Glen Cook - Red Iron Nights

He would. "We delivered that coach, built to strict and exacting specifications, about three years back, Mr. Garrett. I do not believe in false humility. It was the finest coach ever built in TunFaire. I will accept responsibility for that, but I refuse any blame."

"Excuse me?"

One son muttered, "Damn thing's jinxed."

The old man glared. "Madame Tallia Lethe, wife and mother of the Icemasters Direfear, commissioned it. Three months after she took delivery, there was an accident. She fell. A wheel rolled over her head."

Oh, boy. "I knew we could get some big-time sorcerers into this." Karentine wizards mainly belong to the Elemental Schools: Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. The Windmasters and Storm Wardens of the Air school are common, Firelords more so. There may be Earth schoolers elsewhere in Karenta, but none in TunFaire. Water-school types are almost as rare. "I didn't know we had any Icemasters here."

"We don't," the old man said. "The woman lived here. The Icemasters are dead, anyway. Crossbones Bight."

Ah. The big naval battle of the War. We got our Karentine asses kicked. Unfortunately for the Venageti, a naval triumph hadn't meant much strategically. "I see," I said, not seeing at all.

"Madame had no heirs. The estate passed to the Crown. The Crown agents auctioned everything. Lord Hellsbreath bought the coach."

There was a name to conjure nightmares.

The only Hellsbreath I recalled was no healthier than Madame Lethe. "He had some bad luck himself, right?"

"He was murdered. The assassin got away."

"He was in the coach when it happened," a son volunteered.

"Crossbow bolt right in the eye," another said. He demonstrated with enthusiastic gestures and sound effects.

"Then who got the coach?"

"Duchess of Suhnerkhan. Lady Hamilton."

I knew that one. "Does seem like it was unlucky." The King's great-aunt, Lady Hamilton, had decided to visit the family estate at Okcok. She hadn't bothered with an escort, though there'd been a full moon out. Werewolves had given her a fatal set of hickeys.

Linden Atwood grunted but conceded nothing.

"That was a year and a half ago. I guess it's changed hands a few more times?"

"No. Crown Prince Rupert brought it back to town and stored it in the coachhouse behind Lady Hamilton's town house. Far as I know, it hasn't been out since." The old man produced a pipe and pipeweed. He filled up, lit up, leaned back, closed his eyes, puffed, and thought. The clan waited quietly. I followed their lead. Playmate signaled for another round of the dark. On me, naturally.

The beer's arrival wakened Atwood. He tilted forward, drained half his mug, wiped foam with the back of a hand, belched, said, "I don't put no stock in this jinx stuff, Garrett." We were pals now. I'd bought him a beer. "But was I you, I'd be careful. Seems like everybody that gets near that coach gets dead." He frowned.

He didn't like that at all. What if word got out? What if people started thinking it was the coachmaker's fault?

"I'm not much on haunts and jinxes," I told him. "But if that coach is jinxed, you got any notion how come?"

"Beats the shit out of me." He guzzled the other half of his beer. "Shit happens. Sometimes it don't make no sense."

Playmate horned in. "Thanks, Mr. Atwood. Sure was good of you to talk to us." He nudged me with a knee, got up. I wondered why he was in a hurry, but I'd promised to follow his lead. I piled on my share of thanks and excused myself, followed Playmate into the rain.

"What was that? How come the run-out?"

"Atwood was getting glassy-eyed. In about a minute he was going to start in on his boys that didn't make it home from the Cantard. I thought you might want to get some sleep tonight."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You got to feel sorry for the guy. But that don't mean you got to go live in his hell with him. He's got to lay his own ghosts himself."

True. But I was surprised that Playmate thought so. I pulled my cloak tighter. There was enough wind to make the night cold.

"Past my bedtime, Garrett. Hope all that helped."

"You hope? Hell, it cracked the thing. All I need now is to find out who's been using that coach." And how hard could that be? I mean, the Crown Prince's duties included running Karentine internal security. The TunFaire Watch were one obscure arm of the many he oversaw. And if what Block said was true, the heat on the Watch had good old Rupert behind it.

"Come around more often, Garrett," Playmate said. "At least soon enough to let me know how this comes out." He strode off like he was late for a date with one of his mares. I stood absorbing some rain for a moment, startled, then shrugged. Playmate did these things. He didn't know he was being rude and unsociable.

What now?

Morley's place, that's what now.

It wasn't that far out of my way. I dropped by. My reception was no more charming than before. Maybe not as good. More people departed. The others seemed edgy, except for Saucerhead's pal Licks, who was at the same shadowed corner table stoned out of this world.

Puddle gave me a huge scowl, glanced down at his keg. I told him, "That rat Sarge said he was going to blame it on me. Morley here?"

Puddle already had a finger pointed skyward and an eyebrow up. I nodded to make sure he understood that I wanted to see Morley as well as to know if he was home. With Puddle you have to take it by the numbers. He don't fill in the gaps so good.

He was the kind of guy who thought if you couldn't solve a problem with a right cross or a club, then it wasn't a problem in the first place and therefore didn't need solving. Ignore it and it would go away.

Puddle grunted, growled at the speaking tube, fluttered a hand to indicate that I should go on up. Apparently Morley didn't have company.

I climbed the stairs, tiptoed to Morley's door, listened before I knocked. I didn't hear anything. Usually there was scurrying as somebody's wife headed for cover. All I heard was Morley telling me to come in.

I opened the door. Something zipped past the end of my nose. Morley was behind his desk, his feet up, leaning back, tossing darts. I didn't recognize the painted face serving as his target. "You doing the hoodoo voodoo on somebody?"

"Not really. Found all that in a junk shop. Velvet painting of a guy who looks like my sister's husband." Zip. Wham. Another eye put out. "What's up?"

"No company tonight?"

"Too wet out there these days. Nobody's going to be seeing much company as long as this weather keeps up." Zip. Wham. Right in the end of the nose. "Want to get those darts for me?"

"You're a bundle of ambition tonight."

"Yeah. Long as you're doing my legwork, you see that creep Licks downstairs? So I don't have to go look for myself?"

"He's there. Unconscious, I think. The smoke was pretty thick."

He snagged his speaking tube. "Puddle. Toss that creep Licks out now. Don't leave him where he'll get run over." Morley put the tube down, looked at me. "I hope he gets pneumonia."

"You have a problem with the man?"

"Yes. I don't like him."

"So bar him."

"His money's as good as yours. Maybe better. He spends it here." That didn't get a rise, so he asked, "What's up? You look like you can't wait to get something off your chest."

"I got a line on the coach."

"Coach? What coach."

"The one out front that they tried to drag Chodo's kid into. I found the man who built it. He told me where I can find it." I explained.

Morley sighed, took his feet down. "Isn't that just like you? Here I am, having the time of my life, and you have to walk in and mess it up." He got up, opened a closet, dug out a raincloak and fancy hat that must have set him back a dozen broken bones.

"What you doing?"