Faded Steel Heat

by Glen Cook

  In parting I suggested, “Venable might try to set his pets on that shifter’s trail. If you do catch him, I definitely want to talk to him.”

  Nagit scowled. “I suppose — Now what?”

  The soldiers had begun to stir.

  “Looks like somebody’s coming.”

  Yes, indeed. And it was somebody who liked his ceremony. He had outriders out, fore and aft, in numbers sufficient to stave off small armies. A guy who didn’t look old enough to be a veteran hobbled up. “It’s Colonel Theverly, Lieutenant. He’s coming.”

  And he’d be in a bad mood after last night, too, I expected.

  Tinnie scrunched up close. “This looks like a real good time to start hiking, boyfriend.”

  “Probably.”

  “Uncle Willard won’t be the only one mad at you if these people suddenly get all paranoid about us.” Which, on reflection, seemed entirely possible. The returning freecorps people we were about to encounter had no way of knowing that we were accepted guests. And good old Colonel Theverly always had been one to leave a lot of unfamiliar bodies around for the gods to sort out.

  Renewing acquaintances with Theverly could wait. I expected to be back before nightfall. We could get together then.

  Tinnie and I got out of the gateway to The Pipes only moments before the leading horsemen turned in. We stood across the road and gawked at the cavalcade. Quite a few cavaliers gawked right back at the redhead. Me, I just stood there wrapped in my cloak of invisibility.

  Once we did start toward town the Goddamn Parrot began to get excited. He sounded like he was trying to talk again. What language wasn’t clear, however.

  “He can’t stand country life,” I explained to Tinnie. “Heh-heh. Maybe I can lose him in the woods.”

  84

  “Speaking of woods,” Tinnie said. She gestured to indicate the last copse we’d traversed before we’d gotten to The Pipes coming out. “What became of all those people you said were following us?” She’d seen the feather of smoke leaning above the treetops.

  “A question definitely worth consideration, my dear,” I said. “Perhaps I should’ve offered to borrow something sharp before we left your new uncle’s establishment.”

  “You sure should’ve. It’s obvious we can’t rely on your rapier wit.”

  “How sharper than a frog’s tooth. I shouldn’t have run so fast when that goddess wanted to be my girlfriend.”

  “You? Run from anything female?”

  “She was green and had four arms. And teeth like one of Mr. Venable’s pets. But she was affectionate.”

  “I’ll bet. There’s somebody in those trees.”

  Her eyes were better than mine. I didn’t see anything. But I took her word. She wouldn’t joke about danger. Much. I picked up a stick. “This would be handy if it wasn’t rotten.” It would shatter the first time I knighted somebody. But if I carried it maybe folks would be discouraged from getting close enough to find out that it was mostly decorative. I mused, “I need to stop by the house and arm up.”

  “I’d help but I really need to go home. Uncle Willard’s probably going crazy.”

  I told the Goddamn Parrot, “The lady’s a gold seam of straight lines but I’m a gentleman.” I spotted movement at the wood’s edge. Someone wasn’t good at sitting still. Then I spotted more movement elsewhere. “I hope those people aren’t all working together.”

  They weren’t, apparently, but they were aware of one another and wanted to stay out of each other’s way. Which made for a lot of rustle and scurry as Tinnie and I strolled through the wood.

  “These are the people you never noticed before?”

  “They’re city boys. They don’t do quite as well when they’re surrounded by a whole lot of country.”

  “A not uncommon problem, evidently.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m starting to think that you’ve been telling tall tales about you and the Marines. Tell the truth. You were really the guy who mopped the floors at expeditionary headquarters, weren’t you?”

  “You found me out. Don’t tell anybody. They’ll kick me out of The Call. Then what would I do for entertainment?”

  “You could always harass yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t want to horn in on your only hobby.”

  Tinnie took my hand. We ambled. We strolled. She didn’t appear to be in a real hurry to ease Uncle Willard’s anxiety.

  Those following me didn’t intrude. Guess they just wanted to play follow the leader.

  85

  “It’s a different city.”

  Tinnie felt it, too, though nothing was immediately obvious to the eye. There were ample crowds of all ethnic persuasions working hard doing the things that need doing to keep a city going. “Nobody’s talking to anybody.”

  She was right. And it wasn’t just that. People were being careful to give one another room and especially careful not to expose their backs to anyone not of a like ethnic conviction.

  It was a wary city. Everybody expected something big to happen. Probably sometime soon.

  The Call’s adventure hadn’t been quite the disaster the boys at The Pipes imagined. The world was waiting for the other shoe to fall. When Marengo figured that out...

  I was alert, yet not paying close attention. If you can figure that. I ran everything through my head again, trying to find a thread of sense to pick at. But it wouldn’t hang together in one big, stinky lump no matter how much I twisted and shoehorned and ignored the usual rules. I could only get it going if I assumed two or more things were going on at the same time. But something down inside me wanted it to be just one big thing that I wasn’t seeing right.

  “You’re the common factor,” Tinnie said.

  “Huh?” I looked around. We were approaching the Tate compound.

  “You were muttering. Doing pretty good, too. You might have a future as a street character. You’ve already got the wardrobe.”

  The Goddamn Parrot released a startled blat more like crow slang than the king’s parrotese. He flung himself into the air and flapped away. I barked, “What the hell?” Couldn’t be my luck turning good.

  Tinnie asked, “How did you wake him up?”

  “I don’t know.” But I had a suspicion what was behind his excitement. What’s big and sits in the dark and doesn’t breathe a lot? “I’m a common thread but I came in after the fact.” The Goddamn Parrot disappeared between buildings. “The way my luck runs nothing will get him.”

  “You going to come inside?” Tinnie asked. She grinned. She knew I didn’t want to deal with Uncle Willard.

  “I have to get back into that library.” We crossed the street. I noted that most people moved around in large groups and that more weapons than usual were in evidence, some of them quite illegal.

  “Can’t stay away from Tama Montezuma’s bony butt, eh?”

  “Has she got a bony behind? I never noticed. I see no one else but you.” I damaged my case by noticing a devastating set of twins exiting the Tate retail outlet.

  “When you stop shaking and get your heels off your tongue you might try for something a little more convincing.”

  “Damn.” Right behind the twins, chattering at them, came Tinnie’s cousin Rose. Rose is a brunette as gorgeous as her cousin but she’s got snakes and spiders for brains. Her face lit up like a bonfire when she saw me. “Here comes trouble,” I said.

  “She’s not bad if you understand her,” Tinnie said. “She’ll try to make something out of me being with you but Uncle Willard will say, ‘So what?’ and she’ll go off and have a good pout.” She planted a long, unsisterly kiss on me. “Be careful. Come see me. And stay away from strange women.”

  “Make up your mind.” I kissed her back. Rose was scandalized and excited. “I won’t be gone long.” I hoped circumstance wouldn’t make a liar of me. It did have a habit of doing so.

  86

  I moved carefully homeward. I hadn’t spotted a tail since we left that woods, but I was getting used to th
e idea that I could be followed without being able to catch somebody doing it. I didn’t like it, though.

  I was more concerned about the new malice in the streets. Trouble has a way of finding people who look like they’re vulnerable.

  I spent a little concern on the Goddamn Parrot, too, but because I had no control over that situation I did not let it interfere with business.

  Approaching the house cautiously is ancient habit. It felt justified today, though I saw nothing indicating trouble — unless the absence of Mrs. Cardonlos constituted a harbinger. Nor did I note any damage to the house itself. Clearly, the bad boys had not yet worked up the nerve to give it a try.

  I let myself inside — and froze before I shut the door all the way. Something was wrong. I smelled an odor that didn’t belong.

  Somebody had been inside. Somebody who wore lilac water to disguise the fact that he found bathing an unhapppy chore. Maybe Saucerhead? Tharpe wasn’t a stickler when it came to personal hygiene. Or maybe Winger?

  Not Winger. Nothing was disturbed. Winger couldn’t keep her hands off stuff.

  I moved along the hall slowly, avoiding the creaky boards. I don’t know what cues there were, other than odor, but I knew I wasn’t alone. Which meant somebody had gotten past the wonderfully expensive lock that Dean had had installed.

  I told him that damned thing was a waste of money.

  I slipped sideways, not into my office but into the Dead Man’s room. Amongst the memorabilia were tools useful for removing uninvited guests. I returned to the hallway prepared to repel boarders. I had everything but my eye patch and my parrot.

  A mountain of blubber wobbled out of the kitchen, a platter in each hand. “Puddle!” I barked.

  “Hey! Garrett! I was just havin’ a snack while I was waitin’. How the hell did ya get in wit’ out me hearin’?”

  “How the hell did you get into my house? And why? To swipe my food?”

  “I come in tru’ da door. Ya got to get ya a better lock, Garrett. Dem Hameways ain’t shit, ya know what ye’re doin’. Ya get out an get ya-self a Piggleton combernation with da t’ree tumblers...” As he nattered Puddle eased into my office. It was obvious that he’d made himself at home there and that he’d been around for a while. And that he was used to having busboys there to pick up after him. He plopped the platters onto my desk, atop the abandoned battlefields of previous snacks. My personal chair groaned as his ample behind settled.

  “Make yourself at home, Puddle.”

  “Tanks.”

  “To what do I owe the honor?” I wondered where the food had come from. Puddle definitely wasn’t thoughtful enough to have brought his own supplies. Dean must have taken pity. Obviously, I couldn’t take care of myself. Well, the whole move-out thing was just for show. For the benefit of my new political pals. I hoped.

  “Boss wants ya, Garrett. Sent people out wherever ya might turn up.”

  “What’s the story?” I snagged a chicken drumstick I knew hadn’t been in the house last time I was home. I supposed I could hunt up Mrs. Cardonlos and sweet-talk her into telling me what I’d been missing.

  Was that a gang of pigs oinking as they fluttered around my chimney?

  “Boss’ll tell ya all about it.” Puddle had his mouth full. Maybe it was him making the porker noises.

  “Give me a few minutes, then we’ll do it.” I headed upstairs. There’s a linen closet in the second-floor hall that has no linens in it. I spent a few minutes filling my sleeves and pockets and shoe-tops with assorted instruments of mayhem. I should think about buying a couple of eggs from Venable when I got back to The Pipes. I could hatch them and keep pets around the place if the Dead Man decided not to come back. If I kept them a little hungry, even wizards off the Hill would have trouble sneaking in.

  When I got back downstairs Puddle was digging around in the kitchen again. He had no shame. “I don’t get much a dis tasty stuff’round Da Palms.”

  “You could’ve picked a boss with fewer quirks.”

  Puddle grunted. “Ya ready ta go?” He shoved a couple of pieces of chicken into his pockets.

  “Not quite.” I needed to get outside some food myself. It had been a long time since breakfast.

  87

  Sometimes I’ve got an edge like a brick. We must’ve traveled half a mile before I realized, “Hey! We’re not headed for The Palms.”

  “An’ I tole da boss ya’d never notice. Dey’s people followin’ ya, ya know? An’ dey’s maybe not all da kind what ya want to know ya got da boss for a fren’.”

  “There’s times I wonder about that myself,” I grumbled, having noticed a green and red and yellow and blue ringer amongst the nearest gang of eaves-perching pigeons. A puff of cooler wind raced down the street, which seemed unnaturally calm for late afternoon in a city mad for bickering. Autumn would be along soon. Maybe, if I got lucky, the Goddamn Parrot would have a little goose in him and would head north for the winter.

  I suspected we were headed for Playmate’s stables, though, as a gods-fearing, righteous man Playmate doesn’t have much use for Morley. Any tail who knew much about me probably developed the suspicion before I did. I wasn’t concentrating. I had found a thread to worry.

  We rounded a corner, turning left. Puddle was street side of me. Two steps later he leaned into me. Hard. I staggered through an open doorway. Before I could growl Puddle started pushing. I just glimpsed an old woman squinting at something she was sewing and a homely youngster probably of the female calling who shut the door behind the fat man. Then we reached the end of the narrow, almost barren tailor shop. I looked down steep steps. A light burned a long way below. “Go,” Puddle urged.

  I went.

  A door closed behind us. It hung crookedly. The stairs had no business surviving our combined weight. Puddle picked up the light off the earthen cellar floor once we got down. It consisted of a cracked teacup half-filled with oil. The wick was a floating glob of lint. Puddle could carry the damned thing. It looked hot. And he knew where we were headed.

  “Morley really this concerned?”

  “Bad tings goin’ on out dere, Garrett. It don’t hurt none ta be careful.”

  Everybody in town was more paranoid than me. Maybe I should get a little crazy myself. “It’ll all work out. History’s drama has got a way of doing that.” But it sure can get rough on the cast and crew.

  “Ya ever go ta da plays? Dey’s a great new one at da Strand, I been ta see it t’ree times already. Called Atterbohns da Toid on account of it’s about King Atterbohns, one a da ones from way back.”

  I was surprised. The Strand doesn’t put on the kind of show I’d associate with a mind like Puddle’s. Hardly anybody would take their clothes off.

  The more excited he grew the denser his speech became. “Dat’s da Atterbohns what murdered his brodder and married his sister an’ had a baby by her dat grew up ta help his gran’ma raise dis army aginst his fodder...” He whooped off and gave me every detail, half of which were historically inaccurate. Not having seen the drama myself I couldn’t tell if the fault was his or the playwright’s. The historical Atterbohns married his brother’s widow, his sister-in-law, a perfectly respectable thing for the time, though murder was a bit of a gaffe. Less respectable was the fact that the sister-in-law orchestrated everything, including numerous other murders and the revolt of the son — who perished, along with his grandmother, in questionable circumstances later, to be followed to the throne by a six-year-old brother whose paternity was somewhat dubious.

  A play about Atterbohns III would have to be one of the new tragedies. Its moral would be too dark and heavy for a passion play or traditional comedy. “I might go see it just to see how much license the playwright took with history. Who wrote it?”

  “I dunno. We get ta da end a dis tunnel, ya gotta be quiet. It runs inta anudder one dat ain’t ours. We don’t wanna attrack no attention.”

  TunFaire has a million secrets. They probably extend two miles down into the earth and two up
into the air. Were there enough overlapping tunnels for me to sneak all the way downtown to the brewery caverns? That sent me into a tumult of speculation. If all the tunnels and caverns under TunFaire were connected, control of them would be a major asset.

  There were rumors and legends about people and things supposedly living underground. One beaut involved a king of the ratpeople who was a sort of cross between a high priest and Chodo Contague, a ratman wish-fantasy, something a Reliance would be if he had a whole lot of brains and guts and luck.

  Surprisingly, none of the legends featured dwarves.

  Puddle made a right turn when the tunnel ended. I stayed quiet, as instructed. Eventually we found a stairway from the same litter as the one leading down from the seamtress’s shop. A door stood ajar at the top. A gray light outlined it. I let Puddle get all the way up before I risked the steps myself. Having survived him I knew they would support me.

  I stepped into the entry foyer of a tenement that decades ago had entertained middle-class pretensions. Not a soul was around. The place even lacked the usual squallings of infants, yellings of husbands and fathers, shriekings of wives and mothers, whimpers of despair that characterize such places. But you could almost feel the tenants holding their breaths behind their curtained doorways. The cellar door standing ajar must be an omen of dreadful portent.

  Puddle was puffing so hard I thought he’d collapse. He wasted no energy. He used his gasps to extinguish the light, which he left on the step behind the cellar door. He closed that.

  We hit the street. Five blocks later we joined Morley in a dwarfish hole-in-the-wall. None of the hairy folk seemed to mind his elven blood.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. “Other than the obvious.”

  “The people following you have a supernatural knack for keeping track. It wanted to test its limits.”

  “That’s all?”

  “There’s more. In back.” He nodded. I preceded him past a dwarfish staff who saw nothing. We were ghosts.