Deadly Quicksilver Lies

 Cook, Glen - Garrett 07

1

 There ain't no justice, I guarantee absodamnlutely.

 There I was, comfy as could be, feet on my desk, a

 pint of Weider's porter in my hand, Espinosa's latest

 potboiler in my other hand, and Eleanor reading over

 my shoulder. She understood Espinosa better than I

 did. For once the Goddamn Parrot wasn't squawking.

 I sucked up that sweet silence more enthusiastically

 than I did the beer.

 Some fool went to hammering on my door.

 His pounding had an arrogant, impatient edge.

 Meant it would be somebody I didn't want to see.

 "Dean! See who that is! Tell him to go away. I'm out

 of town. On a secret mission for the king. Won't be

 back for years. And I wouldn't buy what he's selling

 anyway, if I was home."

 Nobody moved. My cook-slash-housekeeper-slash-

 factotum was the one who was out of town. I was at

 the mercy of wannabe clients and the Goddamn

 Parrot.

 Dean had gone to TemisVar. One of his herd of

 homely nieces was going to get married. He wanted

 to make sure her fool fiance didn't wake up before it

 was too late.

 The pounding continued bruising my door. I'd just

 installed it, replacing one broken down by a villain

 who couldn't take a hint. "Damned insensitive jerk!"

 I muttered. Hollering and threats backed the ham-

 mering. The neighbors were going to get upset. Again.

 5

 6

 GLEN COOK

 Sleepy, puzzled noises came from the small front

 room between my office and the door. "I'll kill him if

 he wakes that talking chicken." I glanced at Eleanor.

 She offered no advice. She just hung there, baffled

 by Espinosa.

 "Guess I better dent a head before I got to deal

 with another citizens' committee." Or had to put up

 a new door. Doors aren't only not cheap, they're hard

 to come by.

 I dropped my feet, stretched my six feet two, got

 going. The Goddamn Parrot made a noise. I peeked

 into his room.

 The little buzzard was only talking in his sleep. Ex-

 cellent! He was one pretty monster. He had a yellow

 head, blue neck ruff, red and green body and wings.

 His tail feathers were long enough I could maybe

 someday cash in with a band of gnomes who needed

 decorations for their hats. But a monster he was, for

 sure. Somewhere sometime somebody put a curse on

 that foul-beaked vulture so he's got the vocabulary of

 a stevedore. He lives to be obnoxious.

 He was a gift from my "friend" Morley Dotes.

 Made me wonder about the nature of friendship.

 The Goddamn Parrot — dba Mr. Big — stirred. I got

 out of there before he took a notion to wake up.

 I have a peephole in my front door. I peeped. I

 muttered, "Winger. Wouldn't you know?" My luck

 and water have plenty in common, especially always

 heading downhill. Winger was a natural disaster look-

 ing for a place to happen. A stubborn disaster, too. I

 knew she'd pound away till hunger got her. She didn't

 look underfed.

 She wouldn't worry about what the neighbors

 thought, either. She noticed the opinions of others the

 way a mastodon noticed undergrowth in the woods.

 I opened up. Winger moved forward without being

 invited in. I stayed put and almost got trampled. She

 is big and beautiful, but her candle doesn't burn too

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES 7

 bright. "Need to talk to you, Garrett," she said. "I

 need some help. Business."

 I should have known better. Hell. I did know better.

 But times were dull. Dean wasn't around to nag me.

 The Dead Man had been asleep for weeks. I had no-

 body but the Goddamn Parrot for company. All my

 friends were beset by lady friends, a trial that hadn't

 befallen me during any recent epoch. "All right. I

 know I'm gonna be sorry, but all right. I'll give you a

 listen. Promising nothing."

 "Hows about a brew while we're jawing?" Winger

 shy? I don't think so. She headed for the kitchen. I

 took a look around outside before I shut the door.

 You never knew what might be tagging after Winger.

 She didn't have sense enough to look back. She sur-

 vived on luck, not skill.

 "Awk! Holy hooters! Garrett! Check them

 gazoombies."

 Damn! What I got for not closing the door to the

 small front room.

 The street showed me only a clutter of people and

 animals and dwarves and elves and a squadron of cen-

 taur immigrants. The usual.

 I shut the door. I went to the small front room

 and closed that door, ignoring outraged allegations of

 neglect. "Stow it, bird. Unless you want to get ne-

 glected right into some ratman's dinner pot."

 He laughed. He mocked.

 He was right. I have no use for ratmen, but I

 wouldn't do that to them.

 Then he yelled rape. I didn't worry. Winger had

 heard it before.

 "Help yourself, why don't you?" I said when I hit

 the kitchen, like she hadn't helped herself already.

 She'd glommed the biggest mug in the house, too.

 She winked. "Here's to ya, big guy." She knew ex-

 actly what she was doing but didn't have the grace to

 be embarrassed. "You and your sidekick in there."

 8 GLEN COOK

 "Yeah? You want a parrot?" I drew myself a mug,

 settled at the kitchen table.

 "That crow in a clown suit? What would I do with

 him?" She planted herself opposite me, beyond dunes

 of dirty dishes.

 "How about get yourself an eyepatch, get into the

 pirate business?"

 "Don't know if I could dance with a pegleg. It ever

 say 'Shiver me timbers' or 'Argh, matey'?"

 "What?"

 "What I thought. You're trying to stick me with a

 substandard bird."

 "Huh?"

 "That's no sailor bird, Garrett. That critter is pure

 city. Knows more gutter talk than me."

 "So teach him some sea chanties."

 "Yo ho ho. Dean finally croak?" She stared at the

 dishes.

 "He's out of town. Got a niece that's getting mar-

 ried. Looking for a part-tune job?"

 Winger had met some of Dean's nieces, all of whom

 brought new meaning to the word homely. She con-

 trolled her astonishment, though, and pretended to

 miss my hint about the dishes. "I was married once."

 Oh, boy. I hoped she didn't get started.

 She was still married but didn't let legal trivia en-

 cumber her. "Don't go misty on me, Winger."

 "Misty? You shitting me? After that, Hell is gonna

 look good."

 Winger is a tad unusual, case you haven't noticed.

 She is twenty-six, as tall as I am, and built like the

 proverbial masonry privy—on an epic scale. Also, she

 has what some guys think is an attitude problem. Just

 can't figure out how to stay in her place.

 "You want my help," I reminded. Just a poke. My

 keg wasn't bottomless. I smirked. Maybe she was des-

 perate enough to take the Goddamn Parrot off my

 hands.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES 9

 "Uhm." She would get to the point only after she

 had mooched her fill. That quantity would clue me as

 to the state of her fortunes.

 "You're looking good, Winger." Even Winger likes

 to hear that."Must be doing all right."

 She assumed I meant her outfit. That was new and,

 as always, remarkable. "Where I work, they want you

 should dress snappy."

 I kept a straight face. "Unusual" is only the most

 cautious, gentlest way to characterize Winger's taste.

 Let's say you couldn't lose her in a crowd. If she went

 around with the Goddamn Parrot on her shoulder, no-

 body would notice the bird. "That outfit is pretty timid.

 When you worked for that fat freak Lubbock ..."

 "It's the territory. These guys want you should

 blend in."

 Again I kept my face straight. Being amused by

 Winger when Winger isn't amused can be hazardous

 to your health—especially if you're dim enough to,

 say, crack wise about her blending in.

 "Old-timer's gone, eh? What about the ugly thing?"

 She meant my partner, the Dead Man, so-called be-

 cause he hasn't run any footraces since somebody

 stuck a knife in him four hundred years ago. "Ugly

 thing" is apt. He isn't human. He's a Loghyr, which

 explains why he's still hanging around so long after

 he was murdered. Loghyr are slow and stubborn, espe-

 cially when it comes to sloughing off the old mortal

 clay. They're deliberate, he would say.

 "Asleep. Been weeks since he bugged me. I'm in

 heaven."

 Winger sneered, flipped blond hair out of her face.

 "Likely to wake up?"

 "Maybe if the house catches on fire. Got something

 to hide?" The Dead Man's big trick is mind reading.

 "No more than usual. I was just thinking, it's been

 a dry spell. Way I hear, weather ain't been so hot for

 you, neither."

 10

 GLEN COOK

 That was my pal Winger, so shy and demure. Some-

 how, with her, the romance and adventure were ab-

 sent. "Thought you had desperate business."

 "Desperate?"

 "You like to tore the door down. You woke up the

 Goddamn Parrot with your whooping and hollering."

 That about-to-become-roasted squab was holding

 forth up front. "I figured you had killer elves slavering

 on your trail."

 "I just wish. I told you how my luck's been. I was

 just trying to get your attention." She refilled her mug,

 did mine, headed for my office. "All right, Garrett.

 Business first."

 She paused, listened. T.G. Parrot was on a roll. She

 shrugged, slipped into my office. I followed quickly.

 Sometimes things fall into Winger's pockets if you're

 not there to keep an eye on them.

 I wriggled into my chair, safe behind my desk. Elea-

 nor guarded my back. Winger scowled at the painting,

 then eyed my book. "Espinosa? Ain't that a little

 heavy for you?"

 "It's a real thriller." Espinosa was beyond me,

 mostly. He tended to make a big deal out of questions

 that wouldn't have occurred to anybody who worked

 for a living.

 I'd gone to visit a lady friend at the Royal Library.

 The book was all I got.

 "Philosophy is thrilling? Like a hemorrhoid. The

 man should've got a hobby."

 "He did. Philosophy. Since when can you read?"

 "You don't need to act so surprised. I been learn-

 ing. Got to do something with my ill-gotten gains,

 don't I? I thought maybe some learning might come

 in handy someday. But mostly what I've learned is

 studying don't make you no smarter about people."

 I started to agree. I know some pretty dim academ-

 ics, people who live in another world. Winger cut me

 off. "Enough chit-chat. Here's the gig. This old broad

 DEADLY OUICKSILVER LIES

 11

 name of Maggie Jenn is maybe gonna come see you.

 I don't know what's up, but my boss is willing to pay

 a shitload of money to find out. This Jenn crone

 knows me so I can't get close to her. What I figured

 was, why don't I get you to let her hire you, then you

 let me know what she's up to and I can take that to

 my boss."

 Vintage Winger.

 "Maggie Jenn?"

 "That's the name."

 "Seems like it ought to ring a bell. Who is she?"

 "You got me. Just some old broad off the Hill."

 "The Hill?" I leaned back, just a harried man of

 affairs taking a moment out to relax with an old

 friend. "I have a case."

 "What is it this time? A stray lizard?" She laughed.

 Her laughter sounded like geese headed north for the

 winter. "Meow, meow."

 A few days earlier, I'd gotten stung by an old biddy

 who'd hired me to look for her beloved missing Mog-

 gie. Never mind the details. It's embarrassing enough

 just me knowing. "That's on the street?"

 Winger swung her feet onto my desk. "All over it."

 Dean was in it deep. / hadn't told a soul.

 "Best Garrett story I heard hi a while, too. Thou-

 sand marks for a cat? Come on."

 "You know how some old ladies are about their

 cats." The cat hadn't been the problem, really. The

 problems started when I found a real animal that was

 a ringer for the imaginary, red herring beast. "Who

 would suspect a sweet old lady of wanting to set him

 up for a fall guy in a scam?"

 Honk honk, har bar. "I would've got suspicious

 when she wouldn't come to my house."

 What saved me was finding that cat. I caught on

 when I tried to take him home. "Yeah."

 The Dead Man might have saved me all the embar-

 rassment. Had he been awake.

 12

 GLEN COOK

 Part of the discomfort of the mess was knowing he'd

 never stop reminding me about it. "Never mind that.

 Since we're talking about old ladies, tell me what this

 Maggie Jenn is going to want."

 "I figure she's gonna ask you to kill somebody."

 "Say what?" That wasn't what I expected. "Hey!

 You know—"

 Somebody else was trying out my front door. This

 somebody had a fist of stone bigger than a ham. "I

 have a bad feeling about this," I muttered. "Whenever

 platoons of people start thumping the door ..."

 Winger stowed her leer. "I'll disappear."

 "Don't wake the Dead Man."

 "You kidding?" She pointed toward the ceiling. "I'll

 be up there. Find me when you're done."

 I was afraid of that.

 Having a no-strings, no-complications friendship can

 have its own complications.

 The small front room had grown quiet. I paused

 to eavesdrop. Not one obscenity marred the precious

 silence. T.G. Parrot was asleep again.

 I thought about making it that jungle pigeon's last

 nap, the beginning of the big sleep, the longest voyage,

 the ...

 Boom boom boom.

 I peeked through the peephole. By-the-numbers

 Garrett, that's me. Fixing to live a thousand years.

 All I saw was a smallish redhead facing three-quarters

 away, staring at something. That little bit did all that

 pounding? She was stronger than she looked. I opened

 the door. She continued staring up the street. I leaned

 forward cautiously.

 The neighborhood pixie teens were chucking rotten

 fruits off the cornices and gutters of an ugly old three-

 story half a block up Macunado. A band of gnomes

 13

 14

 GLEN COOK

 below dodged and cursed and shook their walking

 sticks. They were all old, clad in the usual drab gray,

 with whiskers. Not beards, whiskers, like you see in

 paintings of old-time generals and princes and mer-

 chant captains. All gnomes seem to be old and out of

 fashion. I've never seen a young one or a female one.

 One spry little codger, chanting a colorful warsong

 about discount rates and yam futures, pegged a broken

 cobblestone hard enough to actually hit a pixie. It did

 a somersault off a gargoyle's head. The gnomes

 pranced around and waved their sticks in glee and

 sent up an ave to the Great Arbitrager. Then the pixie

 brat opened his wings and soared. His laughter was a

 mocking squeak.

 I told the redhead, "An exercise in futility. All

 sound and fury. Been going on all month. Nobody's

 gotten hurt yet. Probably all die of shame if anybody

 did." Gnomes are that way. Gladly make fortunes fi-

 nancing wars but don't want to watch the bloodshed.

 I spied a sedan chair at streetside down toward Ma-

 cunado's intersection with Wizard's Reach. Beside it

 stood something half man and half gorilla with hands

 that fit the prescription for whatever it was that had

 tried to demolish my door. "That thing tame?"

 "Mugwump? He's a sweetheart. And as human as

 you are." The redhead's tone suggested she might be,

 unwittingly, insulting friend Mugwump.

 "Can I help you?" Boy, would I like to help her.

 Mugwump was old news.

 I make a point of being nice to redheads, at least

 till they're not nice to me. Redhead was always my

 favorite color, barely edging blonde and brunette.

 The woman turned to me. "Mr. Garrett?" Her voice

 was low, husky, sexy.

 I didn't owe any money. "Guilty." Surprise, sur-

 prise. She was a good decade older than my first guess.

 But time had stolen nothing. She was proof on the

 hoof that aging produces fine wines. Second-guessing,

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 15

 I put her over thirty-five but under forty. Me, I'm a

 tender, innocent thirty and don't usually look for them

 quite so ripe.

 "You're staring, Mr. Garrett. I thought that was

 impolite."

 "Huh? Oh. Yeah. Excuse me."

 The Goddamn Parrot started muttering in his sleep.

 Something about interspecies necrophilia. That got me

 back to the real world. "What can I do for you,

 madam?" Other than the obvious, if you're looking

 for volunteers. Hoo.

 I was amazed. Yeah, female of the species is my

 soft spot, my blind side, but the mature type didn't

 usually get me. Whatever, something about this one

 totally distracted me. And she knew it.

 Businesslike, Garrett. Businesslike.

 "Ma'am, Mr. Garrett? Am I that far past it?"

 I sputtered. I stumbled around and tripped over my

 tongue till it was black with footprints. She finally had

 mercy and smiled. "Can we get in out of the

 weather?"

 "Sure." I stepped aside, held the door. What was

 wrong with the weather? It couldn't have been nicer.

 There were barely enough clouds to keep you from

 falling into a sky as blue as you will ever hope to see.

 She brushed past without tricks, just close because

 she had to. I shut my eyes. I ground my teeth. I bab-

 bled, "My office is the second door on the left. I can't

 offer much but beer or brandy. My man Dean is

 away." The woman had to be a witch. Or I was out

 of practice. Bad.

 "Brandy would be perfect, Mr. Garrett."

 Of course. Pure class. "Coming right up. Make

 yourself at home." I dove into the kitchen. Dig dig

 dig till I found some brandy. A bit of a tippler, Dean

 hides the stuff all over so I won't know how much he

 has bought. I poured from a bottle that I hoped con-

 tained good stuff. What did I know about brandy?

 16

 GLEN COOK

 Beer is my favorite food. I zipped to the office. The

 seasoned redhead had set up camp in the client's chair.

 She frowned as she studied Eleanor. "Here you go."

 "Thank you. An interesting painting. There's a lot

 there if you look long enough."

 I glanced at my honey as I settled. She was a lovely

 blonde, terrified, fleeing something only hinted at hi

 the painting's background. If you looked at that paint-

 ing right, though, you could read the whole evil story.

 There was magic in it, though much of that had gone

 once I got the man who murdered Eleanor.

 I told the story. My visitor was a good listener. I

 managed to avoid getting totally lost in my own chem-

 istry. I observed carefully. I suggested, "You might

 introduce yourself before we go any further. I'm never

 comfortable calling a woman 'Hey You'."

 Her smile softened the enamel on my teeth. "My

 name is Maggie Jenn. Margat Jenn, actually, but I've

 never been called anything but Maggie."

 Ah, the monster of the prophecy. Winger's old

 crone. Must have lost her walker. I blurted, "Maggie

 doesn't sound like a redhead."

 Her smile warmed up. Incredible! "Surely you're

 not that naive, Mr. Garrett."

 "Garrett is fine. Mr. Garrett was my grandpop. No.

 It hasn't escaped me that some women miraculously

 transform overnight."

 "This is just a tint, really. A little more red than

 my natural shade. Just vanity. One more rearguard

 skirmish in my war against tune."

 Yeah. The poor toothless hag. "Looks to me like

 you've got it on the run."

 "You're sweet." She smiled again, turning up the

 heat. She leaned forward....

 Maggie Jenn caught my left hand, squeezed. "Some

 women enjoy being looked at that way, Garrett.

 Sometimes they want to look back." She tickled my

 palm. I stifled an urge to pant. She was working me

 and I didn't care. "But I'm here on business and it's

 important, so we'd better get to it." She took her

 hand back.

 I was supposed to melt, going through withdrawal.

 I went through withdrawal.

 "I like this room, Garrett. Tells me a lot. Confirms

 what I've heard about you."

 I waited. Clients go through this. They're desperate

 when they arrive. They wouldn't come to me if they

 weren't. But they stall around before admitting that

 their lives have gone out of control. Most end up tell-

 ing me how they chose me. Maggie Jenn did that.

 Some change their minds before they get to the

 point. Maggie Jenn did not.

 "I didn't realize I was so well known. That's scary."

 Apparently my name was common corn among the

 ruling class, to which Maggie Jenn clearly belonged,

 though she had not revealed where she fit. I should

 avoid the flashy cases. I don't like being noticed.

 "You're on everyone's list of specialists, Garrett. If

 you want a coach built, you go to Linden Atwood.

 You want unique flatware, you commission Rickman

 Plax and Sons. You want the best shoes, you buy Tate.

 You need prying and spying, you hire Garrett."

 17

 18

 GLEN COOK

 "Speaking of prying and spying."

 "You want me to get to the point."

 "I'm used to people circling in on their troubles."

 She reflected a moment. "I see where they might.

 It's hard. All right. To the point. I need you to find

 my daughter."

 "Huh?" She blindsided me. I was all tensed for her

 to ask me to kill somebody and all she wanted was

 the basic Garrett service.

 "I need you to find my daughter. She's been missing

 for six days. I'm worried. What's the matter? You

 have the funniest look."

 "I get like this when I think about working."

 "You have that reputation. What will it take to get

 you out of the house?"

 "More information. And the fee settled." There. I

 could be proud of me. I was taking command, being

 businesslike, handling my weakness.

 So how come I was practically agreeing to take a

 case blind?

 Actually, despite my reputation and past habit of

 laziness, I had been working steady, minor stuff, grab-

 bing a few marks while I avoided the house and Dean,

 the Dead Man and the Goddamn Parrot. The former

 suffer from the delusion that it will be a better world

 if I work myself to death. T.G.P. just nags.

 "Her name is Justina, Garrett. She's an adult,

 though just barely. I don't hang over her shoulder."

 "An adult? What were you, ten years old? ..."

 "Flattery will get you everywhere. I was eighteen.

 She turned eighteen three months ago. Never mind

 the math."

 "Hell, you're a spring chicken. Twenty-one with a

 few years' experience. You don't need to stop count-

 ing yet. I bet plenty of people take you for Justina's

 sister."

 "Aren't you the sweet talker."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 19

 "Actually, I'm only being honest. I'm way too dis-

 tracted to ..."

 "I'll bet the girls love you, Garrett."

 "Yeah. You hear them chanting in the street. You

 saw them climbing the walls so they can get in through

 a second-story window." TunFaire being TunFaire, my

 house has only one ground floor window, in the

 kitchen. Iron bars cover it.

 Maggie Jenn's eyes sparkled. "I have a feeling I'm

 going to wish I'd met you sooner, Garrett." Those

 eyes promised. Maybe I was going to wish that, too.

 A redhead will knock me for a loop every time.

 She continued. "To the point. Again. Justina's been

 running with bad companions. Nothing I can put my

 finger on, no. Just youngsters I don't like. I got the

 feeling they were up to something wicked. No, I never

 saw anything to confirm that."

 One thing you notice about parents who are looking

 for strayed children. They never liked anyone the kid

 liked. The kid is gone because he or she fell in with

 evil companions. Even when they strain to be non-

 judgmental, there's this basic assumption that the

 friends are no good. If any of the friends are of an-

 other sex, boy, howdy!

 "I expect you'll want to know all about her before

 you start, right?"

 We had us a built-in assumption I'd be working for

 Momma Jenn. Momma Jenn was used to getting her

 own way. "Best way to do it. I knew a guy in my line

 whose whole thing was to get right inside the head of

 whoever he was hunting. He'd ignore everything but

 the character of that one guy. He'd almost become

 that guy. 'Course, lots of times he could've got his

 man quicker by looking at the big picture."

 "You'll have to tell me about some of your cases.

 It's not a side of life I see. Must be exciting. Suppose

 you come to my house for an early supper? You can

 examine Justina's room and her things and ask your

 20

 GLEN COOK

 questions. Then you can decide whether or not you

 want the case." She smiled a smile that put her earlier

 efforts to shame. She was confident. I was getting

 roasted, toasted, manipulated, and I loved every sec-

 ond of it.

 I said, "It happens I'm free tonight."

 "Perfect." She rose, began donning flesh-colored

 gloves I hadn't noticed before. She considered Elea-

 nor. Her face darkened. She shuddered. Eleanor can

 have that effect. "Fifth hour?" Maggie asked.

 "Ill be there. But you'll have to tell me where."

 Her face did darken then. Big mistake, Garrett. I

 was supposed to know without being told. Unfortu-

 nately, I knew so little about Maggie Jenn I didn't

 know that she would be irked because I didn't know

 who she was or where she lived.

 The lady was a trooper. She carried on. She dallied

 only a moment before offering an address.

 I got real nervous real sudden.

 We were talking way up the Hill, where the richest

 and most powerful of the rich and powerful live, up

 where the altitude itself is the best indicator of wealth

 and might. Blue Crescent Street was in the realm of

 fairy tale as far as I was concerned.

 Maggie Jenn was a lady with big connections, but I

 still could not recall why I thought I should know

 her name.

 It would come when it was really inconvenient.

 I escorted the lovely lady to my front door. The

 lovely lady continued to smolder and invite. Would

 the evening have anything to do with a missing

 daughter?

 I stood bemused by Maggie Jenn swaying toward her

 litter. She knew I was watching. She made it a good

 show.

 That killer stump Mugwump watched me watch. I

 didn't get the impression that he wished me well.

 "You never stop foaming at the mouth, do you?"

 I realized that I had settled down to savor every

 second of Maggie's departure. I tore my gaze away,

 turned to see which of my busybody neighbors was

 going to permit me to bask in the chill of her disap-

 proval. I discovered, instead, a very attractive little

 brunette. She had approached from the other

 •direction.

 "Linda Lee!" This was my friend from the Royal

 Library, about whom I'd been thinking while holding

 Espinosa's book instead. "This is the nicest surprise

 I've had in a while." I went down to meet her. "I'm

 glad you changed your mind." Linda Lee, barely five

 feet tall, with beautiful big brown puppy eyes, was just

 about the cutest bit of a librarian I could imagine.

 "Down, boy. This is a public place."

 "Come into my parlor."

 "If I do that, I'll forget all about why I came here."

 She plopped herself down on a step sideways. She

 locked her ankles together, pulled her knees up under

 her chin, wrapped her arms around them, and looked

 at me with a little girl innocence she knew would turn

 me into a love zombie.

 21

 22

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 23

 It was my day to be a plaything.

 I could handle it. I'd been born for that role.

 Linda Lee Luther was no innocent, whatever im-

 pression you got at first glance. But she did try hard

 to be the icemaiden some folks thought a librarian

 should be. She tried but failed. Real ice wasn't in her

 nature. I just stood there, wearing my winningest grin,

 confident that she would talk herself into leaving the

 public eye.

 "Stop that!"

 "What?" I asked.

 "Looking at me like that. I know what you're

 thinking...."

 "I can't help that."

 "Yes, well, you're going to make me forget why I

 came here."

 I didn't believe that for a second, but I'm a good

 guy. I can go along with a gag. "All right. Tell me

 about it."

 "Huh?"

 "What brought you here if not my irresistable

 charm?"

 "I need your help. Professionally."

 Why me?

 I didn't believe it. Librarians don't get into fixes

 where they need guys like me to get them unfixed.

 Not cute little bits like Linda Lee Luther.

 I'd begun moving toward my door. Preoccupied,

 Linda Lee rose and followed. I had her inside. I had

 the front door closed and bolted. I tried sneaking her

 past the open door of the small front room. The God-

 damn Parrot mumbled obscenities in his sleep. Lovely

 Linda Lee did not take exception. I began to recall

 why I was so fond of this girl. I asked her, "What's

 got you so distracted?"

 This was her big chance to come back with some-

 thing clever and suggestive, an opportunity she

 wouldn't have wasted usually. But she just moaned,

 "I'm going to get fired. I just know it."

 "That doesn't seem likely." Really.

 "You don't understand. I lost a book, Garrett. A

 rare book. One that can't be replaced. It may have

 been stolen."

 I eased into my office. Linda Lee followed me.

 Where was this attraction when I wanted to use it

 most?

 "I have to get it back before they find out," Linda

 Lee continued. "There's no excuse for me having let

 this happen."

 I told her, "Calm down. Take a deep breath. Hold

 it. Then tell me all about it, from the beginning. I'm

 already tied up in a job that's going to keep me busy

 for a while, but there's still a chance I can suggest

 something."

 I took her by the shoulders, maneuvered her over

 to the client's seat. She settled.

 "Tell me from the beginning," I reminded.

 Aargh! The best laid plans, and so forth. Instead of

 spinning her sad tale of woe, she started sputtering

 and gesturing, original mission completely forgotten.

 Uh-oh.

 The Espinosa. Right there on my desk.

 I hadn't quite observed all the formalities when I'd

 borrowed it. The library powers that be don't trust

 ordinary folks with books, anyway. Books might give

 us ideas.

 I gobbled something placatory that got lost in the

 uproar, totally failed to steer her back to that matter

 of the loss that had brought her to me. "How could

 you do this to me, Garrett? I'm already in trouble....

 If they miss this book too, I'm dead. How could you?"

 Well, the how had been easy. It wasn't a very big

 book and the old veteran guarding the door had been

 napping. He'd had only one leg, anyway.

 Words continued to vomit from my lovely Linda

 24

 GLEN COOK

 Lee. An awesome performance. She got a grip on the

 Espinosa like it was her firstborn about to be repoed

 by a dwarf with a polysyllabic name.

 How do you argue with panic? I didn't.

 Linda Lee suddenly made a run for it. I didn't get

 around the desk fast enough. She squawked every step

 to the front door.

 Wa-hoo! said the Goddamn Parrot. What a great

 excuse for raising hell. He went to work.

 A moment later, I was watching Linda Lee scamper

 up Macunado, her anger so palpable eight-foot ogres

 scooted out of her way.

 Her visit lasted so briefly I caught a last glimpse of

 Maggie Jenn's litter before it, too, got lost in traffic.

 Mugwump sent me a scowl to remember him by.

 What a day. What next?

 One thing seemed certain. There were no more

 lovelies headed my way. Sigh.

 Time to take a minute to see what Eleanor thought

 about Maggie Jenn.

 I settled behind my desk, stared at Eleanor. "What

 did you think of Maggie, darling? Should I be your

 basic opportunist? Go for it even if she is older than

 me?"

 Eleanor doesn't say much but I manage by putting

 words in her mouth. "Yeah, I know. I went for you.

 A ghost." Picture that. I've been infatuated a few

 thousand times but hopelessly in love only twice, most

 recently with a woman who died when I was four. "So

 what's the big deal she's a few years older, eh?"

 Weird things happen to me. Vampires. Dead gods

 trying to resurrect themselves. Killer zombies. Serial

 murderers who keep right on killing after you find

 them and send them off to the happy hunting ground.

 So why consider a love affair with a ghost outrageous?

 "Yeah. I know. It would be cynical of me. What?

 Sure, she plans to use me, too. I know. But what a

 way to be used."

 From the hall, I heard, "Yo, Garrett. I'm getting

 gray hairs hanging around up here."

 Winger. Damn! I can't remember everything, can I?

 I rose slowly, still distracted. Maggie Jenn had cast a

 spell on me, no doubt about it. I'd almost forgotten

 my disappointment over Linda Lee.

 I found Winger sitting on the stairs. "What are you

 doing, Garrett? The old broad left fifteen minutes

 ago." She didn't mention Linda Lee's hollering.

 "I've been thinking."

 25

 26

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 27

 "That's dangerous for a guy in your condition."

 "Huh?" I didn't have a comeback. For only about

 the ten thousandth time in my life. The perfect re-

 sponse would spawn sometime as I lay tossing and

 turning an hour before dawn.

 Winger strode to the Dead Man's door, stuck her

 nose in. His room takes up half the ground floor. I

 looked over her shoulder. All 450 pounds of him re-

 mained planted in his chair, still as death. The Logh-

 yr's elephantlike snout dangled down a foot to his

 chest. Dust had begun to collect on him, but the ver-

 min hadn't found him yet. No point cleaning until they

 did. Maybe Dean would come home first and save me

 the trouble.

 Winger backed out of there, grabbed my elbow.

 "He's out of it." She knew because he hadn't reacted

 to her. He has no use for females in general and less

 use for Winger. Once, I threatened to boot Dean out

 and move her in.

 "What did she say?" Winger asked as we headed

 upstairs. "Who's the target?"

 "You don't know?"

 "I don't know squat. All I know is I'm getting paid

 a shitpot full to find out."

 Money was important to Winger. It is to all of us,

 in a palsy sort of way: nice to have around, fun to be

 with. But for Winger, it was like a patron saint.

 "She wants me to find her daughter. The girl's been

 missing for six days."

 "Say what? I'll be damned. I was sure it was going

 to be a hit."

 "Why?"

 "No special reason. I guess I added the cues up

 wrong. Looking for her kid? You take the job?"

 "I'm thinking about it. I'm supposed to go up to

 her place, check out the kid's stuff, before I decide."

 "But you'll take it, right? Make yourself some of

 that old double money?"

 "An intriguing idea. Only I haven't seen single

 money from anybody yet."

 "You sly bastard. You're thinking about topping the

 old broad. You're here with me and you're thinking

 about that. You're a regular villain."

 "Winger! The woman is old enough to be my

 mother."

 "Then you or mom is lying about their age."

 "You're the one that went on about what an old

 hag she was."

 "What's that got to do with anything? Hell. I forgive

 you, Garrett. Like I said, you're here. And she's not."

 Arguing with Winger is like spitting into a whirl-

 wind. Not much profit in it.

 Only through a supreme effort did I get away in

 time to join Maggie Jenn for dinner.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 29

 "Ta-ta," I told the Dead Man—softly, so the God-

 damn Parrot wouldn't hear. "I spent the day with a

 beautiful blonde. In penance, I'm going to spend the

 evening with a gorgeous redhead."

 He did not respond. He sure would have had he

 been awake. Winger had a special place in his heart.

 He had half believed my threat to marry her.

 Laughing gently, still unforgiven, I tiptoed toward

 the front door. Before his departure, at incredible ex-

 pense (to me), Dean had had a key lock installed hi

 the new door, like I hadn't survived before he was

 there to slam bolts and bars into place behind me.

 Dean placed his trust in the wrong things. A key lock

 never stops anybody but the honest people. Our real

 protection is the Dead Man.

 Loghyr have many talents, dead or alive.

 I strutted away smiling at one and all, deaf to their

 squabbles. We were getting a lot of nonhumans in the

 neighborhood, mostly rough type refugees from the

 Cantard, never shy about expressing opinions. There

 was always a fuss among them.

 Worse, though, were the proto-revolutionaries.

 Those crowded every loft and sleeping room. They

 overflowed the taverns, where they chattered foolishly

 about ever less workable dogmas. I understood what

 moved them. I didn't think much of the Crown, either.

 But I did know that none of us, them or me, was

 ready to try on the king's shoes.

 28

 A real revolution would make things worse. These

 days no two revolutionaries agree whither the Karen-

 tine state, anyway. So they would have to murder one

 another wholesale before ...

 Revolution had been tried already, anyway, but so

 ineptly that hardly anybody but the secret police

 knew.

 I ignored the hairy-faced, black-clad agents of chaos

 on the corners, scowling paranoiacally while they de-

 bated doctrinal trivia. The Crown was not hi much

 danger. I have contacts in the new city police, the

 Guard. They say half the revolutionaries are really

 spies.

 I waved to people. I whistled. It was a glorious day.

 I was on the job, however. Though I was whistling

 my way to dinner with a beautiful woman, I observed

 my surroundings. I noticed the guy following me.

 I roamed. I dawdled. I ambled. I strolled. I tried to

 get an estimate of the clown's intent. He wasn't very

 good. I pondered my options.

 Turning the tables appealed to me. I could shake

 him, then follow him when he ran to report.

 I do have enemies, sad to admit. In the course of my

 labors, occasionally I inconvenience some unpleasant

 people. Some might want to even scores.

 I hate a bad loser.

 My friend Morley Dotes, a professional killer who

 masquerades as a vegetarian gourmet, claims it's my

 own fault for leaving them alive behind me.

 I studied my tail till I was sure I could handle him,

 then hurried along to keep my date with Maggie Jenn.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 31

 The Jenn place was a fifty-room hovel on the edge of

 the innermost circle of the Hill. No mere tradesman,

 however rich, however powerful, would reach that

 final ring.

 Funny. Maggie Jenn had not struck me as the aristo

 type.

 The name still nagged. I still did not recall why I

 ought to know it.

 That part of the Hill was all stone, vertical and hori-

 zontal. No yards, no gardens, no sidewalks, no green

 anywhere unless on the rare third-story balcony. No

 brick. Red or brown brick was what the mob used to

 build. Forget that. Use stone that was quarried in an-

 other country and had to be barged for hundreds of

 miles.

 I'd never been to the area so I got disoriented.

 There weren't any spaces between buildings. The

 street was so narrow two carriages couldn't pass with-

 out climbing the sidewalks. It was cleaner than the

 rest of the city, but the gray stone pavements and

 buildings made the view seem dingy anyway. Walking

 that street was like walking the bottom of a dismal

 limestone canyon.

 The Jenn address was hi the middle of a featureless

 block. The door was more like a postern gate than an

 entrance to a home. Not one window faced the street,

 just an unbroken cliff of stone. The wall even lacked

 30

 ornament, unusual for the Hill. Hill folk build to

 outdo their neighbors in displays of bad taste.

 Some slick architect must have sold some otherwise

 shrewd character the notion that starkness was the

 way to shine. No doubt storehouses of wealth changed

 hands, the ascetic look being more costly than mere

 gingerbread.

 Me, I like cheap. Gimme a herd of double-ugly gar-

 goyles and some little boys peeing off the gutter

 corners.

 The knocker was so discreet you almost had to hunt

 for it. It wasn't even brass, just some gray metal like

 pewter or tin. It made a restrained tick tick so feeble

 I'd have thought nobody inside could hear it.

 The plain teak door opened immediately. I found

 myself face-to-face with a guy who looked like he got

 stuck with the name Ichabod by malicious parents

 back around the turn of the century. He looked like

 he had spent the numerous intervening decades living

 down to the image that kind of name conjures. He

 was long and bony and bent. His eyes were red and

 his hair was white and his skin was oh so pale. I mut-

 tered, "So this is what they do when they get old.

 Hang up then- black swords and turn into butlers." He

 had an Adam's apple that looked like he was choking

 on a grapefruit. He didn't say a word, he just stood

 there staring like a buzzard waiting for a snack to

 cool.

 He had the biggest bony arches over his eyes I ever

 saw. They were forested with white jungles.

 Spooky guy.

 "Dr. Death, I presume?" Dr. Death was a character

 in the Punch and Judy shows going around. Ichabod

 and the bad doctor had a lot in common, but the

 puppet was six feet shorter.

 Some people have no sense of humor. We had us

 one of those here. Ichabod neither cracked a smile

 nor twitched one of those woodlots camped over his

 32

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 33

 eyes. He did speak, though. Fair Karentine, too. "You

 have some cause for disturbing this household?"

 "Sure." I didn't like his tone. I never like the tone

 of Hill servants. It's filled with the defensive snob-

 bishness you find in the tone of a turncoat. "I wanted

 to see if you guys really do shrivel hi the sunlight." I

 had the advantage in this dumb game because I was

 expected and he'd been given my description. And

 he'd recognized me.

 If he hadn't recognized me, he would've slammed

 the door against my nose. Word would have gone out

 to the thugs who defend the rich and mighty from

 nuisances like me. A band would be hastening hither

 to deal me an exemplary drubbing.

 Come to think of it, they could be hastening any-

 way, if Ichabod had a confederate with no better sense

 of humor. "Name's Garrett," I announced. "Maggie

 Jenn asked me to come for dinner."

 The old spook stepped back. He never said a word,

 but it was plain he doubted his boss's wisdom. He

 didn't approve of letting my kind in the house. No

 telling what might have to be dragged back out of my

 pockets before they let me go. Or maybe I'd scratch

 off some fleas and leave them to colonize the rugs.

 I glanced back to see how my tail was making out.

 Poor sod was playing hell staying inconspicuous.

 "Nice door," I observed as I caught it edge-on. It

 was four inches thick. "Expecting a debt collector with

 a battering ram?" Hill people are rich enough to have

 those kinds of problems. Nobody would loan me

 enough for me to get in trouble.

 "Follow me." Ichabod turned.

 "That should be 'follow me, sir.' " I don't know why

 the guy made me antagonistic. "I'm a guest. You're a

 flunky." I began having second thoughts about revolu-

 tions. When I go over to the Royal Library to see

 Linda Lee, I poke around in the books, too. Once I

 read one about rebellions. Seems like the servants of

 the overthrown get it worse than their masters do—

 unless they are perceptive enough to be agents of the

 rebels.

 "Indeed."

 "Ah. A comment. Lead on, Ichabod."

 "The name is Zeke, sir." The sir dripped sarcasm.

 "Zeke?" That was as bad as Ichabod. Almost.

 "Yes, sir. Are you coming? The mistress doesn't

 like to be kept waiting."

 "Do lead on, then. The thousand and one gods of

 TunFaire forfend that we distress Her Red-

 headedness."

 Zeke elected not to respond. He'd concluded that I

 had an attitude problem. He was right, of course, but

 for the wrong reasons. And I was a little ashamed. He

 was probably a nice old man with a herd of grandkids,

 forced to work into his dotage in order to support

 ungrateful descendants who were the offspring of sons

 killed in the Cantard.

 I didn't believe that for a minute, though.

 The interior of that place bore no resemblance to

 the outside. It was pretty dusty now, but it had started

 out as the daydream of some wharfside loser who

 imagined himself a great potentate. Or a great poten-

 tate with the tastes of a wharfside loser. I'll get some

 of these and a bunch of those and ... And the only

 thing missing was a troop of houris.

 The place was lousy with tasteless billows of wealth.

 Plush everything and way too much of it, and even

 more of everything as we moved nearer the center of

 the pit. Actually, we seemed to advance from zone to

 zone, each another expression of bad taste.

 "Whoa!" said I, unable to restrain myself. "There

 it is." It being a mammoth's-foot cane and brolly

 stand. "You don't see a lot of those."

 Zeke gave me a look, read my reaction to that bit

 of down-home chic. His stone face relaxed for a mo-

 34

 GLEN COOK

 merit. He agreed. In that instant, we concluded a

 shaky armistice.

 No doubt it would survive no longer than Karenta's

 armistice with Venageta, which had lasted a whole six

 and a half hours.

 "Sometimes we cannot relinquish our pasts, sir."

 "Maggie Jenn used to be a mammoth hunter?"

 The peace was over. Just like that. He hunked along

 sullenly. I think that was because I'd admitted I didn't

 have the faintest idea what Maggie Jenn used to be.

 How come everyone thought I should know who

 she was? Including me? My famous memory was

 doing famously today.

 Zeke ushered me into the worst room yet. "Ma-

 dame will join you here." I looked around, shading

 my eyes, began to wonder if Madame didn't used to

 be a madam. The place was for sure done up in whore-

 house modern, probably by the same nancy boys who

 did the high-fly joints down in the Tenderloin.

 I turned to ask a question.

 Ichabod had abandoned me.

 I almost squeaked for him to come back. "Oh,

 Zeke! Bring me a blindfold." I didn't think I could

 stand the sensory assault otherwise.

 It got to me. I stood around like I'd just made eye

 contact with a medusa. I'd never seen so much red.

 Everything was a red of the reddest reds, overwhelm-

 ingly red. Ubiquitous gold leaf highlights only height-

 ened the impact.

 "Garrett."

 Maggie Jenn. I didn't have the strength to turn. I

 was scared she'd be wearing scarlet and lip rouge of

 a shade that would make her look like a vampire at

 snack time.

 "You alive?"

 "Just stunned." I waved a hand. "This is a bit

 overpowering."

 "Kind of sucks, don't it? But Teddy loved it, the

 gods know why. This place was Teddy's gift, so I keep

 this part the way he liked it."

 I did turn then. No, she hadn't worn red. She wore

 a peasanty sort of thing that was mostly light brown

 and white lace and a silly white dairymaid's hat that

 set off her hair. She also wore a heavyweight smile

 that said she was amusing herself at my expense but

 I was free to join in the fun. I told her, "I'm missing

 something. I don't get the joke."

 Her smile faded. "What do you know about me?"

 "Not much. Your name. That you're the sexiest

 woman I've run into in an age. Various self-evident

 characteristics. That you live in a classy neighborhood.

 And that's about it."

 35

 36

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 37

 She shook her head. Red curls flew around. "Noto-

 riety isn't worth much anymore. Come on. We don't

 stay here. You'd go blind."

 Nice to have somebody crack wise for me. Saved

 me the trouble of thinking them up and pissing her

 off.

 She led me through several memorable rooms which

 weren't important enough to note. Then we roared

 out into the real world, bam! A dining room set for

 two. "Like a night in Elf Hill," I muttered.

 She hadn't lost her hearing. "I used to feel that way.

 Those rooms can be intimidating. Go ahead. Plant it."

 I took a chair opposite her at the end of a table

 long enough to seat two dozen people. "This is a love

 nest?"

 "Smallest dining room I've got." Hint of a smile.

 "You and Teddy?"

 "Sigh. How fleeting infamy. Nobody remembers ex-

 cept the family. That's all right, though. They're bitter

 enough for everybody. Teddy was Teodoric, Prince of

 Kamark. He became Teodoric IV and lasted a whole

 year."

 "The king?" Bells began to ring. Finally. "It's start-

 ing to come."

 "Good. I won't have to put myself through a bunch

 of explanations."

 "I don't know a lot. That all happened when I was

 in the Marines. In the Cantard, we didn't pay much

 attention to royal scandals."

 "Didn't know who was king and didn't care. I've

 heard that one." Maggie Jenn smiled her best smile.

 "I bet you still don't follow royal scandals."

 "They don't affect my life much."

 "It wouldn't affect your work for me, either, you

 knowing or not knowing all the dirt."

 A woman came in. Like Zeke, she was as old as

 original sin. She was tiny, the size of a child about to

 lunge into adolescence. She wore spectacles. Maggie

 Jenn took good care of her help. Spectacles are expen-

 sive. The old woman posed, hands clasped in front of

 her. She neither moved nor spoke.

 Maggie Jenn said, "We'll start whenever you're

 ready, Laurie."

 The old woman inclined her head and left.

 Maggie said, "I will tell you some of it, though, to

 soothe that famous curiosity of yours. So you do what

 I'm paying you to do instead of rooting around in my

 past."

 I grunted.

 Laurie and Zeke brought in a soup course. I began

 salivating. I'd eaten my own cooking too long.

 That was the only way I missed Dean, though! You

 bet.

 "I was the king's mistress, Garrett."

 "I remember." Finally. It was the scandal of its day,

 a crown prince falling for a commoner so hard he set

 her up on the Hill. His wife had not been thrilled.

 Old Teddy had made no pretense of discretion. He'd

 been in love and didn't care if the whole world knew.

 A worrisome attitude in a man who might be king.

 It suggested character flaws.

 For sure. King Teodoric IV turned out to be an

 arrogant, narrow-minded, self-indulgent jerk who got

 himself snuffed within a year.

 We aren't tolerant of royal foibles. That is, our roy-

 als and nobles aren't tolerant. Nobody else would con-

 sider assassination. It just isn't done outside the

 family. Even our mad dog revolutionaries never sug-

 gest offing the royals.

 I said, "I do wonder, though, about this daughter."

 "Not Teddy's."

 I slurped my soup. It was broth and garlic somebody

 tossed a chicken across. I liked it. Empty bowls went

 away. An appetizer course appeared. I didn't say any-

 thing. Maggie might talk just to extinguish the silence.

 38

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 39

 "I've made my dumb mistakes, Garrett. My daugh-

 ter was the result of a lulu."

 I chomped something made of chicken liver, bacon,

 and a giant nutmeat. "This's good."

 "I was sixteen. My father married me off to a virgin-

 obsessed animal who had daughters old enough to be

 my mother. It was good for business. Since nobody

 ever told me how you don't get pregnant, I got. My

 husband had fits. I wasn't supposed to whelp brats, I

 was supposed to warm his bed and tell him he was

 the greatest there ever was. He went buggo when I

 had a daughter. Another daughter. He had no sons.

 It was all a female plot. We were out to get him. I

 never had the nerve to tell him what would happen if

 us women really gave him what he deserved. He got a

 taste, though." Nasty smile. For one second, a darker

 Maggie shone through.

 She nibbled some food and left me room to com-

 ment. I nodded and kept chomping.

 "The old bastard never stopped using me, whatever

 he thought about me. His daughters took pity and

 showed me what I needed to know. They hated him

 more than I did. I bided my time. Then my father got

 killed by robbers who got twelve copper sceats and a

 pair of junk boots more than a year old."

 "That's TunFaire."

 She nodded. That was TunFaire.

 I nudged, "Your dad died."

 "So I no longer had any reason to please my

 husband."

 "You walked."

 "After I caught him sleeping and beat the living shit

 out of him with a poker."

 "I'll take that to heart."

 "Good idea." There was mischief in her eye. I de-

 cided I was going to like Maggie Jenn. Anybody who

 could live through what she had and have a little mis-

 chief left ...

 It was an interesting meal. I got to hear all about

 how she met Teddy without hearing word one about

 what she did between her shoeleather divorce and that

 first explosive encounter with the future king. I sus-

 pected she had loved Teddy as much as he'd loved

 her. You wouldn't keep something as ugly as those

 red rooms in memory of somebody you disliked.

 "This place is a prison," she told me, a little misty.

 "You got out to visit me." Maybe they let her out

 on a tease release program.

 "Not that kind of prison."

 I stuffed my face and let that old vacuum suck more

 words out of her. I don't deal well with metaphor.

 "I can leave any time I want, Garrett. I've been

 encouraged to leave. Often. But if I do, I lose every-

 thing. It's not really mine. I just get to use it." She

 gestured around her. "As long as I don't abandon it."

 "I see." And I did. She was a prisoner of circum-

 stance. She had to stay. She was an unmarried woman

 with a child. She had known poverty and knew rich

 was better. Poverty was a prison, too. "I think I'm

 going to like you, Maggie Jenn."

 She raised an eyebrow. What an endearing skill!

 Few of us have sufficient native talent. Only the very

 best people can do the eyebrow thing.

 I said, "I don't like most of my clients."

 "I guess likable people don't get into situations

 where they need somebody like you."

 "Not often, that's a fact."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 41

 The way things started, I became convinced that a

 certain eventuality had been foredoomed from the

 moment I'd opened my front door. I'm not a first date

 kind of guy, but I've never strained too hard against

 the whims of fate. I especially don't struggle to avoid

 that particular fate.

 Dinner ended. I was unsettled. Maggie Jenn had

 been doing these things with her eyes. The kind of

 things that cause a bishop's brain to curdle and even

 a saint's devotion to monasticism to go down for a

 third time in those limpid pools. The kind of things

 that send a fundamentalist reverend's imagination rac-

 ing off into realms so far removed that there is no

 getting back without doing something stupid.

 I was too distracted to tell if the front of me was

 soaked with drool.

 There had been banter and word games during din-

 ner. She was good. Really good. I was ready to grab

 a trumpet and race around blowing Charge*.

 She sat there silently, appraising me, probably trying

 to decide if I was medium or medium well.

 I made a heroic effort to concentrate. I managed to

 croak, "Tell me something, Maggie Jenn? Who would

 be interested in your affairs?"

 She said nothing but did the eyebrow trick. She was

 surprised. That wasn't what she'd expected me to say.

 She had to buy time.

 40

 "Don't try to work your wiles on me, woman. You

 don't get out of answering that easily."

 She laughed throatily, exaggerating that huskiness

 she had, wriggled just to let me know she was capable

 of distracting me as much as she wanted. I considered

 distracting myself by getting up and stomping around

 to study some of the artwork decorating the dining

 chamber but discovered that rising Would be uncom-

 fortable and embarrassing. I half turned in my chair

 and studied the ceiling as though seeking clues

 amongst the fauns and cherubs.

 She asked, "What do you mean about people inter-

 ested in my affairs?"

 I did pause to reflect before I gave away the store.

 "Let's back up some first. Did anybody know you

 were coming to see me?" Of course somebody did.

 Else Winger wouldn't have come to me first. But I

 needed Maggie's perspective.

 "It wasn't a secret, if that's what you mean. I did

 ask around once I decided I needed a man of your

 sort."

 Hmm. What was a man of my sort?

 This was not an unfamiliar phenomenon. Sometimes

 the unfriendlies get the jump because they hear about

 my client asking after someone who can help. "Next

 step, then. Who would be bothered if you started

 looking for your daughter?"

 "Nobody." She was getting suspicious.

 "Yeah. It would seem like nobody ought to care.

 Unless maybe they were to give you a little support."

 "You're scaring me, Garrett."

 She didn't look scared. I said, "Might be a good

 idea to be scared. See, I knew you were coming."

 "What?" She was troubled for sure now. She didn't

 like that at all.

 "Just before you showed up, a friend who's in my

 racket stopped by to warn me you'd be coming." Say-

 ing Winger and I are hi the same business is stretching

 42

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 43

 a point, maybe. Winger is into anything likely to put

 money in Winger's purse, preferably fast and easy.

 "He thought you were coming to buy a hit. That's

 why he warned me." Catch that clever misdirection.

 Not even a dead Loghyr often mistakes Winger for

 male.

 "A hit? Me?" She knew the argot. She was off bal-

 ance but coming back fast.

 "He was sure of it." But I wondered. Winger took

 shortcuts. Big, slow, lovable, goofy, crafty, bigoted,

 and lazy Winger. She was confident that anybody she

 couldn't sweeten with reason she could bring around

 with a good old-fashioned ass-kicking. She was just a

 big old simple country girl with simple country ways—

 if you accepted her the way she wanted to be taken.

 I was going to have words with Winger about Mag-

 gie Jenn. If I could find her. I didn't think that would

 be tough. The big goof was bound to turn up on her

 own, soon. Probably before I was ready.

 I said, "Then somebody followed me here."

 "What? Who? Why?"

 "Got me. I only mention it to show you that some-

 body out there is interested."

 Maggie shook her head. It was a fine head. I was

 starting to lose my focus again. I concentrated on de-

 scribing the villain who'd followed me.

 Maggie smiled wickedly. "Garrett! Don't you ever

 think about anything else?"

 "Lots of times." I thought about starting a little

 contest in which we would see who could run the

 fastest.

 "Garrett!"

 "You started it."

 Unlike many women, she did not deny her complic-

 ity. "Yeah, but ..."

 "Put yourself in my place. You're a red-blooded

 young man who's suddenly alone here with you."

 "Flattery will get you everywhere." She chuckled.

 Ouch! This was getting painful. "You do dish up a

 ration of shit, don't you?"

 I chuckled right back and put myself into my own

 place, assuming she meant to put herself into her own

 place and things would proceed to proceed. But after

 a painful pilgrimage to her side of the table all pro-

 ceedings proceeded to grind to a halt. Reluctantly—it

 seemed—she slipped away from me. I muttered, "We

 can't keep on like this if you want to sell me on look-

 ing for your daughter."

 "You're right. This is a business arrangement. We

 can't let nature get in the way."

 I was willing to let nature play havoc, but I said,

 "Durn tootin'. I don't sell that way, anyway. I sell on

 logic and facts. That's me. Just-the-facts-ma'am Gar-

 rett. How about you start giving me some of those

 instead of using all your energy on those come-hither

 eyes?"

 "Don't be cruel, Garrett. This is as difficult for me

 as it is for you."

 DEADLY dUICKSILVER LIES

 45

 10

 So, eventually, we reached the suite belonging to Mag-

 gie's daughter Emerald. "Emerald?" I asked. "What

 happened to Justina?" Emerald. Wouldn't you know?

 Where are all the lovely Patricias and Bettys?

 "I named her Justina. Emerald is what she uses.

 She picked it, so don't give me that look."

 "What look?"

 "The one that says you're shitting me. She picked

 it. She was fourteen. Everyone else went along, so I

 use Emerald sometimes myself."

 "Right. Emerald. She insisted." Of course. That's

 what became of Patricia and Betty. They started call-

 ing themselves Amber and Brandi and Fawn. "But

 she might be going by Justina. When life gets serious,

 they fall back on their roots. Anything I need to know

 about the suite before I start digging?"

 "What do you mean?"

 "Am I going to find something you think needs ex-

 cusing ahead of time?"

 Wonder of wonders, she understood. "You might.

 Only I never go in there, so I don't know what it

 might be. Yet." She gave me a strange look. "Are you

 looking for a fight?"

 "No." Though maybe, unconsciously, I didn't want

 her hanging over my shoulder. "Back to that name.

 Might as well go after this by the numbers, find out

 everything you can tell me before I start looking for

 things you don't know."

 44

 She gave me that look again. I was a bit testy. Had

 I developed that strong a dislike for work? Or was it

 because I knew she would lie and distort and whatever

 else it took to shape reality to her own vision? They

 all do, even when there's no hope they won't get

 found out. People. They do make you wonder.

 "Justina was after my grandmother."

 I understood from her tone. Never was a kid who

 did not resent hearing how he or she was named after

 some old fart they never met and couldn't care less

 about. My mom played that game with me and my

 brother. I never figured out why it meant anything to

 her. "Any special reason?"

 "The name's been in the family forever. And

 Granny would have been hurt if ..."

 The usual. Never made sense to me. You sentence

 a kid to a lifetime of misery on account of somebody

 might get his feelings hurt if you don't. Three rousing

 oriental cheers, say I: foo-ee, foo-ee, foo-ee. Who is

 going to be upset the longest?

 You entered Emerald's suite through a small sitting

 room. There you found a small writing desk with its

 chair, in blond wood. There was an oil lamp on the

 desk. There was one more chair, a storage chest with

 a cushion on top, and a small set of shelves. The room

 was squeaky clean and more spartan than it sounds.

 It did not look promising.

 I hate it when they clean for company. "Your

 daughter ever take a powder before?"

 Maggie hesitated. "No."

 "Why did you hesitate?"

 "Trying to decide. Her father kidnapped her when

 she was four. Some friends convinced him that a child

 is better off with her mother."

 "Would he try something like that today?"

 "Probably not. He's been dead eight years."

 "Chances are he wouldn't." As a rule, the deac

 don't get involved in custody disputes.

 46

 GLEN COOK

 "She got a boyfriend?"

 "A girl from the Hill?"

 "Especially a girl from the Hill. How many does

 she have?"

 "What?"

 "Look, believe it or not, it's easier for Hill girls to

 slip around than it is for downtown girls." I offered

 examples from my own cases, one of which had fea-

 tured a bevy of Hill girls working the Tenderloin just

 for the thrills.

 That stunned my Maggie Jenn. She had a blind area,

 an inability to believe her baby could be anything less

 than the absolute image of what she desired. It hadn't

 occurred to her that Emerald was going to break her

 heart. Plainly, she didn't understand that people some-

 tunes did the wicked stuff for other than survival rea-

 sons. Whoring as an amusement was a concept too

 alien to encompass.

 Only the classes in between don't believe in

 whoring.

 "You didn't grow up on the Hill."

 "I admit that, Garrett."

 I had the suspicion that my pretty Maggie had

 maybe had to make ends meet to make ends meet

 during the hiatus between husband and crown prince.

 I didn't need to know about that, though. Not yet,

 anyway. Maybe later, if it began to look like the past

 had some bearing. "Plant yourself on a chair. Talk to

 me about Emerald while I work."

 I prowled.

 11

 Maggie said, "To my knowledge she has no boy-

 friends. Our circumstances don't let us meet many

 people. We aren't socially acceptable. We form a class

 unto ourselves."

 A very classy class it was, though Maggie Jenn and

 her kid weren't its only members. The sisterhood of

 mistresses is quite large. At these rarified heights, a

 man is expected to have a mistress. It demonstrates

 his manhood. Two is better than one.

 "Any friends at all?"

 "Not many. Girls she grew up with, maybe. Maybe

 somebody she studied with. At her tune of life, kids

 are real status conscious. I doubt anybody would let

 her make any strong connections."

 "What's she look like?"

 "Me, twenty years less shopworn. And wipe that

 silly grin off your mug."

 "I was thinking how looking for you twenty years

 younger would have me hunting somebody barely out

 of diapers."

 "And don't forget that. I want my baby found,

 not—"

 "Right. Right. Right. Any special stress between

 you before she disappeared?"

 "What?"

 "Did you have a fight? Did she stomp out yelling

 about how she was never coming back in ten thousand

 years?"

 47

 48

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 49

 "No." Maggie chuckled. "I had a few of those with

 my mother. Probably why she didn't squawk when my

 father sold me. No. Not Emerald. This kid is different,

 Garrett. She never cared about anything enough to

 fight. Really, honestly, swear to whatever god, I wasn't

 a pushy mother. She was happy just to go along. Far

 as she was concerned, life is a river and she was

 driftwood."

 "I maybe lost something in all the excitement. Or

 maybe I've started remembering things that never

 happened. I could have sworn you were going on

 about her having fallen in with bad companions."

 Maggie chuckled. She snorted. She looked uncom-

 fortable. She did it all fetchingly. I tried to imagine

 her as she might have been in Teodoric's day. I was

 awed by the possibilities.

 She stopped wriggling. "I fibbed a little. I heard

 about you having a relationship with the Sisters of

 Doom and figured you were a sucker for a kid in

 trouble." The Sisters of Doom is an all-girl street

 gang. The girls were all abused before they fled to the

 street.

 "It was a relationship with one Sister. Who left the

 street."

 "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

 "What?"

 "It's obvious I just stomped on some tender

 feelings."

 "Oh. Yeah. Maya was a pretty special kid. I messed

 up a good thing because I didn't take her serious

 enough. I lost a friend because I didn't listen."

 "Sorry. I was just trying to find a sure hook."

 "Did Emerald see anybody regularly?" Business

 would take me away from memories. Maya was not

 one of my great loves, but she was pretty special. And

 both Dean and the Dead Man had approved of her.

 There had been no separation, she just didn't come

 around anymore and mutual friends all hinted that she

 wouldn't unless I grew up a little.

 That don't punch your ego up, considering it traced

 back to a girl just eighteen.

 Emerald's writing desk had numerous cubbies and

 tiny drawers. I searched them as we talked. I didn't

 find much. Most spaces were empty.

 "She does have friends but making friends doesn't

 come easy."

 That wasn't the story as it was told a few minutes

 ago. I suspected Emerald had troubles that had noth-

 ing to do with social status. Chances were she was lost

 in her mother's shadow. "Friends are where I'll find

 her trail. I'll need names. I'll need to know where I

 can find the people who go with them."

 She nodded. "Of course." I slammed a drawer,

 turned away from her. I had to keep my mind on

 business. The woman was a witch. Then I sneaked a

 peek. Did I really want to leave all that, to go hunting

 somebody who probably didn't want to be found?

 Ha! Here was something. A silver pendant. "What's

 this?" Purely rhetorical. I knew what I had. It was

 an amulet consisting of a silver pentagram on a dark

 background with a goat's head inside the star. The real

 question was, what was it doing where I had found it?

 Maggie took it, studied it while I watched for a

 reaction. I didn't see one. She said, "I wonder where

 that came from?"

 "Emerald into the occult?"

 "Not that I know of. But you can't know everything

 about your children."

 I grunted, resumed my search. Maggie chattered

 like the fabled magpie, mostly about her daughter,

 more in the way of reminiscences than useful facts. I

 listened with half an ear.

 I found nothing else in the desk. I moved to the

 shelves. The presence of several books brought home

 how much wealth Maggie stood to lose. Because a

 50

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 51

 book takes forever to copy, it is about the most expen-

 sive toy you can give a child.

 I grunted as I picked up the third book. It was a

 small, leather-bound, time-worn thing with a goat's

 head tooled into its cover. The leather was badly

 foxed. The pages were barely readable. It was one old

 book.

 My first clue was that it was not written in modern

 Karentine.

 Those damned things never are, are they? Nobody

 would take them seriously if any schnook could pick

 one up and decipher the secrets of the ages.

 "Check this out." I tossed the book to Maggie. I

 kept one eye on her as I resumed my search.

 "Curiouser and curiouser, Garrett. My baby is full

 of surprises."

 "Yeah." Maybe. That whole visit was full of sur-

 prises. Including those tree-sized fingers pointing at

 witchcraft of the demonic sort.

 The bedroom and its attached bath yielded more

 occult treasures.

 Much later I asked, "Is Emerald especially neat?"

 Neat would not describe any teen I knew.

 "Only as much as she has to be. Why?"

 I didn't tell her. I had gone into full investigator

 mode. We crack first-line investigators never answer

 questions about our questions, especially if those are

 posed by our employers, lawmen, or anybody else who

 might help keep us out of the deep stink. Fact was,

 though, that Emerald's apartment was way too neat.

 Compulsively so. Or nobody lived there. My impres-

 sion was of a stage set. I was wondering if it might

 not be exactly that, carefully primed with clues.

 All right, I told me. Get busy deducting. Clues are

 clues to something even when they're artificial or false.

 I was not that sure. What I had was some inconsist-

 ent indications of witchcraft—which did little to

 amaze, dismay, alarm, or otherwise excite my new

 employer.

 Maybe I was going at this from the wrong end.

 Tap on the shoulder. "Anybody in there?"

 "Huh?"

 "You just froze up and went away."

 "Happens when I try to think and do something at

 the same tune."

 She did her eyebrow trick. I distracted her by flash-

 ing her back. I told her, "I've got enough to start.

 You give me that list of names. As soon as we settle

 the finances."

 We had no problems there till I insisted on half my

 fee up front. "It's an inflexible rule, Maggie. On ac-

 count of human fallibility. Too many people get

 tempted to stiff me once they've gotten what they

 want." But that was not the only reason I pressed.

 The less a client argues the deeper his desperation.

 My pretty Maggie Jenn argued way too long. Fi-

 nally, she huffed, "I'll have Mugwump bring you that

 list as soon as I can."

 I was thrilled. I really wanted to see Mugwump

 again. Maybe I could tip him a talking parrot.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 53

 12

 I stood in the shadows down the street from Maggie's.

 just staying out of sight while I thought.

 Like most folks, I don't get any kick out of being

 played for a patsy. But people do try. It's an occupa-

 tional hazard. I'm used to it. I expect it. But I don't

 like it.

 Something was going on. I was being used. None

 too subtly, either. Unless Maggie my sweet was a lot

 less worldly than I suspected, I didn't see how she

 could think I would buy everything.

 I'd sure enjoyed the job interview, though. As fas

 as it had gone.

 The thing to do now was what she had said she

 didn't want me to do: investigate Maggie Jenn. Foi

 my own safety. In my line, what you don't know car

 get you killed as fast as what you do know. Once 1

 could guess where I really stood, maybe I'd do some

 thing about Emerald.

 I glanced at the sky. It was dark but still early, i

 could touch some contacts, take a few steps along the

 path to enlightenment. Right after I dropped Maggie'j

 retainer off at home. Only a fool carries a load likt

 that longer than he must. TunFaire teems with villaim

 who can count the change in your pocket at a hundree

 yards.

 I could imagine no explanation of recent event?

 more convincing than what Maggie purported. Never

 theless, there was Winger. I shook my head. The cob

 52

 webs did not go away. They never do. All part of the

 service. All part of my naive charm.

 I looked for my tail. No sign. Maybe he got tired

 and went home. Maybe the Hill's security thugs whis-

 pered sweet nothings in his ear, like, "Get lost pronto

 or you'll crawl home with two broken legs." Or maybe

 his job had been done once he'd found out where I

 was going.

 I shoved off. All that thinking was giving me shin

 splints of the brain.

 Good thing I exercise. I had oomph enough to va-

 cate the area steps ahead of an unpleasant interview

 with the goon squad, who did not seem to care if I

 had legitimate business on the Hill. They had been

 summoned by Ichabod, no doubt, in a vain hope that

 my attitude could be improved.

 I zigged and zagged and backtracked and used all

 my tricks. I didn't spot a tail so I went home, got rid

 of Maggie's retainer, drew myself a long draught, then

 sat down for a cold beer and a chat with Eleanor, who

 seemed concerned about the state of my soul.

 "Yeah," I confessed, "I'm getting more flexible

 when it comes to taking money." I spoke in a whisper.

 I did not want to waken the Goddamn Parrot. I'd

 even tiptoed in and filled his seed tray.

 If I remembered to feed him more often, he might

 have a higher opinion of me. Maybe.

 "So what? If they're villains, they deserve to be

 done out of their money." She had taught me that

 money has no provenance. "If they aren't villains, I'll

 see that they get their money's worth."

 More or less. Sometimes I don't exactly deliver what

 the client has in mind. One such case resulted in Elea-

 nor coming to live with me.

 It had taken me a while to outgrow the notion that

 taking a man's money meant having to go for the re-

 sults he wanted. I must be getting old and judgmental.

 54

 GLEN COOK

 These days, I try to give people what they deserve

 instead.

 Which yields mixed results for sure. Even so, I get

 more offers than I want. But a lot of fat jobs go else-

 where because some folks have decided to avoid me.

 Most especially the kind who rob people with paper

 instead of a blade. Lawyers and slicks. I have embar-

 rassed my share of those.

 Actually, I mostly avoid working. I don't think any-

 body ought to work more than it takes to get by. Sure,

 I wish I could afford my own harem and fifty-room

 palace, but if I worked hard enough to get the money,

 I'd have to work as hard to keep it. I wouldn't get a

 chance to enjoy it.

 After a few beers, I developed a whole new attitude

 I told Eleanor, "Think I'll go down to the Joy House,

 hang out with the guys."

 She smirked.

 "It's just to pick up street talk about Maggie Jenn.'

 Eleanor didn't believe one word.

 I had to find me a new girlfriend.

 13

 Morley Dotes never changes but his neighborhood

 can. Once upon a time, that was the worst. You

 weren't alert, you could get killed for the price of a

 bowl of soup. For reasons to do with Morley's intoler-

 ance of squabbles and his sometime role as arbitrater

 of underworld disputes, the neighborhood grew almost

 reputable and came to be called the Safety Zone.

 Those who worked the shadow side met and did busi-

 ness there, with every expectation of suffering none of

 the embarrassment, unpleasantness, or disappointment

 one faced at the hands of lone wolf socialists in other

 neighborhoods.

 Every city needs some quiet area where business

 can get done.

 "Waa-hoo!" shrieked the guy who came sailing out

 the door as I walked up to Morley's place. I ducked.

 That fellow touched down halfway across the street.

 He made a valiant effort to land running and did a

 laudable job till a watering trough slunk into his path.

 Slimy green water fountained.

 Another man came out sprawled like a starfish,

 spinning and howling. He was one of Morley's thugs-

 turned-waiter.

 This was backwards. The way these things go is

 Morley's people toss troublemakers. They don't get

 dribbled along the cobblestones themselves.

 The howling waiter went across the street like a

 skipping stone. He crashed into the guy trying not to

 55

 56

 GLEN COOK

 drown in the horse trough. If you ask me, putting

 those things around was a grave mistake. Horse

 troughs are sure to draw horses. TunFaire is infested

 by enough evils.

 On hands and knees, I peeped around the edge of

 the door frame and discovered true pandemonium.

 A behemoth of a black man, who beat my six feet

 two by a good three feet, and who had to slouch so

 he wouldn't split his noggin on the ceiling, was having

 himself a grand tune cleaning house. He snarled and

 roared and tossed people and furniture. Those few

 men accidentally exiting through the front door were

 lucky. They were out of the action. Those who tried

 to leave under their own power got grabbed and

 dragged back for the fun.

 The feet of the walls were littered with casualties.

 The big man had a fire hi his eye. No mere mortal

 was going to quiet him down. Some very skilled mor-

 tals had tried and had found places among the fallen.

 I knew the berserk. His name was Playmate. He

 was one of my oldest friends, a blacksmith and stable

 operator, a religious man who was as gentle a beir ;

 as ever lived. He went out of his way to avoid steppi:

 on bugs. I had seen him weep for a mutt run dov ,

 by a carriage. Like all of us, he had done his time in

 the Cantard, but I was sure that even there he had

 offered violence to no one.

 I thought about trying to talk him down. I left it at

 a thought. We were good friends, but Playmate had

 equally good friends among the fallen. Everybody

 loved Playmate.

 And I had learned about being a hero doing my

 five years as a Royal Marine.

 No way could Playmate have gone this mad.

 Morley Dotes himself, dapper and exasperated,

 watched from the stair to his office. He was a darkly

 handsome little character, dressed way too slick for

 my taste. Anything he put on looked like it was baked

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 57

 onto him. Anything I put on looks slept-in after ten

 minutes.

 Morley was so distressed he was wringing his hands.

 Guess I'd have been upset myself if someone was

 busting up my place. The Joy House started as a

 front—Morley was an assassin and bonebreaker—but

 it had grown on Dotes.

 A short, slim form snaked through the crowd and

 leapt onto Playmate's back. The big man roared and

 spun. He did not dislodge his rider, Morley's nephew

 Spud, whose mother had passed him to his uncle be-

 cause she could not manage nun anymore.

 For a while, Spud just held on. Once he was confi-

 dent of his seat, though, he let go with one hand and

 fumbled at his belt. Playmate kept spinning. The idea

 gradually got into his head: spinning and prancing and

 roaring would not get the weight off his back.

 He stopped, got his bearings by consulting stars only

 he could see. He decided to run backwards and squish

 Spud against a wall.

 Spud had his own plan, though.

 Spud was set on being a hero in his uncle's eyes.

 The kid wasn't stupid, he just suffered from natural

 elvish overconfidence.

 His hand came up from his belt clutching a black

 cloth sack. He tried popping that over Playmate's

 head. Guess who did not cooperate?

 That sack was a mark of the esteem in which Play-

 mate was held. The guy was set on destroying the

 world, but nobody wanted to stop him badly enough

 to kill him. Not one soul inside the Joy House wanted

 to do anything but get him under control. Not your

 true TunFairen attitude, I guarantee. Life is the cheap-

 est commodity of all.

 Morley moved as soon as he understood what the

 kid was doing. He didn't run or appear to hurry, but

 he got there right on time, a moment after Spud did

 get his bag into place, a moment after Playmate

 58

 GLEN COOK

 started his all-out plunge toward the nearest wall.

 Morley hooked a foot behind the big man's heel.

 Boom!

 Playmate sprawled. Spud separated just in time to

 keep from being sandwiched. He was a lucky kid. In-

 stead of getting squashed and collecting some broken

 bones, he just got coldcocked.

 Not so Playmate. My old pal tried to get up. Morley

 popped him a bunch of times, so fast you barely saw

 him move. Playmate didn't like that. He figured

 maybe he ought to take that sack off and see who was

 aggravating him. Morley hit him a bunch more times,

 hi all those places where blows are supposed to

 incapacitate.

 There came a day when Playmate, buried under a

 dozen people, finally stopped struggling.

 14

 Morley looked down at Playmate. He was breathing

 hard. I strode inside, chirped, "Congrats. You wore

 him down."

 Morley checked me from glazed eyes, failed to rec-

 ognize me for a moment, then wailed, "Oh, damn!

 You. On top of everything else."

 I looked behind me to find out who was causing my

 best pal so much distress. I'd fix him! But the guy was

 too fast for me. The doorway was empty.

 I put on my best hurt face. I get to practice a lot

 around the Joy House. Morley's guys are always riding

 me. Naturally, I play along.

 I righted a table, selected a chair, made myself com-

 fortable. I eyeballed Playmate. "What happened? You

 have to pump that guy up on weed to get him to swat

 flies."

 Morley took several controlled breaths, picked up a

 chair, and joined me. "Excellent question, Garrett."

 Playmate wasn't doing anything now. In fact, the roars

 from beneath the flesh pile sounded suspiciously like

 snores.

 Morley Dotes is a bit short for a grown man but

 isn't entirely human. He has dark-elf forebears. But

 he never lets the human hi bun get in his way.

 Maybe the mix is responsible. He is a mass of con-

 trasts, especially hi his profession as opposed to his

 hobby. His health food haven has become a hangout

 for hah7 the villains of TunFaire. Contrast again: the

 60

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 61

 clientele is half those double-nasties and half the kind

 of clown you expect to find gnoshing tubers of uncer-

 tain provenance.

 "Boy did pretty well," Morley observed, glancing at

 Spud. The kid's real name was Narcisio. Only his

 mother used that.

 "Pretty good," I admitted. "More balls than

 brains."

 "Runs in the family."

 "What happened?"

 Morley glowered. Instead of answering me, he

 shocked the house by bellowing, "Eggwhite! Get your

 heathen ass out here!"

 I was amazed, too. Morley employs vulgarity only

 rarely. He fancies himself a gentleman rogue. Gentle-

 men rogues are slick like they're covered with lard.

 But a villain is a villain, and Morley is one of the

 worst because he gets away with everything. I should

 try to take him down. I don't because he's my friend,

 A thug ambled out of the kitchen. He wore cook's

 garb but carried his professional resume scarred on

 his face. He was old and looked as stupid as a stump,

 which answered a question: what becomes of hard

 boys if they live long enough to get old? They become

 waiters. I didn't see how this goon had survived to get

 there, though. He looked like a guy who needed a

 major run of luck to get through any given day.

 Maybe the gods do love the incapacitated.

 Morley beckoned.

 Eggwhite edged our way. His gaze kept darting

 toward Playmate. Playmate had begun to reappear as

 guys climbed off and went to set the bones of their

 buddies.

 "Big mess, huh?" Morley said.

 "Yeah, boss. Big ole mess."

 "You have any idea why I would entertain the no-

 tion that you might have been at fault? Can you tell

 me why your face popped into mind the moment my

 friend asked me what happened?"

 Will wonders never cease? He never called me

 friend before.

 Eggwhite muttered, "I guess on account of I got a

 weakness for doing jokes."

 Morley grunted. "That one of your pranks?" Play-

 mate was sleeping like a baby now, but he was going

 to be hurting when he woke up. "That big ha-ha

 there?" Morley's tone was hard, the street leaking

 through. He was angry. Eggwhite was petrified.

 Morley asked, "What did you do?"

 "Put angelweed in his salad?" Eggwhite made it a

 question, like a kid caught in a lie experimenting with

 a new tactic.

 "How much?"

 Excellent question. Angelweed didn't earn its heav-

 enly name because it will boost your mind into para-

 dise but because it will send you off to hallelujah land

 if you aren't careful. Slipping it into a salad would be

 a clever way to dose somebody. The leaves look like

 spinach that's gone a little bluish.

 "Half a dozen leaves." Eggwhite looked everywhere

 but straight at Morley.

 "Half a dozen. Enough to kill most people."

 "He's humongous, chief. A goddamn mountain. I

 thought it would take—"

 "And there's the problem." Morley's voice dropped

 way down, to a level of softness that meant he was

 hi a killing mood. Eggwhite started shaking. Morley

 continued, "I told you when I hired you I didn't want

 any thinking. I wanted you cutting vegetables. Get

 out."

 "Chief, look, I can—"

 "You're gone, Eggwhite. Out the door. Walking or

 carried. Up to you."

 Eggwhite gulped. "Uh ... Yeah." He headed for

 the door.

 62

 GLEN COOK

 1 observed, "He's making off with your cook outfit."

 "Let it go. I don't want to make a scene."

 I gave him an encore look at my eyebrow trick.

 "I hate firing people, Garrett."

 I added the fish-eye to the raised eyebrow. This was

 the most feared hired knife in town? Was he putting

 me on?

 He kept plugging. "I do it only because you have

 to if you want to be successful in business. Besides. I

 owe him eight days pay." Before I could comment, he

 eyed me directly. "What is it this time, Garrett?"

 "How about a platter of that stuff with the black

 mushrooms, pea pods and whatnot, on the wild rice?"

 I dropped money onto the table.

 Morley gave me my fish-eye back with interest. He

 gathered my coins, examined them as though he sus-

 pected they were counterfeit. "You want to eat?

 Here? And you're willing to pay for it?" He sank his

 fangs into a coin, the classic hardness test.

 "I wouldn't go so far as to employ the concept of

 privilege, but it is an age of wonders. You've con-

 verted me. I'm born again. I'm never going to eat

 anything but swamp tubers, bark, and gravel ever

 again."

 15

 Morley stirred Playmate's fingers with his toe. "He's

 alive, but I couldn't tell you why." He came back to

 where I was wolfing the mushroom stuff. It contained

 more garlic than mushrooms. "Trying to keep the girls

 away?"

 "I don't need garlic for that. I have natural talent."

 He wasn't in the mood for banter. Guess I wouldn't

 have been either had my place just gotten trashed.

 "What are you into now, Garrett? What do you

 need?"

 "I'm doing a missing person caper." Love that

 word. I told him the story, leaving out only those parts

 a gentleman leaves out. "I want to know whatever you

 know about Maggie Jenn. Felt like she was running a

 game on me."

 "Somebody must be running a game on somebody.

 I don't think you saw the real Maggie Jenn."

 "Huh?"

 "Never mind the witty remarks. I'm thinking you

 must have been chosen for your ignorance."

 "Thanks. How about shoving a stick hi the spokes

 of the scheme by lighting a torch in the darkness?"

 "That wouldn't be right. Not quite. You not being

 up on the adventures of the royals could be part of

 it, but ..."

 "All right. I don't know what you know, Morley.

 That's why I'm here."

 "It isn't impossible that you spent the afternoon

 63

 64

 GLEN COOK

 with a king's lover, but I'd call it wildly improbable.

 Maggie Jenn exiled herself to the Isle of Paise after

 her Teddy boy died. If there was a daughter I never

 heard. Kind of thing that would be kept quiet, though.

 On the other hand, that place on the Hill sounds like

 the one where Teodoric stashed his doxy. Curious."

 That was an understatement. "I'm lost, Morley.

 None of this makes sense."

 "Only because you don't have the key."

 "I'm missing the key, the lock, the damned door,

 and all the hardware. Somebody ran a game on me?

 I'll buy that. Happens all the time. But the woman

 also paid me to look for her daughter."

 "How well?" Was that smile a smirk?

 "Handsomely, shall we say? Enough so I'm sure she

 expected something in return. Even top of the Hill

 don't throw money away."

 "Good point."

 "//Maggie Jenn came back," I mused, "what would

 she do?"

 "She has no reason to come back. She lives like a

 queen out there. She'd find nothing but trouble here."

 Morley eyed Playmate. "Pity you didn't get here ear-

 lier. He always kept track of the royals."

 "He won't be doing anything but whine about his

 headache for a week."

 "You in a hurry?"

 I wondered. "Maybe not. No apparent jeopardy.

 Just a puzzle. Maggie didn't seem in any hurry, just

 worried."

 "You buy the woman's story?"

 I never take a client's story at face value. Some

 natural law compels them to lie part of the time.

 "Maybe. Some. It feels like the truth being used for

 something else."

 "I'll put out feelers. Meantime, you ought to corner

 Winger."

 "That occurred to me." I didn't relish trying to get

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 65

 anything out of her, though. "It's not an appetizing

 idea."

 Morley chuckled. "She's a handful. The trick is get

 her thinking what you want is her idea."

 "Ingenious. How?"

 "With great difficulty."

 "I can get advice like that from my parrot and save

 the price of this fish food."

 "Way I hear, Dean is out of town and the Dead

 Man is asleep. You being hard up for company, I just

 wanted you to feel at home. Crumbs! You try to be

 a pal." He grinned a diabolical dark-elf grin.

 "You want to be a pal, find out about Maggie

 Jenn."

 His grin dwindled. "Try to be a pal." He shook his

 head.

 He would check around because he thought he

 owed me. And I agreed. I collect like a loanshark.

 "Bed is starting to sound good," I thought aloud.

 "It's been a hard day."

 Morley grunted. His nephew came to the table. Get-

 ting no hint that he ought to take his big ears else-

 where, he spun a chair around and straddled it.

 Around us, Morley's people, moving slowly and mut-

 tering about their aches and pains, put things together

 again. Spud asked, "How is Mr. Big, Mr. Garrett?"

 I cursed.

 Morley had sent me the Goddamn Parrot when he

 was in an Eggwhite mood. That was far enough out

 of character that I suspected Sarge and Puddle had a

 hand in developing the scam. The bird came guaran-

 teed to have a major hatred for cats and a habit of

 attacking them from above. I accepted him because

 Dean had a habit of accumulating strays.

 Spud gave me a dirty look. He was the only one in

 the world with any use for that foul-mouthed jungle

 chicken. Make that any love. The Dead Man had a

 66 GLEN COOK

 use. Wherever I went, he could send Mr. Big after

 nagging.

 I had tried to give the beast away. There were no

 takers. I gave it every chance to fly away. It wouldn't

 escape. I was getting near taking heroic measures

 "Spud, you're so worried about Mr. Big why don't

 you come get him? He needs a home where he's

 appreciated."

 "No, you don't," Morley sneered. "That there is

 your bird, Garrett."

 I scowled. This was a squabble I couldn't win.

 Dotes showed all those pointy teeth again. "I hear

 some parrots live a hundred years."

 "Some, maybe. In the wild." I could donate Mr. Big

 to a charity. Like some hungry ratman. "I'm out of

 here, Mend."

 Morley laughed.

 16

 It was dark out. That did not help.

 Neither did the fact that I didn't see them coming.

 I had no chance to get ready.

 I put up a fight, though. I dented some heads good

 jfwith the weighted oak head-buster I carry when I go

 lout. I tossed one guy through the only glass window

 rin the street. But I just never got rolling. I had no

 f chance to use the tricks I had stashed up my sleeves.

 Somebody whapped me up side the head with a

 |house. I think it was a house. Had to be a house. No

 | mere man could hit me that hard. The lights went

 I out—with me still trying to figure out who and why.

 Ordinarily, I come around slowly if I've had my

 ; conk bopped. Not so this time. One minute I was in

 ii dreamland, the next I was bouncing along face down-

 fward, wrapped in something soggy, staring at a floor

 ^sliding past inches from my nose. Four guys were car-

 >rying me. I was leaking red stuff. I couldn't recall

 drinking any wine. I had the worst headache anyone

 ever had since the dawn of time.

 A fine pair of female legs strode along practically

 in nibbling range. I really wanted to appreciate those.

 In other circumstances, I would have devoted hours

 to those legs. But a guy does have to keep some

 perspective.

 Things were not going well. This sort of thing was

 67

 68

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 69

 not a normal part of my life. I tried to shove the pain

 away long enough to think.

 Aha! They had me wrapped hi a wet blanket. I

 didn't want to poop somebody's party, but that didn't

 make me happy. I roared and twisted and flopped and

 wriggled and bellowed. I failed to make any impres-

 sion. I did get a gander at what went with the gorgeous

 gams. The wealth was piled on all the way to the top.

 I could have fallen in love. But this was not the tune

 or place. Beside a fire, maybe on a bearskin rug,

 maybe just her and me and some TunFaire Gold

 wine. . . .

 I didn't like the looks of the guys. They weren't the

 bmnos I danced with earlier. Those had been standard

 lowlife, out for the price of a drink. These clowns wore

 duty, ragged uniforms.

 That failed to cheer me up.

 They were unreasonable. They wouldn't answer

 questions. Nobody responded at all, except Miss Legs.

 She just seemed sad. I hoUered and flopped some

 more. They kept on lugging me down a long hall.

 Long hall, huh? And what was that smell?

 Everybody stopped but me. I thrashed some more.

 I was serious about it now. I knew where I was. This

 was the crazy floor of the Bledsoe, the imperial charity

 hospital.

 The empire is long gone, but its works and the im-

 perial family linger, the latter hoping for a recall. They

 sustain the hospital, which serves the indigent poorly.

 The cackle factory is a bad place. They stick you in

 there you could be gone forever. Wouldn't matter that

 somebody made a mistake.

 "Hey! Put me down! What the hell is this? What

 am I doing in here? Do I look like I'm crazy?"

 That was the wrong question. I had to look like a

 prime specimen. And the way things work, they would

 assume that they wouldn't have me if I didn't belong.

 Man, this was the dirtiest trick anybody ever played

 on me.

 A door crashed open. It was oak and iron and about

 nine inches thick. I glimpsed my destiny.

 One of my guides bellowed. Somebody scuttled

 away. The boys tossed me through the doorway with-

 out missing the frame. I landed hard. The Legs gazed

 at me pityingly. The door closed before I convinced

 her this was all a horrible mistake.

 I unwrapped myself by rolling around, stumbled

 over and wasted energy pounding on the door. I exer-

 cised the full range of situationally specialized vocabu-

 lary, but without the enthusiasm I might have

 managed had my head not hurt so much. You do these

 things even when you're wasting your tune. The rituals

 must be observed.

 I heard noises behind me. I spun around.

 At least a dozen men stood staring at me. I checked

 the ward beyond them. There were lots more men

 back there. Plenty were wondering about the new guy.

 Some studied my outfit. Plainly, there had been no

 general clothing issued in years. Nor had anyone taken

 a bath during the modern era. Here was the source of

 the odor I'd caught in the hall. A glance told me the

 welcoming committee all belonged inside. It was obvi-

 ous in their eyes.

 I pounded and yelled some more. Service did not

 improve.

 At least they hadn't dumped me into the violent

 ward. Maybe I stood a chance.

 An old character who looked like he weighed about

 fifty pounds stumbled toward me. "How are you

 doing? I'm Ivy."

 "I was doing great till about five minutes ago, Ivy."

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 "He don't say nothing else, Ace."

 Right. I'm a quick study. Ivy never even looked at

 me. "Gotcha."

 70

 GLEN COOK

 A guy about nine feet tall guffawed. "You don't

 pay Ivy no nevermind, boy. He's crazy."

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 This was the tip of the iceberg. The part that would

 be easy. It was sure to get weird.

 After thinking a while, somebody yelled at the big

 guy, "You got so much room to talk, muddlebrain?"

 "Yeah? What do you know? I don't belong hi here.

 I was set up. Somebody drugged me or something. I

 woke up in here."

 Oh, my. A fellow traveler as bad off as 1.1 had a lot

 of sympathy for him—till some grinning idiot shrieked,

 "Powziffle! Powziffle pheez!" Or something like that.

 The big guy hunched up, stooped, made gurgling

 noises, and started running around the ward like a

 gorilla, howling. His howls would have chilled the

 spine of a banshee.

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 The big man' racket started some other guy scream-

 ing. His cries were a species I'd heard in the islands,

 coming from a guy caught out in no-man's land with

 a bad gut wound, begging for somebody to kill nun.

 Soldiers from both sides would have done so gladly

 after a while. But nobody was dumb enough to go out

 there and let the other side snipe. So we'd all just laid

 low and listened, ground our teeth, and maybe

 thanked our personal gods it wasn't us.

 I glared at that door. Maybe I could chew my way

 through.

 Or maybe ... My pockets hadn't been cleaned.

 They must've been in an awful hurry to get me put

 away. A real bunch of screwup Charlies.

 Patients came to check me out—those who still had

 a foot in our world. Many were timid as mice. A look

 sent them scurrying. Others ... Some might have been

 there as accidentally as I, only instead they belonged

 in the ward for the dangerous.

 I wished everybody would back off.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 71

 Any doubts I had about the irregularity of my com-

 mitment disappeared when I discovered that they

 hadn't cleaned my pockets. Had I been brought in

 legitimately, all my possessions would have been taken

 from me and would never have surfaced again.

 I was encouraged. About a roach-weight worth.

 The physical plant wasn't encouraging. The ward

 was a hundred feet wide, three hundred feet long, and

 two storys high. There were rows and rows and rows

 of sleeping pallets but not nearly enough to go around.

 The ceiling was way up there, a good twenty feet.

 Windows peeked through the wall opposite the door,

 way high, too small for a man to get out even after

 he cut the bars. I supposed they passed light during

 the day. What little light was available now leaked

 through windows high on the door side wall, there so

 the ward could be observed by hospital staff.

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 "I'm doing just fine, Ivy. What say you and me bust

 out of this toilet?"

 Ivy looked at me directly, startled, then scampered

 away.

 "Anybody want to break out?"

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 73

 17

 My suggestion drew an underwhelming response. I

 gathered that half the patients could not be dragged

 out and the other half thought I was crazy. There?

 Forsooth!

 The big man who had cautioned me about Ivy's

 lack of capacity recapacitated himself. He came over.

 "Ain't no way out, Slick. They was, half these guys

 would be long gone."

 I glanced around again. The prospects seemed ever

 less promising. "They feed us?"

 The big guy grinned that grin the old salts put on

 when they see a chance to teach a greenhorn. "Twice

 a day, you're hungry or not. Through them bars down

 there."

 I looked. I shrugged. Them bars was hopeless.

 "Things are that bad I might as well get me some

 shut-eye before I start my serious worrying." I looked

 for an empty pallet. I had some thinking to do. Espe-

 cially about why I found myself in such straits.

 I wanted to scream as loud as any of the whacks in

 there with me.

 "You get in line for a bed," the big guy cautioned

 me. "You make friends, maybe somebody will share.

 Otherwise, you just wait till enough guys die to leave

 you your own." His casual manner told me this was

 one of the capital laws of the ward. Amazing. You'd

 expect it to be total survival of the strongest.

 "My kind of flophouse." I settled near the door.

 72

 That didn't seem to be a popular area. Plenty of elbow

 room there. I pretended to fall asleep.

 There were no corpses in the ward and no smell

 of death. That suggested that staff removed the dead

 quickly. So, how to use that in a scam the staff hadn't

 seen before?

 I gave the notion of a riot a look. Feeble. If I was

 the Bledsoe staff, I'd just let everybody starve till the

 fuss stopped.

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 My act wasn't fooling Ivy. I considered putting him

 out of his misery.

 Which gave me an idea. A twist on the riot scheme.

 I went looking for the big guy. I found him seated

 against the far wall. I planted the reverse side of my

 lap on the hardwood, grunted. "I got about enough

 splinters."

 "Send out for a chair."

 A wise guy. "How come it's so quiet?"

 "Maybe on account of it's the middle of the god-

 damn night." Eloquent verbal stylings, too.

 "I mean, we only had one screamer." Not counting

 him. Nobody was yelling at the moment. "I heard

 there was lots of screamers. Mostly guys who can't

 handle what they remember about the Cantard."

 His face darkened. "Yeah. There's some of them.

 They get drugged if they get too bad. Like they get

 each other going."

 Interesting. "Know any way to set one of them off

 now?"

 He studied me narrowly. "What you up to, Slick?"

 He thought there had better be a damned good reason

 for pulling a stunt like that.

 "Up to getting out of here."

 "Can't do that."

 "Maybe not. But they didn't empty out my pockets

 before they dumped me in here. You game to try?"

 He thought about that. His face grew darker,

 74

 GLEN COOK

 "Yeah. Yeah! I got business out there. Yeah. You get

 the damned door open, I'll go."

 "You figure any of these guys would help?"

 "Plenty would go if the walls fell down. I don't

 know how many would help make them fall."

 "So could you get some guy screaming as the first

 step?"

 "Sure." He got up, strolled to the far end, messed

 with somebody a minute, headed back. Plenty of in-

 mates watched him. The man he'd visited started

 screaming. Chills slithered all over me. He was one of

 the lost souls.

 The big man asked, "Good enough?"

 "Perfect. Now try to round up some guys willing to

 help out."

 He went away again.

 I went into my act. "Shut up down there! I'm trying

 to sleep."

 The guy didn't stop screaming. I'd been afraid he

 would. I glanced at the observation windows. Some-

 one was up there, but the racket didn't interest him.

 Were they that indifferent? I needed to be seen.

 I yelled at the screamer. Somebody yelled back at

 me. I yelled at him. Some genius yelled at both of us

 like that would shut us up. The racket picked up. We

 were like a troop of monkeys. Some of the men

 started moving around, just shuffling numbly, without

 purpose.

 The uproar finally caught the ear of whoever was

 on duty. He looked down but didn't seem concerned.

 I screamed louder than the screamer, threatening

 mayhem if he didn't shut it up.

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 "Pack your trunk, Ivy. We're checking out of this

 cuckoo inn."

 The big guy came by. "I got a dozen guys willing,

 Slick. You want more?"

 "That's plenty. Now I need everybody back away

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 75

 from the door. It's going to get nasty there when they

 come'in." I hoped. If I hadn't been suckered too bad.

 "They'll figure we're up to something, Slick. They

 only look dumb."

 "I don't care. That won't matter. I just need the

 door open."

 He sneered, confident I was on a fool's quest.

 I screamed some more at the screamers.

 There were several people at the observation win-

 dows now—including she of the glorious gams.

 I chuckled, sure I was on my way out. No woman

 would work the Bledsoe unless she had a giant soft

 spot. I roared, bounded over pallets, started strangling

 the loudest screamer.

 The big guy came by and pretended to drag me off.

 I gave him further instructions, then ran him off. He

 wasn't a bad actor.

 Me, I was a master. I made it look real good. To

 my surprise, none of my fellow patients tried to stop

 me.

 I only strangled my victim a little, enough to cause

 unconsciousness.

 I galloped to the other end of the room, went to

 work on another screamer.

 Soon there were guys flying all over the place. The

 majority got into the spirit. It wasn't exactly a riot,

 though. Real violence was almost nonexistent. But the

 pandemonium was not pretend.

 I glimpsed the woman arguing with the men. She

 wanted to do something. They didn't.

 Excellent.

 A little goblin breed three feet tall scrunched him-

 self into a ball near the door.

 Upstairs, charity apparently overcame common

 sense.

 I kept the show rolling. People did get hurt, but 7

 wasn't in a charitable mood, to put it mildly. If I

 stayed a nice guy, I wasn't ever going to get out. If I

 76

 GLEN COOK

 didn't get out, I'd never get the chance to crack the

 heads of the clowns who'd put me in.

 The big guy came around again. He bounced me

 around some. "They're coming," I told him. "And you

 don't have to be so enthusiastic here."

 He seemed scornful. I don't know about what.

 18

 I glanced at the door, then cautioned the big guy,

 "Take it easy. We don't have to convince them now."

 No one was near the door but the little breed. He

 would be sorry he had volunteered. "How many will

 come?"

 The big man shrugged. "Depends on how worried

 they are. Least eight or ten. You better watch out."

 He tripped me. I tripped bun back. We rolled around

 and punched each other. He was having a great time.

 "They have a policy of kicking the living shit out of

 troublemakers."

 "I kind of figured that was part of the program.

 Hell, I've stopped bleeding. I'm ready for anything."

 I wasn't looking forward to the kicking part. You lays

 your bets and takes your chances, but I was hoping

 things would go well and I would not have to deal

 with any boots.

 You have to believe you're going to win.

 I did have to win. Nobody knew where I was. It

 could be weeks before anybody even missed me, what

 with Dean out of town and the Dead Man sleeping.

 It might be weeks after that before anybody tracked

 me down. If anybody bothered to try.

 I didn't have weeks. I didn't feel I could waste the

 tune I'd spent inside already. The Dead Man might

 chuckle and tell me to consider it a learning experi-

 ence, which is what he does when I have a bad day.

 77

 78

 GLEN COOK

 If I didn't break out, it was going to be the all-time

 bad day to start a long string of bad days.

 The woman stayed at the observation window. I

 kept howling my head off and throwing people around

 and strangling other guys making noise.

 The thing that got me, down deep, was that almost

 half the guys in the ward didn't get involved. Most of

 those never opened their eyes. They just laid there,

 indifferent.

 Man, that was scary. That could be me in twenty

 years if I blew this.

 Fear provided the inspiration I needed to keep

 howling and foaming at the mouth. I tried speaking

 in tongues. That came to me naturally. A little some-

 thing for when I got too old to make it on the street.

 A good howl and roll man can start his own church.

 The door opened.

 Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, those

 dopes actually opened the door.

 It swung outward. Attendants boiled inside. They

 knew something was up. They were ready for bear.

 They had clubs and small shields. They all looked

 about twelve feet tall. They formed in a tight knot

 before they started forward.

 A few months earlier, in a moment of weakness

 brought on by engulfing an inland sea of beer, I'd

 bought some stuff from a third-rate wizard who'd

 called himself Dread but whose name was really Mil-

 ton. You don't never trust the skills of a wizard named

 Milton—as I'd learned to my sorrow on trying to use

 one of his charms. His stuff came with a warranty, but

 he wasn't around to make good on it.

 In my pockets were several tiny bottles, the last of

 my purchase. According to Dread, they constituted

 the ideal means of dealing with unfriendly crowds. I

 didn't know, never having tested them. I wasn't sure

 I even recalled Dread's instructions. It was real drunk

 out that night.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 79

 I told me I had another good reason for wanting

 out. I had to find old Milt and register a consumer

 complaint.

 As I recalled, all I had to do was throw a bottle

 against a hard surface, then stand back.

 I did the throwing part. My bottle missed all the

 boys and bounced off the wall. It skittered back into

 the midst of the attendants. Guys walked all over it,

 but it didn't break.

 My guardian angel was on the job. Cursing him, I

 tried again.

 The second bottle broke. Gray mist boiled off the

 wall. It reached the attendants. They started cussing.

 Cussing turned to howling fast.

 Meantime, my little breed volunteer slithered into

 the doorway so it couldn't be closed. His job was going

 to get nasty if the staff got determined.

 The attendants in the ward lost all interest hi quiet-

 ing people down. They were too busy scratching and

 rubbing and yelling.

 Maybe Dread wasn't a complete fraud.

 I inhaled a bushel of clean air and charged. I was

 ashamed of me for pulling such a dirty trick. Almost.

 I wouldn't take it back. If I spent much time hanging

 out with Ivy and the boys, I'd end up singing in the

 same choir.

 The mist didn't bother me much. I did start itching

 a little. Since I had a major headache and an acre of

 bruises, an itch seemed pretty trivial.

 Somebody was hollering hi the corridor. They'd left

 somebody to cover the door. He was aggravated at

 my breed doorstop.

 Who wasn't doing so good. The mist tended to set-

 tle. He'd gotten more than the attendants had.

 Nonetheless, he fulfilled his mission.

 I smashed into the door so hard I feared I'd dislo-

 cated my shoulder. Oh, damn, did that hurt! And that

 80

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY O.UICKSILVER LIES

 81

 damned door only gave barely enough to let me skip

 over the whining breed.

 "Surprise!" I popped the guard outside. A whole

 herd of patients stampeded out behind me. Those that

 didn't have scores to settle with particular attendants

 still inside.

 Naturally, luck would have another squad of staffers

 arriving just then. I did my banshee routine and

 charged. Boy, was I going to have a sore throat when

 all the hollering was over.

 These attendants were bigger and meaner than the

 first bunch. There were eight of them. That put the

 odds in my favor because I was mad enough to whip

 a whole battalion. "Nothing personal, guys." Then I

 recognized two of the clowns who had carried me in

 the wet blanket. "Like hell!"

 I didn't get a lot of help at first. Surprise did for a

 couple of attendants, but then the others got going.

 They played a game using me for a shuttlecock. My

 companions had been beaten too often. They held

 back till my nine-foot buddy jumped in.

 "Oomph!" I said, breaking some guy's knuckles

 with my forehead. "Took you long enough."

 It turned into a real brawl. Fists and feet and bodies

 flew. I skinned my knuckles to the elbow pounding

 handy chins and jaws. I got my own chin and jaw

 liberally pasted. My nose avoided rearrangement.

 All that thumping was just the thing for a headache.

 I had opportunities to be thankful that I have good

 teeth as I sank them into people who didn't have my

 continued good health foremost hi mind.

 When the fur stopped flying and the dust settled,

 me and the big guy were the only ones standing. And

 I needed the help of a wall.

 I stumbled to the door at the end of the hall, be-

 yond the vanquished attendants. It was locked. It

 looked every bit as massive as the door to the ward.

 Well, all that work for nothing. I exchanged glances

 with the big guy. He grinned, said, "I told you." He

 wiped blood off his face, grinned some more. "They

 going to have a time cleaning this one up, though. We

 got most of the night staff in here."

 "Fine. We're a step closer. Let's drag these guys

 into the ward." Maybe we could use them as hostages.

 All of a sudden, we had plenty of helpers. Guys

 turned brave, thumped heads soundly whenever an

 attendant threatened to wake up.

 I checked the end of the hall I hadn't checked be-

 fore. Another locked oaken vault door. Of course. "I

 guess this just isn't my day." It had had its moments

 earlier, but the downs were starting to outweigh the

 ups. "Anybody want to guess how long it'll be before

 they come after us again?"

 | The big guy shrugged. Now that the active part was

 Sover he seemed to be losing interest.

 I produced two tiny folding knives that hadn't been

 taken, reflected that this incident was going to gener-

 ate strident calls for an investigation of how blades

 and sorcerous gook and whatnot had gotten to the

 inmates. Like there'd ever been a doubt that any in-

 mate who could flash the cash couldn't buy any

 damned thing he wanted.

 An investigation might mean hope. If it was serious,

 it would require my testimony. That would mean the

 pointing of fingers at the kind of people who'd take

 bribes for falsely imprisoning heroes like me. Ugh!

 They'd be villains who'd be aware of the distress my

 testimony could cause their careers. Surely they'd take

 steps to assure a paucity of witnesses likely to testify.

 I gave the big guy a knife. "Carve me some kindling

 out of anything wooden. If we get a decent fire going,

 we can burn our way through those doors."

 He grinned but without the wild eagerness he'd

 shown before. He was winding down.

 The notion of arson did excite some of the others.

 82

 GLEN COOK

 We all got to work ripping the stuffing out of pallets

 and whittling on the ward door.

 Then I suffered another brainstorm, way late, unlike

 the hero of an adventure story. I claim genius only

 because nobody else thought of the obvious first. The

 adventure boys would have planned it from the start.

 It's one of their old tricks.

 The Bledsoe staff wore uniforms, scruffy though

 those were.

 I got my fires burning at both ends of the hall. Ivy

 tended them. His vocabulary didn't improve, but he

 became more animated. He liked fires. He even paid

 attention when I said, "Use plenty of horsehair. We

 want plenty of smoke." The horsehair came out of the

 pallets.

 Ivy grinned from ear to ear. He was one fulfilled

 lunatic.

 The people outside would have to make a move.

 They couldn't wait us out once we had fires burning.

 Fires had to be fought.

 I had to have a guy follow Ivy and make sure his

 fires didn't grow too fast. Already they seemed likely

 to burn through the floor before they ate through the

 doors.

 Once the smoke was thick enough, I picked an at-

 tendant my size and started trading clothes. He got

 the best of the deal.

 My companions caught on. Soon they were squab-

 bling over the available uniforms. I made sure Ivy and

 the big guy got theirs. I wanted one for the little breed

 who'd body-blocked the ward door, but he'd have got-

 ten lost in a shirt.

 Interesting that I had so many supporters now that

 it looked like I had prospects.

 The smoke almost got too thick before somebody

 outside decided action had to be taken now.

 19

 They brought almost every warm body they had left.

 They burst through both doors at once, behind thrown

 buckets of water. They concentrated on the fires to

 begin, taking what lumps they must until those were

 extinguished, then they started whipping on anybody

 in arm's reach. When they got into the ward, they

 started hauling fallen comrades away.

 It was real exciting for a while. The issue was defi-

 nitely in doubt.

 The smoke got to me more than I expected. After

 they dragged me out and I decided it was tune I made

 a run for it, I found that my legs were saying no way.

 "Don't. You aren't ready yet."

 I didn't look up and give myself away. Around me,

 impelled by the cunning of madness, my buddies did

 the same. What a team!

 There were better than twelve men scattered along

 the hallway, many from the ward. The rest had gone

 down in the current invasion.

 The speaker was a woman, the owner of the legs.

 She added, "Get the smoke out before you do

 anything."

 I coughed and made noises and kept my face hid-

 den. She moved on, evidently to tend someone else

 who was stirring. A female doctor? How about that?

 I never heard of such a thing, but why not?

 I scooted back till my spine found a wall, raised

 myself up against that, lifted my head to scope out an

 83

 84

 GLEN COOK

 escape route. I kept seeing two of things when I could

 see through the water in my eyes. I got my feet under

 me again and practiced standing up till I could do it

 with no hands.

 My chosen escape route did not become overgrown

 while I was catching my breath. I shoved off the wall

 and started staggering. There was a stairwell door

 straight ahead, out in the remote distance, on the far

 horizon, about twenty feet away. All kinds of racket

 came from behind it, as though thunder-lizards were

 mating in the stairwell. I didn't pay the racket any

 mind. I didn't have any mind left over. What I had

 was busy thinking "out."

 I was chugging right along, hardly ever falling down,

 when she of the glorious gams intercepted me. "What

 are you trying to do? I told you ... Oh!"

 I grinned my winningest grin. "Oh-oh."

 "Oh, my god!"

 "Hey, no. I'm just a regular guy."

 Maybe she had trouble hearing over the racket from

 the stairwell. Or maybe she had trouble hearing over

 the uproar from the hall and ward. She sure didn't get

 my message. She whooped and hollered like she

 thought she was going to get carried off by a lunatic

 or something.

 I grabbed a wrist, mostly to keep from falling down.

 I noticed that she was blond and recalled that that

 was one of my favorites but I didn't have oomph

 enough to let her know. The bleeding had stopped a

 long time ago, but my head wasn't much better. The

 smoke hadn't done me any good, either.

 I hacked out, "Pipe down! We're going for a walk,

 sister. I don't want anybody should get hurt, but that

 ain't my top priority. You get the drift? You keep on

 wailing...."

 She shut up. Blue eyes big and beautiful, she

 bobbed her head.

 "I'll cut you loose at the front door. Maybe. If

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 85

 you're good and I don't get no more trouble." Snappy

 rhetoric, Garrett. Your roots are showing.

 I was getting the edge on the smoke, though. I was

 ready to bet myself she would be good. A figure like

 that, it burned. No. Forget fire. Fire means smoke. I

 just swallowed enough smoke to last forever.

 I leaned on the lady like she was my sweetie. "I

 need your help." Rotten to the heart, I am. But this

 would be our only date.

 She nodded again.

 Then she tripped me, the naughty girl.

 And then my friend Winger blasted through that

 stairwell door, flinging battered orderlies ahead of her.

 "Goddamn, Garrett! I bust in here fixing to save your

 ass and what do I find? You trying to bop some bimbo

 in front of the whole damned world." She grabbed my

 collar, hoisted me away from my latest daydream, who

 had gone down when I had. Winger set me on my

 feet, then proceeded to whip the pudding out of a

 burly, hirsute attendant who meant to object to the

 irregularity of the way she was checking me out. Be-

 tween punches she grunted, "You got to get your pri-

 orities straight, Garrett."

 No point mentioning who tripped who. You don't

 explain to Winger. She creates her own realities.

 While she was amusing herself with the hairy or-

 derly, I asked the lady doctor, "What's a nice girl like

 you doing in a place like this?"

 She wouldn't answer even after I apologized for

 playing so rough.

 "For heaven's sake, Garrett, give it a rest," Winger

 snapped. "And come on."

 I went along because she grabbed hold and took

 off. I grabbed the blonde as we went past. Down those

 stairs we went, stepping over the occasional moaning

 attendant. Winger had come through like a natural

 disaster. I bubbled, "I do hope I haven't been too

 much trouble. Unfortunately, I can't hang around just

 86

 GLEN COOK

 because somebody out there wants me in here instead

 of stomping on his toes." I put on my grim face.

 "When I catch up with him, I'll make sure he gives

 you a big donation. Big enough to cover damages."

 Winger rolled her eyes. She didn't slow down and

 she didn't let go.

 The lady of the legs said, "You're serious, aren't

 you?"

 Winger grumbled, "As serious as he can get when

 he's in rut."

 My new friend and I ignored her. I said, "That's

 right. I find things for people. Just this morning, a lady

 from the Hill asked me to find her daughter. I'd barely

 started looking when a band of ruffians set upon me.

 Next thing I knew, I was coming to and there you

 were and I thought I'd died and gone to one of those

 afterlives where they have angels, only my head hurt

 too much."

 "I risked life and limb for this," Winger muttered.

 "Your head is about to hurt a whole lot more."

 The lady doc looked at me like she really wanted

 to believe. She said, "He does spread it thick, doesn't

 he?"

 "With a manure rake," Winger growled, reverting

 to uncultured country ways. You can take the girl out

 of the sticks, and so forth.

 I said, "You ever feel the need to get in touch, just

 go up Macunado Street. When you get to Wizard's

 Reach, start asking around for where the Dead Man

 stays."

 The lady offered a weak smile. "I might do that. I

 just might. Just to see what happens."

 "Fireworks. For sure."

 Winger suggested, "Save yourself for marriage,

 honey. If there's anything left."

 The lady's smile vanished.

 You can't win them all. You especially can't when

 you have friends intent on throwing the game.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 87

 We'd reached the street in front of the Bledsoe. I

 tried to sprint off into the night at a fast shamble. I

 figured I ought to make tracks before some avenging

 orderly appeared.

 After I'd gone a few steps, Winger observed, "That

 was the most disgusting display I've seen yet, Garrett.

 Don't you ever stop?"

 "We have to get out of here." I glanced over my

 shoulder at the Bledsoe. A glimpse of the place nearly

 panicked me. That had been close. "We got to disap-

 pear before they send somebody after us."

 "You think they're not going to know where to

 look? You all but gave that bimbo your address."

 "Hey! You're talking about the love of my life. She

 won't give me away." I didn't let her see my crossed

 fingers.

 Winger shifted ground. "Why would they bother,

 anyway? Really?"

 At this point, they probably wouldn't. Anything

 they did now was likely to draw more attention than

 they could stand.

 I shrugged. That's always a useful, noncommital

 device.

 20

 I waited till we had a good head start, just hi case the

 hospital gang did decide to come after me. Then I

 grabbed Winger's hand in a comealong grip.

 "Hey! What the hell you doing, Garrett?"

 "You and me are going to sit here on these steps

 like young lovers and you're going to whisper sweet

 nothings about what the hell is going on. Got it?"

 "No."

 I added some muscle to the hold.

 "Ouch! Ain't that just like a man? No gratitude.

 Save his ass and—"

 "Looked to me like I was doing an adequate job of

 saving it on my own. Sit."

 Winger sat, but she kept grumbling. I didn't let go.

 I wouldn't get any answers if I did.

 "Tell me about it, Winger."

 "About what?" She can turn into the dumbest

 country girl that ever lived.

 "I know you. Don't waste stupid on me. Tell me

 about Maggie Jenn and her missing daughter and how

 come as soon as I take this job I get jumped, cold-

 cocked, and shoved into the cackle factory in such a

 big hurry the fools don't bother to empty my pockets?

 All the time I'm in there, I'm wondering how this

 could happen to me when only my pal Winger knows

 what I'm doing. And now I'm wondering how my pal

 Winger knew I needed help getting sprung from the

 Bledsoe. Stuff like that."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 89

 "Oh. That." She thought a while, making something

 up-

 "Come on, Winger. Give truth a try. Just for the

 novelty."

 She offered me a Winger-sized dirty look. "I was

 working for this pansy name of Grange Cleaver...."

 "Grange Cleaver? What kind of name is that?

 Come on. Tell me there ain't nobody named Grange

 Cleaver."

 "Who's going to tell this? You or me? You want to

 sit there and listen to the echo of your lips clacking,

 that's all right with me. Only don't expect me to hang

 around listening, too. I know how corny you get when

 you're up on your high horse."

 "Me? Corny?"

 "Like some holy joe Revanchist roll in the aisles

 preacher."

 "You wound me."

 "I'd like to, sometimes."

 "Promises, promises. You were working for a char-

 acter with a name even a dwarf wouldn't tolerate."

 "Yeah. His mom and dad were probably named

 Trevor and Nigel." She gave me another dirty look,

 thought about getting stubborn. "I was working for

 him, you like his name or not. He had me watching

 Maggie Jenn. Because he expected her to try to kill

 him, he said."

 "Why?"

 "He didn't say. I didn't ask. The kind of mood he

 was in most times, it didn't seem like a bright idea to

 nag."

 "Not even a guess?"

 "What's with you, Garrett? I get three marks a day

 if I mind my own business and do my job. I maybe

 get kneecapped if I don't."

 Thus did we head for an argument about moral re-

 sponsibility. We'd had it about fifty times before. The

 90

 GLEN COOK

 way Winger saw it, if you covered your own ass you

 were doing your part.

 She was trying to divert me.

 "Guess it don't matter, Winger. Go on. Explain how

 you ended up here."

 "That's easy. I'm a big dummy. I figured you for a

 pal. Somebody what didn't deserve that raw a deal."

 "How come I feel like there are some details shy

 here? You think you could put a little flesh on those

 bones?"

 "You can be a real pain in the butt, Garrett. Know

 what I mean?"

 "I've heard that rumor." I waited. I did not relax

 my grip on her hand.

 "All right. All right. So I was working for this

 Cleaver. Mostly on watching the Jenn bimbo, but on

 other stuff sometimes, too. It was like regular work,

 Garrett. Top pay and always something needed doing.

 Tonight I figured out why. Cleaver was putting me out

 front. People watched me while him and his nancy

 boys pulled stunts in the shadows."

 I grunted but provided no sympathy. I can't find

 much of that for somebody who won't learn. Winger

 had gotten herself used before. She was big and good-

 looking and a woman, and because she was a woman

 hardly anyone took her seriously. This Grange Cleaver

 probably just thought she was a handy freak, though

 he was a freak himself.

 "I know, Garrett. I know. You heard this one be-

 fore. Probably you'll hear it again. Sometimes it works

 out profitable."

 Meaning she took advantage of those who used her,

 playing dumb country girl while she pocketed their

 silver candlesticks.

 I gave her a shot at my famous raised eyebrow.

 "I know. I know. But I got to get by while I build

 my reputation."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 91

 "I suppose." Getting a nasty rep was an obsession

 with her.

 "Thanks for the passionate support. At least I

 caught on before it was too late to get out."

 "Did you?"

 "Get out? Damned right I did. See, this Cleaver

 told me, yeah, Winger, that's a great idea, putting

 somebody next to Maggie Jenn. Somebody else on

 account of she'd recognize me. But when I told him

 it was you I got to cover it, he got a face looked like

 he was about to have a shit hemorrhage. You'd a

 thought one of his buddies sneaked up and showed

 him he loved him by surprise. He got me out so fast

 I got suspicious. I sneaked around to where I could

 listen hi on him."

 I suspected Winger had done plenty of eaves-

 dropping. "I've never heard of Cleaver. How come

 he's shook up about me?"

 She spat. "How the hell should I know? You do

 got your rep as a super straight-arrow simp. Maybe

 that done it."

 "Think so?" Winger was after an angle all the time.

 "So you wised up. Hard to believe. Usually it takes—"

 "I ain't as dumb as you think, Garrett." She refused

 to provide proof, though. "What Cleaver was up to,

 he called in this bunch of street brunos. Not his regu-

 lar butt buddies, just some muscle. He told them he

 had this big problem name of you and asked could

 they solve it for him? How about they sent you off to

 the Bledsoe? The brunos said sure and laughed and

 joked about how they done it before with some guys

 Cleaver didn't like. He's got people on the inside on

 the pad. He's connected to the hospital somehow.

 Probably through that blond baggage you was drool-

 ing on when I was trying to get you out of there."

 "Yeah. Probably." But I didn't believe that and nei-

 ther did she.

 92

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY O.UICKSILVER LIES

 93

 "Anyways, it took me a while to get away without

 nobody noticing. I came straight to the hospital."

 I could imagine why it had taken her so long to slip

 away. Once she decided to quit Cleaver, she would

 want to collect everything valuable she could carry.

 Then she'd have to take that wherever she kept her

 stuff. Then she might have tested the waters to see if

 she couldn't carry off another load before she finally

 got around to me.

 She knew I wasn't going anywhere.

 The big rat.

 "So you came whooping to the rescue only to find

 out that, through my own cunning, I had proceeded

 to effect my own release."

 "You was doing all right," she conceded, "but you

 wouldn't never of gotten out of there if I hadn't

 whipped up on all them guys what would've gotten in

 your way downstairs."

 Whatever else, Winger was a woman. I granted her

 the last word.

 "You can let go the hand now," she said. "There

 ain't nothing left to squeeze out'n me."

 "That a fact?" Then how come the country was

 coming on stronger all the time? She was putting on

 her camouflage. "And just when I was thinking it

 might be useful to learn how Maggie Jenn knows you.

 Just when I was getting curious about your pal Grange

 Cleaver. Since I've never heard of the guy, it'd proba-

 bly save me a lot of time if you were to clue me where

 he lives, is he human or whatever, is he connected

 with the Outfit or anybody, stuff like that. Details. I'm

 a detail kind of guy, Winger."

 Winger is your basic jump on the wagon and head

 out without checking to see if the mules are hitched

 up kind of woman, never long on scoping out plans or

 worrying about consequences. Neither past nor future

 mean much to her. That isn't because she's stupid or

 foolish, it's because that's the way she's made.

 "You're a royal pain hi the ass kind of guy,

 Garrett."

 "That too. Hear it all the time. Especially from you.

 You're going to give me a complex."

 "Not you. You got to be sensitive to get a complex.

 You're sensitive like a stinky old boot. Grange

 Cleaver, now he's a sensitive kind of guy." She

 grinned.

 "You ever going to tell me something? Or you just

 going to sit there smirking like a toad on a cowpie?"

 She snickered. "I told you, Garrett, Grange Cleaver

 is the kind of guy wears earrings."

 "Plenty of guys are the kind of guys who wear ear-

 rings. That don't make them poofs. They might be

 fierce pirates."

 "Yeah? He's also the kind of guy wears wigs and

 makeup and likes to dress up in girl clothes. I heard

 him brag about how he used to work the Tenderloin

 without the Johns ever knowing how unique an experi-

 ence they'd had."

 "It happens." In the Tenderloin, in TunFaire, every-

 thing happens. I didn't consider this big news, though

 Cleaver did seem careless with his secrets. You get

 too public you can end up with more trouble than you

 can handle. Asking for trouble is plain dumb.

 "He human?" I asked.

 "Yeah."

 "And don't hide his quirks?"

 "Not around home. I never saw nun go out in the

 street and run after little boys. Why?"

 "He don't sound careful enough. You got any idea

 what a poof goes through in the army? Hell like you

 wouldn't believe. Bottom line is, any of them that

 don't hide it damned good don't last. The Cantard is

 no place to belong to an unpopular minority."

 "I don't think Grange was in the service, Garrett."

 "You're on a first-name basis?"

 "He has everybody call him Grange."

 94

 GLEN COOK

 "Real democratic kind of guy, eh?"

 "Yeah."

 "Right. So. He's human and male, he had to be in

 some service, Winger. They don't allow exceptions."

 "Maybe he was a dodger."

 "They never give up hunting those guys." They

 don't. Not ever. There is no privilege when it comes to

 conscription. Say that for our masters. No favoritism is

 shown there. In fact, in that regard they pay more than

 their share of the price. They do lead from the front.

 Notice how Winger got me off on a tangent? I did.

 She had dropped out on this Cleaver princess but did

 not want to give up any information about him. That

 meant she still saw an angle.

 Winger always sees an angle.

 "Let's get back to the high road. What's between

 Cleaver and Maggie Jenn? If he's a shrieking faggot,

 why is he interested at all?"

 "I think she's his sister."

 "Say what?"

 "Or maybe his cousin. Anyway, they're related

 somehow. And she's got something he wants. Some-

 thing he figures is his."

 "So she's going to kill him?" This was getting

 weirder by the minute.

 I hate family wars. They're the worst kind. They

 put you out in no-man's land all alone without a map.

 Whatever you do turns out wrong. "What's he after,

 Winger?"

 "I don't know." Now she was getting long suffering,

 the way people do when small children ask too many

 questions. "I just worked for the guy. I didn't sleep

 with him. I wasn't his social secretary. I wasn't his

 partner. I didn't keep his diary for him. I just took his

 money and did what he said. Then I came out to save

 your butt on account of I kind of felt responsible for

 getting you into a jam."

 "You were responsible. You were running a game

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 95

 on me. I don't know what it was because you've kept

 it to yourself. Chances are you're still running a game

 on me, you being you."

 I was a little tired of Winger, which was another of

 her talents. She could exasperate you till you ran her

 off, leaving you thinking it was your idea that she was

 gone; leaving you feeling guilty for doing her that way.

 "So what're you gonna do?" she asked. I had let

 go of her hand.

 "I figure I'll suck up a few beers, then I'll get me

 some sleep. After I get me out of this clown costume

 and delouse myself."

 "Want some company?"

 That's my friend Winger.

 "Not tonight. I just want to sleep."

 "All right. You want to be that way." She got gone

 before I could react to the smug smile she left floating

 behind her. Before 1 fully realized that she was going

 without having told me anything useful, like where the

 hell I could find friendly Grange Cleaver.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 97

 21

 "I just want to get some sleep." Usually famous last

 words for me when I'm working. I'd get three hours

 of shuteye the rest of the month.

 The gods were toying with me—nobody messed

 with me at all. So naturally I kept waking up to listen

 for pounding at the door. Somewhere up there, or

 down there, or out there, an otherwise useless godlet

 was earning his reputation by tormenting me in inge-

 nious ways. If he keeps on, he may get promoted to

 director of heavenly sewers.

 So I failed to rest well despite the opportunity. I

 wakened cranky and stomped around cussing Dean

 for being out of town. There was no one else I could

 make miserable.

 The true breadth and depth of my genius didn't

 occur to me till I was well along toward whipping up

 a truly awful breakfast of griddle cakes. I had forgot-

 ten to ask Winger about the guy who had followed

 me to Maggie Jenn's place.

 Someone tapped on the front door. What the hell?

 It was a civilized hour, almost.

 The knock was so discreet I almost missed it. I

 grumbled some, flipped a flapjack, and headed up

 front.

 I was astounded when I peeped through the peep-

 hole. I threw the door open to let the radiance of that

 blond beauty shine on me. "Didn't expect to see you

 again, Doc." I examined the street behind the lovely,

 96

 in case she headed up a platoon of Bledsoe guys who

 couldn't take a joke. I didn't see anybody, but that

 meant squat. Macunado Street was so crowded you

 could have hidden the entire hospital staff out there.

 "You invited me." She looked like she had come

 directly from work, like maybe she'd pulled a double

 shift cleaning up. "You were panting over the idea."

 She had a sarcastic tone to counterweight a blistering

 smile. "Your big friend dunk you in icewater?"

 "I just didn't expect to see you again. Look, I'm

 sorry about that mess. I just get wild when somebody

 pulls a dirty trick like dumping me in the cackle

 factory."

 Her lips pruned up. "Can't you use a less contemp-

 tuous term?"

 "Sorry. I'll try." I encouraged myself by recalling a

 thing or three people have said about my profession,

 most of it unflattering.

 She relaxed. "The duty trick is why I'm here. What

 is that smell?"

 I whirled. Tendrils of smoke slithered from the

 kitchen. I shrieked and bounded down the hall. Our

 lady of the marvelous legs followed at a dignified pace.

 I scooped blackened griddle cakes into the sink.

 They sent up smoke signals denouncing my skills as a

 chef. Hell, I was so bad I might be able to get on in

 Morley's kitchen. They had an opening. "I can use

 these to patch the roof," I grumbled.

 "Too brittle."

 "Everybody's a comedian. You had breakfast?"

 "No. But ..."

 "Grab an apron, kid. Give me a hand. A little food

 will do us both good. What you want to know,

 anyway?"

 She grabbed an apron. Amazing gal. "I didn't like

 the way you were talking last night. I decided to check

 it out. There was no record of your commitment,

 though when I joined the orderlies carrying you they

 98

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 99

 assured me that you had been brought hi by the

 Guard and the records were in order."

 I made rude noises, started flapping a new genera-

 tion of flapjacks.

 "That was easy to check. A ranking Guard officer is

 an old friend of my family. Colonel Westman Block."

 I squeaked three or four times before I managed

 to ask, "Colonel Block? They made a colonel out of

 him?"

 "Wes speaks highly of you, too, Mr. Garrett."

 'Til bet."

 "He told me you were not sent to the Bledsoe by

 his people—though he wished he'd thought of it."

 "That's Block. Playful as a hogshead of cobras."

 "He did speak well of you professionally. But he

 warned me to remain wary in other respects." She

 could get a laugh into her voice, too.

 "You going to want bacon?"

 "You just starting it now? You're supposed to start

 the bacon first. It takes longer."

 "I cook one thing at a tune. That way I only burn

 one thing at a time."

 "A daring approach."

 "Holds down expenses."

 We cooked together and ate together and I spent a

 lot of time appreciating the scenery. The lady didn't

 seem to mind.

 We were cleaning up when she said, "I won't toler-

 ate this sort of thing. I won't tolerate the corruption

 that allows it to happen."

 I stepped back, checked her out with different eyes.

 "You just start working there? You'd have to look

 hard to find a place more corrupt than the Bledsoe."

 "Yes. I'm new. And I'm finding out how rotten the

 place is. Every day it's something. This is the worst

 yet. You might've spent your whole hie wrongfully

 imprisoned."

 "Yeah. And I wasn't the only one in there. You an

 idealist and reformer?" TunFaire is infested with

 those lately.

 "You don't need to make me sound like a halfwit."

 "Sorry. Most wannabe Utopians are, reality-wise.

 They come from well-to-do families and haven't the

 vaguest notion what life is like for people who have

 to depend on a Bledsoe. They can't imagine what life

 is like for the kind of people who work in a Bledsoe.

 For them taking bribes and selling donated supplies

 are perks of the job. They wouldn't understand you if

 you bitched about it—unless they figured you were

 trying to increase the override you take off the top."

 She gave me a disgusted look. "Somebody sug-

 gested that yesterday."

 "There you go. I bet you blew up. And didn't get

 through. And now everybody in the place thinks

 you're crazy. Maybe the better-placed guys in the big-

 ger money are wondering if you're dangerous crazy.

 They worry about these new Guards kicking ass and

 taking names. It takes a while to corrupt reformers."

 She settled with a fresh cup of tea, honey and mint

 in it. She eyed me, then mused, "West says you can

 be trusted."

 "Nice of him to say. Wish I could say the same."

 She frowned. "Point is, I'm dangerous already. A

 few days ago, several thousand marks worth of medi-

 cal supplies vanished. Right away I filled two orderly

 slots with men I knew personally. Men I can trust."

 "I see." In view of her Guard connection, I guessed

 they were Block's men. He had a character named

 Relway working for him, running his secret police

 force. Relway was nasty.

 If Relway became interested in the Bledsoe, heads

 would roll and asses get kicked. Relway doesn't let

 bureaucratic roadblocks and legal technicalities get in

 his way. He gets in there and rights those wrongs.

 I suggested, "You be careful. They think you

 brought in spies, they could forget their manners."

 100

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 101

 She sipped tea, studied me, which made me uncom-

 fortable. Not that I object to having a beautiful woman

 check me out. I was born to be a sex object. But this

 beautiful woman had something less thrilling in mind.

 "I'm not as naive as you think, Garrett."

 "Good. That'll save you a lot of pain."

 "You have any idea who signed you in?"

 "No. I was asleep. But I hear the prince who paic

 for it goes by the name Grange Cleaver."

 "Cleaver? Grange Cleaver?"

 "You know him?"

 "He's a hospital trustee. Appointed through the im-

 perial household." She studied me some more. "I told

 you I'm not as naive as you might think. That does

 include understanding that I might be hi danger."

 Could be was not how I would put it. "So?"

 "So maybe I should get somebody to stick close by

 till the dust settles."

 "Sounds like a good idea."

 "You game?"

 I was game, but not for that. "You want a

 bodyguard?"

 "Wes says you won't sell out."

 "Maybe not. But there's a problem."

 "What?" She sounded irked.

 "I don't do bodyguard work. Sorry. And I have a

 client already. Wouldn't do to let that obligation slide,

 much as part of me wants to. Also, your staff is going

 to harbor grudges. I wouldn't dare hang out around

 there."

 She looked like she was getting mad. "Then what

 would you suggest?" She didn't try to change my

 mind. My feelings were hurt. Maybe she could have

 talked herself into something.

 She was too damned businesslike.

 Maggie Jenn would have tried to talk me into

 something.

 "Friend of mine, Saucerhead Tharpe, could do the

 job. Or several other guys I know. Trouble is the best

 guys all look like what they are." Then my muse in-

 spired me. "My friend from last night will be looking

 for work."

 My guest brightened, her mind darting past all the

 obvious caveats that would have obtained had Winger

 been male. "Can she do the job?"

 "Better than I could. She doesn't have a

 conscience."

 "She trustworthy?"

 "Don't put her in temptation's way. The family sil-

 ver might accidentally fall into her pockets. But she

 can get a job done."

 "She tough?"

 "She eats hedgehogs for breakfast. Without peeling

 them first. Don't get into a tough contest with her.

 She don't know when to quit."

 She smiled. "I understand the impulse. When you

 step outside tradition, there's a temptation to show

 the boys you can do everything they can do better.

 All right. Sounds good. I'll talk to her. How do I get

 in touch?"

 Finding Winger isn't easy. She wants it that way.

 There are people she'd rather not have sneaking up.

 I explained what worked for me. She thanked me

 for breakfast, advice, and help, and headed for the

 front door. I was overwhelmed still. She was ready to

 let herself out before I got myself together. "Hey!

 Wait up. You didn't introduce yourself."

 She smirked. "Chastity, Garrett. Chastity Blaine."

 She laughed at my goofy look, slipped out, and closed

 the door behind her.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 103

 i

 22

 By daylight, the Joy House is dull. Lately Morley has

 been open continuously, driven by some bizarre civic

 impulse that wants weeds and grass clippings made

 available to all. I was concerned. The place might start

 attracting horses.

 I invited myself up to the bar. "Cook me up a rare

 steak, Sarge. And let Morley know I'm here."

 Sarge grunted, scratched his crotch, hitched his

 pants, thought about it before he did anything—which

 was mainly to wonder aloud why I thought Morley

 Dotes gave one rat's ass whether I was infesting the

 Joy House or stinking up the place in Hell, where I

 belonged.

 "You ought to open a charm school for young ladies

 of superior breeding, Sarge."

 "Fugginay. Ain't dat da troot?"

 I settled at a table. My steak arrived before Morley

 did. It was a thick, rare, prime center cut. Of eggplant.

 I forced part of it down by holding my breath and

 closing my eyes. If I didn't have to smell it or see it,

 it wasn't too bad.

 Sarge's buddy Puddle trundled out of the kitchen,

 half a foot of hairy bare belly hanging out from under

 his shirt. He paused to blow his nose on his apron.

 He had him some kind of key on a rope around his

 neck. I asked, "What the hell are you supposed to be?

 One that got away? They didn't tie the noose tight

 enough?"

 102

 "I'm da wine stewart aroun' here, Garrett." My

 worst fears were confirmed—not only by ear but by

 nose. Puddle's breath told me he diligently tested his

 vintages. "Morley says we got to attrack a better class

 a' custom."

 Time was you could have done that by dragging in

 a dozen derelicts. "You're just the guy who can do it,

 Puddle."

 "Fugginay. Ain't dat da troot?"

 These guys had the same rhetoric teacher.

 "You want some wine, Garrett? To go wit' what

 you're havin' dere we got us a perky little fortunata

 petite what's maybe not as subtle as a Nambo Arsenal

 but—"

 "Puddle!"

 "Yeah?"

 "It's spoiled grape juice. If they call it wine, it's

 spoiled grape juice. I don't care if you call it coy or

 brujo or whatever. Talk that wine snob talk till dooms-

 day, that don't change the main fact. Hell, go look at

 the stuff while it's changing into brassy brunette or

 whatever. It's got mold and shit growing on it. What

 it is, really, is how you get alcohol that winos and

 ratmen can afford."

 Puddle winked and whispered, "I'm wit' you. The

 gods meant real men to drink dat stuff dey wouldn't

 of invented beer."

 "What you do, you get Morley to serve beer by

 telling him it's cream of barley soup?"

 Morley arrived during this exchange. He observed,

 "Wine is how the smart restauranteur fleeces the kind

 of man who walks around with his nose in the air."

 I asked, "How come you want that kind of guy

 cluttering up your dance floor?"

 "Cash flow." Morley planted himself in the chair

 opposite me. "Plain, simple, raw money. If you want

 it, you have to find ways to pry it loose from those

 who have it. Our current clientele doesn't have it.

 104

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 105

 Often. But I've noted that we've begun to attract ad-

 venturers. So I've started positioning us to become the

 in place."

 "Why?"

 He looked at me funny.

 "Don't let me throw you with the trick questions,

 Morley. If they get too tough for you, holler."

 "Look around. There's your answer."

 I looked. I saw Puddle and Sarge and a few local

 "characters" using the place to get out of the weather.

 "Not real appetizing." I meant Puddle and Sarge.

 "It's that old devil Tune, Garrett. We're all a pound

 heavier and a step slower. It's time to think about

 facing realities."

 "Puddle and Sarge, maybe." Morley didn't have an

 ounce of fat on him. I did my famous eyebrow trick,

 one of my more endearing skills.

 He read that right. "A guy can get a step slow be-

 tween the ears, too. He can lose that lean and hungry

 way of thinking." He eyed me as though I, of all peo-

 ple, should know that.

 "Or he can start thinking like a cow because he

 doesn't eat anything but cattle fodder." I laid a

 pointed stare on the corpse of my eggplant filet. It

 had failed to live up to even my low expectations.

 Morley grinned. "We're breaking in a new cook."

 "On me?"

 "Who better? Right, Puddle? No way we can disap-

 point Garrett. He was disappointed when he walked

 in the door. He'll bitch and gripe whatever we serve

 him."

 I grumped, "You could poison me."

 "If it would improve your disposition."

 "There's an idea!" Puddle enthused. "Hows come

 I never thought a' that one?"

 "Because you've never had a thought. If one got

 loose in that abandoned tenement of a head, it'd never

 find its way out," I muttered, but Puddle caught on

 anyhow.

 "Yo! Sarge! We got any of dat rat poison left? Tell

 Wiggins to bring dis guy Garrett a special chef's sur-

 prise dessert."

 I made noises to let them know what I thought of

 this level of humor and told Morley, "I need the bene-

 fit of your wisdom."

 "You going to cry on my shoulder about one of

 your bimbos?"

 "There's a thought. I never tried that. Maybe by

 way of a little sympathetic magic ..."

 "Don't expect sympathy from me."

 "What I want to do is listen to you, not have you

 listen to me."

 "This has to do with your Maggie Jenn thing?"

 "Yes. The name Grange Cleaver mean anything?"

 Morley glanced at Puddle. A shadow crossed his

 features. Puddle exchanged glances with Sarge. Then

 everybody faked indifference. Morley asked, "You

 saying the Rainmaker is back?"

 "Rainmaker?"

 "The only Grange Cleaver I know was called the

 Rainmaker. He was a fence. Big time. Where did you

 come onto the name?"

 "Winger. She said she was working for him."

 "That woman isn't your most reliable witness."

 "You're telling me. But she did have an interesting

 story about how this guy was using her to keep tabs

 on Maggie Jenn. She said she thought Cleaver was

 Maggie's brother. Or some sort of close relation."

 Again Morley tossed a glance at Puddle, then

 looked thoughtful. "I've never heard that one." He

 chuckled. There was no humor in the sound. "It can't

 be true, but it would explain a lot if it was. Maybe

 even including why she is back in town."

 "You changing your position?"

 "Huh?"

 106

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 107

 "You said she was in exile. What're you going on

 about, anyway?"

 "All right. Grange Cleaver, alias the Rainmaker,

 was a very famous fence years ago."

 "How can you be a famous fence? Seems to me

 you could be one or the other but not both."

 "Famous among those who use the services of

 fences, wholesale or retail, supplier or end user. The

 Rainmaker operated on the swank. There were ru-

 mors he choreographed several big jobs himself, that

 he had a connection who got him the inside informa-

 tion he needed. He hit several Hill places. There

 weren't many guards back then. His raids were one

 reason the Hill folk set up their goon squads."

 "This all connects with Maggie Jenn?"

 "Maybe. It just occurred to me that the Rainmak-

 er's heyday coincided with Maggie Jenn's famous af-

 fair. Specifically, with those months when Theodoric

 was dragging her around in public, not giving one

 good goddamn what anyone said."

 "You have to admit nobody would've figured her

 for a spotter."

 "Exactly. Her social crimes were reason enough to

 hate her."

 "All of which is interesting but, as far as I can see,

 doesn't have anything to do with the job I'm getting

 paid to do." Though I might be wrong. Cleaver hadn't

 drafted me into the crackdome brigade because my

 colors clashed when I dressed. I was a threat some-

 how. "You still say Maggie Jenn doesn't have a

 daughter?"

 "I said I didn't know about one. I still don't. But

 now I have a notion there's a lot I don't know about

 Maggie Jenn."

 "Heard anything off the street?"

 "Too soon, Garrett. It's a big town. And if the

 Rainmaker is in it, people who remember him might

 not talk."

 "Yeah." A big town. And somewhere in it, a miss-

 ing girl.

 Somewhere in TunFaire there are scores of missing

 girls. More vanish every day. This just happened to

 be a girl who had someone willing to look for her.

 I started toward the street.

 "Garrett."

 I stopped. I knew that tone. The real Morley was

 about to speak from behind all the masks. "What?"

 "You be careful about the Rainmaker. He's as crazy

 as they come. Dangerous crazy."

 I leaned against the door frame and did some rumi-

 nating. "I've got some real funny people in this one,

 Morley."

 "How so?"

 "They all have two faces. The Maggie Jenn I know

 and the one Winger told me about aren't much like

 the woman you describe. The Grange Cleaver Winger

 worked for and the one you describe aren't anything

 like the Grange Cleaver I heard about from another

 source. That Cleaver is one of the directors of the

 Bledsoe. He's connected with the imperial family."

 "That's another new one on me. But so what?"

 Yeah. So what? It occurred to me that Chastity's

 troubles with theft and corruption might stem from

 the very top.

 For some reason, I just can't get used to the think-

 ing it takes to encompass that kind of villainy. It

 doesn't seem reasonable to steal from the poor and

 the helpless, though I'm sure Morley could paste on

 his puzzled frown and make it all clear: you steal from

 the poor and helpless because they can't fight back.

 Because nobody gives a damn. But you do have to do

 one hell of a lot of stealing in order to make much

 money.

 That's why most thieves prefer wealthier victims.

 23

 I decided my best course was to go home and settle

 in with a beer or five while I figured out how to do

 my job. Grange Cleaver was a side issue. Maybe I'd

 put time in on him after I found the missing daughter.

 I owed the clown. But Emerald came first.

 Speaking of debts, by now his people inside the

 Bledsoe should have reported my brilliant, dashing es-

 cape. It might behoove me to keep a close watch on

 my behind.

 You work yourself Into the right frame of mind, it's

 sure something will happen. I was all pruned to turn

 paranoid. Naturally, fate just had to set me off.

 "How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

 I squeaked and jumped up there where the pigeons

 fly. I could have clicked my heels and turned a somer-

 sault on the way down but was too busy making funny

 noises. I landed. And there, by the gods, was my old

 prison pal Ivy.

 And not just Ivy. Behind Ivy, grinning merrily, was

 that big bozo who'd helped me with my breakout.

 "You guys made it, eh? That's great." I tried easing

 around them. That didn't work. "How many others

 managed? Any idea?" I was just being sociable. You

 do that with unpredictable and potentially dangerous

 people. Hell, you should do that with anybody you

 don't know. You should be rude only to friends you're

 sure won't slice you into cold cuts. That's what man-

 ners are for.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 109

 The grinning fool grinned even wider. "Most every-

 body scooted, Garrett. The whole ward, I think."

 "How did that happen?" I'd thought the staff were

 gaining control when I ran out.

 "Some of us guys that had uniforms on decided to

 go get some paybacks after we got the smoke out of

 our lungs. And then a bunch of the guys still inside

 went berserk."

 "Lucky for us they weren't crazy before." But they

 were crazy now and on the loose. I tried easing away

 again. The big guy had a knack for staying in my way.

 I hadn't overlooked the fact that he knew my name

 even though I hadn't introduced myself. "How did

 you guys come to be here?" Here being Macunado

 Street less than two blocks from my house. A coinci-

 dence that monstrous could occur only every third

 leap year. It wasn't leap year.

 The big guy got red. He confessed, "We was sneak-

 ing around trying to find a way out and we heard you

 talking to Doc Chaz. So we're on the street all this

 time, we don't know where to go or what to do. I ast

 Ivy and he don't got no suggestions."

 Ivy's face brightened at the mention. He introduced

 himself, in case he'd forgotten his manners, then went

 back to studying the street. He seemed more per-

 plexed than frightened, but I didn't think it would be

 long till he was ready to go back inside. I suspected

 that would be true for a lot of men.

 "So you came looking for me."

 The big guy nodded like a shy kid. "Seemed like

 you was a guy would know what to do."

 I cussed myself silently for being the kind of fool I

 am. "All right. I got you into this, I'm kind of respon-

 sible. Come on. I'll get you fed, put you up tonight,

 maybe help you make arrangements."

 Yeah. I know. Chances were good they would smell

 like long-dead fish before I got them out. But I did

 have a card up my sleeve. The Dead Man isn't handi-

 110

 GLEN COOK

 capped by manners or an overdeveloped sense of so-

 cial obligation. Guests don't overstay his welcome.

 I wondered if it wasn't maybe time to start nudging

 him. I could use a little advice.

 I let my guests into my house. The big guy was as

 nervous as a kid in unfamiliar territory. Ivy was as

 curious as a cat. Naturally, the Goddamn Parrot

 started raising hell in the small front room. Ivy invited

 himself in there while I tried to solve a problem by

 asking the big guy, "Do you have a name? I don't

 know what to call you."

 Mr. Big cussed Ivy for not bringing him food.

 I was beginning to miss Dean for yet another rea-

 son. He had dealt with that foul feathered fiend before

 he left. I still wasn't used to it.

 It went into its act. "Help! Rape! Save me! Oh,

 please, mister, don't make me do that again." It man-

 aged to sound like a preadolescent girl. The only par-

 rot in captivity smart enough to remember more than

 four words, and some wit had taught it that. I just

 knew if the neighbors ever heard the beast I'd never

 convince the lynch mob that a parrot had done the

 squawking. The bird would not say boo till I was

 swinging high.

 Meantime, the big fellow stood around wearing a

 thoughtful look, trying to remember his name. His

 wits seemed to turn through seasons. Must have been

 summertime when he helped me at the Bledsoe. Now

 it was late autumn or early winter. I was glad I didn't

 have to deal with him all the time. I could go crazy

 myself.

 Powziffle.

 Ivy closed the door to the small front room. The

 Goddamn Parrot went right on screeching. Ivy grinned

 from ear to ear. I had a feeling I knew what was

 going to become of that bird. He could become the

 companion of a tortured fellow who needed a friend

 desperately.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 111

 The tortured fellow roamed on down the hall while

 his sidekick continued to ruminate the big question.

 "Hey! Yeah!" His face brightened. "Slither."

 Brighter still. "Yeah! That's it. Slither." His grin

 dwarfed Ivy's.

 "Slither?" What the hell kind of name was that? A

 nickname for sure, though he didn't look like a Slither

 to me.

 Ivy had his face shoved into my office. He froze.

 Eventually he let out a little squeak of dismay, the

 first break in his six-word pattern. From the direction

 he was facing, I guessed he'd gotten a look at Eleanor.

 That painting had plenty to say to anyone with the

 open eyes of madness.

 Slither preened, proud that he had recalled his

 name.

 I said, "You guys come back to the kitchen. We'll

 have us a beer and a snack." I suspected that they

 hadn't eaten since their flight from the hospital. Free-

 dom does have its disadvantages.

 Slither nodded and flashed his grin. Ivy ignored me.

 He crossed the hall to the Dead Man's room, went

 inside, and got himself a shock even more horrible

 than the terror in the shadows behind Eleanor. The

 Dead Man isn't furry, little, or cuddly. He can't win

 instant love through cute.

 I pried Ivy out of there and got him into the

 kitchen. We settled down to a snack of cold roast beef,

 pickles, cheese, mustard with verve enough to water

 your eyes, and adequate quantities of beer. I did more

 sipping than eating. Once Slither and Ivy slowed

 enough so they took tune to breathe as well as eat, I

 asked, "You guys able to do anything?"

 "Huh?" That was Slither. Ivy was sucking up an-

 other mug of beer, his fifth. He'd begun to look

 brighter, more human. I'd begun to suspect the nature

 of his madness. He was a wino.

 112

 GLEN COOK

 "What did you do before they put you in that

 place?"

 Slither started another five-fall match with his

 memory.

 I wondered how well he'd done before his venture

 inside.

 Ivy drained his mug and headed for the cold well.

 I caught his wrist. It didn't take much to set him down.

 "Don't let's overdo, Ivy."

 He stared at his plate a minute, then lifted a sliver

 of meat to his lips. He chewed slowly for a long time.

 After he swallowed he startled me by saying, "You

 can't forget to eat, Garrett. That's the thing you've

 got to hang onto. You can't forget to eat."

 I stared at him. Slither stared at him. Slither howled,

 "I'll be damned! I'll be double dog damned, Garrett!

 He talked. What did we do? I never heard him talk

 before."

 The event seemed to give Slither's intellect a kick

 in the slats, too. He started chattering at Ivy, trying

 to draw him out. Ivy didn't want to be drawn. He

 stared at his plate and picked at his food. He looked

 up only once, to toss a longing glance toward the cold

 well. The object of his affection, my keg, lay there all

 alone.

 "Well?"

 Slither looked at me. "Huh?"

 "I asked what you did on the outside, before you

 went in."

 "How come you want to know?" The fires of genius

 never burned real hot here.

 I had to move before he faded again. "I want to

 know because if I know what you can do maybe I can

 find somebody who'll pay you to do it." There is no

 shortage of work in TunFaire, honest or otherwise,

 what with all our young men spending five years in

 the Cantard and a lot of them never coming home.

 "Mostly I done bodyguarding. I was pretty good

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 113

 when I started, but I figure I picked up something

 when I was down south. I started kind of fading out

 sometimes. I started making mistakes sometimes. I

 screwed up on a real good job I got on account of my

 size mostly, so I took another one that wasn't quite

 as good and I screwed up on that one, too, so I took

 another job and all the time the fading got worse and

 worse. I started not remembering anything sometimes.

 Nothing. Except I kept getting the feeling that I was

 doing things that weren't right. Maybe really wicked

 things, only whatever I was doing I wasn't getting

 caught by nobody because I always woke up at home.

 Sometimes I had bruises and stuff, though. And then

 I was right in the right place at the right time and

 landed me a real sweet job. I don't know what hap-

 pened or how. One day I wake up, I'm there where

 you found me and I don't know how long I been there

 or what I done to get myself put inside."

 I'd seen him during one blackout. Powziffle. Maybe

 that one had been mild and harmless. Maybe he went

 berserk sometimes.

 But then he'd have been in the violent ward.

 Wouldn't he?

 "What did you do in the army?" I asked.

 "Nothing, man. I wasn't no friggin' ground-

 pounder."

 I knew that tone and that look and that fire in the

 eye. "You were a Marine?"

 "Absofugginlutely. First Battalion. Fleet Marines."

 I was impressed. That meant something to a Marine.

 Slither had been one of the elite of the elite. So how

 come ten years later he set up housekeeping in the

 charity bughouse? The man had to be tougher than

 rawhide.

 On the other hand, how many tough guys fall apart

 with a nudge in the right way at the right time?

 Slither asked, "What about you?"

 "Force recon."

 114

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 115

 "Hey! All right!" He reached out to slap my hand,

 a silly habit left over from the Corps.

 They told us when we went in we'd never stop being

 Marines.

 "If you can keep your head together, I could maybe

 use you on the job I'm doing."

 He frowned. "What kind of work you do? Besides

 bust places up like you was trying to turn the whole

 world into a barroom brawl?"

 I explained. I explained again. He didn't get it till

 I told him, "It's kind of like being a mercenary—only

 I just find things or figure things out for people who

 can't handle their problems themselves."

 He still frowned but got the basic idea. His trouble

 was that he couldn't grasp why I'd galavant around

 like I was some kind of white knight.

 So I put that into terms he could understand. "Most

 of my clients are loaded. When things go my way, I

 can soak them for a bundle."

 Even Ivy brightened at that. But he kept looking at

 my cold well like it was the gate to heaven.

 I got up, dug out a bottle of wine that had been

 around since the dawn of time, plopped it down in

 front of Ivy. I drew more beer for Slither and me. I

 settled. Ivy went to work on his bottle. After he fin-

 ished a long pull, I asked, "How about you, Ivy? What

 did you do in the war?"

 He tried. He really did. But his tongue got tangled.

 Gibberish came out. I suggested he take another long

 drink and relax. He did. That worked. Sort of.

 "So?" I urged, gently, in the back of my mind be-

 ginning to hear guilt nag because I was getting soaked

 with a pair of fruitcakes when I ought to be hunting

 a missing daughter. "What did you do down there?"

 "La-la-long ra-range re-re-recon. Ra-ranger stuff."

 "Excellent!" Slither murmured. Civilians wouldn't

 understand.

 I nodded encouragement and tried to cover my sur-

 prise. Ivy didn't look the type. But a lot of guys don't.

 And it's often guys who make the elite outfits who're

 good enough to survive. They know how to take care

 of themselves.

 "Pretty grim?" I asked.

 Ivy nodded. Any other answer would have been a

 lie. The fighting had been tough, vicious, endless, and

 unavoidable. Mercy had been an unknown. The war

 seems won now, years after our hours in the ranks,

 but fighting continues on a reduced scale as Karenta's

 soldiers pursue diehard Venageti and try to stifle the

 guttering republic created by Glory Mooncalled.

 "Dumb question," Slither observed.

 "I know. But once in a while, I run into somebody

 who insists he liked it down there."

 "He was rear echelon, then. Or a liar. Or crazy.

 The ones that can't live no other way just stay in."

 "You're mostly right."

 In a thin voice, Ivy said, "Th-there's sp-space for

 them na-now we ga-got out."

 I agreed with him, too.

 "Tell us more about what you do," Slither said.

 "What you working on now that got somebody so

 pissed they shoved you into the Bledsoe?"

 "I'm not sure anymore." I saw no reason not to so

 I shared most of the details. Till I mentioned Grange

 Cleaver.

 "Wait a minute. Whoa. Hang on. Cleaver? Like in

 the Rainmaker, Cleaver?"

 "He's called that sometimes. Why?"

 "That last job I had. The plush one. I was running

 errands for that faggot asshole."

 "And?" I suffered a little twinge.

 "And I don't remember what the hell I was doing

 before I woke up in the bughouse, but I'm damned

 well sure it was the Rainmaker what put me there.

 Maybe on account of I bucked him."

 116

 GLEN COOK

 "This is interesting. How come you're so sure?" It

 wasn't that long since he couldn't remember his name.

 "Account of now we're talking about it, I remember

 two times I helped carry guys hi there myself. Guys

 what the Rainmaker didn't figure was worth killing

 but what he had a hard-on for anyway, one reason or

 another. He'd say anybody crazy enough to give him

 grief belonged in the bughouse."

 I held up a hand. "Whoa!" Once he got rolling he

 was a rattlemouth. "I have a feeling I need to talk to

 Mr. Cleaver."

 Slither got pale. I guess the idea didn't have a uni-

 versal appeal.

 24

 My conscience insisted I do something to fulfill my

 compact with Maggie Jenn. What? Well, her daugh-

 ter's backtrail had been strewn with mystical whatnots,

 supposed surprises to mom, indicators that Emerald

 was into that old black magic.

 The juju stuff had been so plentiful and obvious

 that you had to wonder about a plant. Then you had

 to wonder who and why (guess I should have been

 digging into that), and then you had to wonder if the

 obviousness of the evidence argued against its having

 been planted. Could anybody be dumb enough to

 think someone would buy it?

 Well, sure. A lot of TunFaire's villains aren't long

 on brains.

 I decided I'd follow the road signs, genuine or false.

 If they were false, whoever planted them could tell

 me something.

 I couldn't discount the witchcraft angle. My fellow

 subjects will buy anything if the guy doing the selling

 is a good enough showman. We have a thousand cults

 here. Plenty lean toward the dark side. Plenty go in

 for witchcraft and demon worship. Sometimes bored

 little rich girls amuse themselves by dabbling.

 Maybe I should have inquired after the state of Em-

 erald's virtue. That had not seemed important at the

 time. From her mother's account, she was in good

 health and otherwise normal. There was no apparent

 117

 118

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 119

 reason for her to suffer virginity at her age. Most ado-

 lescents cure that before they get rid of their acne.

 If you want information about something, it always

 helps if you corner an expert. Sure, the street is a

 great source of news, but out there sometimes you

 have to separate raindrops from the downpour. That's

 maybe a lot of needless sorting if you know somebody

 who stays on a first-name basis with all the interesting

 raindrops.

 People had called her Handsome for as long as I

 can remember, for no reason I know. Though mostly

 human, she had enough dwarf blood to give her a ver,

 long life. She'd been a cranky old woman when I wa

 a kid. I was sure time had not improved her temper

 Her shop was a hole in the wall in my old neighbor-

 hood. It lay down an alley so dark and noisome even

 homeless ratmen would have avoided it had it not led

 past Handsome's place.

 The alley was worse than I remembered. The trash

 was deeper, the slime was slipperier, the smell was

 stronger. The reason was simple. Every day things do

 get worse than they've ever been before. TunFaire is

 falling apart. It's sinking into its own offal. And no-

 body cares.

 Well, some do. But not enough. Scores of factions

 front as many corrective prescriptions, but each group

 prefers to concentrate on purging heretics and infidels

 from the ranks, which is easier than improving the

 state of the city.

 I should complain? Chaos is good for business. If

 only I could recognize lawlessness as a boon.

 No wonder my friends don't understand me. / don't

 understand me.

 There were ratmen sheltering in that alley, which

 was so insignificant it didn't merit a name. I stepped

 over one and his wine bottle bedmate to get to Hand-

 some's door.

 A bell jangled as I entered. The alleyway had been

 dark. Handsome's hole was darker. I closed the door

 gently, waited for my eyes to adapt. I didn't move

 fast, didn't breathe deeply for fear I would knock

 something down.

 I remembered it as that kind of place.

 "Gods be damned! It's that Garrett brat. I thought

 we got shut of you years ago. Sent you off to the

 war."

 "Nice to see you again, too, Handsome." Whoops!

 Big mistake there. She hated that name. But she was

 in a forgiving mood, apparently. She didn't react.

 "You're looking good. Thank you for caring. I did my

 five. I came home."

 "Sure you didn't dodge? Garrett men don't never

 come home."

 Gave me a twinge there. Neither my brother nor

 my father, nor my father's father, had come home.

 Seemed like a natural law: your name was Garrett,

 you got the glorious privilege of dying for crown and

 kingdom. "I beat the odds, Tilly." Handsome's real

 name was Tilly Nooks. "Guess that old law of aver-

 ages finally caught up with the Venageti."

 "Or maybe you're smarter than the run of Garrett

 men."

 I'd heard similar sentiments expressed before. Tilly

 spoke more forcefully than most. She carried a grudge.

 My Grandfather Garrett, who went long before my

 time, jilted her for a younger woman.

 That bitterness never kept her from treating us kids

 like we were her own grandchildren. Even now I can

 feel her switch striping my tail.

 Handsome entered the shop through a doorway

 blocked by hanging strings of beads. She carried a

 lamp that had shed no light on the other side. The

 lamp was for me. Her dwarvish eyes had no trouble

 with the gloom.

 "You haven't changed a bit, Tilly." And that was

 true. She was just as I remembered.

 120

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 121

 "Don't feed me that bullshit. I look like I been rode

 hard and put away wet about a thousand times."

 That was true, too.

 She looked like a woman who'd survived seventy

 very hard years. Her hair was white and thin. Her

 scalp shone through even in that light. Her skin hung

 loose, as though she'd halved her weight in a week. It

 was pale though mottled by liver spots large and small.

 She moved slowly but with determination. It hurt her

 to walk, but she wouldn't surrender to her frailties. I

 recalled those making up the bulk of her conversation.

 She complained continuously but wouldn't slow down.

 She was wide in the hips and her flesh drooped badly

 everywhere. Had I been asked to guess, I would've

 said she'd borne a dozen kids from the shape she was

 in, only I'd never seen or heard of any offspring.

 She peered at me intently, trying to smile. She had

 only a few teeth left. But her eyes glittered. The mind

 behind them was as sharp as ever. Her smile turned

 cynical and weary. "So, to what do we owe the honor

 after all these years?" Maybe she wasn't going tc

 catch me up on her lumbago.

 The rest of "we" was the scroungiest calico cat thai

 ever lived. Like Handsome, she was ancient. She, too

 had been old and scroungy and worn out all those

 long years ago. She looked at me like she remembered

 me, too.

 You can't lie to Handsome. She always knows if

 you do. I learned that before I was six. "Business."

 "I heard the kind of business you're in."

 "You sound like you disapprove."

 "The way you go at it, it's a fool's game. You're

 not going to get you no happiness out of it."

 "You could be right."

 "Sit a spell." Groaning, she dropped into a lotus

 position. That she could had amazed me as a kid. It

 amazed me now. "What's your business here?" The

 cat set up camp in her lap. I tried to remember the

 beast's name, couldn't, and hoped the question

 wouldn't come up.

 "Witch business, maybe. I'm looking for a missing

 girl. The only clue I have is that I found witchcraft

 type stuff hi her rooms."

 Handsome grunted. She didn't ask why that brought

 me to her. She was a major supplier of witchy stuff;

 chicken lips and toad hair and frog teeth. "She left it

 behind?"

 "Apparently." Handsome provided the very best

 raw materials, but I've never understood how. She

 never left home to acquire stock and I never heard

 of anybody who wholesaled that stuff. Rumor says

 Handsome is rich despite the way she lives. Makes

 sense to me. She's supplied the witch trade for genera-

 tions. She's got to have chests full of money

 somewhere.

 "Don't strike me as the kind of thing a witch would

 do."

 "Didn't me, either." Occasionally a bunch of bad-

 dies will ignore the lessons of history and try to rob

 Handsome. None succeed. Failure tends to be painful.

 Handsome must be a pretty potent witch herself.

 She's never said she's a witch. She's never claimed

 special powers. The fakes do that. The fact that she's

 grown old swimming with sharks says all that needs

 saying.

 I told her my story. I left nothing out because I

 didn't see any point. She was a good listener.

 "The Rainmaker is in it?" Her whole face pruned

 into a frown. "I don't like that."

 "Oh?" I waited.

 "We haven't seen him for a while. He was bad news

 back when."

 "Oh?" Handsome liked to talk. Given silences to

 fill, she might cough up something especially useful.

 Or she might take the opportunity to catch me up on

 her illnesses and infirmities. "People keep telling me

 122

 GLEN COOK

 he's bad, but it's like they're embarrassed to say how.

 It's hard to get scared once you've spent five years

 nose to nose with Venageta's best and more than that

 butting heads with people like Chodo Contague."

 Chodo used to be the kingpin of crime in TunFaire.

 "A Chodo uses torture and murder and the threat

 of violence like tools. The Rainmaker hurts people on

 account of he enjoys it. My guess is he's anxious not

 to get noticed. Otherwise he wouldn't stuff people into

 the Bledsoe. We'd find pieces of them all over town."

 She went on to paint the portrait of a sadist, yet an-

 other view of Cleaver.

 I was starting to have misgivings about meeting the

 guy. But I had to do it, if only to explain that not

 liking a guy isn't any reason to shove him into the

 cackle factory.

 Handsome rattled on, passing along fact, fancy,

 rumor, and speculation. She knew an awful lot about

 Cleaver—in the old days. She could tell me nothing

 about him now.

 "All right," I finally put in, stopping that flood.

 "What about witchcraft cults today? The kind of black

 magic stuff that would appeal to bored kids? Any of

 that going around?"

 Handsome didn't say anything for a long time. I

 wondered if I'd overstepped somehow. Then she said,

 "There could be."

 "Could be?" I couldn't picture her not knowing ev-

 erything about such things. "I don't get it."

 "I don't got a monopoly on witchcraft supplies.

 They's other sellers around. None to match me for

 quality or inventory, but they's others. Been new peo-

 ple coming into the trade lately. Mostly they go after

 the nonhuman market. The folks you want to talk to

 is Wixon and White. They don't ask questions the way

 I would and their slant is toward your rich crowd."

 "I love it when you talk dirty."

 "What? Don't you jump to no conclusions about

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 123

 folks on account of where you find them, boy. They's

 geniuses in the Bustee and fools on the Hill."

 "I don't see what you're saying."

 "You always was dense."

 "I'd rather people said things straight out. That way

 there's no confusion."

 "All right. I don't know anything about anything

 like what you're hunting, but I got me a strong suspi-

 cion that they's a whole passel of rich folks getting

 used by some real nasty demon worshippers. Wixon

 and White is where you start. They'll sell anything to

 anybody what's got the money."

 "That's all I wanted. A place to start. You remem-

 ber Maggie Jenn?"

 "I recollect the scandal."

 "What kind of woman was she? Could she have

 been connected to the Rainmaker?"

 "What kind of woman? You think we was friends?"

 "I think you have an opinion." If she didn't, it

 would be a first.

 "They was a thousand stories. I think maybe they

 was some truth in all of them. Yes, she was connected.

 Bothered that Teodoric considerable. One time he

 threatened to have the Rainmaker killed. Worried the

 Rainmaker enough that he got out of town. I heard

 Teodoric was plotting to hunt him down when he got

 killed hisself."

 "Any connection?"

 "Coincidence. Every king makes him a crop of ene-

 mies. The Rainmaker staying away after Teodoric died

 says he had other reasons to go. There was talk he

 got the wise guys mad. I wonder what brought him

 back?"

 She mentioned wise guys. It could have to do with

 Chodo's semi-retirement. Already several ambitious

 men had tried to take advantage, but Chodo's daugh-

 ter played the game as hard as her father. She would

 124

 GLEN COOK

 cast a cold eye on the Rainmaker if he made a wrong

 move.

 And on the law side we had us the new Guard, who

 would love to lay hands on a famous villain—if one

 could be found who didn't have connections. The

 Rainmaker might do.

 I inched toward the exit. "Wixon and White?" I

 was afraid she'd do the old give us a kiss.

 "That's what I said. You come around more than

 once every twelve years, you hear?"

 "I will," I promised, with all the good intentions I

 always have when I make that promise.

 She didn't believe me. It was getting so I was begin-

 ning to doubt myself.

 25

 I've done some dumb things in my time—for example,

 forgetting to ask Handsome where Wixon and White

 hung their shingle. I remembered after I was three

 blocks away. I hustled back—and got what I deserved.

 Her shop wasn't there anymore. The alley wasn't

 there. I was boggled. You hear about that stuff, but

 you don't expect it.

 After that disappointment, I just strolled to the

 nearest place where I knew somebody and asked if

 they'd ever heard of Wixon and White. It's a fact.

 Somebody you know will at least know somebody who

 knows the person or place you want.

 That's the way I got to it. A bartender I knew, name

 of Shrimp, had heard of Wixon and White from a

 client. So Shrimp and I shared a few beers on me,

 then I started hiking. The Wixon and White establish-

 ment lay way out in the West End.

 They were closed. Nobody answered my knock. The

 place was a rental. Wixon and White were so highly

 priced and cocksure they didn't live on the premises.

 That part of the West End is pure upscale. The

 shops all serve those who have money they don't

 know what to do with. Not my land of people. Not

 any kind of people I can understand, buyers or sellers.

 I kept an eye out for armed patrols. Those had to

 be around, else the shops would all be boardups. I

 wondered if the Outfit wasn't involved. Some of the

 125

 126

 GLEN COOK

 shops had glass windows. That meant real heavyweight

 protection.

 Wixon and White looked like a place that would

 serve upper-crust dabblers in black magic, at embar-

 rassing prices. Wixon or White, whoever did the buy-

 ing, probably acquired inventory from Handsome,

 tripled her retail, then tripled it again. Then they'd

 probably jack up the price on particularly thick-witted

 customers. The people who shopped the area would

 be the kind who got off on telling friends how much

 they paid for things.

 Feeling my prejudices coalesce into an urge to break

 glass, I got me out of there.

 I had nothing to do and no inclination to go home

 to a house where all I'd have for company would be

 a psychotic parrot and a couple of bark-at-the-moon

 boys. I hoped that foul-mouthed squab was starving

 to death.

 I asked myself why I didn't stop in and see how

 Playmate was doing. He might have regained con-

 sciousness by now.

 26

 Damn! Playmate looked none the worse for wear. I

 snapped, "What the hell are you? Twins?"

 "Garrett!" He swept out of the shadows of his sta-

 ble, arms spread wide. He'd been using a pitchfork to

 do what you do a lot of if you operate a stable. He

 didn't seem stiff or sore. He swept me up in a hug.

 He's never stopped being demonstrative when I come

 around, though it's been a long time since I saved his

 business.

 "Easy, man. I'm breakable. Unlike some I could

 name." The tenderness wasn't gone from my ambush

 bruises.

 "You heard about my mishap?"

 "Heard? I was there. I'm surprised you can walk,

 what they had to do to bring you down."

 "I am a little sore. But somebody's got to care for

 the beasties."

 "So send for the boys from the tannery." Me and

 horses don't get along. Nobody takes me seriously,

 but I know for a fact that the whole species is out to

 get me. The moment nobody is looking, the moment

 I have my back turned, those damned oatburners start

 moving in.

 "Garrett! What a cruel thing to say."

 "You think the best of everybody." They've got

 Playmate fooled. They stood right there hi their stalls

 sneering and measuring me for a shroud while he de-

 127

 128

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 129

 fended them. He actually loves the monsters. He

 thinks I'm just ribbing him, making jokes in bad taste.

 Somebody he'll learn. When it's too late.

 I asked, "Got a lot of work to do?"

 He indicated the manure pile. "You have to haul

 the hay in and the fertilizer out. They don't take days

 off."

 "Make that pressing work. You have time for a few

 beers? On your old buddy? That pile won't go

 anywhere."

 "Not if I don't move it." He frowned. "On you?

 Must be an awful big favor."

 "What?"

 "Must be some giant favor you want. You never

 offered to buy me a beer before."

 I sighed. "Wrong." This was a battle I'd been fight-

 ing for years. All my friends insist I never come

 around unless I want something. Wasn't all that long

 since I'd bought Playmate dinner and all the beer he

 could drink, so he'd introduce me to a man who made

 coaches. "But I'm not going to fight." I'd show him.

 "You coming?"

 The trouble with a guy Playmate's size is, he can't

 just drink a beer. One beer is a drop in the necessary

 stream. The man decides to get seriously ripped you

 have to send for the beer wagons.

 He picked the place. It was a small, dark, shabby

 one roomer furnished in Early Thrownaway. Everyone

 there knew Playmate. They just had to come say hello.

 It was a long tune before we could talk—and that got

 interrupted every time another body arrived.

 Meantime, we ate. And drank. On me. Ouch, said

 my purse.

 Hole in the wall though that place was, it served a

 fine dark ale supposedly brewed on the premises. And

 someone in the kitchen had a more than nodding ac-

 quaintance with the art of cookery. I devoured slice

 after slice of a roast that would have embarrassed

 Dean's best effort.

 The prices were reasonable, too—for those not try-

 ing to support a one-man regiment in the habit

 of eating only when someone else was buying. I

 asked, "How come this place isn't swamped with

 customers?"

 Playmate awarded me one of his righteous, thought-

 i ful looks. "Prejudice, Garrett."

 5 "Uh-hum?" It was testing time again. Playmate,

 ; who wanted to be a priest once, has to keep checking

 to make sure I stay more good guy than bad.

 Forewarned, sure he was going to zing me by telling

 me the place was run by ratmen—whom I dislike more

 than I dislike horses, with, admittedly, weaker

 cause—I was pleasantly surprised when he told me,

 "It's run by centaurs. A refugee family from the

 Cantard."

 "Where else?" Through a heroic effort I kept a

 straight face. "I can see how they might have trouble

 building a clientele." Centaurs aren't beloved. They'd

 long served Karenta's forces as auxiliaries in the Can-

 tard. But when the mercenary Glory Mooncalled de-

 fected and proclaimed the Cantard an independent

 republic, every centaur tribe joined him. Chances were

 this family had fought Karenta till recently. When

 things fell apart down there, where did they run?

 Straight to the cities of Karenta, whose soldiers they'd

 been killing.

 I don't understand why they're welcomed. Sure,

 there's room in the economy, what with all the young

 men gone for soldiers. But all those young men are

 going to be coming home. Venageta has been driven

 from the Cantard. Glory Mooncalled has been

 crushed. Sort of.

 Centaurs. Bloody hell.

 I kept my thoughts to myself, shifted subjects, told

 Playmate what I was doing for Maggie Jenn. I didn't

 130

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 131

 overlook such embarrassing adventures as my unex-

 pected visit to the Bledsoe. Playmate wasn't Winger.

 He wouldn't spread it all over town. He smiled gently

 and forebore the opportunity to score a remark on

 the state of my mental health. That's why I love the

 guy. None of my other friends could have resisted.

 He asked, "What do you need from me?"

 "Need? Nothing."

 "You come, brought me out here, fed me, and filled

 me up with beer, Garrett. You got to want

 something."

 "That stuff used to be funny, Playmate. About a

 thousand years ago. Ragging me for the fun, I can go

 along with that. For a while. But it's gotten real old.

 I wish you guys would find a new song to sing."

 "You mean that?"

 Butter wouldn't have melted in my mouth.

 "Damned straight." I was getting what I needed al-

 ready, an uncritical ear and a break from loneliness.

 "You just don't realize," he muttered. Louder, "In

 that case, maybe I can help."

 "Huh?"

 "I know a little something about the witchcraft

 scene. I have clients who belong to that world."

 I was surprised. His religion, a self-defined offshoot

 of Orthodoxy, doesn't hold much truck with witches.

 Which doesn't make a lot of sense when you think

 about how big sorcery and demonism are in this burg.

 But I have a suspicion that religion isn't supposed to

 make sense. If it did, there'd be no buyers.

 This was Playmate showing off his tolerance again.

 "All right. I'll take you up on it. There any new

 covens around?"

 "Of course. In a city this size, there are always cov-

 ens forming and falling apart. Human nature, being

 what it is, there are always egos getting bruised

 and—"

 "I understand. You heard of any in particular? Any

 that have been recruiting young women?"

 "No."

 "Damn! So, that's that. Well, then, tell me about

 Maggie Jenn. Morley tells me you've got the skinny

 on the royals."

 "Tell me what you already know."

 I highlighted.

 He told me, "There isn't much I can add. She did

 have a daughter. I thought the girl died but evidently

 not. Nobody's proved it, but Maggie probably was a

 pricy pro before Teodoric took her up. Under a differ-

 ent name, of course. Morley was wrong about her

 being in exile. She does spend most of her time on

 the Isle of Paise, but that's preference. She spends a

 month each year in the Hill place. If she doesn't use

 it, she loses it. She does keep her head down when

 she's in town. She doesn't want her enemies to get

 too unhappy."

 I nodded, understanding. I signaled for more of that

 excellent house brew. I had enough inside me already

 that sounds had buzzes around their edges, but that

 superman Playmate hadn't yet stumbled over his

 tongue.

 "Grange Cleaver," I said. "The Rainmaker. What

 about him?"

 "Been a while since I've heard of him. Curious that

 he's back in town."

 "Maybe. I think it has something to do with Maggie

 Jenn."

 "You be careful of him, Garrett. He's crazy. Blood

 crazy. They called him the Rainmaker because he left

 so many weeping widows around. He was big into

 torture."

 "Just your average, everyday psycho next door.

 What was between him and Maggie Jenn?"

 "I can't swear. From the little I've heard, he could've

 been her pimp."

 132

 GLEN COOK

 "Her pimp?" I tried it out. "Her pimp." That had

 a feel to it, all right.

 I dropped some money in front of Playmate, for the

 house. "Enjoy. I'm going to go put my thinking cap

 on."

 Playmate divested himself of various remarks of the

 sort that have become fashionable among my acquain-

 tances. I ignored him.

 That last piece of news put a whole different weight

 on everything. Unless I was guessing way wrong.

 It could happen.

 27

 Once bitten, twice shy? How often have I gotten

 nipped because I don't have the sense to get out of

 this racket? Often enough that I no longer wander

 around without tools to defend myself. Often enough

 that I stay alert once somebody starts getting physical.

 Despite a few ales too many, I spied the ambush

 on Macunado—mainly because the night traffic was

 missing. The denizens of my fair city can smell trouble

 at a thousand yards, like small game when a troll is

 prowling the woods.

 So it was as rowdy as a desert ruin around my place.

 It was so quiet I had trouble picking out the

 ambushers.

 I finally caught the stir of a shadow in a breezeway

 across Macunado. There was no way to sneak up from

 where I was, so I retreated, took a long way.

 All of a sudden I felt cheerful, the prospect of crack-

 ing heads making me high. That wasn't my way. The

 case was getting to me—if it was a case. I wasn't

 convinced.

 I came at the guy from behind, singing a ratman

 working song. Far as I know it's the only working

 song they have, so few of them actually hold jobs....

 Between the fake accent and fake drunken singing,

 my man was way off guard. He cussed me instead of

 getting set for trouble.

 I staggered up and popped him between the eyes

 with my headthumper. He said "Gleep!" and stum-

 133

 134

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 135

 bled backward, his knees watery. I grabbed his shirt,

 pushed him down onto his knees, slipped behind him,

 and laid the length of my stick under his chin. "All

 right, bruno, I lean back sudden and you find out what

 it'll be like the day you hang." I gave a little jerk to

 make my point. Also to keep him from getting too

 much ah-. He wouldn't be interested in much else if I

 kept him on short rations. "Get the point?"

 He got the point. He grunted cooperatively—after

 I'd cut him off for a while.

 "Excellent. Now here's the part where you tell me

 who sent you and how many buddies you have and

 where they're hanging out."

 Give the guy credit. He was loyal to his pals. You

 don't see a lot of that in street thugs. He made me

 take him to the brink of the big sleep before he gave

 in. That was right after I whispered, "I've always

 found that the best way to run a bluff is don't be

 bluffing. You don't help me out here I'll just hunt me

 down another guy."

 I was bluffing.

 He made noises indicating that I'd smooth-talked

 him into cooperating. I eased off on the stick. "Maybe

 you better talk on the exhale. Or I might get edgy.

 You guys messing with me last night got my dander

 up."

 Wham! I quick thumped him for thinking about

 what he was thinking of trying. "So who sent you?" I

 went back to choking him.

 "deafer," he gasped. "Guy named deafer."

 "Surprise, surprise," I muttered. "He happen to say

 why?"

 Grunt and choke. Meant no, and who gave a damn

 why anyway? This deafer was paying real money.

 "How may pals you got with you?"

 Seven. Seven? "I'm flattered. This deafer must

 have a high opinion of me." I have a high opinion of

 me, but my enemies don't usually agree.

 My man made sounds indicating he couldn't have

 agreed less. I took that to mean that he was recovering

 too fast. I popped him again.

 I get less nice as I get older.

 We chewed the fat till I knew where his buddies

 were hiding and I understood their grand strategy,

 which was to round me up and drag me off to their

 boss's hideout. Friendly Grange deaver, pre-owned

 property salesman, wanted to have a chat.

 "Yeah. I like that idea. We'll do that. Only maybe

 we won't stick too close to the original scheme."

 I popped the guy again, hard enough to put him to

 sleep. He was going to have a headache worse than

 the one his gang had given me.

 Funny. I didn't feel bad about that.

 So I went around pounding the stuffings out of guys

 till thumping heads no longer made me feel better. I

 wondered what folks on the shadow side would say

 when word got around. After the usual exaggerations,

 it might start worrying the kind of people who get in

 my way.

 Nobody would believe it, probably. Everybody

 thinks I use Morley Dotes for all my heavy work.

 I rounded up the smallest thug, a bit of a guy so

 tiny he had to be a breed. I slung him over my shoul-

 der and headed for the Joy House.

 Sometimes you can use a helping hand.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 137

 28

 Morley tousled the little fellow's hair. "He's mad,

 Garrett. This is one you'd better not leave behind."

 We were in Morley's office upstairs at the Joy House.

 The veggie killers were rioting downstairs.

 "And after I decided to give him a break. Any of

 those guys related to you, Stubby? Your lover or

 something?"

 The little breed glared.

 "I like this guy." Morley frowned at Spud, who was

 sizing the prisoner up for some painful burns.

 "What?" the kid demanded.

 "He's still officially a guest."

 "Sure. And if I was here with a guy who'd just offed

 my whole gang but me I think I'd be a little more

 disturbed. Look at that fool. He's already sizing us up

 for some pain when it's him that's in the shit."

 "Narcisio! Language!"

 "He's got a point, Morley," I said. "The clown

 ought to be more scared."

 "He's going to be, Garrett. It's just that he's from

 out of town."

 I agreed. "How can you tell?" I wanted to see if

 his thinking paralleled mine.

 "Because he isn't scared. Look, now he's got an

 idea who has him. He's starting to tense up. They

 didn't tell him anything when they gave him the job.

 They just put money in his pocket and told him to

 help with a snatch."

 136

 "I do believe you're right." I tried out a ferocious

 smile, like the guys from the violent ward would wear

 if they were sent out to play.

 Morley was right. The little guy had heard of Mor-

 ley Dotes even if he hadn't heard of me. He squeaked.

 Maybe Winger was right about reputation's tool value.

 "I do believe he has a notion to deal," Morley

 observed.

 "So," I said. "You want to be lucky number seven,

 the one who got away, or just another stiff?"

 "Lucky seven sounds great to me."

 "Look at that. He kept his sense of humor, Morley,

 I think that's great. All right, Lucky, what was the

 plan?" I told Morley, "Be a shame to let it go to

 waste."

 Morley flashed a humorless grin. "Best thinking

 you've done in years." He was ready to go. I'd been

 surprised by how quickly he'd agreed to help. I re-

 called the glances between him and Sarge and Puddle.

 Was there old business between them and the

 Rainmaker?

 I worry when Morley gets agreeable. I always end

 up getting jobbed.

 "How much are you ready to spend, Garrett?"

 I considered my agreement with Maggie Jenn, then

 the size of my advance. "Not much. You have some-

 thing in mind?"

 "Recall the Rainmaker's reputation. We could use

 some specialists to calm him down if he gets excited."

 "Specialists?" Here comes a sales pitch. "Like

 who?"

 "The Roze triplets." Naturally. Perennially under-

 employed relatives.

 Specialists I wouldn't call them, but those guys

 could calm people down. Doris and Marsha were

 about sixteen feet tall and could lay out a mammoth

 with one punch. Part giant, part troll, the only way to

 138

 GLEN COOK

 beat them was to booby-trap their resolve with barrels

 of beer. They'd drop anything to get drunk.

 The third triplet was an obnoxious little geek barely

 Morley's size good for nothing but translating for his

 brothers.

 "No, Morley. This is a freak show already. I just

 want to talk to the guy, find out why he's messing

 with me."

 Morley stared at Lucky. "Garrett, Garrett, just

 when I thought you were developing sense. You don't

 talk to the Rainmaker. All he understands is raw

 power. Either you can kick his ass or he can kick

 yours. Unless he's changed his spots in a big way."

 I grimaced.

 "What?"

 "My budget is pretty tight."

 "Big news, big news."

 "Hey!"

 "There you go getting cheap again, Garrett. You

 want to save money? Don't bug the Rainmaker. Just

 lock your door and snuggle up to your moneybags and

 hope he can't think of a way to get to you. After

 tonight, he'll be trying for real."

 I knew that. Cleaver sounded like he was all ego

 and no restraint. All the reason he needed I'd already

 provided.

 What a dummy, Garrett. Your troubles are all your

 own fault. You should try a little harder to get along.

 I mused, "How did he know I was out of the

 Bledsoe?"

 Morley and Spud perked up, smelling a tale not yet

 told. I had to yield enough sordid details to get them

 off my back. Which was way more than I wanted any-

 one to know, really. "I get any razzing back off the

 street I'm going to know where to lay the blame."

 "Yes." Morley gave me his nasty smile. "Winger."

 That smile turned diabolical. He saw he'd guessed

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 139

 right. I hadn't thought about who knew the story

 already.

 What Winger knew could spread from river to wall

 hi a night. She liked to hang out with the guys, get

 drunk and swap tall tales. The story would grow into

 a monster before she was done with it.

 I said, "You really feel like we need the Rozes, get

 the Rozes."

 "You gave me a better idea."

 "Well?"

 "Use those clowns you have stashed at your place.

 Make them earn their keep. You said the big one

 owes Cleaver anyway."

 "That's an idea. Lucky, what direction are we going

 to head?"

 Morley added, "Keeping in mind that I'll be a lot

 deadlier a lot quicker than Cleaver if Garrett is

 disappointed."

 "West." The little fellow's croak contained under-

 tones of frightened whine. I didn't blame him. He was

 in the proverbial between of the rock and the hard

 place.

 "West is good," I said. "West means we can drop

 by my place on the way."

 I assumed Lucky's buddies would have cleared off.

 Morley and his bunch looked unexcited by this op-

 portunity. They're villains, though, and no villain in

 his right mind got within mind reading range of the

 Dead Man. However strong my assurances that he was

 asleep.

 "His bark is worse than his bite," I said.

 "Right," Sarge sneered. Puddle and Morley backed

 him up. Spud took that as his cue to ape his elders. I

 gave up.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 141

 29

 I found Ivy in the small front room arguing with the

 Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot was making

 more sense. Beer and brandy odors were potent.

 Which had drunk more? Who knows? The Goddamn

 Parrot would suck it up as long as you let him.

 Ivy seemed determined to clean me out before he

 got kicked out. I told him, "You'd better ease up or

 there won't be anything left for breakfast."

 Ivy looked distressed. You could see him struggling

 to light a fire under the pot of his thoughts. I doubted

 he'd get them simmering. He did seem to grasp the

 notion that my alcohol reserves were finite.

 "Where's Slither?" The big guy was nowhere in

 sight. There was a racket from upstairs, but nothing

 human could be making that.

 I could see through the open kitchen doorway. The

 view set me to talking to myself. Friend Slither was

 trying to do to my larder what Ivy was doing to my

 drinking supply.

 So much for good deeds.

 They start preaching at you when you're barely old

 enough to walk. But what the hell happens when you

 do try to help your fellow man? You get it up the

 poop chute every tune. Without grease.

 Where do the preachers get their crazy ideas? How

 many cheeks do they have to turn? How come they

 aren't hobbling around with bandages on their butts?

 "Where's Slither?" I demanded again.

 140

 Ivy answered with a slow shrug. I don't think he

 understood anything but my tone. He started trying

 to explain Orthodox transcircumstantiation to the

 Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot made remarks

 with which I agreed.

 I commenced a quest for Slither. Snores from above

 seemed worth investigation.

 Slither was sprawled across Dean's bed, on his back,

 his snores like the bellows of mating thunder-lizards.

 Awe held me immobile. The man couldn't be human.

 He had to be a demigod. He was producing an orches-

 tra of snores, humming and roaring and snorting and

 sputtering. He seemed capable of combining every

 known species of snore. All in the same breath.

 When I could move again I went to my own room.

 I hate to disturb an artist at work. I shut my door,

 went to the window, checked Morley and his crew and

 the ever astonishing traffic on Macunado. Where could

 all those creatures be going? What drove them to be

 out at this hour? Was just my neighborhood in a fer-

 ment? I couldn't recall seeing as much traffic any-

 where else—though the whole city seemed crowded

 these days.

 I could hear Slither's every snore. I'd hear every

 snore plainly for however long he remained in my

 house.

 So much for doing good deeds.

 Merely gave the boys a glance and said nothing. He

 did shake his head. Even I now wondered if they

 hadn't made it all up about their service. Especially

 Ivy. He had the Goddamned Parrot on his shoulder.

 It mixed its finest gutter observations with declarations

 of, "Awrrgh, matey! We be ferocious pirates." That

 naturally drew a lot of attention. Just the thing you

 want when you're out to sneak up on a guy calls him-

 self the Rainmaker.

 142

 GLEN COOK

 My prisoner indicated a brick and stone monstrosity

 he insisted was the Rainmaker's headquarters. Dotes

 opined, "You get what you pay for, Garrett." His

 glance speared Ivy and Slither. "You didn't pay for

 the Roze brothers."

 "Don't remind me." Slither was awake but might

 as well have been snoring. It was winter at his house.

 Ivy was still trying to argue with the Goddamn Parrot.

 The feathered devil figured he'd sorted Ivy out already

 and had turned to reminiscing about his sailing days.

 Morley tossed a glance sideways, checking to see

 how near Spud was. He flexed his fingers like he suf-

 fered the same temptations I did. "Go ahead," I said.

 He scowled. "Can't. But I'll figure a way."

 I said, "The course of our relationship has shown

 me a few things about dear Mr. Big." More cunning

 than usual, having foreseen the possibility that the

 Goddamn Parrot might become a liability, I'd brought

 a little flask of brandy I'd dug out of a cache Ivy

 hadn't found.

 Morley snickered. So, he knew. I said, "We need to

 keep Ivy away long enough to get the bird snockered."

 "He was a scout, send him scouting. Along with

 Spud."

 "You sneak." I looked at Cleaver's place. "What

 did they do to the guy who designed that place?" The

 building had been a small factory once. Undoubtedly

 manned by the blind. It was ugly. I was amazed that

 so much ugliness could be committed with simple con-

 struction materials.

 "Probably burned him at the stake because they

 couldn't think of a punishment nasty enough to fit the

 crime." Dotes chuckled. He was going to have some

 fun with me playing high-nose elf.

 His tastes in art and architecture naturally weren't

 human. For all I knew, the lunatic who designed that

 factory was one of his forebears.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 143

 I expressed that opinion and added, "It may be on

 the elvish list of historic structures."

 Morley scowled. He wasn't pleased. He grabbed

 Spud and Ivy and told them to go check the place

 out. "And leave the bird here. It doesn't have sense

 enough to keep its beak shut."

 Off they went. The rest of us got out of sight and

 listened to Cleaver's man bitch because I hadn't cut

 him loose yet. "I'm busy, man," I told him. "I'm feed-

 ing my parrot." The Goddamn Parrot was sucking up

 the brandy. "I'll cut you loose as soon as I know you

 didn't job us." I didn't think he had. Nobody sane

 would pick such an ugly hideout. Cleaver did sound

 like he had the kind of ego that would appreciate the

 place.

 Ivy and Spud scurried back. The kid said, "The

 place is occupied. I didn't ask names, though. The

 guys I did see looked antisocial enough to be the sort

 Mr. Garrett wants to find."

 I didn't want to find anybody. "You been giving

 him lessons?"

 "It's in the blood. Needs to work on his diction and

 grammar, though."

 "Definitely. Smartass ought to know how to talk

 good."

 "Can I go now?" the prisoner asked.

 Spud demanded, "What happened to Mr. Big? Hey!

 He's drunk. Uncle Morley, did you? ..."

 "No, Lucky," I said. "I still don't know you didn't

 job us. Suppose you just led us to a place where some

 hard boys hang out?"

 Morley opined, "That monstrosity is the kind a

 fence would use. Plenty of storage. Probably an owner

 who hasn't been seen in years. No traceable connec-

 tion to anyone if you looked for one. You going to

 do it?"

 I considered my help. Neither Ivy nor Slither incited

 144

 GLEN COOK

 confidence. "Looks like we're as ready as we're gonna

 get. Any tactical suggestions?"

 "Straight through the front door might work."

 "Wise ass. Slither, Ivy, come on." I trotted toward

 that monument to ugliness. My strange assistants tod-

 dled after, bewildered but loyal. Morley told Sarge to

 stick with us, just in case. He came himself. So Spud

 and Puddle volunteered, too. Spud was protesting,

 "Mr. Garrett, you shouldn't give Mr. Big alcohol."

 What I always wanted to do: storm a fortress at the

 head of a pack of killer elves, fugitives from an insane

 asylum, and a drunken parrot.

 The Goddamn Parrot was muttering something

 about its imperiled virtue but in Drunkenese so fluent

 even a tipsy ratman would have had trouble following

 him.

 Spud said, "Uncle Morley, did you? ..."

 "Be quiet."

 I looked at that jungle chicken and grinned like a

 dwarf just awarded an army weapons contract.

 30

 The place was ugly, but it was no fortress. We found

 an unguarded side door. I cracked the crude stopper

 and invited us in. Dean should've been there to see

 how much good locks do.

 "Dark in here," Ivy said. What did he expect?

 He sounded troubled, like somebody wasn't playing

 fair.

 "Crackbrain's got one sharp eye on him," Sarge

 sneered. "Goddamn Rainmaker can't fool him for a

 secont."

 "That's enough," Morley snapped. He peered

 around. Elves really can see in the dark, almost as

 good as dwarves.

 "What you see?" I whispered. We all whispered.

 Seemed the sensible thing to do.

 "What you would expect."

 What kind of answer was that? What I'd expect was

 filth and squatters and a lot of upset on account of

 the style of our entrance. But only the rats seemed

 disturbed—and they were so confident they just went

 through the motions.

 According to Spud, the natives resided on the other

 side of the building. And so they did. Mostly.

 We were sneaking along a hallway illuminated by

 one halfhearted candle, me thinking what a cheap-

 skate the Rainmaker had to be, when some sleepy-

 eyed goof ruined everything.

 He stepped out of a room just ahead, both hands

 145

 146

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 147

 harrowing hair already well-harvested by time. He

 woke up fast, generated one man-sized squeal before

 I bopped him with my second-best headthumper. He

 squealed even louder. I had to pop him four times

 before he laid down.

 "That tears it," Slither muttered. It was hard to hear

 him because of the racket being raised by people I

 couldn't see wanting to know what the hell was going

 on.

 "Never mind the opinion survey. You know this

 place?"

 "Never seen it before."

 "Thought you said ..."

 "Never was here. That I remember."

 The hall hung a right. I stayed with it. I met a native

 coming the other way. He had a stick, too. His eyes

 got big. So did mine. I swung first. He ducked, showed

 me some heel, whooped and hollered.

 "You could have moved a little faster there, Gar-

 rett," Morley suggested. The racket ahead grew

 louder. Morley was concerned.

 The fugitive blew through a doorway. I was only

 two steps behind, but when I got there the door was

 closed and locked. I flung one granite shoulder against

 it. It gave about a thousandth of an inch.

 "You do it." Morley indicated Slither. "Stop whim-

 pering, Garrett."

 "I dislocated everything but my ankle bones."

 Slither knocked on the door with his very large feet,

 smashing away numerous times before he risked his

 own tender shoulder.

 The door exploded like stage furniture. Guess you

 have to have the knack.

 We'd reached the warehouse area. Only a few lamps

 burned there. Definitely a cheapskate, the Rainmaker.

 Looked like the place was being used as a barracks.

 People flew around like startled mice, headed for

 other exits. Only the guys from the hall looked like

 fighters.

 Curious.

 Amidst the howl and chaos I glimpsed a familiar

 gargoyle, my old pal Ichabod. Excuse me. My old pal

 Zeke. Zeke did a fast fade. I went after him. We

 needed to have a talk. My pretty Maggie Jenn had

 troubles enough without her butler being hooked up

 with the Rainmaker.

 I didn't find a trace. He vanished like the spook he

 resembled.

 We searched the dump. We found no sign of

 Grange Cleaver. We caught only three people—the

 guy from the hall who I'd bopped, plus an old couple

 who hadn't reached their walkers in time to grab a

 head start.

 The old woman was about a week younger than

 Handsome. Her husband and the thug showed little

 inclination to talk, but she chattered like she was so

 full of words they ripped out of her like gas after an

 unfriendly meal.

 "Whoa, granny, whoa!" She'd lost me in some kind

 of twin track complaint that blamed her lumbago on

 the incredible ingratitude of her willfully neglectful

 children. "That's unfortunate. It really is. But what I

 need to know is where is Grange Cleaver?"

 "You might try to be more diplomatic," Morley sug-

 gested. Like he had the patience of a saint when he

 was after something.

 "I was diplomatic the first three times. I did my

 part. Now I'm not in the mood for diplomacy, I'm in

 the mood for busting heads."

 I didn't do it good enough. Nobody was impressed

 until Spud let his young mouth run too long and the

 bad folks figured out that they were in the hands of

 the infamous Morley Dotes. Then, even the hard boy

 developed a mild case of cooperation fever.

 Yep, maybe Winger was right.

 148

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 149

 Fat lot of good that all did. Granny Yak-Yak had

 the definitive answer and the definitive answer was:

 "He just went out, him and his boys. He never said

 where, but I figure he was gonna check on some guys

 he sent out a long time ago. He paid them and they

 never reported back." She laid a hard look on pal

 Lucky.

 Lucky looked a tad frayed. The old folks under-

 stood whose information had brought us to uglyville.

 He was growing concerned about his boss's temper.

 Morley spun him around. "Cleaver brought you

 from out of town. He do that with a lot of men,

 Lucky?"

 Lucky gave us the daggers glare. We were leaving

 him no exit. "Yeah." Sullenly. He thought we were

 cheating on our end of the deal. Maybe we were.

 Tough.

 "Why?"

 "I guess on account of he couldn't find anybody

 here what was willing to work for him. 'Specially after

 they found out who he was when he was here before.

 Way I hear it, he made him some enemies back then

 what nobody wants to piss off."

 I gave Morley a look. Some people might consider

 him major bad news, but he wasn't big enough bad

 news that his displeasure would intimidate thugs work-

 ing for somebody he didn't like. I didn't think.

 "Chodo," I said. Call it intuition.

 Morley nodded. "There was a little brother who

 died badly. Chodo was way down the ladder then. He

 couldn't get the go-ahead. But he didn't forget."

 Not once in his life had Chodo Contague let a debt

 go unpaid. "But ..."

 "You and I know. No one else does."

 He and I knew that Chodo had become a vegetable

 after suffering a stroke. These days, his daughter was

 the power in the outfit. She only pretended to take

 instructions from her father.

 "Crask and Sadler." Those two knew, too.

 Morley inclined his head slightly. "They might ex-

 plain a few things."

 Crask and Sadler had been Chodo's chief bone-

 breakers before they turned on him, caused his stroke,

 tried to take over. They disappeared after Chodo's

 daughter outmaneuvered them.

 Coincidentally, there'd always been some doubt

 about their commitment to masculinity, despite the

 fact that they were two human mountains on the hoof.

 I described them. Lucky's discomfort made it obvi-

 ous he had met the boys. I shot Morley a look. "I

 don't need any more complications."

 Morley prodded Lucky. Lucky admitted, "You

 won't see them guys around here. Grange, he's got a

 straight look to him back home. Didn't want them

 guys turning up in his public life. Figured they'd be

 lightning rods for trouble around here. So he gave

 them jobs in Suddleton."

 Where, I had no doubt, they spent their spare time

 scheming revenge on me. "Morley, you get the feeling

 pal Lucky is holding out? He knows an awful lot about

 the Rainmaker's business."

 "I noticed that."

 Lucky protested. "I just heard his regular guys gos-

 siping. You know how it is, guys sitting around, killing

 time drinking."

 "Sure. Tell me, Lucky, where you going to run when

 we cut you loose?"

 Lucky checked the old folks, shrugged. He was

 scared. They weren't, though the old woman had chat-

 tered. I wondered if they were something special to

 the Rainmaker.

 I was about to ask about Zeke when Morley re-

 marked, "We've spent enough time here, Garrett.

 Help could be on its way."

 Yes, indeed. It could be.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 151

 31

 "You just walk along with us, answer a couple more

 questions," I told Lucky and the old folks, "and we'll

 be done." I gestured, a comealong. "There was a guy

 named Zeke ..."

 The Goddamn Parrot did the only worthwhile thing

 I ever saw him do. He flailed out of the darkness

 shrieking, "Save me! Oh, save me, mister." His tone

 suggested he wasn't just being obnoxious.

 He wasn't.

 There were eight of them. Wasn't hardly fair to

 them, even considering they were all big, experienced

 villains. Sarge and Puddle pounded our captives, then

 vaulted the leftovers and began twisting limbs. There

 was something evilly fascinating about them at work.

 It was kind of like watching a snake swallow a toad.

 I didn't have time to be fascinated. I was up to my

 crotch in crocodiles. I held them off till help arrived.

 Morley and Spud flew around like they were part

 of some absurd combat ballet. Mr. Big flapped and

 squawked. He made more racket than a herd of pea-

 fowl. His vocabulary achieved new lows. Puddle,

 Sarge, Slither, Ivy, and Cleaver's thugs tried to help

 him expand that but had nothing to teach him.

 Four brunos took quick dives.

 I've heard people that've never been there claim it's

 impossible to lay somebody out with your fists. That's

 true for your average drunken amateur who gets into

 150

 it with his brother-in-law at the corner tavern but not

 so for the unrestrained violence of professionals.

 puddle developed a bloody nose. Spud managed to

 get kicked in the funny bone. He leaned against a wall

 clutching his elbow, face pale, language vile. Such a

 look Morley gave him.

 "Kill them, damnit! Kill them all!" The girlish voice

 slashed through the mayhem. "Stop playing with them

 and kill them!"

 I spotted a short guy screaming from what he

 thought was a safe distance. Cleaver? The Rainmaker

 himself?

 Morley spotted him. Cleaver's brunos were coming

 to the conclusion that it was not a bright idea to piss

 off guys who could handle them so easily. They didn't

 follow orders. Morley grinned and headed for the

 Rainmaker.

 I was on my way already.

 The Rainmaker, however, did not care to join the

 party.

 That little bastard could run!

 Naturally, our whole crowd dropped everything and

 lumbered after us, with predictable results. The Rain-

 maker vanished down the same rabbithole that had

 swallowed Zeke. His people grabbed up each others'

 parts and headed for the exits. Suddenly, we had us

 nothing but one big empty building and one hysterical

 parrot. And, according to Morley, "The Guard's on

 its way."

 "You could be right." These days, people actually

 called for official help. These days, the police forces

 sometimes actually responded.

 Morley snapped, "Narcisio, catch that faggot pigeon

 and shut it up." Mr. Big was no joke right then.

 I checked to see if all our people could leave under

 their own power. No major injuries. Workable legs

 were available. It was brains that were hi short supply.

 Slither and Ivy helped round up the GDP. Mr. Big

 152

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 153

 made it easy. He flew into a wall full speed, cold-

 cocked himself.

 Pity he didn't break his neck.

 I considered wringing it and blaming it on the bird's

 own erratic piloting, but Spud kept too close an eye

 on the beast.

 As we hustled into the street, I asked Slither, "That

 short guy was Cleaver, wasn't it? The shrimp with the

 girl voice?"

 Morley seemed intensely interested in Slither's

 reply. Could it be he'd never seen Cleaver before?

 "Yeah. That was him. That hunk a shit. Fda caught

 the little turd I'da turned him into a capon. Put me

 in the bughouse. I'da used my bare hands. Twisted

 'em off. I'da fixed him." But he was shaking. He was

 pale. He was sweating. Rock-throwing range was as

 close to Grange Cleaver as he wanted to get.

 Cleaver must be some swell guy.

 I checked Ivy. Ivy didn't have an opinion. Ivy was

 all wrapped up in his feathery buddy.

 Morley opined, "Cleaver is going to turn scarce

 now."

 "Think so?"

 "His being in town is no secret now, Garrett. A lot

 of people who don't like him will hear. And he'll have

 a good idea how many enemies he has once he gets

 together with Lucky."

 "Think he'll leave town?"

 "No. But he would if he had the sense the gods

 gave a goose. You going to have another chat with

 Winger?"

 Guess who was hiding in the shadows outside when

 we came thundering out. "You saw her, eh?"

 "I saw her."

 We cleared the area before the Guard arrived.

 Safely away, I checked our surroundings more care-

 fully. No more sign of my oversize blond friend.

 Maybe she wasn't interested anymore.

 "You need to get her to talk, Garrett."

 "I know. I know. But I want to let her come in

 when she's ready." I wondered why Winger wasn't off

 looking out for Chastity Blame.

 Morley made no mention so I supposed he'd missed

 the other watcher, the character who'd followed me

 to Maggie Jenn's place.

 I was confused. Nothing made sense.

 It wasn't going to get any better.

 "Don't wait too long," Morley told me. "Two tries

 in two nights means the Rainmaker is serious."

 "Seriously disturbed." Cleaver's enmity made the

 least sense of all. "Yeah. With that thought in mind,

 I'm going home and get some shut-eye."

 Spud had the Goddamn Parrot. He kept whispering

 to the fancy pants little drunk. I tried to ease away

 before anyone noticed. Morley grinned and shook his

 head. "No, you don't. Narcisio."

 My luck stays stuck in the same old rut.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 155

 32

 Slither surprised me. He was a decent cook, which I

 learned when I stumbled down for breakfast, after

 having been rousted out by Ivy, who must have caught

 something Dean had left behind.

 "You have to loosen up, Ivy," I grumbled as I tod-

 dled into the kitchen. "This isn't the service. We don't

 have to haul out before the goddamn crack of noon."

 "My daddy always told me a man's got no call lying

 in bed after the birds start singing."

 Inertia more than self-restraint kept me from ex-

 pressing my opinion of that perverted delusion.

 One songbird was wide awake up front, rendering

 chorus after chorus of such old standards as, "There

 was a young lady from ..." I wondered if Dean still

 had some of that rat poison that looked like seed

 cakes. The rats were too smart to eat it, but that

 bird ...

 "You're working on a job, aren't you?" Slither was

 still vague about what I do.

 "The mission," Ivy mumbled. "Old first rule, Gar-

 rett. Even a jarhead ought to know. Got to follow

 through on the mission."

 "Watch that jarhead stuff, Army. All right. All

 right." Good old attitudes from the bad old days. But

 was the mission more likely to be advanced at sunrise

 than at high noon? Excuse me for entertaining doubts.

 I wondered if they had noticed the changes in Tun-

 154

 Faire. Probably not. Neither was in close touch with

 the world outside his skull.

 I surrendered. "I guess we can hit Wixon and

 White."

 At the moment, the occult shop was my only angle.

 Mugwump had not yet materialized with the promised

 list of contacts.

 Slither's cooking would have appalled Dean and

 sent Morley into convulsions. He fried half a slab of

 bacon while baking drop biscuits. He split the biscuits

 and soaked them in bacon grease, then sprinkled them

 with sugar. Poor people food. Soldier food. Food that

 was darned tasty when it was hot.

 33

 It had rained during the night. The morning air was

 cool. The breeze was fresh. The streets were clean.

 The sky was clear. The sun was bright. It was one of

 those days when it was too easy to relax, too easy to

 forget that a brighter sun means darker shadows.

 Fortunately, even the shadows were relaxing. Not a

 one belched a villain bent on mischief. The whole

 town was in a rare humor. Hell, I heard singing from

 the Bustee.

 It wouldn't last. Before sundown, the wicked would

 be slashing throats again.

 We did develop a following, including the inept

 creature who had followed me to Maggie Jenn's place

 and a guy with an earring who was maybe a ferocious

 pirate, but I doubted that.

 Even Ivy noticed the clumsy guy.

 "Let them tag along," I said. "They'll go cross-eyed.

 What I do is excruciating to watch. Not to mention

 tough on the feet."

 "Be like being back in the Corps," Slither observed.

 Ivy had the Goddamned Parrot with him. That ob-

 scene buzzard had a great time. "Holy hookers, check

 them melons. Oh. Look it there. Come here, honey.

 I'll show you ..." We were lucky his diction was

 sloppy.

 The streets were crowded. Everybody wanted a

 lungful of rain-scrubbed air before TunFaire returned

 156

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 157

 to normal. The old and weak would be falling over

 left and right. All that fresh air would be poisonous.

 Before we reached the West End, I spotted another

 tail. This guy was a first-string pro. I made him by

 accident, my good luck and his bad. I didn't know him.

 That troubled me. I thought I knew the top players.

 It was quite a parade.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 159

 34

 Wixon and White were open. I told Ivy, "You stay

 out here. You're the lookout." I went inside. Slither

 followed me. I wished I was as bad as I tried to look.

 Both Wixon and White were on board, but no other

 crew or passengers were. "Bless me," I murmured,

 pleased to have something go my way. And, "Bless

 me again. More fierce pirates."

 The guys eyeballed us and took just an instant to

 decide we weren't the sort of customers they hoped

 to attract. Neither mislaid his manners, though. Nei-

 ther failed to notice that between us Slither and I

 outnumbered them by two hundred pounds.

 "How might we help you?" one asked. He made

 me think of a begging chipmunk. He had a slight over-

 bite and the obligatory lisp. He held his soft little

 hands folded before his chest.

 "Robin! ..."

 "Penny, you just hush. Sir?"

 I said, "I'm looking for somebody."

 "Aren't we all?" Big smile. A corsair comedian.

 Penny thought it was funny. Penny tittered.

 Slither scowled. Garrett scowled. The boys got real

 quiet. Robin looked past us, toward the street, as

 though he hoped the answer to his dilemma might

 show up out there.

 "I'm looking for a girl. A specific girl. Eighteen.

 Red hair. So tall. Freckles, probably. Put together so

 nice even fierce pirates might take a second look and

 maybe shed a tear about choices made. Probably going

 by either Justina or Emerald Jenn."

 158

 The guys stared. My magic touch had turned them

 into halfwits.

 Outside, Ivy told a dowager type that the shop was

 closed, only for a little while. She tried to disagree.

 The Goddamn Parrot took exception and began

 screeching crude propositions.

 I moved around the shop, fingering whatever looked

 expensive. The boys had a lot of square feet and

 plenty of bizarre furnishings. "That description ring

 any bells?" I couldn't read their reaction. Its schooled

 neutrality gave nothing away.

 Penny sneered, "Should it?" I could tell him from

 Robin only by the size of his mustache. Otherwise,

 they could have passed as twins. A strong strain of

 narcissism united these wild and woolly buccaneers.

 "I think it's likely." I described the black magic

 stuff I'd found in Emerald's rooms. My descriptions

 were faultless. The Dead Man taught me well. Those

 studied neutral faces betrayed teensy cracks.

 Penny for sure knew what I was talking about.

 Robin probably did. Robin was a better faker.

 "Excellent. You guys know the items. Presumably,

 you provided them. So tell me to who." I picked up

 a gorgeous dagger of ruby glass. Some true artist had

 spent months shaping and carving and polishing it. It

 was one beautiful, diabolic ceremonial masterpiece.

 "I wouldn't tell you even if ... Stop that!"

 The dagger almost slipped from my fingers.

 "What? You were going to say even if you knew

 what I was talking about? But you would tell me,

 Penny. You'd tell me anything. I'm not nice. My friend

 isn't as nice as I am." I flipped the dagger, barely

 caught it. The boys shuddered. They couldn't take

 their eyes off that blade. It had to be worth a fortune.

 "Boys, I'm that guy in your nightmares. I'm the guy

 behind the mask. The guy who'd use a priceless glass

 ceremonial dagger to play mumbletypeg on a tern-

 160

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 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 161

 pered oak floor. The guy who'll vandalize you into

 bankruptcy. Unless you talk to me."

 I put the dagger down, collected a book. At first

 glance it seemed old and ordinary, shy any occult sym-

 bols. No big thing, I thought, till the boys started

 squeaking answers to questions I hadn't asked.

 They babbled about the man who'd bought the stuff

 I'd described. Puzzled, I examined the book. And still

 saw nothing special.

 Why had it loosened their tongues so?

 Its title was The Raging Blades. That made it the

 central volume of the semi-fictional saga trilogy No

 Ravens Went Hungry. The Raging Blades was pre-

 ceded by The Steel-Game and followed by The Battle-

 Storm. The whole related the glamorized story of an

 historical character named Eagle, who plundered and

 murdered his way across two continents and three seas

 nearly a millenium ago. By today's standards, the man

 was a total villain. Friend or foe, everyone eventually

 regretted knowing him. By the standards of his own

 time, he'd been a great hero simply because he'd lived

 a long time and prospered. Even today, they say, kids in

 Busivad province want to grow up to be another Eagle.

 I asked, "Might this be an early copy?" Early copies

 are scarce.

 The boys redoubled their babble. What was this?

 They were ready to confess to murder.

 "Let me check this. You say a man with red hair,

 some gray, green eyes, freckles, short. Definitely

 male?" Nods left me with one theory deader than an

 earthworm in the noonday sun. Not even these rowdy

 reever types would mistake Maggie Jenn for a man.

 "Around forty, not eighteen?" That fit no one I'd en-

 countered so far, unless maybe that nasty runt in the

 warehouse. "And you don't have any idea who he

 was?" I hadn't caught the colors of Cleaver's hair and

 eyes. "You know anything about him?"

 "No."

 "We don't know anything."

 Eyes stayed stuck to that book while their owners

 tried to pretend everything was cool.

 "He paid cash? He came in, looked around, picked

 out what he wanted, paid without quibbling about in-

 flated prices? And when he left, he carried his pur-

 chases himself?"

 "Yes."

 "A peasant, indeed." Smiling, I put the book down.

 "You see? You can be a help when you want. You

 just need to take an interest." Both men sighed when

 I stepped away from their treasure. I asked, "You

 don't recall anything that would connect all that junk

 together?" It had seemed of a sort to me when I'd

 seen it, but what did I know about demon stuff?

 Mostly, I don't want to know.

 I got headshakes.

 "Everything had its silver star with a goat's head

 inside."

 Penny insisted, "That's generic demon worship stuff.

 Our stock is mass-produced by dwarves. We buy it in

 bulk. It's junk with almost no intrinsic or occult value.

 It isn't fake, but it doesn't have any power, either." He

 waved a hand. I stepped to a display box rilled with me-

 dallions like the one I'd found hi Justina's suite.

 "You know the girl I described?"

 Headshakes again. Amazing.

 "And you're sure you don't know the man who

 bought the stuff?"

 More of that old shaka-shaka.

 "You have no idea where I might find this guy?"

 They were going to make themselves dizzy.

 "I might as well go, then." I beckoned to Slither.

 Wixon and White ran for their lives for their back

 boom. I don't know what they thought I meant to do

 iJnext Nothing pleasant. They slammed the door. It was

 stout one. We heard a heavy bar slam into place.

 Slither grinned as he followed me outside.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 163

 35

 Slither glanced back. "How come you didn't push

 them harder? You seen how they sweated, 'specially

 when you was messing with that book."

 "Sometimes I take the indirect approach. Ivy, wait

 right here. Whistle if anybody comes snooping." Right

 here was the end of a breezeway that led to the skinny

 alley behind Wixon and White.

 The shop had no back window. Surprise, surprise.

 Even in the best parts of town there are few windows

 at ground level. You tempt fate as seldom as possible.

 The place did have a rear door, though. And that

 wasn't much more secure than a window. I wondered

 what the boys did that they needed a sneak-out door.

 Was that how they handled customer complaints?

 That back door led to the room whither the boys

 had fled. It did little to muffle their argument.

 "... could you have been thinking of, leaving it lay

 out like that?"

 "I forgot it. All right?"

 "You forgot it. You forgot it. I don't believe this."

 "He didn't think anything about it. You saw that.

 All he cared about is where the Jenn chit is."

 "Then why couldn't you tell him and get him out?

 He has to be suspicious, the way you were ..."

 "I didn't tell him because I don't know, love. She

 hasn't been seen since her mother came to town."

 Well, well, well.

 162

 "Stop worrying about the damned book. A thug like

 that can't read his own stupid name."

 Slither said, "Garrett ..."

 I waved him off, listened as hard as I could. I had to

 fill hi here and there, from context, to get everything.

 Me and the occult corsairs were going to have an-

 other talk.

 "Garrett!"

 "Wait a minute!"

 An unfamiliar voice observed, "You guys better be

 ratmen trash hogs in disguise because if you ain't..."

 "Which one you want I should eat first, Garrett?"

 "... if you ain't, you're gonna be going outa here

 on a trash wagon." This sweet-talker was the spokes-

 man for five thugs in slapdash butternut costume. I

 assumed that was the uniform of the neighborhood

 watch. I did mention how peaceful and confident the

 area seemed? Getting old and slow. I'd forgotten that,

 then I'd failed to stay alert.

 They'd come from the direction Ivy wasn't covering.

 I heard no more conversation behind the alley door.

 Naturally.

 "Which one first?" Slither asked again. He was hot

 to go and sure he could handle them all. They weren't

 big guys and they all had bellies that hung over then-

 belts. They had mean little pig eyes. Slither's growling

 got the boss pig thinking. He got a look like he

 thought maybe Slither could follow through.

 Didn't seem like the best time to get into a fight. I

 still had a bottle of Miracle Milt's Doc Dread magic

 getaway juice. Last one. I whistled so Ivy would know

 something was up, then slammed the bottle into the

 bricks at the toes of the guardians of order.

 I was lucky. The bottle broke.

 A nasty dark stain spread like something alive. And

 nothing else happened. The brunos didn't twitch. They

 understood that something was supposed to happen.

 They didn't want to get it started.

 164

 GLEN COOK

 I grabbed Slither's arm. "Time to take a hike."

 A thin feather of mist curled up off the bricks. Well,

 better late than never. Only it leaned toward me, the

 one guy moving.

 Slither said, "Aw, Garrett. Do I have to? Can't I

 just bust up one or two?"

 "Go right ahead. But you're on your own. I'm leav-

 ing." The streamer of mist reached farther toward me.

 I exercised my philosophy of discretion swiftly and

 with great enthusiasm. I grabbed Ivy as I flew out of

 the breezeway. That startled the Goddamn Parrot into

 one of his more memorable sermons.

 Slither must have had an epiphany because he was

 stomping on my heels.

 36

 The Wixon and White street door was locked. The

 CLOSED sign stood in the window, supported by drawn

 shades. I had a feeling the boys wouldn't answer if I

 knocked.

 I said, "We'll check back after those characters start

 thinking we've forgotten them. Right now, we'll find

 the weather friendlier in another part of town." I

 could see several butternut outfits. They weren't easily

 overlooked since all normal traffic had deserted the

 street. Way it goes in TunFaire.

 We moved out as fast as Ivy would travel with that

 idiot bird. The butternut brunos were content to let

 us take our trouble elsewhere.

 After a while, I asked, "Slither, you know why I

 like working alone?"

 "Huh? No. How come?"

 "On account of when I'm working alone, there's

 nobody around to call me by name in front of people

 I don't want to know. Not even one time, let alone

 four."

 He thought about that and eventually concluded

 that I was peeved. "Say! That was pretty dumb, wasn't

 it?"

 "Yes." Why shield the man's feelings? That kind of

 mistake can be fatal.

 On the other hand, the butternuts had no reason to

 keep after me. They had run me off before my pockets

 filled with doodads they doubtless felt only they had

 165

 166

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 167

 the right to pilfer. They could beat their chests and

 tell the merchants association they were mighty hunt-

 ers and protectors.

 I couldn't see the swashbucklers pursuing the mat

 ter. All they cared about was that book. I growled,

 "Shut up, you mutant pigeon."

 I wondered about the book. I'd read all three vol-

 umes of No Ravens Went Hungry, waiting around at

 the library. What set the story in motion was a dynas-

 tic squabble among mobs of people who were all re-

 lated somehow. The prize was an almost nominal

 kingship over a loose association of barbarian clans.

 Not one person in the whole saga was the sort you'c

 ask into your home. This hero, this thug Eagle, mur

 dered more than forty people during his life.

 No Ravens Went Hungry was based on actual events

 that marinated in the oral tradition a few centuries

 before being recorded.

 I hadn't enjoyed it, partly because no likable people

 were involved, but more because the author had felt

 a duty to name every player's antecedants and cousins

 and offspring and, likewise, those of everyone they

 ever murdered or married. After a while, it got hard

 to keep track of all the Thoras, Thoralfs, Thorolfs,

 Thorolds, Thords, Thordises, Thorids, Thorirs, Thor-

 ins, Thorarins, Thorgirs, Thorgyers, Thorgils, Thor-

 balds, Thorvalds, Thoriums, and Thorsteins, not to

 mention the numerous Odds and Eiriks and Haralds—

 any one of whom could change his name any time the

 notion hit him.

 "What now?" Slither asked, prodding me out of my

 thoughts.

 Ivy looked over his shoulder, expectant. He seemed

 more disappointed than Slither about having missed a

 brawl. But he did stifle the Goddamn Parrot whenever

 that stupid harlequin hen started propositioning

 passersby.

 "I'm going to go home, get me something to eat.

 That's what now."

 "What good will that do?"

 "It'll keep me from getting hungry." And it would

 set me up to get shut of him and Ivy and the parade

 that stretched out behind us.

 I had plans.

 37

 I let Slither and Ivy make lunch. I retreated to my

 office to commune with Eleanor. Eleanor didn't help

 me relax. My restlessness wouldn't go away. Curious,

 I crossed the hall. The Dead Man appeared to be

 soundly asleep, but I wondered. I'd suffered similar

 restlessnesses before.

 I didn't feel up to dealing with him, so I gobbled

 some food, fed the boys a quick, plausible lie about

 ducking out for just a minute, hit the cobblestones. I

 lost the people watching me by using the density of

 the crowds. The streets were busier than usual. There

 were refugees everywhere. In consequence, every

 street corner boasted its howling mad bigot who

 wanted to run them all out. Or worse.

 I sensed another crisis in the wind.

 Sure I was running free, I headed for the Hill.

 I strode up to Maggie's door as bold as if I'd been

 summoned. I used that discrete knocker, over and

 over. Nobody responded.

 Was I surprised? Not really.

 I studied that grim, featureless facade. It remained

 grim and featureless. And uninviting.

 I wandered the neighborhood for a while and wasn't

 challenged. I didn't stick with it long enough to press

 my luck.

 I was halfway to Morley's place when I realized that

 I was no longer without a tail. The inept guy was on

 168

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 169

 me again. Say what? Maybe he had something going

 after all.

 I walked into the Joy House. There sat my two best

 pals, Morley Dotes and Saucerhead Tharpe, making

 goo-goo eyes at my favorite fantasy. "Chastity! What's

 a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

 Morley gave me a look at his darkest scowl, the one

 he reserves not for victims but for guys who venture

 to hint that they might possibly think the Joy House

 is less than the epitome of epicurean paradises.

 Saucerhead grinned. He is one great huge goof. I

 love him in a brotherly way. I noticed he was missing

 another tooth.

 Chastity said, "I was checking up on you."

 "Don't believe anything these guys tell you. Espe-

 cially Morley. Can't tell the truth when a lie will do.

 Just ask his wife or any of his seventeen demented

 children."

 Morley showed me a bunch of pointy teeth. He

 looked pleased. Saucerhead's grin got bigger. He had

 teeth like yellow and green spades.

 I figured it was time to check my shoes, see what

 I'd stepped hi because my feet were whizzing past

 pretty close to my mouth.

 Unlikely as it seemed, folks had been saying nice

 things. I sat down. "Puddle! I need some apple juice.

 Shoeleather leaves a bad taste in your mouth."

 Dotes and Tharpe kept smirking. Spud brought me

 my drink, like to dumped it all over me. The kid

 couldn't keep his eyes off the lady doctor. I couldn't

 fault his taste. She sure looked good.

 I told her, "You didn't answer my question."

 "Why I'm here? Mr. Tharpe suggested we eat here

 before we go to the hospital."

 "We? The Bledsoe?" Mr. Tharpe hated the Bledsoe

 with a blind passion. Mr. Tharpe was poor. Mr.

 Tharpe had been born in the Bledsoe and had been

 170

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 171

 forced to rely upon its medical care all his life, excep-

 ting during his years in military service, when he had

 discovered what real doctoring could be. I could not

 imagine Saucerhead going near the place voluntarily.

 A lot of people will suffer almost anything before

 letting themselves be committed to the Bledsoe. Many

 see it as the last gate to death.

 "I'm bodyguarding her," Saucerhead told me.

 "What? I thought ..."

 "I saw your friend." Chastity smiled. My best pals

 snickered.

 "My friend? I'm beginning to wonder. She didn't

 want the job?"

 "Sent her on to me," Tharpe told me.

 That deserved some thought.

 Morley asked, "Where are your buddies, Garrett?"

 "Home minding the Goddamn Parrot. Slow roasting

 it, I hope. Why?"

 "There's a story going around about the three of

 you trying to rob some nancys out hi the West End."

 I frowned. Strange that should be out already. "I

 was trying to get a line on Emerald. I never pushed

 that hard." I told the story.

 Morley soon developed a deep frown. He let me

 talk, but when I finished he asked, "You're sure it

 was an old copy of one of the volumes of No Ravens

 Went Hungry?"

 "It was The Raging Blades. You know something I

 don't?"

 "Do you know the story?"

 "I read the book."

 "That doesn't surprise me." He grinned. He re-

 called my troubles with Linda Lee. "Since you've read

 it, you know what happens at the end. Eagle is in his

 eighties, still hale except that he's going blind. The

 women start pushing him around, probably getting

 even for the way he always treated them. He gets

 pissed off, grabs a couple of slaves, takes the treasure

 he's stolen over the past seventy years, and heads for

 the boondocks. A few days later, he comes home

 alone and empty-handed and never says a word about

 what happened to the slaves or the treasure."

 "So?"

 "So Eagle's treasure is one of the big prizes treasure

 hunters yak up when they get together. One of their

 myths says the earliest version of No Ravens Went

 Hungry contains all the clues you need to find it. The

 copyists supposedly actually found the treasure, after

 they produced maybe five copies of each volume, but

 I they murdered each other before they dug it up."

 | Morley touched the highlights of a tale of greed and

 [double-dealing worthy of Eagle himself.

 Tell the truth, Morley's story sounded like one of

 those worth the paper it was written on. If he hadn't

 had a certain familiar gleam in his eye, I would have

 ignored everything he said. But that gleam was there.

 I knew his gold sniffer had been excited. He believed.

 He was thinking of paying Wixon and White a visit

 that had nothing to do with mine.

 "The second volume?" I asked, hoping to cool him

 down. "Why that one? It wasn't until the end of the

 third that Eagle buried the treasure."

 Morley shrugged, smiled. Poor dumb Garrett

 couldn't see the obvious. Chastity gave us a funny

 look. She knew something was going on but wasn't

 sure what it was. Morley said, "You could be right,"

 which I assume he said to confuse everybody.

 He knew something he didn't want to tell. Like ev-

 eryone lately. I shrugged and said, "I'm going to visit

 Maggie's house. Want to come along?" His gold snif-

 fer would respond to that, too.

 He said, "Why not?"

 Saucerhead got it, too. He gave me a dubious look

 but asked no questions. No need letting Chastity in

 on everything. Especially since she had friends in the

 Guard.

 172

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 173

 She knew we were closing her out. She didn't like

 it, but she had a strong notion she wouldn't want to

 know anyway.

 I asked her, "You familiar with Grange Cleaver?

 He ever hang out at the Bledsoe?"

 "I've seen him. More lately than in the past. He

 seems to be living in the city, now. He's Board. Board

 are in and out all the time. The rest of us only pay

 attention if they start throwing their weight around."

 "I see. What's he do there?"

 "I don't know. I'm a ward physician. I don't fly that

 high."

 Morley was ready to go. He asked, "What's he look

 like these days? He used to play around with disguises.

 Only his closest friends knew what he looked like."

 Perplexed, Chastity said, "How would a disguise do

 him any good? There aren't many men that short."

 "He wasn't always a man," Morley told her. "He

 could be a dwarf if he wanted."

 "Or an elf?" I suggested.

 "Never was an elf that ugly, Garrett!" Morley

 snapped. "Not that lived long enough to get out of

 diapers."

 I thought about the prince at the warehouse. Effem-

 inate but not ugly. Just an unlucky gal fate stuck with

 the wrong plumbing. "Could you describe him, Chas-

 tity? I mean, besides as short."

 She did her best.

 "Good enough for me. That's the guy, Morley."

 Morley grunted irritably. Chastity looked perplexed

 again. "I'll explain later," I promised. I wondered

 what it was between Dotes and the Rainmaker.

 Morley did have his share of feuds. I stayed out of

 them. And I figured it was just as well I didn't know

 their details. I hoped he would explain if I needed to

 know.

 I would keep my eyes open, though. He'd been

 known to wait a bit too long in the past.

 "You going or not?" he grumped.

 "I'll catch up with you later," I told Chastity.

 "Promises, promises."

 Saucerhead gave me a look that told me, yes, he

 would look out for her. I wouldn't suggest it because

 it was a big sore spot with him. Once upon a time, I

 asked him to guard a woman and he didn't come

 through. She died. He slaughtered a whole herd of

 villains and came within an inch of death himself, but

 lall he saw was that he'd failed. There was no talking

 jjhim out of thinking that.

 Chastity was as safe as it was possible for her to be.

 38

 "Hey, Garrett! How about you do away with the

 goofy grin and the glassy eyes long enough to let me

 in on the plan?"

 "Jealous." I wrestled with the grin, got the best of

 it. "We're going to take what I call the Dotes Ap-

 proach." We were nearing the Hill. Soon we would

 be on patrolled streets. I had to get my grin under

 control, stop daydreaming about remarkable blondes.

 The thugs up there had no patience with happy

 outsiders.

 "The Dotes Approach? Dare I ask?"

 "You ought to know. You invented it. Straight

 ahead and damn the witnesses—we'll just bust in."

 "One tune. During a thunderstorm in the middle of

 the night. Talk about exaggeration."

 I didn't grace his protest with a reply. I told him,

 "There's an alleyway runs behind those places. Used

 for deliveries and by the ratmen who haul the trash

 away."

 "Haul the trash away?"

 "A novel concept, I admit. But it's true. This alley

 is cleaner than the street out front. I never saw any-

 thing like it."

 "Almost unpatriotic, what?"

 "Un-Karentine, certainly. High weirdness."

 "A conspiracy."

 He was needling me, probably because I was run-

 ning the inside track with Chastity.

 174

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 175

 "That thing about a wife and kids wasn't playing

 fair." He glanced back casually.

 "Sure it was. You're just sore because you didn't

 try the gag first. They still back there?"

 "Stipulated. Maybe. She is worth a trick or two.

 They're still there. A whole parade of potential wit-

 nesses. This one is a first-class lady, Garrett. Don't

 mess up the way you did with Tinnie and Maya." Be-

 fore I could object, he added, "You do attract it, don't

 you?"

 "What?"

 "You said it. High weirdness."

 "I can't argue with that. Though this one is only

 weird because it doesn't make sense, not because I've

 got guys walking through the sky or refusing to stop

 committing murder just because we've killed and cre-

 mated them. I haven't seen any shapechangers and

 nobody is going around biting anybody's neck."

 "There is an occult angle of some kind."

 "I think it was planted by Cleaver. I think Cleaver

 has the girl. The occult crap is to throw Maggie off

 the trail."

 "You going ahead anyway?"

 I'd been considering. "For now. For them back

 there. Might be interesting to see who does what once

 they figure out what we're doing." We were on the

 Hill now, strutting like we were honest. Act like you

 belong, who notices you? Even on the Hill there's

 plenty of legitimate traffic. The local guardians didn't

 dare roust everybody. I remarked, "Someday these

 clowns will recall their training and set up checkpoints

 and start issuing passes."

 Morley snorted. "Never happen." He didn't think

 much of the Hill brunos. "People who live here won't

 tolerate the inconvenience."

 "Probably right." That's the problem with public

 safety. It is so damned inconvenient.

 "You counting on those people back there being as

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 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 177

 crooked as you are? That would be as bad a bet as

 counting on everyone to be honest."

 "Crooked?" I protested, but I knew what he meant.

 "You know what I mean. One might be secret po-

 lice." The secret police were a new problem for Tun-

 Faire's underworld. Always flexible, though, Morley

 seemed to be having no trouble adapting.

 "Might be." But I didn't believe that and doubted

 that he did. The Guard were less shy than these peo-

 ple. Even Relway's spies.

 Morley did have to say, "Winger could have that

 kind of connection."

 Damn! "Yeah. If there's a profit in it." I wondered.

 Could Winger turn up the closest thing she had to a

 friend, just for money? Scary. I couldn't answer that

 one.

 I said, "You gave me some advice one time: never

 get involved with a woman crazier than I am."

 "And I was right. Wasn't I?"

 "Yeah. Oh, yeah."

 We turned into the alley that passed behind Maggie

 Jenn's place. Luck had given us clear sailing so far.

 Not one patrol even came into sight. We were as good

 as ghosts in the official eye.

 "Be careful with Winger, Garrett. She is crazier

 than you." He stared down that improbably clean al-

 leyway. "Though not by much. It isn't closed off. Any-

 one could walk in here." He sneered, unable to

 believe the arrogant confidence that showed. Nobody

 lives so high on the Hill that they're immune. Even

 the great witches and wizards, the stormwardens and

 firelords, who set counts and dukes to shaking in their

 boots, get ripped off.

 "I'll worry about Winger later. Right now we need

 to do a B and E before our fans show. Up there." I

 indicated a wrought iron balcony that existed as a

 drop point for garbage. The ratmen ran their waste

 wagons in underneath and household staff dumped

 away. Similar balconies ornamented the rough stone-

 work all along the alley.

 "Except for the clean, they didn't do much to put

 on the dog back here, did they?" Morley asked.

 "You want they should've done fancy masonry for

 the likes of us?"

 Sneering, Morley darted forward, found handholds

 in the rough stonework, scrambled up, did a job on

 the flimsy door, then hung over the rail to help me

 up. The balcony creaked ominously. I flailed my way

 aboard. An instant later, Morley and I were inside.

 We peeked out an archer's slit of a window, looking

 for witnesses. It was a minute before any of our tails

 entered the alley.

 Morley chuckled.

 I sighed. "Only Winger."

 "Where does she get those clothes?"

 "If I knew, I'd strangle the seamstresses. That stuff

 has got to be against divine law if nothing else."

 "We're inside. What do we look for?"

 "Hell, I don't know. Anything. Things keep happen-

 ing that don't make sense, since I'm only supposed to

 be looking for a missing girl. I shouldn't be up to my

 mammaries in maneating pirates. I'm pretty sure that

 finding Emerald isn't the main reason Maggie hired

 me."

 "Huh?"

 "You recall I got into this because Winger wanted

 me to keep tabs on Maggie. She thought Maggie

 wanted me to waste somebody."

 "And now you're thinking maybe Winger was right,

 that the whole point might have been to get you but-

 ting heads with the Rainmaker."

 "Could be. I thought I might find a clue here."

 "So let's dig. Before Winger figures out what hap-

 pened and walks through the wall."

 "Absolutely. But first let's see who else takes a

 chance on the alley."

 178

 GLEN COOK

 The whole parade passed by before it was over.

 Morley got a good look at them.

 "That one," I said. "That's the pro."

 "I see it. I smell it He's a major player."

 "Who is he?"

 "That's the rub." Morley looked worried. "I don't

 know him."

 I worried, too. I could figure Winger was working

 for Winger and anybody else she could get to pay her.

 The fierce pirate had to be on Cleaver's payroll. But

 what about this slick pro?

 They did seem to be aware of one another.

 Then- sneakery caught some squinty eyes. Guard

 thugs began to appear. Even Winger cleared out

 rather than tempt those clowns too much.

 "Quit your snickering and get to work," Morley ad-

 vised. "The guys with the squashed noses won't hang

 around forever."

 We started right there in that very room.

 39

 We had been whispering. Soon I wondered why. We

 found no trace of Maggie or her marvelous staff.

 I thought it but Morley voiced it first. "People don't

 live here, Garrett. They haven't for years." Not one

 room that I hadn't visited earlier wasn't in mothballs

 and choked with dust. I kept hacking and honking.

 "Yeah. It's a stage set they used to play out a drama

 for me."

 "Make a guess. Why?"

 "That's what I'm here to find out, if Winger wasn't

 right the first time."

 Over and over, all we found was more of the same

 old dusty rooms filled with covered furniture.

 "Some nice antiques here," Morley noted. He pre-

 tended indifference, but I sensed his disappointment.

 He could find no wealth that was easily portable. He

 was trying to think of ways to get the furniture out.

 In time, because we had time to look, we did find

 an upper-story bedroom that had seen use but which

 I hadn't visited before. Morley opined, "This was oc-

 cupied by a woman with no compulsion to clean up

 after herself."

 And nobody to clean up for her, apparently. Rem-

 nants of old meals provided spawning grounds for blue

 fur.

 Morley said, "My guess is this stuff dates from be-

 fore your visit. Let's check this room carefully."

 I grunted. What genius.

 179

 180

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 181

 A minute later "Garrett."

 "Uhm?"

 "Check this out."

 "This" was a shocker. "This" was a woman's wig.

 "This" was a wild shock of tangly red hair so much

 like Maggie Jenn's that, in an instant, I was mug to

 Ugly mug with a horrible suspicion.

 "What's that?" Morley asked.

 "What?"

 "That noise. Like somebody goosed you with a hot

 poker."

 "I tried to picture Maggie without hair." I lifted

 that wig like it was an enemy's severed head.

 "Out with it. Out with it."

 "Know what's the matter? Here's a hint. You take

 a wig like this wig and grab the Rainmaker and stuff

 his head into said wig, you'd have a dead ringer for

 the little sweetheart who hired me to find her kid—

 assuming you dressed her girlie style. A dead ringer

 for a sweetheart who all but point-blank invited me

 up here for ..."

 Morley grinned. Then he snickered. Then he burst

 out laughing. "Oh! Oh! That would have made the

 Garrett story to top all Garrett stories. People would

 have forgotten the old lady and the cat like this." He

 snapped his fingers. He started grinning again. "I'll

 bet you Winger knew. I'll just bet she did. At least

 she suspected. Maybe that's what she wanted to find

 out. Send in Garrett. He has a way with redheads.

 He'll go for it if you drop one in his lap." He was

 breaking up now, the little shit. "Oh, Garrett, she just

 rose way up in my estimation. That's a slicking /

 wouldn't have thought of."

 "You have a tendency to think too complicated," I

 protested. "Winger don't think that way." I went on,

 arguing, I don't know with whom. My voice rose and

 rose as I imagined the myriad piratical horrors that

 might have befallen me simply because of my connois-

 I

 sieur's appreciation of the opposite sex. Just because

 Maggie Jenn, who had heated me to a rolling boil,

 might have been wearing a wig.

 I glared at that wig. The fury of my gaze changed

 nothing. It remained a perfect match for Maggie's

 hair.

 "You get it?" Morley asked, like it hadn't been my

 idea in the first place. "Grange Cleaver put on a wig

 and fooled you one thousand percent." His leer set

 my cheeks ablaze.

 "Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Let's say he did.

 Just for now, let's say he's the Maggie Jenn who hired

 me. Let's ignore the fact that that makes things make

 even less sense than before. Cleaver wouldn't aim a

 dagger at himself. So let's look for the bottom line.

 Let's figure out what my employer really wanted, who-

 ever he, she, or it was."

 "Don't be so touchy, Garrett." He kept fighting the

 giggles.

 "The question, Morley. The question. I got paid a

 nice advance. Why?"

 "You could always assume you were supposed to

 do what you were hired to do. Find the girl. When

 you think about this mess, Maggie Jenn not really

 being Maggie Jenn makes sense."

 "Huh?"

 "Look. If she was Cleaver in disguise, then there'd

 be no conflicts in what us old experts told you about

 the woman."

 "I saw that when you waved that damned wig in

 my face. The real Maggie Jenn is probably on her

 island with her feet up and not a suspicion that her

 old pal Grange Cleaver is blackening her reputation

 by pretending ..."

 "You have to wonder how much he did that in the

 old days. When she was involved with the crown

 prince."

 "Not around the prince, he wouldn't have. The

 182

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 183

 prince definitely preferred girls and wasn't patient

 with girls who played hard to get. He knew the real

 Maggie Jenn."

 "But a fake Maggie could have gone around looking

 at places that interested the Rainmaker."

 "Somebody told me Cleaver might be her brother.

 Maybe they were twins."

 "He was his sister's pimp?"

 "Like that'd be the first time a guy ever sold his

 sister?"

 "You're right. I lost it for a second. Wishful think-

 ing. Thought I'd outgrown that. Shouldn't ever forget

 what slime humans can be."

 "We've still got rooms to search." I didn't want to

 get into the subject of necessity—though Morley

 would have to slither down there under a snake's belly

 to hold an opinion of my species lower than I do.

 Necessity I understand. Necessity I won't condemn.

 The despicable are those who sell their sisters and

 daughters and wives because that saves them having

 to work. "Bear with me, Morley."

 "I do, Garrett. And with all your kind. Like it or

 not, you're the present and future of the world. The

 rest of us are going to have to find what niches we

 can. Otherwise, time will pass us by."

 "Bravo!" I clapped. "You've got the vision. Get

 yourself appointed to the city board of aldermen."

 "I'm not human enough. And I wouldn't have

 time."

 I boggled for an instant. My facetious remark had

 been heard seriously. Interesting. Morley Dotes, bone-

 breaker and lifetaker, your alderman and mine?

 Actually, that could be an idea whose time had ar-

 rived. The Goddamned Parrot could do as well as the

 crooks and incompetents and senile halfwits running

 things now.

 TunFaire is a human city in the human kingdom of

 Karenta. This is established by numerous treaties. It

 means human rule prevails except in such ways as may

 be modified by treaty in particular regards or areas.

 TunFaire is also an "open city," meaning any race

 with a treaty can come and go freely, essentially with

 the same rights and privileges as Karentine subjects.

 And, in theory, the same obligations.

 In practice, all races come and go, treaty or no,

 and a lot of nonhumans evade their civil obligations.

 Centaurs are the outstanding example. All treaties

 with centaurs perished when the tribes went over to

 Glory Mooncalled. Legally, they're enemy aliens. But

 they've been flooding into city and kingdom as Moon-

 called's republic fades and nobody except extremists

 seems to object.

 Guest workers and resident nonhumans make up

 half of TunFaire's population. With the war winding

 down and ever more folks realizing that society is

 headed for dramatic changes a lot of resentment is

 building.

 Shouldn't be long before the nonhuman question

 becomes a central fact of politics. It is now for splin-

 ters like the Call. You won't find any euphemism or

 circumlocution in the message of the Call. Their strat-

 egy is kill nonhumans till the survivors flee.

 Gods, I didn't want this mess of mine to lead me

 into the snakepit of racial politics. Lords Above or

 Below, render me outside politics of any stink.

 Morley and I pressed on. We searched high and

 low, right and left, north, south, east, and west. We

 placed special emphasis on the suite supposedly be-

 longing to Justine Jenn. Morley opined, "Nobody

 lived here, Garrett. It was stage-dressed."

 I agreed.

 "Think there's anything else to find?" he asked.

 "I doubt it. Want to try the basement?"

 "Do you?"

 "I remember the last time we did a basement. I'm

 more inclined to go shopping."

 184

 GLEN COOK

 "Wixon and White. The hens' teeth salesmen. They

 actually knew the girl?"

 "A girl," I grumped, identities being so shifty lately.

 "Good point. But it's a start. Mind if I tag along?

 I haven't been out that way for a while."

 "Gee. I'm psychic." I'd just known he would want

 to go. "Wasn't for those buccaneers, I'd have serious

 doubts that the girl exists."

 "A girl. Like you said. What say let's don't just hit

 the street?"

 "Good thinking." We checked for observers.

 Winger and a ferocious pirate type were holding down

 the alley, pretending they couldn't see each other.

 "Nice to see folks get along."

 "Makes the world run smoother. Crack that view

 slit up front and check the genius out there."

 The front face of the house wasn't as featureless as

 it had looked from the street. I peeked.

 The pro had decided we would walk out the front

 door like we lived there. Which he'd have done him-

 self. He had done and admirable job of fading into

 the background. Nobody looking for him was going

 to miss him, though.

 There was no sign of the inept guy. Curious.

 Chuckling, Morley asked, "How long will they wait

 if they don't know we're not in here anymore?"

 "How?"

 "The rooftops."

 I chuckled right back. "Sounds like an experiment

 worth making. Let's do it."

 "We could even sic the brunos on them after we're

 clear."

 "No. no. That's too much. I don't want to spend

 the rest of my life watching over my shoulder for some

 of Winger's paybacks."

 "Good point. Let's go."

 We went. It was easy. The roofs were all flat. The

 only hitch we encountered was getting down.

 40

 We tried three downspouts. None would support me.

 "Need some home repairs in these parts," I grumbled.

 "People ought to show some pride. Ought to keep up

 their property."

 "Or we could start a weight loss program at the

 Garrett dump." Morley, the little weasel, could have

 gone down any of the spouts.

 Worse, last try we had caught the eyes of some

 prematurely cynical kids who'd jumped to the conclu-

 sion we were up to no good. Just because we were

 running around on the roofs. We could have been

 roofers shopping for work.

 No more fun. The patrol would be along soon.

 Morley bent over the edge, tried another down-

 spout. A herd of preadolescents watched from the

 street. I made faces, but they didn't scare. Morley said,

 "This will have to do."

 I shook it myself. Not that I didn't trust him. He

 was right. It would have to do. It was more solid.

 Still ...

 "We have to get down now, Garrett."

 "I'm not worried about getting down. What con-

 cerns me is how many pieces of me there're going to

 be after I get there."

 Morley went over the side, abandoning me to my

 fate. I gave him a head start, then followed, my weight

 taken by different supports. I had descended about

 eight feet when furious elvish cursing broke out below

 185

 186

 GLEN COOK

 me. For a second, I thought I had stepped on his

 fingers.

 "What?" I demanded.

 "I'm hung up."

 I leaned out so I could see. Sure enough. His shirt

 was out and tangled in one of the supports that an-

 chored the downspout to the building. He tried to

 climb a little to get loose. For reasons known only to

 the gods who engineer these things that only made

 things worse. I heard cloth tear. Morley started cursing

 all over again. He let go with one hand and tried to

 work his shirt loose.

 It would not yield. But he was being awfully

 damned delicate about it.

 Down below, some kid came up with the notion

 that it would be fun to throw rocks at us. First shot

 he got Morley on the knuckles of the hand he was

 using to hang on.

 Only thing that saved him was that his shirt was

 hung up.

 The gods give and the gods take away.

 Morley's shirt tore a little more.

 Morley's temper ripped. He invented new curses.

 "Cut it loose!" I yelled.

 "It's a new shirt. First time I ever wore it." He

 continued fighting with it.

 Stones peppered the wall. A racket from up the

 street gave warning of the patrol. "You'd better do

 something. In a couple of minutes, you're going to

 have people throwing more than rocks at you."

 "/ am?"

 "You am. I'm going to climb down over you and

 leave you hanging."

 He started to say something testy, but a small stone

 hit him in the back of the head.

 Blur of steel. Pretty cloth flying. Morley down that

 spout like a squirrel as kids shrieked and scattered. I

 caught up while he was trying to decide which kid to

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 187

 |run down. "Let's go." The patrol were damn near in

 I spear-chucking range.

 | Morley looked like he'd rather stay and fight. He

 ^wanted to hurt somebody. He rubbed the back of his

 head and got set.

 "Come on!" I commenced the old high-speed heel

 and toe work.

 Morley opted not to take on the world alone.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 189

 41

 Even Morley was puffing before we shook the pursuit.

 Staggering, I gasped, "It was torn already. And you've

 got another shirt. I've seen it."

 He didn't respond. He was holding a wake for his

 apparel, though you could hardly tell there was a

 problem if he stayed tucked in.

 I croaked, "Those guys've been working out." My

 legs were rubber.

 "Good thing you started before they did." He

 wasn't puffing nearly enough to suit me. I don't know

 how he stays in shape. I've seldom seen him do any-

 thing more strenuous than chase women.

 Maybe he just lucked out when he picked his

 ancestors.

 "How about we take five?" We could afford it. I

 needed it. Before I puked up my toenails.

 We had ended up dodging into one of those small

 sin sinks that cling to the skirts of the Hill and cater

 to and prey upon the idle rich. Nobody would help

 trace us there. Patrol folks weren't welcome.

 Morley and I planted our posteriors on a stoop

 where traffic seemed limited. Once I had sucked in

 enough air to rekindle my sense of humor, we began

 fantasizing scenarios wherein Winger did Winger sorts

 of things to find out what we were up to inside Mag-

 gie's house—only with her suffering my kind of luck

 instead of her own.

 188

 You would have thought we were eleven again. We

 ended up with the giggles.

 "Oh, damn!" I couldn't stop laughing, despite the

 bad news. "Look who just showed up."

 The clumsy guy almost tripped over us before he

 realized that he had found us. His eyes got big. His

 face went pale. He gulped air. I gasped, "This clown

 has got to be psychic."

 "Want to grab him?"

 The suspicion that we might try occurred to him

 first. He went high-stepping around a corner before

 we finished swatting the dust off the backs of our laps.

 "Damn! Where did he go?"

 "What I expected," Morley said, suddenly morose

 as he stared down that empty cross street.

 "Expected?"

 "He's a spook. Or a figment of your imagination."

 "No. He's no ghost. He's just lucky."

 "I've heard luck called a psychic talent."

 "Give me a break, Morley. How can random results

 have anything to do with talent?"

 "Luck was really random it would even out,

 wouldn't it?"

 "I suppose."

 "So you ought to have some good luck once in a

 while, right? Unless you're directing it somehow."

 "Wait a minute. . . ." Our squabble wandered far

 afield. It kept us entertained all the way to the West

 End. For the heck of it, we set a couple of ambushes

 along the way. Our tail evaded both through sheer

 dumb luck. Morley did a lot of smirking.

 I told him, "I'm about to come around to your way

 of thinking."

 "You say this Wixon and White place has a flimsy

 back door?"

 "A bad joke. Unless it's a trap." There are spiders

 that specialize in catching other spiders.

 190

 GLEN COOK

 "Show me. We'll treat your Mends to chills and

 thrills."

 Right. Morley was along just for the fun.

 Wixon and White were open for trade. We lurked,

 watched a few customers come and go. "We'd better

 get on with it," I said. "Their local watch is a little

 too serious for my taste."

 Morley grunted. I introduced him to the alley door.

 He scoped it out, suggested, "Give me ten minutes."

 "Ten? You going to take it out frame and all?"

 "No, I was considering doing it quietly. You wanted

 fast you should have brought Saucerhead Tharpe. Fi-

 nesse, Garrett. Surprise. I don't do Thon-Gore the

 Learning Disabled."

 "Right." I left the artist to his easel.

 My old pal was hustling a personal agenda again. I

 had a good suspicion, too. And I didn't care. I just

 wanted to get on with my job—the way I had denned

 it.

 I wondered if I had an employer anymore. I hadn't

 heard.

 I waited in the breezeway while Morley did what-

 ever. He did keep the racket down. I never heard a

 thing. No butternut thugs showed up to inconvenience

 us, either. I tried to psych myself into a role.

 Time. I walked to the shop door and invited myself

 inside.

 42

 "Howdy." I grinned. Wasn't nobody there but them

 and me. I locked the door. I put the CLOSED sign in

 the window.

 One bold corsair demanded, "What are you doing?"

 He wanted to sound tough, but his voice scrambled

 right up into a high squeak.

 The other one didn't say anything. After ten sec-

 onds frozen like those mythical birds that stare down

 snakes, he bolted for the back room. A moment later,

 he squealed like Morley was whipping him with a

 naked woman.

 I trotted out my cheerful charlie voice. If you do

 that right, it's really sinister. "Howdy, Robin." It had

 taken me a moment to sort them out. "We just

 dropped in to get the real skinny on Emerald Jenn."

 I pasted on my salesman's smile. Robin squeaked

 again and decided to catch up with Penny.

 Both those fierce buccaneers were taller than Mor-

 ley. They looked pretty silly being held by their collars

 from behind, facing me, when I entered their lumber

 room. They were shaking.

 I closed the door. I barred it. I leaned back against

 it. I asked, "Well? Want to pick a spokesman?" The

 room was an extreme mess. I'm sure it was a wreck

 to start but now had the air of a place hastily tossed,

 perhaps by a dedicated bibliophile in quest of a rare

 first edition. "Come on, fellows."

 Heads shook.

 191

 192

 GLEN COOK

 "Let's don't be silly."

 Morley forced them to kneel. He hauled out a knife

 way too long to be legal. He made its blade sing on

 his whetstone.

 "Guys, I want Emerald Jenn. Also known as Justina

 Jenn. You're going to tell me what you know about

 her. You'll feel better for it. Start by telling me how

 you met her."

 Wixon and White whimpered and whined and tried

 to exchange impassioned farewells. Boy, I was good.

 Oh, the drama. Morley did his bit by testing his edge

 on Penny's mustache. A big hunk of lip hair tumbled

 to the floor. Morley went back to work with his

 whetstone.

 "Don't nobody need to get killed," I said. "I

 thought I'd just skin one of you." I toed that glob of

 hair.

 "Immigrants," Morley observed.

 "Probably." Karentines don't rattle easily, having

 survived the Cantard. They would have made us work.

 "Talk to me, outlanders."

 Robin cracked. "It was almost a year ago."

 Penny glared.

 "What was almost a year ago?"

 "The first time the girl came to the shop. Looking

 lost. Looking for any handle."

 "Just wandered in? Wanting to borrow a cup of frog

 fur?"

 "No. She was just looking. In more ways than one."

 "Uhm?"

 "She was a lost soul, drowning in despair, looking

 for straws to grasp. There was a young man with her.

 Kewfer, I believe she called him. He was blond and

 beautiful and young and that was the only time he

 came around."

 "Sorry he broke your heart. Don't go misty on me."

 Penny didn't like Robin's wistful tone, either, but

 he just kept the glare cooking.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 193

 "Kewfer?" I stressed it just as he had.

 Thoughtfully, Morley suggested, "Quince

 Quefour?"

 "Quince." Left me thoughtful, too. Quincy Quentin

 Q. Quintillas was pretty enough to launch a thousand

 ships filled with fierce pirates. He was a small-time

 conman of the smallest tune, too damned dumb to

 amount to anything. He was part elvish. Made him

 look younger than his real years and got him out of

 army time. A faked spook thing would be right up

 Quefour's alley.

 I barely knew him, didn't want to know him better.

 I described him.

 Robin nodded vigorously, eager to please. I won-

 dered if he was just telling me what he thought I

 wanted to hear.

 "Thank you, Robin. You see? We can get along

 fine. What was Quefour up to?"

 Baffled look. "He wasn't up to anything. He was

 just with the girl. Wasn't much special about her,

 either."

 Of course not. You were lusting in your heart.

 "Please explain."

 "She wanted an easy answer. She was looking for

 easy answers."

 "I thought she was desperate."

 "Desperate after the fashion of her age. Kids want

 results without work. They believe they deserve magi-

 cal answers. They don't want to hear that real magic

 is hard work. Your stormwardens and firelords spend

 twenty years studying and practicing. These kids think

 you just wiggle your fingers ..."

 Morley's magic fingers darted, slapped Robin's

 hand. Robin had started wiggling fingers as if by way

 of demonstration. He might have suckered us had we

 not been in the back of a shop that supplied witches

 and warlocks.

 "Stick to Emerald Jenn. I develop a taste for social

 194

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 195

 commentary, I'll head for the front steps of the Chan-

 cery." The most marvelous lunatics hold forth there.

 "Emerald, Robin. Quefour didn't come back but she

 did. Talk to me."

 "You don't need to be brutal. Emmy was a run-

 away. Came from upcountry. We knew that but not

 much more till a few weeks ago."

 "A runaway," I repeated, trying to put an evil twist

 on everything I said. Morley rolled his eyes. "On her

 own here for a year." Scary idea. A girl can live a

 lifetime in a year on the streets of TunFaire. "What

 did she run from?"

 "Her mother."

 Who had been worried because her baby had been

 missing six days. "Go on."

 "She didn't go into detail, but it was obvious the

 woman was a horror."

 "Emerald spend a lot of time here?"

 "She helped out. Sometimes she stayed back here."

 Gesture toward a ratty pallet. I didn't apologize for

 what I had thought about that. "She was a wounded

 bird. We gave her a place to feel safe." Hint of

 defiance.

 I could see a girl feeling safer with Penny and Robin

 than on the street. Trouble was, I had trouble ac-

 cepting them as philanthropists. Too cynical am I.

 Robin was a real chatterbox when he loosened up.

 I spent a lot of energy guiding him back to the main

 path.

 "Seen her lately?"

 "No. She heard her mother had come to town."

 "That would make her stay away?"

 "She thought her mother would look for her. And

 she is looking, right? You're here. She doesn't want

 to be found. People who don't know where she is

 can't give her away."

 Morley and I exchanged glances. "What's she scared

 of?"

 Robin and Penny got into the look-trading business.

 A growth industry. Only they were puzzled.

 "You don't know." My intuition was at work. "She

 told a tale but you didn't buy it. Think you know her?

 She the kind to fill you up and leave you to feed the

 wolves?"

 "What?"

 "She knows her mother. She'd know what kind of

 people would be sent."

 More looks flashing. The ferocious pirates of this

 world are paranoid. Given our record, they are justi-

 fied in expecting evil of the rest of us.

 Penny had spent the interview glowering at Robin.

 He seemed to suffer a sudden pessimistic epiphany.

 He barked, "Marengo North English."

 "What?" Tell me I heard wrong.

 "Marengo North English."

 I heard right. But why did he have to say that?

 Things had been crazy enough. I feigned ignorance.

 "What's that?"

 Robin tittered. "That's a who. One of our biggest

 customers. A very powerful underground adept."

 That was disheartening news, but useful if ever I

 found myself dealing with the lunatic fringe.

 Penny said, "He met Emmy here. Invited her into

 his coven. She went a few times but didn't like the

 people or what they wanted to do."

 Robin said, "We thought she might have run to

 him."

 I stipulated, "He could protect her." Morley looked

 at me askance. I said, "I've met the man. I didn't

 know he dabbled in black magic, though." North

 English mostly concentrated on virulent racism.

 Penny and Robin seemed surprised, as though they

 had not heard of Marengo North English in any but

 an occult context. Silly boys. The man had a special

 place in his heart for their sort, too.

 Morley moved sudden as heat lightning, startling us

 196

 GLEN COOK

 all. He ripped the alley door open, stepped out, stared

 for a moment, shook his head, and closed up. "Guess

 who?"

 "Some guy who tripped over his own feet getting

 away."

 "You win first prize. Near time to go."

 "I have a few more questions."

 "That guy is a lightning rod for the law."

 Right. And I didn't accomplish much more, though

 I had hoped to get at their angle for helping Emerald.

 I did get the names of three people who were on

 speaking terms with the girl. Not real friends. Not peo-

 ple likely to be useful. Emerald evidently didn't have

 any friends.

 We departed as suddenly as we had arrived. We

 were gone before those bold buccaneers knew we

 were going. We were out of the West End moments

 later. We were long gone before the boys in butternut

 closed in.

 43

 Miles from the West End, we ducked into a smoky

 dive frequented by the lowest classes. The bar was

 wide planks on sawhorses. The fare consisted of bad

 red sausages and worse green beer. Nobody paid me

 any mind, but Morley drew some vaguely hostile

 looks. Nobody would recognize him if he stayed a

 year, though. You don't look for Morley Dotes in that

 kind of place.

 Morley settled opposite me at a scarred trestle table

 and steepled his fingers. "We have some names."

 "Five. And none worth the paper it's written on."

 "You reacted to one."

 "Marengo North English. I don't know why the

 black magic connection surprised me. The man has

 the brain of a snake."

 "You met him? Tell me about him."

 "He's a loony. A racist loony. The Call. Sword of

 Righteousness. He wouldn't be involved hi this. He

 would have cut Emerald off the second he heard

 about Maggie and the Rainmaker. Not our kind, you

 know, old bean."

 "Wasn't what I meant. I think."

 "He's the Call."

 Not many patrons found themselves in circum-

 stances sufficiently insufficient to have to take then-

 custom into that dump, but those that did were curi-

 ous. Ears pricked up and twitched first time I men-

 197

 198

 GLEN COOK

 tioned the Call. Second time, various faces turned

 toward us.

 This was the sort of place where the Call would find

 recruits for the Sword of Righteousness, the sort of

 place infested by folks who'd never once in life had a

 bad break that was their own fault.

 Morley caught the significance of my glare. "I see."

 In a softer voice, I said, "He was a founding father

 of the Call. I met him at Weider's estate. I was doing

 security. Weider mentioned my military background.

 He tried to recruit me into the Sword of Righteous-

 ness. Sicking him on me was Weider's idea of a joke."

 Party police isn't my usual, but Old Man Weider

 had asked nice and he's had me on retainer so long

 we're practically business partners. I said, "Be afraid

 of Marengo North English. He's crazy as hell, but he's

 the real thing. Had me ready to puke in his pocket

 two minutes after he started his spiel."

 "But you didn't."

 "Of course not. That was Weider's place. He was

 Weider's guest." The brewery retainer keeps me going

 through the hard times. "Like me, Weider can't help

 it if he has to do business with crazies."

 "You didn't sign on with the Sword?"

 "Give me a break. I grunted and nodded and got

 away from the man. The way you do when you don't

 want to make a scene. Why're you so interested?"

 "Because I know Marengo North English, too. That

 man is going to be trouble. Why don't you sign up?

 Give sanity an agent inside."

 I hemmed and hawed and cast meaningful looks at

 the big-eared clientele. I waved for another pint.

 Morley got it. "Something to think over. We can

 talk about it later. Meantime, I think you're right. He

 might have seen a chance at some sweet young stuff,

 but he wouldn't keep her around ten seconds after he

 found out she had a scandal in her background."

 I must have had a funny look on. He added, "I get

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 199

 to meet all kinds." I presume he had done some work

 for North English. I didn't ask.

 "Where are you going from here, Garrett?"

 "I was thinking Quefour. Not that he'll know

 anything."

 "I need to get back to the store."

 "Got to read that book?"

 "Book?" He started out with a hard look, decided

 on a different tack. "Wasn't a book. It was gone al-

 ready." He grinned. Beat me to death with honesty.

 "I'm heartbroken for you." I tossed coins onto the

 table. The tavernkeeper made them vanish before they

 stopped rattling. "Thanks for your help."

 "Hey, it was fun. Anytime. I have some advice for

 you, though."

 "I can't wait."

 "There's a chance black magic is involved. You

 should take precautions."

 "I'm a certified genius. I was thinking that very

 thought." Really. Because I was getting uncomfortable

 about how easy it was for one inept gorilla to keep

 getting back on my tail.

 I knew I would see him as soon as we stepped into

 the street. And he didn't disappoint me.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 201

 44

 Handsome's alley was back where it belonged. I exam-

 ined it as I ambled past, not wanting to lead trouble

 to the house of a friend. Neither did I want to make a

 fool of myself by stepping into something unpleasant.

 Second time past I turned in, leaving the inept guy

 trying to blend into a mob of dwarves. What worried

 me was that my other fans might realize they could

 stay on me by keeping track of him.

 The trash had deepened. It was deeper everywhere.

 Such was the nature of things.

 The shop felt unnaturally quiet—though how that

 was possible I couldn't say. It never got rowdy. Maybe

 it was like the breathing of the mice and roaches

 was absent.

 Handsome's ragged cat padded in, sat, fixed me with

 a rheumy stare. I wondered how bad its eyes were. I

 didn't move around. I killed time watching from inside

 while my eyes adjusted. No point finding out how

 Handsome protected herself.

 Then she was there. For one moment, I lapsed into

 a daydream and suddenly I wasn't alone.

 Spooky.

 She looked me in the eye. "You grew up with some

 sense after all."

 "Only a fool goes around touching stuff in a place

 like this."

 "Not what I meant, boy. You learned better than

 200

 that when you was a pup. I'm talking about you having

 sense enough to know you're hi over your head."

 I did? I was? I nodded. I never shatter illusions.

 "Garrett men just bull ahead, confident they can

 handle anything."

 That was me, sort of. Except the part about the

 confidence.

 "Explains how you managed to come home when

 they didn't."

 Mystified, I let her talk. Patience is a sound strategy

 when you don't know what is going on. When she did

 slacken, I wedged in, "Wixon and White did know the

 girl. But it looks like Grange Cleaver faked up the

 black magic connection." I related the details of my

 adventures as I would have done for the Dead Man.

 Handsome let me run dry. She let me stand empty

 a while, too. Then, "Why would the Rainmaker want

 to find the girl?"

 "I don't have a clue. Maybe her mother is dead and

 he needs Emerald to control the estate."

 "She is valuable or dangerous. One or the other."

 "Or both."

 "You'll have to find her to know which. Can you?"

 "Given time."

 "You've made enemies. And you let someone mark

 you with a finding spell."

 "I was afraid of that. The stumblebum?"

 "He's tracking you. He didn't mark you."

 "Winger or Maggie, then."

 "And the Jenn woman seems to be the Rainmaker

 in drag."

 "Who wants me sleeping with the fishes."

 "And who wouldn't be above using a dollop of sor-

 cery to get his way."

 "No way can this klutz be Cleaver's. Whenever I

 sit still long enough to draw a crowd, I accumulate

 one of Cleaver's own kind. So who could the guy

 work for?"

 202

 GLEN COOK

 I

 "Am I a mind reader? You want that, go home."

 "Why did Cleaver get after me in the first place? I

 just can't figure that."

 "At this point, why don't matter. He is. Deal with

 that."

 I moved slightly. Just a twitch of impatience, really.

 But the old cat hissed.

 "Patience, boy. And caution. These days a hundred

 evils could jump you before you got a hundred paces

 from this shop."

 "I know." That was why I was there.

 She told me, "I'm not going to let you go back out

 there till you're better prepared."

 Who, me argue? "Thank you. That was in the back

 of my mind."

 "I know."

 "I'd be eternally grateful for any help."

 "Don't heap it on with a manure fork, boy. It's all

 part of putting the Rainmaker hi his place."

 She knew the rules. Never let on how much you

 care. If you care, you're vulnerable.

 The cat hissed again.

 "What? I didn't do anything."

 "Never mind Malkyn. She can smell the trouble on

 you. She worries about me."

 Malkyn. Of course. What the hell else? "I smell the

 trouble on me, too. It's a curse."

 "Or a calling." Her right eyebrow rose. Excellent!

 There was one talent I hadn't known she commanded.

 "No. I just wish I could wash it off. I don't want to

 get into all these crazy things. I'd rather sit around

 the house drinking beer and—"

 "You're bullshitting an old bullshitter, boy. I know

 more about you than you think."

 My cue to hoist a brow.

 "That don't slice no ice." She started moving

 around, fiddling, muttering. I realized she was naming

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 203

 names. "Hey! Wait a minute! What do they have to

 do with anything?"

 "You wouldn't have met one of those ladies if you'd

 stayed holed up. And you ain't going to meet no

 more—"

 "All right!" Truth is pain. Female remains my great

 weakness. A flashy smile and saucy wink can lure me

 away from safety.

 Grinning evilly, Handsome cleared nonhuman skulls

 off a fern stand, started assembling her candidates for

 weirdest items in the shop. I started to say something

 but didn't get past opening my mouth.

 "Give me that stick, boy."

 I surrendered my headknocker, then opened my

 flycatcher again.

 She didn't give me a chance to speak. "We don't

 got no idea what you're gonna run into, so what I'm

 gonna do is give you a range of generic defenses."

 Oh, that sounded good. If it meant anything. "What

 are you doing to my stick?"

 "Toughening it up, boy. When I get done with it,

 you're going to be able to whack right through all the

 common protective spells. You see that red thing

 there?"

 "Looks like a dried-out sow's ear somebody dyed

 red?"

 "The very thing. It looks like a sow's ear on account

 of once upon a time somebody hacked it off the side

 of a pig's head. I want you should take it and put it

 in your right front pocket. And keep it there until you

 settle up with the Rainmaker."

 "Why?" She was getting ahead of me.

 "On account of the Rainmaker is the kind who

 would get a laugh out of fixing you so's you wouldn't

 have no more reason to leave your house looking

 for women."

 Ouch! I needed only about a quarter-second to mull

 things over. I accepted the sow's ear, placed it as di-

 204

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 205

 reeled. "You're the expert." Some fates are too horri-

 ble to contemplate.

 "Remember it." She aligned four more objects, then

 regrouped them. One was a small wooden box given

 to fits of angry buzzing. Whatever was in there

 sounded huge for a bug.

 Handsome noted my interest. "It's more wicked

 than it sounds."

 "I wanted to hear that."

 "It's not gonna bother you, son. Once I tell it you're

 its friend."

 "Oh, hey, by all means. I'm a bug-lover from way

 back. I probably met most of its family when I was in

 the islands. I got intimate with lots of bugs when I «j

 was down there."

 "You always did have a tongue of nonsense, boy."

 What the hell did that mean?

 She continued, "You don't want to use the little \

 devil, don't bother. What they call a last resort. When j

 you and your tongue have gotten you into something |

 where there ain't no weaseling out, just pop that lid'

 open."

 "Yeah?" Call me dubious. I stopped being a bug

 booster during my Marine days. "Then what? It bites

 a hunk out of me and I scare the bad guys away with I

 my screams?"

 "Maybe. Or maybe it just comes home and tells me

 you need help."

 Somehow having a bug in a box didn't sound that \

 useful if I was in it deep, but Mom Garrett never ^

 raised her boys to backtalk the likes of Handsome. *

 She always said we should keep our yaps shut when

 we were around somebody who could turn us into >

 table scraps. There were tunes when Mom was pretty

 astute. "Uhm," I grunted.

 Handsome gave me the fish-eye, then resumed her

 explanations. I did listen. And found my imagination

 captivated immediately.

 Handsome offered me a doodad that looked like a

 wood chip stained red on one side and green on the

 other. She told me, "When you want you should turn

 invisible to that guy following you, you should rub

 your thumb three times across the red side here. He

 shouldn't ought to turn suspicious because the spell

 he's using isn't all that reliable. You think it would be

 handy having him tag along, you rub your thumb three

 times on the green side."

 "What? Why would I want him following me?"

 "How would I know?" She shrugged. "Reckon

 that's all I can do for you right now. Time you were

 getting along, anyway, boy. I've got paying customers

 backing up."

 Where? But I only thought it.

 The old cat looked at me like she was thinking

 about taking a bite out of my ankle before I got away.

 Or like she thought she would take a bite, if only she

 had some teeth.

 Handsome patted me down, making sure I was

 carrying everything exactly where she wanted me car-

 rying it.

 I kept at it. "What can you tell me about—"

 "Go on, boy. Out of here. Shoo. Scoot. How do

 you kids expect me to get any work done if you pester

 me all day long?"

 Had she gone senile all of a sudden? Or was she

 trying to make me nostalgic?

 I treasured my childhood memories but didn't con-

 sider those times the good old days. The good old

 days never were. These are the good old days, right

 here, right now.

 Won't never get no better than this.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 207

 45

 I'd told Morley I would see Quefour while doubting

 there was any point. But brave soldier I, dedicated to

 my mission, I spent a half hour trying to trace that

 most useless of beings and learned that when last seen

 he had been floundering around with an inept homo-

 sexual murphy in the Tenderloin, which was a stupid

 game to play. The wise guys could help him take a

 swim with a hundred-pound rock strapped to his back.

 The beauty of being your own supervisor is you

 set your own hours. If the spirit moves you, you can

 procrastinate till hunger boots you into action.

 I headed for home thinking life couldn't get any

 better.

 Of course, it could have a Chastity Blaine perched

 on your front stoop when you came home, so damned

 radiant all your male neighbors had found some rea-

 son to come out and gawk.

 She was alone. I broke into a trot, wove through the

 crowd, felt the deep disapproval radiating from such

 bastions as Mrs. Cardonlos's rooming house. Chastity

 was the only woman hi the neighborhood smiling when

 I puffed up. "Where's Saucerhead?" I demanded.

 "Saucerhead?" She really seemed puzzled.

 "You know. Saucerhead Tharpe. Big goof with

 snaggle teeth. Your bodyguard. Able to outsmart

 small rocks if you give him an hour."

 She smiled grimly, not in the mood. "I let him go."

 206

 "Why'd you do a fool thing like that?" What a

 sweet tongue.

 "I don't have to worry anymore. It seems the episode

 of the escaping patient who couldn't have been in the first

 place because there's no record of any admission tore it

 for me. The Knopfler Bledsoe Imperial Memorial Charity

 Hospital no longer welcomes my services."

 "They canned you. I'm sorry."

 "Don't be. It was a learning experience."

 "Uhm?" Philosophy straight from the Dead Man.

 "I discovered that bitter old cynics like my father

 are right. No good deed goes unpunished."

 "I like his thinking. So how come you're here? Not that

 I'm complaining. I couldn't have daydreamed a nicer sur-

 prise." I was hungry. I couldn't correct that hanging

 around on the stoop. I went to work with my key.

 "I guess because you're the only one who knows

 what's going on."

 "Boy, don't I wish." The door was bolted on the

 inside. I let out a shriek that got everybody within two

 blocks looking my way. I pounded away. Nobody

 responded.

 "Is anyone in there? I couldn't get an answer."

 "They'd better be dead. If they're not, I'm going to

 kill them. They're drinking up my beer and eating up

 my food and now they won't let me into my own

 house. I'm going to skin them and make myself a suit

 out of their hides."

 "What are you going on about?"

 "How many escaped patients have they recovered?"

 "Only a few. It's not like they're trying real hard."

 "A couple of them turned up here and I let them

 stay." The Goddamn Parrot was in there hollering so

 loud I could hear him through the door. I put on

 eternity's most forced smile. "You said it. No good

 deed goes unpunished."

 "They're here now?"

 208

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 209

 "Somebody barred the door. If I have to break in,

 I'm going to carve somebody into rat snacks."

 "Aren't you overreacting a little?"

 Yes. "No!"

 I received a completely unexpected hug. "Guess I'm

 not the only one who's had a bad day."

 "Once we get in, let's butcher one of the clowns

 and discuss our bad days while we eat him."

 "Don't be so gruesome. Who are they?"

 "Ivy and Slither."

 "Are you sure?"

 "That's the names they use. What they want to be

 called." I pounded on the door and howled some more.

 "Soon to be past tense." Across the street, Mrs. Cardonlos

 came to her window and gave me that look. I was going

 to get another protest from the citizen's committee. How

 dare I raise hell on my own front stoop?

 I sent Mrs. Cardonlos a smile. "Wait till I get my

 next psychopathic killer, lady. I'll tell him you're des-

 perate to meet a real man."

 "You don't have some secret way to get in?"

 "You didn't grow up in this neighborhood, did you?

 If I had a secret entrance, the villains would have used

 it to clean me out a long time ago."

 "You don't expect me to apologize for where I

 grew up?"

 Careful, Garrett. "You didn't pick your parents.

 Just ignore me. I get testy when I can't get into my

 own house." I went to work on the door again.

 The lady had begun to doubt the wisdom of being

 with me. I made a special effort to remain calm and

 reasonable when Ivy finally cracked the door an inch,

 keeping it on the chain while he checked me out.

 "Ivy, it's me. I'm home and I'd really like to visit

 my kitchen. Think you could speed it up?" I scanned

 the street quickly. Looked like everybody who'd

 shown any interest lately was out there watching. Even

 a guy with an eyepatch and an earring. I couldn't see

 if he had a pegleg, but I knew where he could pick

 up a parrot cheap.

 The door opened. There to greet me was Slither.

 "Doc Chaz. Garrett. Sorry. I was in the kitchen whip-

 ping something up. I thought Ivy was taking care

 here." Ivy was at the door to the small front room,

 looking inside with eyes that had glazed over. "Looks

 like he's having one of his spells."

 "I'm about to have one of mine."

 "Bad day?"

 "That catches the spirit of it." Slither wasn't lis-

 tening. He was headed for the kitchen.

 Chastity asked, "These men escaped with you?"

 "Not with me. But they were both in my ward."

 "I know Rick Gram." She indicated Ivy. "The other

 one is a stranger."

 "Slither claims he got in there the same way I did.

 And the same guy put him there."

 "Grange Cleaver?"

 "The very one."

 "Maybe. I don't recognize him. But there were four

 hundred men in your ward. And I was expected to

 concentrate on the female population."

 We hit the kitchen. Slither announced, "Not a lot

 of supplies left here, Garrett. You need to do some

 shopping."

 Scowling, I put an arm around Chastity's shoulder

 and headed for the back door. I didn't want to be

 home after all. With the thumb of my free hand I

 stroked the red side of a wood chip. "I'm ducking out

 the back way, Slither. The front door ever gets barred

 again I'm going to cut somebody's heart out. You

 make sure Ivy understands." Intuition told me that

 was all Ivy. He been Long Range Recon once upon

 a time, but he was afraid of his own shadow now. "My

 house, Slither. My rules and my ways."

 "Stay cool, Garrett. I got it under control. You and

 Doc Chaz go somewhere, have a good time."

 46

 "I hope every villain in town is camped out in front

 of my place." Chastity and I were enjoying a perfect

 evening. Nearly perfect. I had one bad moment at a

 place where I caught a glimpse of Maya Stuub. Once

 upon a time Maya had thought more of me than I'd

 thought of myself.

 Maya didn't see me. I put her out of mind and had

 a nice time.

 Chastity was all right. I could relax with her. I told

 her tales of the Garrett that was, suitably edited for

 modern audiences, and she did the same with Chaz

 Blaine—though she didn't say much about her family.

 We lost track of time. Time lost track of us. An apolo-

 getic fellow with a grungy towel on his arm advised

 us that it was time to close. We nodded and apolo-

 gized back and left too much money and went out to

 wander streets we didn't see. For both of us the world

 had come into narrow focus. We were our universe—

 that teenage feeling....

 "My gods you're beautiful," I told her in a place

 that wasn't mine. And she was. More than I had

 imagined.

 Her insecurities burned through. She protested,

 "My nose is crooked and one eye is higher than the

 other and my mouth is tilted and one boob is bigger

 and higher than the other."

 "You got weird toes, too, but I don't give a damn.

 210

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 211

 You hear me howling about what a prize I am? Lucky

 you, not even having to find the end of the rainbow."

 "We're all overstressed these days, aren't we?"

 "Absolutely." Nobody anywhere was comfortable.

 Conflicts were feeding upon one another. "A moment

 that loosens us from the cycle of despair is a treasure."

 "Was that a compliment? I'm going to take it in

 that spirit."

 Actually, it was a quote from the Dead Man, but

 why disappoint the lady?

 Got to be getting old. I woke up feeling guilty about

 not having done anything useful about Emerald Jenn.

 I watched Chaz sleep. I recalled Morley's comment

 about her quality. I remembered seeing Maya. I felt

 a twinge of pain.

 Chaz opened an eye, saw me looking, smiled,

 stretched. The sheet slipped off her. I gulped air,

 astounded all over again.

 Next time I knew it was an hour later and I hadn't

 heard a word from my might-have-beens the whole

 time.

 "So what do you intend to do?" Chaz asked, having

 heard the details of the case.

 "That's my problem. Common sense says walk

 away. Tell myself some people tried to use me, I made

 some money, we're even."

 "But part of you wants to know what's going on.

 And part is worried about the girl."

 I admitted nothing.

 "Waldo told me about the case he helped you

 with."

 Naturally. He wouldn't have missed a chance to play

 his big It Was All My Fault scene. "Waldo?" They

 were on a first-name basis?

 "Waldo Tharpe."

 212

 GLEN COOK

 "Saucerhead. Sometimes I forget he has a real

 name."

 "And your Mend Morley told me about a case in-

 volving a girl named Maya and something called the

 Sisters of Doom."

 "He did?" That startled me.

 "It's pretty obvious, Garrett. You're an idealist and

 a romantic. With big clay feet, maybe, but one of the

 last good guys."

 "Hey! Wait a minute. I'm turning red here. Any-

 way, there's never been anybody more pragmatic than

 Mrs. Garrett's little boy."

 "You can't even convince yourself, hard boy. Go.

 Find Emmy Jenn. Help her if she needs it. I'm getting

 out of the way. You don't need distractions."

 "That's where we disagree."

 "Down, boy. When you've wrapped it up, send me

 a message at my father's house. I'll be knocking on

 your door before you can say Chastity is a naughty

 girl."

 "Uh-oh." Not again.

 "What?"

 "Don't get mad. I don't know who your father is."

 "You didn't investigate me?"

 "I didn't see a need."

 "My father is the Firelord Fox Direheart."

 Oh, boy. I made a squeaking noise.

 "Can you remember?"

 Squeak. I don't dally with the daughters of sorcerer

 nobility. I don't relish the honor of having my hide

 bind somebody's grimoire.

 "Don't let the title intimidate you. He's just old

 Fred Blaine at home."

 Right. What I've been looking for all my life, a girl-

 friend whose pop is a frontliner but wants me to slap

 his back and call him Fred.

 "You'll get in touch?"

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 213

 "You know I will, devil woman." I wouldn't be able

 to resist.

 "Then get back to your quest. I can find my way

 home." Cute little frown. "And then Daddy will get

 hi his 'I told you so' about the hospital job. I hate it

 when he's right, because he's always right about peo-

 ple being cruel and selfish and wicked."

 I collected a farewell kiss and headed for home

 wondering why one of Karenta's leading sorcerers was

 here in TunFaire instead of working the cleanup detail

 down hi the Cantard.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 215

 47

 I slipped in the back door. Slither and Ivy were in the

 kitchen, one drunk and the other cooking. Slither said,

 "Yo, Garrett. The cupboard is bare."

 "Need a new keg, too," Ivy slurred.

 "Sing, Johnny One-Note," I grumbled. If they didn't

 like it, they ought to do something about it.

 Up front, the Goddamn Parrot was squawking

 about neglect. I wondered if Slither had started eating

 parrot chow, too.

 I wondered what the Dead Man would think if he

 woke to find himself in this zoo.

 I said, "I guess that means it's time you moved on

 to greener pastures."

 "Huh?"

 "You done anything to find work? To find your own

 place? I think I've done my share."

 "Uh ..."

 "He's right," Ivy said. His tongue tangled, but oth-

 erwise he was more articulate drunk than his sidekick

 was when he was sober. "We haven't contributed

 here. It's possible we're not capable. And this is his

 home."

 Damn. The man made me feel guilty when all he

 was doing was telling the truth.

 "I washed the goddamn dishes, Ivy. I did the laun-

 dry. I scrubbed woodwork. I even sprayed bugweed

 juice on the thing hi the lib'ary to keep the crawlies

 off n it. So don't go saying I didn't do nothing, Ivy.

 214

 What the hell you keeping a mummy around for, Gar-

 rett? And if you got to, how come you got to keep

 such an ugly bugger?"

 "He makes a great conversation piece. The girls all

 tell me how cute he is."

 That didn't wake him up, either.

 Slither wasn't listening. "And how about you, Ivy?

 What've you done? Besides suck down that horse piss

 till you make me wonder where the hell you put it

 all? You hungry, Garrett?"

 "Yes."

 "Sink your fangs into these here biscuits. Gravy

 coming up." He wheeled on Ivy, but Ivy had gotten

 going, headed up front. I shut them out, ate hastily,

 wondered if they'd gotten married. Slither started hol-

 lering the length of the house.

 "Enough!" I snapped. "Has anyone been around?"

 "Shit, Garrett, you got to be the most popular guy

 in town. Always somebody pounding on your door."

 "And?"

 "And what? You ignore them, they go away."

 "That's always been my philosophy."

 Ivy stuck his head in. "There was that cute little

 girl."

 I raised an eyebrow, which was talent wasted on

 those two.

 "Yeah," Slither said. "Ivy answered that one. He's

 a sucker for a skirt."

 Ivy shrugged, looked embarrassed.

 "Well, guys?"

 "I don't know," Ivy said. "I didn't understand."

 Hardly the first time, I thought. "She didn't make

 much sense. Something about could you help her find

 her book yet."

 Find her book? "Linda Lee?"

 "Huh?"

 "She tell you her name? Was it Linda Lee?"

 Ivy shrugged.

 216

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 217

 No good deed unpunished, Garrett. I downed a last

 bite, knocked back a mug of weak tea, headed for the

 front of the house. T.G. Parrot seemed less intolerable

 by the hour.

 Everything is relative.

 I used the peephole.

 That was Macunado Street all right. Infested with

 quasi-intelligent life. Not much use studying it through

 a hole, though. I opened up and stepped onto the

 stoop.

 I spotted nobody but sensed the watching eyes. I

 settled onto my top step, watched the sweep of com-

 merce. As always, I wondered where everybody was

 going hi such a hurry. I nodded at people I knew,

 mostly neighbors. Some responded. Some hoisted

 their noses and wished I would vanish in a puff of

 smoke. Old Mr. Stuckle, who roomed at the Cardonlos

 place, was one of the friendly ones. "How you

 doing, son?"

 "Some good days, Pop. Some bad days. But every

 new day is a blessing."

 "I heard that. You got Gert stirred, you know."

 "Again? Or still?"

 He grinned a grin with only two teeth left to support

 it. "There you go." Gert Cardonlos always took the

 other side when my neighbors got upset. I wondered

 whether she had changed her name to Brittany or

 Misty, she would have grown old without growing

 sour.

 Probably not.

 As I watched Stuckle breast the stream of flesh a

 neighborhood urchin sidled up. "There's people been

 watching your place."

 "No kidding?" Becky Frierka had illusions about

 getting involved in my adventures. I don't mind having

 girls around, but they need to be a little older than

 eight. "Tell me about it." You never know where

 you'll learn something useful. And me listening would

 make Becky feel good.

 I don't remember my father much. Mom always said

 one of his philosophies was each day you should do

 at least one thing to make somebody feel good. She

 probably made it up. People like Handsome let me

 know Mom did a lot of creative revision. But this was

 a good idea.

 "Thank you, Becky. That's quite useful." I offered

 her a couple of coppers. "Better scoot."

 "You took that lady to dinner."

 "What?"

 "Last night."

 "So?"

 "I don't want money. I want you to take me out."

 Oh. Right. And would I ever hear the end of that?

 "How come you know what I did last night?"

 "I saw you go out the back. I followed you." She

 put on her devil smile. "I know what you done."

 "You a dwarf in disguise? You trying to blackmail

 me?"

 "No. But I could tell you who else followed you,"

 Whoa! I hadn't noticed any tail. Not even her. "You

 have my attention, Becky."

 "You going to buy me dinner? Same place as the

 blond lady?"

 "You got it." No problem. Her mother would get

 me out of it. "Soon as I get this job wrapped. Deal?"

 She was suspicious. I gave up too fast. But, "Deal.

 And don't think you're gonna weasel out."

 "Talk to me about the somebody who followed

 me, brat."

 "It was a man. A weird man. Not very tall but really

 huge-mongous anyway." She spread her arms. "He

 walked funny." She showed me how.

 "Mugwump," I guessed aloud. I hadn't seen Mug-

 wump's walk, but that had to be it.

 "Mugwump?"

 218

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 219

 "Man's name. Probably who that was. He have re-

 ally big hands?"

 "I don't know."

 Great. "What did he do?"

 "Just followed you where you went. After a while

 he left. He's really weird, Garrett. He talked to him-

 self all the time."

 "Probably from living hi a neighborhood like mine."

 I spied Saucerhead Tharpe headed my way. I could

 think of no reason for him approaching with such a

 purposeful stride. "Thanks, Becky. Time for you to

 scoot now."

 "Don't forget. You promised."

 "Who? Me? Get on with you." I hoped she would

 forget, but I never have that kind of luck. "So who

 died?" I asked Tharpe. The big goof wasn't even

 breathing heavy.

 "Huh?"

 "You were charging this way like a guy loaded with

 the worst bad news he could imagine."

 "Really? I was thinking about Lettitia."

 "Lettitia? That off the menu at Morley's?"

 "My lady. You haven't met her yet." Saucerhead

 always has a new girlfriend. I didn't see any bruises

 so maybe this one was nicer than usual.

 "You came for advice to the lovelorn?"

 "From you?" His tone wasn't generous.

 "From His Nibs in there. The world's foremost au-

 thority." On everything. According to him.

 "Speaking of him, you give him the latest from

 down south?"

 "Something happen?" The street didn't have the

 edgy feel it gets when there's big news from the

 Cantard.

 "Ain't out general yet on account of it's supposed

 to be a big military secret, but I heard from my sister's

 husband who's got a cousin works for the Stormwar-

 den Burner Skullspite, First Cav Spec Ops raided

 Glory Mooncalled's headquarters."

 "Our guys have found his hideout about five tunes

 already, you silly groundpounder." A good-hearted

 fellow, Saucerhead didn't quite grasp reality. He'd

 been a plain old foot-slogging infantryman during his

 service. He suffered from the common army delusion

 that cavalry were some sort of elite. I mean, come on!

 They're not even Marines. You add in the fact that

 they're dimwit enough to voluntarily ride horses ...

 "This was the real headquarters. An old vampire

 nest."

 Something about his tone ... "Don't tell me."

 "The very one."

 "Life is weird."

 An earlier case had taken me back to the war zone.

 In the course of events, Morley and I and some others

 invaded a subterranean vampire nest, a stronghold of

 horror. We were fortunate. We escaped. We passed

 word to the Army. The soldiers took time off from

 the war.

 The war with vampires takes precedence.

 That was before Glory Mooncalled rebelled. Just.

 One of my gang had been a centaur. "There's

 more?" I asked. Tharpe was antsy. There was

 something.

 "Yeah. The attack was a big ass surprise. They

 barely figured out what hit them before it was over.

 They hardly destroyed any documents."

 So Mooncalled's deep well of luck was running dry.

 "What's the bottom line?"

 "Them documents showed he wasn't in the Cantard

 no more. Our big boys been chasing shadows."

 I have my moments. "And the only documents the

 republicans did destroy were ones that might say

 where the boss was?"

 "How'd you know?"

 "I'm a good guesser." This would interest the Dead

 220

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 221

 Man. His hobby was tracking and anticipating Glory

 Mooncalled.

 "They get anything out of the prisoners?"

 "Didn't take no prisoners, Garrett."

 "You always take prisoners."

 "Not this time. Them guys never had no chance,

 but they wouldn't give up."

 I couldn't believe that. However fanatic a group is

 there's always a member who doesn't want to die.

 "But that ain't why I come here, Garrett."

 "Oh?"

 "Winger wanted me to—"

 "Winger! Where is that oversized ... ?"

 "If you put a clamp on it, I might tell you

 something."

 The best advice I ever got. It repeated suggestions

 from my mother and the Dead Man. You have a hard

 time hearing with your mouth open. I shut mine.

 "Winger said tell you that you and her ain't pulling

 the same oar no more but you ought to know them

 West End pansies was coached to tell you what they

 told you. You was supposed to head off in a new

 direction."

 He looked at me like he hoped I would explain.

 I considered. I thought Robin and Penny had talked

 straight. They maybe forgot a fact or three but steered

 a tack close to the truth. Why point me at Marengo

 North English? Why would Winger turn me away?

 Smelled like somebody was dragging a squashed

 skunk across the trail. Somebody big and blond with

 too much faith in my naivete. "How would she

 know?"

 "I figure she got it from her boyfriend."

 "Her what? Boyfriend? Since when?"

 Saucerhead shrugged. "Been around a while, off

 and on. She never made no announcement. I don't

 figure she wants us to know. You'd come out of your

 hole and hang out, you would know, though."

 He had a point. Information was the blood of my

 trade and connections the bone. I wasn't taking proper

 care of either. I did before I moved in with the Dead

 Man. "Go on."

 "She just wanted to warn you. Didn't want you

 should step in anything unexpected."

 "That's my pal. Always thinking of me. She couldn't

 drop by herself, eh?"

 Saucerhead grinned. "You ask me, she don't want

 to get close enough you can get your hands on her."

 "Surprise, surprise." I glanced over my shoulder.

 The boys and bird weren't watching. "Think I'll wan-

 der over to Morley's. I'll buy, if you want to come

 along."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 223

 48

 Morley didn't seem thrilled to see Saucerhead. He

 gave me a dark scowl. I couldn't understand why.

 Tharpe was a good customer.

 Dotes joined us anyway. It was obvious immediately

 that he was distracted. He listened with half an ear,

 kept one eye on the door all the time.

 I told him, "I've got most of it figured."

 "Uhm?" How did he get so much incredulity into

 one grunt?

 "When Maggie Jenn left town, she was so bitter

 she never wanted to come back. Her lover had been

 murdered, his people hated her, but she still had to

 go through the motions to keep what he gave her, for

 the kid's sake as well as her own. Her old pal and

 maybe brother Grange Cleaver played her to get the

 skinny on the Hill places he robbed, so she got him

 to play her whenever it was time to make her annual

 shows. Cleaver was happy to help. It gave him a way

 to get into and out of TunFaire without getting gob-

 bled up by Chodo Contague. Along the way, he

 hooked up with the imperials, sold them some con,

 and got involved with the Bledsoe. Bet you he's been

 stealing from the hospital and the Hill place both.

 "Now get this. One day along come Crask and

 Sadler with a tale about Chodo and his little girl.

 Cleaver eats it up. This is what he's been waiting for.

 This is his big chance to get back into the big time in

 the big town. But there's a loose end: Emerald Jenn.

 222

 She's in the city. A runaway. She knows the truth

 about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver. And she'll

 tell it."

 Morley and Saucerhead looked like they were hav-

 ing trouble grasping it Why? It wasn't hard.

 "So Cleaver tries to set up an operation here, and

 nobody signs on because they know about Chodo's old

 grievance. Except Winger. And she starts wondering

 what's what. But she smells a chance to score. When

 Cleaver mentions he wants to look for the girl without

 it being obvious it's him looking, Winger drops some

 hints about me, figuring to use me somehow. Cleaver

 puts on his Maggie Jenn face and hires me, only I

 mess up by letting it drop that I was warned Maggie

 was coming. He smells a rat inside his outfit. Who it

 is doesn't click right away. Being a good actor, he

 doesn't have any trouble staying in character long

 enough for me to finish up at the Hill place. Soon as

 I'm gone, though, he takes off for his headquarters

 and sets it up to get rid of me. He'll get somebody

 else to look for the girl.

 "Winger hears him sending his men out She realizes

 it won't be long before he figures out who told me he

 was coming. She grabs anything she can carry and takes

 off. She helps me get away from the Bledsoe.

 "She gives me a double ration of bullshit when I ask

 her what's really going on. She still thinks she can make

 a big score, so now she's staying away from me."

 Sarge brought tea while I theorized. Morley poured,

 sipped, grimaced. Evidently the tea hadn't been

 brewed from anything off a tea bush. Big surprise.

 They serve nothing normal there.

 Dotes was distracted. He was listening, but every

 time the door opened he lost his concentration. Still,

 he'd remained attentive enough to observe, "Your hy-

 pothesis doesn't contradict any of the known facts."

 "Hell, I know that. I made it up. But? I can tell—

 you have a but."

 224

 GLEN COOK

 "Couple of them. You don't contradict any known

 facts, but you don't account for everything that's been

 happening around you. And you've done a feeble job

 of examining Cleaver's motives."

 "What? Wait. Whoa. You just lost me."

 "Chodo's kid shirked any of the duties of a

 kingpin?"

 "Hardly. Ice and iron." I had the gashes and frost-

 bite to prove it.

 "Exactly. So whatever Crask and Sadler might

 claim, being here is a major risk for Cleaver. I've iden-

 tified the pro who's dogging you. His name is Cleland

 Justin Carlyle. He's a specialist assigned to watch you.

 You get three guesses why. Only the first counts."

 I nodded. "And, wonder of wonders, C.J. was never

 seen in these parts before I mentioned the name

 Grange Cleaver to my pal Morley Dotes, once said

 pal failed to meet up with Cleaver his own self."

 Morley shrugged, which was as good as a

 confession.

 He had no regrets. He never looked back and sel-

 dom apologized. He saw no need to apologize now.

 He asked, "What's Winger's angle?"

 "I don't know. I doubt that it matters. She probably

 doesn't know what she's doing herself, she just wants

 to keep the pot boiling till she finds a way to score."

 Morley slew a pity smile a-borning.

 "You know something I don't?"

 "No. You're ahead of me. Though you do seem to

 be late catching on to an essential point."

 "Really? What?"

 "That Winger lied about everything. Right from the

 beginning. That not one word she said can be counted

 on to be true. That anything that comes from her

 should be thrown out altogether."

 "Oh. Yeah. I knew that."

 I knew it now. Now that I looked at it. Forget every-

 thing Winger said. Sure.

 49

 "I conned Puddle into doing you a favor, Garrett,"

 Morley told me. I didn't ask; I just waited for the

 inevitable wisecrack.

 He fooled me again. The crack didn't come.

 "Uhm?"

 "I had a feeling you wouldn't get around to

 Quefours."

 "Puddle scare him up?"

 Morley nodded.

 "Waste of time, right?"

 "Puddle's still sulking."

 "What's the story?"

 "Quefours hasn't seen the girl for eight months. His

 choice. He broke it off because she wouldn't play his

 way. Made her sound prudish."

 "And Quefours doesn't have the ghost of a notion

 where to find her now. Right?"

 "Wrong."

 "Huh?" I've always had a knack for witty repartee.

 "He said dig around among the witchcraft commu-

 nity. The girl is looking for something. His notion was

 you should start with the blackest black magicians.

 That was where she was headed when they split."

 Dotes appended a big nasty smile.

 "You saying Cleaver framed her with the truth?"

 "Maybe just to get you headed in the right direc-

 tion." More teeth. He had to have about two hundred.

 225

 226

 GLEN COOK

 too.

 Looked like he'd been filing them again,

 "Thought you'd get a kick out of that."

 "A kick in the butt." It just got more confusing, i

 started to get up.

 "Hey!" Saucerhead growled. "You told me ..."

 "Feed this beast, Morley. Something cheap. LiVe

 alfalfa."

 "Where are you going?"

 I opened my mouth to tell him and realized that I

 didn't know.

 "Like that? Then why not just go home? Lock your

 doors. Get comfortable. Read. Wait for Dean. Forget

 Grange Cleaver and Emerald Jenn."

 I responded with my most suspicious look.

 "You got your advance, didn't you? This Jenn chit

 sounds like she can take care of herself."

 "Answer me one answer, Morley. Why did she riin

 away from home?" Might be important if the whole

 thing had to do with a missing kid after all.

 "There are as many reasons for going as there a >

 children running."

 "But they mostly boil down to a perceived need

 escape parental control. I don't know enough abo

 Emerald. I don't know enough about her mothe .

 Their relationship is a mystery."

 "What did I just recommend? Don't keep gnawing

 on it, Garrett. You don't have any reason. You dor

 need any more grief. Turn loose. Spend some money

 Spend some time with Chastity."

 "What?"

 "Gods preserve us," Saucerhead muttered. He

 stopped attacking his dinner long enough to sneer.

 "He's got that look, ain't he?"

 "Got what look?"

 Morley told me, "The dumb stubborn look you gc:

 when you're about to jump into something without a

 reason even you understand."

 "About to? I've been in it four days."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 227

 "And now you're out because you know it was a

 game that didn't take. You did your usual stumbling

 around and knocked over everybody's apple carts.

 Now it's over. You're out. You're safe as long as you

 don't go around irritating people. Consider it a phe-

 nomenon. You don't go charging around like a lunatic

 trying to find out why if it happens to rain live frogs

 for three minutes in the Landing. Do you?"

 "But ..." But that was different.

 "There's no need to find the girl now. Not for her

 sake, which is the thing that would bug you."

 "Garrett!" I jumped. I hadn't expected Saucerhead

 to horn in. Everybody in the place stared at him. He

 told me, "He's making sense. So listen up. Nothing I

 beared about this makes me think these folks're really

 worried about the kid."

 "He's making sense," I admitted. "Morley always

 makes sense."

 Dotes gave me a hard look. "But?"

 "I'm butting no buts. I mean it. You're dead on the

 mark. There's no percentage messing with this

 anymore."

 Morley eyeballed me like he believed me so surely

 he wanted to wrap me in another wet blanket. I com-

 plained, "I really do mean it. I'm going to go home,

 get ripped with Eleanor, grab me a night's sleep. To-

 morrow I get to work on running my guests off. All

 of them. Only one thing I'm wondering."

 "What's that?" Morley remained unconvinced. I

 couldn't believe that they really thought I had the

 white knight infection that bad.

 "Could Emerald be another Cleaver disguise? You

 think he could manage makeup good enough to pass

 for eighteen?"

 Morley and Saucerhead opened their mouths to ask

 why Cleaver would want to, but neither actually

 spoke. Neither wanted to feed me any reason to go

 chasing something potentially lethal.

 228

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 229

 "I'm just curious. He has a rep as a master of dis-

 guises. And Playmate told me he'd always thought

 that the daughter was dead. I wonder if maybe the

 plot wasn't more complex than we suspected. Maybe

 Cleaver didn't just plant clues up on the Hill. Maybe

 he created a whole character."

 Morley snarled, "You're psycho, Garrett."

 Saucerhead agreed. "Yeah." He was so serious c

 put his fork down. "I know I ain't no genius like r>

 ther one of you guys, but I do know you got to go w>

 the simplest explanation for something on account

 about a thousand times out of nine hundred nine

 nine that's the way the real story goes."

 What was the world coming to when Saucerhe

 got a smart tongue on him? "Am I arguing? I agrc

 Sometimes I think this brain of mine is a curse. ThanK

 you, Morley. For everything. Even when you didn't

 mean it." I left enough money to cover Saucerhead's

 meal, though I could have made it to the street before

 anyone realized that the tab hadn't been satisfied. I

 figured Saucerhead deserved it. His luck rolled down

 a steeper incline than mine. He seldom lived better

 than hand to mouth.

 Me, I, Garrett, was out of the game. Whatever it

 might be. I was going to go home, get organized, drink

 some beer, have a bath, scope me out a master plan

 that included seeing a lot of Chastity Blaine.

 But I left Morley's place with my hackles up, like

 some atavistic part of me expected the same old gang

 to be out there set to reintroduce me to the pleasures

 of the Bledsoe. I was on edge all the way home.

 The Bledsoe was a sight, they said. Supposedly it

 was disappearing behind fast-rising scaffolding.

 My tension went to waste. Nobody paid me any

 mind. I didn't even get followed. Made me feel

 neglected.

 I'd never had a case as exciting as this just sputter

 nd fade away, but some jobs have. Those kind usually

 «ee me ending up snacking on my fee. I recalled with

 pride that this time I'd been clever enough to snag a

 oercentage up front.

 I wouldn't win any kudos from the Dead Man, but

 he would have to admit that I was capable of being

 businesslike on occasion, even in the face of a lusty

 redhead.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 231

 50

 Despite sleeping well I wakened restless. I chalked it

 up to rising before noon even though Ivy hadn't pes-

 tered me. Once again I wondered if the Dead Man

 wasn't stirring. I looked in but saw no sign that he

 was. But what could you expect? Awake or asleep,

 the Dead Man's physical appearance changes only as

 time gnaws.

 Slither and Ivy were unusually subdued. They

 sensed that I planned to move them out. I had a no-

 tion where to send them, too. But old lady Cordonlos

 wouldn't believe a word I said to make them sound

 like worthy potential tenants. Darn her.

 So after lunch I consulted someone who might actu-

 ally give a rat's whisker about their welfare.

 Wonder of wonders, Playmate had some ideas. Be-

 fore long, my old campaigning pals had probationary

 jobs and probationary housing and I found me, O mir-

 acle of miracles, with my own place all to my ownself

 again. Except for the Dead Man and the Goddamn

 Parrot. That cursed bird had gone into hiding before

 Ivy could hunt him down and take him along. My

 generous self-sacrifice wasted.

 It would be a while yet before I saw Dean again. I

 hoped. What with Chaz and all....

 I talked it over with Eleanor. She had no objections,

 so I wrote a letter and hired a neighborhood kid to

 230

 deliver it to Chastity. He insisted on a bonus for ap-

 proaching a wizard's house.

 I checked and rechecked the street while I gave the

 little mercenary his instructions. I saw no one even

 vaguely interested in the Garrett homestead. Even my

 neighbors were ignoring me. Still, I was uneasy.

 I squabbled with the Goddamn Parrot till that got

 old, then communed with Eleanor. I was lonely. Your

 social circle isn't much when it consists of a talking

 bird, a painting, and a character who hasn't only been

 asleep for weeks and dead for centuries, he hasn't

 been out of the house since you met him.

 My friends were right. This was no way to live.

 There was a knock. I would've ignored it had I not

 been expecting to hear from Chaz.

 Even so, I used the peephole.

 It was the kid. He held a letter up. I opened the

 door, tipped him extra, checked the lay of things

 again, still saw nothing unusual. I like it that way.

 I settled behind my desk, read, then shared the news

 with Eleanor. "Chaz says she's gonna pick me up.

 How about that? One bold wench, eh?"

 After a pause, I continued, "All right. Call her a

 role-breaker, not a bold wench. And she's gonna stay

 nontraditional. Taking me someplace she likes. And

 she's bringing her father."

 Only a painting, I reminded myself. This chatter was

 only an affection. No way could Eleanor taunt me

 with a spectral snicker.

 I didn't much want to meet Chaz's pop, him being

 one of the top twenty double-nasty wizards infesting

 this end of the world. I hoped he wasn't a real old-

 fashioned kind of dad. I don't deal well with foamy-

 mouthed avengers of soiled virtue.

 Another ghostly guffaw? "She says he just wants to

 ask about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver."

 Right. That worried me more than if she'd tipped

 me to expect a daddy smoking with outrage.

 232

 GLEN COOK

 No good kicking and screaming now.

 Eleanor insisted this was a great opportunity to

 make contacts among the high and mighty. "Right,

 babe. You know how I value my contacts among the

 rich and infamous. Exactly what I've always never

 wanted."

 I went to make myself lunch.

 My guests had left me my shoes and half a pitcher

 of water.

 51

 I went into that evening with my philosophy of life

 firmly fixed in mind: expect the worst and you can't

 possibly be disappointed. Chastity's old man was a

 boomer. If he took a notion, he could flatten me like

 a cow patty and skip me across the river.

 He surprised me. He was no centenarian gargoyle.

 He looked like an ordinary guy barely on the lying

 side of fifty. His black hair had gone half silver. He

 had a small paunch and stood four inches shorter than

 me. He was groomed till he gleamed. He glowed with

 good health. Those were obvious badges of power.

 But he dressed no better than me. And he had the

 tanned and roughened skin of a guy who spent a lot

 of time outdoors. He didn't seem taken with himself,

 either.

 He turned out to be one of those guys who is such

 a good listener you tell things you didn't know you

 knew. That skill would have served him well in the

 war zone. The best leaders are those with ears.

 He interrupted only twice, with penetrating ques-

 tions. Before I finished, I adopted the attitude I take

 when reporting to the Dead Man or chatting with El-

 eanor. I talked to me, thinking out loud.

 I finished. Chaz looked at her father. He stayed

 clammed. I asked, "So how come you're interested?

 Because of Chaz and the hospital?" He called her

 Chaz, too.

 233

 234

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 235

 "Our home was looted during the crime spree that

 paralleled Teodoric's affair with Maggie Jenn."

 I gave Chaz a mild fish-eye. She hadn't mentioned

 that.

 "A few items were recovered. They traced back to

 a Grange Cleaver—who couldn't be found."

 "You didn't connect him with the hospital

 Cleaver?"

 "I wasn't here when Chaz decided to work charity.

 Nor would I have looked for a thief in such a high

 place."

 "No? I think I'd look there...." I got control of

 my mouth when Chaz kicked me under the table.

 The firelord's expression told me I was fooling no

 one. He was right, really. We look for shady character;

 in the shade. Unless we're cynics.

 "I always thought Jenn was involved, Garrett. That

 raid took military timing. No outsider knew the family

 schedule. But you can't accuse the royal mistress of

 theft."

 "I see." Sort of. Chaz offered a smile meant to give

 me heart. Didn't work. I had a notion where her dad

 was headed.

 I wasn't wrong.

 Blaine said, "I'm as vindictive as the next guy. Even

 now I can't go after Jenn, however much the royals

 hate her. They take care of their black sheep, too. But

 Cleaver has no friends that count and no guardian

 angels. Chaz says she told you we know Colonel

 Block. I'm pulling strings with the Guard and else-

 where, but I'd really like you to find Cleaver. If Block

 does it, it ends up on a court docket. I want to deal

 with Cleaver personally."

 Ker-pungk! The daddy of all fat leather wallets hit

 the table. "Nice workmanship," I noted.

 Faint smile. "Chaz gives you glowing reviews, Gar-

 rett. Westman Black, though, suspects that you can't

 dance on water." I gave Chaz a look. She reddened.

 "But I know Block, so I solicited other opinions."

 Was I supposed to be impressed? Blaine had begun

 to sound pompous.

 Maybe there was a problem with my hearing.

 I gave the Firelord an opportunity to appreciate my

 raised eyebrow trick. It worked. He told me, "They

 say you're the best but you're no self-starter." He ca-

 ressed that wallet like it was a special lady. "Devil

 snatch you, man! Don't you have a bone to pick with

 Cleaver? You could've spent your life hi a lunatic

 ward." He edged that wallet half a foot closer.

 Chaz smiled, nodded encouragement. Maybe her

 daddy danced on water, too.

 "I did talk to Block, Garrett. There's more than

 money here." Caress, caress. "There's a letter of intro-

 duction over my chop. Use it any way you want. It

 says you're my agent and anyone who won't help you

 just might find life unrewarding. There's also a warrant

 from the good colonel that you can use to comman-

 deer help from city employees. There are letters of

 credit that should be sufficient to cover your expenses

 and fees."

 Oh? And the damned wallet jingled like it was

 stuffed with more gold than a troll could hoist.

 Chastity's old man had come prepared to do busi-

 ness. He didn't expect to go home disappointed. And

 I couldn't argue with him.

 He wouldn't let me.

 He was like all his class—though he did seem in-

 clined to play fair.

 Chaz kept right on saying nothing and grinned like

 she was watching me being inducted into paradise. I

 stalled. "I'm not sure what you want."

 "Find Grange Cleaver for me. Bring him to me or

 lead me to him. Once we're face-torface, you're out

 of it."

 Reluctantly, like that wallet was a real troll-buster,

 236

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 237

 II:

 I dragged his bribe toward me. I peeked. I saw pretty

 calligraphy, nifty official seals, a sweet double handful

 of shiny gold. And ... a wishbone? "A killing bone?"

 I asked.

 "What? Oh. That's right. You served in the islands."

 Where the natives owned their own special nasty magic.

 To which Karenta and Venageta reacted by exterminat-

 ing its practitioners wherever they were found.

 "Yes." Growl and scowl.

 "This isn't that. This is just a gimmick. Should you

 get into terrible trouble, spit on the bone. You'll go out

 of focus to anyone concentrating on you. Any disinter-

 ested observer will see you fine, but somebody trying to

 kill you won't be able to fix on you. Clever, eh?"

 Maybe. I didn't say so. I didn't say his kind were

 so clever they fooled themselves most of the time.

 "All right. It isn't much. My talents run more toward

 smashing cities."

 And Chaz kept on smiling like she meant to melt

 me down.

 The firelord excused himself. "Got to run. You'd

 think I could back off and take it easy now we've won

 the war. You two don't need me getting in the way,

 anyhow."

 This guy couldn't be real. I waved bye-bye. My new

 boss. Like it or not.

 The thrill doesn't last like it used to.

 "Isn't it great?" Chaz asked. She was so excited. I

 wondered if somebody had hit her with a stupid spell.

 "What?"

 Her smile turned puzzled. "What's the matter?"

 "Your daddy." I kept a firm grasp on that wallet.

 "I don't understand." She thought I should be

 pleased.

 "I'm concerned about his agenda."

 "Was he indirect? Did he blow a lot of smoke?"

 "No." I couldn't deny that. "What do you recall

 about this big ripoff?"

 "Nothing. I wasn't here."

 "Uhm?" I reached deep into my trick bag and came

 up with my best eyebrow lift. That drives them wild.

 "I was away at school. Being finished. Boys go to

 the Cantard as subalterns." Her class, she meant.

 "Debs go to finishing school."

 "Let's don't fight." Especially since I'd survived a

 face-to-face with a father who wasn't overburdened

 with ordinary paternal prejudices.

 "Daddy's people are rustics, hon. He doesn't fake

 it. Forget his fire talent. He calls it a curse," She kept

 scooting her gorgeous little tail ever closer. I didn't

 think she wanted to talk about Daddy anymore.

 But I had to ask, "Is this like him?"

 "What?"

 "Would he hire somebody to hunt somebody so he

 could settle an old grudge?"

 "Maybe. We only got robbed one time. I know he's

 never stopped being mad about it. He'd go burn some-

 thing down whenever he got thinking about it."

 Interesting. Even curious. Not for an instant had he

 come across as hagridden.

 "Come on, Garrett. Forget all that," Chaz cajoled.

 "Yeah? Think I should?"

 "I think you should think about what the doctor

 wants to prescribe."

 I did my eyebrow thing. "Not another thought in

 my head." She did an old female trick back that set

 me to drooling on myself.

 In a perfectly cool, rational, businesslike voice she

 said, "Daddy's paying. Make a pig of yourself."

 "Oink, oink. But not here."

 "Oooh! Promises, promises. Better be careful. I

 don't have to work tonight."

 That was the best idea I'd heard in a while, but

 because she was one gorgeous woman, I let her have

 the last word.

 52

 A couple of regulars actually lifted welcoming paws

 when I drifted into Morley's place. The attitude didn't

 infect management, though. Puddle scowled like he

 was trying to remember where he put that damned rat

 poison.

 Morley was in a good mood, though. He bounced

 downstairs as my tea arrived.

 I said, "I know that look. You just won big on the

 water spider races. Or somebody's wife tripped and

 you ravished her before she could get up."

 He showed me a mouth like a shark's. "I gather

 you're doing some ravishing yourself."

 "What?"

 "You were seen with a stunning blonde in a place

 way out of your class."

 "Guilty. How'd you know?"

 "You won't like the answer."

 "Yeah? Hit me with the bad news. I'm overdue."

 "A couple came in late last night. Slumming. He

 was mister Flashy. She was Rose Tate. She'd seen you

 earlier."

 "Bet she had her nasty smile on." Rose Tate was

 the cousin of my lapsed girlfriend, Tinnie Tate. And

 Rose had a grudge.

 "She did. You're going to star in some interesting

 girl talk."

 "No doubt. But Tinnie knows Rose. Rose mention

 who else I was with?"

 238

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 239

 "You running a string?"

 "Chaz brought her dad." I told the tale, then asked,

 "You ever seen Blaine?"

 "No. Why?"

 "Wondering about ringers again."

 "You think Chastity is jobbing you, too?"

 "It's paranoia time, Morley. My world has stopped

 making sense."

 "When you're well paid, sense needn't enter the

 equation. Right?"

 "But it helps."

 "You're concerned about coincidence."

 "What are the chances Chaz would work the same

 place as a thief that robbed her father?"

 "What are the odds you'd get thrown in there where

 you could meet her? A lot longer, I'd say."

 "How come?"

 "Where would a female doctor have the best chance

 of getting started? Where would the imperials set

 Cleaver up if they wanted to put him into TunFaire?"

 "You figure he's into something with them?"

 "My guess is they think they are, but he's only using

 them so he can slide in and out of town without being

 noticed by people he used to know. You'll recall he

 meant nothing to Chastity at first."

 "And her father?"

 "You'll have to do your homework there."

 "I've started. His place was cleaned out. It was one

 of the big jobs of the time. He only got back to town

 day before yesterday."

 "After this started."

 "And he's been away for years. Only came home

 for a few days each winter." Winter is the slack season

 in the war zone.

 Morley looked at me hard, shook his head. "Your

 real problem is common sense is nagging you."

 "What?"

 "You can't let this thing alone. You have to keep

 240

 GLEN COOK

 picking at it. You set yourself up so you'd find an

 excuse. Now that you've done that common sense

 wants to make a comeback. Forget the Rainmaker,

 Garrett."

 I jacked one eyebrow way, way up. "Oh?" Did he

 have a private line on Cleaver?

 "He's on a traveling bullseye now, Garrett. Not

 mine. You get too close you could get hit by the volley

 that gets him." He gestured as though to push me

 away. "Go. I'll find out what I can about your lady's

 father."

 53

 Had to be magic. By the time I got home, after visiting

 a couple war buddies now in the extremist human

 rights movement, my place was surrounded. Ferocious

 pirates lounged on convenient corners. The guy from

 the outfit was back, with friends. The clumsy guy was

 there, and not alone, though I only glimpsed Winger

 before she vanished.

 I'd even attracted some new folks. How many

 friends and enemies did the Rainmaker have?

 I should have gathered the crowd and suggested we

 set up a pool, reduce duplication of effort, but I got

 distracted.

 Slither and Ivy were camped on my front stoop.

 Ivy had the good grace to blush. "We got thrown

 out," he told me. "I was trying to explain something

 to a guy and accidentally said the P word."

 "What? What do you mean, the P word?" I checked

 Slither. The man looked awful.

 "You know. Where he goes berserk."

 Powziffle. Right. "Just out of curiosity, does he re-

 member what he does after he hears that?"

 The answer seemed a little much for Ivy's overtaxed

 intellect. He shrugged. I had a good idea, though.

 Might go a ways toward explaining Slither's problems.

 Somewhere, sometime years ago, somebody twisted

 his mind trying to turn him into a human weapon, his

 trigger a nonsense phrase. Who and why didn't matter

 anymore, but they botched the job. Slither was out of

 241

 I!

 242

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 243

 control. He went into the Bledsoe improperly, but h

 belonged there. Out here he was going to get worst

 till somebody killed him.

 Half the men roaming TunFaire belong inside some

 where. There aren't that many sane folks around, not

 that cross my path.

 I went inside. The boys followed. Ivy headed for

 the small front room. The Goddamn Parrot started

 up. I paused to use the peephole. Morley must have

 run through the streets screeching about me bein

 back on the job.

 Interesting to note that the Rainmaker's pals were

 out as fast as his enemies. I wondered if some of those

 guys worked for Chastity's daddy.

 With the boys so thick, it wasn't possible they were

 unaware of one another. That suggested possibilities

 If I was working for the outfit and thought some

 body nearby worked for Cleaver, I'd snatch him and

 forget about Garrett. Were the lot so lazy they wanted

 me to do their work for them? Nah. They had to know

 about my lack of ambition.

 Slither must have lost the landmarks blazing the

 trail to the kitchen. He just tagged along after Ivy

 While the boys renewed acquaintances with TGD Par-

 rot, I hit the kitchen fast and got my meager stores

 put out of sight.

 Some forsaken jerk started pounding on the door.

 His knock was so diffident I almost let it go.

 The Goddamn Parrot was heaping the Garrett lin

 cage with fulsome praise. "Strangle that jungle

 chicken. I'm going to sell the feathers." I returned to

 the peephole.

 Where did they find these guys? Slight financial

 types, they were the kind of guys who fought their

 war shuffling papers. The kind of ninety-three-pound

 brain cases anybody who ever did any real soldiering

 swore he was going to drown in urine if he ever got

 the chance.... Curious. Their kind seldom ventured

 into my part of town.

 Macunado Street isn't the Bustee but is in a neigh-

 borhood silver spoons are scared to visit.

 Maybe they had something to do with the Blaines.

 I opened up.

 Error.

 Maybe I did sense something. I did have one hand

 on the grip of my headknocker. Useful. Because two

 men as big as Saucerhead Tharpe materialized from

 the blind spots beside my door and tried to run me

 over.

 I stumbled back, astonished. I produced my stick.

 The guy nearest me tried to tackle me. I drifted aside

 and laid my stick across the back of his skull. These

 clowns had to be from another dimension. Nobody

 tries to take me at home.

 The Dead Man doesn't suffer disturbances.

 Well, not usually. If I hadn't been busy, I would've

 gone to see what was keeping him. He didn't stir a

 mental muscle.

 That first guy curled up for a nap. His behemoth

 buddy scoped it out and opted for a less precipitous

 approach. He remained confident. He had valiant

 commodities brokers to harry my flanks.

 Slither stuck his head out of the small front room.

 He didn't look like he could be much help, but he

 was behind the crowd. "Hey, Slither. Powziffle

 pheez."

 My pronunciation was good enough.

 The screams for help had died away. I didn't hear

 much groaning or furniture breaking anymore, either.

 Careful to make no noise, I moved the table away

 from the kitchen door, took a peek down the hall.

 Ivy had Slither up against the wall, shaking a finger

 under his chin. The Goddamn Parrot was on the little

 244

 GLEN COOK

 guy's shoulder, singing. Near as I could tell, most of

 the invaders were breathing.

 I stepped into the hallway.

 "Why did you have to go and do that?" Ivy whined.

 "Because these guys wanted to operate on me with-

 out getting patient permission." Even the guy I put

 down myself had bruises on his bruises. Slither must

 have been practicing his fancy dance steps. "He ail

 right?"

 "He will be. No thanks to you."

 "Let's don't squabble. Prisoners of war here. Ge>

 it? Interrogation." I opened the Dead Man's door-

 like I'd be able to see what the hell he thought he

 was doing, sleeping through all this. I saw what I de-

 served to see, which was the corpse of a fat Loghy

 slouched in a dusty chair.

 My pals just needed guidance. When I finished

 checking on my one-time partner, the invaders were

 trussed like pigs set for live roasting. The action

 brought Slither back.

 "You guys ever work interrogation?" I asked.

 Ivy nodded. Reluctantly, it seemed. Slither looked

 dumb. He was real good at that. A natural talent.

 "My style is to scare them without hurting them—if

 that can be helped. We have four guys here. One

 ought to be a weak sister. Right?"

 Blank looks.

 "We try to figure out which one will tell us what

 we want to know without we bust them up."

 "Can you do that?"

 Why do I try to be a nice guy? Even people on the

 side of the angels, my side, don't understand.

 I took my pals into the kitchen. We slapped to-

 gether a really rough meal while we waited for those

 guys to wake up.

 One by one they came around. They didn't seem

 thrilled with their circumstances.

 54

 Cup of tea in hand, accomplices at my sides, the God-

 damn Parrot cussing like he'd invented the genre, I

 returned to the hallway. "All right, boys. Let's play a

 game. Winners get to go home with all their fingers

 and toes." If they didn't know enough to be wary of

 the Dead Man, they didn't know I seldom toast off

 villainous digits.

 Slither had his own ideas. He broke a guy's arm.

 Casual, no big deal, just part of the job, all empathy

 absent. When his victim stopped squealing, I said,

 "Mainly, I want to know who you are. And why you

 busted in, of course."

 The clerk type with two good arms volunteered,

 "We were supposed to discourage you. Warn you off."

 "We're gaining ground. Now clue me in. Warn me

 off what? Why? And who says?"

 He looked at me like I was retarded.

 Maybe he was right. "I don't have a clue, friend."

 "You've got to drop what you're doing...."

 "Let's try getting more specific."

 That didn't elicit a response. "Lords of Shadow," I

 muttered, gesturing at Slither. Slither took a step.

 "Hold on! Hold on! Mr. Davenport asked us to

 convince you that you shouldn't waste any more time

 looking for Miss Jenn."

 "Good. Except I don't know any Davenport. I've

 never heard of any Davenports. Who the hell is he?"

 My man got a big "Duh?" look on him. Which

 245

 246

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 247

 meant he did have brain enough to want to find a

 connection if he was supposed to pound on a guy whe-

 never heard of the guy who wanted him pounded. W

 were confused, us two. But I had Slither to help clar

 ify. Slither glowered. Slither loomed. I remarked, "H

 likes hurting folks. You don't want to go home in

 litter, you'd better whisper in my ear. And tell me n

 sweet little lies. What'd I do that got this Davenport

 clown upset?"

 "You're trying to find Miss Jenn."

 Miss Jenn, eh? "Give me some details. I'm a detaH

 kind of guy."

 The staff type went to talking like he'd contracted

 diarrhea of the mouth. I squatted beside the flood anc

 panned for nuggets.

 He claimed a character named Davenport, goofl

 buddy of Marengo North English, didn't much lib;

 the idea of me maybe finding Emerald Jenn, so he'd

 asked some pals to discourage me. His pals had no

 idea why Davenport gave a damn who did or didn i

 find Emerald.

 I poked in a question whenever he paused for

 breath. He answered everything. He couldn't shut up

 now. In time I did understand that I hadn't gotten on

 the wrong side of Marengo North English himself

 This was Davenport's alone. Good. I have no desire

 to get noticed by the lunatic fringe.

 I said, "I know this is going to break your hearts,

 guys, but I don't give a rat's ass about that kid. I'm

 not on that case anymore. These days I'm hunting a

 creep named Grange Cleaver. You help me out there.

 I'll forget you messed up my hallway. I won't even go

 break Mr. Davenport's arms."

 I harvested a crop of blank looks. None of those

 guys ever heard of Grange Cleaver.

 "All right. Out of personal curiosity, because of all

 this, I would like to talk to Emerald. Pass that on to

 her. I want to ask about her mother and Cleaver." I

 gestured. Ivy and Slither both got my drift without

 elaborate instructions. Ivy opened the door. Slither

 herded the gang that way. The Goddamn Parrot got

 into the game, encouraging their departure.

 "Hey! You guys want a talking chicken?"

 Sometimes people are just too fast. Those guys got

 out without answering or even looking back.

 You'd think a talking bird would be a real prize—

 wouldn't you?—if you hadn't been around him long

 enough to know better.

 I watched the watchers watch the flight of the four

 dismayed human rights activists. Their going didn't

 generate much excitement.

 Could I lay hands on one of those fierce pirates? If

 he talked, I could get the Firelord what he wanted

 fast. Maybe. Cleaver had spent a life being light on his

 feet. He wasn't about to convenience anybody now.

 I went back to the kitchen, built another sandwich.

 I checked on the Dead Man. Out of it still. I went

 back to the peephole. Evening had started lowering

 its skirts. Which made no difference. The street was

 as crowded as ever. My fans hadn't called it a day.

 My gaze swept a pair of earringed angels—and I

 suffered a mighty intuition.

 I knew where to find Grange Cleaver. He hadn't

 hauled his buccaneer behind out of TunFaire. He was

 still around, laughing at everybody trying to track him

 down. It was a game for him. A vicious game. If he

 feared he risked losing, he'd cut and run.

 I summoned Ivy and Slither. "I admit I wanted you

 guys out of my hair. Didn't work, but my misfortune

 looks lucky now." The Goddamn Parrot didn't like

 being left alone. He started spouting off in a big way.

 I stepped over where he could see me, gave him the

 evil eye. He shut up while he considered the situation.

 "I need you to hold the fort."

 Ivy stared. Slither said, "Huh?"

 248

 GLEN COOK

 Great. "I'm going out the back way." I spoke slowly

 and clearly. "I'm leaving you in charge. Anybody

 knocks, either ignore them or don't tell them any-

 thing." I donned my best scowl, faced the Dead Man's

 door. Old Bones was way overdue.

 Hell, maybe I'd grown too dependent on him. I re-

 minded me that in real life you* can't count on any-

 body but you, yourself, and you.

 "All right, Garrett." Ivy's voice was half-strength.

 Was he fading?

 It could be worse. The Dead Man says it can always

 get worse. Don't ask me how.

 I slid out the back way.

 55

 "What's dis shit?" Sarge bellowed. "I got ta put up

 wit' you tree times a day now?"

 "Bask in the reflection, my man. Morley is my num-

 ber one boy now. He up there showing some married

 lady the ins and out of cross stitch? I could maybe tell

 him something he wants to hear."

 "Yeah? Like what?" I wasn't selling Sarge no

 swamp.

 "Like where to find some buried treasure."

 Sarge moved out.

 We've all endured one another so long we all know

 when the yak means something and when it's just

 macho yammer. Sarge figured I had something, so he

 got intimate with the speaking tube. I didn't hear what

 he said, but hardly three minutes passed before Mor-

 ley descended the stab's. A woman of astonishing

 beauty peeked down for a moment, as though she just

 had to see what improbability could distract Morley

 Dotes from her. From what I saw of her, I had to

 consider that an excellent question.

 "I'm sorry." The woman retreated, but my imagina-

 tion went with her. I hated Morley for having found

 her first. How did he do it? "Who was that?"

 He sneered. "Wipe the drool off your chin. Some-

 one might mistake you for a mad dog werewolf."

 "Who is she?"

 "No, you don't. I was a gentleman about Chaz. I

 suffered in silence while you wasted Tinnie Tate. I

 249

 250

 GLEN COOK

 didn't birddog when that went bad because it might

 get good again. So forget my little Julie, eh?"

 "I'll give you half a minute."

 "Generous, Garrett. Generous. How come you're

 down here making my life miserable again?" Oddly,

 he seemed anxious. He covered by glancing upstairs

 like he was thinking about maybe spanking somebody

 for revealing herself to the rabble. Then he eyed me

 like he really did expect to hear about buried treasure.

 "While back I got the impression you wanted to get

 face-to-face with the Rainmaker."

 He glanced at the stairway. Glorious, lovely Julie

 was very much with us even though she remained un-

 seen. He said, "Tell me about it."

 I wondered. I knew Morley's priorities. Seldom did

 he find a Julie less interesting than revenge. "I think

 I know where to find him."

 Morley cast one more longing glance upstairs. "How

 did you manage that? You turn psychic? Or psycho?

 Or did the Dead Man wake up?"

 "Through the exercise of reason, my man. Pure

 reason."

 Morley offered me one of his special looks, just to

 let me know I couldn't fool a stone with a learning

 disability. "I'll bite, Garrett. Where?"

 "On the Hill. Maggie Jenn's place."

 He made a show of thinking about it before he

 smiled nastily. "Damn if I don't think you stumbled

 into it and came up smelling sweet. I should have

 thought of that. Let's go."

 "What? Me? No way. I did my part. Take your

 help. Sarge and Puddle need the exercise. I'll stay here

 and hold the fort."

 "Ha. That's ha, like in half a ha-ha, Garrett."

 "Some guys got no sense of humor."

 "You talking about me? I gave you a parrot, didn't

 I?"

 "My point exactly."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 Z51

 "What can you do? People just won't show any

 gratitude anymore. All right. Let's go see the man."

 I smirked. Behind Morley's back. No sense having

 him figure out who was manipulating whom. Not just

 yet.

 56

 I began to wonder if there wasn't an alert out withi

 my name on it. Three times we tried to go up the Hill)

 and three times patrols got in our way. Unbelievably]

 bad luck.

 Morley snapped, "Don't be so cheerful!"

 I started to open my mouth.

 "And don't give me that dog barf about never being

 disappointed if you only look for the worst."

 "You are in a fine mood, aren't you?" I reflected

 a moment. "We've known each other too long, you

 realize?"

 "You can say that again."

 "All right. We've known each other ..."

 "And you turn into a bigger wiseass every day I

 know you. The Garrett I used to know ..." Off he

 hared on an expedition into reality revision. We live

 in different worlds. He remembers nothing the way I

 do. Maybe that's cultural.

 The old work ethic paid off. Fourth try we got

 through. As we gained the high ground, I muttered, "I

 was beginning to think my magic gizmo was working

 backwards."

 "Your what?"

 "Uh ... I have this amulet thing. Somebody uses a

 tracing spell on me, I can steer them off."

 "Oh?" Morley eyed me suspiciously.

 I don't tell him everything. And he keeps things

 252

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 253

 from me. You just don't share everything, friends or

 not.

 As we neared that grim gray canyon of a Hilltop

 street we grew cautious. I found myself feeling ner-

 vous in a premonitory way. And Morley said, "I have

 a strange feeling about this."

 "It is quiet. But it's always quiet up here. These

 people want it that way."

 "You feel it, too."

 "I feel something.*'

 But we saw no one, sniffed out no slightest scent of

 a patrol ambush.

 We approached the Jenn place through the alley.

 And strolled right on past, pretending we were scouts

 for the ratmen who would come for the trash.

 Someone had employed the balcony route to get

 inside. Someone not very circumspect. We judged the

 break-in to be recent because there was no evidence

 of the patrol having taken corrective action.

 I told Morley, "I need to go in there."

 Dotes didn't argue, but he wasn't enthralled by the

 notion. He observed, "The roof hatch is unlatched—if

 nobody cared how we got out before."

 We'd left it unlatched because the catch couldn't be

 worked from outside. "Just what I wanted to do today.

 Clamber around rooftops."

 "You're the one can't leave well enough alone."

 "The firelord is paying me very well not to."

 "All right. Let's don't bicker." Morley looked

 around. I looked around. We could've been sur-

 rounded by a ghost city. Other than the buildings,

 there was no evidence of human presence.

 "Spooky," I muttered, while Morley scampered up

 a downspout like some pointy-eared ape. I dragged

 my bulk after, groaned as he helped me roll onto a

 flat roof. "I thought I was getting back in shape." Puff

 254

 GLEN COOK

 "Tipping a beer stein doesn't stress your leg muscles

 nearly enough. Come on."

 Beer stein? / was getting to be a wiseass? Uh-oh.

 Starting after Morley, I glanced back into the alley

 and spotted a housemaid on a balcony down the way,

 gaping at us. She had come out while we were climb-

 ing. "Trouble," I told Morley. "A witness,"

 "Keep low, then. If she doesn't see where we go,

 we'll have enough time."

 But time for what? I had real strong doubts about

 the wisdom of my approach, now.

 As we neared the roof hatch, I noted that Morley

 seemed to lack confidence, too. But he was a dark elf,

 partly. He wouldn't back down without more reason

 than a growing premonition.

 57

 We listened intently, heard nothing on the other side

 of the hatch. Grimly, I prized it open an inch. Morley

 listened with his better ears, peered into the inner

 darkness with his better eyes. He sniffed, frowned

 slightly.

 "What?" I whispered.

 "I don't know."

 "Someone there?"

 "Not that. Open it up. We need to hurry."

 I lifted. There was no racket in the street yet, but

 I doubted that that would last. Light poured into the

 stairwell. Neither villain nor monster rose to greet us.

 Morley descended quickly. I followed less swiftly, it

 having gotten inky dark in there once I shut the hatch

 again. We entered the top story without incident. Mor-

 ley kept sniffing the air. So did I. I sucked in enough

 dust to have to fight sneezing. But there was some-

 thing ...

 A sound echoed up from below, a moaning wail like

 the last cry of a lost soul. "Spooks," I said again.

 "No."

 No. He was right. Somebody was being hurt badly.

 I'd just have preferred spooks.

 We grew more cautious.

 Confident that that floor was untenanted, we stole

 down a level. I murmured, "We're going too slow."

 Morley agreed. "But what can we do?" Twice more

 heard that cry of agonized despair.

 255

 256

 GLEN COOK

 What we could do was get out before the goon

 squad showed.

 The next floor down showed evidence of human

 habitation. Morley and I held silent debate over the

 numbers, which had to have been more than a half

 dozen and possibly the whole crowd from that ugly

 warehouse.

 Another cry. From the top of the stair that led down

 to the second floor we could hear remote voices en-

 gaged hi argument. Morley held up three fingers, then

 four. I nodded agreement. Four. Plus whoever was

 getting hurt.

 The Rainmaker had his reputation for tenure, I

 recalled.

 That smell in the air was stronger but not yet strong

 enough to identify.

 Morley kept hesitating about going on down. I no

 longer wanted to risk even a whisper so had to trust

 his instincts. As he did start down, something made a

 clunking racket on the floor below. We froze. Surprise,

 surprise.

 Three very large male individuals dripping sharp

 steel galumphed across our field of view and headed

 down the stair to the ground floor. Patrol thugs. Come

 on the scene via the balcony door, I guessed. Moving

 fast because somebody tripped over his bootlace and

 gave them all away.

 Morley whispered urgently, "Hide!" He jerked a

 thumb heavenward. I nodded. It did seem likely that

 younger and more agile guards would take the path

 we'd used.

 Our timing was superb. No sooner had we ducked

 under the dustcovers shielding adjacent antiques than

 we heard lots of boots hustling down from above. I

 worried about sneezes betraying me. Then I worried

 about footprints in the dust. I couldn't recall if there

 had been enough prior traffic to disguise our

 movements.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 257

 An uproar broke out downstairs. Sounded like a

 major battle: lots of metal banging metal, people yell-

 ing and screaming, furniture crashing. I guessed patrol

 types had entered at ground level, too.

 A pseudopod of combat scaled the stairs. The ex-

 pected gang from the roof arrived and jumped in. The

 hollering and cussing grew ferocious, but I kept

 squeezing my nose anyway. With my luck, those guys

 would notice even a little sputter of a sneeze.

 It got brisk. For a while, despite their edge in the

 odds, I thought the patrol guys would lose out. They

 lacked motivation. They hadn't hired on to get killed

 protecting property.

 I never doubted that people were dying.

 The guys on the stairs launched an angry

 counterattack.

 After that the battle lasted only minutes. Soon it

 left the house for the street. The patrol bunch hollered

 in angry pursuit of those they had routed.

 Came a scratch on the sheet concealing me. I

 gripped my headknocker, ready for a mighty two-

 handed swing. Morley whispered, "Let's go. Before

 they come back to look around."

 He was right, of course. They would be back. But

 at the moment we were invisible—assuming the patrol

 thought the people downstairs were the guys that maid

 had seen.

 The silence didn't last. I picked out a groan followed

 by something I hadn't heard for years—the rasp of

 a man with a punctured lung trying desperately to

 breath.

 Morley and I descended in spurts, always ready to

 flee. We encountered casualties, all of whom had

 rolled to the bottom of the stair ending on the second

 floor. None of the four would brawl again.

 I knew that smell—now it was fresh and strong.

 Blood.

 256

 8L£NCOOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 259

 Three of the fallen wore crude patrol uniforms. The]

 fourth had fought them.

 "Know this guy?" I asked Morley, sure he knei

 pro thugs better than I did. And I had recoj

 Hammerhand Nicks, middleweight enforcer type f<

 the Outfit.

 "Yes." Dotes seemed to grow still more alert.

 I told him, "I'm going down." Not that I wanted

 to.

 I made my feet move. I did want to know.

 The smell of death grew dense.

 Three more patrol types lay dead in the ground,,

 floor hall where the stair ended. Blooded steel laj

 everywhere. I found another syndicate character there,]

 just less than dead. I beckoned Morley. "Gerichl

 Lungsmark?"

 He nodded. "Over there. Wenden Tobar."

 More Outfit hitters. Lungsmark groaned. I mov<

 away. Didn't want him seeing me if he opened

 eyes. "She figured it out before I did."

 "Maybe." Dotes eased toward the next r<

 whence came the sounds of the man with respirati

 difficulties. "Or maybe she had help."

 "Oh?"

 "Lot of ears in my place." He started to say

 name, recalled that this was not the best place,

 somebody told somebody and that somebody mov<

 fast...."

 Maybe, but I shook my head. Likely the Outfit di<

 have the pull to get the patrols to do a favor, but..

 "They—"

 Morley made a silencing gesture.

 No. The patrols wouldn't get into it with the Outfit

 without they didn't know they were up against syndi-

 cate guys.

 Come to think of it, the hoods probably did the

 logical thing and snatched themselves a pirate off the ]

 street outside my place.

 Morley gestured again, slipped through the door-

 way. I went to the other side, crouching.

 We found the fellow with the breathing problem,

 one Barclay Blue, journeyman bonebreaker. "Going

 to be some advancement opportunities, looks like," I

 said.

 Morley scowled. His situation was way less comfort-

 able than mine. Further, there was the question of

 why Contague associates had gotten into a deadly bat-

 tle high on the Hill. Not politic, that.

 Next room boasted the remains of the main encoun-

 ter. The Outfit guys had come from farther back and

 met the invaders there. At least one patrol bruno had

 carried a crossbow. I counted eight corpses. Four were

 Outfit. Some fine antiques had been rendered kin-

 dling. Blood covered everything.

 I didn't like the implications. Things had gotten way

 out of hand.

 We entered the dining room I'd shared with Maggie

 Jenn. I understood why the Outfit guys hadn't been

 willing to surrender.

 The stench of death was heavy. Most of the chairs

 at the table had dead or probably soon to be dead

 people tied into them. I recognized the old guys from

 the warehouse, Zeke, the woman who had served

 Maggie and me, and others I'd seen on the street.

 Nobody's breathing was real robust.

 I said, "They were hiding here."

 "There were two battles. Belinda Contague won the

 first one."

 Fourteen people were tied into the chairs. Zeke and

 Mugwump were among the breathing. Excepting sev-

 eral guys who obviously got themselves killed when

 the thugs moved in, everyone had been tortured. None

 of the survivors were conscious.

 Morley asked. "You see any Rainmaker? I don't.

 No Maggie Jenn, either."

 He's famous for not being there when the shit

 260

 GLEN COOK

 comes down." I double-checked Mugwump. He was

 the healthiest of the survivors.

 "Yes. He is. What are you doing?"

 "Cutting the guy loose. Sometimes I do stuff just

 because it feels right."

 "Think you'll find anything useful here?"

 "Probably not." I noted that we were no longer a

 we. "Probably be a good idea to go." We'd have the

 victorious patrolmen back soon and the Guard right

 behind them.

 A bloody knife lay on the floor, probably a torture

 instrument. I placed it in front of Mugwump. "So let's

 scat."

 58

 "Freeze, slimeblog!"

 Huh?

 I was always a rebel. I didn't freeze. I didn't even

 check to see if I was outnumbered.

 Neither did Morley. And he was where the speaker

 couldn't see him.

 I dove, rolled, came to my feet out of view, charged.

 Morley attacked from the other side of the doorway,

 low, shrieking.

 One lone heavyweight had thought he could bluff

 me. He didn't pull it off.

 Morley smacked and kicked him about nineteen

 times. I whacked away with a headknocker rendered

 magically unbreakable. Down the man went, his ex-

 pression saying it just wasn't fair. Poor baby. I knew

 what he meant. Just when you think you've got it

 knocked, along comes some clown with a bigger stick.

 Morley and I got no time to congratulate ourselves.

 More patrol types materialized. After the intellectual

 form of their subspecies, one demanded, "What's

 going on here?"

 Bippetty-bappetty-bopp!

 I was not unaware that real heroes flail around with

 singing swords while I rated only an enchanted hunk

 of oak.

 Morley whooped and hollered and popped guys ali

 over the place. He was having a great time. He could

 hustle when he was motivated.

 261

 262

 GLEN COOK

 We broke through. We headed upstairs, disdaining

 the front way because every thug on the Hill had gath-

 ered to attend the business of counting bodies, cussing

 villains, and abusing captives.

 My normally abysmal luck failed to assert itself

 completely, mostly because the patrol guys were mak-

 ing so much racket. They couldn't hear me and Morley

 getting away.

 "Let's try the balcony first," Morley suggested.

 "And quickly."

 I didn't expect an easy getaway. Anybody with half

 a brain would have posted guards at every potential

 exit.

 You never know, though, when you're dealing with

 TunFaire's bonebreakers. Most can't think past the

 next arm they mean to twist. They're efficient and

 technically polished within their specialty but feeble

 when it comes to planning and making decisions.

 There had been a major engagement on the second

 floor, back toward the balcony door. There was a lot

 of blood but no bodies. Blood trails indicated that

 several bodies had been dragged out of what had been

 a lumber room last time I looked. My impression was

 that here was where the Outfit's invasion first met

 serious resistance. I wondered why. That room was no

 place to make a stand.

 I took time out to look it over.

 What the hell?

 Seconds later, Morley called from the balcony exit,

 "What're you doing? Come on! There's nobody out

 there right now."

 I finished scanning the vellum sheet, one of several

 pages come loose from a book evidently damaged dur-

 ing the fighting. The rest of the book was gone. The

 loose pages might have gotten lost during a hasty

 getaway.

 "I'm going to leave you here," Morley threatened.

 I folded the vellum, slipped it into my shirt. Best to

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 263

 get going and not pique Morley's suspicion. I'd read

 the story before, anyway. The whole book, not just

 one page.

 I reached the balcony, saw that Morley had given

 up on me and dropped into the alleyway. I glanced

 right and left, spied no trouble moving in. I landed

 beside Dotes. "We probably ought to split up now."

 He eyed me closely. He's sure that any time I know

 what I want, I'm up to something that won't be to his

 advantage. I can't fathom why he would think that

 way. I said, "Do me a big one. Couple hours from

 now I'm going to lead that clumsy guy down to your

 neighborhood. Help me grab him."

 "Why?"

 "I want to talk to Winger. He'll know where to find

 her."

 He gave me another glimpse of his suspicious side,

 then told me, "Be careful. Right now, they're touchy

 around here. They'll jump anything that moves."

 I nodded, less concerned about me than about him.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 265

 59

 I wasn't in a real good mood. I didn't turn cartwheels

 when Colonel Block waved his clowns off and told

 me, "Cheer up, Garrett. It's all straightened out."

 "How can you put these clowns on the street if they

 can't recognize a pass put out by their own beloved

 captain?" What, me worry about getting off the Hill?

 I had passes and paper from a troop of heavyweights.

 "The fellow who reads and writes doesn't normally

 opt for a career in law enforcement. And you'll have

 to admit that you refused to provide any good reason

 for being where you were found."

 "Where I was found? I was—"

 "Detained, then."

 "And with way too much enthusiasm. I did try to

 cooperate. They wouldn't let me talk."

 "I will."

 "Huh?"

 "I'll let you explain. To your heart's content."

 A wise guy. I admonished myself to be careful. Qui-

 etly. "I was just trying to do what the Firelord hired

 me to do. I'd heard a rumor the Rainmaker was hiding

 out on the Hill."

 Block offered me a try again look. I wasn't snowing

 him. His agents would have relayed any such rumors.

 "What happened in that house, Garrett?"

 "You have me at a disadvantage, Captain."

 "It's Colonel, Garrett. As you know. And that's

 true. I do have you. If I wanted, I could send you

 264

 over to the AI-Khar to be held for questioning. It's

 entirely possible for somebody to fall between the

 cracks there, same as in the Bledsoe."

 The Al-Khar is TunFaire's city jail. "Why you want

 to be like that?"

 "Mainly because I don't like to be jerked around.

 I have an eyewitness who saw two men climb a drain-

 spout. One of them was dressed exactly like you."

 "Without so many rips and tears, I'll bet. Doubtless

 a daring youth out pretending to swash a few buckles.

 An amazing coincidence."

 "Witness summoned the local patrol. Patrol went

 looking around and found a house showing multiple

 signs of forced entries. Inside they found lots of

 corpses and plenty of people willing to fight. I

 wouldn't accuse you of stretching any rules, Garrett.

 Not you. You're not that kind of guy. But I'd bet that

 if I wanted to spring for a cut-rate diviner, I could

 place you inside that house. Hm?"

 I admitted nothing.

 "Give me a hint, Garrett. Who were those people?"

 I could discern no obvious profit in keeping my yap

 shut and sliding farther out of official favor. "Some

 were the Rainmaker's people."

 "Was that so hard?"

 Of course it was. Guys like me aren't supposed to

 cooperate with guys like him, especially if doing so

 would save some headaches. In my racket, you're sup-

 posed to be troll-stubborn. Apparently, dumb is sup-

 posed to help, too. "The others answered to the

 Combine. I've heard that a long time ago Cleaver had

 some part in the death of Chodo's brother." I doubted

 Block was hearing much that was news.

 "I see. And Chodo pays his debts."

 "Always."

 Block had stayed seated, fortified behind his desk.

 Now he picked up a folded document bearing a fancy

 seal, tapped it against his desk top. "How bad will it

 266

 GLEN COOK

 get, Garrett? We in for a gang war?" That wouldn't

 look good on his record.

 "I doubt it. You know Chodo's rep. Cleaver had to

 hire his muscle out of town. After this fiasco, he'll

 have not friends left. His dearest boyfriend is gonna

 ask 'Grange Who?1"

 Block kept tapping that document. It looked more

 legal by the minute. He mused, "So many people in-

 terested in Grange Cleaver." He waved that paper.

 "Including mine, now." As if only then realizing what

 he held, he said, "This just came in. One Grange

 Cleaver is to be found and brought before the Court

 of Honor of the Magistry of Manpower Procurement.

 There's no record of him having performed his obli-

 gated service to the realm." You had to be there to

 get the full effect of Block's seditious sneer and sarcas-

 tic tone.

 I grunted. Hadn't I thought maybe Cleaver was a

 dodger?

 "I'm not going to strain myself trying to round up

 dodgers. Get out of here, Garrett."

 I patted myself. Yep, I'd gotten back everything that

 was mine. Block's crew were almost honest. I started

 to take his advice.

 "Wait!"

 Damn! I knew he'd change his mind. "What?"

 "You still seeing Belinda Contague?"

 He knew too much about me. "No."

 "Too bad. I thought you might suggest to her that

 her dad recall that it's to be kept off the Hill."

 "Oh." A slightly more than gentle hint that he

 wanted all that passed along. "I don't think there'll

 be a problem again." Since all of Belinda's thugs

 dumb enough to get involved up there were no longer

 with us.

 I got out.

 60

 It had been a long, hard day. And it was just getting

 started. Aching all over, looking way too much like a

 guy who got into one-sided brawls with zealous min-

 ions of public safety, I sneaked through the postern

 door of the Royal Library. Which was a whole lot less

 of a big deal than you might think.

 Old Jake was supposed to keep that door secure,

 but when he did that his wartime cronies couldn't get

 in with supplies of liquid refreshments. Old Jake was

 all the security the library had. He didn't get around

 so well on his wooden leg, but his heart was in the

 right place. Linda Lee had a bad habit of saying he

 was me at twice the age.

 Jake was asleep. What the hell. There wasn't a lot

 in the library your average thief would consider

 worth stealing.

 I slipped past the grizzled old goat. He was snoring.

 I'd seldom seen him do anything else. Hard to believe

 he'd been given a job for life because he'd lost his

 leg becoming one of the all-time heroes of the Royal

 Marines. Sometimes it's better to have your legends

 dead.

 I went looking for Linda Lee. I hoped I wouldn't

 scare many of her coworkers before I found her. They

 were easily spooked.

 She found me.

 I was peeking around the end of a stand of

 shelves—stacks, in the approved jargon—when she

 267

 268

 GLEN COOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 269

 spoke behind me. "What the hell are you doing in

 here?"

 I caught my breath, got it back where it belonged,

 made sure my feet were back on the floor, then turned

 around. "I'm thrilled to see you, too. You're as lovely

 as ever."

 She looked me up and down. Her cute upper lip

 wrinkled. "You just stay where you are. And answer

 the question."

 I opened my mouth, but she didn't stop. "You really

 ought to take more trouble with your personal appear-

 ance. Good grooming is important. Come on. What

 are you doing here?"

 I opened my mouth.

 "You're going to get me into bad trouble—"

 I pounced. I clapped a hand over her mouth. She

 wiggled a little—a not unpleasant experience. "I

 wanted to talk about the book somebody stole from

 you. Was it a first edition of The Raging Blades?"

 She managed to stop wiggling and started listening.

 She shook her head.

 Startled, I growled, "Damn it! I really thought I had

 it locked." I turned her loose.

 "It was a first of The Steel-Game. The library has

 had it since early imperial times." She went on

 about some ancient emperor having wanted to as-

 semble a set so he could seek Eagle's fabulous

 horde, about how no outsider could have known the

 book existed.

 I expelled some remarks of my own. "Ha! I was

 right! Wrong book but right idea." I produced the

 fragment of vellum I'd lifted from Maggie Jenn's

 place, a solitary page from The Metal-Storm, edition

 uncertain, but people had died trying to protect it

 from other people who hadn't cared about it at all.

 The intensity of that encounter had set the tone for

 the atrocities that followed.

 Linda Lee asked, "What about The Raging Blades'?

 We've never had a first of that one."

 "Because I saw a copy the other day. Somewhere

 where it shouldn't have been. But I didn't realize that

 until today. Then I thought I could solve your

 troubles."

 I'd begun developing troubles of my own. Linda

 Lee wouldn't stay still. I couldn't stay focused. She

 was too close and too warm and had begun purring

 like she really appreciated my thinking of her.

 "You just come on down here, Jack! I'll show you.

 You wouldn't believe me, but I'll show you."

 A voice muttered, "I wouldn't believe you if you

 told me the sky was up, old woman."

 "You fell asleep. You go ahead and lie, but we all

 know you fell asleep at your post and let an outsider

 get in. You're too old."

 I hated that woman's voice almost as much as I

 hated the voice of the Goddamn Parrot despite having

 heard it only a few times. Those few were a few too

 many. It was nails on slate, whined through the nose,

 always complaining.

 "Talking about old, you been dead three years but

 too damned stupid to realize it. Still got people to

 make miserable, too." Old Jack didn't care if he hurt

 her feelings, but it wasn't likely he would. She was

 two-thirds deaf.

 "You were sound asleep when I came to get you."

 "I was resting my eyes, you impossible hag."

 Clump! Old Jack collapsed. His fingers weren't too

 nimble anymore. When he got in a hurry, he some-

 times failed to get his wooden leg strapped on right.

 I gave Linda Lee a peck on the forehead. "I'd bet-

 ter run."

 "Later." She winked fetchingly. I've always had a

 soft spot for women who wink. "Promise," she

 breathed, then went to help Old Jack. She ignored the

 old woman, who didn't miss the attention. She was

 270

 GLEN COOK

 doing just fine carrying two sides of an argument

 herself.

 I ducked out of sight. The old man hadn't seen me,

 so he started spouting off about frustrated old maids

 who imagine men lurking behind every stack.

 61

 A long, hard day, and not yet done. I had aches where

 plenty of people don't have places. I'd walked too

 many miles and had been thumped too many times.

 Hell, this was like the bad old days when the Dead

 Man made sure I got no rest at all.

 I told myself I would make one last stop, then I

 would hang it up for the day. Then I groaned. I re-

 called my arrangement with Morley.

 Not Winger on top of everything else. Why had I

 done that?

 Good soldier, I soldiered on.

 I wondered what bean-brained civilian had come up

 with that one. Every soldier I ever knew never moved

 a muscle unless that was the final option.

 I sensed trouble long before I hove in sight of

 Wixon and White. That end of town was silent with

 the silence that bubbles around immediate, terrible

 violence.

 The moment passed. The ghouls were gathering

 when I reached the storefront, panting over the

 bloody wreckage.

 One look and I knew smart money would choose

 putting one set of toes in front of the other and re-

 peating the process briskly. In my case, while facing

 in a southeasterly direction. But I just had to take a

 fast look around the shop.

 271

 272

 GLEN COOK

 Colonel Block banished his henchmen with a wave.

 "Cheer up, Garrett. It's all straightened out now."

 "Must be an echo in here." Not to mention way

 too much sunlight. The stuff flooded in through an

 open, eastern window casement at gale force. It was

 way too early for any reasonable man to be upright.

 Block obviously wasn't reasonable. Tell the truth, I

 wasn't feeling real reasonable myself. "We've got to

 stop meeting like this."

 "Wasn't my idea, Garrett. You enjoy your

 accommodations?''

 I'd spent a too-short night on a straw pallet in a

 stinking cell in the Al-Khar, charged with being a pos-

 sible witness. "The fleas and lice and bedbugs enjoyed

 my visit." They should feel right at home. Block was

 a dirty dog.

 "This is where you tell me why my men found you

 right in the middle of another massacre."

 "Somebody yelled for help and your gang actually

 showed up. I was amazed." The old Watch would have

 headed the other direction, just to make sure nobody

 got hurt that didn't need hurting. "Thought you said

 it was all straightened out."

 "I meant I know you didn't slice anybody into cold

 cuts. Witness says you showed after the screaming

 stopped. I want to know why what happened hap-

 pened. And how come you were there."

 "Grange Cleaver."

 "That's it?" He waited for me to say more. I didn't.

 "I see no connection. Maybe you'll enlighten me.

 Meantime, you should know it looks like some really

 nasty black magic did the killing."

 I nodded, but I didn't believe it. "That's what

 doesn't make sense." Someone made it look like magi-

 cal murder. I was willing to bet Robin and Penny had

 kept their appointment with doom through the agency

 of a devil named Cleaver, once again trying to point

 a false finger at Marengo North English. Made me

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 273

 think Emerald Jenn was holed up with North English

 and Cleaver wanted to bust her loose.

 "Why do I got a feeling you're being too coopera-

 tive, Garrett?"

 "What? Now what the hell do you want? I answer

 your questions, you get aggravated. I don't answer

 them, you get aggravated. If I wanted aggravation, I'd

 stay home and argue with the Dead Man."

 "You're answering questions, but I got a hunch you

 aren't telling me what I want to know."

 I took a deep breath. We were about set for one of

 those ferocious head-butting sessions so gratifying to

 men of our respective professions. I exhaled....

 An ugly little breed stormed in. He scowled at me

 like I had no right to be cluttering up Block's office.

 I nodded. "Relway." He didn't respond.

 "It's started," he told Block.

 "Damn them." Block lost all interest in bugs as

 small as me. Must be fatter victims available some-

 where else. He glared at me, though. "The Call." He

 stalked after his secret police chief, who was gone al-

 ready. "Get out of here. And try not to stumble over

 any more bodies."

 Good advice all. Maybe he wasn't a complete

 dunce.

 What was that about The Call?

 Didn't take long to find out. I hit the street. Off

 east, looking like it might not be rooted far from my

 place, was a growing tree of smoke. I caught snatches

 of news from people rushing through the streets.

 A bar brawl had turned into major racial trouble.

 Humans were going after centaurs. Apparently, it

 hadn't gotten out of hand till somebody in The Call

 had served up an inflammatory diatribe and people

 had responded by firing the homes of centaur immi-

 grants. Other species were becoming involved. There

 had been some kind of deadly guerrilla battle in the

 274

 6LENCOOK

 scaffolding festooning the Btedsoe. They were losing

 ground getting the hospital repaired.

 The insanity had begun. I hoped Block and Relway

 could contain it. At least this time.

 There would be other times. And they would get

 worse before they got better.

 People were going to get polarized real soon now.

 I walked carefully. And went about it visible to any-

 one who might have a tracking spell laid on me.

 62

 Slither and Ivy got on me the minute they let me in

 the house. "Guys. Guys! I want this kind of crap I

 can get married. I need food. I need sleep. 1 need a

 bath. I need that foul-mouth flamingo strangled so I

 can do the rest without getting so aggravated I have

 to kill somebody." The bird must have saved up for

 my homecoming.

 I got some money from the Dead Man's room, stud-

 ied him suspiciously before I left. Was that a re-

 strained amusement I sensed there for just a second?

 I sent Slither out for supplies. I told Ivy to let me

 have three hours of sleep. When he woke me up, I

 wanted food and bath water ready. Then I dragged

 me upstairs and splashed me into my bed. The Dead

 Man could get the bugs out later. I lay there tossing

 and turning and listening to the Goddamn Parrot

 cackle for half a sentence, then it was time to get up.

 Ivy did his part like that was all he had to live for.

 I rose on time. I scrubbed up in my ten-gallon copper

 tub. Downstairs, I found a classic breakfast waiting.

 Ivy was as drunk as a skunk, the Goddamn Parrot on

 his shoulder. The bird wasn't talking. It needed its

 whole attention just to hang on. Its breath was worse

 than Ivy's. Maybe Slither got him his own bottle.

 Good old Slither, looking out for everybody.

 I stuffed myself, then told the boys, "I was going to

 run you guys off again today, but I don't think I'm

 going to have time. Either of you has a good after-

 275

 276

 GLEN COOK

 noon, I want you to get out and look for a place, find

 a job. I'm not going to take care of you forever."

 Slither nodded. Ivy said, "There's some letters for

 you."

 "Letters?"

 "We didn't let nobody see you," Slither explained.

 "Mainly on account of you wasn't here. So some peo-

 ple wrote you letters. We put them on your desk."

 There were three letters. Two showed no indication

 whence they sprang. The other bore Morley's chop. It

 was a nag about where the hell was I last night? He

 couldn't waste all his valuable time playing my games

 if I wasn't going to show up.

 By now he would know why I hadn't. Him and his

 thugs probably thought it was funny.

 I opened a letter that purported to be from Maggie

 Jenn. She wanted to meet. Oh? Right. "Slither! You

 remember who brought these?"

 The big man leaned through the doorway. "That

 one was brung by a lady. Cute little bug of a thing

 with red hair."

 Surprise, surprise. Bold little witch.... Oh, horrible

 thought! What if this was the real Maggie Jenn, come

 in from her island hideout?

 No. Because I didn't want that.

 "That one you done opened come from your friend

 with the funny ears."

 "Morley Dotes. I know." I picked up the last one

 "How about this?"

 "One of them fellas that was here when I had my

 seizure brung that one."

 "One of those lunatics from the Call?"

 "Them fellas what tried to push you around."

 That didn't make sense. I supposed I'd have to open

 the letter to straighten it out.

 It was from Emerald Jenn. She would talk to me it

 I would meet her at a certain estate south of TunFaire

 I didn't know the estate, but I did know the area. I'd

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 277

 met Eleanor out there. Folks down there were a lot

 like folks from the Hill—only way more reactionary.

 Their wealth consisted of land rather than treasure or

 power. A more smugly self-righteous, bigoted bunch

 would be hard to imagine.

 Emerald Jenn's suggested meeting place wasn't far

 from the main estate of Marengo North English.

 Interesting.

 "How is your memory, Slither?"

 "I'm pretty good today, Garrett."

 He didn't sound good, but I had to take his word.

 "Need you to run over to Morley's. Tell him I'm com-

 ing, he wants to get on with what we talked about last

 night. You manage that?"

 He thought about it. "I can do it. You got it. Now?"

 "Always a great time to start."

 "Pretty rough out there, Garrett. They're killing

 each other in the streets."

 "Take Ivy, makes you feel better."

 "I was thinking about you."

 "I'll take my chances." Wise ass. Do I carry a sign

 only I can't see? Garrett's ego. Kick here.

 I occupied the stoop in order to field marshal Slith-

 er's departure. I checked the street, too. "I know how

 a horse apple feels," I told Ivy, who was inside the

 doorway and had to have the allusion explained.

 "Flies?"

 All my fans were back. Except for the fierce pirates.

 Grange Cleaver friends seemed scarce.

 I predicted that, didn't I?

 I shrugged, went inside, and scribbled a note to

 Maggie Jenn. Ivy could give it to whomever came

 around to get my reply.

 63

 "Getting predictable in your old age," I told Dotes,

 settling beside him on the exact set of steps where I'd

 guessed he would be waiting.

 "Me? I'm here because I knew this is where you

 would come looking. I didn't want you wasting time

 stumbling around looking for me."

 Invisible sign. Absolutely. "Can we take him?"

 "He's caught. Nobody is so lucky he gets out of

 what I have set." He glanced left, at smoke rising

 in the distance. "Quiet out." The street should have

 been busier.

 All streets should have been busier. Slither was

 right. They were killing each other out here—though

 it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Block's heavies

 were fast on their feet. And they had the army garri-

 son to help discourage disorder.

 Trouble never got a chance to grow up.

 Too, word was out that Marengo North English

 didn't approve. He said this wasn't the time. The cap-

 tains of many sister nut groups agreed. They asked

 for restraint now, promising license later.

 "Interesting times," I told Morley.

 "It's always something." Like he hadn't the least

 concern. "Well, here's our guest."

 The clumsy guy smelled a rat. He was moving care-

 fully. Trouble was, his sniffer wasn't sensitive enough.

 It was too late by the time he got a good whiff.

 Morley waved. "Come on over."

 278

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 279

 The guy looked around. Just the way he moved you

 could tell he thought his luck was with him still. He

 was in it up to his chin but knew he always got out.

 So maybe this time he would fall up and blow away

 on the breeze. A regular dandelion seed.

 Morley's friends and relatives and employees closed

 a ring. Luck failed its compact with our man. Gravity

 didn't reverse itself.

 I thumbed a wood chip while Morley watched the

 man get a grip on his disappointment.

 "Pull up a step, Ace," I told him.

 He did, but he had the fidgets. He kept looking for

 his lucky exit.

 I told him, "I didn't really want you. But I can't get

 ahold of Winger." Not that I'd tried.

 "What? Who?"

 "Your girlfriend. Big blond goof with no common

 sense, always has an angle, never tells the truth if a

 lie will do. Her."

 "Part of that fits everybody in this thing," Morley

 said. "Even up on the Hill, they turned the truth to

 quicksilver."

 "Untruths, too."

 "Quicksilver lies. I like that."

 "Deadly quicksilver lies." I spotted friend C.J. Car-

 lyle. "Look who missed the slaughter at Maggie

 Jenn's place."

 Our guest eyed us as though he was sure we were

 loony. Winger must have mentioned my stint in the

 Bledsoe. He never noticed C.J. I said, "No telling

 what story you got from Winger. She comes up with

 some tall ones. I've known her since she came to town.

 I don't remember her ever telling the truth if there

 wasn't a profit in it."

 Our man didn't reply, but his skill at hiding his

 thoughts did not exceed his skill at tailing.

 He was inept but loyal. He stayed clammed. I told

 him, "I want to get ahold of her mainly as a friend."

 280

 GLEN COOK

 That hadn't been the case the night before. A few

 hours had altered my perspective. "I no longer think

 she could tell me anything I don't know. I am sure I

 know a few things she doesn't. Things that could get

 her killed. Maybe right after they get you killed."

 Not only did I get him thinking, I got his attention.

 He didn't plan to die for love. Guys just aren't ro-

 mantic anymore. He had something going with

 Winger—and he had a real good idea just what that

 was worth.

 He didn't speak up, though.

 "She isn't going to get those books," I told him.

 "Not a chance. All the guts and luck you can muster

 won't get that done."

 The man stayed clammed. So did Morley, though

 he looked like he wanted to hear more. I told him,

 "When you get past all the blown smoke, Winger and

 Cleaver are after a set of first editions of When No

 Ravens Went Hungry. Winger has the notion she can

 get them away from the Rainmaker." She had an even

 sillier notion that she could decipher the clues in them

 once she had them.

 "The woman doesn't suffer from any lack of self-

 confidence."

 "Trouble is, she's digging through the wrong hay-

 stack. The Rainmaker doesn't have the firsts. He could

 have grabbed them all, but he didn't pay attention so

 the one he did come up with got away."

 Morley gave me a big evil dark-elf grin. "Why do I

 get the feeling you're going to explain everything

 again? How come I have the notion I ought to bet

 the deed to the Joy House against you?"

 I snarled at our captive, "Tell Winger she's wasting

 her dreams. Cleaver can't lay hands on more than two

 books. Go on. Get out of here."

 Baffled, the man went, maybe thinking he had

 found another angle to his luck.

 Morley asked, "What was that? I set up a major

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 281

 operation, then you mutter some cryptic stuff at the

 guy and let him go."

 "You fooling somebody? You know this mess has

 got to do with Eagle's treasure."

 "Maybe. Sort of. I had a passing interest when I

 thought you'd stumbled onto something there in the

 West End."

 "What you told me then was the key to the whole

 thing," I exaggerated. That wasn't a lie. Not really.

 Not exactly.

 The truth was I was guessing again, playing with the

 known information. I had it figured out. but as Dotes

 hinted, I'd been wrong before. I yelled after Winger's

 friend, "Tell Winger what I said." To Morley, "She'll

 ignore me and do something dumb, but this way my

 conscience will be satisfied."

 64

 I expected more grief about letting Winger's guy go.

 But after the one snip, Morley leaned back and, ap-

 parently, never gave it a second thought.

 I started to nag him....

 "Can it, Garrett. Once upon a time I had a notion.

 But I changed my mind."

 I awarded him the grandfather of ail raised

 eyebrows.

 "Last night Julie wasn't there to distract me. I got

 to thinking about Eagle's saga. And guess what I real-

 ized? Nowhere does it say that the jerk was really

 rich—by our standards."

 I indulged in a self-satisfied smirk. My good buddy

 was telling me I'd figured the angles right. "You ever

 wonder how Eagle murdered those slaves? If he was

 so blind and feeble he needed them to haul and bury

 his treasure, how could he get the angle on them slick

 enough to off them all?"

 Obviously, Morley hadn't wondered. "Sometimes I

 do like the way your mind works, Garrett."

 "Let me tell you something you maybe don't

 know." I hadn't known till I got it from Linda Lee,

 back when I was reading sagas. "Most of the sagas

 were composed at the instigation of the guys they're

 about. The No Ravens thing was done by Eagle's sis-

 ter's grandson, partly in collaboration with the old

 man himself. And they started long before the busi-

 282

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 283

 ness of the mocking women, the treasure, and the

 murdered slaves."

 "I'm sure you'll get to the point eventually."

 "You see it. Unless you're slower than you pretend.

 Say a guy is paying to have puff stories written about

 him. Not only will he decide what he wants put in

 and built up, he'll decide what gets played down or

 left out."

 "You mean like maybe Eagle wasn't a big success

 just because he was treacherous and quick with a

 blade? Maybe he had a small natural talent as a

 wizard?"

 "Bingo! He was accused by others, but obviously

 it wasn't anything major, nothing backed by formal

 training. He wouldn't have stayed quiet about it if

 he'd had a sheepskin declaring him a heavyweight ass-

 kicker. But he had something that helped him slide

 through the tight places."

 "There'll be curses on the treasure, then."

 "That's the way these things are done."

 "There'll be ill-tempered ghosts in the neigh-

 borhood."

 "What are murders for?"

 The Eagle sort isn't uncommon. Usually he tries to

 parlay his lucky genetic draw into a big, fast score.

 Manipulating the fall of dice is a favorite pastime.

 Hobbling around on crutches after getting found out

 is another.

 "Also, if you ask me, it couldn't be much of a trea-

 sure, even if it hasn't been found. They figured wealth

 different back then."

 "Indeed. And here's a thought." Which he didn't

 bother to relate.

 "Well?" I snapped.

 "Just checking to see if you've taken up your part-

 ner's evil habit of reading minds. Or have started rea-

 soning from the available evidence."

 "Not me."

 284

 GLEN COOK

 "Silver, Garrett. Silver. You said it. They figured

 wealth differently in primitive times. Silver wasn't

 worth much."

 It was now, though. Even with the war seemingly

 settled and the mines solidly in Karentine hands, the

 silver shortage was severe. The disappearance of silver

 coinage threatened to strangle business.

 Silver fuels most heavyweight sorcery. Lately its

 value has been on a par with gold. The Royal Mint

 has been valiant in its efforts to produce alternate

 means of exchange, some of which are pretty

 unwieldy.

 Silver. An apparent opportunity to unearth an old

 cache would excite all sorts of greed.

 "By the Devil Harry," I swore, rolling out one of

 my granny's favorites. "Maybe you just tripped over

 the real core of the thing." That might even explain

 why a nose-hoister like Marengo North English would

 take an interest in the daughter of the notorious Mag-

 gie Jenn. It might explain why all this insanity had

 come to a head at this point in time.

 The silver shortage wasn't likely to ease soon.

 Maybe never if the wrong people grabbed control of

 mine production.

 "But what do I do about it?" I muttered.

 Morley frowned my way. "Excuse me?"

 "I think you're right. We have all sorts interested

 in Eagle's treasure because of the distorted metals

 market. People who wouldn't have given it a thought

 in normal times. Probably including my honey's

 daddy."

 "Here comes that explanation." He stunned me by

 hoisting an eyebrow.

 I got my breath back. "You been practicing."

 "Almost forever. What about Chaz's father?"

 "Call it intuition, but I'd bet your deed to the Joy

 House that what he really hated losing to the Rain-

 maker and Maggie back when was a first edition of

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 285

 the middle volume of When No Ravens Went Hungry.

 Which Emerald took when she ran away from home.

 Which she gave to Wixon and White for safekeeping,

 or they got it away somehow. That book is why I was

 hired. It's why Emerald was framed up with the black

 magic stuff. Cleaver knew where she was. He couldn't

 get to her. He thought he'd toss me in there to butt

 heads with the human rights guys and maybe break

 her loose."

 I rolled right along till I took note of Morley's smug

 smile. He stared into infinity, listening with half an

 ear. "What?"

 "I was right. It's another explanation. You realize

 your theories clash?"

 "We're not talking mutually exclusive, though. We

 have a lot of secret motives driving people. You aren't

 helping me for the same reason I'm helping Chaz's

 pop."

 "I won't argue that, though I wish I was. You made

 up your mind yet?"

 "Huh?"

 "About what to do now."

 "I'm going to stroll out to this estate. See what Em-

 erald says."

 "Flashing more nerve than brains, Garrett. You're

 jumping into deep doodoo."

 I laughed. The professional lifetaker couldn't say

 one word that flowed easily from naughty six-year-

 olds. "With my eyes open."

 "You're doing a Winger on me, aren't you?"

 "What?"

 "You've got an angle."

 "I'm just not as paranoid as you. And I know how

 to talk to those people. You stroke their egos and let

 them think you love the cracks in their pots and they'll

 act like you're visiting royalty."

 Dotes didn't agree but didn't argue. He suggested,

 "Maybe you'll take Saucerhead along?"

 65

 I didn't take Saucerhead. I didn't need any help. I was

 just going to chat with a teenage girl.

 I didn't take anybody but me because I sold myself

 the notion that Marengo North English was commit-

 ted to an old-fashioned, rigidly fair way of doing

 things.

 So I fooled myself. Eagerness to meet Emerald Jenn

 didn't take me anywhere near Marengo North English.

 The estate belonged to the character who had sent his

 pals to roust me, a fact I could have determined had

 I bothered to do a little homework before hitting the

 trail. One Elias Davenport owned The Tops. Elias

 Davenport thought Marengo North English was a

 candyass who was just pussyfooting around the human

 rights thing. Elias was ready to act.

 I didn't listen when Slither told me who brought

 Emerald's invitation.

 Getting onto the grounds of The Tops wasn't a

 problem. Managing a sit-down with Emerald was a

 little more trouble.

 Silly me. I thought they'd let me see her, get me

 out of their hair, forget the whole thing. I had no idea

 they were out of control.

 I figured it out, though.

 The guys who smiled me through the manor gate

 shed their senses of humor when the gate chunked

 shut. Their eyes got mean. They kept on grinning, but

 286

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 287

 the only part of the joke they wanted to share was

 the punchline. Kidney high.

 The guys who'd visited my place ambled out of the

 shrubbery. Didn't look like their manners had

 improved.

 They made me so nervous I hit them back first,

 shielded by the spell that put me out of focus to any-

 body trying to concentrate on me. Damn, that was a

 neat one! They hopped and flailed and swung and

 cussed and missed me like a bunch of drunks. Mean-

 while, I was hard at work with my mystical head-

 knocker, scattering unconscious bodies. Davenport's

 gardeners were going to be busy picking up fertilizer

 for a while.

 I amazed myself. But we're all capable of amazing

 behavior once we're adequately motivated.

 The Davenport mansion couldn't be seen from the

 gate. I undertook an odyssey across vast expanses of

 manicured lawn, maneuvering between sculpted

 shrubs and trees. Almost got lost in a maze created

 from hedges. Gawked my way through an incredible

 formal flower garden, thinking half the people of the

 Bustee slum (every one a human) could've supported

 themselves farming that ground.

 The Davenport place was enough to kindle revolu-

 tionary fervor hi a stone. Something about it shrieked

 contempt for every race.

 I didn't march up to the door and hazard the mer-

 cies of another Ichabod. Once I spied the main house

 I resorted to my old recon training. I sneaked and

 hustled and lurked and tiptoed till I got to the rear of

 the house. There were plenty of people around and

 plenty saw me, but they were cringing characters wear-

 ing tattered Venageti military apparel. They were em-

 ployed at such socially useful tasks as trimming grass

 with scissors. They pretended blindness. I returned the

 favor, didn't see their humiliation.

 Never had I thought prisoners of war might be re-

 288

 GLEN COOK

 duced to this. Not that I had any love for the Vena-

 geti. You got people chasing you through the swamps,

 trying to kill you, making you eat snakes and bugs to

 stay alive, you won't develop much sympathy if they

 stumble later. Still, there was an essential wrongness

 about their situation. And the core of it, I suspected,

 was that Elias Davenport wouldn't distinguish be-

 tween vanquished foes and the "lower orders" of

 Karentines.

 Elias must have had him a cushy desk mission far

 from the fighting back when he was serving his king-

 dom. Most ruling-class types get out to the killing

 grounds and discover that when they're cut they bleed

 the same as any farmboy or kid from the Bustee.

 "Sharp steel don't got no respect," one of my ser-

 geants used to say, wearing a big-ass grin.

 I found a back door that wasn't locked or guarded.

 Why bother? Who was going to do a break-in in this

 loony nest? Who would dare discomfit Elias

 Davenport?

 (The name was a cipher to me at that point.)

 I don't mind folks being stinking rich. I'd like to get

 there someday myself, have me a little hundred-room

 shack on a thousand acres well stocked with hot and

 cold running redheads and maybe a pipeline direct

 from Weider's brewery. But I expect everybody to get

 there the same way I would: by busting their butts,

 not by burying some ancestor, then raising their noses.

 I know. It's a simpleminded outlook. I'm a simple

 guy. Work as hard as I need to, look out for my

 friends, do a little good here and there. Try not to

 hurt anybody needlessly.

 That house was a house of pain. You couldn't help

 feeling that as soon as you stepped inside. Sorrow and

 hurt were in its bones. The house now shaped its in-

 habitants as much as they shaped it.

 You find houses like that, old places possessed of

 their own souls, good or evil, happy or sad.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 289

 This was a house possessed by disturbing silence.

 It should have had its own heartbeat, like a living

 thing, echoing comings and goings, creaking and rat-

 tling and thumping with the slamming of distant doors.

 But there were no sounds. The house seemed as

 empty as a discarded shoe—or Maggie Jenn's place

 up on the Hill.

 Spooky!

 I started thinking trap. I mean, those guys had been

 ready at the gate. A minute stalling around while

 somebody ran to the house, supposedly for permis-

 sion, then they were all over me.

 Was I expected to get past them? Was I supposed

 to walk into ... what?

 I grinned.

 Saucerhead says I think too much. Saucerhead is

 right. Once you commit, you'd better give up the

 what-ifs and soul-searchings, do your deed and scoot.

 I moved into the silence carefully, wearing a re-

 newed grin. If I ever name my jobs, this one would

 have to be the Case of the Burglar Who Was the

 Good Guy. I was sneaking into every place I came to.

 Not that I wanted it that way. People made me.

 66

 I didn't have the strength to lift my eyes in search of

 the source of the voice that said, "You're a resourceful

 fellow, Mr. Garrett. And remarkably adept with a

 truncheon." The speaker had the nasal drawl of an

 old-line aristocrat, scion of a lineage dangling down

 from the age of empire.

 I barely retained the presence to wonder what had

 happened. One moment I'm trying to conjure a good

 rationale for my breaking and entering habit, the next

 I'm in a cold red place of echoes, tied into a hard

 chair, limp as a wet towel. No mental effort, however

 mighty, supplied details of intervening events.

 "Pay attention, Mr. Garrett. Otto."

 Fingers ungently buried themselves in my hah-. The

 helpful presumptive Otto yanked my head back so I

 could do my blurry-eyed mouth-breather act in full

 view of a guy on some kind of elevated seat. He was

 just a terrible silhouette against a scarlet background.

 I was too dizzy to be scared. But I was hard at

 work trying to get control of my head so I could be.

 I recognized my surroundings from whispers about it

 by some less than sane acquaintances connected with

 the Call. I was in the star chamber of the Holy Vehm,

 the court of honor of the Call. Not being an active

 member, I had to assume I stood accused of being a

 traitor to my race. Only ...

 The way I'd heard, there were supposed to be three

 290

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 291

 judges. The spook in the high seat should've been the

 meat in a lunatic sandwich.

 I focused my whole being on my tongue. "What the

 hell is going on?" I don't know why I bothered after

 the first few words. They all came out in a language

 even I didn't understand. But I'm an optimist. I kept

 trying. "I just came here to interview Emerald Jenn."

 Had I been given the tongue of a dwarf while I was

 out?

 "It takes the spell a while to wear off, lord," a voice

 announced from behind me.

 Can a silhouette glower? This one did. "I am aware

 of that fact, Otah." Otah? Like in Otto pronounced

 backward?

 I sagged again. A hearty yank on my hair helped

 me stay focused on the silhouette. A guy started slap-

 ping my cheeks. That helped, too.

 Oh, heavens. Another guy stepped in to help the

 first. He was an exact copy of the other. Identical twin

 thugs? This concept was too bizarre. Time to wake

 up.

 I woke up but only to find identical cretins waling

 on my face. My tongue had lost its skill at dwarvish.

 I began to render opinions in only mildly accented

 Karentine. And my mind raced far ahead of my lag-

 gard tongue. "Do you realize to whom you are speak-

 ing?" the silhouette demanded. The guy sounded put

 out.

 "I did, I could've said something more specific

 about angles of approach and velocities of insertion."

 The silhouette snapped, "Control your vulgarity,

 Mr. Garrett. You broke into my home."

 "I was invited. To see Emerald Jenn."

 "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

 "She not around? Then I'd better be going."

 Davenport chuckled. He must have done well at

 crackpot villain school because he brought it up from

 the pit, full of evil promise. "Nonsense, Mr. Garrett.

 292

 GLEN COOK

 Really." He gave me another chuckle just as good as

 the first. "Where are the books?"

 "Huh?"

 "Where are the books?"

 Uh-oh. "What the hell you talking about?" I never

 thought anybody would ask me.

 "Do you think me naive, Mr. Garrett?"

 "I think you're a raving lunatic." Pow! Right in the

 chops. Chaz was going to have to do without a kiss

 next time we ran into each other. I guess Otto or Otah

 didn't agree with me.

 I also thought Davenport was a damned fool. He'd

 made the same mistake the Rainmaker's thugs had

 back in the dawn of time, when they hadn't emptied

 my pockets. His boys were fools, too, because they

 hadn't bothered to check. Davenport wouldn't have

 risked breaking a nail touching me himself.

 I had my stuff.

 I just needed to get to it. Nothing to that. Once I

 shed the twelve nautical miles of rope cocooning me.

 "Where are the books?"

 "Give me a clue, Bonzo. What the hell you talking

 about?"

 "Otto."

 Pow!

 As the constellations faded I suffered an idea. It

 wasn't the best I'd ever had. It was going to hurt.

 Typical Garrett plan.

 "llie books, Mr. Garrett. Unaltered first editions of

 When No Ravens Went Hungry. Where are they?"

 "Ah. Those books. I don't have the faintest." Could

 he have been behind the wrecking of Penny and

 Robin?

 "I don't believe you."

 "You want to sell me the idea a jerk as stinking

 rich as you needs to bust people up and kill them and

 steal old books over a treasure as puny as Eagle's?"

 "The record says that treasure consisted entirely of

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 293

 silver, Mr. Garrett. To accomplish its purpose, the Call

 needs that silver."

 I lost my focus as I intuited the nature of his inter-

 est. He meant to become the boss crackdome.

 Silver was the fuel of sorcery. Black magic lurked

 behind the Call. Maybe the silver shortage was holding

 the Call back more than was any excess of reason,

 humanity, or common decency. Maybe the guy who

 brought the silver in would own the Call. And maybe

 whoever ran the Call would own the kingdom if the

 lunatics got their racist revolution roiling.

 "Marengo North English tell you to find it?"

 Elias Davenport said nothing for a moment, which

 confirmed what I'd guessed. Then, still not speaking,

 he came after me. He didn't exactly bound my way,

 though, and when he stepped into a better light I saw

 why. He was probably around when Eagle sneaked

 off with his slaves.

 He had a bulging, throbbing vein in his left temple.

 I suggested, "Don't have a stroke, old-timer."

 Shucks. He didn't. He just got really mad. He made

 a gesture that must have meant punch Garrett in the

 face till you turn him inside out because the twins

 really went to work.

 Felt great when they took a break. Gave me a

 chance to spit the blood out and suck some air.

 "Where are the missing pages, Mr. Garrett?" Dav-

 enport was shrieking now.

 67

 Yep, it sure wasn't the cleverest idea I ever had and

 it sure did hurt. I decided I'd strung them along long

 enough. "Shirt. Pocket," I gurgled. "Box. Key. To

 house."

 Davenport was right hi my face, gagging me with

 foul breath caused by rotten teeth. He was so eager

 he didn't wait to hear the story I'd rehearsed. He

 pawed my shirtfront, found the box I wanted him to

 find, snatched it, and stumbled toward his high chair.

 Or whatever he called it.

 My ears rang like church gongs, but I still heard the

 buzz when the whatever in the box woke up. The

 twins heard it, too. "Please be careful, lord!" one

 squealed. "There's something wrong...."

 Davenport fumbled the box open. I knew when be-

 cause he screamed to let me know.

 If I hadn't hurt so bad I might have felt sorry for

 nun, such was the agony and despair hi his shrieking.

 One of the twins squeezed my throat "You better

 make it stop...." He went to work on his own

 screams before he made his point. That aggravated his

 backward named brother, who stepped up to maul me,

 only just as he reached for me he got a big look of

 surprise and started howling himself.

 I never did see what got them. They'd tied me up

 real good. I do know the uproar attracted people from

 elsewhere because I heard new voices rushing around

 asking what the hell was going on. Then some of those

 294

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 295

 started screaming, too. Their shrieks left the star

 chamber and dwindled.

 Circumstances being what they were, I couldn't do

 much but sit around plotting my next move. Despite

 my discomfort I even fell asleep (I'm too tough to

 pass out) for a while. Probably a long while, though

 in such situations the whiles tend to stretch longer

 than they really are. I doubt more than a couple

 months passed in the outside world.

 My big worry was the killer bug coming back, but

 when sounds disturbed my nap I learned that I had

 more immediate troubles.

 "Got yourself in it real deep this time, Garrett."

 Winger strolled around me while her boyfriend

 watched from a distance. This was my fault. I'd made

 it possible for him to track me again. But I'd had my

 reasons. They just didn't make much sense now.

 Winger wasn't suffering from any overwhelming

 passion to set me free, so I didn't act like I was as

 aware as I was. I was confident that Otto and Otah

 had left me looking well done. I turned loose a moan

 that didn't take much acting.

 "Think he told them anything?" the boyfriend

 asked.

 "What? How? He don't know anything."

 The boyfriend grunted but sounded unconvinced.

 But he'd been on my tail closer than Winger had.

 Winger grabbed my hair, lifted my head. "You in

 there, Garrett? Where did everybody go? Where did

 you send them?"

 "Hon? Wrong question," the boyfriend said. He

 was over by the judge seats now. "Ask him what he

 did to them."

 Winger went to check what was left of Elias Daven-

 port. "What would do that?" She glanced back at me

 nervously.

 "I don't think I want to find out," the boyfriend

 296

 GLEN COOK

 said. "There are more over there. Four, maybe five.

 All torn up the same way."

 "What did you do, Garrett?" Winger actually

 seemed concerned. Like maybe she was worried I

 might do it again. Maybe she was getting old.

 I noticed that nobody was straining to get me loose

 yet Winger asked, "They have all three books, Gar-

 rett? Or just the one the girl took from her mother?"

 I wondered if I could lure her close enough to bite

 her.

 "Hon!"

 I couldn't turn, but I heard them come into the

 chamber, at least four men. Maybe more. Things

 froze. Winger was at a loss for what to do. I wondered

 why.

 "Holy hooters! Looka them gazoombies!"

 The Goddamned Parrot! What the hell?

 Slither moved across my field of vision. For reasons

 known only to him he was lugging a military en-

 trenching tool. He brandished it at Winger but didn't

 say anything.

 Next thing I knew Morley was lifting my head, look-

 ing into what little could be seen of my eyes behind

 the swelling. "He's alive. Get him untied." A second

 later, Ivy and Spud went to work on the ropes holding

 me. They didn't seem to be in any hurry, though.

 "Saucerhead. Cover that door. Sarge, get that one

 over there. Looks like they went that way when they

 ran." He lifted my head again. "What happened?"

 "Mimble sif cubby bunka snot!" Oh, damn! I was

 speaking fluent dwarvish again. Courtesy of my swol-

 len face and tongue. But this time / knew what I was

 trying to say.

 The Goddamned Parrot definitely possessed a work-

 ing man's taste in femininity. And he wasn't going to

 let Winger get away without hearing about it.

 She and her boyfriend were making sure they didn't

 do anything to get anybody upset.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 297

 Ivy and Spud kept fumbling and I kept trying to

 tell them not to be so thoughtful of the ropes, just

 haul out a knife and hack away. They didn't under-

 stand me, though. They kept doing it the hard way till

 Morley snapped, "We don't have any call to be careful

 of property, Narcisio. The owner is over here full of

 holes. A prosecuter won't worry about a damaged

 rope."

 Saucerhead scolded Winger. Spud and Ivy tried to

 get me to stand. Morley faked looking like my well-

 being was the only thing of any interest to him. Slither

 wandered around muttering and waving his shovel.

 Sarge studied the expanse of his belly, maybe contem-

 plating drawing a map.

 Somebody somewhere shrieked in pain, somebody

 not there in the chamber but not real far away. Then

 another somebody screamed. Then we heard a furious

 buzzing, getting louder. My pet was coming back.

 That fool Slither chuckled like this was what he'd

 been waiting for all his life, like he'd finally found his

 chance to use that killer comeback he'd thought of

 fourteen years ago. He told Sarge, "Better get outa

 the way, Ace, 'less you want it coming right through

 you."

 Sarge took a peek at the bodies. He opted for dis-

 cretion and cleared the doorway fast.

 An instant later, something came through that door-

 way so fast it was barely a blur on a course that curved

 right toward me.

 Slither swung his shovel. He stepped into it, got his

 arms extended and all his arm and shoulder strength

 into his swing.

 Splangf

 He dropped the blade of his tool to the floor and

 began cleaning it with the edge of his sole. His grin

 was huge. "There's how you handle them little boog-

 ers. They're fast and they're mean, but you can handle

 298

 GLEN COOK

 them easy if you just don't take your eye off them. I

 guess nobody around here must've seen them before."

 Morley asked me, "Will you be able to walk?" He

 left Slither's strokes to the others.

 I tried to ask the big guy where he'd run into those

 devil bugs before. Only dwarvish came out. Morley

 thought I was talking to him. "Good," he said.

 "You're tougher than you let on. Let's get out of

 here."

 A good idea. After making sure nothing got left

 that would implicate any of us. Though I couldn't see

 how it would be possible for some of us not to be

 connected somehow. There were live people in the

 house still, and the POWs outside could be forced to

 reveal whatever they had seen.

 Winger and her pal tried to turn sideways and

 thereby become invisible, but as TG Parrot reminds

 us occasionally, Winger in profile is hard to miss.

 "We can leave you here," Morley told her. "There

 is ample rope now." He indicated the chrysallis I'd

 left behind.

 "No. No. That's all right." Winger didn't want to

 stay. It was likely the weather would turn real nasty

 soon. The Call wouldn't know that Davenport had

 gone rogue. They would want a blood price paid.

 It was all my fault. I admit it. If I'd been able to

 shuffle my feet faster, we might not have had to play

 in the rest of the game.

 68

 We never cleared the star chamber. I mean, I was

 heeling and toeing as fast as my heels and toes would

 cooperate, but we just didn't get far.

 Morley bowled suddenly. That startled the rest of

 us into freezing. Another bug? I thought. How?...

 Dotes leapt into the air. As he peaked out, a guy

 stepped into the chamber and presented his chin for

 kicking. He dropped like his legs had been cut off,

 but a whole herd of brunos stormed in over him. He

 was going to have bruises on his bruises and powdered

 bones if he ever came around.

 Everybody but me got into the mix-up. Ivy and

 Spud propped me against a wall and jumped into it,

 I stood there so focused on trying not to fall that I

 had little attention left for rooting for my pals. I did

 try fishing something useful out of my pockets, but

 the effort was too much for what meager energy I had

 left.

 I didn't even realize who this bunch were till Mug-

 wump appeared admid the second wave. By then

 things had grown too serious to be settled amicably.

 We had dead and bad hurt people everywhere, mostly

 on the Rainmaker's side, but poor addlepate Ivy made

 a wrong move and accidentally got himself stabbed in

 the back about forty-five times. The Goddamned Par-

 rot ripped the scalp off the character responsible, a

 ratman so weeded up he couldn't stop stabbing long

 enough to brush the bird off his head.

 299

 300

 GLEN COOK

 Slither picked Mugwump up and tossed him about

 forty yards, then headed for the Rainmaker, who had

 just made his appearance, had spotted Saucerhead al-

 ready headed his way, and was concentrating on evad-

 ing that behemoth. Then Cleaver saw Slither coming,

 squealed and ducked between the two big men. I won-

 dered where he had managed to find so many brunos

 stupid enough to work for him, what with everybody

 in TunFaire out to buy his head. Maybe he put on his

 girl disguise and let them think they were working for

 a woman.

 His thugs sure were disconcerted when they recog-

 nized my friends.

 Slither was altogether too determined to pay

 Cleaver back for Ivy and his own old grievances. He

 threw pieces of people right and left as he stormed

 after the Rainmaker, but he never quite caught up

 and he didn't keep an eye out behind him. I tried to

 yell, but my yeller was out of action. Just as he

 grabbed the raving runt somebody stuck a dagger in

 his spine. I would have cried for him if I could. In-

 stead, I spent my last reserve to bawl, "Pwziffle

 pheez!"

 Slither was a dead man, but he didn't let that slow

 him down. Nobody he could reach enjoyed the experi-

 ence. He broke Morley's arm. All Morley was trying

 to do was get out of his way.

 I tried to get my feet moving toward a doorway, but

 they just wouldn't cooperate. Davenport's headbusters

 must have given me something more than a beating.

 I had a bad feeling I wasn't going to make a getaway

 the way I had at the Bledsoe, even with Slither demol-

 ishing the unenthusiastic crowd Cleaver had brought.

 I did reflect that everyone who'd ever trailed me

 seemed to have come to the Tops. I guess everybody

 thought I was about to glom the mystic trilogy.

 About the time Slither wound down, one of the

 Rainmaker's thugs got a knife into Winger's boy-

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 301

 friend. She had a blood fit, jumped some guys trying

 to get away. They didn't make it.

 I glanced around. It looked like Winger and Grange

 Cleaver were the only players not hurt. Saucerhead

 was leaning against a wall, looking pale. Sarge was

 down, but I couldn't tell how badly he was injured.

 Spud, with T.G. Parrot on his back, cussing, was on

 hands and knees not having much luck getting back

 up. Morley, despite his injury, was making sure none

 of Cleaver's thugs ever inconvenienced him again.

 Looked to me like the whole thing had been a blood

 sacrifice in aid of nothing. Nobody profited and a lot

 of people lost big.

 I was proud of myself. With a little help from my

 pal the wall I was making headway toward a door.

 Movement took all my concentration. I had to stop

 to catch up on the struggle.

 Things had not gone well. The floor was littered

 with bad guys, but the good guys had vanished. Unless

 you counted the Goddamned Parrot, who swooped

 around exercising the slime end of his vocabulary. I

 wanted to yell for Morley or Winger or somebody,

 but my yeller was out of commission.

 Cleaver was still upright. So was Mugwump, mainly

 because he was so wide he rolled back upright when-

 ever somebody knocked him over. Slither had had the

 right idea: just hurl him through the wal!.

 Where were my pals?

 Ducking somebody else's pals?

 I was moving again when Cleaver and Mugwump

 got to me, just as yet another gang of players plunged

 into this pool of insanity.

 I recognized one, Belinda's specialist, Cleland Justin

 Carlyle. I assumed his companions were Outfit heavy-

 weights, too.

 Now I knew why my friends had disappeared.

 Carlyle and his buddies had blood in their eyes.

 Events at the Jenn house had to be avenged. Some-

 302

 GLEN COOK

 body messes with syndicate guys, somebody has to

 pay. Didn't matter than much who.

 Mugwump grabbed me by the shirtfront. He

 snagged Cleaver with his other hand. He hauled us

 both to a door. I don't know what he was thinking, I

 guess he was a little distressed. He chucked Cleaver

 through, held me a second, rasped, "Even, fella," and

 chucked me, too.

 Into some damned hidey-hole behind the ever-loving

 thrones of the lunatic judges of the Call. Not through

 an exit.

 Mugwump made a whole lot of noise negotiating

 with the boys from the Outfit. Then the debate ended.

 Utter silence filled the universe ... unless you counted

 the sonofabitching Goddamned Parrot, who wouldn't

 shut up if you drowned him.

 Everybody else had left him behind. Maybe I could

 work it that way, too.

 Not bloody likely. Not with my luck. The gods prob-

 ably had me whipped up on like this just so I couldn't

 shed that talking feather duster.

 It was real tight in that closet. It hadn't been in-

 tended to take two people. It hadn't been intended to

 take two people of the sorts we were.

 Well, Mugwump had put me close enough to

 Cleaver to choke him, which is where I'd wanted to

 be for a while. But I didn't have the strength.

 The squabble between the parrot and sanity contin-

 ued as I blurted, "Get your hands off me!" I suppose

 prowlers nearby, possessed of sharp ears, might have

 heard. Might have understood, too. My diction was

 improving. "I don't play your game."

 Cleaver giggled.

 And I blushed red enough to glow in the dark. Be-

 cause Cleaver's movements had nothing to do with

 me. Sometimes the man did dumb stuff, but only a

 total damnfool would make a pass with slavering cut-

 OEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 303

 throats stalking around looking to chop him into bea-

 gle chow.

 "Garrett, you're a wonder." That was the voice of

 Maggie Jenn, sizzling like a red hot poker. "Maybe I

 will lay hands on. If we get out of here."

 "Back off!" I barked.

 He backed. But his Maggie voice chuckled wickedly.

 Evil, evil person. A moment later, he became all busi-

 ness. "You have your strength back?"

 "They gave me something. I'm not going to be any

 good for anything for a long time."

 "We have to step out of here sometime. And I don't

 have so much as a nail file."

 I said "Fooey!" which is dwarvish for "Oh, shit!"

 Getting out was a significant goal. Out of the closet—

 out of that closet, damn it!—out of the Tops, maybe

 even out of the province for a while, all seemed attrac-

 tive goals. The mess here was beyond any cover-up

 now.

 The closet door whipped open.

 Light poured in. It nearly blinded me. I could barely

 make out the silhouette of somebody short and impa-

 tient. The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, cussing.

 69

 "Get out of there!" a hard voice snapped. I shud-

 dered—then recognized the voice.

 "Relway?"

 "Yes." The little halfbreed secret policeman was

 curt always, impatient forever. "Move it."

 "I wondered if you or the firelord's men would turn

 up."

 "Direheart's guy was the first one here: you. And I

 find you in a closet with some bimbo in yet another

 place where we're gonna need wagons to haul the

 stiffs off."

 Relway's men helped us out of the closet. They

 were particularly solicitous of the bimbo.

 I covered my surprise. They said Cleaver was a mas-

 ter of disguise. Here was proof. That bit of wiggling

 in the dark had been him rearranging his clothing and

 donning a black wig. He looked like the devil woman

 lurking around many a man's fantasies.

 Relway said, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for

 who owns this place. Block kowtows to the panjas,

 but I ..." He stopped before he wasted half an hour

 on a favorite gripe.

 "Panjas. I haven't heard them called that since I

 was a kid."

 "Call me old-fashioned. What's your story,

 Garrett?"

 "The girl I'm looking for was supposed to be here.

 I got a letter supposedly from her. Wanted me to

 304

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 305

 come talk. I came. Some thugs grabbed me, I woke

 up here drugged to the gills, tied into a chair. They

 started asking questions that made no sense. Then a

 bunch of people busted in, there was a fight, some-

 body cut me loose maybe figuring I was one of their

 guys. I headed for cover since I wasn't in any shape

 to help myself."

 He seemed somewhat less than convinced that I was

 telling the whole story. Can't figure why. He showed

 no interest in Cleaver and didn't ask questions about

 known associates of one Garrett who might have been

 seen lurking.

 I asked, "Why is Elias Davenport of interest?"

 "He's a lunatic panja who makes the rest of the

 Call look like a social club. He's behind most of the

 rioting. What kind of magic did they use?"

 "Magic?"

 "Something made a lot of corpses. Put holes right

 through them. No weapon will do that."

 "Didn't play no favorites, neither, Lieutenant," one

 of Relway's men observed. Relway grunted.

 I said, "I never got a good look, but I thought it

 was a giant bug. Some guy took it out by whacking it

 with a shovel." Said guy and his guilty tool weren't

 lying all that far away. Relway stepped over for a

 moment, scowled down.

 He asked, "You get what you came for?"

 "Hell, no! Never saw her. I came straight here.

 Wherever here is—I never saw the in-between."

 Again Relway's look said he lacked conviction in

 his acceptance of my tale. People just don't take your

 word anymore. "That so? I'll be busy picking up the

 pieces here now. I'll want to talk later. Meantime, you

 might report to the firelord. I have a feeling he's un-

 comfortable with the bloodshed that follows you."

 "I can go?"

 "Just don't go so far I can't find you."

 306

 6LEN COOK

 "Perish the thought." I tried to recall old war bud-

 dies who lived outcountry and might put me up.

 "Garrett."

 I stopped oozing toward the doorway. "Yeah?"

 "Unusual mix of stiffs. You happen to notice who

 brought them in here?" His tone and expression sug-

 gested his thoughts were on a plane not even vaguely

 connected to my own.

 "Not really. Not that I recognized."

 "Any centaurs? Anyone with an unusual accent?"

 "Huh?" He really was somewhere else.

 "You see anybody might have been a refugee from

 the Cantard?"

 "Not that I knew was. Why? What's up?"

 "There's cause to think the refugees have organized

 for their own protection. Directed by fugitive Moon-

 called officers."

 "Oh." Now wouldn't that be the bloom on the rose?

 TunFaire hiding Glory Mooncalled's survivors. "Inter-

 esting notion." Relway would give it up as soon as he

 identified a few bodies.

 I resumed traveling. I made sure I kept a deathgrip

 on my bimbo. And a close watch on her free hand,

 lest it dart into her bosom in search of some equalizer.

 Cleaver always had a fallback.

 70

 Looked like Relway had brought the secret police cav-

 alry brigade. Must have been ten thousand horses out-

 side 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 pol-

 307

 308

 GLEN COOK

 itics. Relway was around. Relway's world didn't en-

 compass 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 gain-

 ing 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?"

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER UES

 309

 "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 be-

 yond 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

 310

 GLEN COOK

 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.

 71

 That misbegotten Saucerhead. He didn't bother using

 the gate even though there was nobody there to con-

 test it. He came over the wall, down the lane. I noticed

 when a major tree branch suddenly dipped its chin in

 the dust. It popped when Tharpe let loose.

 He was carrying somebody.

 How does the man do these things? He isn't human.

 I limped over. "What you got?" Like I hadn't figured

 it out at first glance.

 Her mother had told me that she looked like her

 only with less wear. I promise you, Maggie Jenn

 turned them to stone in her day. The kid made it plain

 why Teddy went goofy back when.

 "Spotted her when we was sneaking out. I figured

 it wasn't right we went to all that trouble, so many

 folks got hurt, you didn't get a crack at what started

 it all."

 His shirt wiggled, heaved. Something made an ugly

 noise. I had a bad feeling.

 Saucerhead worsened it immediately. "Oh. Yeah. I

 brung your bird. I stuffed him in my shirt on account

 of he wouldn't shut up."

 I brandished a fist at the sky.

 The breeze in the boughs sounded like divine

 snickers.

 Saucerhead asked, "You want the bird or the girl?"

 "Looks like I got the bird already."

 311

 312

 GLEN COOK

 "To carry." He did understand, though. "The chit,

 she don't really want to come."

 "No. And you with your sweet tongue."

 She hadn't said anything yet. She didn't now but

 did flash me a cold look that made me glad she

 couldn't do what she was thinking.

 "Give me the talking feather duster. I can't manage

 anything bigger."

 "Suit yourself." Saucerhead had kept the girl on his

 shoulder, sack of grain style. He asked her, "You want

 to walk? Or do I got to keep carrying you?"

 She didn't answer. Saucerhead shrugged. He hardly

 noticed her weight.

 The others joined us, drawn by our voices. Spud

 fussed over the bird. Morley had rigged himself some

 crude splints. I gestured at the parrot. "My pal had to

 do me a favor."

 Morley tried to chuckle. Pain got in the way. I

 asked, "Can you manage?"

 "Just won't play bowls this week."

 "Poor Julie."

 "We'll work something out." He offered a glimpse

 of his wicked grin. "Let's roll. Before Relway realizes

 he's played it wrong and wants us to explain."

 "What happened to Winger? Anybody see?"

 Nobody had but Morley opined, "She got away. She

 has her own guardian angels."

 "She gets Relway after her she'll need them." We

 walked as fast as we could with wounds and burdens,

 the Goddamn Parrot denouncing the whole bleeding

 world for all the indignities he'd suffered. Even Spud's

 patience became strained.

 Sarge sneered, "Least it ain't blamin' everythin' on

 you no more, Garrett."

 Morley eyed that jungle chicken like he was consid-

 ering abandoning the vegetarian life-style. I told him,

 "Thank Saucerhead. / left it for Relway. They're per-

 fect for each other."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 313

 Nobody laughed. Sourpusses.

 "Was that the Rainmaker you was chasing back

 there?" Saucerhead asked. He spat a wad of sourgrass

 he'd been chewing. He remained indifferent to Emer-

 ald's weight.

 "Yeah."

 "That runt? Hey!" The girl was wiggling. "Knock

 it off." He swatted her bottom. "I always thought the

 Rainmaker had to be nine feet tall."

 "With hooves and horns. I know. I was disap-

 pointed, too."

 Morley snickered. "He sure was." I gave him a dirty

 look. He never let up, pain or no pain.

 72

 I lost the election. My place got picked for the human

 reassembly party. Morley hinted that he didn't want

 word of his injury getting out right away. He didn't

 want the wolves smelling blood before he was ready.

 I bought it. He has his enemies.

 I had trouble getting comfortable. My home con-

 tained too many reminders of Slither and Ivy.

 "It wasn't right," I told Eleanor. "They didn't de-

 serve it." I listened momentarily. My kitchen had be-

 come an infirmary. Saucerhead had recruited a

 defrocked doctor who imagined himself a crusty town

 character. He reeked of alcohol and hadn't stumbled

 against soap or a razor for weeks so I guess he

 qualified.

 "Yeah, I know," I told Eleanor, "Life don't make

 sense, it ain't fair and don't ever ask the gods for

 dramatic unity. But I don't have to like it. Got any

 idea what I should do with the girl?"

 Emerald was confined in Dean's room. She hadn't

 delivered a word yet. She wouldn't believe me when

 I said I wasn't on her mom's payroll.

 Could be she didn't care if I wasn't. You snatch

 some people, they never do warm up.

 Eleanor had no suggestions. I said, "I'd cut her

 loose if there weren't people out there who'd jump all

 over her." Eleanor did not disapprove. "Speaking of

 whom, I wonder how long it'll be before Winger turns

 up with one of her outstanding stories?"

 314

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 315

 I was looking forward to that.

 Morley howled. There was a crash. I headed for the

 kitchen. Dotes began threatening bloodshed. "Not in

 my kitchen!" I yelled. I stopped to check on the Dead

 Man.

 A bug darted across his cheek, hid behind his pro-

 boscis. If Dean didn't get home soon, I was going to

 have to clean him up myself. Maybe I'd bring him

 some flowers. He used to like bouquets.

 The Goddamn Parrot started yelling louder than

 Morley. I told the Dead Man, "You're not earning

 your keep."

 It wasn't pretty hi the kitchen. All that whimpering

 and whining. The doc had finished, though. He was

 under an inverted wine bottle, using a hah0 pint to

 clear his palate. I made a face. Even ratmen shunned

 the stuff he was swilling. "You all going to live?"

 "No thanks to that butcher," Morley snarled.

 Saucerhead asked, "You ever see him act like such

 a baby?"

 "You oversized ... If brains were fire you couldn't

 burn your own house down." He jumped up on a

 chair and started ranting like some Holy Roller soul-

 scavenger.

 I asked Sarge, "The doc give him something?"

 Sarge shrugged. "Come on, boss. Give Doc a break.

 He fixed your arm. And he ain't been getting much

 work since they cut him loose from the Bledsoe."

 No wonder he was drinking bottom of the barrel.

 He was bottom stuff himself.... I glanced at Sau-

 cerhead. Doc must be some relative of his new lady.

 Surly but silent, Morley paid his fees. Spud didn't

 look much happier. I decided to get the old boy out

 while Dotes was feeling generous. I got hold of Doc's

 arm and pulled.

 "You really get the boot at the Bledsoe?" Hard to

 imagine that as possible, yet I'd met two such in just

 a few days.

 316

 GLEN COOK

 "I drink a bit, son."

 "No."

 "Steadied my hands when I was young, chopping

 off arms and legs down in the Cantard, couple life-

 times ago. Don't work anymore, though. Barley kills

 the pain now."

 He stepped outside, cloaked himself in what dignity

 he retained, started down to the street, stumbled, fell

 the last two steps. On her stoop, Mrs. Cardonlos

 paused to glare and nod to herself. I blew her a kiss.

 I studied the street.

 It was hard to tell, but I thought I saw a few folks

 who didn't ring right.

 Again? Or still? I eyed Mrs. Cardonlos again. Her

 being out on point might mean she expected further

 proof that Garrett was a peril to the neighborhood.

 I shut the door, thoughtful.

 I had an idea.

 I headed for the kitchen. "Saucerhead, want to run

 an errand?" I showed him some shiny copper.

 "Talked me into it, you smoothie. What?"

 "Give me a minute. I need to write a letter."

 73

 At last the house was quiet. The mob was away. The

 Goddamn Parrot had a full crop and was sleeping. I

 was in my office sharing the silence with Eleanor.

 Naturally, somebody came to the door.

 "My answer from Chaz." Or maybe Winger, if her

 creative side was hot.

 I was hoping she had a block.

 I used the peephole.

 Got it right first guess. Mr. W. Tharpe with mail.

 I leaned into the gloom of the Dead Man's room.

 Vermin scurried. I told him, "I'm off. And she's the

 most beautiful blonde you never saw. Don't wait up."

 He didn't wish me luck.

 I left the house without so much as a passing

 thought about the gorgeous redhead stashed upstairs.

 It was the best table in the place but still only the

 Joy House. You do business with a world-class sor-

 cerer, you can be a little more comfortable doing it

 on familiar ground.

 Conscious of their bid to go upscale, Morley and

 his thugs were on their best behavior. Puddle even

 donned a clean shirt and tucked it in.

 The Firelord had dressed down. Excellent. I didn't

 want casual acquaintances getting nervous because of

 my contact with him.

 He looked like a big old dock walloper.

 317

 318

 GLEN COOK

 With him dressed down and Chaz dressed up, no-

 body paid him much attention. Even I had trouble

 concentrating. "Excuse me?"

 "I said I'm serving my own interests."

 I recalled now. I'd thanked him for not making a

 show. "Oh."

 "Believe it or not, there are people who might do

 me an injury if they caught me off my usual range."

 "Really?" My gaze swerved back to Chaz. The

 woman had dressed to kill and was armed with her

 best assassin's smile.

 "Hard to believe, right? Big old cuddle bear like

 me?" He turned to Morley, who hovered at the head

 of a platoon of ready servers. "I'm not real hungry

 tonight, I'll take half pound of roast beef rare, sides

 of mutton, and pork. No fruits or vegetables."

 Morley went paler than a blanching vampire. He

 nodded sharply, once, some postmortum spasm. He

 fish-eyed me and my grin. His eyes were the lamps of

 hell. I decided not to rub it in.

 I ordered one of the more palatable house special-

 ties. Chaz followed my lead.

 Morley stamped toward the kitchen, dragging Pud-

 dle, muttering orders. I wondered which neighboring

 establishment would subcontract Direheart's order.

 I fought the chuckles as I brought the firelord up

 to date.

 "You let him get away?"

 "I didn't let. Let wasn't part of the equation. He

 got. You want, I'll take you to see him after supper."

 Good Old Fred raised both eyebrows. But then he

 came after me about the centaur sign outside The

 Tops. His intensity confirmed my suspicions. He'd had

 definite reasons for coming home from the Cantard

 early.

 In time, I led him back to the Rainmaker. He

 frowned, told me, "I'm generous to a fault, Garrett

 Anyone will tell you that. Especially where my little

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 319

 girl is concerned. But I won't let you milk this

 forever."

 "That's good to hear. 'Cause I'm sick of the whole

 damned thing. I've got one bruise too many, for

 nothing."

 Morley returned to hover in time to overhear. He

 lifted an eyebrow.

 I continued, "I'm closing this down soon as we eat."

 Morley stifled his surprise, but Chaz and her pop

 both blurted, "What?"

 "We eat, I take you to Cleaver, my part's done.

 You all settle up. I'm home having a beer before I hit

 the sack."

 Direheart started to get up. He was ready.

 Morley started slide-stepping toward the kitchen.

 Maybe he was headed for cover.

 Chaz smiled like her brain had gone north. I'd

 begun to wonder about her. When her dad was

 around, she worked at cute and dumb.

 "Sit down," I said. "Morley went to a lot of trouble

 with your order. And Cleaver will be there when we

 get there." Dinner hadn't yet arrived.

 Morley could've been going to check its progress,

 but I wouldn't have bet two dead flies on that.

 Nice of him to be so predictable.

 After the Tops, I didn't have a trick left. What I

 hadn't used I'd lost or had taken. Might have been

 smart to see Handsome before dinner.

 Too late now.

 Dinner did come. I drooled over Direheart's while

 I choked down mine, a kind of souffle thingee I'd had

 before and hadn't found myself vomiting.... But this

 time somebody clever had chopped green peppers into

 the mix.

 Morley looked so innocent I would've strangled him

 if I hadn't needed him.

 I told Direheart, "There's no way you're going to

 get your book back. It's long gone."

 320

 GLEN COOK

 The man was resilient. He displayed one scant in-

 stant of surprise. "Oh?"

 "Near as I can tell, Maggie Jenn's daughter swiped

 it from Cleaver about a year ago, brought it to Tun-

 Faire, showed it to the wrong people, had it snatched

 by the human rights nuts." Which was true, to that

 point.

 The Firelord smiled, in control. "I rather doubted

 I'd see it again, especially considering the bloodletting

 following it."

 "Just wanted you to understand."

 "Could you recover it if I hired you to?"

 "I don't want the job. There're too many people

 ready to kill people over it."

 Direheart didn't like what he heard. It wasn't Good

 Old Fred who laid that evil eye on me while he won-

 dered what I was doing.

 I saw him decide that I was too damned lazy to

 glom the book for myself.

 The Firelord ate like a little dog trying to get his

 nil before the big dogs come. 1 ate at a leisurely pace,

 mostly staring at Chaz, who matched me bite for bite

 and stared right back, all but hollering her wicked

 intentions.

 74

 My stride faltered a few steps into the street. There

 should have been more people out. Some hint must

 have escaped the Joy House.

 If the Firelord noticed he didn't let on. Maybe he

 didn't. He'd been in the Cantard forever. He'd be

 street naive.

 Chaz was uncomfortable, though. She knew an off

 odor when she smelled one. The dumb blonde disap-

 peared fast.

 Considering my recent experiences, I didn't think it

 unreasonable to be alert to the point of frayed nerves.

 So, naturally, nothing happened. Except ...

 Wings beat the cool evening air. I braced for the

 advent of some batwinged demon belched from the

 hell of one of TunFaire's thousand and one cults.

 The mythological is manageable.

 Reality can be uglier.

 The Goddamn Parrot plopped onto my shoulder.

 I batted at it. "That goddamn Dean! Comes home

 in the middle of the night, lets that monster get loose."

 How did the damned thing find me?

 The bird remained silent as it fluttered to Chaz's

 shoulder. It was unnatural.

 "What the matter with you, bird? Chaz, he'll proba-

 bly mess on you." This adventure wasn't going the

 way I'd hoped.

 I didn't try to confuse anybody. I took the direct

 321

 322

 8t£NCOOK

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 323

 route. We weren't halfway there when Chaz chirped.

 'The Bledsoe?"

 For Mortey's sake—he had to be out hi the darkness

 somewhere—I replied, "Where else? He's used up his

 other hideouts. And they don't know the real nun

 there."

 Maybe. I'd begun to doubt my intuition already.

 And I'd begun to doubt my good sense. Head into

 danger with a sorcerer? I had no cause to trust Dire-

 heart. His sort were notoriously treacherous. And my

 only insurance was a dark-elf with a broken wing who

 might not remain devoted to my well-being once he

 sighted the Rainmaker.

 People say I think too much. No doubt.... Why on

 earth did I think Cleaver would hang around TunFaire

 after his latest misadventure? Why, of all places,

 would he hide out at the Bledsoe?

 I was one rattled guy when I pushed into the

 Bledsoe receiving lobby. But I got my confidence back

 fast.

 Two steps in I spotted the female half of the elderly

 couple I'd held captive at that ugly warehouse. She

 spotted me, too, and headed out at her fastest shuffle.

 She made her break for the stairwell I'd used to make

 my getaway a couple of ages ago.

 I won the race. "Hello again."

 Direheart joined me. "Somebody you know?"

 I offered a brief synopsis.

 The Firelord surveyed the area. Our arrival hadn't

 gone unremarked. Staff were gathering. I saw familiar,

 unfriendly faces. "These guys can't take a joke, Fred.11

 He'd heard a bare bones version of my incarceration.

 Those guys made the mistake of thinking it was pay*

 back tune.

 The Firelord did one of those things that make reg-

 ular folks uncomfortable when his sort are around. It

 involved muttering and finger-wiggling and a sudden

 darkness as black as a lawyer's heart. An instant after

 that there were pillars of fire everywhere. Each con-

 tained a staffer who objected loudly. One unfortunate

 goose-stepped toward us. Direheart fixed it so we

 needn't hear his shrieks, but the guy kept on trying.

 He became a human torch to light our climb.

 Chaz wasn't shocked. Her daddy hadn't disillu-

 sioned her.

 The old woman broke away and tried to outclimb

 us. She failed. We passed the ward where I'd done

 my damage. The fixing up had hardly begun. I wasted

 a tear for Ivy and Slither.

 The old woman suddenly wheeled like she had some

 mad idea about holding us off. She was a horrible

 vision, illuminated by the burning man. Her terror was

 absolute, but so was her determination. Death was in

 her eyes. She was a sow bear between hunter and

 cub....

 Bingo. I knew her now, nose to nose and her eyes

 on fire. Take away a few decades of pain and poverty

 and you'd have another Maggie Jenn.

 Maggie hadn't said anything about her mother's

 fate.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 325

 75

 The topmost floor of the Bledsoe was reserved for

 those who had no truck with poverty except by way of

 charity. It sustained an environment those folks would

 deem minimally adequate while they decided the fates

 of TunFaire's Waldo Tharpes.

 We didn't need the burning man up there. Good Old

 Fred let him go. He collapsed, burnt meat and charred

 bone. Direheart ignored the old woman. We didn't need

 her. I tried to shoo her away. She wouldn't go.

 Chaz wasn't frayed but didn't seem to be in close

 touch with reality anymore, either. During my own

 occasional brushes with sanity I'd begun wondering if

 she really was the girl for me. Her good points were

 obvious, but something was missing. When Good Old

 Fred was around she could turn into a zombie.

 That green-and-yeilow-and-red feather duster on

 her shoulder didn't betray any character, either.

 Weird.

 It got weirder.

 First, Ichabod rematerialized. Pardon me. Make that

 Zeke. Maybe he came back from the grave. I'd thought

 he'd got plenty dead on the Hill. But here he was, all

 skin, bones, and white hair, trying to heft a big black

 sword that was beyond his strength. Good Old Fred

 did some evil things. That sword turned on Zeke. The

 old boy didn't even get out a good scream.

 Mugwump emerged from the shadows. That human

 324

 stump was not in a good mood. (He had to be immune

 to disaster.) I was glad Fred was in between us.

 Direheart wasn't ready for a Mugwump. Mugwump

 like to broke him into kindling before he conjured a

 bucket of eldritch fire. Mugwump ended up blind and

 burning. Direheart came away dragging a foot. He

 couldn't use his left arm.

 Chaz showed no distress. She drifted along, gor-

 geous and empty and handy. Her dullness worried me

 more and more.

 The Goddamn Parrot's silence didn't help.

 Then we found a sleep-fuddled Grange Cleaver try-

 ing to pull himself together. Twenty feet separated us

 from him. Fred went out of control. He snarled,

 cursed, pulled a knife, and charged. Cleaver got loose

 from his cot and discarded his surprise. He pulled two

 knives. Lucky he wasn't one of those gods with a

 bunch of arms. He threw both blades. One knicked

 Direhearfs right shoulder.

 The blow wasn't crippling, but it did put the fire-

 lord's good arm out of commission. Sorcerers don't

 do well when they can't talk with their hands.

 I closed in on Cleaver. Cleaver had another blade.

 He assumed a knifefighter's crouch, edged sideways.

 His eyes were hard, narrow, and serious. He didn't

 seem frightened.

 Chaz said something. I told her, "Take care of your

 father. After you lock the door." The Bledsoe was

 crawling with guys who begrudged me my fine escape.

 Direheart shook Chaz off. Calmly, he explained to

 the Rainmaker how he was going to feed his scum-

 sucking corpse to the rats. Direheart had him an awful

 big anger about that old burglary.

 Cleaver kept his knife weaving between him and

 me. He edged toward an outside wall. His caution

 seemed to be taking him back into a corner.

 I got it way too late.

 326

 GLEN COOK

 Direheart tried to let me become Cleaver's focus

 while he got ready to sneak in some deadly spell....

 Cleaver lunged at me. I stumbled back. Quick as a

 conjurer, the Rainmaker spun and flipped his blade.

 It sank into Direheart's throat.

 I froze. Chaz screamed. Cleaver cackled, whirled,

 jumped out a window. Chaz grabbed me with one

 hand and her father with the other, pulled like I could

 do something.

 A born gentleman, I grabbed blond hair and pried her

 loose. "You're a physician. Do what you trained for."

 I threw one angry glance at the old woman, let her

 get on with her shuffling getaway. Oh, she was ready

 to go now. I went after Cleaver.

 I'm not fond of heights—especially if Mrs. Garrett's

 boy might conceivably fall therefrom. I paused to eye-

 bail the scaffolding below me.

 Sneering laughter electrified me. I dropped the eight

 feet to the highest level the workmen had reached. I made

 a lucky grab and didn't plunge sixty feet to the cobble-

 stones, where shadows darted. I was too far up to recog-

 nize anybody—not to mention I didn't consider trying.

 The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, dove through

 the scaffolding. He zig-zagged like a bat, let out one

 serious squawk as he ripped past Cleaver. The Rain-

 maker cursed. Softly.

 I concentrated on not achieving the unexpected ex-

 perience of flight. All my hands grabbed anything con-

 venient. All my feet assiduously maintained contact

 with whatever lay beneath them. I stormed slowly

 toward the Goddamn Parrot's noxious racket.

 Cleaver cursed again. He'd looked down into a dark

 future. Big trouble was waiting.

 I checked the street, too. Its shadows harbored folks

 who wanted to talk to the Rainmaker up close and

 personal. They must have picked up a clue or two via

 denizens of the Joy House.

 Instead of heading down, Cleaver fled around the

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 327

 Bledsoe. Through one open window I spied Outfit

 hardcases on the prowl. Belinda must have had a crew

 on standby.

 I don't quite get Morley's relationship with those

 people. He's no made man himself. He does them

 more favors than seems right.

 The Goddamn Parrot kept beaking news of Cleav-

 er's progress. I really wondered about that bird. This

 was out of character. His natural style would be to

 betray me, instead.

 The thugs below couldn't see us. They tried to track

 the bird, too.

 That hunk of spoiled hawk bait blew the big one.

 Cleaver set an ambush. He let me slink right into it.

 I was twice Cleaver's weight and twice Cleaver's

 strength and that saved me a three-story decline in

 fortunes. He threw himself at me. I grabbed some

 scaffold and absorbed the impact. I tried to glom onto

 him while I was at it but didn't do real well.

 He ricocheted off me, banged into an upright,

 bounced back toward the stone face of the Bledsoe,

 let loose one whimper of outrage, dropped into the

 gap between scaffolding and building. He scratched

 and grabbed and banged around as he fell but didn't

 verbalize at all.

 I followed more cautiously. The Goddamn Parrot

 flapped around me but managed to keep his big

 damned beak shut. I caught up.

 Cleaver had broken his fall and dragged himself

 onto planking maybe ten feet off the ground. His

 breathing was shallow and rapid. He wasn't in good

 shape. But he bit down on his pain.

 The vinegar was out of him, but I moved carefully

 anyway. A guy has the Rainmaker's rep, you're care-

 ful with him even after he's dead.

 76

 I dropped to one knee. A hand seized mine. I jerked

 away for an instant, startled. That hand was warm and

 soft.

 "We could have had ... something. But you're ...

 too damned dumb ... Garrett. And stubborn."

 I don't know about stubborn, but I was doing dumb

 pretty good. I didn't get it right away.

 Cleaver was fading. Didn't seem right, considering

 his record. A long, agonizing cancer was more in

 order, not this just kind of drifting off into oblivion.

 My hands were trapped. I didn't try hard to pull

 away. I had empathy enough to guess what was hap-

 pening in Cleaver's mind. Though broken, he pulled

 himself toward me, closer, closer ...

 Realization came slowly, sort of sideways, without

 generating much shock. This creature desperately

 grasping at one final moment of human contact wasn't

 male at all.

 I held her. I murmured, "Yes, love," when she re-

 turned to her notion that we might have had some-

 thing remarkable.

 I'd been wrong from the beginning. But so had all

 TunFaire. Past and present, high and low, we'd all

 seen only what society had conditioned us to see. And

 in her madness, she had exploited that blindness.

 There never was any nasty little villain named

 Grange Cleaver. Not ever. Never.

 328

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 329

 1 shed a tear myself.

 You had to if you encompassed any humanity, rec-

 ognizing the enduring hell necessary to create a

 Grange Cleaver.

 You could weep for the pain of the child white

 knowing you had to destroy the monster it had

 become.

 77

 I lost Chaz at the Bledsoe. I don't know why. Maybe,

 emotionally, she chose to blame me for what had hap-

 pened to her father.

 Her medical skills hadn't been adequate.

 Whatever the reason, the magic failed that night.

 It was not one of my better nights. I blew the rest

 of it retailing explanations. Seemed anyone who'd ever

 heard of me or Grange Cleaver wanted all the dope.

 I was actually pleased when Relway materialized.

 He was a magic man was Relway. People vanished

 in droves.

 "It's all straightened out now, Garrett," Colonel

 Block told me. I was visiting him again. After having

 been allowed another ten hours of cell time to ripen,

 I'd had to do my time with the Goddamn Parrot, too.

 "Weren't nearly so many bodies this time." He looked

 at me expectantly.

 I tried not to disappoint him but kept it short and

 got out. He wasn't much interested. Didn't even ask

 much about the Tops. He was preoccupied with the

 racial strife.

 I headed for home. I didn't manage to leave the

 bird of doom behind. For no obvious reason, that

 breathing feather duster didn't have much to say.

 Even while we'd been locked up he'd held it down

 most of the time.

 330

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 331

 Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had some terminal

 bird disease.

 I couldn't be that lucky.

 Dean didn't respond when I pounded on my front

 door. Irked, I used my key, went in and stomped

 around hollering and cussing till I was convinced the

 old boy wasn't there after all. There was no sign he'd

 come back.

 Huh? How'd the bird get loose?

 Add another puzzle. Why hadn't Emerald taken ad-

 vantage of my extended absence? The kitchen sug-

 gested that she had visited several times and was less

 than fanatical about order and cleanliness. But she

 hadn't tried to bust out.

 Strange.

 Stranger still, T.G. Parrot went to his perch without

 a squawk.

 That was more than strange. It was suspicious.

 "Justina? I need to tell you something." It wasn't

 going to be easy.

 She was seated on Dean's bed. She looked at me

 without emotion but with what seemed too-knowing

 eyes.

 Straight ahead seemed the best way. I told her.

 She continued to look at me, apparently un-

 surprised.

 But she did love her mother—despite knowing the

 truth about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver. She

 broke.

 I held her while the tears flowed. She accepted that

 but nothing more and never said a word, even while

 I led her to the front door and told her she was free

 to go.

 "Chip off the old blockhead," I muttered, a little

 put out, as I watched her fade into the crowds. "Oh,

 but she was beautiful, though."

 332

 GLEN COOK

 I was in no way pleased with the case. I don't like

 unhappy endings even though they're the most com-

 mon kind. And I wasn't certain that much had been

 settled or wrapped up.

 78

 I locked myself in. I didn't answer the door. I just used

 the peephole whenever some sociopath compulsively

 exercised his knuckles. I argued with the Goddamn

 Parrot. That squawking squab was slower than normal

 but nailed me with the occasional zinger.

 Suspiciouser and suspiciouser.

 Ever bold in the face of despair, I sent a letter up

 the Hill. Never got so much as a "Drop dead!" back.

 And I'd just about decided Chaz was the lady for

 me. Oh, well. Live and learn.

 I asked Eleanor, "Don't know what she's missing,

 does she?" That killed the ache, boy.

 I swear Eleanor sneered. I could about hear her

 whisper, "Maybe she does."

 I got the distinct feeling Eleanor thought it was time

 I stopped being stubborn about not apologizing to

 Tinnie Tate for whatever it was I didn't know I did,

 or maybe never did.

 "Or I could look Maya up. She looked good the

 other night. And she's got her head on straight." Elea-

 nor's smile threatened to become a grin.

 I broke training once, allowed one special visitor

 inside. You couldn't refuse the kingpin of crime. Be-

 linda Contague spent an enigmatic half hour at my

 kitchen table. I didn't disabuse her of her notion that,

 with the invaluable assistance of my acquaintance

 Morley Dotes, I'd engineered the fall of Grange

 Cleaver just for her. I guess for old time's sake.

 333

 334

 GLEN COOK

 She's one spooky black widow of a gal, bones of

 ice. Probably a real good idea she decided we should

 stay "just friends." Anything else could turn fatal.

 Belinda expressed herself the one way she knew

 well, learned at daddy Chodo's knee. She gave me a

 little sack of gold. I passed it quickly into the Dead

 Man's care.

 The Rainmaker business had been profitable,

 anyway.

 Days slipped away. I sneaked out on several little

 errands, each time discovering that I still had one

 watcher on me. Becky Frierka was determined to col-

 lect her dinner. I saw no evidence her mother discour-

 aged her from dating older men.

 Mostly I kept it up with the bird and Eleanor, then

 went to reading with a frown that threatened perma-

 nent headache. I began to think Dean wasn't coming

 home and Winger might actually have the sense to

 stay away from me. Or maybe her luck had run out.

 "It's gotten awful damned quiet," I told Eleanor.

 "Kind of like in those stories where some dope says,

 'It's too quiet.

 Someone knocked.

 Starved for real conversation, I scurried toward the

 door. Hell, a night out with Becky didn't sound that

 bad anymore.

 I peeked. "Well!" Things were looking up. I yanked

 the door open. "Linda Lee Luther. You lovely thing.

 I was just thinking about you."

 She smiled uncertainly.

 I grinned. "I've got something for you."

 "I'll bet you do."

 "You're way too young and beautiful to be so

 cynical."

 "Whose fault is that?"

 "Can't possibly be mine. Come on in here. Got a

 story to tell you."

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER UES

 335

 Linda Lee came in but made sure that I saw she

 still had her cynical face on. And that after she'd come

 all the way down to see me.

 The Goddamn Parrot let out a whoop. "Hey,

 mama! Shake it up!"

 "Stifle it, catfood." I closed the door to the small

 front room. "You interested in a new pet?" So hap-

 pened I knew she had a cat.

 "If I wanted one that talks, I'd pick up a sailor."

 "Marines are way more interesting." I set us up in

 the kitchen, which was clean. Life had been that slow.

 I poured Linda Lee a brandy. She nursed that while

 I talked about the Rainmaker business.

 One of Linda Lee's less blatant charms is her ability

 to listen. She doesn't interrupt and she does pay atten-

 tion. She didn't comment until I paused to freshen my

 beer and pour her a dribble more brandy. Then she

 cut right to it. "What did you find when you went

 back?"

 "Wreckage. The Guard tore the Tops up. Sending

 a message to the Call. Most of the Venageti were still

 there. They didn't know where to run. Guys like them

 could turn out to be another big headache. Come on

 to my office."

 She gave me a kind of puzzled look, like my office

 was the last place she expected to be lured. She

 stretched like a cat as she left her chair. Woo!

 I got my breathing under control. "Plop it into that

 chair." I squeezed around and into mine, dropped a

 hand down under my desk, dragged out one of those

 masterpieces that had been giving me wrinkles. "Look

 at this."

 "Oh, Garrett!" She squealed. She bounced up and

 down. She squealed some more, jiggling deliciously all

 the while. "You found it!" She dashed around the

 desk and hopped into my lap. "You great big wonder-

 ful hero."

 Who am I to complain? I had an idiot bird in the

 336

 GLEN COOK

 next room covering that. He went to carrying on like

 he was being murdered. I smirked and surrendered to

 Linda Lee's excitement.

 When she paused to catch her breath, I leaned down

 and coaxed another book out of hiding. "Apparently

 nobody who knew those were there survived the ex-

 citement at the Tops. None of the interested parties

 thought to check, either." At least they hadn't before

 the notion came to me.

 "This is a true first, too! I've never seen a Raging

 Blades before. Where did they find it?"

 "It's the book Emerald stole from her mother. Her

 mother stole it from Firelord Direheart. No telling

 who he stole it from. The boys at Wixon and White

 got it away from Emerald somehow, but she com-

 plained to her pals in the Call. That wasn't real bright,

 but how many kids her age, spoiled the way she was,

 have a full ration of sense?"

 Linda Lee snuggled down and opened the book.

 "Wish you'd treat me that tenderly," I observed.

 "Oh, no. I'm not going to be tender at all." She

 purred and turned a page.

 I stretched down and retrieved the third book of

 the trilogy.

 "The Battle-Storm! Garrett! Nobody's had a com-

 plete set for three hundred years." She let Raging

 Blades fall into her lap and grabbed Battle-storm. I

 leaned back, relaxed, felt smug.

 I got so relaxed I almost dozed off while Linda Lee

 sighed over her treasures.

 A squeal of fury ripped me out of a reverie wherein

 I stood idly by while my old pal Winger enjoyed her

 just deserts. "What?" Silly me, for a second I thought

 she'd stumbled onto the secret of Eagle's treasure.

 "This is a forgery! Garrett, look at this page. It

 shows a watermark that didn't appear till two centu-

 ries after Eagle's sagas were recorded." She seemed

 totally deflated.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 337

 "You were floating a yard off the floor when you

 only thought you had your Steel-game back. Now

 you've got two originals and a copy...."

 "Grrr! Yeah, you're right. But it really makes me

 mad. It isn't really all a copy or forgery. Part is origi-

 nal. You see what they did? They took out some pages

 and replaced them with forgeries."

 I showed more interest then. I leaned over. She was

 examining the book I'd seen at Wixon and White, not,

 as I'd expected, The Battle-storm. "Emerald's book.

 Any idea how long ago it was altered?"

 "The paper is old. It's just not as old as it ought to

 be. And if you look really close at the ink, you can

 see it isn't nearly as faded as it should be."

 "Never mind the paper, love. I wanted old paper

 I'd steal an old book somewhere and scrape some

 pages down." Which is what master forgers do when

 a document has to look old.

 "Oh. You're right." She studied the book some

 more. "I'd guess it was done quite recently. Somebody

 dismantled it, then put it back together with the new

 pages but couldn't match the original thread. This

 looks like a standard bindery thread like what we use

 at the library." She got after the other two books.

 "Damn! This Battle-storm isn't even a first. It's early,

 though. Maybe a student's copy of the Weisdal Illumi-

 nation. And look! Somebody's tampered with Steel-

 Game, too. This whole signature is a replacement.

 They're going to hang me out, Garrett. This book was

 all right before it was stolen."

 Interesting. It occurred to me to wonder if Emerald

 Jenn wasn't just as clever and conniving as the woman

 who'd borne her. "You do have a copy, though. Don't

 you? Squirreled away, just in case?"

 Linda Lee scowled. "Maybe."

 "Of course you do. It might be interesting to com-

 pare texts."

 338

 GLEN COOK

 Up front the Goddamn Parrot started having a fit

 Sounded like he was laughing.

 Linda Lee hugged a book to her chest with one

 hand, gulped the rest of her brandy. "I need you to

 walk me back to the library."

 "Right now?" Boy, don't whimper.

 "There's nobody there." She took a big key out of

 a pocket in her skirt. "They're gone for the weekend."

 My white knight side took over. "Of course I'll go

 with you. People kill people because of these books."

 I locked my door, pranced down to the street. I

 waved to Mrs. Cardonlos. She hoisted her nose so fast

 she threw her neck out of joint. Then I stuck my

 tongue out at my own house.

 I was sure the gesture wasn't wasted.

 79

 Two days passed. I was distinctly distracted when I

 headed home. I entertained only one non-nostalgic

 thought during the walk home. Was I the only sucker

 who hadn't known about the tampering with the

 books? Was that why nobody raced to the Tops after

 the Guard cleared out?

 My door opened as I dug for my key. An old guy

 about as impressive as Ivy glared out at me. "About

 time you made an appearance. You turned this place

 into a shambles. The cupboards are bare. You didn't

 leave me a groat to shop with."

 Beyond him, the Goddamn Parrot went to work on

 me, too.

 "I had a feeling my luck wouldn't last."

 "What?"

 "You didn't stay lost." He'd aged, it seemed. Must

 have been rough work, keeping reality from setting in

 on the young couple. "You know where the money

 is."

 He didn't like getting close to the Dead Man so

 he'd moped around hoping to con me. He didn't say

 so, though. "And you let someone use my bed."

 "Couple of someones. And a good thing you took

 your time getting back. Your heart couldn't have

 taken being around the last one. You going to let me

 get into my own house? It's too early to be out here."

 My master plan included half a dozen hours in my

 own bed. I'd had to vacate the library at that worm-

 339

 340

 GLEN COOK

 catcher time of day when only abnormals like Dean

 are awake.

 "Mr. Tharpe is here."

 "Saucerhead? Now?" Tharpe's attitude is more

 flexible than mine, but he isn't fond of getting out

 while there's still dew in the shade.

 "He arrived moments ago. Inasmuch as you were

 expected shortly, I settled him in the kitchen with a

 cup of tea." Not to mention with most of the meager

 supplies I'd laid in recently, I discovered.

 Saucerhead seldom lets a polite refusal get between

 him and a free meal.

 I settled myself. Dean poured tea. I asked Tharpe,

 "What gives?"

 "Message from Winger."

 "Really?"

 "She needs some help." He had trouble keeping a

 straight face.

 "I can't argue with that. What's her problem? And

 why should I give a rat's whisker?"

 Tharpe snickered. "Her problem is she needs some-

 body to bail her out of the Al-Khar. Seems she got

 caught digging around inside a certain country home

 and couldn't con the Guard into believing that she

 lived there. In fact, they were on the lookout for a

 big blonde who might be able to tell them something

 about what had happened there."

 "I love it. But how did you find out? You sound

 like Colonel Block."

 "Block came around to Morley's place on account

 of he couldn't find you here."

 "Why'd he want me?" I could guess. Some little

 question about events at the Tops.

 "He said on account of Winger claimed you as her

 next of kin when they asked who to notify she was

 inside so she could make bail or get bribe money for

 the turnkeys or whatever."

 "I see." Boy did I believe that.

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 341

 "And I went up and seen her. She already got into

 it with some screw thought he ought to collect special

 favors. Broke his arm."

 "They charged her with anything?"

 Tharpe shook his head. "Relway's just trying to

 squeeze her about what went down. But you know

 Winger. She's gonna be stubborn."

 "I know Winger. She's lucky Relway's in a good

 mood these days. Things are going his way." Bad

 weather and ferocious behavior by the Guard and se-

 cret police had calmed the riots. For now.

 There would be more. There had been no good

 news from the Cantard, like a resumption of the

 fighting.

 "Yeah, I told her. Probably won't even beat her

 much."

 "Then let her rot. No. Wait. Here. Run a message

 for me. Ask Block if he'll warn me before he turns

 her loose."

 Saucerhead took my money. "How come?"

 "So I can meet her coming out and tell her what a

 hard time I had getting her cut loose."

 "You're wicked, Garrett."

 "It's the company I keep. Been learning from a

 master." I jerked a thumb toward the Dead Man's

 room.

 80

 I shut the door behind Tharpe, locked up, strode to

 the Dead Man's door. I leaned inside. He looked the

 same: big and ugly. "I did all right for a guy whose

 help is so bone lazy...."

 / kept close watch. You were less at risk than you

 imagine. He puts thoughts directly into your head.

 "After you started siccing the bird on me, maybe.

 By then I'd been through the hairiest part."

 You understand that the Winger creature knew the

 Jenn woman and Cleaver were one, right from the

 start?

 "Sure. And she knew you were snoring or she'd

 never have came in here to set her hook. She still

 has an angle. She thinks. Only Emerald was ahead of

 everybody, probably from before she ever left home."

 Indeed. The female of your species, if at all present-

 able, is capable of manipulating the brightest of you.

 "If that's her scheme. The Belindas and Maggies

 and Emeralds aren't that common, though. Luckily."

 Far be it from me to note your eagerness to be

 suborned by such females.

 "Yeah. But not far enough." In the other room the

 Goddamn Parrot started preaching what the Dead

 Man was thinking with one of his other minds. "Got

 to do something about that thing."

 Somebody knocked. Once more you have the oppor-

 tunity to keep your word.

 Becky Frierka. And her mother, of course.

 342

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 343

 "Why should I be the unique truth-telling character

 in this part of town?"

 As I went to the door the Dead Man sent. The quest

 for Eagle's hoard is vain. The burial cairn lay on a

 slope overlooking Pjesemberdal fjord. That entire

 mountainside collapsed into the fjord during an earth-

 quake three centuries before my mishap.

 "Really?" If anyone around today would know, he

 would. "Might have been handy to know that before.

 When you were watching so close."

 Any adventurer who deciphers the sagas discovers

 the truth eventually. But so much blood gets spilled that

 the guilty dare not give warning to the world. He

 loaded that thought up with a cargo of amusement at

 human antics. But something unrelated leaked through,

 too. He was worried about the political climate. He

 had a stake in a tolerant TunFaire.

 Details plucked from my mind didn't reassure him.

 I pasted on my boyish grin and got to work. It took

 an effort to keep smiling. Becky's mother doesn't have

 a husband. She's actively screening candidates.

 Couldn't have been a better time for my parrot to

 go berserk, for my houseman to show his mean streak,

 for my partner to be himself. Naturally, nobody

 cooperated.

 I am nothing if not valiant in my efforts to do the

 right thing. Becky got her date, exactly according to

 terms.

 81

 Playmate was with me, trying to look fierce as a favor.

 So were Saucerhead and Winger, whom we'd collected

 from jail. Two weeks inside hadn't taught her a thing,

 which is why I had recruited my friends. I needed help

 getting Winger to go in the direction I wanted.

 A couple weeks can make a big difference in the

 Safety Zone. Morley's place had a new name: the

 Palms. Scraggly palms in pots stood out front, already

 wilting in TunFaire's chunky city air. Street lamps had

 appeared. Elf-breed lads decked out like Venageti col-

 onels stood by to handle horses and coaches, despite

 the time of day.

 Playmate observed, "I don't think I'll feel comfort-

 able around here anymore."

 "That's the point," Tharpe said. "Dotes has got him

 some high-tone ambitions all of a sudden. No place

 here for the likes of us now."

 I glanced at Winger. Still sulking, she didn't offer

 an opinion.

 The interior of the Joy House had been redecorated

 to fake the inside of a lunatic's idea of some tropical

 shack. I've been to the islands. It didn't work. After

 Morley bustled us upstairs, so we wouldn't frighten

 the customers if any turned up, I told him, "There

 aren't enough bugs, old buddy."

 "What? Bugs?"

 "Tropical places got bugs. Bugs big enough you got

 to fight them for table scraps. Flies and mosquitos

 344

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 345

 that'll hang you up in a tree for later. And lots of

 them."

 "You can overdo atmosphere, Garrett."

 "Bugs don't sell to the Hill," Saucerhead guessed.

 Dotes scowled. Our presence made him uncomfort-

 able. I hate it when people social climb. He asked,

 "What do you want?"

 "Just a couple wraps on the Rainmaker thing. Wing-

 er's out, which you probably noticed. And all the tril-

 ogy books are accounted for, only somebody mutilated

 them. Which won't do them any good." And I briefed

 him on what the Dead Man had told me. Given their

 natures and acquaintances, these four would get the

 word spread. And people would stop following me

 around.

 I'd begun to accumulate watchers again. I guessed

 the Venageti at the Tops had mentioned my visit to

 someone who cared.

 Pained, Morley asked, "Seen the girl?"

 "Vanished without a trace. Gone treasure hunting,

 I presume." I hadn't tried to find her.

 "That's it?" He was puzzled. He didn't see my

 angle.

 I didn't clue him in. "That's it."

 "Then I have to rush you. I have a million things

 that need doing before our reopening tonight. One

 thing before you go, though. A favor I need

 desperately."

 "You're starting to talk like those ferocious pirates.

 What?"

 He faked hurt. "Friends are always welcome at the

 Palms. But we have to present a refined image. If you

 could dress a little more ..."

 I got no chance to respond because Winger un-

 loaded first. "You guys ever stick a foot in a fatter

 load of camel shit? Can you believe this seeping sack

 of slime? You half-breed runt, I know who you are."

 The lady is articulate in her own special way.

 346

 GLEN COOK

 Winger and I came to a meeting of the minds, more

 or less. Playmate and Tharpe took off. I straggled

 homeward. Winger tagged along. She didn't seem

 eager to put distance between us anymore. "Garrett,

 it true, what you said about Eagle's treasure?"

 "Absolutely. Came straight from the Dead Man."

 She didn't want to believe me but decided she had

 no choice. I was too damned dumb straight-arrow.

 "That thing awake again?"

 "And Dean came home. I'm back to being errand

 boy in my own house."

 She snapped her fingers. "Shucks. Been a long dry

 spell, too."

 I shook my head. This is where we started. "You

 never fail to surprise me, Winger."

 "Huh?" She grabbed my arm, pulled me out of the

 way as a flight of pixies, buzzing like angry hornets,

 harried several centaur kids they'd caught stealing.

 Idly, I noted what looked like one of Relway's spooks

 trailing the action.

 "Last time you told me that, I found out you had

 a boyfriend you never mentioned to anybody and he

 can follow me around like he's got me on a leash."

 She didn't lie straight up. "Hightower? Wouldn't

 exactly call him a boyfriend...."

 "No. More like a sucker who thought he was. And

 got dead for his trouble."

 "Hey! Don't you go climbing on your high horse

 with me! I seen you with your pants down."

 "I'm just reminding you that people you care about

 get hurt, too, Winger. Lies can kill. If you have to lie

 to your friends and lovers to get where you want to

 go, maybe you'd better stop and give a good hard

 think about whether this is the road you have to

 follow."

 "Stick it in your do-good ear, Garrett. I got to live

 with me. You don't." Which was about as close to an

 DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

 347

 admission of error or offer of apology as anyone was

 likely to get out of Winger.

 "When you came down here fishing me in, you

 knew Maggie Jenn was the Rainmaker. You figured

 you could work an angle, you being the only one out-

 side her crowd that knew. I won't forget you trying

 to do that to me."

 Winger never apologizes in any of the customary

 ways. "I found out by accident. Pure dumb luck. And

 nobody but her kid really knew for sure. Her old lady

 and Mugwump and a few others maybe had all the

 facts right there in their faces, but they didn't want to

 believe it.... What the hell am I doing? It's over.

 Done. We got to move on. All the crap that's going

 on around town now, this racist bullshit, there's got

 to be lots of opportunities. But I'll check it out later.

 Why don't you come on over to my place?"

 A temptation, if only to find out where she lived.

 But I shook my head. "Not this time, Winger." The

 Dead Man wanted me to bring him up to date on

 Glory Mooncalled, events in the Cantard, and recent

 events in general, real soon now. I knew because he

 had the Goddamn Parrot following me around, telling

 me all about whatever notions happened to be bub-

 bling through his feeble minds.

 My worst nightmare had come true. I couldn't get

 away from him even when I was away from him.

 Also, I needed to consult Eleanor on potential ca-

 reer changes. I had some ideas. At their root were the

 willies I got every time I thought about being caught

 inside the Bledsoe cuckoo ward.

 If I had planned this thing out right, I would have

 been born rich and would have lived out a useless life

 as a wastrel playboy.

 Doing that life somewhere besides TunFaire proba-

 bly would have been a good idea, too.

 Still, life won't be completely awful as long as I'm

 somewhere where they keep brewing beer.

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