Wicked Bronze Ambition: A Garrett, P.I., Novel (33 page)

I
was thinking that most of what we had others doing had become redundant when, serendipitous, there came a discreet knock. Sourly, still not having fled to Dean’s realm, Penny went to the door. I produced a head knocker, in case, while Singe conjured a kendo sword out of nothingness. Those things are supposed to be for play and practice, but you don’t want to be on the downhill end without protective gear. As the Block and Relway vision takes hold, more and more people carry them for self-defense.

Even rat people get away with that. It will be interesting to see the legal weaseling after some offended rat man applies one to a particularly obnoxious human bully.

I wondered where Singe got her martial toys and when she found time to learn how to use them.

Ever the wonder child, that girl.

Penny announced, “It’s an old lady.”

“Old lady?” What now? Other than Shadowslinger, all the old ladies in this mess were already on hand.

Then Penny said, “And here comes somebody else. It’s one of those weird guys from your other place.”

“Let me see.”

She was right. There was a woman out there. Old, I’m not sure she would accept. Maybe just starting to sneak down the back slope of forty. Definitely not as elderly as Penny’s tone implied. But, then, the girl was just getting some traction on her teens. Everybody was old to her.

The woman turned, said something to Dex. He replied. I couldn’t hear what. It was obvious, though, that Dex was agitated. He was wet and unhappy about that, too. I said, “Stand by, folks. I’m letting them in.”

The would-be visitors were facing the door when I opened it, Dex behind the woman. She was maybe five feet two, down there around mom size. Anxious Dex barely kept from running her over when she awaited an invitation to step forward. I had a passing thought about malicious sprites and vampires.

Dex glanced behind him and growled. He was not fond of weather.

“Do come in,” said I, pretending I was the butler. Back by the kitchen door the man who actually butled occasionally, who had stepped out to check on the fresh commotion and maybe to see what was keeping Penny, began shaking his head. He returned to the kitchen to start another gallon of tea.

The woman was in no rush. Dex, however, was. I gestured. “Penny, please take the lady into the office and make her comfortable while l try to save Dex from a galloping case of the panics.”

Penny bobbed her head to the woman and gestured toward the office door. “Ma’am.”

Dex protested, “I don’t have a galloping case of anything.”

Muted sounds of dismay came from inside the office, Mariska and Tara Chayne distressed. I was right when I guessed the newcomer to be Orchidia Hedley-Farfoul.

There was some thumping from the sickroom at the same time. Winger cursed at Saucerhead.

“Then why are you in such a big rush that you had to be pushy-rude to the Black Orchid?”

Dex started to contradict his employer but realized that he would do so in an employment-unfriendly economy—and, more importantly, the name I’d dropped hit bottom and clattered around in the tin bowl of his mind.

Elsewhere, Saucerhead cursed Winger back. They sounded like a couple of ten-year-olds. I couldn’t make out what the fuss was about.

Dex’s mouth worked like that of a bass out of water. “I got it. Deep breaths. Dex Man calming down.” Apropos of nothing, apparently, he added, “The wind snatched my umbrella when I was on my way over here.”

“It has been a bit gusty,” I conceded. “Are you calm enough to explain? Because I do have that other guest to attend to.” I was still standing there with the door cracked half a foot, letting cold air in while trying to make out what a couple bearing a striking resemblance to Preston Womble and Elona Muriat were doing.

Singe’s office had gone as silent as a grave—till Penny yelled, “Will you shut that godsdamn door? We’re freezing in here.”

Dean came out of the kitchen with his cart. Teacups, our biggest pot, cookies, and a platter of little sandwiches graced its top. He awarded Hagekagome and the mutts a fine scowl. They got out of his way with a maneuver so deft it looked rehearsed. The girl asked Dean if he wanted her to help. Dean allowed as how that was thoughtful of her and yes, he certainly could use some assistance.

That was Dean Creech being gentle, empathetic Dean, including the challenged kid, making her part of something bigger than the canine tribe.

“Dex?” Dex had witnessed and understood. Dex beamed at Dean.

Dex would have spent much of his life being excluded.

Sa
ucerhead and Winger started cursing again. It sounded like somebody slugged somebody.

Penny yelled at me about the door. Again.

Dex opened his mouth, finally about to get to the reason why he had come to the house.

Vicious Min bulled out of my old office in a ferocious drunken stagger, hunched over, with Tharpe on her back and dragging Winger by the left ankle. That was a sight, Winger being as big as me. Min banged herself and Winger off the doorframe, hard. Saucerhead hung on despite getting banged against the overhead for being stubborn. Min’s face had taken a serious beating. Saucerhead’s, too.

He kept punching. Min tried to smash him against the ceiling. His eyes crossed, but he kept on keeping on.

And that is what made Saucerhead famous. He could take anything and keep on scrapping.

So could Vicious Min.

She headed my way, scattering Dean and his cart. The dogs went crazy when she shoved Hagekagome.

I still had the head knocker handy. And still had the door held open. I realized that and tried to do something about it at a time when I should have been concentrating on getting some serious oomph on my stick.

Things didn’t work out.

Min brushed my stick aside and trampled me in a single drunken stagger. I sat down to bleed. Min flung the door wide. Rain blew in. She blew out, still dragging Winger, who never stopped screeching. She did scrape Saucerhead off on this doorframe. He fell on me, twitching some. Min realized she still had hold of Winger, let her go as she reached the bottom of my steps. Winger lay moaning in the rain.

All through the action growling, nipping dogs participated in the excitement, making the footing difficult for all two-leggers still standing. They might have continued the chase if Hagekagome hadn’t gotten herself together and called them back. Then she got busy trying to lever Saucerhead off the two-thirds of me that he had buried.

I was dizzy but did glimpse a white-faced Dex pressed into the wall by Singe’s office doorway, unharmed but shaken. His eyes rolled up. He sagged.

People from Singe’s office broke up a clog in that doorway, came out babbling questions so vigorously that they frightened Hagekagome all over again. I got hold of her hand, which had an instant calming effect. Helping hands moved us against the wall, me, Hagekagome, and Dex, with Dean on the other side of Singe’s office doorway. Saucerhead came next; then a gang of cursing souls conspired to ferry Winger back inside and into my old office, where the sorceresses among us employed such healing skills as they possessed.

Winger had suffered a concussion. She had bruises and abrasions everywhere. She had some broken bones—and yet I didn’t doubt that she would be good as new before long. She was almost as resilient as Saucerhead.

I couldn’t say the same for the old dread who was so critical to the Macunado household. Even an idiot should now realize that none of that would have happened had the Dead Man been on the job.

Singe and Tara Chayne both told me not to worry about Min getting away. No way could she get far or evade pursuit. She was too easy to spot and too weak to endure. Morley and Belinda agreed from behind those two, just nodding.

Then Orchidia took a knee in front of me. “I believe I’ve learned all I needed to know here, sir, excepting what I may be able to get from the woman who just left. I’ll go find her. I have one chore to handle after that. Then I’ll stop back and let you know what she had to say.”

Oh, such confidence. I wish I had that knack.

She reached up, squeezed my shoulder the way Barate had one time, then gently tousled Hagekagome’s lustrous hair. “You’re such a good girl. You really are. Take good care of him.”

Hagekagome was, at the moment, squeezed up tight against me on my left, head against my shoulder, hanging on to my arm with both hands, still shaking. She responded to Orchidia with an explosively huge smile and vigorous nodding.

Dean got his feet back under him. He drafted Penny to help pick up. Several others joined in. Some genius found sense enough to finally shut the door. And good old Dex finally began to pull himself together.

Dex
wasn’t all with us yet. He said, “Yes. Of course. Bad news brings me here. Bad, bad news.” He had lost some perceived time. “Only I found more badness already cooking here.”

“And I’m going to have to squeeze it out of you. Right?”

“Yes. No! I’m sorry. I’m totally frayed . . . I don’t know . . . Damn! There I go!”

Gently as I could I began removing dogs and pretty girls so I could go for his throat. Morley stepped between us and helped Dex up. He suggested, “You really must get to it.”

“It’s Feder, Mr. Garrett, sir! Master Kyoga’s son. He and his friend Konshei were killed during the night. They went to a place they had no business being at their ages, particularly in current circumstances. The witnesses the Specials caught said a monster broke in. Six people were killed besides the boys. Also something that might have been Feder’s Dread Companion. It was big with scaly green skin before it was torn apart. Parts were missing, including the head. The monster also left pieces behind, so it didn’t get off easy.”

I heard a soft scuff, glanced toward Singe’s office. Mariska and Tara Chayne stood in the doorway, both stricken, probably not for the same reasons.

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.”