Cruel Zinc Melodies

by Glen Cook

  The Director was waiting. He wasn’t alone.

  Colonel Block was there to assist. I didn’t know the third man. The deference he received suggested that he was Prince Rupert. The law and order fanatic in the royal household. He had a definite Relway-like gleam in his hard gray eyes.

  Prince Rupert was just two failed hearts away from Karenta’s throne. And he might get there. Which might be good for the kingdom. He had strength. Karenta needs a strong ruler.

  In this pecking order the low man was Deal Relway. Barring lower-than-gravel Garrett, of course, and the gawkers wandering past.

  Relway started by asking questions obviously not his own.

  He was no more happy than I, at the moment.

  He is the most absolute realist I’ve ever met. He knows reality more intimately than he knows his own suite of perversions. He knows he can get anything he wants, and more, if he’s just patient and pliable when the right people are around. He knows that most people who matter agree with the Director of the Unpublished Committee for the Security of the Crown, whatever they offer for public consumption.

  Deal Relway is what he needs to be. Patient. Clever. Deadly. Unacquainted with pity, conscience, or remorse. He may be TunFaire’s future. Nine of ten of the king’s subjects will be thrilled with the future Deal Relway wants to create.

  And there I was. Before much got said, bemoaning? in all privacy, of course, the tyranny sure to come. The tyranny certain to make life more safe, secure, and comfortable for the nine of ten.

  Inarguably, in a TunFaire run by Deal Relway, the only frightened people should be crooks. But the crook class would include anybody who didn’t like the way Deal Relway operated.

  Relway stopped after a half hour of random questions, all of which I answered honestly. And which, frankly, left me puzzled because they didn’t have that much to do with what was going on. Then he and the prince became observers. Along with the ever-changing gallery. Colonel Block said, “You put us in a tight place this time, Garrett.”

  “I’m gonna confess right up front, Colonel. I haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Some Hill people got hurt bad at your place yesterday. Two dead, on scene. Another died right after. Two more could still go.”

  “That’s bullshit. Link Dierber died. Shadowslinger and Schnook Avery had some broken bones. The other three maybe got a couple bruises apiece. You want me to be honest with you, you maybe oughta not bullshit me.”

  “You?”

  “Hold on. You guys want to run the world a whole new way. You want to make everybody responsible for their own behavior. Well, get your heads around that this time. Furious Tide of Light brought those people to the World. They were all family of the kids who created the bugs. I had nothing to do with them showing up. Neither did the ownership. If I’d known they were coming I would’ve tried to keep them away. They were sure to interfere with work. And they did. With all the tact their kind usually show. There was bad blood between one of them and one of my consultants. They were half brothers. They had an old feud none of those people would explain. I don’t think it matters, really. The feud caught fire. If I was you slugs I’d worry about Schnook Avery instead of harassing that harmless old fuzz ball, Garrett. Who had nothing to do with any of it.”

  Block responded, “Fact is, we can harass you as much as we want. Nobody will care. Hill folk, on the other hand...”

  “I'll care. A lot. One or two others might, too.”

  Prince Rupert made a calming gesture. Saying nothing. He was kind of a goofy-looking guy, tall and lean.

  Block nodded. “No point in getting in a pissing contest because the man rubs me the wrong way.” That for the benefit of his audience. “Particularly since he’s connected with TunFaire’s top financiers, magnates, industrial doyens, and criminal masterminds.”

  Block made the point gently and obliquely but in a way that wouldn’t be misunderstood. Ma Garrett’s boy is tight with some major players. Who might take mortal offense for no reason a true blue blood would understand.

  Senior folk at the social poles, like Relway and the prince, have to nurture the happiness of the stinking-rich merchant classes. They don’t like it. But they have to honor the power of the money.

  Another face of the future.

  I gained respect for Prince Rupert during the prolonged consultation. He said little. He listened. And he heard. When he did speak he avoided stupid with disarming ease, though he never had much to say. I found myself hoping he would have the misfortune to ascend the ladder of succession. Karentine monarchs are ephemeral, crowned and often murdered before we get used to seeing their profiles on the coinage. I didn’t know anyone I’d rather see cursed with the Crown.

  Eventually, I asked, “Can you tell me the point to all this?” I gestured at the red top parade. “Why do those guys need to come gawk at me?”

  Prince Rupert was interested in my coat. The fifth time he asked about it, I said, “I’d give it to you if I had anything else to wear.” I sang the sad song of the demise of my own coat, thanks to the good Director. I added several verses about Mr. Jan taking forever to finish the replacement, thanks to the good Director.

  The good Director ground his teeth.

  Colonel Block took me to the exit personally. “You did good in there, Garrett. You didn’t let us rattle you. You even almost convinced me that you were telling the truth.”

  I had a creepy feeling that I’d survived some kind of test.

  “I was. There’s no reason to hide anything. Especially since the Hill people got involved.” There had been mention of those folks, off and on, but I’d gotten the impression that the prince didn’t care. He was more interested in the kids. And me. “Mr. Weider and I are better off having you know the truth. We might find ourselves needing the friendship of the Crown’s men. Besides, isn’t it every subject’s duty?”

  “Don’t lay it on with a trowel, Garrett. Your cooperation has its boundaries.”

  Well, yeah. I’d withheld a few trivialities. But he didn’t need to know about John Stretch’s talents. And it wouldn’t do to mention an improbable dragon, of potentially sun-darkening magnitude, snoozing on a treasure way down deep beneath the World.

  “I look out for my clients. Sometimes having you in the know is what’s best.” He had to get that into his head. That was a truth as solid as stone.

  “Right.” He winked. “Stay warm out there, Garrett.”

  82

  “Hey, Garrett! Nice coat,” Saucerhead said when I slipped in through the front door at the World. “What kind of fur is that?”

  “Beaver, I think.” It was obvious why Tharpe and his crew were huddled up inside. The ghosts weren’t active and it was almost warm. Water remained liquid. “Prince Rupert traded it to me for the one I’ve been wearing. The ghosts on a holiday?”

  Derisive laughter from all hands.

  “Truth, Head. He wanted it so he could get one like it made.” I needed to move on. But I couldn’t. “Relway had me dragged in. The Prince was at the Al-Khar. He saw that coat and fell in love.”

  I don’t know why I expected him to believe that. Dumb-ass street thieves made up better stories. “What’s been happening? Have you seen Playmate?”

  “Yeah.” Tharpe wanted to go on giving me a hard time, but he did take time out for business. “He came by. He brung them two black cases over there. He said tell you the ratpeople can’t make it today. Maybe tomorrow, if the weather is better.”

  I got busy with the cases, the little one first. It could win me friends.

  I dragged out a heavy doeskin sack as Tharpe wound up to get back to my fabrications about an obviously stolen beaver coat.

  The atmosphere changed. Saucerhead purred. “Garrett. My main man. What do you have in that sack, my brother?” He heard the music of the metal.

  I showed him my precious metal trumps.

  I had friends.

  They stayed friends even after they hid their money in the
ir purses and pockets.

  I said, “It’s too warm in here, guys. Whatever you think.”

  Saucerhead said, “You keep trying to freeze the place out. How come?”

  I told him.

  In moments it was obvious the dragon would go over worse than my beaver coat story. Had to be pure, unadulterated, nine ninety-nine fine, one ninety proof, Garrett-style bullshit. Which I shouldn’t have been retailing, anyway.

  My ego kicked in. I started getting hot. Then I recalled an incident from boot camp, nine days in.

  We’d had only a couple hours of sleep. The drill gods were breaking us down. They rolled us out for some pre-dawn recreation. I got my undershirt on backward in my haste to avoid being last man out, which would guarantee the descent of the wrath of Sergeant God. I didn’t yet understand that the wrath would find a way, no matter how hard I tried.

  When my error was pointed out, in a friendly way, by a fellow recruit, I snapped. I insisted that this shirt was made that way and I had made no error.

  I knew I was being stupid while I said it. But I couldn’t stop.

  That haunted me the rest of boot camp. The guys never looked at me the same. I never regained their complete trust and respect. Luckily, I wasn’t posted to the same outfit when we went to the fleet.

  The drill gods are all-seeing. All-knowing. And pretty wise.

  I did good after that one stumble.

  If I let the red beast grab hold of me here, these guys would look at me the way those guys in my training company had. They knew I wasn’t right. It wouldn’t matter if this shirt really was made that way.

  “You’re too smart for me. They thought I could sell it.” I named no names, nor revealed why “they” wanted the suggestion of a dragon planted. “Gods be damned!”

  “Garrett? What?” Saucerhead looked like he was wondering if he ought to be scared. Garrett was acting weird today. Weirder.

  “I just realized. I got jobbed.”

  What I’d realized was that having people think there was a treasure-brooding dragon down there guaranteed disaster. Dozens of story cycles include a “hero” who separates a dragon from its treasure nest. That should be harder in practice than in fable. A dragon’s hoard could become a total metropolitan obsession, worse than an unreasoning lust to be one of the earliest to own a custom-built Prose Flyer three-wheel. Greed would drive this obsession, not mere envy.

  This truth had to be guarded. And shaped. Else this dragon would be nudged awake. And then? Disaster.

  I told Saucerhead, “I don’t know what the grift is. I do know I’m not half as smart as I thought.”

  He grunted.

  “This is where you’re supposed to jump in and give me some positive reinforcement.”

  He grunted again. Probably trying to figure out what those big words meant.

  “All right. Be that way.” I sulked. Selling that. Hoping word would now go out that Max Weider, ever clever, was salting a gold mine by having his cat? s-paw Garrett go round spreading bullshit about a dragon. Just, coincidentally, a dragon, and hoard, buried under a Weider theater due to open in a couple of months.

  People would figure the giant bugs were part of the publicity scheme, too. And if they did, we’d get the Faction kids out of trouble easy.

  Which, no doubt, would happen anyway. They were related to the right people.

  I chugged around the circle of speculation. My own occasional special cynical conviction that there are secret masters got me wondering if the ghost problem hadn’t really been orchestrated by Max and Manvil.

  Sounded dramatic enough. Ah! What a wonderfully psychotic reality that would be. But the notion failed two critical tests.

  First, Simplest Explanation.

  The simplest and most obvious explanation of any phenomenon is usually the correct one.

  Second, the Stupidity Test.

  It’s unnecessary to invoke complex, convoluted conspiracy theories where plain old human stupidity suffices as an explanation.

  “I’m getting old, Head. The inside of my melon is starting to fill up with the kind of stuff old Medford is always spouting.”

  Saucerhead knows my grand-uncle. He chuckled. “There’s a lot of that going around, Garrett. And not just because we’re getting old. The world is changing. On account of, peace broke out. And that means things can’t stay the same. Nobody likes it but it’s so plain even dummies like you and me get to thinking about it.”

  I do believe my jaw dropped. That was the deepest I’d ever heard Saucerhead get.

  If you hang around long enough, and pay attention, you see that even the dim people can work through to some amazing conclusions. It’s all a matter of speed.

  My inclination was to pretend that I hadn’t caught any of this. Following trails well blazed by brigades of my social betters before me.

  But Saucerhead Tharpe was standing right there, looking me in the eye, waiting. Smugly confident that I would disdain real reality for the preferred, officially predecided reality.

  “You don’t know me as well as you think, big guy.” But we weren’t getting paid to save any slice of the realm other than this pimple of a theater. “So let’s look at what we’ve got. Quickly, because the money guys are going to ask me some tough questions real soon. We'll all be out of work if they don’t like the answers.”

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you? You’re chattering.”

  “Yeah.” Max was indulgent in the extreme. I’d done him a lot of good the last few years. But mine is a “What have you done for me lately?” line of work. Putting the Weider Empire out in front of the Hill mob might be a straw that Max would refuse to carry. “So, tell me what’s going on here.”

  “A whole lot of nothing. It’s totally quiet. No bugs. No ghosts. No bad guys. No freaks. That I noticed.” Possibly implying that current company was questionable.

  “No workmen?”

  “Not so much their fault. Take that up with the tin whistles. They’re all worried about if they let those guys in they'll mess up the evidence.”

  “What evidence? What happened in here was mostly illusion. The real shit went down outside. In front of witnesses.” Few of whom had produced reliable statements, I was sure.

  Saucerhead shrugged. “I’m just reporting.”

  “Yeah. I got that.” I went back outside.

  The red tops were holed up in Saucerhead’s guard shack, concentrating on not freezing to death. They were a lot colder than the men they had dispossessed. They had used up all the fuel. I wasn’t going to buy any more. They had one candle burning, providing weak light and a futile defense against the cold.

  “You guys need to come inside the big place. It’s warmer.” And I could give them their due ration of shit without freezing my own favorite bits off.

  Some didn’t want to go. But it was seriously cold. Their one candle was all that stood for the memory of summer. They quickly found the limits of their motivation.

  We all sat around the floor of the World, telling tall tales and outright lies. I’d been tempted to close a few vents to raise the temperature. That temptation I could resist more easily than the one involving a tall, smoldering, apparently willing blonde sorceress. Who could well just want to use me for something less exciting.

  Of all unlikely creatures on the gods? frozen earth, Pular Singe wandered in. Only she wasn’t wandering. She was in a damned big hurry, despite being bundled up till she could barely move.

  This couldn’t be good. Disaster was about to sweep me up and chunk me into the dustbin of misery.

  Singe cut me out of the crowd. Another bad sign. “What’s up?” I had to force the words.

  She made sure we were too far away to hear, and that my back was to anybody who might read lips. “A man came from that Mr. Jan.”

  “The tailor?”

  “I don’t know that. Presumably, since you went to him for a fitting. The man said get word to you that Mr. Jan needs you back as soon as possible. That it’s urgent. He will ref
und the price of that thing you were wearing if you get there before the bells toll four.”

  “What’s going on, Singe?”

  “I don’t know. The messenger said it was urgent. The Dead Man told me to get you, fast as I could. He would not tell me what he saw inside the messenger’s head.”

  “Why send you out? Why not that Joe Kerr kid?”

  “Because you would not take the boy seriously.”

  Probably not.

  The fact that Old Bones wanted me to take this seriously meant I ought to do exactly that. Despite the comforts of the World. Such as they were.

  “And that’s really all you can tell me?”

  “That’s all. Except for the sense of urgency. Speaking of. I have an urgency of my own. Where can I?”

  Excellent question. “The construction guys use the honey buckets behind those screens. Or they take it into the alley out back. Saucerhead has a garderobe attached to his shack.”

  Damn! I’d just found Max a whole new problem. I’d been over the World top to bottom. The architects hadn’t provided any personal relief facilities. Something would have to be done. The high-end punters weren’t going to have their wives or mistresses go squat in the alley during intermission.

  Hey. This might be another business opportunity. I could take over one of those places across the way and turn it into a pay-per-pee facility.

  Singe told me, “Never mind. I have to get back home. They need me there.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing to concern you. Go find out why your tailor needs to see you.” Trailing a huge, put-upon sigh, she headed for the front door. Starting to develop a little attitude, that girl. I might lose her to the Faction.

  “What was that?” Saucerhead asked when I came back over.

  “One of those? got to do it right now, this minute, I don’t care if hellis freezing over? missions from the Dead Man. I’ve got to go, guys.”

  Tharpe’s people all smiled and waved. They’d just gotten paid.

  Before I hit the big cold white I opened the other, larger case so its contents could breathe.