Frank Tuttle - The Banshee's walk

Just perfect when dealing with someone named the Corpsemaster, I thought. I wondered briefly if it was also intended for use against the halfdead.

“The spellwork will also be potent against halfdead,” said Evis, very quietly. “It’s the same one we use on our crossbow bolts. Though of course I hope you will use it carefully in that instance.”

I put the sword back in its velvet-lined case and closed it firmly shut.

“I’m always careful with big butter knives,” I said. “And thanks.”

Evis sat. “Don’t thank me,” he replied, grinning. “I have no idea where you got that, never seen it before, anyway I prefer a crossbow myself.” He produced a deck of cards from somewhere in his desk, shuffled them with an expert’s ease and let his dirty white eyes meet mine.

“Surely you have time for a few hands,” he said. “Luck might be with you, tonight.”

I laughed. “Luck lost my address years ago.” I am a lousy card player, and Evis knows it, which is why we never play for real money. “But who knows. Deal, and we’ll see if she’s found me tonight.”

Evis shuffled, and I cut. By the end of the night I was down another four hundred and fifty crowns.

It seems Luck gets lost as easily as I do, in Rannit, these days.

I’m never late for a date with Darla. She’d be more likely to forgive dirt under my fingernails or Evis’s brandy on my breath than a lack of punctuality.

So I was at her door, with a cab no less, before the Big Bell clanged out seven. We were dining by seven thirty, back at her tiny walk-up by Curfew, and if you want to know anything more than that you’ll have to ask Darla, and good luck.

My Avalante pin on my lapel, I walked home well after midnight. Evis’s magic sword hung beneath my jacket, the tip of it shining every now and then in the moonlight. Darla had frowned and turned away at the sight of it.

“Every sword needs a name,” I said aloud, as I walked. I heard boots scrape somewhere behind me, heard a furtive whisper.

I yanked out the sword, held it high, let it glitter. Boots and whispers withdrew. Rolling Curfew-breaking drunks is one thing, I suppose, but tackling a gleaming sword is something else entirely.

“I dub thee Toadsticker,” I said. “Slayer of miscreants, opener of packages, occasional carver of baked turkeys. Let all men hear, and know mild caution.”

I swear the steel flickered.

I slipped Toadsticker back under my belt. The reason the Army never bothered with hexed weapons was their legendary lack of reliability. It was too easy to turn a hideously expensive magical dingus into a mundane lump of metal by turning it north and sneezing, or by unknowingly performing some other random act that unlatched the hex. Even the mighty wand-wavers occasionally found themselves betrayed by their own fickle handiworks. Like the time old Hooler’s famous iron staff melted right in the face of a Troll charge. They said later the wizard had spilled salt on it while eating supper. A pinch of salt goes astray, and a city falls. Hurrah for modern sorcery.

But you never know when a good sharp length of steel will come in handy, as I’d just demonstrated. I patted Toadsticker’s hilt and hurried home.

Three Leg Cat got me up way before I meant to rise. I groaned and threw pillows, but Three Leg merely shouldered them airily aside and insisted I serve him breakfast.

I was up and shaved and bathed and packed before Mama and Gertriss darkened my door.

“Morning, ladies,” I said, motioning them inside. Mama held a basket that smelled of hot biscuits, and Gertriss carried a big pot of coffee.

Mama merely grunted as she shuffled inside. Gertriss was all smiles, and dressed in the blouse and pants she’d worn home yesterday. She’d also dabbed something fragrant behind her ears, and was making sure I caught a whiff of it by leaning close and fussing with breakfast.

They do learn fast.

“Did you sleep well, Mr. Markhat?” she asked.

“I did indeed,” I answered, rifling through Mama’s basket and selecting a huge biscuit stuffed with thick slabs of ham. “You?”

Gertriss nodded while Mama glared. I grinned and sat.

“You seem a bit quiet this morning, Mama,” I managed, between mouthfuls. I winked at Gertriss, and she perched on my desk and took dainty bites. Mama stood and huffed and refused to sit in my chair. “Run out of bats for the cauldron?”

“You know damned well why I ain’t happy, boy,” she grumbled, with a sideways glance at Gertriss. “Weren’t no need for such things.”

I swallowed and lifted a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mama. You want Gertriss to learn finding, she’s got to look the part. No one is going to open up to a swineherd, much less hire one for finding, and you know it.” I wiped my chin. “That’s how us city folk dress. You don’t have to like it, but if she’s going to work for me that’s what she’ll wear, and that’s final.”

Mama made snuffling noise that might have been grudging assent or a sign of early pneumonia and sat.

I tried not to let too much triumph creep into my tone.

“All packed, Miss?” I asked. “I figure we’ll be there two days, maybe three.”

“All packed, Mr. Markhat,” said Gertriss. She made no effort to conceal the glee in her voice, and I felt a brief stab of sympathy for Mama, who appeared to be learning that young-uns plucked from the country and given a taste of city life might be harder to keep in wholesome, modest burlap than she’d ever dreamed. “Are we leaving soon?”

“As soon as we’ve finished eating and I’ve laid out a few things I learned yesterday.” I launched into a retelling of my gallery visit and the interrupted strangling at the Hemp house and my talk with Evis. Mama lost most of her huff and forgot to pretend she wasn’t listening.

“And that’s all I know right now,” I said, draining the last of my coffee. Gertriss was nodding, taking it all in, and Mama was trying to choke down a hunk of ham so she could speak.

“People just told you, all that?” Gertriss asked. “You didn’t even ask them much, sounds like.”

I nodded. “The trick is just to get them talking, most of the time. You come up to a stranger and start hammering them with questions, usually what you’ll get is silence or a blow to the head. Best thing to do is draw them out. Let them decide to show off by telling you something they think you don’t know.”

Mama guffawed. “Same as with card-readin’,” she said. “Half the time, the real trouble is getting ’em to shut up long enough to say anything yourself.”

Gertriss tilted her head in question. “Is that what we’ll do at House Werewilk?”

“That’s part of it,” I said. “We’ll go, we’ll listen. We won’t start pushing until and if we get the lay of the land and haven’t heard anything suggestive in the first day or so. But I’ll handle most of the talking, this time out. I mainly want you to be another set of ears, another set of eyes.”

“She can do more’n that, boy,” said Mama. “She’s a Hog in more than name. She’s got the Sight, all right, and don’t you forget it.”

Gertriss rolled her eyes. She stopped herself when she realized she was doing it, and Mama didn’t see, but I did.

I let it lie, though. Provoking more of Mama’s familial wrath wasn’t what I had in mind for the start of my day.

So I just nodded sagely. “Noted, Mama,” I said. The light through my door was good and strong, and I had a belly full of ham, and as much as I hate working even I have to admit that’s a good place to start.

“So what about you, Mama?” I asked. “Got any mystical warnings for us, before we head out? Surely a place called the Banshee’s Walk rates an eldritch utterance or two.”