Burn Me Deadly: An Eddie LaCrosse Novel (5 page)

After I dressed, I strapped on a sword for the first time since the ambush. I chose the Shadow Slasher III, a little light for my normal tastes, but since I wasn’t up to full strength, it seemed like a good choice. I felt a little nudge as the hilt tapped the bruise my Jackblade had left when I fell on it. For some reason this reactivated the anger that had lain dormant since my injury, and a surge of righteous energy shot through me. I burst out the door and down the stairs with the assurance that someone, eventually, was going to get their ass kicked.

“What the hell are you looking so damn happy about?” Mrs. Talbot said as I came around the corner of the building. Our landlady wore a shapeless dress too short for a woman her age, and her dull gray hair fell haphazardly around her plump, drink-veined face. She crouched on the edge of the porch and expertly sharpened a wicked-looking cleaver. “Did that whack on the head make you simple?”

“It just made me appreciate your beauty even more.”

She laughed the way a cat spits out hair. “Yeah, you’re simple now; that proves it.” Then she pulled a leaf from a nearby bush and split it with the cleaver into two paper-thin mirror images. She nodded in satisfaction.

“I should pay you to sharpen my swords,” I said, impressed.

“You can’t afford me,” she retorted, then went back inside. I headed for the livery stable.

I passed Ditch Street (actually Canal Street, but changed in common usage to more accurately reflect its character) and saw the former Lizard’s Kiss now completely closed and abandoned. The windows on both floors were shuttered and boarded over, and the welcoming awnings removed. Nothing moved around it. Had I seen it wrong? Had the red-scarved workers been moving things out of the building instead of into it? No, I was certain I’d seen at least one large covered piece of furniture carried
inside
by the sullen-looking laborers. I stood gazing at it for a long time, until someone bumped into me and brought me back to the moment. Yeah, it was odd, but I had enough mysteries to wrangle.

The livery building was located in the middle of town, convenient to both land and river travelers. The stable had room for twelve horses, and the little corral out back could manage additional ones, or any other livestock that needed minding. The big arching sign over the main barn doors read
Pinster Beast Boarding
, and beneath it hung a painted shingle with a horse reclined in a canopied bed. The owner, Hank Pinster, found that incredibly funny and loved pointing it out to first-time customers.

At one corner of the building a smaller door led into a separate, independent office. The much more tasteful shingle over it said
Dumont Confidential Courier Service
. The wagon was gone, which meant Liz was off making a delivery. As Neceda was the only port for this section of Muscodia, lots of things were shipped through it, providing Liz with a steady living. Considering my iffy career, that was a good thing.

Hank met me at the stable door with a sad, rueful shake of his head. He wore heavy boots and a leather blacksmith’s apron. Most blacksmiths wouldn’t work in the same barn as the horses, but Hank had a way with the animals that kept them from panicking at the noise and burning smells. The ends of his long ragged hair were singed from stray sparks. “Helluva thing to happen to a good horse,” he said ruefully. “Helluva thing.” He clapped me hard on the shoulder. My ribs reminded me of their existence, and I winced. “Oh, sorry, Mr. LaCrosse. I thought you were well.”

“I’m fine,” I grunted. “The hospital told me my saddle and bridle and other stuff got dropped off down here.”

“ ‘Tack,’ Mr. LaCrosse. It’s called ‘tack.’ ”

“Guess I’m not very tackful, then.”

His expression didn’t change. “Well. Yes, the fella who took you to the hospital brought that stuff here on his way out of town, trying to sell it. I told him you were a friend, so he just left it. I’ve got it stored away. C’mon in here.”

I followed him past the stalls toward the little storage area at the back. The stable odor seemed especially strong after the hospital’s herb-flavored aroma. Seven horses were currently in residence, including a magnificent midnight-black stallion and an equally expensive white gelding. All regarded me with the same superior loathing every horse except Lola always had for me. Hank was right; she
was
a good horse. I realized suddenly how much I’d miss her.

Hank turned and looked behind us, making sure we were alone. Then he led me into the very last stall, where a thick gray mare stood against the back wall. He closed the gate and motioned me over to the horse. “This one ought to do you fine, Mr. LaCrosse,” he said extra loud. “She was raised by a little girl and only ridden to school on bright spring days. Take your time and look her over.” As he patted her cheek he leaned closer to me and said softly, “Somebody came by here asking about you.”

“Official guy with a big sidekick?” I asked.

Hank shook his head. “No. That big black stud and the white gelding belong to
them
. This was an old man. He had white hair, and wore these weird padded gloves, kind of like the ones I use when I’m heating things in the fire. He seemed like he was either crazy or in a lot of pain.”

“What did he want?”

“Wanted to know if you’d come down here to get a new horse yet.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday.”

So my mysterious hospital visitor knew I’d been discharged and that I was in the market for a new horse. He could only know that if he knew what happened to my old one. “Was it the same farmer who brought my stuff to you?”

“Nah, totally different fella. That one was little and fat looking. I don’t remember his name, but I’ve seen him buying meat at the markets and such. And yes, before you ask, if I see him again I
will
get his name. But the old man . . .” He shivered a little at the memory. “He was just weird. Smelled bad, too, like rotten meat. Gave me the creeps. Upset the horses.”

I nodded. “Did the fat little farmer mention where he found me?”

Hank shook his head. “All he said was that he found two corpses and a dead horse in the woods down some ravine. When I saw it was your saddle, I sent my boy Leon to tell Liz.”

I nodded. “Thanks for watching out for me, Hank. And just so you know, that official fellow with the fancy horse might ask about me, too.”

He frowned. “Why is the government interested in
you
?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think it was just a wrong place, wrong time situation.”

“Anything I shouldn’t tell him?”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Don’t lie to him, but don’t give him any more information than you have to, okay? And,” I added as I pressed some money into his hand, “let me know what he asks about.”

“I’ll tell him you’re pure as the gutter snow.”

“But I am,” I said with a deadpan wink. Hank chuckled and went to get my saddle.

THE
gray mare Hank loaned me for the day was a pale, contemptuous shadow of Lola, in both temperament and simple skill. Her trot was much slower, she fought every tug on the reins and when I pulled her to a stop she insisted on pacing in a tight circle for several moments before acquiescing, like a dog preparing for a nap. She wouldn’t even stand still for me to mount her, so by the time we left the stable all my old prejudices against horses had returned.

A preoccupied man bumped into us as we emerged onto the street, which made the mare snort and stamp. I yanked the reins tighter. The man, dressed in the grimy clothes of a miner, glared up at me. “Why don’t you watch where I’m going?”

“Sorry,” I said, and nodded at the horse. “She’s a loaner.”

“I’m not surprised; no other decent horse would be seen with this nag.”

“No, I meant—” But he was already gone, muttering to himself and looking at the ground. I watched him until he disappeared in the crowd; he did nothing suspicious. Mud covered his boots, but they were the wrong style anyway.

I headed up the hill toward the moon goddess hospital. Mother Bennings met me in one of the consulting rooms. Her handsome face creased with concern. “Are you all right? Is there a problem?”

I shook my head. “Mending up nicely. I wanted to ask if the old guy with the gloves had been back.”

“Actually, yes,” Bennings said. “He came by yesterday, after you were released, and—” Suddenly she stopped, and a sly grin split her face. “I never told you about him.”

I smiled. “No.”

“You are a sneaky one,” she chuckled. “And yes, he’s been here again. I talked to him myself.”

“Who is he?”

“He wouldn’t give his name. But he was an odd gentleman. Seemed to be in some sort of chronic pain connected to his hands. I offered to take a look, but he wouldn’t let me. He did say he was glad you were all right.”

“Did he have an accent or anything?”

“Nothing obvious. So it’s no one you know?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t sound like it.”

“You should also know that a young Captain Argoset from Sevlow asked about you as well. He was much more specific. Wanted to know where you were found, who brought you in, a whole lot of things. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I didn’t know. He seemed a bit put off by that.”

“Yeah. We’ve met.”

“Are you somebody important? Is that why he’s here?”

I laughed. “I’m less important than just about anyone you know. I think the dead girl interests him a lot more than I do, only she’s not around to answer any questions. What happened to her body, by the way?”

“We cremated it while you were still unconscious. No one claimed it, and it’s the wrong time of year to keep corpses very long. That didn’t make the captain very happy, either.” She paused. “We gave her a full ritual to help her spirit through the veil. No one should have to make that trip alone.”

I nodded. “Thanks. If anything else interesting happens, would you let me know?”

“Of course. And don’t go out and do anything to reinjure yourself. Everyone here knows how badly you were hurt, so as long as you’re walking around, I look like a great healer.”

On my way out I paused at the main door. Beside it stood a large, long-necked vase covered in symbols of the moon goddess: three women, one a young girl, one a pregnant mother, the last old and stooped. The vase’s practical function was to collect donations from people who could pay for their treatment, since most patients could not. And truthfully, neither could I. Yet I took one of the coins in my pocket and dropped it into the waiting mouth, wincing as it hit bottom with a hollow, metallic thud. Guess there hadn’t been a lot of donations lately.

It wasn’t payment for me, anyway: it was a token of appreciation for granting Laura Lesperitt her last moment of dignity. I was sure the moon goddess understood.

I
went back through town and out the other end on the Tallega road where I’d met Laura. The horse had a bumpy, really uncomfortable gait that made my still-tender ribs ache with every step. I would be sure to demand a refund from Hank when I returned the beast.

It was a bright, clear day, and there was plenty of other traffic. I passed Angelina’s tavern and nodded to her as she escorted a stumbling patron out into the sunlight. She waved as the man fell first to his knees, then onto his face in the dirt. People stepped over and around him without a second glance.

I checked each person I passed for dragon boots. It seemed unlikely, but it was a way to pass the time and resharpen my skills after my little vacation. Most of them were farmers or tradesmen, although a few wealthy travelers passed me as well. None had the footwear I sought.

I rode under the shadow of the big gallows oak and drifted in behind a three-cart caravan taking two wagonloads of corn to Tallega and points beyond. The teenage boy driving the empty third wagon, its contents no doubt sold that morning in Neceda, kept glancing suspiciously over his shoulder at me, wondering why I didn’t just pass them. I simply smiled and nodded. No one was in a hurry, so despite the dry and fairly warm day, the dust stayed at a minimum, hovering in a thin, knee-high cloud.

Several travelers, still camped in the tall grass off the road, displayed tents and wares from every village within a ten-day ride. A ragged dog tied to a stake barked as we crept past, and my gray mare fought to flee across the prairie away from it. The little brother of the kid driving the empty wagon occasionally peeked at me from the bed. I made faces at him, which made him smile and duck shyly away. Their parents, ahead in the first wagon, were oblivious.

This wasn’t necessarily the best approach to the problem at hand. I could’ve stayed in town and found out who else Argoset interrogated, a perfectly appropriate activity for a sword jockey trying to find his way into a mystery. But I’d been attacked in the woods, and moreover, a girl who’d expected me to help her had been killed there. Argoset’s mystery might be in town, but mine started here, beneath these ancient, heavy-limbed trees.

I paused before entering the forest. I looked back and saw the river shimmering in the distance, its broad swath dark green and turgid. The Gusay wound in great coils through this part of the country, only growing straight and rapid when it neared the ocean across the border in Balatan. I counted four boats coming upstream, pulled by mules or horse teams onshore; three flatboats loaded with trade goods rode the central channel in the opposite direction.

I’d first come to Neceda on the Gusay, taking passage on a commercial boat with a dozen Wakle Dow slave girls in the care of the scariest matron I’d ever seen. There were other people on board, I suppose, but somehow all I could recall now were those young, flirty girls destined for a life of luxury and isolation. None were forced into the job; all signed contracts giving up every personal right in return for the lavish lifestyle they desired. I often wondered how it worked out for them.

I was coming here to meet Nightingale James, a con man with one of the more original scams going. Six feet tall and muscled like a work ox, James somehow managed to hang on to a high, girlish voice despite still having his full male package. He represented himself as a eunuch to wealthy old men with easily bored wives. Once ensconced in their households, he would seduce the wives, then blackmail them. He would also report to the husbands that the wives were cheating with some mysterious stranger, and offer to keep an eye on them—for an additional fee, of course.