Glen Cook - Red Iron Nights

Good morning, Garrett. You wouldn't think you'd get much expression out of his style of communication, but he sure managed to sound as happy as a clam that didn't know it was being fattened up for a chowder. I am so pleased you could join me.

The sentiments I expressed were less sociable. "What the hell you bubbling about? What the hell did you drag me down here for? The sun ain't even up yet." Which wasn't strictly true. Somewhere out there, above the rain clouds, there was a sun that had been up for hours. It just hadn't been up for enough hours.

I could contain my curiosity no longer. The gentlemen of the City Watch came round to pay their respects and debts this morning. They were generous beyond belief.

"Don't mean much. Them showing up with one sceat makes them generous beyond belief. How much?"

The full one thousand marks. Moreover—

"Only a thousand?" I grumped. Naturally, I grumped. A thousand was a major score, but I'd have grumped if they'd brought money around by the wagonload. "You could've waited till a decent hour."

Moreover , he continued, ignoring me completely, they brought the latest news from the Cantard. My theories have been vindicated at last. The expected collapse of Glory Mooncalled's revolution, indicated by all those defections and desertions, has proved chimerical. He was just biding his time against the ripe moment.

"Aw, hell." Now I understood why he'd dragged me out. Didn't have a thing to do with money. He'd gotten his big chance to crow—with me in no condition to fight back.

I'd figured Mooncalled was on his last legs. The evidence was there. Defections and desertions had been strong indicators that the rebellion was about to fold. Hell, there were refugees from the Cantard scattered all over Karenta now. I'd seen plenty right here in TunFaire.

I didn't bother asking how Mooncalled had conjured another miracle. The man did these things. I went to work on the breakfast Dean brought and waited on the Dead Man. He would want to rub it in. He loves it when I lose an argument completely.

He let me have it blow by blow, the uneconomical way. The way I do him when I want to yank his beard.

He claimed most of the defections and desertions hadn't been genuine. Furthermore, Mooncalled had just been lying low, staying ahead of the various armies, occasionally encouraging the Venageti forces or Karentine to come to blows while he awaited one of those rare but exceedingly violent storms that sweep into the Cantard from the gulf. I saw a few of those while I was down there. All you can do is take cover and hope the cover stands up to the wind and rain.

While his enemies were paralyzed, Mooncalled had struck. In both directions. One force attacked Full Harbor, Karenta's biggest bridgehead in the Cantard. He'd tried before and had failed. This time he'd succeeded, taking Full Harbor with all its supplies and munitions.

Another force attacked Quarache, Venageta's logistical bastion in the southern Cantard. Quarache is bigger and far more important than Full Harbor. It surrounds the only big, reliable oasis in that part of the desert. The Venageti war effort hinges on continued control of Quarache. Without it they wouldn't be able to project their power far enough to threaten the silver mines.

Losing Full Harbor would hurt the Karentine effort but not cripple it. Karenta has other bases along the coast. Venageta doesn't.

I tried a weak sally. "Your boy is in deep shit now, Chuckles. They'll send the Marines to take the Harbor back. He's never gone up against Marines."

Except for a sly touch of amusement he ignored me. He continued his story.

Quarache didn't go the way of Full Harbor. Mooncalled hadn't had the strength to carry it completely. Fighting continued as the Venageti rushed reinforcements in from everywhere, were reclaiming Quarache in prolonged, desperate, expensive house-to-house combat.

Like most ordinary Karentines, I've developed an affection for Glory Mooncalled. Not that I want my kingdom to lose a war. But when you spend your whole life a witness to the corruption, incompetence, and greed shown by our overlords, you can't help but admire a guy who makes rude noises in their faces and brassily dares them to do their worst—then dances around mocking them while they stumble over their own feet. Too, I think a lot of us nurture the secret hope that Mooncalled's antics will compel an end to the endless war.

"This is really why you dragged me out of bed?"

This and the fact that I wish to hear details of what happened last night. And he did seem intensely interested. I recalled that he had been from the beginning, like he'd suspected something he didn't want to share. How was it that you managed to conclude the thing so quickly?

"Ah? I think I detect a hint of jealousy. A note of disbelief."

The law of averages suggests you should be capable of stumbling through unaided occasionally. It is true that I remain amazed at your ability to flout that law so frequently.

Yes. He was piqued. He'd put all that time into all those interviews, which we hadn't yet discussed, expecting to dazzle one and all with a startling indictment. Then I'd had to go spoil his game by tracking down that jinxed coach. Garrett the Killjoy, that's me. "You want to tell me what you thought was going on when Block first told us about the women?"

Somebody pounded on the door, timing it as though the Dead Man had had him waiting in the wings.

That will be Mr. Tharpe. I allowed him to return home last evening. He had personal matters to settle. Stay seated. Dean will handle the door.

I yelled, "Dean, throw that cat out when you let Saucerhead in." I waited till Tharpe came in before I started my story.

"You got lucky," Saucerhead said when I finished.

"Lucky, hell. That was a prime piece of deducting and detecting."

Tharpe grunted, unconvinced.

"I didn't see anybody else thinking about attacking it by looking for the coach."

"I still say you lucked out, Garrett. How about if the old geezer used some regular coach? How about if he walked?"

"But he didn't. And that's the point. And that's what cost him. He decided to break in on a closed house and use it for his base, and found him a spiffy, neato coach there and just couldn't resist going in style. And it cost him." For a second I wondered if the jinx had gotten old butterfly-breath. But I didn't care. I wasn't much bothered by having croaked him, now. I hadn't run into many people who'd needed killing more. I couldn't feel bad about doing the world a favor.

"You lucked out," Saucerhead insisted. And wouldn't be swayed. Neither would the Dead Man.

Mr. Tharpe, I have an errand for you, should you care to extend your employment.

"You pay, I play." Saucerhead liked the Dead Man for some reason.

This building has become suspiciously free of vermin. That was because I'd burned a dozen sulfur candles one day while he was taking one of his six-week naps. I thought I'd do him a favor. Bugs like to snack on him. I am accustomed to employing large numbers of insects when I examine the various permutations of action available to the forces operating in the Cantard. I cannot indulge my curiosity without them.

"You already heard what Glory Mooncalled done, then?"

Yes. I am excited. I need a few thousand insects with which to evolve through the options available to the surviving combatants.

He had a habit of lining bugs up on the wall, like soldiers, and running them through maneuvers. A disgusting vice.

"Now, wait a minute," I protested. "I just got this place deinfested." Bugs and mice are the Dead Man's worst enemies. Left unchecked, they would devour him in no time.