Deadly Quicksilver Lies

70

Looked like Relway had brought the secret police cavalry brigade. Must have been ten thousand horses outside the manor house. Every damned one gave up tearing up property to glare malice my way. I limped and lumbered in between police equipment carts and made my getaway before they could get organized.

They aren't so bright. If you catch them by surprise, you can get the best of them.

A guy had passed me while I was creaking up the stair from Davenport's cellar. He must have given the word I was free to go. Hardly anyone even bothered to notice me, except a few vaguely familiar guys who nodded.

Cleaver kept his lip buttoned till we were far from anybody who might listen in. "That was nice, Garrett. You could've ratted me out."

"I didn't do you any favor."

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to check." He made a feeble attempt to get away. You could almost hear him sorting options.

I glanced back. Those horses had decided to let me go. This time. They seemed nervous, preoccupied. Weird, considering this was a chance to hoof me some major grief.

Cleaver sensed my unease. "What's up?"

"Something weird here."

"You just noticed?" That in a Maggie voice.

"Besides our weirdness. Walk faster." I smelled politics. Relway was around. Relway's world didn't encompass good guys and bad. Heads there didn't get busted for profit but for the power to make people do what they were told rather than what they wanted.

I let myself become distracted. Cleaver tried to yank my arm out by the roots. He got loose. I chugged after him, running weakly. The front gate came in sight. The little villain was gaining when he went through. I kept on plugging. I could outlast him. I was used to running.

Galoop, galoop, I turned into the lane. And, behold, there was my pal Grange Cleaver, passing the time of day, ducking around and betwixt Morley, Sarge, and Spud, who were trying to surround him. Sarge and Spud seemed to be in moods as dark as mine. Morley, though, was grinning like a croc about to pounce on a not very bright wild pig.

Cleaver chopped him on the bum wing. He yelped. Cleaver pranced past and darted away.

"Hi," I puffed.

Morley said a few things. Surprised me. Spoke quite fluent profanity when he wanted. Then he added, "Your luck with girls never improves, does it! Even that kind runs away."

"He bet he could beat me back to town. I was gaining on him." There was no hope of catching Cleaver now.

"Of course you were."

"Where's Mr. Big, Mr. Garrett?" Spud rasped. The kid was putting on a show of boldly standing up to his pain.

"Damn! It's silver lining time." I glanced back at the gate. "If we're lucky, by now Relway has taken all the beak he can stand and he's twisted its fowl head off."

The kid glared daggers.

I asked Morley, "You going to be all right?"

"I'm giving up cartwheels. Listen. Somebody coming."

Turned out to be a lot of somebodies.

We faded into the woods opposite the Tops before another troop of Guards arrived, their mounts acting spooky. "Those look like regular cavalry," Morley whispered.

Did to me, too. "Relway is putting on a big show." I wondered if maybe there wasn't something to his paranoia.

"We better scat," Sarge suggested. " 'Fore they get so thick we cain't move."

Good idea.

"Not yet," Morley said.

Baffled, Sarge asked, "How come you want to hang out?"

Good question. We couldn't do ourselves any good.

"I'm waiting for Tharpe."

"He all right?" I asked.

"Was."

"How long we gonna... ?"

"I'll let you know, Sarge. Garrett!"

I'd begun shaking, had lost focus. I had passed beyond the immediacy of the moment and had time to reflect on what I'd lived through. And on the fact that a couple of mentally handicapped guys hadn't made it... "What?"

"You're the healthiest. Go watch for Saucerhead."

I sighed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to put myself to bed and sleep a week, till the pain and guilt were gone. Then I could get shut of this life. I could see Weider, tell him I was ready to take that full-time security job. They don't drug you and torture you and kill your friends at the brewery—and you're never far from a beer.

I found me a nice spot and settled to watch the manor gate.

I'd been there just seconds when buzzing flies and an odd odor grabbed my attention. Well. Fresh horse apples. And horsehair in the bark of a nearby tree. I looked around. Leaves on the ground had been turned. I found the impression of a shod hoof smaller than that of any riding horse. The shoe style would be recognized by anyone who had served in the Cantard.

It was a centaur's shoe.

The impression wasn't clear enough to tell me which tribe, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that a centaur had been watching the manor gate from this same spot until very recently.

The ugly angles grew heavier by the minute. I wanted away. None of this stuff out here had anything to do with me and my troubles.