Dread Brass Shadows (11 page)

Facts don’t bother Dean much. He’s still fifteen years old inside. He never stopped believing in the kind of magic kids carry around inside them before reality beats them down. He gave me another look at his glower. He was on a roll, He said, “Give me a couple more minutes.”

“I’ll go report, then.” I went and told the Dead Man about my excursion into that world where Dean’s brand of magic has died.

He had no direct comment.
Go meet the girl.
Chuckle.
You will be surprised.

The Dead Man scores his points I was surprised.

She was gorgeous. Luscious. I’d had my suspicions, of course. I’d carried her in and there’s nothing wrong with my sense of touch. But there hadn’t been light enough to reveal all that red hair.

Yeah She was a ringer for the gal who’d told the Baron Stonecipher story, who was a ringer for the naked gal This one with a difference This one had an air of innocence “It’s raining redheads, Dean.”

He grunted. Like he didn’t care.

She was sitting up now, no longer green around the gills. She looked at me. Green eyes. Again. Gorgeous big naive green eyes Lips like I only dream about. Freckles.

Down, boy.

I gaped. Dean gave me the evil eye. I said, “We need a name for this case Maybe call it Too Many Redheads.

“Mr. Garrett?” Whoo! That voice! Like the last redhead’s voice, but with added bells and promises . . . whatever.

“That’s me. Garrett Ferocious dragon fighter and unwitting stomper of damsels in distress. And that’s on my good days.”

She looked puzzled.

“Sorry. It’s been a rough day I’m on edge Let’s start over. I promise not to sock you it you promise not to run up behind me in the dark In the street, anyway. We could put the Dead Man to sleep and run Dean off and she could chase me all ever the house if she wanted. I wouldn’t try too hard to get away In the interest of science, of course To see how closely she compared with my nudist visitor, say.

She smiled. The freckles on her cheeks danced. That almost made my day worthwhile.

Almost.

“Dean explained,” she said Funny how he gets on a first-name basis so fast. “I should apologize. That wasn’t smart. I’m not used to the city.’ She stood. My eyes bugged. Her movements were unpretentious and unaffected and I had to grind my teeth to keep from howling and whistling She was a natural heart-stopper. Wherever she came from, she’d been wasted on them there. They’d been dumb enough to let her get away. Send more of her kind to TunFaire. Take our minds off poverty and war and despair. Talk about your bread and circuses. This gal was a three-ringer all by herself

She stuck out a hand. It wasn’t half as big as mine. I took it. It was a chock full of warmth and life—which reminded me that Tinnie almost wasn’t. That brought me back to earth. She said, “I’m Carla Lindo Ramada, Mr. Garrett. I came here from—”

Oh boy. “Hold it. Let me guess The castle of Baron Stonecipher in the Hamadan Mountains. Where you’re a chambermaid. The baron sent you after a guy named Holme Blaine who kyped a book from a witch called the Serpent.”

Her jaw dropped.

Outside, overhead, the morCartha started up. The racket was so close and so loud it sounded like they were using my roof for landings and takeoffs I told Dean, “They’re going to make themselves unpopular if they keep that up.”

The redhead realized her pretty little mouth was open, so she closed it, but it sagged open again. She stood there like a goldfish gulping air.

I asked, “Was I close?”

“How did you . . .?”

I wanted to brag about what a great investigator I was. No point exaggerating, though. “Take it easy. I’m not a psychic.”
He
was in the other room. “You’re at least the second gorgeous redhead named Carla Ramada who turned up today. You want me to find the book, right?”

“Carla
Lindo
Ramada,” she said. Apparently that was important. “But . . . How . . .?”

“I don’t know.” There wasn’t any doubt in my mind that this wasn’t the woman who had been here earlier. I was pretty sure she wasn’t the naked woman, either. I couldn’t tell you what it was. A subtle clue of some kind. I had only minimal reservations about her being the real Carla Lindo Ramada. She wore the name more comfortably.

Her face went through the changes, all of them fetching. I was thinking the thing to do was get her Out of town before she started riots because there was only two or three of her to go around—then I finally started wondering how come there were two or three. Or were there four or five? Was there a whole legion of her out there? Did redheads grow on trees in the Hamadan? Gods, get me into the forestry racket.

Her features settled into solid fear. “It must have been
her
! She must have a page in the book that’s me.”

“What?” It sank in. “The villain of the piece came here masquerading as you?” Well. Well again. And she was my client. More or less. “But how? If she doesn’t have the book anymore?”

She didn’t ask how I knew what the book did. She thought about my question. “First draft? Maybe she brought draft pages with her. You couldn’t
really
mistake her for me, could you?”

She wasn’t that naive after all.

No. I couldn’t mistake her, having seen her. I thought back to that earlier visit. It wouldn’t come clear. That was odd. The Dead Man has taught me to pick up details and retain them. But I found only mists where I should have had cleat, crisp recollections.

“Dean, make us a pot of tea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” And who could get any rest with all that racket going on outside? I was beginning to hope they’d wipe each other out. “We might as well relax before we start.”

He gave me the hardeye like he wondered if something so sweet would he safe if lie visited the kitchen, decided maybe I could restrain myself that long, stalked out. Carla Lindo Ramada told me, “Dean is a sweet man.”

“Yeah. Sometimes we have trouble keeping the bees off him. We use him to bait our flytraps. And he’s a sucker for a girl in trouble.” But not me. Oh, no, not Garrett. Garrett is hard as nails, “How come you were hiding out there?”

“When I arrived in TunFaire, I stayed with people the Baron knows On the Hill. I asked everybody I saw who might be able to help me. Everybody recommended you.”

Gahk! I hadn’t thought my name was common coin on the Hill. That could be bad news.

“They say you’re honest but you do things your own way and you have a reputation as a chaser.” Her eyes sparkled She definitely wasn’t as naive as she looked.

“Me? They must’ve been thinking about somebody else. I’m pure of heart and soul. Pure as the driven slush.

“But maybe a little lax in mind and body?” More eye twinkle. She was coming back from her fright. Fast. I bet she kept that mountain castle simmering.

She smiled. Her freckles danced And I knew why she stood out from the other redheads. They didn’t have freckles Even Tinnie doesn’t have them Many Where they show.

We could’ve gone on like that all night, but there was a job to do. And Dean would be back any second, pushing his scowl before him. “Guilty more often than not Let me tell you about the Carla Lindo Ramada who was here before You tell me when her story doesn’t match up with yours.”

She listened attentively. Her eyes never stopped sparkling and her freckles never stopped dancing, even when Dean brought our tea. He looked at her looking at me and sighed. He never does quite abandon hope that he can stick me with one of his nieces.

Carla Lindo sipped her tea, seemed startled. Dean had broken out one of his reserve blends. She took another sip, told me, “That’s exactly the way it happened, Mr. Garrett. I think.”

“You think?”

‘I wasn’t there. He sent me away so I’d be safe.”

‘He did? He wanted you safe from the rowdiness at home, but he packed you off to the wicked city alone?” That didn’t seem consistent.

“He didn’t want to send me. Probably she got here before I did because he spent so much time making up his mind. But he didn’t have any choice. I was the only one left that he could trust.”

“Why?”

’The Serpent tried to enlist everybody else. Some of them had to be with her. The trustworthy ones all got killed trying to get the book. She never tried to get to me because she knew I’d never do anything against him.”

“Why not? We all can be tempted.”

“Because he’s my father, Mr. Garrett. My mother was a chambermaid, too, so there was no way he could legitimize me, but their relationship wasn’t any secret. He never denied me, even to his wife. She hates me and my mother. But she hasn’t dared do anything.” She shivered, suddenly frightened. There was a big yet unspoken there. If Dean had been anywhere else, I would’ve bounced over to comfort her.

This was getting more complicated by the minute, at the far end, where the story started, but I wasn’t a step nearer getting things unraveled here. “Wait up. I’m getting confused. We have a wife and a witch and a mistress and a daughter, all for a guy who’s supposed to be two hundred years old, bedridden, and under a curse that won’t let him die?”

She looked at me funny. I ran past her what the other Carla Lindo had told me. Maybe she hadn’t been listening the first time.

“Oh. That’s not quite true. Father is old and bedridden, but he wasn’t always. And he’s not two hundred; she just says that. He’s sixty-eight. She put the curse on him when I was four, when he stopped even pretending about my mother and sent her to live in the other tower.”

“Huh?”

Dean got it first. “His wife would be the Serpent, Mr. Garrett. He exiled her to a separate part of the castle.” So much for my steel-trap mind. Maybe if I was a little less pained and tired.

The girl nodded.

“Oh. Right. I got it now. Should have said so.” I wondered if that changed anything. I wondered why I cared. The carryings-on of the denizens of a faraway castle were no business of mine. Unless those people wouldn’t leave me alone. I thought out loud, “It seems we know who and why, Dean. You think?”

“That Serpent person. Wanting to keep Miss Carla from reaching you and getting your help.”

“That’s one. What about Squirrel? Her doing?”

He shrugged. “That blonde woman?”

“Maybe. Now we know this, what should we do?”

Carla Lindo didn’t correct
Dean’s
lapse. So she was the kind who would let
him
get away with stuff.

She interrupted my thoughts. “Will you help me, Mr. Garrett?”

I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. That that would be too painful, like taking away my vision. My eyes couldn’t stand the darkness when she was gone. But I kept it businesslike. Barely “Yes.

I think our interests run parallel.” Wouldn’t be the first time I’d turned on a client who turned out to be shady.

My comments puzzled Carla Lindo. I glanced at Dean. He shrugged. He hadn’t told her about Tinnie or that the imposter Carla Lindo had hired me.

“Miss Ramada . . . I became involved in this on a personal level yesterday. A. good friend was coming to visit. She’s about your height and has red hair. A man tried to kill her out front. One of the Serpent’s men, evidently. Mistaking her for you, I suspect. So I have a score to settle. I suppose.”

The Dead Man touched me, a summons. He had something he wanted to stick in, in private. “Excuse me. I have to step out for a minute. Finish explaining, Dean.”

The old man nodded. He was looking hurt all over again. Like Tinnie had just gotten hit. He’d probably tell it better than I could. He didn’t pretend to be tough.

I sure didn’t
feel
tough and invulnerable.

18

I slid into the Dead Man’s room, starting to feel sorry for myself. I hadn’t had me a good dose of that yet. I suppose it was due. Part of being human.

“What’s up? This one a ringer, too?”

This one is genuine. She is an open book, easily read— though the truth be told, there is not much written there. Her light does not shine brightly. Be kind to her, Garrett
.

“Aw, hell. That ain’t playing fair.”

He filled my head with a chuckle.
There is kindness and kindness, Garrett. I would not ask you to cease being human
.

“Big of you.” Not much, he wouldn’t. “What’s up?” Looking at all of him here and thinking of all of Carla Lindo over there, I was headed into withdrawal.

One significant factor has escaped you. No. You need not feel slow
. Indulgent of him.
It escaped me until you told Miss Ramada about Miss Tate’s narrow escape
.

That’s the way he is. Nothing straight out. Try to make me figure it out for myself. “Well?”

He didn’t play with me long.
You related the same account to the pretender earlier. That woman, if she is indeed the Serpent—and I now believe she is—then knows that Miss Ramada had not been harmed and was in fact ignorant of that threat, so was in no danger of being scared away. Presumably she had something to do with your adventure near Dwarf House. So. Assuming the house was not watched while you were away, because you were not expected to return
. . .

“I’ve got it. Do you think she figured out that you were here?”

That is of no consequence. It is no secret that you share the home of a Loghyr. She will know once she starts to ask questions
.

I skipped his invitation to feud over whose house it was. I considered what we knew about the Serpent. Damned little, but if she was heavyweight enough to create the kind of book that was the root of the excitement, she could be heavyweight enough to cause us trouble. The Dead Man can do incredible things, but strength isn’t everything. Sometimes you have to bob and weave and he just isn’t light on his feet. There are disadvantages to being dead that even he can’t get around.

“Let’s back off and look at this. Why is she here? To get her book back. That’s the big thing. Keeping me out of her way ought to be secondary. When she was here, she got everything I knew. She gave me stuff back, but only because then she figured me to do her legwork.” But if she wanted me to do legwork, why try to hit me? “Maybe she changed her mind when she got wind I was seeing your pal Sneezy.”