Glen Cook - Wicked Bronze Ambition

In seconds Helenia was at it again with the man who had tried to keep her away from the Director. It sounded like there was a relationship there. Concern underlay everything else.

“Shouldn’t take but a few minutes,” Relway said. “I know you’ve seen all this before, even if you haven’t lived it. The numb will start to wear off soon. You’ll be mad as hell. That’s when you really need to watch it so you don’t do something stupid. You have to control yourself. If what happened is connected to your blood tournament, the Civil Guard will handle it.”

I looked straight into his eyes. And didn’t see their color, though I knew they must be. . brown? I was still empty, but he saw something behind the emptiness. Something that left him exceptionally uncomfortable.

He knew that Garrett isn’t somebody you get in front of when he gets hot. It takes him a while to get there, then. .

“Don’t do anything to put yourself on the wrong side of the law, Garrett.”

I grew up in TunFaire. Till the last few years, justice was a craft industry. You made it yourself. A lifetime of that wasn’t going away because some dreamer wanted me to live up to his ideals.

I said nothing to contradict him, though.

The crew member of unusual size from the gang that snagged Preston Womble turned up quickly. He had Preston with him, Womble scampering to avoid being dragged. The big guy stopped outside Relway’s cage. “Set to go, boss,” he said. “What do you got?”

Womble lost some color after he looked at me.

I didn’t feel it consciously, but the next stage was getting some traction.

Relway said, “Take Mr. Garrett home. I want you both to stick with him. You understand me, Womble?”

“Yes, sir. I do, Director. Yes indeed. How long shall I pursue those instructions, sir? What is my function to be?”

Womble belonged to that class of people who go a long way in very small doses, obviously.

“We’ll tell you when you’re done. Your job is to look out for Garrett. You will do whatever it takes to keep him healthy and happy. You’ll also do whatever Target tells you to do.”

“Yes, sir, Director. I understand you perfectly, sir.”

“Get moving, then. Garrett, I expect you to control yourself. I’ll see you again soon, hopefully with something to report. I must get matters rolling here.”

And that was that, a little confusing in the state I was in.

I didn’t get to ask Target how he got his name. Having been to the war zone, I expect that it had to do with his size and capacity for attracting enemy fire. He clearly did not like being called Target, but he wasn’t going to argue with his boss about it.

He led us back to the entrance I had used getting into the Al-Khar, muttering about the damned woman being so damned slow, she should quit playing her damned games with that damned dick Merryman. .

I caught the stench of horse before I heard or saw the monsters coming, with fiery evil eyes and fangs like the mother of all saber-tithed toogers. . I have a problem with horses. No, actually, horses have a problem with me. I’m willing to live and let live, but they are equally willing to do what it takes to wrap my story up early. Then they could let bygones be bygones and get on with live and let lie down dead.

These nags were not the worst. No smoke rolled out of their nostrils. After a single flash of contempt, they chose to ignore me.

My companions paid the monsters no heed. Target just stayed near Womble in case Preston got struck stupider and tried to make a break. Helenia and an old red top who would drive the coach hung on behind the pair of scruffy devils. Each led one animal by the harness. I looked for their muzzles and failed to spot any. The coach was not a big one. It was marked but not with any official insignia.

Helenia noted my interest. “We confiscated it under the racketeering statutes.”

Um. Yeah. There was a good idea. Give the tin whistles the power to take anything they want from anybody they cared to take it from just by accusing them of being criminals. That had to be too much temptation even for a straight arrow like Deal Relway.

Target told me, “We didn’t figure you were up for walking.”

He had a good point there.

So. He or Helenia, or both, were the thoughtful sort, belying their looks.

I hoped the coach belied its looks.

It felt like maybe it used to belong to Shadowslinger’s evil older sister. It was all black, decorated with carvings of critters who would give voodoo priests the heebie-jeebies, and it had no springs. Walking might be less painful if we hit some really bad streets.

“Let’s get rolling,” Target said. “You get in first, Womble.”

Helenia opened the door on the left side of the vehicle. There was a crest carved there, but the lighting wasn’t good enough to show it clearly. No doubt I didn’t really want to see it, anyway. It might redouble the kind of nightmares I had already from being around my future in-laws.

Helenia urged me in behind Preston, then came aboard herself. The interior was nicely appointed in silks and leathers. I hoped the latter was sheepskin, not peopleskin.

There was room for four people if three were half my size. Womble did not take up much space, but Helenia was wide at the base and came armed with a big leather case. She said, “I’ll be trying to take witness statements.”

I figured, good luck with that, even if you can write fast enough.

No two witnesses ever see the same thing.

I heard some creaking as Target opened the gate.

The old man said something in Horse, probably offering to feed me to the beasts if they did what he asked. The coach lurched. Preston and I had our backs to the direction of travel. I almost fell into Helenia’s lap.

The coach stopped after thirty feet. The gates creaked again. The old man clambered up to the driver’s seat, making the vehicle rock and squeak. Meanwhile, moisture began to sneak in through the side windows even though those were supposedly shut against the weather. I peeked. The rain had grown a little more vigorous, though it was still only slightly more enthusiastic than a desultory drizzle. It was very, very cold, however.

Helenia was chatty. “This coach belonged to somebody off the Hill. One of the necromancer types. His own people turned him in because he was so rotten.”

“Sounds like my grandmother-in-law.”

Cynical me, I suspected that there must have been legacies and estates involved that someone had wanted resolved in a manner other than the one outlined in the relevant documents. The Unpublished Committee would not back that kind of play, but Relway’s crew was still only a small faction at the heart of the new law enforcement.

Helenia continued. “The Director uses it when he wants to keep a low profile.”

Yes. Of course. Send out the ugly. Nobody would notice that.

Target cracked the door, poked his mug in. “All set?”

Nobody declared any serious lack of readiness. How do you answer that kind of dumb question?

He pushed on the door. A catch clicked. The coach sagged and rocked despite its lack of springs as Target mounted the footman’s backboard.

The coach lurched ahead.

I had recovered enough emotionally to realize that I ought to be glad that Target was not allergic to the damp. It would have gotten tight with him inside, too.

There was no immediately obvious sign, in Strafa’s neighborhood, that anything huge had happened. There were people around, naturally, but the rain kept the Lookie Lous away and Barate had gotten the key people moved inside. A brace of forensics sorcerers roamed the street out front, pretending to be something else but not convincingly because they wore their red Guard berets.