Dread Brass Shadows Page 11

  He grinned. “I didn’t think she killed that man.”

  “World’s best judge of character,” I told Carla Lindo. “Somebody sent Squirrel to the promised land, Dean. That character Blaine, too.”

  That got Carla Lindo. “What?” She looked stricken.

  “Somebody did him. Busted his door down, tore his place up, left him dead.”

  “The book!”

  “I guess.”

  “Damn it! Now she has it again.” She jumped up, started pacing. I wasn’t so far gone in the morning blahs that I wasn’t distracted. “What will I do? Father was counting on me.

  “Take it easy, love.” My, wasn’t she a sight when she was excited, bouncing and jiggling and . . . “Whoever did it didn’t find the book. If that was what they were after. They were still trying when they were interrupted.”

  “Then . . .”

  “It wasn’t there to be found. Carla Lindo, my sweet, sit down. You’re doing things to my concentration. That’s better. You sure there isn’t something you haven’t told me? You been holding back something that would make sense of what’s been happening?”

  Big-eyed, looking shocked and hurt, she shook her head. I doubted she was telling the truth. Well, maybe, by her own lights, she was telling her own version. But it sure felt like there ought to be something more.

  Breakfast usually brightens my outlook. I had been known, recently, to go into my morning runs with a smile on my puss. This morning was going to be an exception. This morning my mood just got blacker. I didn’t finish eating.

  I pushed back from the table. Carla Lindo was still shoveling it in. Where do those little ones put it? “I’m going to see Himself.” I walked out. Dean looked hurt, like I’d made some nasty remark about his cooking.

  I was no bundle of sunshine falling on the Dead Man, either. I stepped into his room, grumped, “You awake?”

  I am now, 0 Shield Against Darkness.

  “Huh?”

  An attempt, however futile, to cajole you away from your gloom. I abandon it forthwith. There is no hope. Review events of last night.

  I reviewed events of last night. I spared no detail. I finished, said, “I’m open to suggestions.” My own best notion was to lock the front door and not answer it till the world straightened itself out.

  Hardly practical, Garrett. Blaine’s death is a setback, yes. But, I agree, it seems unlikely his murderers obtained the Book of Dreams. Unless Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler were no telling the whole truth.

  “Huh?” I was ready to get in there and mix it up with Puddle.

  I suspect that Chodo Contague would be very interested in the Book of Dreams if he became cognizant of its capacity and function. Very interested, indeed, considering his personal circumstances.

  “Huh?” Again. I was on a roll.

  Think! A flash of impatience. We have discussed this already!

  Yell, hell. Yeah. Shoot, fire. If Chodo knew what the Book of Shadows could do, he’d be after it like an addict ratman after weed. I’d bet there wasn’t a page in the whole one hundred that was a crippled old dink in a wheelchair. He could be young again. He could dance at weddings and funerals. Mainly funerals. He could chase girls and be able to do something when he caught them. Not to mention all the wonderful ways he could use it in his business.

  Yeah, Chodo and the book were not meant for each other. “I got it, Smiley. I’m slow but I get there.”

  Excellent. So. What you really came for was to get me to tell you what to do. To avoid the unwonted labor of deciding for yourself. Very well. First, avoid contact with Mr. Chodo’s people as much as possible. Try to create the appearance of disinterest in pursuing the matter further. By way of establishing a foundation for that pretense, I suggest you visit Miss Tate. Assuming, as is probable, you find her mending quickly, you have your basis for proclaiming no further interest. See to that immediately after your morning run.

  “What morning run?’ I had me a bad feeling here.

  Off we went into a grand fuss about me maintaining my training regimen. He got in the last word. He usually does. He’s more stubborn, but that’s only because he has more time. He can argue for the rest of my life if he wants.

  You must also reconnect with the woman Winger. An encounter with her principal could be most instructive.

  “Fatal, too, maybe.”

  We have no idea who he is or where he fits. His very existence lends credence to your ill-formed suspicion that there are more than two parties to the search for the Book of Dreams.

  I can’t keep anything from him. Not in the long run. Hell. I’d thought I was covering that idea pretty cleverly.

  I felt his gloating as he continued, There are two additional areas deserving pursuit. As time permits. The movements and contacts of the Blaine person before his encounter with misfortune. And the whereabouts of our friend Mr. Dotes .

  I sensed a touch of concern for Morley. I was a touch concerned myself. Nobody had seen him for a while. He wouldn’t disappear. . . . Unless he’d gone under to do a job or was sincerely concerned about his health. If his health wasn’t gone already.

  Seemed a little premature to start worrying, though. He hadn’t been gone that long. “He probably isn’t anywhere. He just hasn’t been at his place when I have. No law says he’s got to hang around waiting for me to drop in.”

  Perhaps. Even so . . .

  “I’ll check him out.” It looked like another full day. I looked forward to it with the same enthusiasm I look forward to arthritis.

  Go. Do your running. Visit Miss Tate. Visit Mr. Dotes’s establishment. Be back in time for lunch. I will interview Miss Ramada in the interim and prepare additional suggestions.

  He would, too. Probably suggestions involving trotting down to the Cantard and back.

  Ah. Indeed. Thank you for reminding me. Do keep an ear open for news of Glory Mooncalled. I anticipate word of major events soon.

  What? Had he figured some angle nobody else saw? Maybe. He’d anticipated Mooncalled’s mutiny, more or less.

  Him and his damned hobby. Why couldn’t he collect coins or used nails or something?

  Hell, I’d have to do the legwork there, too.

  I went back to the kitchen for another cup of tea. Breakfast had started working inside me. I could appreciate Carla Lindo a little more. I indulged myself till Dean started grumbling about me being in the way. Never said a word about Carla Lindo, did he? Even though he hates having anybody help him because it disturbs his rhythm and routine.

  “Well, I’m off on my campaign of self-torture.”

  Nobody seemed very excited.

  22

  Once on the stoop, I paused to suck in a couple of lungfuls of TunFaire’s chunk-style air. Because of the warm spell, it was thinner than usual, what with nobody needing to heat their homes, Didn’t have much spice at all, actually. I didn’t miss it. I looked around.

  Dang me. The sun wasn’t even up yet, hardly, and already I knew this wasn’t going to be one of my better days.

  Winger was hanging out down the way, not hiding at all, just about ten yards beyond the Dead Man’s usual effective range. She must’ve gotten around to doing some homework.

  She didn’t bother me nearly as much as did several other studious types hanging out trying to be invisible. There wasn’t a dwarf among them. They were all human, by courtesy. Not the type you want your daughter to bring home. Bent-nose boys, collective intelligence level about that of a slow possum.

  There were four of them. With Winger? I couldn’t tell. She didn’t seem to notice them. Nor they her. Chodo’s boys? They didn’t have that feel. Took me a moment to figure why.

  They weren’t neat. In fact, they were pretty scraggly. Chodo’s troops have to meet a certain minimal level of personal hygiene, dress, and grooming. These guys never heard of those words. Anyway, Chodo has more respect for me. He’d send Crask and Sadler.

  Who, then? The Serpent? But she seemed to prefer dwarves and ogres and whatnot.


  All that passed through my head in a couple seconds. I considered going inside and locking up and saying the hell with it all. Then I got mad.

  All this time I was stretching and yawning and carrying on like I didn’t see a thing. I skipped down the steps and turned right, away from Winger, skipped around a little warming up, then took off running.

  Fast. It caught them off balance. The two in the direction I was headed pushed off walls, then exchanged “what now?” looks. I was past the first before anybody made a decision.

  Then I started flying.

  Somebody else got into the game.

  Three quarrels zipped past me, plunging bolts loosed from a rooftop across the street. I don’t know why they waited till I was moving to start sniping—though I wasn’t all that long getting started and maybe they had to wake up first. The best-sped quarrel passed a few inches ahead, high. I tossed a glance back, saw a little ball of hair duck out of sight atop the only flat roof on that side of the street.

  I sailed past the second thug, heeling and toeing and whooping for all I was worth. People scattered like startled chickens. I bounded over piles of horse apples deposited since the ratmen passed through. The last watcher came pounding after me but it was obvious he lived a dissolute life. He couldn’t keep up for a block.

  I zigged into a breezeway, zagged through an alley, leaped and dodged assorted snoring drunks and weed-puffing ratmen, scavenging dogs and hunting cats and even one crippled morCartha, zoomed into always busy Wodapt Street, and faded into the crowd.

  Easy as that. No problem now till I decided to go home.

  Well, it did take a minute or two to really blend in. For a while I was whoofing and puffing so bad everybody backed away.

  I got mad all over again. What was this crap, dwarves trying to snuff me all the time? What did I ever do to them? I don’t have to put up with that. And Winger.

  I had a mind to turn her over my knee. Only she was as big as me and that might take more turning than I could manage. But I’d had about enough. I was ready to start pushing back.

  I ambled up to the Tate compound and spent an hour at Tinnie’s bedside. She was mending fine. Full of fire and vinegar. We had us a good little spat, and because she wasn’t in any shape for making up, I went away grouchier than ever.

  Barely past breakfast time and already it was a memorably lousy day.

  One of the innumerable nephews caught me before I made good my escape. ‘Uncle Willard wants to see you, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Right.” Just what I needed. A fuss with the head Tate. No matter how rotten I felt, I couldn’t get my heart into an argument with him. He’d suffered so much sorrow in the time I’d known him, unearned, that it just didn’t seem right to give him any grief.

  I went peaceably, ready to absorb whatever aggravation he wanted to give me.

  He was at his workbench. Where else? He’d told me once that the family had a touch of elvish blood. I wondered if he hadn’t fudged a little and it was really dwarfish. He was addicted to work.

  He gave me the fish-eye, face unreadable. “Sit if you like, Mr. Garrett.” Maybe I wasn’t high up his list after all.

  “Something on your mind?” I sat.

  “I understand you’re looking for the people responsible for what happened to Tinnie.”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean? Sort of.”

  I explained. I wondered how many times I would have to tell the story, in how many versions, before the dust settled.

  Tate listened closely. I know he picked out those points where I slipped past something I wanted to keep to myself. He said, “I see.” He reflected for half a minute. “I’d like to meet the person who sent that man to kill Tinnie, Mr. Garrett.”

  “It was mistaken identity. Had to be.”

  “I realize that, Mr. Garrett. Even so, Tinnie was hurt. Badly. She would have been killed had not you and your friend been nearby. Had you not intervened. I’ve given this considerable thought. I want to meet the person responsible. I’ll pay well for the opportunity.”

  He’d have to get in line, but why not? “I’ll find her. Or him.”

  “Him? I was under the impression you believed this witch . . .”

  “The Serpent? Seems likely. But, like I said, as time goes by I become more convinced there’s another party involved. Somebody working against the Serpent. And anybody else who gets in the way.”

  “The blonde woman.” He nodded. “You might question her.”

  “Yeah.” Like she was going to let me. “Speaking of her, she says her principal’s name in Lubbock. Mean anything? Ever heard the name?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Lubbock Crister, tanner. Lubbock Tool, drayage. Frith Lubbock. Wholesale greengrocer. Yon Lubbock Damascen, shipping agent. All men I’ve done business with, one time or another. Surely there are others. Historically, you have Marshall Lubbock, the imperial general. You have Lubbock Candide, the sorcerer, and his daughter Arachne, who were so black-hearted and vicious mothers still use their names to frighten children.”

  “All right. All right.” I’d never heard of any of them but the last two, but he had a point. “There’re plenty of Lubbocks out there. And this Lubbock probably isn’t named Lubbock at all. Could even be the Serpent under an assumed name.”

  The little old guy nodded again, his hair floating around his head. He picked up his TenHagens, perched them on his nose. The interview was over. He was going back to work. “Thank you, Mr. Garrett. Please do keep me posted, when you have the odd moment. And do make time to visit Tinnie. She hasn’t many friends.”

  “I will.”

  “Leo!” He called for one of the nephew horde. “See Mr. Garrett to the gate.” Just to make sure I didn’t get lost somewhere along the way.

  I hit the street feeling oddly relieved, like I’d taken care of an unhappy duty, comparable to a visit to an unpleasant maiden aunt, and now I could get on with work that mattered. I didn’t much like me when I recognized the feeling. Tinnie was no old lady turned to vinegar in her solitude. I would have to examine my feelings toward her more closely.

  I stopped walking, leaned against a wall, started the process of self-examination while considering my next move.

  23

  I don’t figure I set a record for the standing high jump but I did go up like I had wings.

  “Garrett!”

  I came down facing Winger, knowing I’d have been dead if she’d wanted me that way.

  This was a free one. The gods wouldn’t hand me another chance to get away with napping on the street. “Hey, Winger.” I hoped my voice didn’t quaver too bad.

  How had she found me so fast?

  Homework. I’ll bet she took my advice and did her homework. There was hope for her.

  I looked around. I didn’t see the guys who’d chased me. “Where are your brunos?”

  “Huh?”

  I’d forgotten she was from out of town. She wouldn’t know the argot. Brunos are low-grade hired thugs. “The hard boys who were with you outside my place.”

  “They weren’t with me. I didn’t know they were there till you took off and they went after you.”

  “Oh?” The gods shield fools, all right. “Maybe you better think about getting into another line of work. You aren’t going to stay alive long in this one.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe not. But if I go, I’ll check out doing what I want to do, not worn out from pulling a plow and making babies.”

  She had a point. One of the reasons I do what I do is because I get to be my own boss, not a creature caught up in a web of commitments and responsibilities. “I got you.”

  “It’s tomorrow, Garrett. And Lubbock is getting impatient.”

  Tough, I thought. I said, “All right. Lead on.”

  She headed toward the Hill. I let her lead and set the pace, kept my mouth shut. She walked like she was still behind a plow. Kind of a waste. If you took time to look her over, you saw she wasn’t a bad-looking woman at al
l, just put together on a large scale. Way too big for my taste. I figured she would clean up pretty nice. If she wanted.

  I asked, “You happen to get a look at those clowns who were sniping at me off that roof?”

  She grinned. “I did better than that, Garrett. I ambushed them when they came down. Kicked their butts and broke their toys.”

  “All of them?”

  “There was only four of them. Little hairy fellas. Stubborn. Trick with them is, stay in too close for them to use them crossbows but don’t get so close they can reach you. Work on them with your feet.” She skipped, kicked a foot high. I hadn’t seen boots like those since I got out of the Marines. Those would do a job on somebody. If you had the strength to lift them.

  “How come you did that?”

  “They was horning in on my game. You ain’t no good to me full of them little arrows.”

  “I wouldn’t be much good to me, either. Wish I knew where they came from.”

  “Them fuzzballs?”

  “The very ones, Winger. That makes three times they’ve come after me.” Recalling that I started watching my surroundings with more enthusiasm.

  We were headed toward the Hill. Her principal had to be a stormwarden or firelord or . . . I tried to recall which of our sorcerer elite might be in town. I couldn’t think of a one. Everybody who was anybody and old enough was down in the Cantard helping hunt Glory Mooncalled.

  If I was the political type, I’d figure this was a great time for an uprising. Our masters hadn’t left anyone to keep us in line. But I’m not a political type. And neither is anyone else. So we’ll just keep going on going on the way we’ve always gone on—unless Mooncalled pulls off his greatest coup yet and arranges it so none of -them come home.

  After deliberating, Winger told me, “I don’t know where they come from, Garrett. But I got a good idea where they went.”

  “Ah?” Turn up the charm and cunning, Garrett. Shuck and jive this rube right out of her socks.

  “Twenty marks. Silver. After you see Lubbock.”

  I’m nothing if not adaptable. “I’ll give you three.” I wasn’t carrying much more than that.