Authors: Glen Cook
I didn’t want to go anywhere near the kingpin but I was starting to suspect I’d have to. He might know what was going on.
25
It had turned dark. The rains had gone. My pal Mumbles hadn’t. He was right where I’d left him, soggy, and shivering in the breeze. It was cold. A freeze before dawn wouldn’t be a surprise.
I passed within two feet of him. “Miserable weather, isn’t it?” I wish there’d been more light, the better to appreciate his panic.
He decided I was just being friendly, that I hadn’t made him. He gave me a head start, then tagged along. He wasn’t very good.
I wondered what to do with him. I couldn’t see him as a threat. And he couldn’t report on me while he was on my trail — if he wasn’t just a drunk who liked to follow people.
I thought about going back to the Blue Bottle to check him out but couldn’t bring myself to go nose to nose with Big Momma again. I thought about giving him the shake, then reversing our roles. But I was tired and cold and hungry and fed up with walking around alone in a city where some strange people were taking too much interest in me. I needed to go somewhere where I could get warm, get fed, and not have to worry about watching my back.
Home and Morley’s place recommended themselves. The food would be better at home. But at Morley’s I could work while I loafed. If I played it right I could get my job on Mumbles done for me. The disadvantage was the food.
It was the same old story. The crowd — down a little because of the weather — went silent and stared when I stepped inside. But there was a difference. I got the feeling that this time I wasn’t just a wolf from another pack nosing around, I was one of the sheep.
Saucerhead was at his usual table. I invited myself to join him and nodded politely to the cutie with him. He has a way of attracting tiny women who become fervently devoted.
“I take it Jill Craight didn’t get in touch.”
He wasn’t pleased by my intrusion. The story of my life. “Was she supposed to?”
“I recommended it.” I had the feeling he was surprised to see me. “She needs protection.”
“She didn’t.”
“Too bad. Excuse me. Morley beckons.” I nodded to his lady friend and headed for Dotes, who had come to the foot of the stairs.
Morley looked surprised to see me, too. And he was troubled, which wasn’t a good sign. About the only time Morley worries is when he has his ass in a sling. He hissed, “Get your butt upstairs quick.”
I went past him. He backed up the stair behind me.
Strange.
He slammed his office door and barred it. “You trying to start a riot, coming around here?”
“I thought some supper would be nice.”
“Don’t be flip.”
“I’m not. What gives?”
He gave me the fish eye. “You don’t know?”
“No. I don’t. I’ve been busy chasing a two-hundred-year-old phantom charity. Here’s your chance. What gives?”
“It’s a marvel you survive. It really is.” He shook his head.
“Come on. Stop trying to show how cute you are. Tell me what’s got your piles aching.”
“There’s a bounty out on you, Garrett. A thousand marks in gold for the man who hands over your head.’’
I gave him a hard look. He has the dark-elfin sense of humor.
He meant it.
“You walk into this place, Garrett, you jump into a snake pit where the only two cobras that won’t eat you are me and Tharpe.”
And I wasn’t so sure about Morley Dotes. A thousand in gold can put a hell of a strain on a friendship. That’s more than most people can imagine.
“Who?” I asked.
“He calls himself Brother Jerce”. Staying at the Rose and Dolphin in the North End, where he’ll take delivery anytime.”
“That’s dumb. Suppose I just waltzed in to take him out first?”
“Want to try? Think about it.”
There’d be a platoon of smart boys hanging around figuring I might try that.
“I see what you mean. That old boy must be worried I’ll get next to him somehow.”
“You still not working on something that’s going to get you killed anyway?”
“I’m working now. For myself. Trying to find out who wants to kill me. And why.”
“Now you know who.” He chuckled.
“Highly amusing, Morley.” I dragged one of my copper temple coins out. I hadn’t shown them all at the Assay Office. I sketched what I’d learned. Then, “Carathca was a dark-elfin city. Know anything about it? This thing seems to go back there.”
“Why should I know anything more about Carathca than you do about FellDorhst? That’s ancient times, Garrett. Nobody cares. This thing keeps yelling religion. Find your answers in the Dream Quarter.” He studied the coin. “Doesn’t say anything to me. Maybe you ought to have a skull session with the Dead Man.”
“I’d love to. If I could get him to take a twenty-minute break from his crusade against consciousness.”
Someone pounded on the door. Morley looked startled, then concerned. He indicated a corner. “What is it?”
“Puddle, boss.”
Morley opened a large cabinet. It was the household arsenal, containing weapons enough to arm a Marine platoon. He tossed me a small crossbow and quarrels, selected a javelin for himself. “Who’s with you, Puddle?”
“Just me, boss.” Puddle sounded confused. But life itself confuses Puddle.
Morley lifted the bar and jumped back. “Come ahead.”
Puddle came in, looked at the waiting death, asked, “What’d I do, boss?”
“Nothing, Puddle. You did fine. Close the door and bar it, then fix yourself a drink.” Morley replaced the weapons, closed (he cabinet, and settled into his chair. “So what do you have for me, Puddle?”
Puddle gave me the fish eye, but decided it was all right to talk in front of me. “Word just came that Chodo put a two-thousand-mark bounty on that guy who put the thousand on Garrett.”
Morley laughed.
Great. “It isn’t funny.” Here was a chance for the daring to make a truly outrageous hit by selling my head to Brother Jerce, then taking his and selling it to Chodo.
Morley laughed again, said, “It is funny. The auction is on. And this Brother Jerce would have to be awful naive to think he could outbid the kingpin.”
TunFaire is full of people who want to do favors for Chodo.
Puddle said, “Chodo says he’ll give two hundred a head for anybody who even talks about laying a hand on Garrett. Three if you bring him in alive so he can feed him to his lizards.”
My guardian angel. Instead of using guard dogs he has a horde of carnivorous thunder lizards that will attack anything that moves. He favors them because they dispose of bodies, bones and all,
“What a turnaround!” Morley crowed. “Suddenly you’ve got everybody in TunFaire looking out for you.”
Wrong. “Suddenly I’ve got everyone watching me. Period. And getting underfoot, maybe, while they wait for somebody to take a crack at me so they can snag him and collect on him.”
He saw it. “Yeah. Maybe you’d be better off if everybody thought you were dead.”
“What I should do, if I had any sense, is say the hell with it all and go see old man Weider about a full-time job at the brewery.” I got myself a drink uninvited. Morley doesn’t indulge but he keeps a stock for guests. I thought. Then I told Morley about Mumbles and how I’d like to know a little more about him, only I’d had about all I could take for one day and just wanted to go home and get some sleep.
Morley said, “I’ll put a tag on him, see where he goes.” He seemed a little remote since Puddle’s advent, which is how he gets when he’s thinking about pulling something slick. I didn’t see how he could make things worse so I didn’t really care.
“It should be safe now. I’m heading out.” I no longer wanted what I’d gone there to find. The quiet and loneliness of home had more appeal.
“I understand,” Morley said. “Keep Dean over and have him wait up. I’ll get word to you. Puddle, send me Slade.”
“Thanks, Morley.”
Things had changed downstairs. Word was out. I didn’t like the way they looked at me now any more than I’d liked their looks before.
I went out into the night and stood a few minutes in the cold letting my eyes adjust. Then I headed for home. As I passed Mumbles I said, “There you are again. Have a nice evening.”
26
I strolled into Macunado Street daydreaming about a pound of rare steak, a gallon of cold beer, a snuggly warm bed, and a respite from mystery. I should have remembered my luck doesn’t run that way.
The pill-brain microdeity whose mission is to mess with my life was on the job.
There was a crowd in front of the house. Floating in the air around it were a half-dozen bright globules of fire. What the hell?
I was running slow in the gray matter. It took me a minute to realize what had happened.
Some fans of mine had decided to firebomb my house. The Dead Man had sensed the danger and wakened, catching the bombs on the fly and juggling them now, to the consternation of bombers and witnesses.
I pushed through. The bombers were still there, rigid as statues, faces contorted into shapes as ugly as the gargoyles on Chattaree. They were alive and aware and as frightened as men can be. I stepped in front of one. “How you doing? Not so good, eh? Don’t worry. It’ll turn out all right.”
The bombs began to sputter. “I have to go inside. Wait right here. We’ll chat when I get back.” I knew he’d be thrilled.
Dean opened the door a crack. “Mr. Garrett!” Yeah. Right. I shouldn’t be playing with these guys. “See you in a couple.” I trotted up the steps. Dean let me in, slammed the door, secured all the bolts.
“What’s going on, Mr. Garrett?”
“I kind of hoped you’d tell me.” He looked at me like I was off my nut. He probably wasn’t far wrong.
“So let’s see what Chuckles has to tell us.” I wouldn’t need to bust my butt and theirs if I could get the Dead Man to read their minds. It would save everyone a lot of trouble — except for him.
I went into the room. Dean waited outside. He won’t go in unless he has what he considers a compelling reason. “I’ll keep an eye on those brigands, Mr. Garrett.”
“You do that.” I faced the Dead Man. “So, Old Bones. You will wake up to save your own skin. Now I know how to get your attention. Light a fire under you.”
Garrett, you plague upon my final hours, what have you brought down upon my house this time?
“Nothing.” It was going to be one of those discussions.
Then why are those maniacs pitching bombs at me?
“Those boys outside? Hell. They don’t even know about you. They’re just having fun trying to burn my house.”
Garrett!
“I don’t have the slightest idea. You want to know, poke around in their brains.”
I
have. And I have found a fog. They did it because they were told to do it. They believe they need no other reason than the will of the Master. They were joyful because they had been entrusted with a task that would please him.
“Now we’re cooking. The Master? Who is he? Where do I find him?”
I can answer neither question. It may not be possible. I do not exaggerate when I tell you it is their express and certain belief that the Master they serve has neither form nor substance and manifests himself only where and when he chooses, in any of a hundred forms.
“He’s like a ghost or spirit or something?” I wasn’t going to say the word god.
He is a bad dream that has been dreamed by so many so intensely that he has gained a life of his own. He exists because will and belief compel him to exist.
“Woo-oo! We’re getting weird here.”
Why did you stir these madmen up, Garrett?
“I didn’t stir anybody, Chuckles. They stirred me. Out of the blue, for no reason, somebody has been trying to send me off. Crazy stuff has been happening all over. Especially in the Dream Quarter. Maybe I ought to catch you up on the news.”
I am supremely uninterested in your squalid little slithering’s through the muck and stench of this cesspit city, Garrett. Save it to impress the tarts you drag under my nose to harass me.
So, he was crabbed about Jill. He doesn’t like women much. Having one in the house will set him off every time. Tough.
“So we’re going to go straight from the snooze stage to the sulks, eh? Saves us time on courtesy and catching up on the latest adventures of Glory Mooncalled. We’ll just wake up and act like a cranky three-year-old.”
Don’t vex me, Garrett.
“The gods forefend! Me be vexatious? With my angelic disposition?” I didn’t like this.
We go at it tooth and claw but it’s always a game. There was a dark undercurrent of hostility this time. This wasn’t play. I wondered if he was moving into some new and darker phase of being dead. Nobody knows much about dead Loghyrs, or even much about live ones for that matter since both kinds are so damned rare.
You have had the benefit of my wisdom and instruction long enough to stand on your own legs now, Garrett. There is no justification for your incessant pestering.
“There isn’t any for your freeloading, either, but you do it.” My temper was shorter than I’d thought. “The Stormwarden Raver Styx wanted to buy you a while back. She made a damned good offer. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so damned sentimental.”
I stepped out then, before the foolishness got out of hand. I looked for Dean. He was watching the street. The firebombs had burned out. With no entertainment to be had the crowd had dispersed. But the bombers were still there, rigid as lawn ornaments. “Help me carry one of those guys in so I can ask him what he was doing.” I opened the door.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” No Mr. Garrett anymore. He’d stopped being scared.
“No. I’m never sure of anything. Come on … Damn his infantile soul. Look at that.”
The Dead Man had turned loose. The bombers were running like frightened mice.
Even in my anger I didn’t really think he’d let go out of spite. He’s long on argument but he’s also long on sense. My guess was he’d hoped I could track them to their hideout. Which meant he hadn’t taken a close enough look at me.
I couldn’t fault the reasoning but I couldn’t carry it off, either. I didn’t have any energy left. Too much activity, not enough rest.