Frank Tuttle: Dead Man's rain

I think I even whistled. It was hard not to, that morning-the sun was up, the birds were singing, I had a sock stuffed with silver and a rich man’s bed to sleep in.

A wrought-iron swing gate worked with griffins and roses opened to the Merlat’s yard, and the walk that wound through it. I opened the waist-high gate and sauntered through, watching the house. A curtain moved in the big window to the right of the front doors, and I heard, faint but clear, the tinkling of a bell.

Behind the house, dogs began to bark and snarl. I switched my duffel to my other shoulder and kept my pace steady. Marble knights and silent angels looked on as I passed, their blank eyes moving to follow my every step.

The house was set dead center of the big square yard. Ward-walls, each erected by the Merlat’s neighbors, covered three sides. The street-side front fence was just painted iron, a little more than waist high. Mama Hog could have climbed it, so if Old Man Merlat was really taking long evening strolls, he was entering the grounds from the street.

The right-most front door opened, and the Widow Merlat herself stepped squinting into the sunlight.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said, before I’d mounted the first of the dozen tall treads that led from the lawn to the house. “Come in.”

The widow wore black, of course. She did not smile, though she did nod her head in what I took to be greeting. I guessed that the widow was not accustomed to receiving her own guests.

“Thank you,” I said. I took the door, she backed up into the shadows of the house and I stepped inside and let the door shut behind me.

I blinked and lowered my duffel. My feet made crunching noises on the white marble tiles that led down the entry hall. I could see that the hall made a tee about ten paces in, and that going right or left would take you into big dark rooms that hadn’t seen direct sun or a good dusting since the Armistice. Straight ahead, past the tee, the hall opened into a big tile-floored ballroom, and wide, curving oak-railed stairs rose out of the ballroom and wound its way to parts unknown.

There were stained-glass windows, too, somewhere high out of sight from the ballroom. I couldn’t see them from where I stood, but I could see the splatter of rainbows they cast on the white marble floor.

“You have a beautiful home,” I said.

“It was, once,” said the widow. Then she frowned. “Jefrey should have been here to see to your luggage,” she said, keeping her eyes off my battered Army duffel bag.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll manage.”

The widow cocked her head, listening, I suppose, for Jefrey’s footfalls on the tiles. I listened too, but if Jefrey or anyone else was in the house they were sock-foot and tip-toe.

I picked up the bag. “If you’ll point me to my room,” I said, “I’ll go and stow my gear. We can catch up with Jefrey later.”

The widow sighed. “You’ll be on the second floor,” she said, turning and marching toward the staircase. “You’ll be sharing the floor with Jefrey, but you will of course have rooms to yourself.”

“That’s fine,” I said, trotting to catch up. The hall was wide enough to ride four abreast, so I had no trouble sidling up beside the widow. “Before the rest of the crew shows, though, we’d better have a talk,” I said. “For starters-are you sure you want it known what I’m here to do?”

The widow didn’t slow. “I will not engage in deceit in my own house,” she said. “Those who have seen Ebed know I am right. Those who have not soon will.” She gave me a hard sideways look, then turned away and shook her head.

“You tell them who you are and what you came to do,” she said. “And you ask them what you will. If they want to stay, they’ll answer, or I’ll see them gone by sundown.”

We’d reached the foot of the stairs. I put my right hand on the rail, and gazed out at the ballroom and its acres and acres of empty white tiles. The stained-glass windows were set high on the east and west walls; each bore scenes of knights and dragons, in which the knights seemed to usually have the upper hand. The room smelled faintly of lilacs.

“We had a dance here, about the time you were born,” said the widow. “Not since.”

“Pity,” I said.

A door banged shut, and hurried footsteps made clattering echoes in the hall.

“Lady Merlat,” said a breathless voice. “Pardon, but the dogs…”

A small, white-haired man in a too-large black butler’s coat trotted into the ballroom, saw me, and stopped. His eyes went narrow, and the set of his thin, wrinkled face turned clamp-jawed and frowning.

“You’re him,” he said without cheer.

“I’m him,” I agreed. “You must be Jefrey.”

The tails of his coat reached well past his knees, and he’d rolled up the sleeves so they wouldn’t leave the tips of his fingers poking out. Jefrey was slim, probably sixty or sixty-five. He wore his thin ashen hair in an Army straight-cut that reminded me instantly of the Sarge.

I held out my hand to shake his, but Jefrey grunted and turned his gaze toward the widow.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t like this.”

The widow blanched. “I did not ask your opinion,” she snapped.

“You didn’t,” said Jefrey. “But after twenty-eight years I reckon you’ll hear it anyway. That man is here to take your money, and if you get anything in return it’ll be heartache and missing jewelry, and that’s a fact.”

The widow bit back a reply, turned to me and then started back up the stairs without a word. I shrugged at Jefrey and followed, and after a moment he came stomping up behind us.

“What do you know about revenants, Lady?” I asked.

Jefrey made a strangled choking sound. The widow didn’t flinch.

“The Church claims revenants don’t exist,” she said. “And yet they offer exorcism, in what two priests described to me as ‘extreme circumstances’.”

Jefrey snorted. “What means they’ll do most anything if the price is right,” he said. I almost forgave him then and there for not taking my luggage.

“Our mutual acquaintance has another view of revenants,” I said. “She claims they come back to take revenge on their killers.”

I was half-turned and eyeing Jefrey when I said it. I wasn’t sure if he’d cuss or jump or swing; I was surprised when he just shook his head and glanced at the widow.

“Is that what you believe, goodman Markhat?” she said.

“I don’t believe at all,” I answered. “And I won’t, until I’ve seen.”

Jefrey looked back at me, and some of the hostility left his face. “Thought you was here to bag a spook,” he said. “Thought some old soothsayer from the Narrows sent you.”

“I’m just here to find out who’s been tramping around Lady Merlat’s yard,” I said. “That’s all. Who, and why.”

“For sixty-five jerks a day,” muttered Jefrey. The Lady Merlat spun her head around, and her eyes blazed.

“That is enough,” she said, and it echoed. “No more!”

We’d reached the top of the stairs. The house sprawled off in three directions-one lit by dusty windows, two as dark as tombs.

I put my bag down to take a breath, and Jefrey snatched it up. “I’ll take him to his rooms,” he said. “Then we’d better see to the kitchen, Lady,” he said. “Briss and Envey quit.”

The Lady closed her eyes and took a breath. “I’ll wait for you here,” she said. “Goodman Markhat. Settle in, then find us in the kitchen. Down the stairs, take the right-hand hall, follow the sounds.”

I nodded. “Gladly,” I said. I started to ask if House Merlat had entertained walking corpses in the yard last night, but I decided it could wait.