Glen Cook - Wicked Bronze Ambition

“What I figured. How about Amalgamated and the Tates? That situation has got to be touchy.”

That was something I would rather not discuss. But, “Yes, that has gotten complicated.”

The Amalgamated Manufacturing Combine produces a range of devices invented by Cypres Prose. Kip. I have a small share in AMC and have been its head security guy since the Combine was formed. Max Weider and Kip are serious stakeholders, too, but the Tates are the folks who run the business. I was involved with one of the Tate women for a long time. The involvement was why Kip partnered up with the family for financial and production backing. There was a lot of drama, high-level maintenance, and plenty of disdain from the other Tates. Then Strafa came along.

Relway said, “I would imagine. How bad do they want you to go away?”

“Me going wouldn’t break many hearts.”

He nodded, steepled his fingers again. “But they can’t push you out, can they? That would aggravate Max Weider. And Cypres Prose might walk with you.”

“I don’t know about that. Kip is really serious about Kyra Tate.”

“Who is also your pal, if I recall.”

“One light in the wilderness.” I had the angle of his thinking now. It was plausible, too. He could be right. Preston and his girlfriend, and the Min woman, might have to do with the past instead of the present or future.

“The old boys, the uncles, those guys worship bottom lines. They would suck it up and keep you around because you’re good at what you do.”

“Why, thank you, sir.”

“And one of the things you do best is irritate the shit out of everyone around you. How about the younger Tates? The ones with the bruised feelings? Are they capable of putting a tag on you?”

“Capable? Sure. Likely to do it? No. Tinnie wouldn’t turn stalker. She has quirks and hang-ups and twists of mind but only at neurotic levels. Kyra? Not at all. She doesn’t care about anything but Kip. And the boys are just glad that I’m gone. They don’t have to explain me anymore.”

Relway rubbed his fingertips together, wondering.

“I think even considering the Tates takes away from what’s really happening. Womble, Muriat, and Min have to have something to do with this Tournament of Swords stuff.”

Relway looked out to the hallway, frowning. There was a ruckus out there somewhere. “On balance, I’m inclined to agree. But there is the cousin, Rose Tate, a bad seed with lots of screws loose. Could she be trying to get leverage on the chief of security now that he isn’t protected by the rest of the family? Would she try to end your ankle-biting if she thought she could manage it without making Cypres Prose walk away?”

He showed that twitch in the corner of his mouth. In his special way he had just told me that he had a clear understanding of the dynamics inside Amalgamated and the Tate family. He knew that black sheep Rose had been up to wickedness the family wanted kept from the other shareholders.

Cautiously, I admitted, “Rose would be a possibility. Remote, but a possibility.”

“The most plausible possibility that I see.”

“Unless it has to do with the tournament nonsense.”

“Unless. Which, I suspect, we’ll hear more about momentarily. I imagine that racket has to do with Womble having given up everything else he knows.”

People argued heatedly in muted voices, moving slowly closer. One insisted that the Director had left instructions not to be disturbed. Another argued that it was imperative that he should be. The latter sounded like oddly shaped Helenia.

Relway composed himself, resigned to the interruption. “Did your Hill friends know you were coming here? How important is that?”

Everything was about to change. Everything was about to head off at ninety degrees from everything that had gone before.

I had just stopped shaking my head when Helenia appeared outside Relway’s den. The Director called his failed gatekeeper off, beckoned Helenia into his presence. Helenia gave me a scared, sad sort of look as she scuttled to her boss, bent, put a hand to his ear, whispered busily.

Them being near each other made me wonder if her unusual assembly specs might not be a result of the same rowdy raids on the family tree that had produced Deal Relway himself.

Toneless, he said, “Shit,” language so uncharacteristic that it was as startling as a scream. He tried to appear blank when he faced me, but I could tell that something was wrong. Something was most definitely wrong.

“What?” I demanded.

Relway sucked in several gallons of air. “No beating around it. Never actually softens it. Furious Tide of Light has been killed.”

Huh?

It was like. . Like nothing. No. That couldn’t be true. That couldn’t happen. Why was he messing with me?

“What?” Like I might have heard him wrong? Like I had heard him from way off in another universe? Or something. He was saying something improbable, so something impossible had to be happening. “I don’t get. . I didn’t get. . That can’t be.” Head on down to the bottom line of what everybody knows. People can’t get close enough to a sorceress like Strafa to actually hurt her. “Killed?”

“Attacked and killed. On the street in front of her house.”

Ambush? I knew the perfect place and time. Right when you were fiddling with the pedestrian gate, going into the property. Only. . What would Strafa be doing going through the gate? She would have been airborne when she arrived home.

“There isn’t anything more yet. But she wasn’t alone. The woman she was with was injured badly but survived.”

“But she may not last,” Helenia added, staring hard at the dirty stone floor, probably distracting herself from the intensity of the moment by making cleaning plans. “We will have more information soon.”

Of course. An attack on someone from the Hill, especially of Strafa’s stature, would make the Guard drop most everything.

I had gone numb emotionally. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to do. This was a twist beyond imagination. I had seen some harsh times, especially during the war, but I’d never been smacked between the eyes by something as sudden and evil and unexpected as this. Even when Mom left us, the process had taken a while. There had been time to hone my emotional defenses.

For no special reason I recalled civilians sitting among the ruins of their homes and lives, surrounded by the desolation the people and stuff of those lives had become once the fighting swept through their part the world. Lost souls, every one, every time.

I tried to remember that we humans are resilient. Most of those people came back, eventually.

I tried, but at the moment had little inclination to believe.

“Garrett.”

“Uh. Unh?”

“You should go out there, find out what really happened. The reports might be mistaken.”

Early reports often are. Usually are. Yes! That might be. .

There had been no mistake. I knew that right down to the core of my soul. “Yeah. I guess.” But I did not get up. I put on my best thousand-yard stare and just sat there, mind empty.

“There might be something you can do. Familywise,” he amended, since it was too late to help Strafa.

My response must have seemed too-long delayed. “Yeah. Maybe.” I did get up then, still focused only on what was happening on the far side of the horizon.

Relway said, “Helenia, find Target. Tell him to bring Womble. Wait up, Garrett. I’ll send some people with you. This may turn out to be a job for my section.”

I held up. Even rattled and numb I realized that he wanted to look out for me. But in that state I would just do what I was told, slowly, or I would do nothing at all. I had learned that about me during the war.