Red Iron Nights gf-6 Page 4

  I decided to start with him, work my way back to Bishoff Hullar.

  7

  Dean let me in. "What in the world are you doing home?" He hoisted his nose at the dripping I did.

  "Need to consult the genius." I pushed past but hung a surprise left into the small front room. Huh. No cat. No sign of a cat. But I smelled it.

  Dean shuffled from foot to foot. I gave him my most evil look, pretended to twist a neck to the accompaniment of dramatic noises. I headed for the Dead Man's room.

  He was pretending to sleep.

  I knew he wasn't. He wouldn't nod off before he heard the latest from the Cantard. He was obsessed with Glory Mooncalled and expected news of the republican general's adventures momentarily.

  I went inside anyway. Dean hustled in with a raggedy blanket he tossed over my chair so it wouldn't get wet. I settled, stared at the Dead Man, said, "That's a pity, him drifting off just when we finally hear something from the war zone. Make me a quick cup of tea before I hit the street again."

  What news from the Cantard?... You are a treacherous beast, Garrett.

  "The treacherousest. As bad as the kind of guy who'd send you out to follow a nut case as a joke."

  Joke?

  "You can come clean. I won't hold a grudge. I'll even admit it was a good one. You had me out there for hours before I figured it out."

  I hate to disappoint you, Garrett, but the fact is we have been hired to report the movements of Barking Dog Amato. The client paid a fifty-mark retainer.

  "Come on. I admitted it was a good one. Let up."

  It is true, Garrett. Though now, seeing the thoughts and reservations and questions rambling across the surface of your mind, I grow curious myself. I wonder if I, too, have not been the victim of an elaborate hoax.

  "Somebody really paid fifty marks to have Amato watched?"

  There would be nothing under my chair otherwise.

  I was sure he wouldn't take a joke that far. "You didn't ask questions?"

  No. Not the questions you wish I had. Had I known what a Barking Dog Amato was, I would have asked them.

  Somebody had begun pounding on the front door. Dean, apparently, was too busy to be bothered. "Wait a minute."

  I looked through the peephole first. I'd learned the hard way. I saw two women. One was hugging herself, shivering. Neither seemed to enjoy the weather.

  I opened up. "Can I help you ladies?"

  I used "ladies" poetically. The younger had twenty years on me. Both were squeaky clean and wore their finest, but their finest was threadbare and years out of style. They were gaunt and threadbare themselves. One had a trace of nonhuman blood.

  Both put on nervous smiles, as though I'd startled them by being something they didn't expect. The younger screwed up her courage. "Are you saved, brother?"

  "Huh?"

  "Have you been born again? Have you accepted Mississa as your personal savior?"

  "Huh?" I didn't have the foggiest what the hell was going on. I didn't even realize they were talking religion. That doesn't play much part in my life. I ignore all the thousand gods whose cults plague TunFaire. So far I've seldom been disappointed in my hope that the gods will ignore me.

  Apparently my not slamming the door was great encouragement. Both women started chattering. Being a naturally polite sort of guy, I halfway listened till I got the drift. Then I grinned, inspired. "Come in! Come in!" I introduced myself. I shook their hands. I turned on the old Garrett charm. They became uneasy almost to the point of suspicion. I probed only deeply enough to make sure their brand of salvation wasn't limited to humans. Most of the cults are racist. Most of the nonhuman races hold to no gods at all.

  I confessed, "I'm not free to entertain a new system of beliefs myself, but I do know someone who should see you. My partner is the most ungodly sort you can imagine. He needs... Let me caution you. He's stubborn in his wickedness. I've tried and tried... You'll see. Please come with me. Would you like tea? My housekeeper just put the kettle on." They chattered steadily themselves. What I had to say mostly got shoved in in snatches.

  They followed me. I had a hell of a time keeping a straight face. I sicced them on the Dead Man. I didn't stay around to watch the fur fly.

  As I hit the rain I wondered if he'd ever speak to me again. But who needed spiritual guidance more? He was dead already, already headed down the path to heaven or hell.

  But the grin on my clock wasn't any smug celebration of my ingenuity. I'd had me another attack of inspiration. I knew how to turn the Barking Dog business into a scam that would make us both happy.

  The man could read and write. He did his own signs and broadsides. And he was harmless. And he needed money. I'd seen that where he lived. So why not have him keep track of himself? I could hand his journal over to my client, split my fee with Barking Dog, save myself hunking around in the weather.

  The more I thought about that, the more I liked it. And who'd know the difference?

  So the heck with Bishoff Hullar. I wouldn't press my luck there. I'd stay away except to collect. I chose a new destination.

  I went off to sell Barking Dog. I didn't anticipate any trouble. I would appeal to his sense of conspiracy.

  Some white knight, eh? Our hero, third-string con artist.

  I didn't suffer much guilt. The Bishoff Hullars of the world deserve what they get. Hell, before I got to Barking Dog's place I was chuckling.

  8

  Some of us take a notion we're what the world perceives us to be, so we create images the world feeds back. You see it especially with kids. You get some pathetic louse of a parent, always sniping at his kid, telling him he's no good and dumb, pretty soon he's got a dumb, no-good kid. That's your one-way version. I'm talking about creating yourself.

  I worked at it, not always consciously, when I wanted the world to think I was bad. I didn't make my bed. I changed my socks only once a week. I cleaned house once a year whether the place needed it or not. When I wanted to look real mean, I stopped brushing my teeth.

  Barking Dog must have lived in those same two rooms for about eleven thousand years without cleaning once. The place could become a museum where mothers showed their kids why they ought to pick up after themselves.

  The smell suggested it was the one place in TunFaire not infested by vermin. The smell was the smell of Barking Dog Amato, confined and reinforced by time and made heavier by oppressive humidity. Barking Dog had no handle on the principles of hygiene.

  Thank whatever gods he'd been out of there awhile.

  I'd never seen that much paper anywhere, not even in the offices of royal functionaries. Once Barking Dog muffed both sides of a handbill sheet, he flipped the cull over his shoulder. When he brought in food, its wrappings, paper or cornhusk, joined the rejected handbills. The broken cadavers of earthenware wine bottles lay everywhere. Unscathed survivors apparently were returned for the deposits.

  The entire history of Barking Dog Amato lay there, in sedimentary layers, ready to be excavated by a historical adventurer unencumbered by a sense of smell.

  I took that in at a glance after Amato invited me in. I wasted a second glance on his furniture. That amounted to an artist's easel where he painted posters and placards and a rickety table where he calligraphed handbills. A semiclear corner boasted a ragged blanket.

  Two steps inside, I saw that I'd leapt to an erroneous conclusion. Barking Dog did indeed clean house. There was a second room, with no door in its doorway, where he moved his trash whenever his primary got too deep.

  He didn't apologize. He seemed unaware that his housekeeping varied from the norm. He just asked, "What did you find out from that Hullar?"

  "I didn't go see him. What happened was, I had an idea."

  "You didn't strain nothing doing that?"

  It must be on my forehead in glowing letters that don't show up in a mirror. "You'll like it. Be good for both of us. Here's the plan." I told him how we could make a few marks. His eye developed a malicious twinkle.
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  "Son, I'm maybe gonna like you after all. You ain't as dumb as you look."

  "It's my disguise," I grumped. "Want to do it?"

  "Why not? I can always use an extra mark. But don't you figure we ought to go fifty-fifty? When I got to take time out of my busy schedule to do all the work?"

  "I figure the split's fine at two for me and one for you. I have the contract. I'll have to rewrite whatever you give me. And I'll have to hike over to the Tenderloin to deliver it."

  Barking Dog shrugged. He didn't argue. "Found money," he muttered.

  "Speaking of money. How do you live? Not to mention pay for all that paper?" Even junk paper isn't cheap. Papermaking is a labor-intensive industry.

  "Maybe there's some with enough sense to see the truth and want to spread it." He glowered. He wasn't going to tell me squat.

  Could be a helpful believer. TunFaire boasts a fine crop of lunatics, with more ripening daily. Or maybe he was stealing paper. Or maybe he had a fortune stashed with the gnomish bankers. You never know. In this town, almost nobody is what he seems.

  I answered surliness with a shrug. "I'll catch you every couple days."

  "Yeah. Hey! Maybe you could give me a hand."

  Only at long range. His breath had taken on new freight, a heavy wine odor that combined with its previous fetor in a lethal gas. Maybe we could bottle it and send it to the Cantard. It could discourage entire Venageti brigades.

  "How?"

  "Some religious nut grabbed my spot while I was away."

  "Set up next to him, stick close, outlast him." The man's faith wouldn't outlast Barking Dog's aroma. "That don't work, then ask me."

  "All right." He was doubtful. He couldn't smell himself. His nostrils were corroded to the bone.

  "See you." I had to get out. My eyes were watering. My nose was running. My head was spinning.

  I didn't hurry home. I let the rain rinse the smell off me. I wondered if it would ever stop raining. Should I invest in a boat?

  The weather had a bright side. Flying thunder-lizards hadn't pestered TunFaire since the rains started.

  Everyone cheered when those monsters first appeared. They gobbled rats and cats and squirrels and, most especially, pigeons. Pigeons don't have many fans. But the thunder-lizards shared some of the pigeons' worst habits. The missiles they launched were both larger and more precisely targeted.

  There was talk of bounties. The monsters tended to be attracted by the Hill, where the rich and powerful live. They favor high places. The upper classes and thunder-lizards both. If the latter had had the sense to stick to the slums, there would have been no dangerous talk.

  9

  The only warning was Dean's smirk, filled with so much childish malice I knew something was going on.

  Garrett!

  Oh-oh. I'd forgotten I'd left him with those evangelists.

  I considered taking a powder. But, hell, it was my house. A man is king in his own castle. I stepped into the Dead Man's room. "Yeah?"

  Sit down.

  I sat, warily. He was too calm.

  Have you contemplated the state of your immortal soul?

  I believe I screeched. Next thing I knew, I was headed down the hall staring back at his closed door with bugged eyes. Somewhere a cat meowed. This couldn't be happening to me. It wasn't real. I was going crazy. If this kept up, I'd be out there howling at the sky alongside Barking Dog.

  It got worse. I ducked into the kitchen for a beer, found Dean at the table having tea with the religion women. One had a kitten in her lap. Dean seemed spellbound by the ropes of sand the other was spinning. The cat woman said, "Won't you join us, Mr. Garrett? We were just sharing the wonderful news with Dean. Won't you share the joy with us too?"

  Joy? She was as joyous as the piles. She didn't know the meaning of the word. The fraud. She was smiling, but that was a domino. Everything behind it was holier-than-thou sour. She would remain constipated as long as she suffered the suspicion that somebody, somewhere, was having a good time. "Sorry. Some other time. I'm just going to grab a biscuit and run." I knew her kind. A Barking Dog with a bath, only her fantasy contained a harsh, metallic flavor of violence. Barking Dog was determined to expose imaginary devils. She wanted to scourge them with fire and sword. Yet she was painfully formal and polite. If I stopped moving for a second, she would pin me and soon drive me over the edge. She wouldn't let go till I'd gotten so damned rude I'd be embarrassed for a month.

  I grabbed my biscuit and fled to my office. I asked Eleanor, "You haven't gone gaga on me too, have you?"

  She gave me her best enigmatic look.

  I settled behind my desk. Things were falling apart around me. I had to take charge before chaos conquered all. I had to get this storm-tossed ship back on a steady keel.

  It was my own damn fault, trying to pull a fast one on the Dead Man.

  10

  I groaned. I'd just gotten comfortable, and now somebody was pounding on the front door. Nobody ever comes around except to see me. Nobody ever wants to see me unless they want me to work. Nobody ever wants me to work except when I've just gotten comfortable. Then my attitude improved. Maybe it was more evangelists. I could turn the new bunch loose on the pack already infesting the place. They could go to the theological mattresses right here. I could have a ringside seat while they fought it out, toe to illogical toe.

  See. I'm an optimist. Whoever said I always look on the dark side? I did? Right. Well, when you do that, your life fills with pleasant surprises, and seldom are you disappointed.

  Answering the door provided one of the disappointments.

  I did peep through the peephole first. I did know I wouldn't be happy once I opened up. But I didn't have much choice.

  His name was Westman Block. He was the law. Such as the law is in TunFaire. He was a captain of that same Watch that couldn't catch anyone more dangerous than Barking Dog Amato. I knew him slightly, which was too well. He knew me. We didn't like each other. But I respected him more than I did most Watchmen. When he took a bribe, he stayed bought. He wasn't too greedy.

  I opened up. "Captain. I nearly didn't recognize you out of uniform." Polite. I can manage it sometimes. I glanced around. He was alone. Amazing. His bunch run in crowds. That's one of their survival skills.

  "Can we talk?" He was a small, thin character with short brown hair graying around the edges. There was nothing remarkable about him except that he seemed worried. And he was almost polite. He'd never been polite to me before. I was suspicious immediately.

  A healthy dose of paranoia never hurts when you deal with the Westman Blocks.

  "I have company, Captain."

  "Let's walk, then. And don't call me Captain, please. I don't want anyone guessing who I am." Damn, he was working hard. Usually he talked like a longshoreman.

  "It's raining out there."

  "Can't put anything past you, can they? No wonder you have that reputation."

  See? Just not my day. I pulled the door shut without bothering to holler to Dean. What did I have to worry about? I had a heavenly host on guard. "Why don't we scare up a beer, then? I feel the need." For about a keg, taken in one big gulp.

  "Be quicker if we just walk." His little blue eyes were chips of ice. He didn't like me but he was working hard not to offend me. He wanted something bad. I noted that he'd acquired a little mustache like Morley's. Must be something going around.

  "All right. I'm a civic-minded kind of guy. But maybe you could drop me one little hint?"

  "You figured it already, Garrett, I know you. I need a favor I hate to ask for. A big favor. I got a problem. Whether I like it or not, you're probably the only guy I know of can solve it."

  I think that was a compliment. "Really?" I swelled with newfound power. It almost matched the growth of my paranoia. I'm the kind of guy gets really nervous when my enemies start making nice on me.

  "Yeah." He grumbled something that must have been in a foreign language, because no gentleman would use words like the words I
thought I heard. Watch officers are all gentlemen. Just ask them. They'll clue you in good while they pick your pocket.

  "What?"

  "I'd better just show you. It isn't far."

  I touched myself here and there, making sure I was still carrying.

  After a block, during which he muttered to himself, Block said, "We got a power struggle shaping up up top, Garrett."

  "What else is new?" We haven't had a big shake-up or a king bite the dust for a couple years but, overall, we change rulers more often than Barking Dog changes clothes.

  "There's a reform faction forming."

  "I see." Bad news for his bunch. "Grim."

  "You see what I mean?"

  "Yeah." I'd heard grumblings myself. But those were there all the time. Down here in the real world we don't take them seriously. All part of politics. Nobody really wants change. Too many people have too much to lose.

  "Glad you do. Because we got something come up that gots to be tooken care of. Fast. We got the word. Else it's going to be our balls in a vise." See? He even talked like a gentleman.

  "Where do I come in?"

  "I hate to admit it, but there ain't none of us knows what to do." Damn! He was in trouble. He was scared. They must have showed him a vise heated red hot, with ground glass in its jaws. "I put in some time thinking. You was the only answer. You know what to do and you're straight enough to do it. If I can get you to."

  I didn't say anything. I knew I wasn't going to like what I was about to hear. Keeping my mouth shut kept my options open. Marvelous, the restraint I showed in my old age.

  "You help us out with this, Garrett, you won't be sorry. We'll see you're taken care of fee-wise. And you'll be covered with the Watch from here on in."

  Well, now. That would be useful. I've had my troubles with the Watch. One time they laid siege to my house. It took some doing to work that one out.