Faded Steel Heat (46 page)

People stared. Only Morley Dotes grasped the full significance right away. He turned, stared at the settling tank briefly, said, “You’re one sneaky bastard, Garrett.” He showed about a hundred pointy teeth in a grin. “I’ve taught you well, my disciple.”

I ignored him. I told the bird, “No. I’m not being blind on purpose. I really just got it. Block! Colonel Block.” He was close enough that I didn’t really need to yell. “Find the woman. The mistress. Montezuma. It’s her that ties everything together.” Stupid, Garrett. Stupid. It was right there in front of you all the time. But she was gorgeous so you just didn’t think she could be anything else. If she’d gotten lucky with you, you might have ended up as thick as Gerris Genord. Or well nicked by a meat cleaver.

How did she know Crask and Sadler? From her old days, before she got her hooks into Marengo?

We didn’t know much about her. Nobody bothered to find out, no matter what we’d discussed. Why back-check a whore, however remarkable she might be?

She might have grown up with the nightmare twins.

Above, Marengo had found nerve enough to show himself. His mouth was open but nothing came out.

Mr. Nagit had told me the woman never did anything that didn’t relate to her meal ticket. That explained why she had hooked up with Marengo in the first place. It explained why she’d work all the angles against the day Marengo lost interest. She’d started that as soon as she’d arrived at The Pipes, already old enough and wise enough to know that the ride couldn’t possibly last.

Tama Montezuma would be one more reason Marengo North English couldn’t finance his bigoted revolution. Tama would have found a hundred ways to suck herself a comfortable retirement out of Marengo’s and The Call’s cash flows.

It was amazing what vistas opened once I embraced the possibility that the luscious Miss Montezuma might be a villain. The probability of a connection with Glory Mooncalled laid itself out as though announced by trumpeters. I already believed that Mooncalled was behind the shapeshifters somewhere. I had hoped tonight’s festivities would somehow lure him to the Weider mansion, too, probably in deep disguise. But no disguise would help as long as he came within a hundred feet of that settling tank.

Mooncalled would’ve gotten his claws into Tama the instant the Brotherhood Of The Wolf included Black Dragon Valsung in their plans. How she’d manipulated the Wolves was clear enough, based on the testimony of our witnesses. She’d pretended to be Marengo’s go-between. Which the Wolf acknowledged when asked directly.

Tama wanted to be rich. She had only one thing to sell. The shifters wanted a brewery. They had nothing to market but their talent for infiltration. Glory Mooncalled wanted... what? Where Mooncalled came from and where he was going never had been clear. Even my partner, who made a hobby of studying the man, no longer understood what he was about. And the rest of the world knew only that Mooncalled traveled his own road and was a real pain in the ass about letting himself get pushed off of it.

The vistas stretched but I still had questions. Lots of questions. How did Tama get them to attack Marengo that night? Why try to eliminate all the main leaders of the rights movement? Or was that all staging? Where was Glory Mooncalled now? Why hadn’t I pulled him in? Because of Perilous Spite? Or had he sensed the trap? And where was Tama Montezuma? Had she worked her magic on Mooncalled? That would be a real marvel, those two getting all tangled up in each other.

And: Where were Crask and Sadler?

The noise volume rose as everybody decided to do something. They teach that in leadership school.
Do
something, even if it’s wrong. Karenta might have been a lot better off for a little more inertia in recent decades.

I have to confess some admiration and sympathy for Tama. She might not have lost me if people hadn’t died. I understood what moved her. But she was too selfish and too sloppy.

All the despair now haunting the Weider mansion could be laid directly at her feet.

Mooncalled is in the area, Garrett
, said the voice inside my head.
He is upset. I sense that he had plans for tonight, too, but nothing has gone his way. There may be trouble.

We didn’t have trouble already?

“Let’s don’t just stand around, Garrett,” Block said. “We’ve got people on the run.”

Morley chuckled. “I don’t think anybody will get very far. Right, Garrett?”

“I’m not that optimistic, old buddy. Something will go wrong. It always does. Singe!” I couldn’t mention Mooncalled. That would spark too many questions. I waved but Pular Singe didn’t have courage enough to risk the center of the floor. Which wasn’t a good idea, anyway. Almost everybody not in chains was now headed somewhere else in a hurry, many with their eyes closed in fear or in sheer determination not to become a witness to anything.

The gang from Heaven’s Gate, however, remained preoccupied with their personal hobbies so didn’t contribute to the general uproar. Trail and Storey remained determined to tap the settling tank. They wouldn’t enjoy that particular vintage if they succeeded, though. It was particularly bitter, well beyond skunky. I headed that way. “Will you two leave that damned tank alone?” Shale, at least, had had the grace to pass out. Or just fall asleep. “There’s all the goddamn beer you can possibly suck down over there by Quipo. Miss Trim! You’re supposed to keep these antique idiots under control.” But Quipo had reached a point where she was having trouble managing herself.

“Garrett. Heard’bout you from your fren’. Winger.” Quipo was speaking fluent drunkenese. “Where’d she go? Winger. Where’d-jou go?”

“Garrett.” Max wanted me.

“What?”

“
Must
these people destroy my home?”

“Block!” I bellowed. “North English! Get your people under control!” Speaking of control, bigger trouble was on its way. Nobody was managing the shifters, especially that last one. It
still
wasn’t yet properly shackled in silver.

The stormwarden descended into the chaos. He went among the handful of shapeshifters like a Venageti triage sorcerer, specialists who had used their talents to decide which wounded should go to the surgeons and which should be put out of their misery. Those guys hadn’t saved many Karentines.

This guy ended two lives just like that, suddenly, viley, noisily. Shifters never went easily, it seemed.

The survivors evidently tendered an offer of submission. The stormwarden’s golden buttboys got them up and moving. They went docilely, chains tinkling. I wondered what would happen if the sorcerer turned his back. I asked Max, “You want I should do something about that?”

“What?” Weider demanded.

“It’s your house.” I kept my outrage well hidden. Karentines learn to do that when our lords from the Hill are out. People who won’t control their emotions will suffer severe humiliations — at the least.

“Let him have them. They deserve him. Tell Marengo to shut up and get his ass down here. He’s been acting like a fool.”

North English was harassing his own people from the balcony, apparently convinced that by yelling insults he could make them catch Tama sooner. I didn’t yield to my urge to give him a swift kick. Nor would I give in to my inclination to let Tama get away.

While I got North English rounded up so Max could calm him down Morley assembled his friends and mine. He beckoned me. “You’ve got to get Singe on Montezuma’s trail, Garrett. If she gets a big lead, we’ll never catch her. She was ready for this.”

“Why do you care?”

“Ooh, he’s thick,” Winger observed. “Dumb as a stump, we’d say back home.” She had a strong beer flavor even from six feet away.

“I’ve got a notion I don’t want an explanation if you’re interested in it.” I noted the not-yet-departed stormwarden watching us from near the front door. I shivered.

Morley said, “Garrett, even Saucerhead figured out that Montezuma has to have a cash stash. Possibly a very large one. She’s been milking North English for several years.”

“Oh.” Exactly what I’d expect of the whole gang, barring Playmate and — maybe — Pular Singe. Hustle out there and disappear the stolen riches before the rightful owner could reclaim them. Then look innocent. I’d seen Morley do it before. The problem was, Winger was the sort of accomplice who wouldn’t have enough sense not to start spending like a sailor before the sun came up. Dumb luck and brute strength keep that girl alive.

I don’t think Saucerhead understood that. Someday he’ll be genuinely unhappy about letting her talk him into things.

I glanced up at Marengo. He still didn’t want to mix with us peasants on the main floor. All right. Go, Tama. I didn’t mind him losing his money. And him being broke wouldn’t hurt Max. Or any of those gorgeous ladies up there. In fact, it’d be a better world if Marengo North English couldn’t afford to be a shithead. “What do you think, latrine-beak?” I asked my shoulder ornament.

The Goddamn Parrot was out of words again. Which was just as well. He’d given too many people too much to think about already.

I had a few of my own left, though. “Crask and Sadler are out there somewhere.”

Morley replied, “Your pal the secret policeman can handle them. If he hasn’t caught them already.”

Relway had vanished while I was blinking. Many of his people were missing as well. I asked Singe, “You want to be part of this?”

“Double share,” Dotes offered generously, which made Winger sputter. “You wouldn’t have to kowtow to Reliance anymore.” He knew his ratfolk. Or this ratgirl, anyway. But this ratgirl was smart enough to know when somebody was blowing fairy dust, too. She did a credible job of lifting an eyebrow when she looked to me for my opinion. A double share of what, Garrett?

I said, “I can’t go. I’ve got work to do here. You guys catch her, you bring her back to me.” I tried warning them with sudden shifts of my eyes toward the sorcerer. But the fire of the hunt was upon them.

“Winger, stuff it. Bring her back here. I know it sounds improbable but there’re issues in this world as important as your greed.”

“Ohh!” Saucerhead purred. “Listen to the man growl. Shut up, Winger. He’s probably right.”

“Be careful,” I told Singe and she understood that I meant she shouldn’t ever trust her present companions completely.

Their expedition never hit the street.

Garrett. Beware. We are about to enjoy a badly misjudged and mistimed rescue effort.

“A what?”

A racket broke out up front. A centaur galloped in through the front door, a javelin in each hand. It bowled over the stormwarden’s glitzy henchmen while seeming utterly amazed to find them there. Another minute and the collision would have taken place outside. The stormwarden had just given up staring at me suspiciously.

“What’s this?” Morley asked.

“Glory Mooncalled’s been watching,” I said. But evidently not closely enough to have seen the truth because that centaur had come inside with no idea whatsoever what he was charging into. He was astounded by the mob looking his way. After toppling the guards he tried to stop suddenly but shod hooves just won’t do that on polished stone. He skidded. He howled. He tumbled. He whooped. He reached floor level traveling chin first. His language was enough to make the Goddamn Parrot cover his ears. It wasn’t Karentine but every man in the place had been to the land where that language was spoken.

More centaurs arrived. Each was as surprised as the first. Their faces revealed their determination to free Mooncalled’s allies and an equal intent to stifle the man’s enemies. But they faced big problems achieving their ends, not the least of which was that they hadn’ t come prepared to deal with so many enemies. I got the feeling that they’d expected to just prance in and prance back out. I guessed the first wave of people rushing out had lulled them.

None of the later arrivals suffered the full ignominy endured by the first. That fellow started getting thumped before he stopped sliding. Funny, though. At first only my friends and Colonel Block’s showed much enthusiasm for the sport. You’d have thought the guys from The Call would be particularly unfond of centaurs. Centaurs are the most treacherous natives of the Cantard.

In a moment the stormwarden had a nebula of slithering lights clutched to his stomach. The ball persisted less than an eyeblink. There was another splat of waterlogged board against stone. The latecomer centaurs got a mighty assist in their efforts to get back out of the house. Sadly, none collided with the doorframe along the way. What must have been sold as an easy massacre had turned into a rout of the killers before they ever got started letting blood.

I looked around. I didn’t need outside help to realize that the centaurs had expected to get support from allies already on the ballroom floor. But nobody raised a hand to help. Which suggested that Mooncalled had staged his rescue in near-ignorance, trusting too much in unreliable allies. Which didn’t fit his reputation at all.

Did I smell desperation?

Love is blind stupid.

“Oh, no!”

Oh, yes, I fear. Your craziest speculation was correct.

There were more centaurs outside. The uproar out there made that clear. It sounded like a pitched battle. I grinned. My more noteworthy guests must have brought extra help. Just in case.

It’s getting to be a sad old world. People just don’t trust each other the way they used to.

105

The excitement had ended. The centaurs had fled. The rescue attempt had failed without ever having become clearly identifiable as such to some people. Colonel Block and a badly shaken, poorly focused Marengo North English soon worked out a tentative, fragile alliance. They would work together to catch Tama Montezuma. I suspected that alliance would collapse about as soon as somebody actually caught sight of Tama. Both men had plans.

Both were counting on me, too. If I couldn’t get Pular Singe to track Tama, she might never be caught. She might not be anyway. She was a survivor. She’d had a long time to get ready for the inevitable. I figured there was a very good chance we’d find no trace of her.

I told Max, “It didn’t go the way I planned...”