Deadly Quicksilver Lies by Glen Cook
“Come on!” I commenced the old high-speed heel and toe work.
Morley opted not to take on the world alone.
41
Even Morley was puffing before we shook the pursuit. Staggering, I gasped, “It was torn already. And you’ve got another shirt. I’ve seen it.”
He didn’t respond. He was holding a wake for his apparel, though you could hardly tell there was a problem if he stayed tucked in.
I croaked, “Those guys’ve been working out.” My legs were rubber.
“Good thing you started before they did.” He wasn’t puffing nearly enough to suit me. I don’t know how he stays in shape. I’ve seldom seen him do anything more strenuous than chase women.
Maybe he just lucked out when he picked his ancestors.
“How about we take five?” We could afford it. I needed it. Before I puked up my toenails.
We had ended up dodging into one of those small sin sinks that cling to the skirts of the Hill and cater to and prey upon the idle rich. Nobody would help trace us there. Patrol folks weren’t welcome.
Morley and I planted our posteriors on a stoop where traffic seemed limited. Once I had sucked in enough air to rekindle my sense of humor, we began fantasizing scenarios wherein Winger did Winger sorts of things to find out what we were up to inside Maggie’s house — only with her suffering my kind of luck instead of her own.
You would have thought we were eleven again. We ended up with the giggles.
“Oh, damn!” I couldn’t stop laughing, despite the bad news. “Look who just showed up.”
The clumsy guy almost tripped over us before he realized that he had found us. His eyes got big. His face went pale. He gulped air. I gasped, “This clown has got to be psychic.”
“Want to grab him?”
The suspicion that we might try occurred to him first. He went high-stepping around a corner before we finished swatting the dust off the backs of our laps.
“Damn! Where did he go?”
“What I expected,” Morley said, suddenly morose as he stared down that empty cross street.
“Expected?”
“He’s a spook. Or a figment of your imagination.”
“No. He’s no ghost. He’s just lucky.”
“I’ve heard luck called a psychic talent.”
“Give me a break, Morley. How can random results have anything to do with talent?”
“Luck was really random it would even out, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“So you ought to have some good luck once in a while, right? Unless you’re directing it somehow.”
“Wait a minute —” Our squabble wandered far afield. It kept us entertained all the way to the West End. For the heck of it, we set a couple of ambushes along the way. Our tail evaded both through sheer dumb luck. Morley did a lot of smirking.
I told him, “I’m about to come around to your way of thinking.”
“You say this Wixon and White place has a flimsy back door?”
“A bad joke. Unless it’s a trap.” There are spiders that specialize in catching other spiders.
“Show me. We’ll treat your friends to chills and thrills.”
Right. Morley was along just for the fun.
Wixon and White were open for trade. We lurked, watched a few customers come and go. “We’d better get on with it,” I said. “Their local watch is a little too serious for my taste.”
Morley grunted. I introduced him to the alley door. He scoped it out, suggested, “Give me ten minutes.”
“Ten? You going to take it out frame and all?”
“No, I was considering doing it quietly. You wanted fast you should have brought Saucerhead Tharpe. Finesse, Garrett. Surprise. I don’t do Thon-Gore the Learning Disabled.”
“Right.” I left the artist to his easel.
My old pal was hustling a personal agenda again. I had a good suspicion, too. And I didn’t care. I just wanted to get on with my job — the way I had defined it.
I wondered if I had an employer anymore. I hadn’t heard.
I waited in the breezeway while Morley did whatever. He did keep the racket down. I never heard a thing. No butternut thugs showed up to inconvenience us, either. I tried to psych myself into a role.
Time. I walked to the shop door and invited myself inside.
42
“Howdy.” I grinned. Wasn’t nobody there but them and me. I locked the door. I put the closed sign in the window.
One bold corsair demanded, “What are you doing?” He wanted to sound tough, but his voice scrambled right up into a high squeak.
The other one didn’t say anything. After ten seconds frozen like those mythical birds that stare down snakes, he bolted for the back room. A moment later, he squealed like Morley was whipping him with a naked woman.
I trotted out my cheerful charlie voice. If you do that right, it’s really sinister. “Howdy, Robin.” It had taken me a moment to sort them out. “We just dropped in to get the real skinny on Emerald Jenn.” I pasted on my salesman’s smile. Robin squeaked again and decided to catch up with Penny.
Both those fierce buccaneers were taller than Morley. They looked pretty silly being held by their collars from behind, facing me, when I entered their lumber room. They were shaking.
I closed the door. I barred it. I leaned back against it. I asked, “Well? Want to pick a spokesman?” The room was an extreme mess. I’m sure it was a wreck to start but now had the air of a place hastily tossed, perhaps by a dedicated bibliophile in quest of a rare first edition. “Come on, fellows.”
Heads shook.
“Let’s don’t be silly.”
Morley forced them to kneel. He hauled out a knife way too long to be legal. He made its blade sing on his whetstone.
“Guys, I want Emerald Jenn. Also known as Justina Jenn. You’re going to tell me what you know about her. You’ll feel better for it. Start by telling me how you met her.”
Wixon and White whimpered and whined and tried to exchange impassioned farewells. Boy, I was good. Oh, the drama. Morley did his bit by testing his edge on Penny’s mustache. A big hunk of lip hair tumbled to the floor. Morley went back to work with his whetstone.
“Don’t nobody need to get killed,” I said. “I thought I’d just skin one of you.” I toed that glob of hair.
“Immigrants,” Morley observed.
“Probably.” Karentines don’t rattle easily, having survived the Cantard. They would have made us work. “Talk to me, outlanders.”
Robin cracked. “It was almost a year ago.”
Penny glared.
“What was almost a year ago?”
“The first time the girl came to the shop. Looking lost. Looking for any handle.”
“Just wandered in? Wanting to borrow a cup of frog fur?”
“No. She was just looking. In more ways than one.”
“Uhm?”
“She was a lost soul, drowning in despair, looking for straws to grasp. There was a young man with her. Kewfer, I believe she called him. He was blond and beautiful and young and that was the only time he came around.”
“Sorry he broke your heart. Don’t go misty on me.”
Penny didn’t like Robin’s wistful tone, either, but he just kept the glare cooking.
“Kewfer?” I stressed it just as he had.
Thoughtfully, Morley suggested, “Quince Quefour?”
“Quince.” Left me thoughtful, too. Quincy Quentin Q. Quintillas was pretty enough to launch a thousand ships filled with fierce pirates. He was a small-time conman of the smallest time, too damned dumb to amount to anything. He was part elvish. Made him look younger than his real years and got him out of army time. A faked spook thing would be right up Quefour’s alley.
I barely knew him, didn’t want to know him better. I described him.
Robin nodded vigorously, eager to please. I wondered if he was just telling me what he thought I wanted to hear.
“Thank you, Robin. You se
Baffled look. “He wasn’t up to anything. He was just with the girl. Wasn’t much special about her, either.”
Of course not. You were lusting in your heart. “Please explain.”
“She wanted an easy answer. She was looking for easy answers.”
“I thought she was desperate.”
“Desperate after the fashion of her age. Kids want results without work. They believe they deserve magical answers. They don’t want to hear that real magic is hard work. Your stormwardens and firelords spend twenty years studying and practicing. These kids think you just wiggle your fingers...”
Morley’s magic fingers darted, slapped Robin’s hand. Robin had started wiggling fingers as if by way of demonstration. He might have suckered us had we not been in the back of a shop that supplied witches and warlocks.
“Stick to Emerald Jenn. I develop a taste for social commentary, I’ll head for the front steps of the Chancery.” The most marvelous lunatics hold forth there. “Emerald, Robin. Quefour didn’t come back but she did. Talk to me.”
“You don’t need to be brutal. Emmy was a runaway. Came from upcountry. We knew that but not much more till a few weeks ago.”
“A runaway,” I repeated, trying to put an evil twist on everything I said. Morley rolled his eyes. “On her own here for a year.” Scary idea. A girl can live a lifetime in a year on the streets of TunFaire. “What did she run from?”
“Her mother.”
Who had been worried because her baby had been missing six days. “Go on.”
“She didn’t go into detail, but it was obvious the woman was a horror.”
“Emerald spend a lot of time here?”
“She helped out. Sometimes she stayed back here.” Gesture toward a ratty pallet. I didn’t apologize for what I had thought about that. “She was a wounded bird. We gave her a place to feel safe.” Hint of defiance.
I could see a girl feeling safer with Penny and Robin than on the street. Trouble was, I had trouble accepting them as philanthropists. Too cynical am I.
Robin was a real chatterbox when he loosened up. I spent a lot of energy guiding him back to the main path.
“Seen her lately?”
“No. She heard her mother had come to town.”
“That would make her stay away?”
“She thought her mother would look for her. And she is looking, right? You’re here. She doesn’t want to be found. People who don’t know where she is can’t give her away.”
Morley and I exchanged glances. “What’s she scared of?”
Robin and Penny got into the look-trading business. A growth industry. Only they were puzzled.
“You don’t know.” My intuition was at work. “She told a tale but you didn’t buy it. Think you know her? She the kind to fill you up and leave you to feed the wolves?”
“What?”
“She knows her mother. She’d know what kind of people would be sent.”
More looks flashing. The ferocious pirates of this world are paranoid. Given our record, they are justified in expecting evil of the rest of us.
Penny had spent the interview glowering at Robin. He seemed to suffer a sudden pessimistic epiphany. He barked, “Marengo North English.”
“What?” Tell me I heard wrong.
“Marengo North English.”
I heard right. But why did he have to say that? Things had been crazy enough. I feigned ignorance. “What’s that?”
Robin tittered. “That’s a who. One of our biggest customers. A very powerful underground adept.”
That was disheartening news, but useful if ever I found myself dealing with the lunatic fringe.
Penny said, “He met Emmy here. Invited her into his coven. She went a few times but didn’t like the people or what they wanted to do.”
Robin said, “We thought she might have run to him.”
I stipulated, “He could protect her.” Morley looked at me askance. I said, “I’ve met the man. I didn’t know he dabbled in black magic, though.” North English mostly concentrated on virulent racism.
Penny and Robin seemed surprised, as though they had not heard of Marengo North English in any but an occult context. Silly boys. The man had a special place in his heart for their sort, too.
Morley moved sudden as heat lightning, startling us all. He ripped the alley door open, stepped out, stared for a moment, shook his head, and closed up. “Guess who?”
“Some guy who tripped over his own feet getting away.”
“You win first prize. Near time to go.”
“I have a few more questions.”
“That guy is a lightning rod for the law.”
Right. And I didn’t accomplish much more, though I had hoped to get at their angle for helping Emerald. I did get the names of three people who were on speaking terms with the girl. Not real friends. Not people likely to be useful. Emerald evidently didn’t have any friends.
We departed as suddenly as we had arrived. We were gone before those bold buccaneers knew we were going. We were out of the West End moments later. We were long gone before the boys in butternut closed in.
43
Miles from the West End, we ducked into a smoky dive frequented by the lowest classes. The bar was wide planks on sawhorses. The fare consisted of bad red sausages and worse green beer. Nobody paid me any mind, but Morley drew some vaguely hostile looks. Nobody would recognize him if he stayed a year, though. You don’t look for Morley Dotes in that kind of place.
Morley settled opposite me at a scarred trestle table and steepled his fingers. “We have some names.”
“Five. And none worth the paper it’s written on.”
“You reacted to one.”
“Marengo North English. I don’t know why the black magic connection surprised me. The man has the brain of a snake.”
“You met him? Tell me about him.”
“He’s a loony. A racist loony. The Call. Sword of Righteousness. He wouldn’t be involved in this. He would have cut Emerald off the second he heard about Maggie and the Rainmaker. Not our kind, you know, old bean.”
“Wasn’t what I meant. I think.”
“He’s the Call.”
Not many patrons found themselves in circumstances sufficiently insufficient to have to take their custom into that dump, but those that did were curious. Ears pricked up and twitched first time I mentioned the Call. Second time, various faces turned toward us.
This was the sort of place where the Call would find recruits for the Sword of Righteousness, the sort of place infested by folks who’d never once in life had a bad break that was their own fault.
Morley caught the significance of my glare. “I see.”
In a softer voice, I said, “He was a founding father of the Call. I met him at Weider’s estate. I was doing security. Weider mentioned my military background. He tried to recruit me into the Sword of Righteousness. Sicking him on me was Weider’s idea of a joke.”
Party police isn’t my usual, but Old Man Weider had asked nice and he’s had me on retainer so long we’re practically business partners. I said, “Be afraid of Marengo North English. He’s crazy as hell, but he’s the real thing. Had me ready to puke in his pocket two minutes after he started his spiel.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Of course not. That was Weider’s place. He was Weider’s guest.” The brewery retainer keeps me going through the hard times. “Like me, Weider can’t help it if he has to do business with crazies.”
“You didn’t sign on with the Sword?”
“Give me a break. I grunted and nodded and got away from the man. The way you do when you don’t want to make a scene. Why’re you so interested?”
“Because I know Marengo North English, too. That man is going to be trouble. Why don’t you sign up? Give sanity an agent inside.”
I hemmed and hawed and cast meaningful looks at the big-eared clientele. I waved for another pint.
I must have had a funny look on. He added, “I get to meet all kinds.” I presume he had done some work for North English. I didn’t ask.
“Where are you going from here, Garrett?”
“I was thinking Quefour. Not that he’ll know anything.”
“I need to get back to the store.”
“Got to read that book?”
“Book?” He started out with a hard look, decided on a different tack. “Wasn’t a book. It was gone already.” He grinned. Beat me to death with honesty.
“I’m heartbroken for you.” I tossed coins onto the table. The tavernkeeper made them vanish before they stopped rattling. “Thanks for your help.”
“Hey, it was fun. Anytime. I have some advice for you, though.”
“I can’t wait.”
“There’s a chance black magic is involved. You should take precautions.”
“I’m a certified genius. I was thinking that very thought.” Really. Because I was getting uncomfortable about how easy it was for one inept gorilla to keep getting back on my tail.
I knew I would see him as soon as we stepped into the street. And he didn’t disappoint me.
44
Handsome’s alley was back where it belonged. I examined it as I ambled past, not wanting to lead trouble to the house of a friend. Neither did I want to make a fool of myself by stepping into something unpleasant.
Second time past I turned in, leaving the inept guy trying to blend into a mob of dwarves. What worried me was that my other fans might realize they could stay on me by keeping track of him.
The trash had deepened. It was deeper everywhere. Such was the nature of things.
The shop felt unnaturally quiet — though how that was possible I couldn’t say. It never got rowdy. Maybe it was like the breathing of the mice and roaches was absent.
Handsome’s ragged cat padded in, sat, fixed me with a rheumy stare. I wondered how bad its eyes were. I didn’t move around. I killed time watching from inside while my eyes adjusted. No point finding out how Handsome protected herself.