Cruel Zinc Melodies

CRUEL ZINC MELODIES

Garrett P.
I. Book 12

GLEN COOK
 

It’s winter in TunFaire, and life has slowed down for Garrett (meaning work seldom intrudes to interrupt his beer drinking and lounging about), until a parade of lovely ladies led by his favorite fiery red-head makes its way through his door. The red-head in question is none other than Tinnie Tate, Garrett’s girlfriend, and she’s accompanied by Alyx Weider, sultry temptress and daughter of the local beer baron, and several other friends. It turns out the girls have aspirations to become an acting troupe for a new theater that Alyx’s father, Max Weider, is building to keep his youngest daughter happy and to have a new vehicle for moving more of his product.

The trouble is that Max needs some help. It seems that construction of his theater, The World, is beset by ghosts, bugs, and break-ins. Garrett figures that this is pretty much a security job, and ends up bringing in some of the usual crew including Saucerhead Tharpe and even Winger.

Glen Cook

Cruel Zinc Melodies

ROC

Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing: May, 2008

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This 
ePub edition v1.0 by Dead^Man Jan, 2011

Copyright © Glen Cook, 2008

All rights reserved

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ISBN: 1-4362-0515-8

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“Cook brings a dose of gritty realism to fantasy.”

Library Journal

“Eminently satisfying.”

Booklist

BUGGED OUT

One of John Stretch’s pals headed our way. Lugging a beetle as big as a lamb. He didn’t editorialize; he just dropped the monster when I didn’t offer to take it. He headed back to the wars.

Playmate said, “Hey, Garrett, whack that thing with something. It ain’t dead.”

It lay on its back. Its legs were twitching. Its wings, ditto. Then it stopped struggling. It seemed to be assessing its situation.

“Garrett!”

It flipped. It faced me. Big brown jaws clacked.

It charged ….

The Garrett, P. I., Series by Glen Cook

Sweet Silver Blues

Bitter Gold Hearts

Cold Copper Tears

Old Tin Sorrows

Dread Brass Shadows

Red Iron Nights

Deadly Quicksilver Lies

Petty Pewter Gods

Faded Steel Heat

Angry Lead Skies

Whispering Nickel Idols

1

It was a marvelous winter. My personal favorite kind of winter. An ever-lovin blue-eyed kind of winter that slunk in early and got bitter frigid before anybody remembered where they stashed their winter coats. Snow came down more often and heavier than even the old folks could remember, and you know how their recollections work. Everything was bigger, better, sharper, steeper, rougher, and tougher in the good old days.

When it didn’t snow there was freezing rain.

The world slowed down.

I favor slow. I like loafing around the house, hard at it doing a whole raft load of nothing. Nothing being what I do best when there are no ladies present.

Dean would maintain that they couldn’t be ladies if they were hanging around with me.

The downside of the weather was, what with snow and ice, it was hard to get a replacement keg in. It was almost as hard to get out to those temples of dissolution where the golden elixir was dispensed.

All good things must end. No good deed goes unpunished. Sooner rather than later. These natural laws underpin my life.

Same as it ever was, the idyll killer was a knock on my front door.

Dean shouted, “I can’t leave this omelet.”

Always an excuse.

I climbed out of my chair, snaked out from behind my cluttered desk, crabbed sideways to the hallway door. Whoever built the house probably intended my office to be a walk-in closet. I glanced at Eleanor, central figure in the grim painting hanging behind my desk. She’s running away from a brooding mansion. One weak light burns in a high window. She’s beautiful and frightened. The light is in a different window each time I look.

There used to be the hint of a horrible, menacing presence in the dark background. I can’t find it anymore. But Eleanor keeps running.

I told her, “You seem gloomy today.”

True. I couldn’t recall the last time I saw her looking so pessimistic.

Pular Singe popped out of the Dead Man’s room. The ratgirl has converted a quarter of that into her own little office. She manages the business side of our racket. Much better than I ever did.

I asked, “You expecting somebody?” She has a half brother who won’t stay away. Which can be hard on the nerves. He’s a local crime lord. In a time when TunFaire has been suffering from a severe outbreak of law and order.

“No.”

“Maybe it’s Jerry the beer guy with the new keg.” I was whistling past the graveyard. Unexpected visitors never augur well.

I took a peek through the peephole. “Zippity-do!”

“What?” Singe asked. Instantly suspicious.

“Proof that the gods love men.”

“It is the beer man, then?”

“No. Even better.” I popped the door open. Revealing a stoop chock-full of male fantasies. The closest was Alyx Weider, naughty blond temptress and daughter of Max Weider, dark overlord of the Weider brewing empire. Max has me on retainer.

“Out of the road, Garrett,” Alyx ordered. “It’s freaking cold out here.” She didn’t wait for me to move.

I looked past the flock. They had arrived in a coach. Smoke curled from a slim sheet-metal chimney. The coachman had fled into the cabin already. The vehicle was so big it should have had oars and sails. Six matched chestnuts dragged it around. They looked like they wanted to join the coachman.

Three more honeys shoved past. I wished the weather was a little fairer. They wouldn’t be so thoroughly bundled. There was one each of the primary colors: blonde, brunette, and redhead, plus a moon-faced, raven-haired exotic with skin the hue and smoothness of honey. They put off so much heat that they should’ve been immune to the weather. Grizzled old glaciers would melt when they passed.

Whack!
A hand got me across the back of the head.

Singe snickered.

Uh-oh. Tactical error. Drooling over Alyx and the honey girl with the challenging brown eyes left my back exposed to the redhead.

Singe snickered some more. Ominous, that, coming from the unique sound box of a ratperson throat.

“Tinnie. Sweetheart. What are you doing with this crowd?”

Tinnie Tate, devoutly committed redhead, is my off-and-on main woman. Very main, of late. And possessed of not even the remotest intellectual understanding of my broad appreciation of female folk who are easy on the eyes.

“Making sure your fantasies don’t get past the hallucination stage.”

Alyx Weider being one of her best friends would factor in. Alyx has been chasing me since she was old enough to get up on her own hind legs.

I asked, “Singe, is Old Bones snoozing?”