Glen Cook - Old Tin Sorrows

A pair of those grolls waved and hollered. Took me a moment. "Doris and Marsha," I said. "Haven't seen them for a while."

A skinny little guy bounced up the steps. I hadn't seen him for a lot longer. "Dojango Roze. How the hell are you?"

"A little down on my luck, actually." He grinned. A strange little breed, he claimed he and Doris and Marsha were triplets born of different mothers. I'd given up trying to figure that out.

"What the hell is this, Dojango?" Morley asked. I've never been sure but I think Dojango is some distant relative of his.

"Doctor Doom's medicine show, carnival, and home spirit disposal service, actually. Friend of the Doc said you had a bad spirit needing handling." He grinned from ear to ear. His brothers Doris and Marsha boomed cheerfully, not giving a damn that I didn't understand one word of grollish. They and the other grolls and all the oddities with them got to work setting up camp on the front lawn.

I glanced at Peters and Kaid. They just stared. "Morley?" I raised an eyebrow about a foot high. "Your doctor friend's referral?"

His smile was a little weak around the edges. "Looks like."

"Hey!" Dojango said, sensing my lack of enthusiasm. "Doc Doom is the real thing, actually. Real ghost tamer. Exorcist. Demonologist. Spirit talker. The works. Even does a little necromancy, actually. But there ain't much call for those skills, actually. Not when you're not human. How many of you humans would think of using a nonhuman to call up your uncle Fred so you can find out where he hid the good silver before he croaked? See? So Doc has to make a mark here and a mark there some other way. Peddles nostrums mostly, actually. Hey. Let me go get him, bring him up, let you judge for yourself." He spun around and headed for the coach, which hadn't disgorged any passengers yet.

He ran halfway down the steps. I muttered, "I don't believe this. The old man would foul his drawers if he saw it."

Morley grunted. His eyes were glazed.

Roze came back. "Oh. Doc Doom is kind of a quirky guy, actually. You got to give him some room and be a little patient. If you know what I mean."

"I don't," I told him. "Better not be too quirky. I've got quirky enough right here and no patience left over for more."

Dojango grinned, managed to leave without using his favorite word again. Actually. He dashed down to that ridiculous coach, which was so brightly painted it would have blinded us on a sunny day. Breeds swarmed around it. A couple got up a giant parasol. Another one brought a set of steps. Somebody else laid out a canvas dingus from those steps to the steps to the house.

Morley and I exchanged glances again.

Dojango opened the coach door and bowed.

Meantime, grolls set up a circus on the lawn.

I asked Morley, "You heard of this guy?"

"Actually, yes." He smiled. "Word is, he's the real thing. Like Dojango says."

"Actually."

Kaid sputtered and went back into the house.

A figure seven feet tall and maybe six hundred pounds wide descended from the coach. What it was wasn't immediately obvious. It was wrapped up in so much black cloth, it looked like a walking tent. The tent was covered with mystical symbols in silver. A huge hand came out and made a benevolent gesture to the troops. One of the taller breeds dragged something out of the coach and planted it atop Doctor Doom's head. It added three feet to his height. Priests should wear something so bizarre and ornate.

He came toward us as though the star of a coronation processional.

"You Doc Doom?" I asked when he arrived. "Give me one good reason why I should take you seriously after that clown show."

Dojango, bouncing around like a puppy, seemed stricken. "Hey. Garrett. You can't talk to Doctor Doom that way, actually."

"I talk to kings and sorcerers that way. Why should I make an exception for a clown? You better pack your tents and get rolling. The nitwit who sent you made a mistake."

Morley said, "Garrett, don't get excited. The man is for real, he's just kind of into drama and maybe has a little bit of a puffed-up notion of his own importance."

"I'll say."

Doom hadn't spoken yet. He didn't now. He gestured. A breed beside him, female, about four feet tall who looked like she had a lot of dwarf and ogre in her—she was ugly— said, "The Doctor says he'll excuse your impertinence this once because you were ignorant of who he is. But now you know—"

"Bye." I turned. "Sarge, Morley, we got work to do. Sarge, maybe you better see if you can find a horse. We may have to send for the garrison." There isn't much law anywhere in Karenta, but guys like the General have access to a little. Somebody irritates them, they can always get a hand or two hundred from the army.

Dojango had a fit. He pursued us into the hall, where he lost the thread of his thoughts as he looked around at the paintings and hardware and bellicose scenes in glass. He mumbled something about, "He's desperate for work, actually."

Cook strode onto the scene, as formidable as a war elephant. Now I knew where Kaid had gone. She damned near trampled Roze. I said, "I don't think we'll need the army."

Morley said, "You're being too hard, Garrett. One more time. The man is the real thing."

"Yeah. Right." I went back to the door to watch Cook in action.

The action was over, essentially. She stood in front of the marvelous doctor with hands on ample hips looking like she might breathe fire. He was out of his wonderful hat already and getting rid of the tent.

Like I thought, the guy inside went more stone than I had fingers to count, but I had to revise his tonnage downward. He didn't go more that four-fifty in his work clothes.

He had some troll in him and three or four other bloods; once you saw him without the costume, you figured maybe he was smart to wear it. He made his little mouthpiece look gorgeous.

"Mr. Garrett. I'll dispense with the showmanship. As my good friend Dojango has assured you, I am the genuine article." His voice was down a well's depth below bass. Somewhere along the line somebody had popped him in the Adam's apple. That added a growly, scratchy character to his voice and made him hard to understand. He knew that and spoke slowly. "You have a problem with a malign spirit, I'm told. Unless it's of a class two magnitude or greater, I can deal with it."

"Huh?" I'm not up on the jargon. I try not to hang around with sorcerers. That can be hazardous to your health.

"Will you reconsider and allow me a preliminary examination of the premises?"

Why not? I'm an easygoing guy when people don't shuck me. "As long as you knock the horse apples off your boots and promise not to wet on the carpets."

He was so ugly his expression was hard to read. I don't think he appreciated my humor, though. I asked, "What do you need from us?"

"Nothing. I brought my own equipment. A guide, perhaps, to show me those places where the spirit most commonly manifests."

"It doesn't. Leastwise, not when anyone is looking. The only evidence we have that there is one is the doctor's opinion."

"Curious. A spirit of the sort he suspected ought to manifest frequently. Dojango. My kit."

Morley asked, "Could it appear to be somebody familiar?"

"Explain your question, please."

I told him about having a Morley in my room who wasn't.

"Yes. Exactly. If it wanted, it could cause a great deal of confusion that way. Dojango, what are you waiting for?"

Roze scampered off to the Doctor's coach. Meantime, Doom said, "Perhaps I should apologize for distressing you with my arrival. The sort of people who usually employ me won't believe I'm real unless they get a show."

I understood that. Sometimes I have that problem in my business. Potential clients look at me and wonder, especially when they catalog the marks on my face. I have to remind them that they should see the other guys.