Frank Tuttle - Dead Man's rain

Jefrey snorted. “Didn’t show ’til the funeral,” he said. “Othur fell out during the service. Abad asked his mother for a loan. The girl had a screaming fight with her man of the week.” He would’ve spat, but he eyed the polished oak floor, had to swallow instead. “Bastards.”

“You say she never left him.”

“Not once,” he said, and his wrinkled face softened. “She loved him, Markhat. You mark that. I don’t know nothing about vengeance or haints or what-not, but she loved that man and he loved her and if he’s come back looking for trouble it ain’t with the Lady.”

I knew when not to speak.

Instead, I watched the light fail. Jefrey rose, lit more lamps, then sat with his shiny black walking stick across his bony knees.

“So what’s the plan?” he said after a time. “You just gonna walk outside and grab him when he shows?”

I shrugged. That was my plan, all right-wait until Lord Merlat’s shade appeared, then take it by the collar and shake it and see who fell out of the shroud. It had seemed a good plan in the cheery light of day.

Jefrey whistled. “Well, I reckon anybody that cleared Troll tunnels during the War ain’t afraid of spooks in a yard,” he said.

I put on my best war-weary veteran face, nodded and watched the darkness gather.

By the time the sun turned the windows to haze and sparkles, Jefrey and I were drinking the Lady’s too-strong coffee and nibbling at biscuits Thufe couldn’t have bitten in half.

“We didn’t see nothing, Lady,” said Jefrey, bleary-eyed. “I hope you slept.”

“I did,” she said, though she didn’t look it, and her hands had been shaking when she poured us coffee. She turned her eyes upon me. “Have you any new impressions, goodman Markhat?”

“Only on my backside,” I muttered. None of the Lady’s chairs should ever really be sat on for any length of time.

Jefrey snickered. I sipped, put down my cup. “Sorry,” I said. “I do have a few ideas, though. None you’re going to like. And none we ought to discuss unless we’re alone.”

She sighed, pulled a chair around to face us, sat. “Jefrey,” she said. “I’m filing a new will. The children will get an allowance, but be barred from the bulk of the estate. You will receive half a million crowns every year for as long as you live. If you want the money so badly that you’d kill me to get it, ask for it now and you’ll have it tomorrow.”

Jefrey went pale, dropped his biscuit.

The widow gave me the eye. “Now talk to me.”

“Fine.” I took in a breath. “I think someone is making a play against your will, Lady,” I said. “You can’t file a revision, and make it stick, if someone contests it on the basis of your impaired mental state,” I said. “It’s called the Nutty Uncle defense, and the Court has historically favored the heirs.”

The widow took in a breath and set her jaw.

“Someone who looks like Lord Merlat has been paying you visits,” I said. “You’ve been to the Watch. You’ve been to the Church. You’ve taken counsel from a Narrows soothsayer. You’ve even hired me.”

“What of it?”

“It looks bad,” I said. “Say someone drags in everyone you’ve talked to, Church and Watch and all. Say they all shake their heads and shrug and say yes, you asked them about revenants, and no, they hadn’t seen any.” I let it sink in. “Picture Mama Hog downtown, Lady. Picture her in a witness box. How many judges are going to take your side?”

Her hands went tight on the arms of her chair. She hadn’t thought of that. It had never once occurred to her that her children would do anything more than slink quietly away after having the family fortune snatched away from them.

I sighed. “So maybe what you saw wasn’t your husband,” I said.

“Then why did the dogs let him go?” she said. “How did he escape the footmen, that first night? Why do Jefrey’s beasts hide and whimper when he walks, now? Why?”

“I don’t know all that, yet,” I said, as gently as I could. “I’m just pointing out an alternative to what you must admit is a far-fetched supposition. The dead don’t walk, Lady. I’m sorry, but they don’t.”

She rose. Rose and stalked out of the room, leaving Jefrey and I alone.

“Half a million crowns. Half a million,” said Jefrey. “Hell, if they knowed that, they’d have killed me already.” He rose. “Damn, they’ll kill me as soon as they hear.”

I rose, too. Jefrey looked scared, and with reason, since the widow’s generosity had indeed made him a target.

“Hold on,” I said. “Could be they don’t know yet.”

“Could be they do.” He gripped his stick tight. “What is she thinking?”

“She’s thinking you’ve stood by her,” I said. “She’s thinking you deserve what amounts to a title and a House. So calm down and let’s figure out a way around this.”

Jefrey fell back into his chair. “You think it’s them too,” he said. “You think it’s the kids.”

“I’m not sure who, or why, or how,” I said. “But it’s the only thing that makes sense, so far. Unless you believe that Lord Merlat really does rise up and return, seeking vengeance on those who slew him.” I paused a moment, let that sink in. “And as far as I know, wet fever slew Lord Merlat, not the Lady, not his kids, not you. That is right, isn’t it? Wet fever?”

Jefrey nodded, still distracted. “Fever,” he said. He looked up at me, and his eyes were hard and angry. “What are we going to do?” he said.

I yawned. Even the widow’s coffee wasn’t going to keep me up much longer. “Keep our doors locked and our wits about us,” I said. “And from now on, if Elizabet bakes you a cake, I’d handle it with tongs and bury it quick.”

“You got that right,” said Jefrey. He stooped and picked up his dropped biscuit and put it on his tray. “May sleep with the dogs, too.”

How many times had I done just that, during the War? I shook off the memory. “Good night,” I said. Jefrey rose with an old man’s groan, gathered up trays and cups, and we shuffled away, Jefrey toward the kitchen, I toward my bed.

Thunder rolled, faint and far away. I stepped out of the hall and onto the marble-floored ballroom. The daylight that streamed through the high stained glass was weak and lead-colored.

I mounted the stairs, scowled. Just what I needed. A torrential rainstorm, perfect for chasing spooks on the lawn.

I charged up to bed and locked my door behind me.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

I rolled over, fought bed sheets and blinked at the weak sunlight sneaking past the curtains. It couldn’t be much past noon.

“Master Markhat is not to be disturbed,” I yelled when the blows on my door subsided. “Leave a bag of money at the door and go away.”

Jefrey guffawed. “Beggin’ yer Lordship’s pardon,” he said, “but get your lazy ass out of your borrowed bed and come on down here. It’s after four. You’ve got a letter from your soothsayer friend.” He hit the door again, just for spite. “There’s coffee waiting.”

I groaned, threw off sheets, squinted at the windows. After four?

I dressed, dragged a comb through my hair, splashed water in my face.

Jefrey was waiting in the hall, a cloth-wrapped biscuit and ham in his hand. “Here,” he said in a whisper. “I baked these. You can chew ’em without a grind-stone and a chisel.”

I took it and gulped it down as we walked. “You said I had a letter,” I said between bites.

“You got one and the Lady got one,” said Jefrey. “I feel all left out.”

I guffawed. “Don’t,” I said. “It’ll just be more dire warnings about spooks and haints and things that go bump.” I swallowed. Give the man credit-he could bake a biscuit. “Load of back-country nonsense.”