Deadly Quicksilver Lies Read online

  “After you started siccing the bird on me, maybe. By then I’d been through the hairiest part.”

  You understand that the Winger creature knew the Jenn woman and Cleaver were one, right from the start?

  “Sure. And she knew you were snoring or she’d never have came in here to set her hook. She still has an angle. She thinks. Only Emerald was ahead of everybody, probably from before she ever left home.”

  Indeed. The female of your species, if at all presentable, is capable of manipulating the brightest of you.

  “If that’s her scheme. The Belindas and Maggies and Emeralds aren’t that common, though. Luckily.”

  Far be it from me to note your eagerness to be suborned by such females.

  “Yeah. But not far enough.” In the other room the Goddamn Parrot started preaching what the Dead Man was thinking with one of his other minds. “Got to do something about that thing.”

  Somebody knocked. Once more you have the opportunity to keep your word.

  Becky Frierka. And her mother, of course.

  “Why should I be the unique truth-telling character in this part of town?”

  As I went to the door the Dead Man sent, The quest for Eagle’s hoard is vain. The burial cairn lay on a slope overlooking Pjesemberdal fjord. That entire mountainside collapsed into the fjord during an earthquake three centuries before my mishap.

  “Really?” If anyone around today would know, he would. “Might have been handy to know that before. When you were watching so close.”

  Any adventurer who deciphers the sagas discovers the truth eventually. But so much blood gets spilled that the guilty dare not give warning to the world. He loaded that thought up with a cargo of amusement at human antics. But something unrelated leaked through, too. He was worried about the political climate. He had a stake in a tolerant TunFaire.

  Details plucked from my mind didn’t reassure him.

  I pasted on my boyish grin and got to work. It took an effort to keep smiling. Becky’s mother doesn’t have a husband. She’s actively screening candidates.

  Couldn’t have been a better time for my parrot to go berserk, for my houseman to show his mean streak, for my partner to be himself. Naturally, nobody cooperated.

  I am nothing if not valiant in my efforts to do the right thing. Becky got her date, exactly according to terms.

  81

  Playmate was with me, trying to look fierce as a favor. So were Saucerhead and Winger, whom we’d collected from jail. Two weeks inside hadn’t taught her a thing, which is why I had recruited my friends. I needed help getting Winger to go in the direction I wanted.

  A couple weeks can make a big difference in the Safety Zone. Morley’s place had a new name: the Palms. Scraggly palms in pots stood out front, already wilting in TunFaire’s chunky city air. Street lamps had appeared. Elf-breed lads decked out like Venageti colonels stood by to handle horses and coaches, despite the time of day.

  Playmate observed, “I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable around here anymore.”

  “That’s the point,” Tharpe said. “Dotes has got him some high-tone ambitions all of a sudden. No place here for the likes of us now.”

  I glanced at Winger. Still sulking, she didn’t offer an opinion.

  The interior of the Joy House had been redecorated to fake the inside of a lunatic’s idea of some tropical shack. I’ve been to the islands. It didn’t work. After Morley bustled us upstairs, so we wouldn’t frighten the customers if any turned up, I told him, “There aren’t enough bugs, old buddy.”

  “What? Bugs?”

  “Tropical places got bugs. Bugs big enough you got to fight them for table scraps. Flies and mosquitos that’ll hang you up in a tree for later. And lots of them.”

  “You can overdo atmosphere, Garrett.”

  “Bugs don’t sell to the Hill,” Saucerhead guessed.

  Dotes scowled. Our presence made him uncomfortable. I hate it when people social climb. He asked, “What do you want?”

  “Just a couple wraps on the Rainmaker thing. Winger’s out, which you probably noticed. And all the trilogy books are accounted for, only somebody mutilated them. Which won’t do them any good.” And I briefed him on what the Dead Man had told me. Given their natures and acquaintances, these four would get the word spread. And people would stop following me around.

  I’d begun to accumulate watchers again. I guessed the Venageti at the Tops had mentioned my visit to someone who cared.

  Pained, Morley asked, “Seen the girl?”

  “Vanished without a trace. Gone treasure hunting, I presume.” I hadn’t tried to find her.

  “That’s it?” He was puzzled. He didn’t see my angle.

  I didn’t clue him in. “That’s it.”

  “Then I have to rush you. I have a million things that need doing before our reopening tonight. One thing before you go, though. A favor I need desperately.”

  “You’re starting to talk like those ferocious pirates. What?”

  He faked hurt. “Friends are always welcome at the Palms. But we have to present a refined image. If you could dress a little more...”

  I got no chance to respond because Winger unloaded first. “You guys ever stick a foot in a fatter load of camel shit? Can you believe this seeping sack of slime? You half-breed runt, I know who you are.”

  The lady is articulate in her own special way.

  Winger and I came to a meeting of the minds, more or less. Playmate and Tharpe took off. I straggled homeward. Winger tagged along. She didn’t seem eager to put distance between us anymore. “Garrett, it true, what you said about Eagle’s treasure?”

  “Absolutely. Came straight from the Dead Man.”

  She didn’t want to believe me but decided she had no choice. I was too damned dumb straight-arrow. “That thing awake again?”

  “And Dean came home. I’m back to being errand boy in my own house.”

  She snapped her ringers. “Shucks. Been a long dry spell, too.”

  I shook my head. This is where we started. “You never fail to surprise me, Winger.”

  “Huh?” She grabbed my arm, pulled me out of the way as a flight of pixies, buzzing like angry hornets, harried several centaur kids they’d caught stealing. Idly, I noted what looked like one of Relway’s spooks trailing the action.

  “Last time you told me that, I found out you had a boyfriend you never mentioned to anybody and he can follow me around like he’s got me on a leash.”

  She didn’t lie straight up. “Hightower? Wouldn’t exactly call him a boyfriend...”

  “No. More like a sucker who thought he was. And got dead for his trouble.”

  “Hey! Don’t you go climbing on your high horse with me! I seen you with your pants down.”

  “I’m just reminding you that people you care about get hurt, too, Winger. Lies can kill. If you have to lie to your friends and lovers to get where you want to go, maybe you’d better stop and give a good hard think about whether this is the road you have to follow.”

  “Stick it in your do-good ear, Garrett. I got to live with me. You don’t.” Which was about as close to an admission of error or offer of apology as anyone was likely to get out of Winger.

  “When you came down here fishing me in, you knew Maggie Jenn was the Rainmaker. You figured you could work an angle, you being the only one outside her crowd that knew. I won’t forget you trying to do that to me.”

  Winger never apologizes in any of the customary ways. “I found out by accident. Pure dumb luck. And nobody but her kid really knew for sure. Her old lady and Mugwump and a few others maybe had all the facts right there in their faces, but they didn’t want to believe it... What the hell am I doing? It’s over. Done. We got to move on. All the crap that’s going on around town now, this racist bullshit, there’s got to be lots of opportunities. But I’ll check it out later. Why don’t you come on over to my place?”

  A temptation, if only to find out where she lived. But I shook my head. “Not this time,
Winger.” The Dead Man wanted me to bring him up to date on Glory Mooncalled, events in the Cantard, and recent events in general, real soon now. I knew because he had the Goddamn Parrot following me around, telling me all about whatever notions happened to be bubbling through his feeble minds.

  My worst nightmare had come true. I couldn’t get away from him even when I was away from him.

  Also, I needed to consult Eleanor on potential career changes. I had some ideas. At their root were the willies I got every time I thought about being caught inside the Bledsoe cuckoo ward.

  If I had planned this thing out right, I would have been born rich and would have lived out a useless life as a wastrel playboy.

  Doing that life somewhere besides TunFaire probably would have been a good idea, too.

  Still, life won’t be completely awful as long as I’m somewhere where they keep brewing beer.