Faded Steel Heat

by Glen Cook

  Sometimes life may make no sense but you can’t give up on it. You’ve got to soldier on. You probably can’t win but if you abandon the struggle the darkness rushes in and swallows everything. But, on the other hand, you do get tired fighting the good fight. Me, Block, even Relway sometimes, we all feel faded, like the steel has gone, leaving no heat.

  108

  I was relaxed. I was comfortable. It was time to go review with old Chuckles. He had to be over his worst grump about how unfair it was that everybody had done things exactly the way he’d told them to.

  I strolled across the hallway. Up for’ard Cap’n Beaky rehearsed his lines for his next effort to incite mutiny or mayhem. Once I entered his room I found that His Nibs still hadn’t started snoring. “Can we talk now? You’ve had a week. That’s time enough to get over it.”

  He didn’t say no.

  “That old man at Weider’s the other night. That really was Glory Mooncalled, wasn’t it?”

  Yes.

  “He was a big disappointment, eh?”

  Indeed. Time, as ever, is a villain.

  I waited. He added nothing, though, so I had to ask, “What wicked trick did time play you?”

  Time caused change. The fiery idealist of yesteryear has become a cold blooded, cynical, power-seeking opportunist indistinguishable from those he wanted to displace when he was younger. My illusions are dead. My innocence is gone.

  “Pardon me,” I gasped once I regained control. My stomach muscles ached, I’d laughed so hard. “That’s the best story I’ve heard since the one about the blind nun and the snake with no teeth. And I was just about convinced that you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

  Your sophmoric jocularity provides striking evidence in condemnation of that entire concept. Which is an entirely human conceit, I might note, and highly overrated.

  “Humor, you mean? Hell, even ratpeople have a sense of humor, Old Bones.” In fact, fewer humans have a good sense of humor than do members of almost any other race.

  Speak of the humorless. Dean interrupted before we got going good. He was carrying two chairs. He dropped them and left. He was back a minute later with a sawhorse, then left again. Next time he lugged in a couple of planks.

  I asked, “What the devil are you doing?”

  “Making a table.”

  “Why?”

  “For a dinner party. This’s the only room that’s big enough.”

  “Dinner party? What dinner party?”

  I invited several friends in for the evening.

  “You invited several friends? Without bothering to consult your landlord?” Or even bothering to invite him? “I want to talk about my friends. You had a couple of hours to burgle brains. What did you learn? Give!”

  Nothing of significance which you do not already know.

  He seemed unusually reticent. That suggested his ego was involved. Which meant his productivity had disappointed him. “You didn’t get anything? What were you doing? Helping Trail and Storey suck down the beer?”

  Dean brought two more chairs. I hadn’t seen them before. He must’ve borrowed them somewhere. He reported, “Both Mr. Weiders send their regrets but Mr. Gilbey will attend. Miss Alyx and Miss Giorgi will accompany him.”

  The proximity of the stormwarden made extreme caution necessary. And a great deal of attention had to be invested in tracking and, in time, controlling Glory Mooncalled. Likewise, the parrot. I had little attention left for mental espionage. He wasn’t usually so defensive. His testiness was a clue to his mental state. He couldn’t brag about his efforts that night. Which suggested he had done very little that I might find useful. Normally, he can discover something self-aggrandizing in almost anything.

  “But you already gave me enough to wreck the stormwarden and cripple The Call. So what was going on inside North English’s head? Did he put Tama up to running the Wolves?”

  Ido not know. I was not able to penetrate the man’s mind.

  What? “Uh... Not able or didn’t try?”

  Some of each. Mainly the latter as it appeared it would be a difficult task. He appeared to possess the same protection that the Montezuma woman did.

  But he had had time to shop through the heads of Nicks and Ty and Max and discover that nobody really wanted the wedding to go on.

  Many is the time I have had to remind myself that he isn’t human, that his priorities aren’t human, and, especially, that what might seem important to me will be trivial to him. “You did dig into Bondurant Altoona’s head, didn’t you? And Belinda’s? And those of other principals?”

  I attended that confabulation, humiliating myself by allowing this once proud flesh to be embalmed within a demeaning, noxious cask, only because by doing so I could at last come face-to-face with Glory Mooncalled. I invested a great deal of effort in making that meeting possible. Anything I did on your behalf was incidental. The appearance of the Stormwarden, which I did not anticipate because I had been out of touch with your researches, complicated matters immensely. In any event, you brought the matter to a successful conclusion.

  “But not a satisfying one. And now I have to deal with yet another dark suspicion.”

  Old Bones simply wasn’t interested in my problems. He shifted his attention to Dean, who was back with more lumber and another report. “Mr. Relway won’t come. However, Colonel Block has indicated that he will be present. Lieutenant Nagit will attend.” The old man never glanced at me. This was between him and the Dead Man and my opinion was irrelevant.

  And it was my fault alone that both these vipers resided in my house. Not to mention that bundle of colorful snake snack camped out up front. Though that I could blame on Morley...

  He did say Lieutenant Nagit? The Dead Man shouldn’t know Nagit from a hitching post. Nor did he know Manvil Gilbey, for that matter. What the hell was he up to?

  Lieutenant Nagit, though? We might could have become friends if he wasn’t so bigoted. His taste in redheads was impeccable.

  I might want to keep an eye on him in that area. Unless a redhead with malicious intent to make me sweat was behind his having received an invitation.

  Dean continued, “Marengo North English won’t be here.”

  Now there was a surprise. Would Marengo dine with the hired help? Who, coincidentally, had become far too familiar with his affairs and who had a tame Loghyr on staff? Not likely. Particularly in light of my sudden new suspicion, which shouldn’t have been that new, come to think of it.

  I had to take a few minutes to settle and reflect upon our interactions.

  “Miss Tate will be here.” Well, of course she would. Would she ever be far off if Alyx or Nicks were close enough to cause palpitations? Again, not likely.

  “What’s the point?” I asked. “We can’t learn anything new from any of those people.”

  The Goddamn Parrot’s laughter echoed down the hall. The little monster launched a rant almost certainly stimulated from outside.

  Occasionally I have an agenda of my own, Garrett.

  Only occasionally?

  “Miss Contague will come as well.”

  What? Why get Belinda in here amongst the gentler lovelies? She was in one of her manic, deadly phases these days. People who had challenged her rule or who had just irritated her lately were finding themselves dead in alleys or turning up missing all over town — though, to Belinda’s credit, she did restrict the mayhem to the realm of business. But when she got into one of these moods where she heard murderous commands in her father’s voice inside her head I preferred to avoid tickling her interest in me. I had hopes that interest would fade into complete indifference eventually.

  “You left out Shale and his pals?”

  Mr. Thorpe and Miss Winger, too. This is neither a reunion nor a rogue’s ball.

  What was it, then? “Is Morley coming?”

  I believe Mr. Dotes is arriving now.

  Somebody banged on the door. Dean responded. Evidently he was so excited by the challenge of managing a real dinner
that he was willing to assume his other duties without quarrel.

  “Why?” I asked. I wanted the Dead Man’s plan. He was up to something.

  “Not much to do around The Palms,” Morley said from the doorway. “Things are slow. Nobody wants to come out while that’s going on.” He inclined his head toward the street. The racket raised by a really bad marching band was winkling rotten mortar out of old masonry for half a mile around.

  The less disciplined and crazier rightsist gangs were attempting to cash in on recent embarrassments suffered by Marengo North English and The Call. They were everywhere, day and night, often armed, usually in the biggest crowds they could muster, trying to appeal to the disenchantment swamping North English’s troops.

  In the short run the rightsist movement was on a roll. As the faintest of heart of the Other Races hit the road their stronger cousins became more cautious. Fringe rightsists were making themselves ever more menacing by riding the crest of a wave of fear not ameliorated by the relative restraint characteristic of The Call. But they were just more public, not more numerous. I thought the absence of The Call from the streets would hasten the collapse of the more marginal, radical, crazy factions. Without the image of The Call they couldn’t maintain a credible camouflage of respectability, rationality, and patriotism. I was sure their popular support would evaporate.

  I expected the whole rightsist mess to collapse within a few months. And I hoped recent emotional shocks were enough to keep Marengo North English from pulling himself together before it was too late to keep his curdle-brained brother idealists from stumbling over the precipice of chaos.

  It amazed me that nobody agreed with me. Even the Dead Man seemed convinced that the madness could only feed upon itself and grow worse — instead of eating itself up.

  The Other Races — those who hadn’t yet run for the boondocks — contributed to the misapprehension with their bickering and finger-pointing. I’d bet Bondurant Altoona and his cronies were feeling pretty cocky about their chances of replacing The Call as the flagship goof troop. But all that would change. If I was right.

  Strange thing is, the streets are actually safer today then ever before during my lifetime. Bizarre but true. Only the stupidest, craziest, most desperate crooks try anything with dedicated rightsists everywhere, making sure the rest of us humans live up to their righteous standards.

  109

  “Anybody remember to invite Pular Singe?” Morley asked. He couldn’t resist a smirk. Like it was all my fault that the ratgirl had outsmarted us.

  “I didn’t invite anybody to anything,” I grumped. “I don’t have anything to do with this. Whatever this might be. It’s the chubby guy’s shindig. I just live here. I just own the place. I’m going to go up and take a nap while you all party.”

  Miss Pular has been invited.

  “That must’ve been some trick.” He was chairbound and could get word to her when I couldn’t dig up anybody even willing to admit knowing her name during my infrequent outings? “She wouldn’t come here.”

  “She’ll be here,” Morley crowed. “Count on it.”

  Which meant he was in on the Dead Man’s scheme. Whatever that was. “She isn’t your average rat, Morley. You couldn’t trick her that easily. Anyway, we don’t know that she had any luck robbing Tama Montezuma.” And outstanding luck that would’ve had to be. Tama Montezuma was older, smarter, stronger, more experienced, harder and deadlier than the baddest ratperson around.

  The hunt for the missing mistress was one undertaking The Call had not deferred. Marengo’s snoops were everywhere. He had told them Tama had been the spy responsible for the failure of the Cleansing. And I would be amazed in the extreme to learn that he was wrong. Although sabotaging the Cleansing might not have been her primary purpose, she would’ve had to keep her changer allies posted and they would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass The Call.

  Morley showed me more pointy teeth than might one of Venable’s babies after deciding that I’d make a nice snack. I knew Dotes meant to mention how disappointed Tinnie and Dean would be once I revealed my new infatuation with Singe. But he restrained himself. So I would owe a moment of charity when I got even for the Goddamn Parrot.

  Dotes said, “She is smart, Garrett. You’re right. And she’s as cunning as a rat. But we’ve both had ample opportunity to discover that brilliance alone won’t protect you from what you don’t know. And what Pular Singe doesn’t know is that the rumors she’s been hearing are pure fairy dust.”

  “What rumors? How’s she going to hear any rumors if she’s hiding from Reliance?”

  “Oh, we’re counting on her being underground. If she is, she can’t check out the stories.”

  “What makes me think something has been going on behind my back?”

  Intuition tempered by experience?

  “You’re behind this? What’re you trying to do to me, Old Bones?”

  Make you rich? Right after we save you from your dread, terminal disease, of course.

  “Ask a foolish question. What disease? I’m healthy as a horse — No, healthy as something decent and sane. A randy thunder lizard, maybe.”

  No one outside this house knows that. You have not been seen since the day you bearded Mistress Cardonlos.

  “She’ll come because she worships you, Garrett,” Morley said, still wrestling with inner mirth. “She’ll come because she won’t be able to miss the opportunity to say good-bye. She’ll come because, despite what she’s heard, she doesn’t really believe in this glob of carrion you call a partner.”

  “I don’t call him a partner. He does. Far as I’m concerned, he’s just —”

  In the meantime Morley said, “Gleep!” and leapt into the air, goosed by the glob of carrion. He didn’t come down. The glob was not amused.

  I grinned some, enjoying his predicament. I wondered if I could get him to take the Goddamn Parrot back in return for my good offices in getting his feet turned back around below his head and maybe even on the ground. “Chuckles, I don’t have a clue what you expect to accomplish tonight. Sounds like you’ve been spreading rumors that I’m dying. If I’m that sick, why do I want a bunch of people cluttering up the place?”

  “You want to say good-bye,” Morley said. Hanging bottom up from the ceiling like some kind of pretty-boy bat evidently didn’t bother him much. “So you’ve asked some of the important people in your life to come visit one last time.”

  “The pain and despair must be overwhelming me. I can’t remember why I’d invite Marengo North English and Lieutenant Nagit but not Saucerhead and Winger and Playmate.”

  All my minds will be employed fully. I will have no attention left to monitor and prevent Miss Winger’s miscreances. Nor did it seem likely that invitations to your real friends would attract nearly so much attention.

  “Which maybe tells you something about the crowd you hang with, Garrett.”

  “A crowd that includes you, old buddy. Speaking of hanging around. Keep him up there, Chuckles. Dean, see if you can find a stick. We’ll let Morley be the piñata for this soiree.”

  Dean had just come in with a disreputable-looking pair of chairs he must have found in an alley. He considered Morley. “I believe I saw something suitable in the cellar while I was recovering these chairs.” For once in his cranky old life he agreed with me.

  Dean, our other guests will begin arriving shortly. Garrett, play along for the time being.

  Morley turned over and drifted to the floor. “You should’ve let him have an extra gallon of beer last night. A hangover might help. Even in this light he doesn’t look like he’s dying. Though any honest tailor would be overcome by grief after just one glance.”

  “What will I be going along with if I don’t go upstairs? What do you hope to accomplish, anyway?”

  I wish to locate Miss Montezuma. I believe she is still in the city. And I suspect that Pular Singe knows where she is hiding. I believe that because she has broken her ties with Reliance, Miss Pular has been
unable to take advantage of her knowledge. I believe we can form an alliance beneficial to all of us if we can draw her close enough for me to initiate negotiations.

  Now I knew just enough to feel completely at sea. And I got to ask no more questions because the Dead Man’s guests began to arrive, very nearly in a rush. When Lieutenant Nagit came in, as starched as a parade-ground martinet, he was in animated conversation with the redheaded despair of my life. Tinnie scarcely spared me a glance and a feeble wave. Which was no way to treat a dying man.

  Of course, she’d be in on the gag, somehow. She’d been to the house enough to know that my health crisis must be somewhat exaggerated. And since they weren’t loading me into a hearse, I was fair game for torment. Which explained Lieutenant Nagit.

  Manvil Gilbey managed a timely arrival, accompanied by the expected brace of lovelies. Alyx looked as tasty as ever. But Nicks... Miss Giorgi Nicholas had made an effort. Miss Giorgi Nicholas must have left a trail of broken hearts all the way to my humble shanty. Miss Giorgi Nicholas looked like what the devil was dreaming about when he invented Temptation. And she’d thrown an extra log on the flirtation fire.

  Tinnie ditched Lieutenant Nagit so fast his hair streamed in the breeze as she headed my way.

  I suggest this as an opportune time to exercise extreme caution, Garrett.

  “Go teach granny to suck eggs, Old Bones.” Tinnie arrived. “You look lovely tonight,” I managed to croak with one of my last few hundred dying breaths.

  “I don’t want to see you even looking at that tramp.”

  “Which tramp would that be, my sweet? The lothario with the epaulets on his shoulders and the board strapped to his back?”

  Exercise extreme caution, Garrett.

  He did have a point. “Nicks does clean up surprisingly nice. But you’ll still outshine her on your worst day.”

  Much better.

  “I knew I should’ve worn my hip boots.” Peace had been declared. For the moment. “What’s this all about, anyway?”