Cruel Zinc Melodies

by Glen Cook

  He has protection. It does not appear to have been put into place against me. So yes. I will get to it.

  No tone? That was smug. With a reek.

  He does have a high opinion of himself.

  The sour truth, though, is that it’s justified.

  Like they say, it ain’t bragging if you can do it.

  You begin to acquire wisdom. At long last.

  I kept my opinion behind my lips. Though there wasn’t much point. “Tell me more about this Bruno who’s two guys in one corpse.”

  He intended to make you discover in your charitable heart a need to leave his daughter alone. If it wasn’t for him being dead he’d fall down howling at his own stand-up routine.

  “Do I even want to know what that’s all about?” Of course I did. If I wanted to make even a little sense of this late night raid.

  The Windwalker is out to protect her son. Who is really a daughter that she has always pretended is a son.

  “And you figured this out how?” It made less sense the more he explained. And, to speak true, he sounded puzzled himself.

  The Windwalker failed to deceive her father.

  “Uh...” You run into weird stuff all the time. In my racket, weird becomes the routine.

  Nothing gets weirder than just plain human beings.

  Strange, yes. Exceedingly, to a neutral observer looking in from outside.

  Barate Algarda knows that his daughter has a daughter herself instead of the son she has always pretended the child to be. Details are difficult to ferret out. The man’s protection is firstrate. It is reactive. The more vigorously I probe, the harder the surface around his thoughts becomes. In sum, though, it is my estimate that the Windwalker’s child is one of the Faction and your work at the World has put those children at risk, from the public, from the Guard, and, most especially, from the kind of Hill predators who would love to have command of giant bugs. Or of the sorcery necessary to create them.

  After recovering from being struck numb and dumb, I said, “I’ve faced vampires and zombies. Man-eating unicorns. Insane gods. And crazier priests. Plus platoons of professional killers and career loonies. Hell, I’ve survived Tinnie Tate and Belinda Contague almost forever. So I don’t get what’s going on here. It seems like there ought to be more to it. Something really weird.”

  Families are all weird, from outside. But one common feature, often found in even the most dysfunctional versions, is an overpowering need to protect offspring. In this case, perhaps, there has been an overreaction. There are layers of reasoning and motivation that I am not yet able to reach.

  His response to that seemed surprised and frustrated. Most thinking creatures are open books. Those with secrets keep them by staying away.

  I considered Barate Algarda. He sat there like a big, numb zombie wannabe.

  A loving father. And a thug. A bonebreaker for his child. Out to protect a grandchild strange enough to be one of Kip Prose’s crew. “There is something missing, Old Bones. I have a feeling our easy job is about to get a whole lot darker.” Until Algarda I had seen a light edge to everything. Giant bugs were sort of...

  Those insects ate people, Garrett. There is nothing light about that. And I share with you the sense that there is a darkness gathering. But I cannot identify it. And if it exists in the mind of this man, it is hidden or disguised beyond my capacity to capture.

  That had to hurt. Admitting failure was something he did not do.

  In retrospective the both of us would feel like fools. We had everything we needed to define the darkness and failed to see it. Because even a trained detective will fail to see what he deems impossible. The Dead Man was blind, too.

  There was sorcery and a sorcerer in the thing. Therefore, we decided, it must all revolve around the sorcery.

  But we kept after it. I got blisters banging my head against the wall.

  “All right. How about we start over? What did Algarda want here?”

  We have determined that. He wanted to make you stop interfering with the Faction. By whatever means necessary. Because that is what the Windwalker wants.

  “Why?” that was nuts. “That doesn’t make sense.” But in my life nuts turns up all the time.

  I cannot extract that and relate it to you in any way that you will understand. This man lives in a universe defined by laws created within his own mind and those close off every avenue I find to get past his protection.

  “He’s mad?”

  No. But he lives in his own reality, by his own code. We all do, but this one even more so than you.

  He was recovering. He had the needle out.

  “I get it. It’s sad. Instead of dealing with the child’s behavior he wants to silence the child’s critics. The child being incapable of doing wrong.”

  I do not think so. Not this time.

  That kind of thinking is common on the Hill. And elsewhere, with other powerful families. Algarda’s grandkid could be killing and eating ordinary folks, but the old folks would make excuses, cover up, and commit crimes to make her problems go away.

  “I’ve got some more general questions. Like, what’s a Windwalker? I know what a Windsinger is. Kind of a Stormwarden. I saw one call up a baby tornado one time. But I’ve never heard of a Windwalker.”

  A Windwalker uses the wind to carry himself? or herself’ through the air. Swiftly. To the point where she would employ her other talents.

  “They are real people? Not demons? Not godlings? Not sky elves?”

  Nor even talking parrots.

  “And the girl pretending to be a boy business?”

  Based on my long acquaintance with your tribe, this would be a form of hiding from herself. Just for spice, BarateAlgarda believes that at least one of the girls running with the Faction is a boy who wishes he had been born a girl. And dresses accordingly.

  “And why not?”

  Be not judgmental.

  “What? You’re all right with all that?”

  I am not involved. It is not my place to judge. Nor are you involved, except insofar as the concerned individuals may be involved in what you are supposed to untangle. And we do know that they are inasmuch as they are the creators of the oversize insects.

  Not judging. A stand we’d all do well to embrace? where adults are involved. There is nobody more obnoxious than the guy who tells you how to live your life. At sword’s point if you persist in your inappropriate behavior.

  There is no need for you to stay awake and torture yourselffor answers, Old Bones sent. I will entertain Mr. Algarda. And he will entertain me. He cannot keep everything from me indefinitely. And, being a lifelong resident of the Hill, he knows where some of the bodies are buried.

  “You’re sure?” I didn’t want to hit the sheets just yet. There was a fresh keg in the kitchen and I had an arm that needed some exercise.

  33

  Barate Algarda was gone in the morning. Sent away with memories adjusted. He should no longer see me as a threat. The Dead Man was surly. His romance with Algarda hadn’t gone the way he wanted.

  Old Bones filled me in during the interlude between breakfast and the start of my workday. He’d gotten some interesting stuff.

  The harder I worked the more difficult it became to get anything out of that man. I am compelled to express admiration for whoever prepared him.

  “So somebody did know what he would run into here.”

  No. I do not believe that was the case.

  “But...”

  He was hiding from someone else. Yet he did know your name. I got that much. At some point this evening he heard you mentioned in the context of trespassing in that ruined building. He may have been spying on Lurking Felhske’s employer when Felhske reported.

  “But...”

  That someone appears to have become upset when your name turned up. Which upset Algarda in turn, though he did not know anything about you.

  “That makes no sense. I haven’t bothered anyone on the Hill for ages.” But Relway did say there w
as a Hill interest. I don’t think Max has enemies up there who would scuttle his theater. So that would have to be about the bugs.

  They consulted oracles and augurs. They were not pleased with the results. Using “They” as the indeterminate pronoun. You have the potential to cause considerable embarrassment.

  In normal circumstances there isn’t much embarrassment left over once I’ve dealt me my own share.

  True. Time will tell us if there is any rational foundation for their dread. Answer the door.

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  You will.

  He was right.

  A peek through the peephole showed me a choice selection of the female species. Alyx Weider, Tinnie Tate, and friends, including a peppery blonde I’d never before seen.

  Be polite.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Me, be impolite to beautiful women?

  He meant that the new woman was somebody I shouldn’t offend.

  You would disappoint Manvil Gilbey if you did. And Gilbey, in his sly, quiet way, is as ferocious as Max Weider if you pop up on his shady side.

  You are maturing.

  Alyx came in huffing and puffing and spoiling for a fight. She shoved me aside. Heading up the hallway, she snarled, “What the hell am I paying you for, Garrett?”

  “Zip, last time I checked.” I winked at Tinnie. The redhead seemed subdued this morning. There was something on her mind.

  “Huh? What?”

  “Zilch. Zero. Nothing. Your daddy is paying me. And I’ve been doing pretty good. The theft and vandalism are over.”

  “You leave that crusted old son of a bitch out of this!” I eyeballed the new woman. She had a few years on the others but carried them as though they were just another plus. “Manners, girl child. And respect for the man who keeps a roof over your head.”

  “I'll show that son of a bitch some respect!”

  Alyx’s companions got busy tutting and patting and generally trying to calm her down. Except Tinnie. Tinnie had witnessed Alyx’s histrionics for most of Alyx’s life. Tinnie worked her fish-eye on me because I’d dared eyeball the new woman.

  I said, “Don’t waste your time, ladies. Alyx is just practicing her acting.” Overacting.

  I’d been around Alyx before, too.

  I flashed her my disarming boyish grin, then sealed the deal with my raised eyebrow trick.

  “You bastard.” With most of the energy gone.

  “So you were in the neighborhood. And you just decided to stop by and complain. About what?”

  “Our theater, Garrett. You were supposed to clean it up. So the tradesmen could finish their work.”

  “And? You might want to consult Director Relway. Who hasn’t been that happy about me cleaning up those bugs. Likewise, the Outfit in the Tenderloin, because their business has been affected. And, especially, the parents of the kids who created the bugs.”

  “Screw the bugs, Garrett. Get rid of the ghosts. The ghosts are why the workmen won’t work.”

  “Really? What ghosts would those be, Alyx? I didn’t find anybody who said he’d seen a ghost. All I got was guesses that what somebody thought were ghosts was really the bugs making noise in the walls.”

  Alyx wasn’t listening. “Ghosts, Garrett! Listen to me! There are ghosts! And the workmen are staying away because of them. I want them dealt with.”

  I made a couple of lazy warding signs, then asked the rest of the covey, “Did she have too much to drink last night? Or did she just get out on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

  Alyx sputtered. Fetchingly.

  She’s one of those women who can’t do anything that doesn’t instantly chunk my mind into a man’s main track. I have to confess, I’ve been heroic in my struggle to maintain my good behavior.

  All those witnesses helped, right then. Especially the quiet one.

  Garrett.

  And that witness, almost as much as the one with the copper hair.

  The lovelies restrained themselves. Though it was clear that Bobbi and the new woman had reservations about Alyx’s histrionics.

  “Anyone like tea? Or a beer? Got some Arctic Moposko....”

  Alyx sputtered again.

  The new woman said, “Alyx, the Moposkos went out of business before you were born. Control yourself.” Her calm, emotionless voice reminded me of long-service NCOs in the Corps. And had the same effect.

  The blond brat stopped her tantrum.

  Hmm.

  Keep talking.

  “Alyx, sweetie, you need to give me information, not attitude. Why do you think there’s a ghost problem when nobody else down at the World does?” the Dead Man would dig around inside her head while I distracted her. If there was anything in there, he’d find it. Which could be a straight line leading to a crack about a long search.

  Unkind thought, Garrett. I do not believe that Max Weider considers his youngest child empty-headed. Overindulged, certainly, however. A weakness on his part. He cannot help himself after all that happened to the rest of his children.

  Dean materialized. His appearance had a magical effect. The women turned convivial instantly, Alyx included. The geezer sped me a smug look. Unaware that Old Bones had taken the opportunity to indulge in a little emotional expurgation. Not to mention shameless snooping.

  I remember when he bragged about never going where he wasn’t invited. I remember believing him.

  I said, “I’d really like to hear what you have to say, Alyx.”

  The newcomer said, “She’s upset because the project is behind schedule.”

  Tinnie nodded. As though the contention needed special support.

  “I understand that. But why ghosts? And you are? Since none of these fine ladies have bothered with an introduction? Me Garrett.”

  “Me Heather Soames. Manvil Gilbey’s favorite niece.”

  Alyx snickered. Tinnie’s face darkened. Niece must be a euphemism. Which gave me a whole new appreciation for Max’s best pal.

  Heather Soames stilled Alyx with a glance. She paid no attention to Tinnie. Tinnie was playing ghost here, herself. “I’m set to become TunFaire’s first female theater manager.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. It'll be tough. But not as tough as if I didn’t have Manvil and Max behind me.”

  No doubt. Not many folks buck Max Weider.

  “You’re honest. I like that.”

  “Don’t go getting all droolly, Garrett. She’s taken.”

  “So am I, Alyx.” I didn’t look but I hoped that played well. “Heather. You talk to me about ghosts.”

  “I haven’t seen one. But something is going on. Most of the workmen refused to come in again this morning. And they know the bug problem has been solved.”

  I have enough.

  Two minutes later, all looking like they couldn’t remember why they had come by my place, Alyx and her henchwomen ’the beautiful Miss Tate included? slipped back out into the weather. Which had improved during their visit. Macunado Street was busy.

  34

  When I got back to the Dead Man’s room, I said, “You want to take a feel around the neighborhood? See if you can spot anything that might be a Lurking Felhske?” I’d caught something from the corner of my eye.

  A moment later, In the shadow of the stoop, across the street in the downhill direction. Where they always hide when they want to watch this house without being seen themselves.

  “That’s the one.” The one the neighbors all watch because a lurker means good family entertainment might be about to happen.

  There’s a chaotic shimmering. I cannot penetrate it. But that is of minor import. You need to move forward. Find Mr. Tharpe.

  “How come?”

  We must take full charge of the security function at the World. Using people we trust.

  “Ah. I see.” Not really. He isn’t a managerial type. He wants to unravel puzzles, not to get tangled up in mundanity. “This based on what you learned from the ladies? And what was Tinnie’s pr
oblem?” If she’d been any more remote, she’d have been invisible.

  Women talk about relationships. How they are working. How they are not. Miss Tate has been the butt of considerable pessimistic speculation concerning her most significant relationship.

  Uh-oh. Something more to worry about.

  I understand that the complications are as much her creation as yours. She recognizes that herself. But she cannot blame herself in front of her friends. They would say she is enabling you by making excuses for your bad behavior.

  Definitely not something I wanted nagging me right now. “Back to the subject. You learned things.”

  Principally from Heather Soames. She has an organized, scholarly mind. She is slightly insane, as well. Miss Weider, on the other hand, is as empty-headed as she appears. Yes, I know. She has her positive attributes. From a young man’s point of view. But you, as you declared earlier, are taken.

  “Taken. But not dead. Or blind.”

  The other women, including Miss Tate, have no particular knowledge concerning the World’s troubles. Only Miss Soames and Miss Weider do. Miss Soames is interested in the opportunity the World offers. Miss Weider despairs of it ever coming to fruition.

  “She isn’t sabotaging things, is she?” I’d seen stranger things.

  No. But there seemed to be substance to her ghost story.

  “How could she be the only one who...?”

  There have been others. Few with the regular sightings she has experienced, however. It would seem the sightings are of considerable emotional impact. Denying them might be easier than discussing them.

  “Hang on. How would Alyx see them? Max wouldn’t let her go near the World.”

  Max Weider knows only what Max Weider sees. And what Manvil Gilbey chooses to tell him.

  “Like that, eh? So. A targeted ghost?” In TunFaire most anything can happen. And eventually does.

  Based on anomalies in Miss Weider’s memories, it could be that she was hypnotized and told that she saw ghosts. But that seems unlikely.

  “That would mean someone close to the Weiders, or who can get close, wants to sabotage the World. I’d agree. Improbable.”

  That is all I can give you. Nothing inside her head looked like a thread begging to be tugged.