Dread Brass Shadows

24

I stopped, studied our destination.

"Come on, Garrett. Quit farting around."

"I want to look it over first." The place looked like some nut's idea of a haunted castle, in miniature, a hangout for runt werewolves and vampires too limp of wrist to fly. It was a castle, all right, but no bigger than the surrounding mansions. About quarter scale. All black stone and dirty. "Cheerful little bungalow. This where Lubbock lives?" I'd seen the place before but hadn't paid attention. Just another hangout for some nut on the Hill. I knew nothing about it.

"Yeah. He owns it. Only, tell you the truth, I don't think his name is really Lubbock."

"No! Really?"

She gave me a double dirty look.

"What do you know about him?"

"He's in metals smelting. That's his business, I mean. Royal contracts. Very rich. I picked that up keeping my ears open. He's a little peculiar."

"I'll say."

"Try to keep a straight face."

I started moving again. Slowly.

I expected zombie guards at the gate. Maybe gnome zombies, since the place was so shrunk down.

Black steel bars covered its few windows. A toy drawbridge spanned a toy moat five feet wide. Nonhuman, fangy skulls hung over the gate. Smoke dribbled out of their nose holes. Oily torches burned in broad daylight. Somewhere a group of musicians played spooky music. A dozen morCartha perched on the battlements, living gargoyles. I'll say somebody was peculiar.

A guy who goes to live on the Hill usually buys or builds his dream house there

I stopped, considered the morCartha. They seemed lethargic beyond what was to be explained by the fact that it was daytime. Winger said, "Let's don't stand around in the street." She crossed the drawbridge without a qualm. "You coming?"

"Yeah. But I'm beginning to wonder if this is such a bright idea."

She laughed. "Stop worrying. It's all for show. 1-fe's a crackpot. He likes to dress up and play sorcerer but the only magic he can do is make food disappear."

Probably so. If he had any real talent, he'd be in the Cantard trying to outwaltz Glory Mooncalled.

A cadaverous old guy met us. Without a word he led us to a small, spooky receiving room. The walls were decorated with whips and chains and antique instruments whose function I didn't even want to guess. By way of art there was a rogue's gallery of demonic portraiture. Also a couple of real people I probably should have known, did I pay much attention to history. They looked like they'd shaped our past.

Lubbock joined us.

He made the Dead Man look slim and trim. He had to go six hundred pounds if he went a stone. He wore a silly black wizard's outfit that looked like he'd made it himself. It had enough material in it to provide tents for a battalion. The powers that be got wind of it, they'd have him up on charges of hording.

Lubbock smiled a smile that got lost in the ruddy landscape of his face. It made me think of the wax dripping down around the top of a candle. "Ah, Winger. You've managed to get the man here at last. Pay her, Pestilence." A woman who looked like she might be the old guide's grandmother brought Winger a small leather bag. Winger made it disappear fast.

"Mr. Garrett." Lubbock tried to bow. I tried to keep a straight face. Neither of us was completely successful, though I managed well enough.

That old boy had one spooky voice. It sent chills scampering around my back. I bet he spent hours practicing to get that effect. "I had begun to wonder if I hadn't made a mistake employing you."

I thought she'd made the mistake, taking him on as an employer. But sometimes you have to do what you have to do to keep body and soul together. I asked, "How you doing, Lubbock?"

He threw up his hands and crossed his wrists in front of his heart, palms toward me. He made fists but left his little fingers standing. He waggled his pinkies furiously. He had nails almost two inches long. I guessed that was some kind of sorcerer's move. I think I was supposed to be impressed.

And some people I know say I belong in the Bledsoe cackle factory because I don't have a firm grasp on reality.

Winger whispered, "At least pretend to be courteous, Garrett."

"I asked him how he was when I don't care, didn't I? What more do you want?" Blame it on nerves. When people give me the creeps, I get flip. "Get him talking." I wanted answers from Lubbock but had the heebiejeebies bad enough to think of walking.

He got himself started. "Mr. Garrett," again. "Good day. I have awaited our meeting anxiously."

"Pleased to meet you. Whoever you are." See? Courteous. I could have said whatever you are.

Another smile tried to break through and died young, smothered by fat. "Yes. As you surmise, my name is not Lubbock. No sir. That is merely wishful thinking, the heartfelt desire to walk the same path as the great Lubbocks of centuries past."

He rolled his fists over heel to heel with their backs toward me, looked at me between raised forefingers that, more or less, made the ancient sign against the evil eye. "Unfortunately, my dream is denied me by harsh reality."

I recalled Willard Tate mentioning a couple of dead double nasties named Lubbock. Sorcerer types. This guy obviously had less talent than I do. His harsh reality. So he was playing some whacky game.

If you're rich enough, you're allowed

"As you surmise, sir," he repeated, "my name is not Lubbock. Hiding the truth from a man of your profession would be foo(ish. You need but poll the neighbors to learn that madman Fido Easterman lives here."

"Fido?" People don't even name their dogs Fido anymore.

"It means Faithful, Mr. Garrett Yes sir. Faithful My father, rest his soul, was an aficionado of imperial history. Fido was an imperial honorarium. Rather like a knighthood today. Though it could be bestowed upon anyone, not just those nobly born. Yes sir. The man whose name I took in vein, like a momentary domino, my kinsman Lubbock Candide, attained that very distinction. He was an ancestor of mine, you know. The glittering star atop my family tree. Yes sir. But the power in the blood failed after his daughter, Arachne. I know I abuse the gods for that jest."

Man. This clown was a one-man gale. "What's that got to do with me?" Trying to get to the point. "Why am I here?" I tried to figure the color of his eyes. I couldn't make them out behind all that fat

"Patience, my boy. Patience. One never hurries the headsman." He chuckled wickedly. "Just my little joke, sir. Just my little joke. You are in no danger here."

Like hell. Wouldn't take too much of this to get me foaming at the mouth and talking to little men who weren't there.

I kept an eye on the staff. They came and went in the background, eager to see their boss in action. He was a real three-ringer They all wore costumes and spooky makeup. Easterman could afford to pay people to pretend that he was bad.

Hell, maybe he was. In a more mundane way. Amongst the remote voyeuis I spotted one of the men who had chased me away from my place

Don't call him crazy, though. The Eastermans of the world are never crazy. When you have money, you're eccentric

"Fido Easterman, yes sir " He put all his fingers together and made a spider doing push-ups on a mirror.

Then he pulled his hands apart slowly, as though he was pulling against tremendous forces. His fingers shook like he was coming down with a disease.

"I've been hearing rumors about a marvelous book, Mr. Garrett. Yes sir, a masterpiece. I wish to obtain that book, sir. I will pay very well indeed to obtain it. Winger has been doing my legwork for me, searching. As you can see, I am not cut out for strenuous effort, however much I might wish it to be otherwise. She has been hunting diligently, of course hoping to separate me from a substantial portion of my wealth. But fortune has not been kind to her. Her only success has been to discover that you may have some knowledge of the book's whereabouts." He beamed at me Before I could get a word in, he continued, "Well, then, sir, from what I have learned of your situation, it's likely you could use a substantial sum. Paid in the metal of your choice."

"I sure could. I wish I had something to sell. I don't know where she got the idea I know anything about any book."

"Come, sir. Come. Let us not play games with one another. Let us not bandy words I have said that I will pay well to obtain that book, and I will. My word is good, as any fool can discover by posing a few questions in the ores and metals community. But if you do go asking about me there, you will also discover that I have a reputation for getting what I want."

I didn't doubt it a bit "All I can tell you about the book is that it exists, maybe, supposedly incomplete. But I don't have the faintest idea where."

"Come, sir. Surely you don't expect me to . .

"I don't expect you to do anything but stay out of my hair."

"Sir . .

"I told you I don't know where it is. You did some checking on me, eh7 I tefl the truth? The truth is, I was looking for it myself. For a client. I succeeded only in finding the man who stole it."

"Ah, sir. Now we're getting somewhere."

"We're getting nowhere The guy was dead."

He chuckled. "Unfortunate. Most unfortunate." I got the feeling this wasn't news.

I spotted another of those guys who had chased me. It finally sank in. Here was my third force. This nut and his brunos. Those guys probably sent Blaine to the promised land. Maybe they'd done the same with Squirrel. I said, "I don't want anything more to do with this book. It's gotten a bunch of people killed already. It's got the Dwarf Fort dwarves on the warpath. It's got Chodo Contague out for blood because one of his men got cut." That got a small reaction. "It's got a witch called the Serpent and a bunch of renegade dwarves running around the city sniping with crossbows. I don't need to get in the middle of any of that."

Easterman closed his eyes and started talking. Actually, he made some kind of speech, but it wasn't in Karentine. I'd guess Old Forens, which is still around as a liturgical language amongst some of the more staid of TunFaire's thousand cults. I don't know ten words of Old Forens but I've heard it used and this had that cadence.

Good old Fido was a linguist like he was a sorcerer. But what he lacked in talent he made up in enthusiasm. He howled and foamed at the mouth.

I'd come with Winger hoping to ask some questions. Now I didn't care. All I wanted was out. Things were sane outside. There were thunder-lizards in the air for the first time since TunFaire's founding. There were thunder-lizards at the gates. There were centaurs in the streets There were saber-tooth tigers and mammoths and morCartha and gnomes. My friends had disappeared. Crask and Sadler were acting spookier than ever. But it was sane out there. I could survive in that world out there I told Winger, "I'm thinking about becoming a bricklayer Bricklayers don't have these problems."

She shrugged, kept staring at Easterman like he was a genius revealing the secrets of the universe. Maybe she understood him. She was a little bit twitchy herself.

I gave up and more or less went to sleep on my feet, paying Just enough attention so nobody walked up and bopped me with a battle-ax without me noticing. I stayed only because Winger wasn't ready to leave. I couldn't leave her with this spook. He might hold a virgin sacrifice, figuring, hell, she used to be and maybe that was close enough Also, she knew something I wanted to know.

Easterman finished having his fit. "Well, sir. Well," he said, not the least embarrassed. "Do we have an understanding, then?"

‘His people did manage to be embarrassed But they covered it and didn't walk out. I suppose he paid very well indeed. He'd have to.

He looked puzzled. As much as he could with all that fat to mask expression "I thought I made myself crystal clear, sir."

"If you made a lick of sense somewhere, I missed it in the smoke."

"Garrett!" Winger cried

Easterman smiled again. I think that was a smile back in there "Very well, sir. In words even you will understand, then. I want that book. I mean to have that book. I get what I want. Those who help me to obtain it will be well rewarded. Those who attempt to thwart me will not be so fortunate. Is that clear enough?"

"I got it." I returned his smile. "I'll pass the word to Chodo Contague and the Serpent if I run into them I'm sure it'll set them to shaking in their boots so bad they'll scurry out of the way so you'll have an open field." Threat and counter. All very friendly, with knives held behind our backs.

Winger started apologizing for my barbarism. The more I saw of her, the more I couldn't figure her out.

"No matter, child. No matter. The man has an image to maintain. As we all do, of course. As we all do. Very well, sir. I think our business is quite concluded We understand one another. I was about to dine. Will you join me? I do set a fine table."

I pleaded press of business. I didn't warn to see what kind of table this creep set. Could be hazardous. Wasn't lunch time, anyway.

"Very well, sir. As you will. I hope to be seeing you again soon, in circumstances profitable to us all. Plague."

He gestured at the cadaverous old man. "Escort our guests, if you will."

The old man bowed, then led me and Winger to the castle gate. I kept a sharp eye on the old boy. I didn't need to get pushed through any secret doors. I tried making conversation about his boss. He wasn't having any. Maybe that wasn't smart for a guy in his position.

Winger took up the slack. "I'm disappointed in you."

"I'm disappointed in me a lot, too. What did I do to break your heart?"

"That guy is a ripe fruit."

"A whole orchard."

"Worked right . ."

"I couldn't take the clown. He could probably tell me something I need to know, but d like to hold his toes in a fire for a while."

"Garrett!"

"You got yourself tied in with a loony, Winger. He'll get you killed. I'll take your word you weren't working with those guys who chased me a while back. But I noticed some of them were there, hanging around in the background. You better keep your eyes open." I had a feeling they'd been dogging her since Easterman hired her. A character like him would use a tactic like that.

I had no sympathy for Fido. I didn't owe him squat. And now I had an idea who'd done Squirrel. I'd pass it on next time I saw Crask or Sadler.

We got out of that bughouse. I didn't look back. "Winger, you know anything about the book?"

"Only that it's supposed to be about so by so and weigh fifteen to twenty pounds. The pages are brass."

"Brass. Brass shadows. It's what the dwarves call a book of shadows. Each page has a character described on it. Whoever reads the page can become the character written there."

"Say what?"

We were safely away, without any tail I could spot. I led her to the steps of a public building. They still consider public buildings public here For now. Subjects gather on the steps. Sometimes they live there in good weather We could plant ourselves and talk without getting bashed over the head and told to move along by the hired thugs who police the 1-fill's streets. "Think about it, sweetheart."

"About what? 1-low?"

"Say a guy has a dream. No matter how crazy the guy or how insane the dream. Eh? Then all of a sudden he gets a real chance to grab it. Eh?"

"You lost me, Garrett."

I didn't think she was that slow. I played it out, explained a little more about what the book was supposed to be. "That creep Fido wants to be a wicked wizard more than anything in the world. But he doesn't have the talent it takes to trip over his own feet. He's so bad at what he wants it's almost easy to feel sorry for him. Almost. But I can't when it comes to the Book of Shadows. A nut like him gets it . .

Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Oh. Yeah. You got it. But he doesn't have the book. Yet. We know that for sure because he's so crazy he'd be taking his wicked-wizard act all over town if he did."

"Let me think about this, Garrett."

"You know him better than I do."

"I said let me think." Her face furrowed up exactly the way Saucerheads does when he concentrates. I had a feeling she was like Tharpe in ways other than size. She'd be one of those who think slow but steady, sometimes getting there more surely than those of us who are quicker of wit.

After a while I said, "He must have been in touch with Blaine sometime. Else how would he know about the book?"

"Yeah. Blaine did offer to sell it to him, I think. But something happened. He backed off."

"And got killed for his trouble.

"My fault, probably I found Blaine for Lubbock."

"Huh?"

"I told you, I'm a manhunter. He wanted Blaine found, I found Blaine."

I glimmed Easterman's hangout. It wasn't far away. Not far enough. Somebody was up top trying to lure a flying thunder-lizard down. I guess Fido wanted to catch him his very own dragon.

"But he didn't get the book."

"I guess not. I don't know why. Unless Blaine spotted me and guessed who I was."

Curious. Blaine hadn't had the book when they'd killed him, logically. But he'd had it earlier, and had tried to use it, because he'd been Carla Undo when he'd stumbled into my house. The Serpent couldn't have it any more than Fido did, else she wouldn't be trying to kill me. She'd be headed out of town.

Gnorst? I'd seen no evidence he was even looking. I'd guess he didn't have it, either.

So where the hell did it go?

Why should I care? Tinnie was going to be all right.

I asked, "You think anybody ought to have that kind of power?"

"Me, I could handle it. But I don't know nobody else I'd trust."

"And I don't know about you."

"How much you pay me not to find it?"

"What?"

"I come to the city for the money, Garrett. Not to save the world."

"I like a straightforward thinker. I like a girl who has her priorities straight and knows what she wants. I'll give you a straight answer. Not a copper. You don't have a glimmer where it is."

"But I will I find things real good. Tell you what. When I find it, I'll give you a chance to outbid Lubbock."

"And the Serpent? You maybe ought to think about that some. While you're at it, think about what happened to Blaine."

"That's no problem."

"Look, Winger, it's stupid not to be scared. There's some bad people in this town. And you got some of the baddest looking for you. On account of Squirrel. If they catch up with you, you can kiss your tail good-bye." I mentioned it because once again I'd glimpsed somebody who looked like Crask.

"I can take care of myself."

"I saw, when you tried to jump me."

"Damn it, Garrett, I'm not your responsibility. Back off"

Something about the way she flared there, and her choice of words, made me wonder if the Winger I was seeing was the real Winger. "All right. All right. Tell me where those dwarves went."

"Twenty marks."

"Mercenary bitch. You'd sell your own mother."

"If the price was right. Two marks. To cover expenses. Won't do you much good. She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, she's still breathing. She's just been dead from the chin up for the last thirty years. All she knows how to do is whine and bitch and make babies. Sixteen, last time I counted. Probably a couple more by now. Her almost bleeding to death having the fourteenth, then keeping on pumping them out, was what made up my mind I didn't want to be like her"

"Twenty marks." I didn't blame her. Peasants live short and ugly lives, uglier for the women. Maybe she didn't have anything to lose, considering. "But I don't have it on me right now."

"I'll trust you. They say your word is good. Just don't get yourself croaked before I can collect."

"So talk to me. Where are they?"

"You going there right now?"

"Yeah. If you tell me."

"Mind if I just show you? Might find me something interesting, too."