Wicked Bronze Ambition

64

Civil Guard Senior Lieutenant Deiter Scithe, an old acquaintance, appeared as though having stepped out of an alternate dimension. The hedge wizards the Guard used must have been working on stealthy projects. Scithe said, “Make some room, Garrett.” Then, eyeing Brownie, “That’s one ferocious killer hellhound you’ve got there.”

“Able to bring down a woolly mammoth with one snap of her jaws. Easy, girl. The lieutenant is all right. He’s just not smart enough not to name names in front of strangers.”

“It’s Brevet Captain these days, Mr. Garrett. And since when are you worried about folks knowing who you are? You always have your dukes up telling the world to bring it on.”

“You might have heard, life hasn’t gone so great lately. Just between us, some bad people have been giving me grief.”

“I have heard. They’ve heard on up the chain, too. The Prince himself is pretending that he cares.”

Tara Chayne’s ears pricked up.

Mine lay down like those of a nervous mutt. I asked, “How come you’re out here? You don’t usually hang out with the Runners or Specials.”

“Special assignment. Monitoring the Director’s favorites.” A sweeping gesture included Target and others who could no longer be seen.

I wondered where Helenia had gotten to. She had been the last to disappear.

“Oh, snap! And you with a family to worry about.”

“Things aren’t like that anywhere but inside your fevered head. I’m not here to critique their behavior. I’m supposed to monitor their judgment. Inquiring minds want to know, are the boys being deceived by the tricksey, dastardly Garrett, or does his tall tale have any real substance?”

“You’re kidding me.” He had to be. Strafa was dead. Shadowslinger was laid up. Moonslight had been kidnapped. There were sorcerous battles in the night. People kept trying to kill me. They thought I might be working a scam?

Senior Lieutenant-Brevet Captain-Scithe couldn’t suppress a grin. “Now you know what it feels like.”

“I don’t get it.” But I did.

He eyed Tara Chayne, Niea, and the dogs again, lazily, but asked no questions. “You need to learn to relax, Garrett. Bad as things get sometimes, they’re never as bad as you make them out. The situation in the Guard isn’t complicated. The Director stretches the boundaries of the law to make it work more effectively, but he never deliberately violates it.”

“That could be a matter of perspective.”

“Really? When only the perspective of the Guard actually matters?”

And there it was. The iron truth.

He asked, “How has it been going?”

“You just made it sound like you know that better than I do.”

“Yes. We have been watching.”

“No! Really?” Sarcastic.

Moonblight reached across behind Niea to pinch me. She asked, “You mind telling us your special reason why?”

Niea was trying to polish his invisibility skills. He wasn’t a master, but he was good enough for the brevet captain, who took him for some random civilian who had picked the wrong place to loaf and now wouldn’t run because he was afraid that would attract attention.

“Because Garrett is Garrett. Where he goes, weird shit happens. The hierarchy doesn’t like weird shit. And when the current crop of weird shit is considered, it looks like some serious villains might ooze out of the woodwork if we just stay quiet and wait.”

“The hierarchy? That would be?”

He eased back, suddenly cautious, probably recollecting having been briefed about me maybe running with some grim enigmas off the Hill. “The Guard leadership. Ah. I see. You’re thinking factionalism inside the Guard. I promise you, that’s nowhere near as sharp as a professional paranoid like Garrett might think. Our disagreements are familial. We don’t quibble about what needs doing, just about how to do it and how soon we should get it done.”

Man, that sounded like he was borrowing sentiments retailed to some other pain-in-the-ass outsider recently, by somebody like the boss who had sent him to monitor the behavior of Relway’s boyos.

Scithe went on to assure us, “It is a matter of inalterable policy at the Al-Khar, high and low, to see someone swing for what happened to Furious Tide of Light.”

“You don’t need to waste any public treasure making that happen.”

“It’s part of a larger picture, my lady.”

I made a decision. I told Moonblight, “I’m going to tell him about your sister.”

Her response was a knee-jerk natural. She began to puff up to argue, but then she reached a conclusion of her own. “That might be best.” She rested a hand on Niea’s shoulder, keeping him quiet while the rest of us talked. “Go ahead. I’ll fill in if necessary.”

So I explained why we had come to Chattaree.

“Interesting,” Scithe said. He was a long, lean man now so sprawled and relaxed he was like a scattered pile of sticks at the end of the bench. “You knew this man but he didn’t know you, Lady?”

“I knew I’d seen him before here. Because of his deformity. He had no reason to recognize me. He didn’t seem like the kind of priest who gets out in front of the punters.”

Niea stirred uncomfortably, his eyes grown big. He wanted to say something, but Moonblight’s grip reminded him to keep his opinions to himself.

The poor boy was in the grip of professional angst. He had a powerful inclination to defend what, more and more, looked indefensible. And Tara Chayne wasn’t going to let him argue his case.

More, he had begun to realize that we couldn’t just turn him loose to report that he had heard Magister Bezma ratted out.

Scithe said, “I’ll pass this on to the Unpublished Committee.”

He didn’t explain further.

I kept getting distracted by concerns about the relationship between Relway’s crew and the rest of the Guard. Brevet Captain Deiter Scithe was Westman Block’s creature. General Block was the voice of moderation and convention. But Scithe wasn’t uncomfortable being surrounded by the Director’s devoted thugs. Presumably the contest between moderates and extremists did not yet feature animosity.

Human nature being human nature, that would change once the Guard achieved the luxury of not having to stand united against everyone else.

I asked the air, “Isn’t there some way we could lure Bezma out?”

“They might have a good reason for him not to,” Tara Chayne said. “I didn’t know he was a magister till friend Niea let that cat out.”

Priestly sorcerers of magister status would find few friends on the Hill. Hill folks who started their own cult would find no sympathizers among the organized defrauders of the Dream Quarter.

Bezma would be safe from outsiders as long as he stayed inside Chattaree. His position there was perfect cover for one of the Operators.

Even Shadowslinger lacked a set big enough to try bringing him out against his will.

I did not miss Deiter Scithe’s secretive smile.

Maybe Magister Bezma wasn’t so secure after all.

I told Tara Chayne, “We blew a chance here.”

“Stuff happens. Think positive. We have a name and location now. A thread to pull. A big-ass mooring cable kind of thread. It’s only a matter of time till the tournament scheme collapses. If we can convince the right people to keep their emotions in check.”

What did that mean? Was she just whistling past the morgue?

But she had her evil smirk on.

Lots of folks were having thoughts they weren’t sharing.

Ha! I had the cure for that!

Niea looked lost.

Brownie and the girls didn’t care. They did look hungry again, though.

Tara Chayne suggested, “We ought to take our new friend back to your house. Your partner will be thrilled to meet him.”

The thrill would not be mutual.

Niea Syx knew plenty that he wouldn’t want to share with outsiders.