Moonblight observed, “Kyoga will go crazy.”
“How might he do that?” Orchidia asked. She sort of danced around Dean and Penny as they picked up.
“Orchidia . . .” Mariska breathed it. “He . . . He couldn’t . . . He just wouldn’t . . .”
“What, Mariska?” Orchidia asked. “Mr. Garrett?” I stared at the front door while thinking about the Black Orchid. Who told me, “My skills will be available in your hunt. I thought well of Furious Tide of Light.”
It was puzzling the way she had examined Hagekagome and had spoken so gently despite the stress of the situation. That didn’t fit, in a couple of ways.
Tara Chayne said, “Kyoga will go after his father now. Nothing but death will stop him. I can’t believe that Meyness would sacrifice his own grandson.”
“Meyness? As in Meyness Stornes? Kyoga’s father?”
There was a compelling quality to Orchidia’s voice. You would have to focus ferociously to keep from responding.
“Meyness Stornes. Alive, yes. One of the Operators. Possibly the chief Operator.”
“Setting aside my uncertainty as to what an Operator might be, I’ve always thought that Meyness Stornes died in the Cantard.”
“So everyone believed until yesterday.” Tara Chayne refrained from mentioning that Mariska had known the truth, at least for a while. Maybe for a long time. There was some family solidarity between those old girls, however much bitterness they shared.
I doubt that Orchidia was deceived. She knew more than she admitted. She had been willing to risk the Dead Man seeing the true depth of her knowledge—though by now she had to know that he was on the snooze. Meanwhile, though, she would be fishing with the sharks.
I tried me a winsome, knowing smile, like Old Bones might be sharing with me now, but I wouldn’t tell. Gentle deception. “Tara Chayne, talk to me. But wait! Dex. Was Kyoga at our house when he got word?”
“No, sir. He was at the other house with Barate, the doctor, and Richt Hauser, all heads together with Lady Constance, planning deeper protection for Miss Kevans and Cypres Prose. They had reason to believe that the Prose lad had been tabbed as Miss Kevans’s Mortal Companion.”
“What? Kip? I thought I was . . .” I stopped. I had assumed. There had been no “official” declaration. “How come you’re bringing this news?”
“Mashego came to us in a panic. She couldn’t leave Lady Constance for long. Bashir meant to join those going after Magister . . .” He stopped before the ultimate reveal, glancing toward Mariska without looking directly.
Orchidia murmured, “I see,” then, at full voice, announced, “We are seeing what, in the technical parlance of the erstwhile combat zone, is classified as a level-one cluster fuck.”
Sounded spot on to me. And at that moment it felt like most of the investigative work done by me and mine had no point. Old-fashioned incompetence on the Operators side made them their own worst enemies.
Kyoga and Barate wouldn’t have much going in a head-to-head but strength and anger. But Richt Hauser . . . “Miss Farfoul, ma’am . . . Bonegrinder. You’re family . . . How strong is he? Do you know?”
“He was quite strong once, but not so much anymore. The war used him up some, but he’s still far more than a lightweight. He has trouble with memory and focus. He’s old and suffers some old man’s frailties.”
Mariska said, “We should try to keep him from getting hurt.”
Her sister and I stared, willing her to say a name. Who? Meyness Stornes? Richt Hauser?
She felt the pressure. She loathed having to open up enough to claim, “He used me.” Then recast that as a query. “Didn’t he?”
She knew but she didn’t want to face the truth. She wanted to slough some of the emotion so part of her could always believe someone else had sabotaged her nostalgic romance.
This Tournament of Swords had been doomed from the start. Everyone involved was a clubfooted incompetent dilettante, going along for someone else’s sake, or just wishful thinking, nobody ready to jump in with fanatical determination—and I shouldn’t leave myself off the list. I could have been much more focused and directed.
Well, it was true that both sides were willing to hurt people.
I noted Morley observing everything with an intense new detachment, the look he got when the Black Orchid side of him wakened. I hadn’t seen that in him lately.
He hadn’t been that way when he arrived. Too busy bickering with Belinda. What changed? Or had he just remembered why they had come?
I glanced around. There was too damned much going on. I needed to simplify. I needed to make me a list, prioritize it, then work my way down.
What should come first? What was critical at the moment?
I wanted to dash over to the cemetery and bribe, sweet-talk, or threaten my way into the Algarda tomb so I could sit and commune with Strafa for a few hours, away from everyone and everything. I had no notion why, but the inclination kept building.
I could see no way that such a visit would be helpful.
The idea probably didn’t really belong on my list even way down.
So. How about I start with . . . answering the door?
Somebody wanted in. John Stretch, I figured. Seemed like he was overdue. Or maybe Dollar Dan. Dan had been out of sniffing range of Singe for a rat’s age. At a stretch, it could even be somebody from the Al-Khar wanting something from me without having to give up anything that had been promised under the new go-along-to-get-along arrangement.
I used the peephole.
There was a kid on the stoop. I didn’t recognize him. He was alone. There wasn’t much to him, so he wasn’t likely to be a threat. He looked like he was in a hurry.
“I’m going to open the door, folks. Stand by.”
96
Someone crowded me from behind as I opened up.
Orchidia announced, “I’ll leave now. I’ll see that woman.”
Still so confident. I had doubts despite what she had accomplished with Mariska’s squid-headed boyfriend.
“All right. Thanks for coming.” Numbly. “Be careful. And tell me if you recognize this kid.”
The door was open enough. “Never seen him before.” She shoved past the youngster, who seemed astonished that a little old lady like Orchidia would be so aggressive.
The boy appeared to be Miss Dreadful’s age. I jumped to a conclusion, turned to holler at Penny. He asked, “You Mr. Garrett?”
“I am that lucky. Yes. I am he.”
That puzzled him but only for a second. Then he ignored it. Old people do weird shit. If you didn’t acknowledge it they usually stopped.
“Sir, my name is Ben Gesik. I am a junior apprentice with Trivias Smith. Master Smith sent me to tell you that the men who ordered the bronze swords came for them today. They took them even though only two blades were actually finished.”
The boy talked with his eyes shut, trying to get it word for word. “The master said to tell you they removed the tracer elements. They didn’t know that those would be there, but they checked and weren’t surprised to find them. Master thinks they would have become violent had they not been old and at a numbers disadvantage. They were very angry.”
“I can imagine. Tell Master Smith that the tracers have become moot. We found out who the villains are and know where to find them now.”
“Master will be pleased. I believe he was concerned.”
The kid didn’t sound like he meant just that. He sounded confused.
He added, “Master did tell me, as well, to report that the old guys meant to visit Flubber Ducky next.”
“Again, tell your master thank you so much from me and if there’s ever anything I can do for him, all he has to do is holler.”
Singe added, “And meet our standard retainer.”
The boy was done talking. He took a look around. His jaw dropped. He had spotted Penny and Hagekagome. Oh, hell yes! I sure could do something for Master Trivias’s number-one junior apprentice in the dep
artment of introductions.
I was about to caution him against getting drool on my nice hardwood floor when reality slammed him, having first achieved terminal velocity. Those two were leagues out of his class. He gulped some air, made several remarks in fluent, carefully rehearsed and clearly enunciated gibberish, and began to back up. Lucky boy, he never developed the momentum necessary to flip him over the porch rail when his behind began to interact with that.
“Thank you so much, Apprentice Gesik.” I closed the door gently, checked the girls. Hagekagome didn’t have a clue. She hadn’t noticed the boy. Penny, however, hadn’t missed an ogle. She was almost smug—while narrow-eyed with suspicion that she might not have been the main cause of Ben Gesik’s meltdown. She awarded Hagekagome a small, jealous scowl.
Morley was a couple of steps up the hallway, being amused. Far from him to miss that chaotic chemical weather.
Others had caught it, too, and were equally entertained, with Mariska wondering aloud why youth had to be wasted on the young and oblivious.
Hagekagome realized everyone was looking at her. She responded with a big, happy smile.
Penny decided that the old farts were entertaining themselves at her expense.
She was as smart as Hagekagome was not.
There are way too many smart females in my life.
Some might wonder, though, why, if they’re so damned smart, they’re in my life at all. Especially Singe and Strafa.
It’s because I’m such a big old lovable fuzz ball.
I told Morley, “How about you and me slide out and take a walk?”
He glanced back. Belinda would go ballistic if he ditched her. And he was in a mood to aggravate her.
He was in a mood to tweak everybody. “Sure. You can tell me how the new kid isn’t absolutely the perfect reflection of everything you ever fantasized in a girlfriend.”
He just wanted to bury a needle but did bring me up short. I hadn’t thought about that. Hadn’t really considered Hagekagome as a girl other than to note that she was wicked beautiful. But she could not have matched my earliest teen fantasies more perfectly were I a god armed with unlimited powers and a rack of ribs.
Did that mean anything? Could it possibly mean anything? I maybe needed to find a few minutes to think about it.
97
The gods of rain were merciful. Or, more likely, were setting a trap. The heavens would open and flash flooding would commence once I got three blocks from the house. For the moment, though, precipitation consisted of a mist.
I said, “I was hoping we could do this on our own.”
Morley chuckled. “That’s why I love you. You never cease to be optimistic.”
We had not yet gone twenty feet from my steps. We already had four canine companions, plus Preston Womble and Elona Muriat in beanbag-tossing range, not pretending that they weren’t going to stay connected by a very short string.
A couple of steps onward, Morley added, “As ever, your popularity grows.” Dollar Dan Justice popped into existence and fell in with us following a brief exchange with Brownie and Number Two. He had a deeper than normal slump to his shoulders.
“What’s up?” I snapped, knowing it couldn’t be good. “And don’t ever jump out at me like that. I’m gonna have to change my skivvies.”
Morley gave me a look that told me to find my patience. Dan needed to work up to his news.
I found a reserve. A very small reserve.
In the near distance Womble and Muriat fussed at each other because they had been completely surprised by Dan’s advent, too. Dan said, “Thank you, sir. We lower orders have a sneaky repute to live down to.”
I exchanged looks with Morley, who observed, “A smart plague is burning through the rat tribe. I’m scared, Garrett.”
Maybe, but Dan wasn’t clever enough to keep the snaps going. Having worked off some tension, he got down to business. “As the saying goes, I have good news and bad news.”
“And the traditional question would be, which do I want first?”
“As you say.” Putting on a trace of noble-class accent.
Where the hell was this guy lurking when he wasn’t stalking Singe?
“Let’s go with the good to start. There hasn’t been a lot of that lately.”
“You are going to see the smith?”
“We are. The news?”
“Right direction, then. Mud Man picked up your fugitive outside your place. He and his crew are shadowing her.”
“It hasn’t been that long. She can’t have gotten far.”
“Let me amend. Mud Man is following her and is now sure where she will settle.”
Morley remarked, “And now they are divining the future. The terror grows.”
Dan retorted, “And does not every rat ever born fervently wish that? No. There is no magic. John Stretch has everyone with whom he has influence poking sniffers in everywhere. Regular rats have been sent places our kind cannot access almost from the moment Furious Tide of Light went down. That sneaking and spying has begun to yield dividends. So. We now can guess where the big woman hides out.”
“Didn’t we find that already?”
“Different hideout, Mr. Garrett. Not much better, though. Mud Man would like to know what you want to do.”
“All right. Is it on the way?” A fat raindrop ricocheted off the tip of my nose. “Are you suggesting a visit?”
“You might learn something.”
“Always a dangerous proposition.” I might get my ass kicked and my guts stomped out. Vicious Min, even bad sick and fighting knockout drugs, was way bigger and stronger than me. I had no desire to put her down, which might be the only way I could handle her. I was now reasonably sure that she was not responsible for what had happened to Strafa.
“Mud Man will scout the place but not closely. He knows his limitations. He believes there are other people living there.”
Really? Min’s kind of people? What might that mean? “As long as it’s on the way. All right. I’ve psyched myself up. Hit me with the bad news.”
“We found the ballista used against your wife.”
Wham! Four feet of heavy plank, right between the eyes.
I halted so suddenly that I totally avoided being nailed by a wren’s-egg-size raindrop that splooshed down hard in a puddle lapping at my toes.
The dogs closed in, faced outward with teeth bared, Number Two targeting Womble and Muriat in particular. They felt the deep shift in my emotional climate. “That is the bad news? Tell me, Dan. How can that be the bad news?”
I had a sinking, hollow feeling before he went on. He had wanted to prepare me. This was going to be bad news. It was a dead certainty: Dollar Dan Justice was about to share a secret I didn’t want to know.
And I was right, but not quite the way I was anticipating.
98
“The ballista is in your cellar. It is broken down into parts and stuffed in among the rest of the lumber. Under your house on the Hill.”
The dogs were so close in that I couldn’t move without tripping. Morley, pale and puzzled, took hold of my left arm, in case. A good grip, I suppose to keep me from raging off somewhere without a plan, bereft of further facts.
Thinking that, but frozen otherwise, I started to lift my gaze to the sky. Toward the realm of whatever god it was who entertained himself with my misery. To see the little blonde on a rooftop up ahead, but paying her little immediate attention. “And, of course, I have an expert artilleryman on my household staff. And his alibi for the time of the killing has never been tested.”
Morley observed, “The news sheds light on questions that have puzzled everyone.” Never relaxing his grip.
He was right.
The first weak shakes began in my arms and shoulders.
Dollar Dan said, “Unfortunately, the critical question remains unanswered. Who? This has been checked and rechecked, Mr. Garrett, by all the best noses but Singe’s, because the truth is so important. One indisputable truth is that neith
er Race nor Dex ever visits any part of the cellar but the wine storage. That is a separate cellar accessed by its own stair, the door to which is kept locked. None of the rats in the house—and there aren’t many because Race and Dex are aggressive about not sharing the living space—have seen either man visit the lumber cellar. But they cannot recall any other intruder, either. Stipulating that their memories become hazy quickly even when dramatic events occur. The ballista itself appears to have been stored there forever, as rats see time. So. They cannot tell us who removed it, assembled it, used it, took it apart again, and put it back where it came from. They know that happened only because whoever used it did not cover up the fact that all the working mechanisms were freshly oiled.”
Morley seemed thoroughly intrigued. A smile kept tugging at the left corner of his mouth.
Dan’s report was registering with me but without the crushing impact I would have predicted if asked to assess a similar situation beforehand.
Morley said, “Somebody knew the ballista was there. Mr. Justice, by some chance did your creatures see any old-time iron crossbow bolts?” Because, of course, once upon a time, residents of the house had been connected to a scandal having to do with wartime armaments contracts.
Interesting, but now my attention had locked on to that little blonde. She was standing on an impossible slope, making no effort to hide—nor was she doing anything to attract attention. She was just there, counting on the fact that people don’t look up much. I didn’t see her big ugly sidekick.
Morley sighted her, too. Clever fellow, he asked, “Mr. Justice, have you been able to find out anything about that girl?”
She knew that she had been spotted when Dan turned. She began walking up the slope of the steep metal roof. A sharp eye, though, would note that there was air between her soles and the verdigris.
I learned another interesting fact about John Stretch’s lieutenant. He had better eyes than the average rat man. As a tribe, ratfolk are nearsighted and much more scent-reliant than vision-dependent.
Dollar Dan announced, “We think she is a ghost.”