Dread Brass Shadows (21 page)

I had to slap me upside the head to get the clockwork ticking well enough to understand what he was saying. Yeah Chodo had sounded bitter about dwarves and Dwarf Fort. He hadn’t been able to corrupt the place. Knowing him, he’d like to get in there and kick some ass. He don’t like it when folks aren’t afraid.

“We’re off to a scintillating start today, aren’t we? With your brains and my brawn I just know we’ll wrap it all up before lunch.”

You appear to be coming to life.

“Easy for you to say. All I got to do is breathe.”

We do have a lead, Garrett. An oblique angle that should not be difficult to pursue.

“Could have fooled me.”

Assume our unclad guest was Holme Blaine.

“We know that for a fact.”

Not exactly, though it is highly probable. Now. Listen. You have spent considerable energy trying to guess why he came here but none on why he chose us in particular.

I was coming around. I could see both fragments of the hair he was splitting. “I thought about that.” But not very much.

You thought of the lead, too. The possibility that he came because he knew Miss Ramada was going to come.

“So you think I should see the people she talked to, find out if he talked to them, too, see if he left something with somebody.”

Exactly.

“Guess I might as well ask her, then get cleaned up and changed and climb on my horse. The house being watched?”

Not obviously.

“You got any idea who’s been following me?”

No.

“Great. Well, what’s become of everybody who’s disappeared?”

You have not yet reasoned that out?

“No. I have not yet reasoned that out. Would I ask if I had?”

You remain as lazy as ever.

“Damned straight. I got you to figure for me. So give me the benefit of your wisdom. Without the standard shilly-shally.”

Dotes and Tharpe have gone underground because they expect you to bestride your white horse and charge Chodo Contague. I suspect. They read the signs early and moved quickly, seizing the head start.

“Wonderful friends I have.”

I have doubts myself. But I am not as mobile as they. My options are reduced. I am at your mercy. I have to stand and fight.

I grumped.

That is but a hypothesis, Garrett. Though a good one, I think. They know you. You are wont to fly in the face of good sense. Do you truly believe that it is your duty to rescue the world from Chodo Contague?

I grumped some more. How come everybody assumes whenever some baddy poots I’ll grab me my rusty sword? Hell. Considering how Crask wanted to round me up last night, even Chodo thinks that way. Hell again. I don’t want to think I’m predictable any more than the next guy does.

“What about Sadler?”

More difficult, as I have not had as many exposures to Mr. Sadler’s thought processes. My best guess is that he saw the implications of Mr. Contague obtaining the book and exhausted his patience.

“Say what?”

Have you never wondered about his unswerving loyalty?

“Only about a million times. Along with anybody else who ever had anything to do with the underworld.”

Reflect on that patient loyalty in light of what you suspect Mr. Contague might do with the Book of Dreams.

It took me a minute. Hell, it was still early in the morning, remember? I had an excuse. “Say what?” Tell me black is white. Tell me princes of the church are saints, our overlords are philanthropists, lawyers have consciences. I might believe you. I might give individuals the benefit of a doubt. But don’t try to sell me the notion that Sadler would turn on Chodo. “I don’t believe it.”

Have I not yet convinced you that what you believe is of no consequence? It is obvious, based on his questions, that Mr. Crask suspects a defection. If he acts upon that, the truth and your belief will not matter. My own inclination is to believe he would be correct in his assumption, considering hints underlying your last discussion with Mr. Sadler.

It’s a fact, perceptions have more impact than absolute truths. We humans belong to a tribe steadfast in its refusal to be confused by the facts. Still . . . “Yeah, but Sadler just wouldn’t.” Would he? Even if the cripple he expected to replace any day came up with a way not only to evade death but to get healthy in the bargain?

Ah. You begin to use your head for something besides a device which keeps your hair from getting in the way when you eat. Excellent.

“Even I have a thought sometimes.” Not much of a comeback Hell. It was still morning.

There is some excitement outside. Perhaps news from the Cantard, long overdue. You might investigate.

Him and his hobby. “Sure. Why not? I’ll have plenty of time. Hell, I’ll borrow Dean’s broom and help the ratmen clean streets in my spare time.”

Mental sneer Sometimes he has a higher estimate of my abilities than I do.

I was losing the war there. Just too damned early. I retreated to the kitchen. “Carla Lindo, my lovely, I need your help. The Dead Man says Holme Blaine must have been in touch with some of the people you were in touch with when you were looking for somebody to help you. I need to talk to them. Soon as you tell me who they were.”

She eyed me about ten seconds, smoldering and crackling. The homely Miss Ruth lost her smile. I didn’t blame her. It plain wasn’t fair that the gods would give one woman so much advantage over another.

They ought to make them all gorgeous. Right?

“Actually, I only asked at the place where I was staying, with friends of my father. Everyone there who could think of anyone mentioned you.”

Oh, wonderful. Now I’m a household name. “So where do I go? Who do I see?” I’ll get the Dead Man one of these days. He knew already.

“I’d better go with you They’re a little odd there.”

“Wouldn’t be safe.”

“Why not? Your friend Chodo Contague captured the Serpent, didn’t he?”

Oh, boy. There just aren’t any secrets around my house.

I tried arguing. Carla Lindo turned deaf as a post. She wasn’t telling me nothing. It was show me or nothing. “I’ll be ready in a minute, Garrett.” She breezed out, leaving some sort of vacuum there in the kitchen. Dean grinned at me. He enjoys seeing me nonplussed. Actually more than nonplussed. Very misused. Even Ruth got a kick out of it, though I could see she envied Carla her power.

I never had a chance once Carla Lindo went to work on me. Someday, in about a thousand years, I’m going to develop an immunity to female charm. I don’t know if I look forward to that or not.

I made a tactical error. I was the one who took a while getting cleaned up and changed They never let you forget.

Sometimes I have to wonder if I’m as smart as I think. I Carla gave me some pretty good hints, but I didn’t tumble to the facts till we’d damned near walked through old Fido’s front door.

33

I stopped dead, stared at that bughouse, and thought I wasn’t going in there never again.

“Garrett? What’s the matter?” Carla Lindo was a couple steps ahead now, looking back, smoldering. How the hell did she do that? I stared at her some, too. I got a little less reluctant to head that way.

There wasn’t much traffic, but what there was seemed determined to run over any guys who stood around with their mouths hanging open, staring at pretty women.

I gobbled, “I’ve had it, babe. All I can take of this mess. I’m up to here with running around like a short-necked chicken, not knowing what the hell is going on, who’s going to do what to who, or why, always being a step too late.” I couldn’t tell her I was afraid to go back in there with that lunatic Easterman. Hell, I wasn’t going to admit that part to me. I just told me the same stuff I told her and added that I don’t much like hanging out with guys whose brains are off in fairyland.

Without a word she turned up the heat, piled on the come-hither, stacked up the promises. I kept the drool off my chin, but she did get me shivering. “You sure you’re no witch yourself?” She couldn’t be that old and crafty. She couldn’t have discovered my weakness that quick.

She just smiled and tossed another sack of coal on the fire.

I muttered, “You’re going to carrot me right into somebody’s whipping stick, woman.”

“What?”

“Yo! Garrett! Just the clown I want to see.”

Oh, hell. Winger. Coming on like a galleon under full sail. Right behind her was the cadaverous old butler guy with the absurd name. I wondered if they were running a race. The old guy had stamina.

Carla Lindo gave Winger a look all trimmed up with daggers but lost it in about a second. Then she just gaped and tried to keep a straight face.

“Picked you up some new duds, eh, Winger?”

Winger stopped to do a pirouette. The old guy gained on her. “What do you think?”

“Colorful.” Old Mom Garrett’s favorite boy is shooting for another forty years He tries to stay neutral when somebody as mean as that dressed like that asks a question like that.

“Knew you’d like it.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Colorful was understating the truth.

Nobody has lousier taste and a worse idea how to dress than an ogre. This outfit would have stunned a nearsighted ogre. Splashes and panels of howling purples and screaming oranges and a limish green so virulent it fried your eyes. Some other colors in there that swirled venomously when she so much as breathed. Which meant what you saw was changing all the time. The total picture was so awesomely ugly it was almost hypnotic.

“Bet you’re surprised to see me in a dress.”

“Yeah.” Kind of a half-breed croak and squeak. I was in pain. I didn’t dare beg for mercy. That outfit should have been illegal. It was a deadly weapon.

“A dress? Is that what that is?” Carla Lindo asked.

Winger’s grin vanished. I got between the women fast. “Peace. Child’s new in town.”

“Who is that dung beetle, Garrett? Just so I can apologize polite like after I squish her into frog food.”

“Easy. She’s a friend of your boss.”

“He ain’t got no friends. That old spook—”

The old man caught up with her. He grabbed on to her arm and hung there puffing like he’d sprinted six miles. However dire his message, he couldn’t squeeze it out. In fact, he lost his grip and started to go down on his beak.

Winger caught him by the scruff and hoisted him up. “Watch out you don’t kill yourself, Pop.”

Carla Lindo stared at the old man. She wanted to say something, too, but couldn’t.

“You come to see the boss, Garrett?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Then what I got can wait a couple. Maybe when we don’t got so many mouse ears around.” She turned the old man around and headed for home, holding him up with one hand. He kept trying to say something but couldn’t get it out. His collar was choking him.

“What was that?” Carla Lindo finally managed.

“That was Winger. Try not to aggravate her. She’s kind of like an earthquake. Not a whole lot of self-restraint.”

“I believe it,” in a tone of total disbelief. Then, “Look at that!” as excited as a little kid Her attention span wasn’t much longer than Winger’s.

I looked.

Easterman had him a dragon.

A flying thunder-lizard was tethered atop the battlements of the runt black castle. It was being tended by a whole gang of morCartha doing their best to look like little devils. Easterman had them outfitted in some kind of suits but I couldn’t make out details. When they realized we were watching, they started howling and carrying on. The thunder-lizard started screeching. It seemed more bewildered than put out.

Carla asked, “Isn’t that neat?”

I was beginning to wonder about that girl. “The loonies have taken over. Maybe I ought to start cutting out paper dolls and practicing talking backward.”

Carla Lindo didn’t get it.

Winger dropped the old man inside the entrance. He had caught his breath and, despite all, had lost none of his dignity “If you will follow me, sir? And madame.” Some kind of look passed between him and Carla Lindo.

What now?

He led us to the room where I’d met Easterman before. The place had changed. A wall or two had been knocked out to make it bigger and it had been redecorated in black and red. They’d brought in a big ugly black throne carved all over with the ugly sisters of those gals you wake up with the morning after a night when you drank one gallon of popskull too many. There was a lot of indirect, shifting red light that was supposed to make you think it had been piped in from Hell itself. And the resident mental basket case had added some new employees to the payroll. They included six of the biggest, ugliest, fangiest ogres I’ve ever seen. Tittering morCartha in formal evening wear were all over the place.

Easterman’s regulars, the old thugs with seniority, seemed embarrassed by the company they were keeping. One actually whispered, “He pays
real
good.”

“God, I hope so.” I began to wonder if Fido hadn’t picked out Winger’s wardrobe.

Easterman waited till he could make an entrance.

The fat man had him a new outfit, too. He’d chosen a few square miles of red accented with acres of black, I realized the black consisted entirely of little eyes.

Oh, my. Every eye was alive and looking around, blinking, or maybe winking over some private joke.

Easterman struggled up the steps of his throne, finally fell into its seat. There’s why I’m running, I told myself. So I don’t get like that . . . Oh, my, all over again. When his well-larded behind hit the seat, all those uglies carved on the throne got excited and started whispering to each other.

I gaped and gawked and wondered how he had come up with all this when he couldn’t enchant a rock into falling down, Then I got worried. Had he won the race? Had he grabbed the Book of Dreams?

I’d almost rather Chodo laid hands on it first. Chodo was predictable.

Fido got himself settled. He beamed down benevolently More or less. “Mr. Garrett. I’m so happy you came calling, sir. What do you think, sir?” He gestured. “Is this not an impressive setting?”