Glen Cook - Old Tin Sorrows

Morley snapped, "Garrett!" He was sure I was going to do something I'd regret.

"Wait a damned minute!" I still had a responsibility here. "Cook, what're you going to do?"

She looked at me like I'd asked the dumbest question possible. "What I always done, boy. Look after the place."

"Get hold of me if I can do anything." Then I followed Morley. I didn't think another thought about the old man. If there'd been a doctor outside who could have saved him, I doubt it would have occurred to me to mention his distress.

Peters was at the vestibule door when Morley and I got there, carrying paintings and my stuff. He was staring at the great hall the way I'd stared at Bradon's painting of the swamp and hanged man. He had a shovel in one hand. He had graves to dig. I wondered if anybody would bother giving Stantnor a marker. He said, "I don't think I can say thanks, Garrett. You came when I called, but I don't think I'd have visited you if I'd known—"

"I wouldn't have come if I'd known. We're even. What're you going to do?"

"Bury the dead, then go somewhere. Maybe back into the corps. They'll need veterans with Mooncalled running amok. And it's all I know, anyway."

"Yeah. Good luck. See you again someday, Sarge."

"Sure." We both knew we'd never see one another again.

A terrible scream came from upstairs. It went on and on till it seemed no human throat could have produced it. We all looked up. Peters said, "I guess he's dead." He said it with a complete lack of passion.

The scream came again. Now it was filled with mad rage. Cook boomed, "Miss Jenny, you come back here!"

The girl had cracked completely. She flew out of the fourth-floor hallway carrying a dagger, screaming. Shocked, I realized she was yelling my name.

"Get moving, Garrett," Morley said. He'd seen berserkers before. Even a ninety-five-pound woman could tear me apart.

She was so far out of her mind, she didn't know where she was. Realization hit her too late. She hit the balcony rail full speed.

The heroic knight caught her in his lap. Broken, she dribbled down off him, wound up at one of the dragon's feet. She looked like the monster's prey. The hero had come to her rescue moments too late.

But this hero had been way too late to save anybody.

I turned and walked. Morley stayed behind me, just in case I did some damnfool thing like try to go back.

Morley and I didn't talk much on the way home. Once I muttered something about finding another line of work, and he just told me not to be a damned fool. I asked if he'd filled his pockets while he was there, or planned to drop back in some midnight. Usually if I ask something like that he just looks at me like he hasn't got the faintest idea what I'm talking about.

"I wouldn't take anything out of that place if you paid me, Garrett. Not if you begged me. There's a darkness in every stone, every thing, in there."

We didn't talk again till we were coming up Macunado Street toward my house. Then he said, "Go in there and get roaring drunk. Falling down, puking drunk. Get the poison out."

"That's the best idea you've had in years."

Dean let me in. He looked older and leaner, though it'd been only a few days. "Mr. Garrett. We were concerned, not hearing from you for so long."

"We?" I grumbled. He was going to fuss over me.

"Him." He jerked his head toward the Dead Man's room. "He's been awake since you left. Expecting you to ask for help."

"I handled this one alone." Boy, did I handle it.

"Oh." He'd gotten the sense of my mood. "Guess I'd better draw one."

"I might drink a whole barrel."

"That bad?"

"Worse. Find me a hammer, too." I eased into my office, checked the spot where I meant to hang Eleanor.

Dean went. He moved with a swiftness I should remember next time he went at his customary snail's pace. He was back with a beer, a hammer, and a cup of nails in less than a minute. I drained the beer mug. "More."

"I'll start a meal, too. You look like you could use one."

Old sneak. Going to get something on my stomach before I started my serious drinking. "I did miss your cooking where I was." I drove a nail into the wall. Dean brought beery reinforcements before I unwrapped Eleanor. This time he brought a pitcher as well as a mug.

I unwrapped the lady and hung her, stepped back.

It wasn't the same picture.

Well, yes, it was. But something had changed. The intensity, the passion, the horror weren't there. But it looked the same. Except Eleanor seemed to be smiling. She seemed to be running to something instead of from something.

No. It was the same. Nothing had changed but me. I turned my back on it. Snake Bradon hadn't been that great a painter.

I glanced over my shoulder. Eleanor smiled at me.

I downed another mug.

Dean scurried off to get something cooking before I downed enough to pass out.

The Dead Man dragged me into his room almost against my will and dragged the story out of me. He didn't criticize, which was unusual. We didn't get into an argument, despite my best efforts. Instead of climbing all over me for my mistakes, for not having recognized that Jennifer was crazy and a killer earlier than I had, he made thoughtful sounds in my mind. When I finished he meandered off on an extended review of the latest news from the Cantard.

I got interested despite myself.

Glory Mooncalled had attacked Full Harbor. He'd postured and threatened too much. He'd had to prove he wasn't all wind. He'd done his damnedest, launching night attacks from the sea and air, using Cantard creatures. He'd tried to capture the city gates so he could get his ground troops inside. And he'd gotten his ass whipped. Just as I'd predicted.

"There goes the myth of his invincibility," I told the Dead Man.

He responded with a huge mental chuckle. Not at all. Now they will chase after him, to finish him off. Into his country.

"Oh."

So. If he whipped them out there, there wouldn't be enough defenders to hold the city next time he attacked. Maybe. And our boys would chase him. In a mob. We don't have enough competent commanders. Our last really capable man retired three years ago.

I am curious, Garrett. Why would the woman hit you in the head in the sergeant's quarters? You had rendered yourself immune by plying her with your adolescent charm. He couldn't resist getting in a small needle here and there.

"I don't think she wanted to kill me. She just wanted to get the copy of the will before I did."

Why?

I had the feeling he'd figured it out and wanted to see if I had. "For exactly the opposite of the reason I assumed at the time. She wanted to destroy it. If she could get rid of the copies, she wouldn't need to kill people. There'd be no evidence there were any other heirs. The law would pass the estate to her. No dismemberment, no need for her to leave."

And how did she know where to find the copy?

"I think she was behind the wall listening when I talked to Peters. I think a lot of the time she was supposed to be in her rooms, she was creeping around in the walls, listening in. Look, I really don't want to talk about it... . I have one for you. Why did Eleanor pretend to be Morley? And how could she do it so slick that I never suspected a thing?"

She did it because she wanted to know more about you. Your fatal charm again. You had caught her eye. How is quite simple. Especially for one with her antecedents. She simply opened your mind and made herself a mirror. She did not have to know a thing about Mr. Dotes, she just had to make you think she did. You did all the work. Almost like a dream.

There was an implication, remote, that I didn't like. If Eleanor had been inside my head, she knew all about why I was there. She probably could have told me about Jennifer any time. She could have saved... I didn't want to think about it. "That's a little much to swallow."