. I managed a feeble "Don't go. Please."

  The investigative mind was at work. It wanted to know.

  She came back. She settled onto her knees, resumed massaging my head. "Are you badly hurt?" Her voice was the ghost of a whisper. She sounded concerned. She looked concerned.

  "Only in my heart. You keep running away." We investigator types are tough. We keep our eye on the prime objective. "You're the loveliest woman I've ever seen."

  That put a light in her eyes. Strange how women like to be told they're pretty. Strange like a rock falling when you drop it. She even smiled for a hundredth of a second.

  "Who are you?" I thought about telling her I loved her, but that seemed premature. I'd give it ten more minutes.

  She didn't tell me. She just massaged my forehead and temples and sang something so softly I couldn't make out the words.

  Who was I to question the will of the gods? I closed my eyes and let it happen.

  The song got a little louder. A lullaby. A hush-my-love kind of thing. Fine by me. The hell with business. This was the life.

  Something brushed my lips, light as falling eiderdown, warm. I cracked my eye. She was an inch away, smiling.

  Yeah.

  Then everything drained out of her face. She jumped up and fled. Bam! Before I overcame inertia and turned my head, she was gone.

  Feet pounded up the hallway, businesslike, then hurriedly. "Garrett! What happened?" Peters dropped to his knees. He wasn't nearly as attractive as his predecessor.

  I managed to croak, "Somebody in your room. Bopped me on my bean."

  He jumped up and shoved inside. I had smarts enough left to drag my legs out before the door closed. That's all I did. Seemed like a good day's work.

  Peters bounded out. "They tore the place apart." He had something in his hand. "Here's the will. What else could they have been after?"

  "Probably was that."

  He scowled at me. "Did you have to puke all over?"

  "Yeah. A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

  "Why didn't he get it, if that's what he wanted?"

  "I fell over the desk. He couldn't get at it without moving me and maybe having me wake up. Lit out when I did start coming to. Who could have heard us talking?"

  "Couldn't have been Cook or Kaid. They were upstairs with the old man. Wayne's out burying Snake, Hawkes, and Tyler."

  I let him help me into a sitting position. "Where were they?"

  "In the wellhouse. It's cooler in there. What difference does that make?"

  "That leaves Chain, doesn't it? Or Dellwood, if he doubled back."

  "Chain's supposed to be out keeping an eye on what's left of the fire and trying to salvage something from the stable."

  "Wasn't any ghost. And it wasn't a draug. Did we find the third draug?"

  "Nobody's had time to look."

  "He'll find us, then." I lifted a hand. He helped me up. Between him and the wall, they managed to keep me upright. "What was the verdict on the old man?" My head hurt so much, I no longer felt my burns. The old silver lining.

  "They were looking for you to tell you."

  "You tell me."

  "He fired me and Kaid, too. We told him to go to hell, we're not going anywhere."

  "I guess you aren't going to tell me."

  "I don't want to say it. Not something that's easy to believe."

  That told me enough. But I let him help me downstairs, to the fountain, where I perched on the fountain surround and tried to work out which way was up till Morley and the others showed. I said, "I take it that I'm shopping for a demonologist."

  "Don't look at me like that," Morley said. "I didn't do it."

  "You look spooked."

  "Spooks spook me, Garrett. Even a vampire or a werewolf, I can do something about. I can't get ahold of a spook."

  "Yeah." He didn't want to believe we had a haunt here. I wasn't quite ready to buy it. It would be easier to swallow without a legacy at stake. It wouldn't be the first fake ghost used to cover a little bloodletting.

  It sure wasn't any spook who offed Hawkes and Bradon. No spook tried to trap me, ax me, burn me, knock a hole in my head.

  Everybody stood around looking at me like I was in charge. So I said, "My head's killing me." And, "Morley, you want to stay over tonight? Give me a hand?"

  "I was afraid you'd ask."

  Just his sweet-natured way of saying yes.

  "Cash money," I promised.

  "How are you going to get cash when that old man doesn't have any?"

  I didn't tell him I'd grabbed it off going in, though the expenses had about devoured their allowance. "I'll figure something. How'd he take it?"

  "He wasn't pleased. To put it mildly."

  I looked at the doctor. "You couldn't find a physical cause?" Oh, please. Please?

  The weasel shook his head. "Not saying it isn't something I don't recognize. Or a combination. But bring in a demonologist. Hell, I'll send one. Eliminate the mysterious first. If there's no supernatural cause, send for me. Be an interesting challenge."

  Morley grinned slyly. "You two work it right, you could have careers here. Him trying to root out an unknown disease and you trying to find a killer who's smarter than you are."

  I grumbled, "My part's easy. I just stay alive till there's o
nly one suspect left." My head was killing me. That didn't do wonders for my temper. "Doc, you got something for a headache?"

  "What happened?"

  I told him.

  He insisted on examining me and offering the usual advice about concussions. Maybe he wasn't a pure thief. I have a low opinion of professionals, notably doctors and lawyers, supported by experience.

  He gave me a dose of the old standby, syrup heavily laced with nasty-tasting stuff boiled out of the inner bark of willow branches. With that perking in my stomach I decided to get on with getting on. "Peters, it'll be suppertime soon. These guys might be hungry. Square it with Cook, if they want to eat. I'm going to drop in on the General."

  Peters grunted, asked if anybody wanted supper. Saucerhead and the doctor were all for that. And Morley was staying anyway.

  As I climbed the stairs, I recalled that I'd told Dellwood he should ride into town in the coach. Was he out there waiting, freezing with the coachman?

  It was still raining. I felt for Wayne and Chain, too. Though Chain not so much. I had him. All I needed to do was push him into a box and put a bow on him.

  "Throw him out," Stantnor rasped at Kaid, when I invited myself in.

  Kaid eyed me. "I don't believe he'll let me, sir." He said it with a straight face. There was a twinkle in his eye. He turned to the fire to hide a smile.

  I asked, "Did you hear the diagnosis, General?"

  "Mr. Garrett. I didn't employ you to interfere in my life. I employed you to find a thief."

  "And a killer. And a would-be killer who wants your scalp. And that implies that part of the job is to keep you alive. And to do that I need to know how they're trying to kill you. The assumption was poison. The assumption was wrong."

  He appeared surprised. Maybe they hadn't told him. Maybe he'd become so obnoxious, they'd just walked.

  "Mr. Dotes is an expert on poisons. Likewise the doctor, who's also an expert on tropical diseases." Could it hurt to exaggerate? "They say you're not being poisoned, unless it's a poison so exotic they've never heard of it. And you're not suffering from any known disease, though the doctor says you're anemic and jaundiced. Have you had malaria, General?"

  I think he was secretly touched that people cared enough to look out for him in spite of himself. "Yes. Hard to avoid it in the islands."

  "Bad?"

  "No."

  "You taking quinine on the sly? The doctor says impure quinine might explain some of your problems."

  "No! I won't... " He suffered one of his spasms. Was it his heart?

  It was a minor one. He'd begun to recover before Kaid reached him. He croaked, "No, Mr. Garrett. No medication. I'd refuse if it was offered."

  "I thought so. But I had to make sure before I tell you what they think."

  "Which is?" He was coming back fast.

  "You're haunted."

  "Eh?" That blindsided him. He looked at Kaid. Kaid just looked baffled.

  "Your problem is supernatural. Your enemy is a ghost. Or somebody who can send a spirit against you. Peters says you don't have that kind of enemies. The doctor says look at your past for somebody."

  I wouldn't have believed it possible, but his color worsened dramatically. He damned near turned gray.

  There was something. Some dark past moment unknown to anyone else, so dreadful someone might reach out from the grave to restore the balance. Hell, a place like the Stantnor shack wouldn't be complete without a horror in its past, without a curse.

  "We'd better talk about it," I said. "We'll have to hire experts." I gave Kaid a meaningful look. The old man wouldn't want to confess ancient evils in front of a crowd. "A demonologist. An exorcist. Possibly a medium or necromancer to communicate with the spirit." Kaid was as thick as a brick. He didn't move.

  The General said nothing till he was sure he'd say only what he wanted to be heard. And that was, "Get out, Garrett."

  "When you're ready to talk, then."

  "Get out. Leave me alone. Hell, get out of my house. Get out of my life... "

  He had another fit. This was a big one. Kaid yelled, "Get that doctor up here!" His expression lacked any forgiveness for having gotten the old man so excited.

  Strange people, every one.

  32

  I joined Cook in the kitchen. We were alone. "Can you use a hand?"

  "Come to try sweet-talking me out of something, eh? I see right through you, boy. You ought to know by now I don't run my mouth. I don't tell nobody nothing that ain't none of their business."

  "Of course." I rolled up my sleeves, eyed the heap of dirty stuff distastefully. Not much I hate more than washing dishes. But I stole a pot of hot water off the stove, prepared a sink, put more water on to heat, dug in. Ten minutes of silence passed. I waited till I felt her curiosity becoming palpable.

  "You were up there when they looked at the General. What did you think?"

  "I think that croaker is as crooked as the General says." She didn't sound convinced. She sounded worried.

  "Know what he thinks is wrong?"

  "I know what he said. He's crazy if he believes it. Ain't no haunts around here."

  "Three draugs."

  She grunted. There lay the core of her doubt. If those draugs hadn't come, she wouldn't have given the doctor's idea a glance.

  "People keep telling me, the General doesn't have enemies of the killing kind. And there's no incentive here for anyone to hurry him along, despite the size of the estate."

  "What'll be left after he lets it wither. I swear, his damnfool sickness has infected the whole place." Her voice was weak. She wasn't the woman she'd been.

  Things were going on inside her head. She had no attention to spare.

  "If nobody from today wants to kill him, to torment him with slow death and the hell between when he passes, who in his past might? My gut feeling is, it goes back to before his move to the Cantard."

  She grunted and threw utensils around and didn't say anything.

  "What happened? The only trauma I know of is his wife's death. Could that have something to do with it? Her parents... Jennifer says she thinks they were a firelord and stormwarden but she doesn't know who. Is this a legacy from them? A delayed curse?"

  She still didn't have squat to say.

  "Were they involved in the Blue cabal that went after Kenrick III?"

  "You put a lot together out of nothing, boy."

  "That's what I do. I get paid for it. I think the grandparents were involved. I think Jennifer's mother came here partly to hide from reprisals if the plot failed. Lucky her. It did. And Kenrick devoured everyone remotely related to it. I wonder if the doctor who administered an incorrect drug was on the royal payroll. Maybe Jennifer survived only because he couldn't murder a newborn."

  "You do put it together."

  I kept quiet, hoping she'd fill the vacuum.

  I washed, set stuff out to dry. There was enough work for me to make me a new career when I got tired of the old one. I was tempted.

  "The missus's mother called herself Charon Light. Her daddy was Nightmare Blue."

  "One fun-loving guy." Nightmare Blue had put the Blue plot together. He'd been as mean-spirited and vicious as they came. The story was that only the threatened defection of key conspirators forced him to confine his scheme to the King. He'd wanted to scrub Kenrick's whole house. The bad blood between the men stemmed from a mysterious childhood incident.

  Charon Light, supposedly, was as innocent as a wife could be. She'd apparently been ignorant of the plot till the last hours. There was reason to suspect she'd been responsible for its failure, in the penultimate moment warning the King.

  We'll never know—unless someone raises the dead to ask. None of those people survived. I doubt anybody would try. Raising a sorcerer is a fool's game—unless you're a more powerful sorcerer.

  "Eleanor's mother brought her here to hide her?"

  Cook grunted, having second thoughts about talking. She kept her peace for a few minutes. I got more hot wa
ter.

  "Her mother brought her. In the middle of the night, it was. A devil's own night, thunder and lightning and the wind howling like all the lost souls. She was some distant relative of the Stantnors' was Charon Light. Don't recall her born name. Something Fen. She brought the child in so frightened, she wet herself. As bad as Jennifer, she was, never been out of her own house before. Such a pretty young thing, too."

  "Like Jennifer."

  "She was more retiring than Jenny. Jenny can work herself up. She's an actress, our Jenny. She puts on a role like a dress, that child. Not young mistress Eleanor. Scared of her own shadow, that one."

  I grunted this time.

  "The old General and Charon Light, they worked it out right here in this kitchen. I was here, serving tea. They'd marry the child to young Will, in name only, so she'd be safe. This was only a couple days before the storm broke. Kenrick couldn't do nothing to upset the old General. He was the only rock between Karenta and defeat in the Cantard in those days."

  The war hadn't meant much to me back then. My father had been dead for years, killed down there, and I wasn't old enough to worry about going. But I did recall that, at about that time, Karenta's fortunes had been at low ebb and there'd been talk about the elder Stantnor being the only man who could handle the Venageti of the day.

  "You want the benefit of my suspicion, I think Charon Light was going to deal. Going to sell the plot for immunity. I don't know if that's how she went. She didn't survive."

  I told her, "I'm starting to get confused. I thought Jennifer was born about then. And she had an older brother."

  "Half brother. His mother was the General's first wife. Have-to wedding when he was sixteen. Daughter of a serving woman. But you don't need to know that."

  "I need to know everything if I'm going to make sense of what's happening. Hidden things kill. What happened to the first wife?"

  "They stayed married till the boy was old enough for tutors and nannies. Then he put her aside. The old General sent the family away."

  "Hard feelings involved?"

  "Plenty. But the old General bought them off. He reminded young Will every day. Especially if he spent a night out wenching. A terror, he was, when he was a lad. Obsessed, you might say." She didn't sound like she'd thought him an amusing rake. He didn't sound like somebody I'd have liked.