ROC

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First Printing, March 1994

10   987654321

Copyright © Glen Cook, 1994
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1

There ain't no justice, I guarantee absodamnlutely.
There I was, comfy as could be, feet on my desk, a
pint of Weider's porter in my hand, Espinosa's latest
potboiler in my other hand, and Eleanor reading over
my shoulder. She understood Espinosa better than I
did. For once the Goddamn Parrot wasn't squawking.
I sucked up that sweet silence more enthusiastically
than I did the beer.

Some fool went to hammering on my door.

His pounding had an arrogant, impatient edge.
Meant it would be somebody I didn't want to see.
"Dean! See who that is! Tell him to go away. I'm out
of town. On a secret mission for the king. Won't be
back for years. And I wouldn't buy what he's selling
anyway, if I was home."

Nobody moved. My cook-slash-housekeeper-slash-
factotum was the one who was out of town. I was at
the mercy of wannabe clients and the Goddamn
Parrot.

Dean had gone to TemisVar. One of his herd of
homely nieces was going to get married. He wanted
to make sure her fool fiance didn't wake up before it
was too late.

The pounding continued bruising my door. I'd just
installed it, replacing one broken down by a villain
who couldn't take a hint. "Damned insensitive jerk!"
I muttered. Hollering and threats backed the ham-
mering. The neighbors were going to get upset. Again.

5

6

GLEN COOK



Sleepy, puzzled noises came from the small front
room between my office and the door. "I'll kill him if
he wakes that talking chicken." I glanced at Eleanor.
She offered no advice. She just hung there, baffled
by Espinosa.

"Guess I better dent a head before I got to deal
with another citizens' committee." Or had to put up
a new door. Doors aren't only not cheap, they're hard
to come by.

I dropped my feet, stretched my six feet two, got
going. The Goddamn Parrot made a noise. I peeked
into his room.

The little buzzard was only talking in his sleep. Ex-
cellent! He was one pretty monster. He had a yellow
head, blue neck ruff, red and green body and wings.
His tail feathers were long enough I could maybe
someday cash in with a band of gnomes who needed
decorations for their hats. But a monster he was, for
sure. Somewhere sometime somebody put a curse on
that foul-beaked vulture so he's got the vocabulary of
a stevedore. He lives to be obnoxious.

He was a gift from my "friend" Morley Dotes.
Made me wonder about the nature of friendship.

The Goddamn Parrot — dba Mr. Big — stirred. I got
out of there before he took a notion to wake up.

I have a peephole in my front door. I peeped. I
muttered, "Winger. Wouldn't you know?" My luck
and water have plenty in common, especially always
heading downhill. Winger was a natural disaster look-
ing for a place to happen. A stubborn disaster, too. I
knew she'd pound away till hunger got her. She didn't
look underfed.

She wouldn't worry about what the neighbors
thought, either. She noticed the opinions of others the
way a mastodon noticed undergrowth in the woods.

I opened up. Winger moved forward without being
invited in. I stayed put and almost got trampled. She
is big and beautiful, but her candle doesn't burn too

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES	7

bright. "Need to talk to you, Garrett," she said. "I
need some help. Business."

I should have known better. Hell. I did know better.
But times were dull. Dean wasn't around to nag me.
The Dead Man had been asleep for weeks. I had no-
body but the Goddamn Parrot for company. All my
friends were beset by lady friends, a trial that hadn't
befallen me during any recent epoch. "All right. I
know I'm gonna be sorry, but all right. I'll give you a
listen. Promising nothing."

"Hows about a brew while we're jawing?" Winger
shy? I don't think so. She headed for the kitchen. I
took a look around outside before I shut the door.
You never knew what might be tagging after Winger.
She didn't have sense enough to look back. She sur-
vived on luck, not skill.

"Awk! Holy hooters! Garrett! Check them
gazoombies."

Damn! What I got for not closing the door to the
small front room.

The street showed me only a clutter of people and
animals and dwarves and elves and a squadron of cen-
taur immigrants. The usual.

I shut the door. I went to the small front room
and closed that door, ignoring outraged allegations of
neglect. "Stow it, bird. Unless you want to get ne-
glected right into some ratman's dinner pot."

He laughed. He mocked.

He was right. I have no use for ratmen, but I
wouldn't do that to them.

Then he yelled rape. I didn't worry. Winger had
heard it before.

"Help yourself, why don't you?" I said when I hit
the kitchen, like she hadn't helped herself already.
She'd glommed the biggest mug in the house, too.

She winked. "Here's to ya, big guy." She knew ex-
actly what she was doing but didn't have the grace to
be embarrassed. "You and your sidekick in there."

8	GLEN COOK

"Yeah? You want a parrot?" I drew myself a mug,
settled at the kitchen table.

"That crow in a clown suit? What would I do with
him?" She planted herself opposite me, beyond dunes
of dirty dishes.

"How about get yourself an eyepatch, get into the
pirate business?"

"Don't know if I could dance with a pegleg. It ever
say 'Shiver me timbers' or 'Argh, matey'?"

"What?"

"What I thought. You're trying to stick me with a
substandard bird."

"Huh?"

"That's no sailor bird, Garrett. That critter is pure
city. Knows more gutter talk than me."

"So teach him some sea chanties."

"Yo ho ho. Dean finally croak?" She stared at the
dishes.

"He's out of town. Got a niece that's getting mar-
ried. Looking for a part-tune job?"

Winger had met some of Dean's nieces, all of whom
brought new meaning to the word homely. She con-
trolled her astonishment, though, and pretended to
miss my hint about the dishes. "I was married once."

Oh, boy. I hoped she didn't get started.

She was still married but didn't let legal trivia en-
cumber her. "Don't go misty on me, Winger."

"Misty? You shitting me? After that, Hell is gonna
look good."

Winger is a tad unusual, case you haven't noticed.
She is twenty-six, as tall as I am, and built like the
proverbial masonry privy—on an epic scale. Also, she
has what some guys think is an attitude problem. Just
can't figure out how to stay in her place.

"You want my help," I reminded. Just a poke. My
keg wasn't bottomless. I smirked. Maybe she was des-
perate enough to take the Goddamn Parrot off my
hands.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES	9

"Uhm." She would get to the point only after she
had mooched her fill. That quantity would clue me as
to the state of her fortunes.

"You're looking good, Winger." Even Winger likes
to hear that."Must be doing all right."

She assumed I meant her outfit. That was new and,
as always, remarkable. "Where I work, they want you
should dress snappy."

I kept a straight face. "Unusual" is only the most
cautious, gentlest way to characterize Winger's taste.
Let's say you couldn't lose her in a crowd. If she went
around with the Goddamn Parrot on her shoulder, no-
body would notice the bird. "That outfit is pretty timid.
When you worked for that fat freak Lubbock ..."

"It's the territory. These guys want you should
blend in."

Again I kept my face straight. Being amused by
Winger when Winger isn't amused can be hazardous
to your health—especially if you're dim enough to,
say, crack wise about her blending in.

"Old-timer's gone, eh? What about the ugly thing?"
She meant my partner, the Dead Man, so-called be-
cause he hasn't run any footraces since somebody
stuck a knife in him four hundred years ago. "Ugly
thing" is apt. He isn't human. He's a Loghyr, which
explains why he's still hanging around so long after
he was murdered. Loghyr are slow and stubborn, espe-
cially when it comes to sloughing off the old mortal
clay. They're deliberate, he would say.

"Asleep. Been weeks since he bugged me. I'm in
heaven."

Winger sneered, flipped blond hair out of her face.
"Likely to wake up?"

"Maybe if the house catches on fire. Got something
to hide?" The Dead Man's big trick is mind reading.

"No more than usual. I was just thinking, it's been
a dry spell. Way I hear, weather ain't been so hot for
you, neither."

10

GLEN COOK

That was my pal Winger, so shy and demure. Some-
how, with her, the romance and adventure were ab-
sent. "Thought you had desperate business."

"Desperate?"

"You like to tore the door down. You woke up the
Goddamn Parrot with your whooping and hollering."
That about-to-become-roasted squab was holding
forth up front. "I figured you had killer elves slavering
on your trail."

"I just wish. I told you how my luck's been. I was
just trying to get your attention." She refilled her mug,
did mine, headed for my office. "All right, Garrett.
Business first."

She paused, listened. T.G. Parrot was on a roll. She
shrugged, slipped into my office. I followed quickly.
Sometimes things fall into Winger's pockets if you're
not there to keep an eye on them.

I wriggled into my chair, safe behind my desk. Elea-
nor guarded my back. Winger scowled at the painting,
then eyed my book. "Espinosa? Ain't that a little
heavy for you?"

"It's a real thriller." Espinosa was beyond me,
mostly. He tended to make a big deal out of questions
that wouldn't have occurred to anybody who worked
for a living.

I'd gone to visit a lady friend at the Royal Library.
The book was all I got.

"Philosophy is thrilling? Like a hemorrhoid. The
man should've got a hobby."

"He did. Philosophy. Since when can you read?"

"You don't need to act so surprised. I been learn-
ing. Got to do something with my ill-gotten gains,
don't I? I thought maybe some learning might come
in handy someday. But mostly what I've learned is
studying don't make you no smarter about people."

I started to agree. I know some pretty dim academ-
ics, people who live in another world. Winger cut me
off. "Enough chit-chat. Here's the gig. This old broad

DEADLY OUICKSILVER LIES

11

name of Maggie Jenn is maybe gonna come see you.
I don't know what's up, but my boss is willing to pay
a shitload of money to find out. This Jenn crone
knows me so I can't get close to her. What I figured
was, why don't I get you to let her hire you, then you
let me know what she's up to and I can take that to
my boss."

Vintage Winger.

"Maggie Jenn?"

"That's the name."

"Seems like it ought to ring a bell. Who is she?"

"You got me. Just some old broad off the Hill."

"The Hill?" I leaned back, just a harried man of
affairs taking a moment out to relax with an old
friend. "I have a case."

"What is it this time? A stray lizard?" She laughed.
Her laughter sounded like geese headed north for the
winter. "Meow, meow."

A few days earlier, I'd gotten stung by an old biddy
who'd hired me to look for her beloved missing Mog-
gie. Never mind the details. It's embarrassing enough
just me knowing. "That's on the street?"

Winger swung her feet onto my desk. "All over it."

Dean was in it deep. / hadn't told a soul.

"Best Garrett story I heard hi a while, too. Thou-
sand marks for a cat? Come on."

"You know how some old ladies are about their
cats." The cat hadn't been the problem, really. The
problems started when I found a real animal that was
a ringer for the imaginary, red herring beast. "Who
would suspect a sweet old lady of wanting to set him
up for a fall guy in a scam?"

Honk honk, har bar. "I would've got suspicious
when she wouldn't come to my house."

What saved me was finding that cat. I caught on
when I tried to take him home. "Yeah."

The Dead Man might have saved me all the embar-
rassment. Had he been awake.

12

GLEN COOK

Part of the discomfort of the mess was knowing he'd

never stop reminding me about it. "Never mind that.

Since we're talking about old ladies, tell me what this

Maggie Jenn is going to want."
"I figure she's gonna ask you to kill somebody."
"Say what?" That wasn't what I expected. "Hey!

You know—"

Somebody else was trying out my front door. This
somebody had a fist of stone bigger than a ham. "I
have a bad feeling about this," I muttered. "Whenever
platoons of people start thumping the door ..."

Winger stowed her leer. "I'll disappear."

"Don't wake the Dead Man."

"You kidding?" She pointed toward the ceiling. "I'll
be up there. Find me when you're done."

I was afraid of that.

Having a no-strings, no-complications friendship can
have its own complications.

The small front room had grown quiet. I paused
to eavesdrop. Not one obscenity marred the precious
silence. T.G. Parrot was asleep again.

I thought about making it that jungle pigeon's last
nap, the beginning of the big sleep, the longest voyage,
the ...

Boom boom boom.

I peeked through the peephole. By-the-numbers
Garrett, that's me. Fixing to live a thousand years.

All I saw was a smallish redhead facing three-quarters
away, staring at something. That little bit did all that
pounding? She was stronger than she looked. I opened
the door. She continued staring up the street. I leaned
forward cautiously.

The neighborhood pixie teens were chucking rotten
fruits off the cornices and gutters of an ugly old three-
story half a block up Macunado. A band of gnomes

13

14

GLEN COOK

below dodged and cursed and shook their walking
sticks. They were all old, clad in the usual drab gray,
with whiskers. Not beards, whiskers, like you see in
paintings of old-time generals and princes and mer-
chant captains. All gnomes seem to be old and out of
fashion. I've never seen a young one or a female one.

One spry little codger, chanting a colorful warsong
about discount rates and yam futures, pegged a broken
cobblestone hard enough to actually hit a pixie. It did
a somersault off a gargoyle's head. The gnomes
pranced around and waved their sticks in glee and
sent up an ave to the Great Arbitrager. Then the pixie
brat opened his wings and soared. His laughter was a
mocking squeak.

I told the redhead, "An exercise in futility. All
sound and fury. Been going on all month. Nobody's
gotten hurt yet. Probably all die of shame if anybody
did." Gnomes are that way. Gladly make fortunes fi-
nancing wars but don't want to watch the bloodshed.

I spied a sedan chair at streetside down toward Ma-
cunado's intersection with Wizard's Reach. Beside it
stood something half man and half gorilla with hands
that fit the prescription for whatever it was that had
tried to demolish my door. "That thing tame?"

"Mugwump? He's a sweetheart. And as human as
you are." The redhead's tone suggested she might be,
unwittingly, insulting friend Mugwump.

"Can I help you?" Boy, would I like to help her.
Mugwump was old news.

I make a point of being nice to redheads, at least
till they're not nice to me. Redhead was always my
favorite color, barely edging blonde and brunette.

The woman turned to me. "Mr. Garrett?" Her voice
was low, husky, sexy.

I didn't owe any money. "Guilty." Surprise, sur-
prise. She was a good decade older than my first guess.
But time had stolen nothing. She was proof on the
hoof that aging produces fine wines. Second-guessing,

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

15

I put her over thirty-five but under forty. Me, I'm a
tender, innocent thirty and don't usually look for them
quite so ripe.

"You're staring, Mr. Garrett. I thought that was
impolite."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Excuse me."

The Goddamn Parrot started muttering in his sleep.
Something about interspecies necrophilia. That got me
back to the real world. "What can I do for you,
madam?" Other than the obvious, if you're looking
for volunteers. Hoo.

I was amazed. Yeah, female of the species is my
soft spot, my blind side, but the mature type didn't
usually get me. Whatever, something about this one
totally distracted me. And she knew it.

Businesslike, Garrett. Businesslike.

"Ma'am, Mr. Garrett? Am I that far past it?"

I sputtered. I stumbled around and tripped over my
tongue till it was black with footprints. She finally had
mercy and smiled. "Can we get in out of the
weather?"

"Sure." I stepped aside, held the door. What was
wrong with the weather? It couldn't have been nicer.
There were barely enough clouds to keep you from
falling into a sky as blue as you will ever hope to see.

She brushed past without tricks, just close because
she had to. I shut my eyes. I ground my teeth. I bab-
bled, "My office is the second door on the left. I can't
offer much but beer or brandy. My man Dean is
away." The woman had to be a witch. Or I was out
of practice. Bad.

"Brandy would be perfect, Mr. Garrett."

Of course. Pure class. "Coming right up. Make
yourself at home." I dove into the kitchen. Dig dig
dig till I found some brandy. A bit of a tippler, Dean
hides the stuff all over so I won't know how much he
has bought. I poured from a bottle that I hoped con-
tained good stuff. What did I know about brandy?

16

GLEN COOK

Beer is my favorite food. I zipped to the office. The
seasoned redhead had set up camp in the client's chair.
She frowned as she studied Eleanor. "Here you go."

"Thank you. An interesting painting. There's a lot
there if you look long enough."

I glanced at my honey as I settled. She was a lovely
blonde, terrified, fleeing something only hinted at hi
the painting's background. If you looked at that paint-
ing right, though, you could read the whole evil story.
There was magic in it, though much of that had gone
once I got the man who murdered Eleanor.

I told the story. My visitor was a good listener. I
managed to avoid getting totally lost in my own chem-
istry. I observed carefully. I suggested, "You might
introduce yourself before we go any further. I'm never
comfortable calling a woman 'Hey You'."

Her smile softened the enamel on my teeth. "My
name is Maggie Jenn. Margat Jenn, actually, but I've
never been called anything but Maggie."

Ah, the monster of the prophecy. Winger's old
crone. Must have lost her walker. I blurted, "Maggie
doesn't sound like a redhead."

Her smile warmed up. Incredible! "Surely you're
not that naive, Mr. Garrett."

"Garrett is fine. Mr. Garrett was my grandpop. No.
It hasn't escaped me that some women miraculously
transform overnight."

"This is just a tint, really. A little more red than
my natural shade. Just vanity. One more rearguard
skirmish in my war against tune."

Yeah. The poor toothless hag. "Looks to me like
you've got it on the run."

"You're sweet." She smiled again, turning up the
heat. She leaned forward....

Maggie Jenn caught my left hand, squeezed. "Some
women enjoy being looked at that way, Garrett.
Sometimes they want to look back." She tickled my
palm. I stifled an urge to pant. She was working me
and I didn't care. "But I'm here on business and it's
important, so we'd better get to it." She took her
hand back.

I was supposed to melt, going through withdrawal.

I went through withdrawal.

"I like this room, Garrett. Tells me a lot. Confirms
what I've heard about you."

I waited. Clients go through this. They're desperate
when they arrive. They wouldn't come to me if they
weren't. But they stall around before admitting that
their lives have gone out of control. Most end up tell-
ing me how they chose me. Maggie Jenn did that.

Some change their minds before they get to the
point. Maggie Jenn did not.

"I didn't realize I was so well known. That's scary."
Apparently my name was common corn among the
ruling class, to which Maggie Jenn clearly belonged,
though she had not revealed where she fit. I should
avoid the flashy cases. I don't like being noticed.

"You're on everyone's list of specialists, Garrett. If
you want a coach built, you go to Linden Atwood.
You want unique flatware, you commission Rickman
Plax and Sons. You want the best shoes, you buy Tate.
You need prying and spying, you hire Garrett."

17

18

GLEN COOK

"Speaking of prying and spying."

"You want me to get to the point."

"I'm used to people circling in on their troubles."

She reflected a moment. "I see where they might.
It's hard. All right. To the point. I need you to find
my daughter."

"Huh?" She blindsided me. I was all tensed for her
to ask me to kill somebody and all she wanted was
the basic Garrett service.

"I need you to find my daughter. She's been missing
for six days. I'm worried. What's the matter? You
have the funniest look."

"I get like this when I think about working."

"You have that reputation. What will it take to get
you out of the house?"

"More information. And the fee settled." There. I
could be proud of me. I was taking command, being
businesslike, handling my weakness.

So how come I was practically agreeing to take a
case blind?

Actually, despite my reputation and past habit of
laziness, I had been working steady, minor stuff, grab-
bing a few marks while I avoided the house and Dean,
the Dead Man and the Goddamn Parrot. The former
suffer from the delusion that it will be a better world
if I work myself to death. T.G.P. just nags.

"Her name is Justina, Garrett. She's an adult,
though just barely. I don't hang over her shoulder."

"An adult? What were you, ten years old? ..."

"Flattery will get you everywhere. I was eighteen.
She turned eighteen three months ago. Never mind
the math."

"Hell, you're a spring chicken. Twenty-one with a
few years' experience. You don't need to stop count-
ing yet. I bet plenty of people take you for Justina's
sister."

"Aren't you the sweet talker."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

19

"Actually, I'm only being honest. I'm way too dis-
tracted to ..."

"I'll bet the girls love you, Garrett."

"Yeah. You hear them chanting in the street. You
saw them climbing the walls so they can get in through
a second-story window." TunFaire being TunFaire, my
house has only one ground floor window, in the
kitchen. Iron bars cover it.

Maggie Jenn's eyes sparkled. "I have a feeling I'm
going to wish I'd met you sooner, Garrett." Those
eyes promised. Maybe I was going to wish that, too.

A redhead will knock me for a loop every time.

She continued. "To the point. Again. Justina's been
running with bad companions. Nothing I can put my
finger on, no. Just youngsters I don't like. I got the
feeling they were up to something wicked. No, I never
saw anything to confirm that."

One thing you notice about parents who are looking
for strayed children. They never liked anyone the kid
liked. The kid is gone because he or she fell in with
evil companions. Even when they strain to be non-
judgmental, there's this basic assumption that the
friends are no good. If any of the friends are of an-
other sex, boy, howdy!

"I expect you'll want to know all about her before
you start, right?"

We had us a built-in assumption I'd be working for
Momma Jenn. Momma Jenn was used to getting her
own way. "Best way to do it. I knew a guy in my line
whose whole thing was to get right inside the head of
whoever he was hunting. He'd ignore everything but
the character of that one guy. He'd almost become
that guy. 'Course, lots of times he could've got his
man quicker by looking at the big picture."

"You'll have to tell me about some of your cases.
It's not a side of life I see. Must be exciting. Suppose
you come to my house for an early supper? You can
examine Justina's room and her things and ask your

20

GLEN COOK

questions. Then you can decide whether or not you
want the case." She smiled a smile that put her earlier
efforts to shame. She was confident. I was getting
roasted, toasted, manipulated, and I loved every sec-
ond of it.

I said, "It happens I'm free tonight."
"Perfect." She rose, began donning flesh-colored
gloves I hadn't noticed before. She considered Elea-
nor. Her face darkened. She shuddered. Eleanor can
have that effect. "Fifth hour?" Maggie asked.
"Ill be there. But you'll have to tell me where."
Her face did darken then. Big mistake, Garrett. I
was supposed to know without being told. Unfortu-
nately, I knew so little about Maggie Jenn I didn't
know that she would be irked because I didn't know
who she was or where she lived.

The lady was a trooper. She carried on. She dallied
only a moment before offering an address.
I got real nervous real sudden.
We were talking way up the Hill, where the richest
and most powerful of the rich and powerful live, up
where the altitude itself is the best indicator of wealth
and might. Blue Crescent Street was in the realm of
fairy tale as far as I was concerned.

Maggie Jenn was a lady with big connections, but I
still could not recall why I thought I should know
her name.

It would come when it was really inconvenient.
I escorted the lovely lady to my front door. The
lovely lady continued to smolder and invite. Would
the evening have anything to do with a missing
daughter?



I stood bemused by Maggie Jenn swaying toward her
litter. She knew I was watching. She made it a good
show.

That killer stump Mugwump watched me watch. I
didn't get the impression that he wished me well.

"You never stop foaming at the mouth, do you?"

I realized that I had settled down to savor every
second of Maggie's departure. I tore my gaze away,
turned to see which of my busybody neighbors was
going to permit me to bask in the chill of her disap-
proval. I discovered, instead, a very attractive little
brunette. She had approached from the other
•direction.

"Linda Lee!" This was my friend from the Royal
Library, about whom I'd been thinking while holding
Espinosa's book instead. "This is the nicest surprise
I've had in a while." I went down to meet her. "I'm
glad you changed your mind." Linda Lee, barely five
feet tall, with beautiful big brown puppy eyes, was just
about the cutest bit of a librarian I could imagine.

"Down, boy. This is a public place."

"Come into my parlor."

"If I do that, I'll forget all about why I came here."
She plopped herself down on a step sideways. She
locked her ankles together, pulled her knees up under
her chin, wrapped her arms around them, and looked
at me with a little girl innocence she knew would turn
me into a love zombie.

21

22

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

23

It was my day to be a plaything.

I could handle it. I'd been born for that role.

Linda Lee Luther was no innocent, whatever im-
pression you got at first glance. But she did try hard
to be the icemaiden some folks thought a librarian
should be. She tried but failed. Real ice wasn't in her
nature. I just stood there, wearing my winningest grin,
confident that she would talk herself into leaving the
public eye.

"Stop that!"

"What?" I asked.

"Looking at me like that. I know what you're
thinking...."

"I can't help that."

"Yes, well, you're going to make me forget why I
came here."

I didn't believe that for a second, but I'm a good
guy. I can go along with a gag. "All right. Tell me
about it."

"Huh?"

"What brought you here if not my irresistable
charm?"

"I need your help. Professionally."

Why me?

I didn't believe it. Librarians don't get into fixes
where they need guys like me to get them unfixed.
Not cute little bits like Linda Lee Luther.

I'd begun moving toward my door. Preoccupied,
Linda Lee rose and followed. I had her inside. I had
the front door closed and bolted. I tried sneaking her
past the open door of the small front room. The God-
damn Parrot mumbled obscenities in his sleep. Lovely
Linda Lee did not take exception. I began to recall
why I was so fond of this girl. I asked her, "What's
got you so distracted?"

This was her big chance to come back with some-
thing clever and suggestive, an opportunity she

wouldn't have wasted usually. But she just moaned,
"I'm going to get fired. I just know it."

"That doesn't seem likely." Really.

"You don't understand. I lost a book, Garrett. A
rare book. One that can't be replaced. It may have
been stolen."

I eased into my office. Linda Lee followed me.
Where was this attraction when I wanted to use it
most?

"I have to get it back before they find out," Linda
Lee continued. "There's no excuse for me having let
this happen."

I told her, "Calm down. Take a deep breath. Hold
it. Then tell me all about it, from the beginning. I'm
already tied up in a job that's going to keep me busy
for a while, but there's still a chance I can suggest
something."

I took her by the shoulders, maneuvered her over
to the client's seat. She settled.

"Tell me from the beginning," I reminded.

Aargh! The best laid plans, and so forth. Instead of
spinning her sad tale of woe, she started sputtering
and gesturing, original mission completely forgotten.

Uh-oh.

The Espinosa. Right there on my desk.

I hadn't quite observed all the formalities when I'd
borrowed it. The library powers that be don't trust
ordinary folks with books, anyway. Books might give
us ideas.

I gobbled something placatory that got lost in the
uproar, totally failed to steer her back to that matter
of the loss that had brought her to me. "How could
you do this to me, Garrett? I'm already in trouble....
If they miss this book too, I'm dead. How could you?"

Well, the how had been easy. It wasn't a very big
book and the old veteran guarding the door had been
napping. He'd had only one leg, anyway.

Words continued to vomit from my lovely Linda

24

GLEN COOK

Lee. An awesome performance. She got a grip on the
Espinosa like it was her firstborn about to be repoed
by a dwarf with a polysyllabic name.

How do you argue with panic? I didn't.

Linda Lee suddenly made a run for it. I didn't get
around the desk fast enough. She squawked every step
to the front door.

Wa-hoo! said the Goddamn Parrot. What a great
excuse for raising hell. He went to work.

A moment later, I was watching Linda Lee scamper
up Macunado, her anger so palpable eight-foot ogres
scooted out of her way.

Her visit lasted so briefly I caught a last glimpse of
Maggie Jenn's litter before it, too, got lost in traffic.
Mugwump sent me a scowl to remember him by.

What a day. What next?

One thing seemed certain. There were no more
lovelies headed my way. Sigh.

Time to take a minute to see what Eleanor thought
about Maggie Jenn.

I settled behind my desk, stared at Eleanor. "What
did you think of Maggie, darling? Should I be your
basic opportunist? Go for it even if she is older than

me?"

Eleanor doesn't say much but I manage by putting
words in her mouth. "Yeah, I know. I went for you.
A ghost." Picture that. I've been infatuated a few
thousand times but hopelessly in love only twice, most
recently with a woman who died when I was four. "So
what's the big deal she's a few years older, eh?"

Weird things happen to me. Vampires. Dead gods
trying to resurrect themselves. Killer zombies. Serial
murderers who keep right on killing after you find
them and send them off to the happy hunting ground.
So why consider a love affair with a ghost outrageous?

"Yeah. I know. It would be cynical of me. What?
Sure, she plans to use me, too. I know. But what a
way to be used."

From the hall, I heard, "Yo, Garrett. I'm getting
gray hairs hanging around up here."

Winger. Damn! I can't remember everything, can I?
I rose slowly, still distracted. Maggie Jenn had cast a
spell on me, no doubt about it. I'd almost forgotten
my disappointment over Linda Lee.

I found Winger sitting on the stairs. "What are you
doing, Garrett? The old broad left fifteen minutes
ago." She didn't mention Linda Lee's hollering.

"I've been thinking."

25

26

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

27

"That's dangerous for a guy in your condition."

"Huh?" I didn't have a comeback. For only about
the ten thousandth time in my life. The perfect re-
sponse would spawn sometime as I lay tossing and
turning an hour before dawn.

Winger strode to the Dead Man's door, stuck her
nose in. His room takes up half the ground floor. I
looked over her shoulder. All 450 pounds of him re-
mained planted in his chair, still as death. The Logh-
yr's elephantlike snout dangled down a foot to his
chest. Dust had begun to collect on him, but the ver-
min hadn't found him yet. No point cleaning until they
did. Maybe Dean would come home first and save me
the trouble.

Winger backed out of there, grabbed my elbow.
"He's out of it." She knew because he hadn't reacted
to her. He has no use for females in general and less
use for Winger. Once, I threatened to boot Dean out
and move her in.

"What did she say?" Winger asked as we headed
upstairs. "Who's the target?"

"You don't know?"

"I don't know squat. All I know is I'm getting paid
a shitpot full to find out."

Money was important to Winger. It is to all of us,
in a palsy sort of way: nice to have around, fun to be
with. But for Winger, it was like a patron saint.

"She wants me to find her daughter. The girl's been
missing for six days."

"Say what? I'll be damned. I was sure it was going
to be a hit."

"Why?"

"No special reason. I guess I added the cues up
wrong. Looking for her kid? You take the job?"

"I'm thinking about it. I'm supposed to go up to
her place, check out the kid's stuff, before I decide."

"But you'll take it, right? Make yourself some of
that old double money?"

"An intriguing idea. Only I haven't seen single
money from anybody yet."

"You sly bastard. You're thinking about topping the
old broad. You're here with me and you're thinking
about that. You're a regular villain."

"Winger! The woman is old enough to be my
mother."

"Then you or mom is lying about their age."

"You're the one that went on about what an old
hag she was."

"What's that got to do with anything? Hell. I forgive
you, Garrett. Like I said, you're here. And she's not."

Arguing with Winger is like spitting into a whirl-
wind. Not much profit in it.

Only through a supreme effort did I get away in
time to join Maggie Jenn for dinner.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

29

"Ta-ta," I told the Dead Man—softly, so the God-
damn Parrot wouldn't hear. "I spent the day with a
beautiful blonde. In penance, I'm going to spend the
evening with a gorgeous redhead."

He did not respond. He sure would have had he
been awake. Winger had a special place in his heart.
He had half believed my threat to marry her.

Laughing gently, still unforgiven, I tiptoed toward
the front door. Before his departure, at incredible ex-
pense (to me), Dean had had a key lock installed hi
the new door, like I hadn't survived before he was
there to slam bolts and bars into place behind me.
Dean placed his trust in the wrong things. A key lock
never stops anybody but the honest people. Our real
protection is the Dead Man.

Loghyr have many talents, dead or alive.

I strutted away smiling at one and all, deaf to their
squabbles. We were getting a lot of nonhumans in the
neighborhood, mostly rough type refugees from the
Cantard, never shy about expressing opinions. There
was always a fuss among them.

Worse, though, were the proto-revolutionaries.
Those crowded every loft and sleeping room. They
overflowed the taverns, where they chattered foolishly
about ever less workable dogmas. I understood what
moved them. I didn't think much of the Crown, either.
But I did know that none of us, them or me, was
ready to try on the king's shoes.

28

A real revolution would make things worse. These
days no two revolutionaries agree whither the Karen-
tine state, anyway. So they would have to murder one
another wholesale before ...

Revolution had been tried already, anyway, but so
ineptly that hardly anybody but the secret police
knew.

I ignored the hairy-faced, black-clad agents of chaos
on the corners, scowling paranoiacally while they de-
bated doctrinal trivia. The Crown was not hi much
danger. I have contacts in the new city police, the
Guard. They say half the revolutionaries are really
spies.

I waved to people. I whistled. It was a glorious day.

I was on the job, however. Though I was whistling
my way to dinner with a beautiful woman, I observed
my surroundings. I noticed the guy following me.

I roamed. I dawdled. I ambled. I strolled. I tried to
get an estimate of the clown's intent. He wasn't very
good. I pondered my options.

Turning the tables appealed to me. I could shake
him, then follow him when he ran to report.

I do have enemies, sad to admit. In the course of my
labors, occasionally I inconvenience some unpleasant
people. Some might want to even scores.

I hate a bad loser.

My friend Morley Dotes, a professional killer who
masquerades as a vegetarian gourmet, claims it's my
own fault for leaving them alive behind me.

I studied my tail till I was sure I could handle him,
then hurried along to keep my date with Maggie Jenn.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

31

The Jenn place was a fifty-room hovel on the edge of
the innermost circle of the Hill. No mere tradesman,
however rich, however powerful, would reach that
final ring.

Funny. Maggie Jenn had not struck me as the aristo
type.

The name still nagged. I still did not recall why I
ought to know it.

That part of the Hill was all stone, vertical and hori-
zontal. No yards, no gardens, no sidewalks, no green
anywhere unless on the rare third-story balcony. No
brick. Red or brown brick was what the mob used to
build. Forget that. Use stone that was quarried in an-
other country and had to be barged for hundreds of
miles.

I'd never been to the area so I got disoriented.

There weren't any spaces between buildings. The
street was so narrow two carriages couldn't pass with-
out climbing the sidewalks. It was cleaner than the
rest of the city, but the gray stone pavements and
buildings made the view seem dingy anyway. Walking
that street was like walking the bottom of a dismal
limestone canyon.

The Jenn address was hi the middle of a featureless
block. The door was more like a postern gate than an
entrance to a home. Not one window faced the street,
just an unbroken cliff of stone. The wall even lacked

30

ornament, unusual for the Hill. Hill folk build to
outdo their neighbors in displays of bad taste.

Some slick architect must have sold some otherwise
shrewd character the notion that starkness was the
way to shine. No doubt storehouses of wealth changed
hands, the ascetic look being more costly than mere
gingerbread.

Me, I like cheap. Gimme a herd of double-ugly gar-
goyles and some little boys peeing off the gutter
corners.

The knocker was so discreet you almost had to hunt
for it. It wasn't even brass, just some gray metal like
pewter or tin. It made a restrained tick tick so feeble
I'd have thought nobody inside could hear it.

The plain teak door opened immediately. I found
myself face-to-face with a guy who looked like he got
stuck with the name Ichabod by malicious parents
back around the turn of the century. He looked like
he had spent the numerous intervening decades living
down to the image that kind of name conjures. He
was long and bony and bent. His eyes were red and
his hair was white and his skin was oh so pale. I mut-
tered, "So this is what they do when they get old.
Hang up then- black swords and turn into butlers." He
had an Adam's apple that looked like he was choking
on a grapefruit. He didn't say a word, he just stood
there staring like a buzzard waiting for a snack to
cool.

He had the biggest bony arches over his eyes I ever
saw. They were forested with white jungles.

Spooky guy.

"Dr. Death, I presume?" Dr. Death was a character
in the Punch and Judy shows going around. Ichabod
and the bad doctor had a lot in common, but the
puppet was six feet shorter.

Some people have no sense of humor. We had us
one of those here. Ichabod neither cracked a smile
nor twitched one of those woodlots camped over his

32

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

33

eyes. He did speak, though. Fair Karentine, too. "You
have some cause for disturbing this household?"

"Sure." I didn't like his tone. I never like the tone
of Hill servants. It's filled with the defensive snob-
bishness you find in the tone of a turncoat. "I wanted
to see if you guys really do shrivel hi the sunlight." I
had the advantage in this dumb game because I was
expected and he'd been given my description. And
he'd recognized me.

If he hadn't recognized me, he would've slammed
the door against my nose. Word would have gone out
to the thugs who defend the rich and mighty from
nuisances like me. A band would be hastening hither
to deal me an exemplary drubbing.

Come to think of it, they could be hastening any-
way, if Ichabod had a confederate with no better sense
of humor. "Name's Garrett," I announced. "Maggie
Jenn asked me to come for dinner."

The old spook stepped back. He never said a word,
but it was plain he doubted his boss's wisdom. He
didn't approve of letting my kind in the house. No
telling what might have to be dragged back out of my
pockets before they let me go. Or maybe I'd scratch
off some fleas and leave them to colonize the rugs.

I glanced back to see how my tail was making out.
Poor sod was playing hell staying inconspicuous.

"Nice door," I observed as I caught it edge-on. It
was four inches thick. "Expecting a debt collector with
a battering ram?" Hill people are rich enough to have
those kinds of problems. Nobody would loan me
enough for me to get in trouble.

"Follow me." Ichabod turned.

"That should be 'follow me, sir.' " I don't know why
the guy made me antagonistic. "I'm a guest. You're a
flunky." I began having second thoughts about revolu-
tions. When I go over to the Royal Library to see
Linda Lee, I poke around in the books, too. Once I
read one about rebellions. Seems like the servants of

the overthrown get it worse than their masters do—
unless they are perceptive enough to be agents of the
rebels.

"Indeed."

"Ah. A comment. Lead on, Ichabod."

"The name is Zeke, sir." The sir dripped sarcasm.

"Zeke?" That was as bad as Ichabod. Almost.

"Yes, sir. Are you coming? The mistress doesn't
like to be kept waiting."

"Do lead on, then. The thousand and one gods of
TunFaire forfend that we distress Her Red-
headedness."

Zeke elected not to respond. He'd concluded that I
had an attitude problem. He was right, of course, but
for the wrong reasons. And I was a little ashamed. He
was probably a nice old man with a herd of grandkids,
forced to work into his dotage in order to support
ungrateful descendants who were the offspring of sons
killed in the Cantard.

I didn't believe that for a minute, though.

The interior of that place bore no resemblance to
the outside. It was pretty dusty now, but it had started
out as the daydream of some wharfside loser who
imagined himself a great potentate. Or a great poten-
tate with the tastes of a wharfside loser. I'll get some
of these and a bunch of those and ... And the only
thing missing was a troop of houris.

The place was lousy with tasteless billows of wealth.
Plush everything and way too much of it, and even
more of everything as we moved nearer the center of
the pit. Actually, we seemed to advance from zone to
zone, each another expression of bad taste.

"Whoa!" said I, unable to restrain myself. "There
it is." It being a mammoth's-foot cane and brolly
stand. "You don't see a lot of those."

Zeke gave me a look, read my reaction to that bit
of down-home chic. His stone face relaxed for a mo-

34

GLEN COOK

merit. He agreed. In that instant, we concluded a
shaky armistice.

No doubt it would survive no longer than Karenta's
armistice with Venageta, which had lasted a whole six
and a half hours.

"Sometimes we cannot relinquish our pasts, sir."

"Maggie Jenn used to be a mammoth hunter?"

The peace was over. Just like that. He hunked along
sullenly. I think that was because I'd admitted I didn't
have the faintest idea what Maggie Jenn used to be.

How come everyone thought I should know who
she was? Including me? My famous memory was
doing famously today.

Zeke ushered me into the worst room yet. "Ma-
dame will join you here." I looked around, shading
my eyes, began to wonder if Madame didn't used to
be a madam. The place was for sure done up in whore-
house modern, probably by the same nancy boys who
did the high-fly joints down in the Tenderloin.

I turned to ask a question.

Ichabod had abandoned me.

I almost squeaked for him to come back. "Oh,
Zeke! Bring me a blindfold." I didn't think I could
stand the sensory assault otherwise.

It got to me. I stood around like I'd just made eye
contact with a medusa. I'd never seen so much red.
Everything was a red of the reddest reds, overwhelm-
ingly red. Ubiquitous gold leaf highlights only height-
ened the impact.

"Garrett."

Maggie Jenn. I didn't have the strength to turn. I
was scared she'd be wearing scarlet and lip rouge of
a shade that would make her look like a vampire at
snack time.

"You alive?"

"Just stunned." I waved a hand. "This is a bit
overpowering."

"Kind of sucks, don't it? But Teddy loved it, the
gods know why. This place was Teddy's gift, so I keep
this part the way he liked it."

I did turn then. No, she hadn't worn red. She wore
a peasanty sort of thing that was mostly light brown
and white lace and a silly white dairymaid's hat that
set off her hair. She also wore a heavyweight smile
that said she was amusing herself at my expense but
I was free to join in the fun. I told her, "I'm missing
something. I don't get the joke."

Her smile faded. "What do you know about me?"

"Not much. Your name. That you're the sexiest
woman I've run into in an age. Various self-evident
characteristics. That you live in a classy neighborhood.
And that's about it."

35

36

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

37

She shook her head. Red curls flew around. "Noto-
riety isn't worth much anymore. Come on. We don't
stay here. You'd go blind."

Nice to have somebody crack wise for me. Saved
me the trouble of thinking them up and pissing her
off.

She led me through several memorable rooms which
weren't important enough to note. Then we roared
out into the real world, bam! A dining room set for
two. "Like a night in Elf Hill," I muttered.

She hadn't lost her hearing. "I used to feel that way.
Those rooms can be intimidating. Go ahead. Plant it."

I took a chair opposite her at the end of a table
long enough to seat two dozen people. "This is a love
nest?"

"Smallest dining room I've got." Hint of a smile.

"You and Teddy?"

"Sigh. How fleeting infamy. Nobody remembers ex-
cept the family. That's all right, though. They're bitter
enough for everybody. Teddy was Teodoric, Prince of
Kamark. He became Teodoric IV and lasted a whole
year."

"The king?" Bells began to ring. Finally. "It's start-
ing to come."

"Good. I won't have to put myself through a bunch
of explanations."

"I don't know a lot. That all happened when I was
in the Marines. In the Cantard, we didn't pay much
attention to royal scandals."

"Didn't know who was king and didn't care. I've
heard that one." Maggie Jenn smiled her best smile.
"I bet you still don't follow royal scandals."

"They don't affect my life much."

"It wouldn't affect your work for me, either, you
knowing or not knowing all the dirt."

A woman came in. Like Zeke, she was as old as
original sin. She was tiny, the size of a child about to
lunge into adolescence. She wore spectacles. Maggie

Jenn took good care of her help. Spectacles are expen-
sive. The old woman posed, hands clasped in front of
her. She neither moved nor spoke.

Maggie Jenn said, "We'll start whenever you're
ready, Laurie."

The old woman inclined her head and left.

Maggie said, "I will tell you some of it, though, to
soothe that famous curiosity of yours. So you do what
I'm paying you to do instead of rooting around in my
past."

I grunted.

Laurie and Zeke brought in a soup course. I began
salivating. I'd eaten my own cooking too long.

That was the only way I missed Dean, though! You
bet.

"I was the king's mistress, Garrett."

"I remember." Finally. It was the scandal of its day,
a crown prince falling for a commoner so hard he set
her up on the Hill. His wife had not been thrilled.
Old Teddy had made no pretense of discretion. He'd
been in love and didn't care if the whole world knew.
A worrisome attitude in a man who might be king.

It suggested character flaws.

For sure. King Teodoric IV turned out to be an
arrogant, narrow-minded, self-indulgent jerk who got
himself snuffed within a year.

We aren't tolerant of royal foibles. That is, our roy-
als and nobles aren't tolerant. Nobody else would con-
sider assassination. It just isn't done outside the
family. Even our mad dog revolutionaries never sug-
gest offing the royals.

I said, "I do wonder, though, about this daughter."

"Not Teddy's."

I slurped my soup. It was broth and garlic somebody
tossed a chicken across. I liked it. Empty bowls went
away. An appetizer course appeared. I didn't say any-
thing. Maggie might talk just to extinguish the silence.

38

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

39

"I've made my dumb mistakes, Garrett. My daugh-
ter was the result of a lulu."

I chomped something made of chicken liver, bacon,
and a giant nutmeat. "This's good."

"I was sixteen. My father married me off to a virgin-
obsessed animal who had daughters old enough to be
my mother. It was good for business. Since nobody
ever told me how you don't get pregnant, I got. My
husband had fits. I wasn't supposed to whelp brats, I
was supposed to warm his bed and tell him he was
the greatest there ever was. He went buggo when I
had a daughter. Another daughter. He had no sons.
It was all a female plot. We were out to get him. I
never had the nerve to tell him what would happen if
us women really gave him what he deserved. He got a
taste, though." Nasty smile. For one second, a darker
Maggie shone through.

She nibbled some food and left me room to com-
ment. I nodded and kept chomping.

"The old bastard never stopped using me, whatever
he thought about me. His daughters took pity and
showed me what I needed to know. They hated him
more than I did. I bided my time. Then my father got
killed by robbers who got twelve copper sceats and a
pair of junk boots more than a year old."

"That's TunFaire."

She nodded. That was TunFaire.

I nudged, "Your dad died."

"So I no longer had any reason to please my
husband."

"You walked."

"After I caught him sleeping and beat the living shit
out of him with a poker."

"I'll take that to heart."

"Good idea." There was mischief in her eye. I de-
cided I was going to like Maggie Jenn. Anybody who
could live through what she had and have a little mis-
chief left ...

It was an interesting meal. I got to hear all about
how she met Teddy without hearing word one about
what she did between her shoeleather divorce and that
first explosive encounter with the future king. I sus-
pected she had loved Teddy as much as he'd loved
her. You wouldn't keep something as ugly as those
red rooms in memory of somebody you disliked.

"This place is a prison," she told me, a little misty.

"You got out to visit me." Maybe they let her out
on a tease release program.

"Not that kind of prison."

I stuffed my face and let that old vacuum suck more
words out of her. I don't deal well with metaphor.

"I can leave any time I want, Garrett. I've been
encouraged to leave. Often. But if I do, I lose every-
thing. It's not really mine. I just get to use it." She
gestured around her. "As long as I don't abandon it."

"I see." And I did. She was a prisoner of circum-
stance. She had to stay. She was an unmarried woman
with a child. She had known poverty and knew rich
was better. Poverty was a prison, too. "I think I'm
going to like you, Maggie Jenn."

She raised an eyebrow. What an endearing skill!
Few of us have sufficient native talent. Only the very
best people can do the eyebrow thing.

I said, "I don't like most of my clients."

"I guess likable people don't get into situations
where they need somebody like you."

"Not often, that's a fact."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

41

The way things started, I became convinced that a
certain eventuality had been foredoomed from the
moment I'd opened my front door. I'm not a first date
kind of guy, but I've never strained too hard against
the whims of fate. I especially don't struggle to avoid
that particular fate.

Dinner ended. I was unsettled. Maggie Jenn had
been doing these things with her eyes. The kind of
things that cause a bishop's brain to curdle and even
a saint's devotion to monasticism to go down for a
third time in those limpid pools. The kind of things
that send a fundamentalist reverend's imagination rac-
ing off into realms so far removed that there is no
getting back without doing something stupid.

I was too distracted to tell if the front of me was
soaked with drool.

There had been banter and word games during din-
ner. She was good. Really good. I was ready to grab
a trumpet and race around blowing Charge*.

She sat there silently, appraising me, probably trying
to decide if I was medium or medium well.

I made a heroic effort to concentrate. I managed to
croak, "Tell me something, Maggie Jenn? Who would
be interested in your affairs?"

She said nothing but did the eyebrow trick. She was
surprised. That wasn't what she'd expected me to say.
She had to buy time.

40

"Don't try to work your wiles on me, woman. You
don't get out of answering that easily."

She laughed throatily, exaggerating that huskiness
she had, wriggled just to let me know she was capable
of distracting me as much as she wanted. I considered
distracting myself by getting up and stomping around
to study some of the artwork decorating the dining
chamber but discovered that rising Would be uncom-
fortable and embarrassing. I half turned in my chair
and studied the ceiling as though seeking clues
amongst the fauns and cherubs.

She asked, "What do you mean about people inter-
ested in my affairs?"

I did pause to reflect before I gave away the store.
"Let's back up some first. Did anybody know you
were coming to see me?" Of course somebody did.
Else Winger wouldn't have come to me first. But I
needed Maggie's perspective.

"It wasn't a secret, if that's what you mean. I did
ask around once I decided I needed a man of your
sort."

Hmm. What was a man of my sort?

This was not an unfamiliar phenomenon. Sometimes
the unfriendlies get the jump because they hear about
my client asking after someone who can help. "Next
step, then. Who would be bothered if you started
looking for your daughter?"

"Nobody." She was getting suspicious.

"Yeah. It would seem like nobody ought to care.
Unless maybe they were to give you a little support."

"You're scaring me, Garrett."

She didn't look scared. I said, "Might be a good
idea to be scared. See, I knew you were coming."

"What?" She was troubled for sure now. She didn't
like that at all.

"Just before you showed up, a friend who's in my
racket stopped by to warn me you'd be coming." Say-
ing Winger and I are hi the same business is stretching

42

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

43

a point, maybe. Winger is into anything likely to put
money in Winger's purse, preferably fast and easy.
"He thought you were coming to buy a hit. That's
why he warned me." Catch that clever misdirection.
Not even a dead Loghyr often mistakes Winger for
male.

"A hit? Me?" She knew the argot. She was off bal-
ance but coming back fast.

"He was sure of it." But I wondered. Winger took
shortcuts. Big, slow, lovable, goofy, crafty, bigoted,
and lazy Winger. She was confident that anybody she
couldn't sweeten with reason she could bring around
with a good old-fashioned ass-kicking. She was just a
big old simple country girl with simple country ways—
if you accepted her the way she wanted to be taken.

I was going to have words with Winger about Mag-
gie Jenn. If I could find her. I didn't think that would
be tough. The big goof was bound to turn up on her
own, soon. Probably before I was ready.

I said, "Then somebody followed me here."

"What? Who? Why?"

"Got me. I only mention it to show you that some-
body out there is interested."

Maggie shook her head. It was a fine head. I was
starting to lose my focus again. I concentrated on de-
scribing the villain who'd followed me.

Maggie smiled wickedly. "Garrett! Don't you ever
think about anything else?"

"Lots of times." I thought about starting a little
contest in which we would see who could run the
fastest.

"Garrett!"

"You started it."

Unlike many women, she did not deny her complic-
ity. "Yeah, but ..."

"Put yourself in my place. You're a red-blooded
young man who's suddenly alone here with you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." She chuckled.

Ouch! This was getting painful. "You do dish up a
ration of shit, don't you?"

I chuckled right back and put myself into my own
place, assuming she meant to put herself into her own
place and things would proceed to proceed. But after
a painful pilgrimage to her side of the table all pro-
ceedings proceeded to grind to a halt. Reluctantly—it
seemed—she slipped away from me. I muttered, "We
can't keep on like this if you want to sell me on look-
ing for your daughter."

"You're right. This is a business arrangement. We
can't let nature get in the way."

I was willing to let nature play havoc, but I said,
"Durn tootin'. I don't sell that way, anyway. I sell on
logic and facts. That's me. Just-the-facts-ma'am Gar-
rett. How about you start giving me some of those
instead of using all your energy on those come-hither
eyes?"

"Don't be cruel, Garrett. This is as difficult for me
as it is for you."

DEADLY dUICKSILVER LIES

45

10

So, eventually, we reached the suite belonging to Mag-
gie's daughter Emerald. "Emerald?" I asked. "What
happened to Justina?" Emerald. Wouldn't you know?
Where are all the lovely Patricias and Bettys?

"I named her Justina. Emerald is what she uses.
She picked it, so don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're shitting me. She picked
it. She was fourteen. Everyone else went along, so I
use Emerald sometimes myself."

"Right. Emerald. She insisted." Of course. That's
what became of Patricia and Betty. They started call-
ing themselves Amber and Brandi and Fawn. "But
she might be going by Justina. When life gets serious,
they fall back on their roots. Anything I need to know
about the suite before I start digging?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I going to find something you think needs ex-
cusing ahead of time?"

Wonder of wonders, she understood. "You might.
Only I never go in there, so I don't know what it
might be. Yet." She gave me a strange look. "Are you
looking for a fight?"

"No." Though maybe, unconsciously, I didn't want
her hanging over my shoulder. "Back to that name.
Might as well go after this by the numbers, find out
everything you can tell me before I start looking for
things you don't know."

44

She gave me that look again. I was a bit testy. Had
I developed that strong a dislike for work? Or was it
because I knew she would lie and distort and whatever
else it took to shape reality to her own vision? They
all do, even when there's no hope they won't get
found out. People. They do make you wonder.

"Justina was after my grandmother."

I understood from her tone. Never was a kid who
did not resent hearing how he or she was named after
some old fart they never met and couldn't care less
about. My mom played that game with me and my
brother. I never figured out why it meant anything to
her. "Any special reason?"

"The name's been in the family forever. And
Granny would have been hurt if ..."

The usual. Never made sense to me. You sentence
a kid to a lifetime of misery on account of somebody
might get his feelings hurt if you don't. Three rousing
oriental cheers, say I: foo-ee, foo-ee, foo-ee. Who is
going to be upset the longest?

You entered Emerald's suite through a small sitting
room. There you found a small writing desk with its
chair, in blond wood. There was an oil lamp on the
desk. There was one more chair, a storage chest with
a cushion on top, and a small set of shelves. The room
was squeaky clean and more spartan than it sounds.
It did not look promising.

I hate it when they clean for company. "Your
daughter ever take a powder before?"

Maggie hesitated. "No."

"Why did you hesitate?"

"Trying to decide. Her father kidnapped her when
she was four. Some friends convinced him that a child
is better off with her mother."

"Would he try something like that today?"

"Probably not. He's been dead eight years."

"Chances are he wouldn't." As a rule, the deac
don't get involved in custody disputes.

46

GLEN COOK

"She got a boyfriend?"

"A girl from the Hill?"

"Especially a girl from the Hill. How many does
she have?"

"What?"

"Look, believe it or not, it's easier for Hill girls to
slip around than it is for downtown girls." I offered
examples from my own cases, one of which had fea-
tured a bevy of Hill girls working the Tenderloin just
for the thrills.

That stunned my Maggie Jenn. She had a blind area,
an inability to believe her baby could be anything less
than the absolute image of what she desired. It hadn't
occurred to her that Emerald was going to break her
heart. Plainly, she didn't understand that people some-
tunes did the wicked stuff for other than survival rea-
sons. Whoring as an amusement was a concept too
alien to encompass.

Only the classes in between don't believe in
whoring.

"You didn't grow up on the Hill."

"I admit that, Garrett."

I had the suspicion that my pretty Maggie had
maybe had to make ends meet to make ends meet
during the hiatus between husband and crown prince.
I didn't need to know about that, though. Not yet,
anyway. Maybe later, if it began to look like the past
had some bearing. "Plant yourself on a chair. Talk to
me about Emerald while I work."

I prowled.

11

Maggie said, "To my knowledge she has no boy-
friends. Our circumstances don't let us meet many
people. We aren't socially acceptable. We form a class
unto ourselves."

A very classy class it was, though Maggie Jenn and
her kid weren't its only members. The sisterhood of
mistresses is quite large. At these rarified heights, a
man is expected to have a mistress. It demonstrates
his manhood. Two is better than one.

"Any friends at all?"

"Not many. Girls she grew up with, maybe. Maybe
somebody she studied with. At her tune of life, kids
are real status conscious. I doubt anybody would let
her make any strong connections."

"What's she look like?"

"Me, twenty years less shopworn. And wipe that
silly grin off your mug."

"I was thinking how looking for you twenty years
younger would have me hunting somebody barely out
of diapers."

"And don't forget that. I want my baby found,
not—"

"Right. Right. Right. Any special stress between
you before she disappeared?"

"What?"

"Did you have a fight? Did she stomp out yelling
about how she was never coming back in ten thousand
years?"

47

48

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

49

"No." Maggie chuckled. "I had a few of those with
my mother. Probably why she didn't squawk when my
father sold me. No. Not Emerald. This kid is different,
Garrett. She never cared about anything enough to
fight. Really, honestly, swear to whatever god, I wasn't
a pushy mother. She was happy just to go along. Far
as she was concerned, life is a river and she was
driftwood."

"I maybe lost something in all the excitement. Or
maybe I've started remembering things that never
happened. I could have sworn you were going on
about her having fallen in with bad companions."

Maggie chuckled. She snorted. She looked uncom-
fortable. She did it all fetchingly. I tried to imagine
her as she might have been in Teodoric's day. I was
awed by the possibilities.

She stopped wriggling. "I fibbed a little. I heard
about you having a relationship with the Sisters of
Doom and figured you were a sucker for a kid in
trouble." The Sisters of Doom is an all-girl street
gang. The girls were all abused before they fled to the
street.

"It was a relationship with one Sister. Who left the
street."

"I'm sorry. I overstepped."

"What?"

"It's obvious I just stomped on some tender
feelings."

"Oh. Yeah. Maya was a pretty special kid. I messed
up a good thing because I didn't take her serious
enough. I lost a friend because I didn't listen."

"Sorry. I was just trying to find a sure hook."

"Did Emerald see anybody regularly?" Business
would take me away from memories. Maya was not
one of my great loves, but she was pretty special. And
both Dean and the Dead Man had approved of her.
There had been no separation, she just didn't come

around anymore and mutual friends all hinted that she
wouldn't unless I grew up a little.

That don't punch your ego up, considering it traced
back to a girl just eighteen.

Emerald's writing desk had numerous cubbies and
tiny drawers. I searched them as we talked. I didn't
find much. Most spaces were empty.

"She does have friends but making friends doesn't
come easy."

That wasn't the story as it was told a few minutes
ago. I suspected Emerald had troubles that had noth-
ing to do with social status. Chances were she was lost
in her mother's shadow. "Friends are where I'll find
her trail. I'll need names. I'll need to know where I
can find the people who go with them."

She nodded. "Of course." I slammed a drawer,
turned away from her. I had to keep my mind on
business. The woman was a witch. Then I sneaked a
peek. Did I really want to leave all that, to go hunting
somebody who probably didn't want to be found?

Ha! Here was something. A silver pendant. "What's
this?" Purely rhetorical. I knew what I had. It was
an amulet consisting of a silver pentagram on a dark
background with a goat's head inside the star. The real
question was, what was it doing where I had found it?

Maggie took it, studied it while I watched for a
reaction. I didn't see one. She said, "I wonder where
that came from?"

"Emerald into the occult?"

"Not that I know of. But you can't know everything
about your children."

I grunted, resumed my search. Maggie chattered
like the fabled magpie, mostly about her daughter,
more in the way of reminiscences than useful facts. I
listened with half an ear.

I found nothing else in the desk. I moved to the
shelves. The presence of several books brought home
how much wealth Maggie stood to lose. Because a

50

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

51

book takes forever to copy, it is about the most expen-
sive toy you can give a child.

I grunted as I picked up the third book. It was a
small, leather-bound, time-worn thing with a goat's
head tooled into its cover. The leather was badly
foxed. The pages were barely readable. It was one old
book.

My first clue was that it was not written in modern
Karentine.

Those damned things never are, are they? Nobody
would take them seriously if any schnook could pick
one up and decipher the secrets of the ages.

"Check this out." I tossed the book to Maggie. I
kept one eye on her as I resumed my search.

"Curiouser and curiouser, Garrett. My baby is full
of surprises."

"Yeah." Maybe. That whole visit was full of sur-
prises. Including those tree-sized fingers pointing at
witchcraft of the demonic sort.

The bedroom and its attached bath yielded more
occult treasures.

Much later I asked, "Is Emerald especially neat?"
Neat would not describe any teen I knew.

"Only as much as she has to be. Why?"

I didn't tell her. I had gone into full investigator
mode. We crack first-line investigators never answer
questions about our questions, especially if those are
posed by our employers, lawmen, or anybody else who
might help keep us out of the deep stink. Fact was,
though, that Emerald's apartment was way too neat.
Compulsively so. Or nobody lived there. My impres-
sion was of a stage set. I was wondering if it might
not be exactly that, carefully primed with clues.

All right, I told me. Get busy deducting. Clues are
clues to something even when they're artificial or false.

I was not that sure. What I had was some inconsist-
ent indications of witchcraft—which did little to

amaze, dismay, alarm, or otherwise excite my new
employer.

Maybe I was going at this from the wrong end.

Tap on the shoulder. "Anybody in there?"

"Huh?"

"You just froze up and went away."

"Happens when I try to think and do something at
the same tune."

She did her eyebrow trick. I distracted her by flash-
ing her back. I told her, "I've got enough to start.
You give me that list of names. As soon as we settle
the finances."

We had no problems there till I insisted on half my
fee up front. "It's an inflexible rule, Maggie. On ac-
count of human fallibility. Too many people get
tempted to stiff me once they've gotten what they
want." But that was not the only reason I pressed.

The less a client argues the deeper his desperation.

My pretty Maggie Jenn argued way too long. Fi-
nally, she huffed, "I'll have Mugwump bring you that
list as soon as I can."

I was thrilled. I really wanted to see Mugwump
again. Maybe I could tip him a talking parrot.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

53

12

I stood in the shadows down the street from Maggie's.
just staying out of sight while I thought.

Like most folks, I don't get any kick out of being
played for a patsy. But people do try. It's an occupa-
tional hazard. I'm used to it. I expect it. But I don't
like it.

Something was going on. I was being used. None
too subtly, either. Unless Maggie my sweet was a lot
less worldly than I suspected, I didn't see how she
could think I would buy everything.

I'd sure enjoyed the job interview, though. As fas
as it had gone.

The thing to do now was what she had said she
didn't want me to do: investigate Maggie Jenn. Foi
my own safety. In my line, what you don't know car
get you killed as fast as what you do know. Once 1
could guess where I really stood, maybe I'd do some
thing about Emerald.

I glanced at the sky. It was dark but still early, i
could touch some contacts, take a few steps along the
path to enlightenment. Right after I dropped Maggie'j
retainer off at home. Only a fool carries a load likt
that longer than he must. TunFaire teems with villaim
who can count the change in your pocket at a hundree
yards.

I could imagine no explanation of recent event?
more convincing than what Maggie purported. Never
theless, there was Winger. I shook my head. The cob

52

webs did not go away. They never do. All part of the
service. All part of my naive charm.

I looked for my tail. No sign. Maybe he got tired
and went home. Maybe the Hill's security thugs whis-
pered sweet nothings in his ear, like, "Get lost pronto
or you'll crawl home with two broken legs." Or maybe
his job had been done once he'd found out where I
was going.

I shoved off. All that thinking was giving me shin
splints of the brain.

Good thing I exercise. I had oomph enough to va-
cate the area steps ahead of an unpleasant interview
with the goon squad, who did not seem to care if I
had legitimate business on the Hill. They had been
summoned by Ichabod, no doubt, in a vain hope that
my attitude could be improved.

I zigged and zagged and backtracked and used all
my tricks. I didn't spot a tail so I went home, got rid
of Maggie's retainer, drew myself a long draught, then
sat down for a cold beer and a chat with Eleanor, who
seemed concerned about the state of my soul.

"Yeah," I confessed, "I'm getting more flexible
when it comes to taking money." I spoke in a whisper.
I did not want to waken the Goddamn Parrot. I'd
even tiptoed in and filled his seed tray.

If I remembered to feed him more often, he might
have a higher opinion of me. Maybe.

"So what? If they're villains, they deserve to be
done out of their money." She had taught me that
money has no provenance. "If they aren't villains, I'll
see that they get their money's worth."

More or less. Sometimes I don't exactly deliver what
the client has in mind. One such case resulted in Elea-
nor coming to live with me.

It had taken me a while to outgrow the notion that
taking a man's money meant having to go for the re-
sults he wanted. I must be getting old and judgmental.

54

GLEN COOK

These days, I try to give people what they deserve
instead.

Which yields mixed results for sure. Even so, I get
more offers than I want. But a lot of fat jobs go else-
where because some folks have decided to avoid me.
Most especially the kind who rob people with paper
instead of a blade. Lawyers and slicks. I have embar-
rassed my share of those.

Actually, I mostly avoid working. I don't think any-
body ought to work more than it takes to get by. Sure,
I wish I could afford my own harem and fifty-room
palace, but if I worked hard enough to get the money,
I'd have to work as hard to keep it. I wouldn't get a
chance to enjoy it.

After a few beers, I developed a whole new attitude
I told Eleanor, "Think I'll go down to the Joy House,
hang out with the guys."

She smirked.

"It's just to pick up street talk about Maggie Jenn.'

Eleanor didn't believe one word.

I had to find me a new girlfriend.

13

Morley Dotes never changes but his neighborhood
can. Once upon a time, that was the worst. You
weren't alert, you could get killed for the price of a
bowl of soup. For reasons to do with Morley's intoler-
ance of squabbles and his sometime role as arbitrater
of underworld disputes, the neighborhood grew almost
reputable and came to be called the Safety Zone.
Those who worked the shadow side met and did busi-
ness there, with every expectation of suffering none of
the embarrassment, unpleasantness, or disappointment
one faced at the hands of lone wolf socialists in other
neighborhoods.

Every city needs some quiet area where business
can get done.

"Waa-hoo!" shrieked the guy who came sailing out
the door as I walked up to Morley's place. I ducked.
That fellow touched down halfway across the street.
He made a valiant effort to land running and did a
laudable job till a watering trough slunk into his path.
Slimy green water fountained.

Another man came out sprawled like a starfish,
spinning and howling. He was one of Morley's thugs-
turned-waiter.

This was backwards. The way these things go is
Morley's people toss troublemakers. They don't get
dribbled along the cobblestones themselves.

The howling waiter went across the street like a
skipping stone. He crashed into the guy trying not to

55

56

GLEN COOK

drown in the horse trough. If you ask me, putting
those things around was a grave mistake. Horse
troughs are sure to draw horses. TunFaire is infested
by enough evils.

On hands and knees, I peeped around the edge of
the door frame and discovered true pandemonium.

A behemoth of a black man, who beat my six feet
two by a good three feet, and who had to slouch so
he wouldn't split his noggin on the ceiling, was having
himself a grand tune cleaning house. He snarled and
roared and tossed people and furniture. Those few
men accidentally exiting through the front door were
lucky. They were out of the action. Those who tried
to leave under their own power got grabbed and
dragged back for the fun.

The feet of the walls were littered with casualties.
The big man had a fire hi his eye. No mere mortal
was going to quiet him down. Some very skilled mor-
tals had tried and had found places among the fallen.

I knew the berserk. His name was Playmate. He
was one of my oldest friends, a blacksmith and stable
operator, a religious man who was as gentle a beir ;
as ever lived. He went out of his way to avoid steppi:
on bugs. I had seen him weep for a mutt run dov ,
by a carriage. Like all of us, he had done his time in
the Cantard, but I was sure that even there he had
offered violence to no one.

I thought about trying to talk him down. I left it at
a thought. We were good friends, but Playmate had
equally good friends among the fallen. Everybody
loved Playmate.

And I had learned about being a hero doing my
five years as a Royal Marine.

No way could Playmate have gone this mad.

Morley Dotes himself, dapper and exasperated,
watched from the stair to his office. He was a darkly
handsome little character, dressed way too slick for
my taste. Anything he put on looked like it was baked

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

57

onto him. Anything I put on looks slept-in after ten
minutes.

Morley was so distressed he was wringing his hands.

Guess I'd have been upset myself if someone was
busting up my place. The Joy House started as a
front—Morley was an assassin and bonebreaker—but
it had grown on Dotes.

A short, slim form snaked through the crowd and
leapt onto Playmate's back. The big man roared and
spun. He did not dislodge his rider, Morley's nephew
Spud, whose mother had passed him to his uncle be-
cause she could not manage nun anymore.

For a while, Spud just held on. Once he was confi-
dent of his seat, though, he let go with one hand and
fumbled at his belt. Playmate kept spinning. The idea
gradually got into his head: spinning and prancing and
roaring would not get the weight off his back.

He stopped, got his bearings by consulting stars only
he could see. He decided to run backwards and squish
Spud against a wall.

Spud had his own plan, though.

Spud was set on being a hero in his uncle's eyes.

The kid wasn't stupid, he just suffered from natural
elvish overconfidence.

His hand came up from his belt clutching a black
cloth sack. He tried popping that over Playmate's
head. Guess who did not cooperate?

That sack was a mark of the esteem in which Play-
mate was held. The guy was set on destroying the
world, but nobody wanted to stop him badly enough
to kill him. Not one soul inside the Joy House wanted
to do anything but get him under control. Not your
true TunFairen attitude, I guarantee. Life is the cheap-
est commodity of all.

Morley moved as soon as he understood what the
kid was doing. He didn't run or appear to hurry, but
he got there right on time, a moment after Spud did
get his bag into place, a moment after Playmate

58

GLEN COOK

started his all-out plunge toward the nearest wall.
Morley hooked a foot behind the big man's heel.

Boom!

Playmate sprawled. Spud separated just in time to
keep from being sandwiched. He was a lucky kid. In-
stead of getting squashed and collecting some broken
bones, he just got coldcocked.

Not so Playmate. My old pal tried to get up. Morley
popped him a bunch of times, so fast you barely saw
him move. Playmate didn't like that. He figured
maybe he ought to take that sack off and see who was
aggravating him. Morley hit him a bunch more times,
hi all those places where blows are supposed to
incapacitate.

There came a day when Playmate, buried under a
dozen people, finally stopped struggling.

14

Morley looked down at Playmate. He was breathing
hard. I strode inside, chirped, "Congrats. You wore
him down."

Morley checked me from glazed eyes, failed to rec-
ognize me for a moment, then wailed, "Oh, damn!
You. On top of everything else."

I looked behind me to find out who was causing my
best pal so much distress. I'd fix him! But the guy was
too fast for me. The doorway was empty.

I put on my best hurt face. I get to practice a lot
around the Joy House. Morley's guys are always riding
me. Naturally, I play along.

I righted a table, selected a chair, made myself com-
fortable. I eyeballed Playmate. "What happened? You
have to pump that guy up on weed to get him to swat
flies."

Morley took several controlled breaths, picked up a
chair, and joined me. "Excellent question, Garrett."
Playmate wasn't doing anything now. In fact, the roars
from beneath the flesh pile sounded suspiciously like
snores.

Morley Dotes is a bit short for a grown man but
isn't entirely human. He has dark-elf forebears. But
he never lets the human hi bun get in his way.

Maybe the mix is responsible. He is a mass of con-
trasts, especially hi his profession as opposed to his
hobby. His health food haven has become a hangout
for hah7 the villains of TunFaire. Contrast again: the

60

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

61

clientele is half those double-nasties and half the kind
of clown you expect to find gnoshing tubers of uncer-
tain provenance.

"Boy did pretty well," Morley observed, glancing at
Spud. The kid's real name was Narcisio. Only his
mother used that.

"Pretty good," I admitted. "More balls than
brains."

"Runs in the family."

"What happened?"

Morley glowered. Instead of answering me, he
shocked the house by bellowing, "Eggwhite! Get your
heathen ass out here!"

I was amazed, too. Morley employs vulgarity only
rarely. He fancies himself a gentleman rogue. Gentle-
men rogues are slick like they're covered with lard.
But a villain is a villain, and Morley is one of the
worst because he gets away with everything. I should
try to take him down. I don't because he's my friend,

A thug ambled out of the kitchen. He wore cook's
garb but carried his professional resume scarred on
his face. He was old and looked as stupid as a stump,
which answered a question: what becomes of hard
boys if they live long enough to get old? They become
waiters. I didn't see how this goon had survived to get
there, though. He looked like a guy who needed a
major run of luck to get through any given day.

Maybe the gods do love the incapacitated.

Morley beckoned.

Eggwhite edged our way. His gaze kept darting
toward Playmate. Playmate had begun to reappear as
guys climbed off and went to set the bones of their
buddies.

"Big mess, huh?" Morley said.

"Yeah, boss. Big ole mess."

"You have any idea why I would entertain the no-
tion that you might have been at fault? Can you tell

me why your face popped into mind the moment my
friend asked me what happened?"

Will wonders never cease? He never called me
friend before.

Eggwhite muttered, "I guess on account of I got a
weakness for doing jokes."

Morley grunted. "That one of your pranks?" Play-
mate was sleeping like a baby now, but he was going
to be hurting when he woke up. "That big ha-ha
there?" Morley's tone was hard, the street leaking
through. He was angry. Eggwhite was petrified.

Morley asked, "What did you do?"

"Put angelweed in his salad?" Eggwhite made it a
question, like a kid caught in a lie experimenting with
a new tactic.

"How much?"

Excellent question. Angelweed didn't earn its heav-
enly name because it will boost your mind into para-
dise but because it will send you off to hallelujah land
if you aren't careful. Slipping it into a salad would be
a clever way to dose somebody. The leaves look like
spinach that's gone a little bluish.

"Half a dozen leaves." Eggwhite looked everywhere
but straight at Morley.

"Half a dozen. Enough to kill most people."

"He's humongous, chief. A goddamn mountain. I
thought it would take—"

"And there's the problem." Morley's voice dropped
way down, to a level of softness that meant he was
hi a killing mood. Eggwhite started shaking. Morley
continued, "I told you when I hired you I didn't want
any thinking. I wanted you cutting vegetables. Get
out."

"Chief, look, I can—"

"You're gone, Eggwhite. Out the door. Walking or
carried. Up to you."

Eggwhite gulped. "Uh ... Yeah." He headed for
the door.

62

GLEN COOK

1 observed, "He's making off with your cook outfit."

"Let it go. I don't want to make a scene."

I gave him an encore look at my eyebrow trick.

"I hate firing people, Garrett."

I added the fish-eye to the raised eyebrow. This was
the most feared hired knife in town? Was he putting
me on?

He kept plugging. "I do it only because you have
to if you want to be successful in business. Besides. I
owe him eight days pay." Before I could comment, he
eyed me directly. "What is it this time, Garrett?"

"How about a platter of that stuff with the black
mushrooms, pea pods and whatnot, on the wild rice?"
I dropped money onto the table.

Morley gave me my fish-eye back with interest. He
gathered my coins, examined them as though he sus-
pected they were counterfeit. "You want to eat?
Here? And you're willing to pay for it?" He sank his
fangs into a coin, the classic hardness test.

"I wouldn't go so far as to employ the concept of
privilege, but it is an age of wonders. You've con-
verted me. I'm born again. I'm never going to eat
anything but swamp tubers, bark, and gravel ever
again."

15

Morley stirred Playmate's fingers with his toe. "He's
alive, but I couldn't tell you why." He came back to
where I was wolfing the mushroom stuff. It contained
more garlic than mushrooms. "Trying to keep the girls
away?"

"I don't need garlic for that. I have natural talent."

He wasn't in the mood for banter. Guess I wouldn't
have been either had my place just gotten trashed.
"What are you into now, Garrett? What do you
need?"

"I'm doing a missing person caper." Love that
word. I told him the story, leaving out only those parts
a gentleman leaves out. "I want to know whatever you
know about Maggie Jenn. Felt like she was running a
game on me."

"Somebody must be running a game on somebody.
I don't think you saw the real Maggie Jenn."

"Huh?"

"Never mind the witty remarks. I'm thinking you
must have been chosen for your ignorance."

"Thanks. How about shoving a stick hi the spokes
of the scheme by lighting a torch in the darkness?"

"That wouldn't be right. Not quite. You not being
up on the adventures of the royals could be part of
it, but ..."

"All right. I don't know what you know, Morley.
That's why I'm here."

"It isn't impossible that you spent the afternoon

63

64

GLEN COOK

with a king's lover, but I'd call it wildly improbable.
Maggie Jenn exiled herself to the Isle of Paise after
her Teddy boy died. If there was a daughter I never
heard. Kind of thing that would be kept quiet, though.
On the other hand, that place on the Hill sounds like
the one where Teodoric stashed his doxy. Curious."

That was an understatement. "I'm lost, Morley.
None of this makes sense."

"Only because you don't have the key."

"I'm missing the key, the lock, the damned door,
and all the hardware. Somebody ran a game on me?
I'll buy that. Happens all the time. But the woman
also paid me to look for her daughter."

"How well?" Was that smile a smirk?

"Handsomely, shall we say? Enough so I'm sure she
expected something in return. Even top of the Hill
don't throw money away."

"Good point."

"//Maggie Jenn came back," I mused, "what would
she do?"

"She has no reason to come back. She lives like a
queen out there. She'd find nothing but trouble here."
Morley eyed Playmate. "Pity you didn't get here ear-
lier. He always kept track of the royals."

"He won't be doing anything but whine about his
headache for a week."

"You in a hurry?"

I wondered. "Maybe not. No apparent jeopardy.
Just a puzzle. Maggie didn't seem in any hurry, just
worried."

"You buy the woman's story?"

I never take a client's story at face value. Some
natural law compels them to lie part of the time.
"Maybe. Some. It feels like the truth being used for
something else."

"I'll put out feelers. Meantime, you ought to corner
Winger."

"That occurred to me." I didn't relish trying to get

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

65

anything out of her, though. "It's not an appetizing
idea."

Morley chuckled. "She's a handful. The trick is get
her thinking what you want is her idea."

"Ingenious. How?"

"With great difficulty."

"I can get advice like that from my parrot and save
the price of this fish food."

"Way I hear, Dean is out of town and the Dead
Man is asleep. You being hard up for company, I just
wanted you to feel at home. Crumbs! You try to be
a pal." He grinned a diabolical dark-elf grin.

"You want to be a pal, find out about Maggie
Jenn."

His grin dwindled. "Try to be a pal." He shook his
head.

He would check around because he thought he
owed me. And I agreed. I collect like a loanshark.

"Bed is starting to sound good," I thought aloud.
"It's been a hard day."

Morley grunted. His nephew came to the table. Get-
ting no hint that he ought to take his big ears else-
where, he spun a chair around and straddled it.
Around us, Morley's people, moving slowly and mut-
tering about their aches and pains, put things together
again. Spud asked, "How is Mr. Big, Mr. Garrett?"

I cursed.

Morley had sent me the Goddamn Parrot when he
was in an Eggwhite mood. That was far enough out
of character that I suspected Sarge and Puddle had a
hand in developing the scam. The bird came guaran-
teed to have a major hatred for cats and a habit of
attacking them from above. I accepted him because
Dean had a habit of accumulating strays.

Spud gave me a dirty look. He was the only one in
the world with any use for that foul-mouthed jungle
chicken. Make that any love. The Dead Man had a

66	GLEN COOK

use. Wherever I went, he could send Mr. Big after
nagging.

I had tried to give the beast away. There were no
takers. I gave it every chance to fly away. It wouldn't
escape. I was getting near taking heroic measures
"Spud, you're so worried about Mr. Big why don't
you come get him? He needs a home where he's
appreciated."

"No, you don't," Morley sneered. "That there is
your bird, Garrett."

I scowled. This was a squabble I couldn't win.

Dotes showed all those pointy teeth again. "I hear
some parrots live a hundred years."

"Some, maybe. In the wild." I could donate Mr. Big
to a charity. Like some hungry ratman. "I'm out of
here, Mend."

Morley laughed.

16

It was dark out. That did not help.

Neither did the fact that I didn't see them coming.
I had no chance to get ready.

I put up a fight, though. I dented some heads good
jfwith the weighted oak head-buster I carry when I go
lout. I tossed one guy through the only glass window
rin the street. But I just never got rolling. I had no
f chance to use the tricks I had stashed up my sleeves.
Somebody whapped me up side the head with a
|house. I think it was a house. Had to be a house. No
| mere man could hit me that hard. The lights went
I out—with me still trying to figure out who and why.

Ordinarily, I come around slowly if I've had my
; conk bopped. Not so this time. One minute I was in
ii dreamland, the next I was bouncing along face down-
fward, wrapped in something soggy, staring at a floor
^sliding past inches from my nose. Four guys were car-
>rying me. I was leaking red stuff. I couldn't recall
drinking any wine. I had the worst headache anyone
ever had since the dawn of time.

A fine pair of female legs strode along practically
in nibbling range. I really wanted to appreciate those.
In other circumstances, I would have devoted hours
to those legs. But a guy does have to keep some
perspective.
Things were not going well. This sort of thing was

67

68

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

69

not a normal part of my life. I tried to shove the pain
away long enough to think.

Aha! They had me wrapped hi a wet blanket. I
didn't want to poop somebody's party, but that didn't
make me happy. I roared and twisted and flopped and
wriggled and bellowed. I failed to make any impres-
sion. I did get a gander at what went with the gorgeous
gams. The wealth was piled on all the way to the top.
I could have fallen in love. But this was not the tune
or place. Beside a fire, maybe on a bearskin rug,
maybe just her and me and some TunFaire Gold
wine. . . .

I didn't like the looks of the guys. They weren't the
bmnos I danced with earlier. Those had been standard
lowlife, out for the price of a drink. These clowns wore
duty, ragged uniforms.

That failed to cheer me up.

They were unreasonable. They wouldn't answer
questions. Nobody responded at all, except Miss Legs.
She just seemed sad. I hoUered and flopped some
more. They kept on lugging me down a long hall.

Long hall, huh? And what was that smell?

Everybody stopped but me. I thrashed some more.
I was serious about it now. I knew where I was. This
was the crazy floor of the Bledsoe, the imperial charity
hospital.

The empire is long gone, but its works and the im-
perial family linger, the latter hoping for a recall. They
sustain the hospital, which serves the indigent poorly.

The cackle factory is a bad place. They stick you in
there you could be gone forever. Wouldn't matter that
somebody made a mistake.

"Hey! Put me down! What the hell is this? What
am I doing in here? Do I look like I'm crazy?"

That was the wrong question. I had to look like a
prime specimen. And the way things work, they would
assume that they wouldn't have me if I didn't belong.

Man, this was the dirtiest trick anybody ever played
on me.

A door crashed open. It was oak and iron and about
nine inches thick. I glimpsed my destiny.

One of my guides bellowed. Somebody scuttled
away. The boys tossed me through the doorway with-
out missing the frame. I landed hard. The Legs gazed
at me pityingly. The door closed before I convinced
her this was all a horrible mistake.

I unwrapped myself by rolling around, stumbled
over and wasted energy pounding on the door. I exer-
cised the full range of situationally specialized vocabu-
lary, but without the enthusiasm I might have
managed had my head not hurt so much. You do these
things even when you're wasting your tune. The rituals
must be observed.

I heard noises behind me. I spun around.

At least a dozen men stood staring at me. I checked
the ward beyond them. There were lots more men
back there. Plenty were wondering about the new guy.
Some studied my outfit. Plainly, there had been no
general clothing issued in years. Nor had anyone taken
a bath during the modern era. Here was the source of
the odor I'd caught in the hall. A glance told me the
welcoming committee all belonged inside. It was obvi-
ous in their eyes.

I pounded and yelled some more. Service did not
improve.

At least they hadn't dumped me into the violent
ward. Maybe I stood a chance.

An old character who looked like he weighed about
fifty pounds stumbled toward me. "How are you
doing? I'm Ivy."

"I was doing great till about five minutes ago, Ivy."

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

"He don't say nothing else, Ace."

Right. I'm a quick study. Ivy never even looked at
me. "Gotcha."

70

GLEN COOK

A guy about nine feet tall guffawed. "You don't
pay Ivy no nevermind, boy. He's crazy."

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

This was the tip of the iceberg. The part that would
be easy. It was sure to get weird.

After thinking a while, somebody yelled at the big
guy, "You got so much room to talk, muddlebrain?"

"Yeah? What do you know? I don't belong hi here.
I was set up. Somebody drugged me or something. I
woke up in here."

Oh, my. A fellow traveler as bad off as 1.1 had a lot
of sympathy for him—till some grinning idiot shrieked,
"Powziffle! Powziffle pheez!" Or something like that.

The big guy hunched up, stooped, made gurgling
noises, and started running around the ward like a
gorilla, howling. His howls would have chilled the
spine of a banshee.

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

The big man' racket started some other guy scream-
ing. His cries were a species I'd heard in the islands,
coming from a guy caught out in no-man's land with
a bad gut wound, begging for somebody to kill nun.
Soldiers from both sides would have done so gladly
after a while. But nobody was dumb enough to go out
there and let the other side snipe. So we'd all just laid
low and listened, ground our teeth, and maybe
thanked our personal gods it wasn't us.

I glared at that door. Maybe I could chew my way
through.

Or maybe ... My pockets hadn't been cleaned.
They must've been in an awful hurry to get me put
away. A real bunch of screwup Charlies.

Patients came to check me out—those who still had
a foot in our world. Many were timid as mice. A look
sent them scurrying. Others ... Some might have been
there as accidentally as I, only instead they belonged
in the ward for the dangerous.

I wished everybody would back off.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

71

Any doubts I had about the irregularity of my com-
mitment disappeared when I discovered that they
hadn't cleaned my pockets. Had I been brought in
legitimately, all my possessions would have been taken
from me and would never have surfaced again.

I was encouraged. About a roach-weight worth.

The physical plant wasn't encouraging. The ward
was a hundred feet wide, three hundred feet long, and
two storys high. There were rows and rows and rows
of sleeping pallets but not nearly enough to go around.

The ceiling was way up there, a good twenty feet.
Windows peeked through the wall opposite the door,
way high, too small for a man to get out even after
he cut the bars. I supposed they passed light during
the day. What little light was available now leaked
through windows high on the door side wall, there so
the ward could be observed by hospital staff.

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

"I'm doing just fine, Ivy. What say you and me bust
out of this toilet?"

Ivy looked at me directly, startled, then scampered
away.

"Anybody want to break out?"

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

73

17

My suggestion drew an underwhelming response. I
gathered that half the patients could not be dragged
out and the other half thought I was crazy. There?
Forsooth!

The big man who had cautioned me about Ivy's
lack of capacity recapacitated himself. He came over.
"Ain't no way out, Slick. They was, half these guys
would be long gone."

I glanced around again. The prospects seemed ever
less promising. "They feed us?"

The big guy grinned that grin the old salts put on
when they see a chance to teach a greenhorn. "Twice
a day, you're hungry or not. Through them bars down
there."

I looked. I shrugged. Them bars was hopeless.
"Things are that bad I might as well get me some
shut-eye before I start my serious worrying." I looked
for an empty pallet. I had some thinking to do. Espe-
cially about why I found myself in such straits.

I wanted to scream as loud as any of the whacks in
there with me.

"You get in line for a bed," the big guy cautioned
me. "You make friends, maybe somebody will share.
Otherwise, you just wait till enough guys die to leave
you your own." His casual manner told me this was
one of the capital laws of the ward. Amazing. You'd
expect it to be total survival of the strongest.

"My kind of flophouse." I settled near the door.

72

That didn't seem to be a popular area. Plenty of elbow
room there. I pretended to fall asleep.

There were no corpses in the ward and no smell
of death. That suggested that staff removed the dead
quickly. So, how to use that in a scam the staff hadn't
seen before?

I gave the notion of a riot a look. Feeble. If I was
the Bledsoe staff, I'd just let everybody starve till the
fuss stopped.

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

My act wasn't fooling Ivy. I considered putting him
out of his misery.

Which gave me an idea. A twist on the riot scheme.
I went looking for the big guy. I found him seated
against the far wall. I planted the reverse side of my
lap on the hardwood, grunted. "I got about enough
splinters."

"Send out for a chair."

A wise guy. "How come it's so quiet?"

"Maybe on account of it's the middle of the god-
damn night." Eloquent verbal stylings, too.

"I mean, we only had one screamer." Not counting
him. Nobody was yelling at the moment. "I heard
there was lots of screamers. Mostly guys who can't
handle what they remember about the Cantard."

His face darkened. "Yeah. There's some of them.
They get drugged if they get too bad. Like they get
each other going."

Interesting. "Know any way to set one of them off
now?"

He studied me narrowly. "What you up to, Slick?"
He thought there had better be a damned good reason
for pulling a stunt like that.

"Up to getting out of here."

"Can't do that."

"Maybe not. But they didn't empty out my pockets
before they dumped me in here. You game to try?"

He  thought  about  that.  His  face  grew  darker,

74

GLEN COOK

"Yeah. Yeah! I got business out there. Yeah. You get
the damned door open, I'll go."

"You figure any of these guys would help?"

"Plenty would go if the walls fell down. I don't
know how many would help make them fall."

"So could you get some guy screaming as the first
step?"

"Sure." He got up, strolled to the far end, messed
with somebody a minute, headed back. Plenty of in-
mates watched him. The man he'd visited started
screaming. Chills slithered all over me. He was one of
the lost souls.

The big man asked, "Good enough?"

"Perfect. Now try to round up some guys willing to
help out."

He went away again.

I went into my act. "Shut up down there! I'm trying
to sleep."

The guy didn't stop screaming. I'd been afraid he
would. I glanced at the observation windows. Some-
one was up there, but the racket didn't interest him.
Were they that indifferent? I needed to be seen.

I yelled at the screamer. Somebody yelled back at
me. I yelled at him. Some genius yelled at both of us
like that would shut us up. The racket picked up. We
were like a troop of monkeys. Some of the men
started moving around, just shuffling numbly, without
purpose.

The uproar finally caught the ear of whoever was
on duty. He looked down but didn't seem concerned.

I screamed louder than the screamer, threatening
mayhem if he didn't shut it up.

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

"Pack your trunk, Ivy. We're checking out of this
cuckoo inn."

The big guy came by. "I got a dozen guys willing,
Slick. You want more?"

"That's plenty. Now I need everybody back away

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

75

from the door. It's going to get nasty there when they
come'in." I hoped. If I hadn't been suckered too bad.

"They'll figure we're up to something, Slick. They
only look dumb."

"I don't care. That won't matter. I just need the
door open."

He sneered, confident I was on a fool's quest.

I screamed some more at the screamers.

There were several people at the observation win-
dows now—including she of the glorious gams.

I chuckled, sure I was on my way out. No woman
would work the Bledsoe unless she had a giant soft
spot. I roared, bounded over pallets, started strangling
the loudest screamer.

The big guy came by and pretended to drag me off.
I gave him further instructions, then ran him off. He
wasn't a bad actor.

Me, I was a master. I made it look real good. To
my surprise, none of my fellow patients tried to stop
me.

I only strangled my victim a little, enough to cause
unconsciousness.

I galloped to the other end of the room, went to
work on another screamer.

Soon there were guys flying all over the place. The
majority got into the spirit. It wasn't exactly a riot,
though. Real violence was almost nonexistent. But the
pandemonium was not pretend.

I glimpsed the woman arguing with the men. She
wanted to do something. They didn't.

Excellent.

A little goblin breed three feet tall scrunched him-
self into a ball near the door.

Upstairs, charity apparently overcame common
sense.

I kept the show rolling. People did get hurt, but 7
wasn't in a charitable mood, to put it mildly. If I
stayed a nice guy, I wasn't ever going to get out. If I

76

GLEN COOK

didn't get out, I'd never get the chance to crack the
heads of the clowns who'd put me in.

The big guy came around again. He bounced me
around some. "They're coming," I told him. "And you
don't have to be so enthusiastic here."

He seemed scornful. I don't know about what.

18

I glanced at the door, then cautioned the big guy,
"Take it easy. We don't have to convince them now."
No one was near the door but the little breed. He
would be sorry he had volunteered. "How many will
come?"

The big man shrugged. "Depends on how worried
they are. Least eight or ten. You better watch out."
He tripped me. I tripped bun back. We rolled around
and punched each other. He was having a great time.
"They have a policy of kicking the living shit out of
troublemakers."

"I kind of figured that was part of the program.
Hell, I've stopped bleeding. I'm ready for anything."
I wasn't looking forward to the kicking part. You lays
your bets and takes your chances, but I was hoping
things would go well and I would not have to deal
with any boots.

You have to believe you're going to win.

I did have to win. Nobody knew where I was. It
could be weeks before anybody even missed me, what
with Dean out of town and the Dead Man sleeping.
It might be weeks after that before anybody tracked
me down. If anybody bothered to try.

I didn't have weeks. I didn't feel I could waste the
tune I'd spent inside already. The Dead Man might
chuckle and tell me to consider it a learning experi-
ence, which is what he does when I have a bad day.

77

78

GLEN COOK

If I didn't break out, it was going to be the all-time
bad day to start a long string of bad days.

The woman stayed at the observation window. I
kept howling my head off and throwing people around
and strangling other guys making noise.

The thing that got me, down deep, was that almost
half the guys in the ward didn't get involved. Most of
those never opened their eyes. They just laid there,
indifferent.

Man, that was scary. That could be me in twenty
years if I blew this.

Fear provided the inspiration I needed to keep
howling and foaming at the mouth. I tried speaking
in tongues. That came to me naturally. A little some-
thing for when I got too old to make it on the street.
A good howl and roll man can start his own church.

The door opened.

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, those
dopes actually opened the door.

It swung outward. Attendants boiled inside. They
knew something was up. They were ready for bear.
They had clubs and small shields. They all looked
about twelve feet tall. They formed in a tight knot
before they started forward.

A few months earlier, in a moment of weakness
brought on by engulfing an inland sea of beer, I'd
bought some stuff from a third-rate wizard who'd
called himself Dread but whose name was really Mil-
ton. You don't never trust the skills of a wizard named
Milton—as I'd learned to my sorrow on trying to use
one of his charms. His stuff came with a warranty, but
he wasn't around to make good on it.

In my pockets were several tiny bottles, the last of
my purchase. According to Dread, they constituted
the ideal means of dealing with unfriendly crowds. I
didn't know, never having tested them. I wasn't sure
I even recalled Dread's instructions. It was real drunk
out that night.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

79

I told me I had another good reason for wanting
out. I had to find old Milt and register a consumer
complaint.

As I recalled, all I had to do was throw a bottle
against a hard surface, then stand back.

I did the throwing part. My bottle missed all the
boys and bounced off the wall. It skittered back into
the midst of the attendants. Guys walked all over it,
but it didn't break.

My guardian angel was on the job. Cursing him, I
tried again.

The second bottle broke. Gray mist boiled off the
wall. It reached the attendants. They started cussing.
Cussing turned to howling fast.

Meantime, my little breed volunteer slithered into
the doorway so it couldn't be closed. His job was going
to get nasty if the staff got determined.

The attendants in the ward lost all interest hi quiet-
ing people down. They were too busy scratching and
rubbing and yelling.

Maybe Dread wasn't a complete fraud.

I inhaled a bushel of clean air and charged. I was
ashamed of me for pulling such a dirty trick. Almost.
I wouldn't take it back. If I spent much time hanging
out with Ivy and the boys, I'd end up singing in the
same choir.

The mist didn't bother me much. I did start itching
a little. Since I had a major headache and an acre of
bruises, an itch seemed pretty trivial.

Somebody was hollering hi the corridor. They'd left
somebody to cover the door. He was aggravated at
my breed doorstop.

Who wasn't doing so good. The mist tended to set-
tle. He'd gotten more than the attendants had.

Nonetheless, he fulfilled his mission.

I smashed into the door so hard I feared I'd dislo-
cated my shoulder. Oh, damn, did that hurt! And that

80

GLEN COOK

DEADLY O.UICKSILVER LIES

81

damned door only gave barely enough to let me skip
over the whining breed.

"Surprise!" I popped the guard outside. A whole
herd of patients stampeded out behind me. Those that
didn't have scores to settle with particular attendants
still inside.

Naturally, luck would have another squad of staffers
arriving just then. I did my banshee routine and
charged. Boy, was I going to have a sore throat when
all the hollering was over.

These attendants were bigger and meaner than the
first bunch. There were eight of them. That put the
odds in my favor because I was mad enough to whip
a whole battalion. "Nothing personal, guys." Then I
recognized two of the clowns who had carried me in
the wet blanket. "Like hell!"

I didn't get a lot of help at first. Surprise did for a
couple of attendants, but then the others got going.
They played a game using me for a shuttlecock. My
companions had been beaten too often. They held
back till my nine-foot buddy jumped in.

"Oomph!" I said, breaking some guy's knuckles
with my forehead. "Took you long enough."

It turned into a real brawl. Fists and feet and bodies
flew. I skinned my knuckles to the elbow pounding
handy chins and jaws. I got my own chin and jaw
liberally pasted. My nose avoided rearrangement.
All that thumping was just the thing for a headache.
I had opportunities to be thankful that I have good
teeth as I sank them into people who didn't have my
continued good health foremost hi mind.

When the fur stopped flying and the dust settled,
me and the big guy were the only ones standing. And
I needed the help of a wall.

I stumbled to the door at the end of the hall, be-
yond the vanquished attendants. It was locked. It
looked every bit as massive as the door to the ward.
Well, all that work for nothing. I exchanged glances

with the big guy. He grinned, said, "I told you." He
wiped blood off his face, grinned some more. "They
going to have a time cleaning this one up, though. We
got most of the night staff in here."

"Fine. We're a step closer. Let's drag these guys
into the ward." Maybe we could use them as hostages.

All of a sudden, we had plenty of helpers. Guys
turned brave, thumped heads soundly whenever an
attendant threatened to wake up.

I checked the end of the hall I hadn't checked be-
fore. Another locked oaken vault door. Of course. "I
guess this just isn't my day." It had had its moments
earlier, but the downs were starting to outweigh the
ups. "Anybody want to guess how long it'll be before
they come after us again?"

|   The big guy shrugged. Now that the active part was
Sover he seemed to be losing interest.

I produced two tiny folding knives that hadn't been
taken, reflected that this incident was going to gener-
ate strident calls for an investigation of how blades
and sorcerous gook and whatnot had gotten to the
inmates. Like there'd ever been a doubt that any in-
mate who could flash the cash couldn't buy any
damned thing he wanted.

An investigation might mean hope. If it was serious,
it would require my testimony. That would mean the
pointing of fingers at the kind of people who'd take
bribes for falsely imprisoning heroes like me. Ugh!
They'd be villains who'd be aware of the distress my
testimony could cause their careers. Surely they'd take
steps to assure a paucity of witnesses likely to testify.

I gave the big guy a knife. "Carve me some kindling
out of anything wooden. If we get a decent fire going,
we can burn our way through those doors."

He grinned but without the wild eagerness he'd
shown before. He was winding down.

The notion of arson did excite some of the others.

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We all got to work ripping the stuffing out of pallets
and whittling on the ward door.

Then I suffered another brainstorm, way late, unlike
the hero of an adventure story. I claim genius only
because nobody else thought of the obvious first. The
adventure boys would have planned it from the start.
It's one of their old tricks.

The Bledsoe staff wore uniforms, scruffy though
those were.

I got my fires burning at both ends of the hall. Ivy
tended them. His vocabulary didn't improve, but he
became more animated. He liked fires. He even paid
attention when I said, "Use plenty of horsehair. We
want plenty of smoke." The horsehair came out of the
pallets.

Ivy grinned from ear to ear. He was one fulfilled
lunatic.

The people outside would have to make a move.
They couldn't wait us out once we had fires burning.
Fires had to be fought.

I had to have a guy follow Ivy and make sure his
fires didn't grow too fast. Already they seemed likely
to burn through the floor before they ate through the
doors.

Once the smoke was thick enough, I picked an at-
tendant my size and started trading clothes. He got
the best of the deal.

My companions caught on. Soon they were squab-
bling over the available uniforms. I made sure Ivy and
the big guy got theirs. I wanted one for the little breed
who'd body-blocked the ward door, but he'd have got-
ten lost in a shirt.

Interesting that I had so many supporters now that
it looked like I had prospects.

The smoke almost got too thick before somebody
outside decided action had to be taken now.

19

They brought almost every warm body they had left.
They burst through both doors at once, behind thrown
buckets of water. They concentrated on the fires to
begin, taking what lumps they must until those were
extinguished, then they started whipping on anybody
in arm's reach. When they got into the ward, they
started hauling fallen comrades away.

It was real exciting for a while. The issue was defi-
nitely in doubt.

The smoke got to me more than I expected. After
they dragged me out and I decided it was tune I made
a run for it, I found that my legs were saying no way.

"Don't. You aren't ready yet."

I didn't look up and give myself away. Around me,
impelled by the cunning of madness, my buddies did
the same. What a team!

There were better than twelve men scattered along
the hallway, many from the ward. The rest had gone
down in the current invasion.

The speaker was a woman, the owner of the legs.
She added, "Get the smoke out before you do
anything."

I coughed and made noises and kept my face hid-
den. She moved on, evidently to tend someone else
who was stirring. A female doctor? How about that?
I never heard of such a thing, but why not?

I scooted back till my spine found a wall, raised
myself up against that, lifted my head to scope out an

83

84

GLEN COOK

escape route. I kept seeing two of things when I could
see through the water in my eyes. I got my feet under
me again and practiced standing up till I could do it
with no hands.

My chosen escape route did not become overgrown
while I was catching my breath. I shoved off the wall
and started staggering. There was a stairwell door
straight ahead, out in the remote distance, on the far
horizon, about twenty feet away. All kinds of racket
came from behind it, as though thunder-lizards were
mating in the stairwell. I didn't pay the racket any
mind. I didn't have any mind left over. What I had
was busy thinking "out."

I was chugging right along, hardly ever falling down,
when she of the glorious gams intercepted me. "What
are you trying to do? I told you ... Oh!"
I grinned my winningest grin. "Oh-oh."
"Oh, my god!"

"Hey, no. I'm just a regular guy."
Maybe she had trouble hearing over the racket from
the stairwell. Or maybe she had trouble hearing over
the uproar from the hall and ward. She sure didn't get
my message. She whooped and hollered like she
thought she was going to get carried off by a lunatic
or something.

I grabbed a wrist, mostly to keep from falling down.
I noticed that she was blond and recalled that that
was one of my favorites but I didn't have oomph
enough to let her know. The bleeding had stopped a
long time ago, but my head wasn't much better. The
smoke hadn't done me any good, either.

I hacked out, "Pipe down! We're going for a walk,
sister. I don't want anybody should get hurt, but that
ain't my top priority. You get the drift? You keep on
wailing...."

She shut up.  Blue eyes big and beautiful, she
bobbed her head.
"I'll cut you loose at the front door. Maybe. If

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

85

you're good and I don't get no more trouble." Snappy
rhetoric, Garrett. Your roots are showing.

I was getting the edge on the smoke, though. I was
ready to bet myself she would be good. A figure like
that, it burned. No. Forget fire. Fire means smoke. I
just swallowed enough smoke to last forever.

I leaned on the lady like she was my sweetie. "I
need your help." Rotten to the heart, I am. But this
would be our only date.

She nodded again.

Then she tripped me, the naughty girl.

And then my friend Winger blasted through that
stairwell door, flinging battered orderlies ahead of her.
"Goddamn, Garrett! I bust in here fixing to save your
ass and what do I find? You trying to bop some bimbo
in front of the whole damned world." She grabbed my
collar, hoisted me away from my latest daydream, who
had gone down when I had. Winger set me on my
feet, then proceeded to whip the pudding out of a
burly, hirsute attendant who meant to object to the
irregularity of the way she was checking me out. Be-
tween punches she grunted, "You got to get your pri-
orities straight, Garrett."

No point mentioning who tripped who. You don't
explain to Winger. She creates her own realities.

While she was amusing herself with the hairy or-
derly, I asked the lady doctor, "What's a nice girl like
you doing in a place like this?"

She wouldn't answer even after I apologized for
playing so rough.

"For heaven's sake, Garrett, give it a rest," Winger
snapped. "And come on."

I went along because she grabbed hold and took
off. I grabbed the blonde as we went past. Down those
stairs we went, stepping over the occasional moaning
attendant. Winger had come through like a natural
disaster. I bubbled, "I do hope I haven't been too
much trouble. Unfortunately, I can't hang around just

86

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because somebody out there wants me in here instead
of stomping on his toes." I put on my grim face.
"When I catch up with him, I'll make sure he gives
you a big donation. Big enough to cover damages."

Winger rolled her eyes. She didn't slow down and
she didn't let go.

The lady of the legs said, "You're serious, aren't
you?"

Winger grumbled, "As serious as he can get when
he's in rut."

My new friend and I ignored her. I said, "That's
right. I find things for people. Just this morning, a lady
from the Hill asked me to find her daughter. I'd barely
started looking when a band of ruffians set upon me.
Next thing I knew, I was coming to and there you
were and I thought I'd died and gone to one of those
afterlives where they have angels, only my head hurt
too much."

"I risked life and limb for this," Winger muttered.
"Your head is about to hurt a whole lot more."

The lady doc looked at me like she really wanted
to believe. She said, "He does spread it thick, doesn't
he?"

"With a manure rake," Winger growled, reverting
to uncultured country ways. You can take the girl out
of the sticks, and so forth.

I said, "You ever feel the need to get in touch, just
go up Macunado Street. When you get to Wizard's
Reach, start asking around for where the Dead Man
stays."

The lady offered a weak smile. "I might do that. I
just might. Just to see what happens."

"Fireworks. For sure."

Winger suggested, "Save yourself for marriage,
honey. If there's anything left."

The lady's smile vanished.

You can't win them all. You especially can't when
you have friends intent on throwing the game.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

87

We'd reached the street in front of the Bledsoe. I
tried to sprint off into the night at a fast shamble. I
figured I ought to make tracks before some avenging
orderly appeared.

After I'd gone a few steps, Winger observed, "That
was the most disgusting display I've seen yet, Garrett.
Don't you ever stop?"

"We have to get out of here." I glanced over my
shoulder at the Bledsoe. A glimpse of the place nearly
panicked me. That had been close. "We got to disap-
pear before they send somebody after us."

"You think they're not going to know where to
look? You all but gave that bimbo your address."

"Hey! You're talking about the love of my life. She
won't give me away." I didn't let her see my crossed
fingers.

Winger shifted ground. "Why would they bother,
anyway? Really?"

At this point, they probably wouldn't. Anything
they did now was likely to draw more attention than
they could stand.

I shrugged. That's always a useful, noncommital
device.

20

I waited till we had a good head start, just hi case the
hospital gang did decide to come after me. Then I
grabbed Winger's hand in a comealong grip.

"Hey! What the hell you doing, Garrett?"

"You and me are going to sit here on these steps
like young lovers and you're going to whisper sweet
nothings about what the hell is going on. Got it?"

"No."

I added some muscle to the hold.

"Ouch! Ain't that just like a man? No gratitude.
Save his ass and—"

"Looked to me like I was doing an adequate job of
saving it on my own. Sit."

Winger sat, but she kept grumbling. I didn't let go.
I wouldn't get any answers if I did.

"Tell me about it, Winger."

"About what?" She can turn into the dumbest
country girl that ever lived.

"I know you. Don't waste stupid on me. Tell me
about Maggie Jenn and her missing daughter and how
come as soon as I take this job I get jumped, cold-
cocked, and shoved into the cackle factory in such a
big hurry the fools don't bother to empty my pockets?
All the time I'm in there, I'm wondering how this
could happen to me when only my pal Winger knows
what I'm doing. And now I'm wondering how my pal
Winger knew I needed help getting sprung from the
Bledsoe. Stuff like that."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

89

"Oh. That." She thought a while, making something

up-
"Come on, Winger. Give truth a try. Just for the

novelty."

She offered me a Winger-sized dirty look. "I was
working for this pansy name of Grange Cleaver...."

"Grange Cleaver? What kind of name is that?
Come on. Tell me there ain't nobody named Grange
Cleaver."

"Who's going to tell this? You or me? You want to
sit there and listen to the echo of your lips clacking,
that's all right with me. Only don't expect me to hang
around listening, too. I know how corny you get when
you're up on your high horse."

"Me? Corny?"

"Like some holy joe Revanchist roll in the aisles
preacher."

"You wound me."

"I'd like to, sometimes."

"Promises, promises. You were working for a char-
acter with a name even a dwarf wouldn't tolerate."

"Yeah. His mom and dad were probably named
Trevor and Nigel." She gave me another dirty look,
thought about getting stubborn. "I was working for
him, you like his name or not. He had me watching
Maggie Jenn. Because he expected her to try to kill
him, he said."

"Why?"

"He didn't say. I didn't ask. The kind of mood he
was in most times, it didn't seem like a bright idea to
nag."

"Not even a guess?"

"What's with you, Garrett? I get three marks a day
if I mind my own business and do my job. I maybe
get kneecapped if I don't."

Thus did we head for an argument about moral re-
sponsibility. We'd had it about fifty times before. The

90

GLEN COOK

way Winger saw it, if you covered your own ass you
were doing your part.

She was trying to divert me.

"Guess it don't matter, Winger. Go on. Explain how
you ended up here."

"That's easy. I'm a big dummy. I figured you for a
pal. Somebody what didn't deserve that raw a deal."

"How come I feel like there are some details shy
here? You think you could put a little flesh on those
bones?"

"You can be a real pain in the butt, Garrett. Know
what I mean?"

"I've heard that rumor." I waited. I did not relax
my grip on her hand.

"All right. All right. So I was working for this
Cleaver. Mostly on watching the Jenn bimbo, but on
other stuff sometimes, too. It was like regular work,
Garrett. Top pay and always something needed doing.
Tonight I figured out why. Cleaver was putting me out
front. People watched me while him and his nancy
boys pulled stunts in the shadows."

I grunted but provided no sympathy. I can't find
much of that for somebody who won't learn. Winger
had gotten herself used before. She was big and good-
looking and a woman, and because she was a woman
hardly anyone took her seriously. This Grange Cleaver
probably just thought she was a handy freak, though
he was a freak himself.

"I know, Garrett. I know. You heard this one be-
fore. Probably you'll hear it again. Sometimes it works
out profitable."

Meaning she took advantage of those who used her,
playing dumb country girl while she pocketed their
silver candlesticks.

I gave her a shot at my famous raised eyebrow.

"I know. I know. But I got to get by while I build
my reputation."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

91

"I suppose." Getting a nasty rep was an obsession
with her.

"Thanks for the passionate support. At least I
caught on before it was too late to get out."

"Did you?"

"Get out? Damned right I did. See, this Cleaver
told me, yeah, Winger, that's a great idea, putting
somebody next to Maggie Jenn. Somebody else on
account of she'd recognize me. But when I told him
it was you I got to cover it, he got a face looked like
he was about to have a shit hemorrhage. You'd a
thought one of his buddies sneaked up and showed
him he loved him by surprise. He got me out so fast
I got suspicious. I sneaked around to where I could
listen hi on him."

I suspected Winger had done plenty of eaves-
dropping. "I've never heard of Cleaver. How come
he's shook up about me?"

She spat. "How the hell should I know? You do
got your rep as a super straight-arrow simp. Maybe
that done it."

"Think so?" Winger was after an angle all the time.
"So you wised up. Hard to believe. Usually it takes—"

"I ain't as dumb as you think, Garrett." She refused
to provide proof, though. "What Cleaver was up to,
he called in this bunch of street brunos. Not his regu-
lar butt buddies, just some muscle. He told them he
had this big problem name of you and asked could
they solve it for him? How about they sent you off to
the Bledsoe? The brunos said sure and laughed and
joked about how they done it before with some guys
Cleaver didn't like. He's got people on the inside on
the pad. He's connected to the hospital somehow.
Probably through that blond baggage you was drool-
ing on when I was trying to get you out of there."

"Yeah. Probably." But I didn't believe that and nei-
ther did she.

92

GLEN COOK

DEADLY O.UICKSILVER LIES

93

"Anyways, it took me a while to get away without
nobody noticing. I came straight to the hospital."

I could imagine why it had taken her so long to slip
away. Once she decided to quit Cleaver, she would
want to collect everything valuable she could carry.
Then she'd have to take that wherever she kept her
stuff. Then she might have tested the waters to see if
she couldn't carry off another load before she finally
got around to me.

She knew I wasn't going anywhere.

The big rat.

"So you came whooping to the rescue only to find
out that, through my own cunning, I had proceeded
to effect my own release."

"You was doing all right," she conceded, "but you
wouldn't never of gotten out of there if I hadn't
whipped up on all them guys what would've gotten in
your way downstairs."

Whatever else, Winger was a woman. I granted her
the last word.

"You can let go the hand now," she said. "There
ain't nothing left to squeeze out'n me."

"That a fact?" Then how come the country was
coming on stronger all the time? She was putting on
her camouflage. "And just when I was thinking it
might be useful to learn how Maggie Jenn knows you.
Just when I was getting curious about your pal Grange
Cleaver. Since I've never heard of the guy, it'd proba-
bly save me a lot of time if you were to clue me where
he lives, is he human or whatever, is he connected
with the Outfit or anybody, stuff like that. Details. I'm
a detail kind of guy, Winger."

Winger is your basic jump on the wagon and head
out without checking to see if the mules are hitched
up kind of woman, never long on scoping out plans or
worrying about consequences. Neither past nor future
mean much to her. That isn't because she's stupid or
foolish, it's because that's the way she's made.

"You're a royal pain hi the ass kind of guy,
Garrett."

"That too. Hear it all the time. Especially from you.
You're going to give me a complex."

"Not you. You got to be sensitive to get a complex.
You're sensitive like a stinky old boot. Grange
Cleaver, now he's a sensitive kind of guy." She
grinned.

"You ever going to tell me something? Or you just
going to sit there smirking like a toad on a cowpie?"

She snickered. "I told you, Garrett, Grange Cleaver
is the kind of guy wears earrings."

"Plenty of guys are the kind of guys who wear ear-
rings. That don't make them poofs. They might be
fierce pirates."

"Yeah? He's also the kind of guy wears wigs and
makeup and likes to dress up in girl clothes. I heard
him brag about how he used to work the Tenderloin
without the Johns ever knowing how unique an experi-
ence they'd had."

"It happens." In the Tenderloin, in TunFaire, every-
thing happens. I didn't consider this big news, though
Cleaver did seem careless with his secrets. You get
too public you can end up with more trouble than you
can handle. Asking for trouble is plain dumb.

"He human?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"And don't hide his quirks?"

"Not around home. I never saw nun go out in the
street and run after little boys. Why?"

"He don't sound careful enough. You got any idea
what a poof goes through in the army? Hell like you
wouldn't believe. Bottom line is, any of them that
don't hide it damned good don't last. The Cantard is
no place to belong to an unpopular minority."

"I don't think Grange was in the service, Garrett."

"You're on a first-name basis?"

"He has everybody call him Grange."

94

GLEN COOK

"Real democratic kind of guy, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Right. So. He's human and male, he had to be in
some service, Winger. They don't allow exceptions."

"Maybe he was a dodger."

"They never give up hunting those guys." They
don't. Not ever. There is no privilege when it comes to
conscription. Say that for our masters. No favoritism is
shown there. In fact, in that regard they pay more than
their share of the price. They do lead from the front.

Notice how Winger got me off on a tangent? I did.
She had dropped out on this Cleaver princess but did
not want to give up any information about him. That
meant she still saw an angle.

Winger always sees an angle.

"Let's get back to the high road. What's between
Cleaver and Maggie Jenn? If he's a shrieking faggot,
why is he interested at all?"

"I think she's his sister."

"Say what?"

"Or maybe his cousin. Anyway, they're related
somehow. And she's got something he wants. Some-
thing he figures is his."

"So she's going to kill him?" This was getting
weirder by the minute.

I hate family wars. They're the worst kind. They
put you out in no-man's land all alone without a map.
Whatever you do turns out wrong. "What's he after,
Winger?"

"I don't know." Now she was getting long suffering,
the way people do when small children ask too many
questions. "I just worked for the guy. I didn't sleep
with him. I wasn't his social secretary. I wasn't his
partner. I didn't keep his diary for him. I just took his
money and did what he said. Then I came out to save
your butt on account of I kind of felt responsible for
getting you into a jam."

"You were responsible. You were running a game

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

95

on me. I don't know what it was because you've kept
it to yourself. Chances are you're still running a game
on me, you being you."

I was a little tired of Winger, which was another of
her talents. She could exasperate you till you ran her
off, leaving you thinking it was your idea that she was
gone; leaving you feeling guilty for doing her that way.

"So what're you gonna do?" she asked. I had let
go of her hand.

"I figure I'll suck up a few beers, then I'll get me
some sleep. After I get me out of this clown costume
and delouse myself."

"Want some company?"

That's my friend Winger.

"Not tonight. I just want to sleep."

"All right. You want to be that way." She got gone
before I could react to the smug smile she left floating
behind her. Before 1 fully realized that she was going
without having told me anything useful, like where the
hell I could find friendly Grange Cleaver.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

97

21

"I just want to get some sleep." Usually famous last
words for me when I'm working. I'd get three hours
of shuteye the rest of the month.

The gods were toying with me—nobody messed
with me at all. So naturally I kept waking up to listen
for pounding at the door. Somewhere up there, or
down there, or out there, an otherwise useless godlet
was earning his reputation by tormenting me in inge-
nious ways. If he keeps on, he may get promoted to
director of heavenly sewers.

So I failed to rest well despite the opportunity. I
wakened cranky and stomped around cussing Dean
for being out of town. There was no one else I could
make miserable.

The true breadth and depth of my genius didn't
occur to me till I was well along toward whipping up
a truly awful breakfast of griddle cakes. I had forgot-
ten to ask Winger about the guy who had followed
me to Maggie Jenn's place.

Someone tapped on the front door. What the hell?
It was a civilized hour, almost.

The knock was so discreet I almost missed it. I
grumbled some, flipped a flapjack, and headed up
front.

I was astounded when I peeped through the peep-
hole. I threw the door open to let the radiance of that
blond beauty shine on me. "Didn't expect to see you
again, Doc." I examined the street behind the lovely,

96

in case she headed up a platoon of Bledsoe guys who
couldn't take a joke. I didn't see anybody, but that
meant squat. Macunado Street was so crowded you
could have hidden the entire hospital staff out there.
"You invited me." She looked like she had come
directly from work, like maybe she'd pulled a double
shift cleaning up. "You were panting over the idea."
She had a sarcastic tone to counterweight a blistering
smile. "Your big friend dunk you in icewater?"

"I just didn't expect to see you again. Look, I'm
sorry about that mess. I just get wild when somebody
pulls a dirty trick like dumping me in the cackle
factory."

Her lips pruned up. "Can't you use a less contemp-
tuous term?"

"Sorry. I'll try." I encouraged myself by recalling a
thing or three people have said about my profession,
most of it unflattering.

She relaxed. "The duty trick is why I'm here. What
is that smell?"

I whirled. Tendrils of smoke slithered from the
kitchen. I shrieked and bounded down the hall. Our
lady of the marvelous legs followed at a dignified pace.
I scooped blackened griddle cakes into the sink.
They sent up smoke signals denouncing my skills as a
chef. Hell, I was so bad I might be able to get on in
Morley's kitchen. They had an opening. "I can use
these to patch the roof," I grumbled.
"Too brittle."

"Everybody's a comedian. You had breakfast?"
"No. But ..."

"Grab an apron, kid. Give me a hand. A little food
will do us both good. What you want to know,
anyway?"

She grabbed an apron. Amazing gal. "I didn't like
the way you were talking last night. I decided to check
it out. There was no record of your commitment,
though when I joined the orderlies carrying you they

98

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

99

assured me that you had been brought hi by the
Guard and the records were in order."

I made rude noises, started flapping a new genera-
tion of flapjacks.

"That was easy to check. A ranking Guard officer is
an old friend of my family. Colonel Westman Block."

I squeaked three or four times before I managed
to ask, "Colonel Block? They made a colonel out of
him?"

"Wes speaks highly of you, too, Mr. Garrett."

'Til bet."

"He told me you were not sent to the Bledsoe by
his people—though he wished he'd thought of it."

"That's Block. Playful as a hogshead of cobras."

"He did speak well of you professionally. But he
warned me to remain wary in other respects." She
could get a laugh into her voice, too.

"You going to want bacon?"

"You just starting it now? You're supposed to start
the bacon first. It takes longer."

"I cook one thing at a tune. That way I only burn
one thing at a time."

"A daring approach."

"Holds down expenses."

We cooked together and ate together and I spent a
lot of time appreciating the scenery. The lady didn't
seem to mind.

We were cleaning up when she said, "I won't toler-
ate this sort of thing. I won't tolerate the corruption
that allows it to happen."

I stepped back, checked her out with different eyes.
"You just start working there? You'd have to look
hard to find a place more corrupt than the Bledsoe."

"Yes. I'm new. And I'm finding out how rotten the
place is. Every day it's something. This is the worst
yet. You might've spent your whole hie wrongfully
imprisoned."

"Yeah. And I wasn't the only one in there. You an

idealist and reformer?" TunFaire is infested with
those lately.

"You don't need to make me sound like a halfwit."

"Sorry. Most wannabe Utopians are, reality-wise.
They come from well-to-do families and haven't the
vaguest notion what life is like for people who have
to depend on a Bledsoe. They can't imagine what life
is like for the kind of people who work in a Bledsoe.
For them taking bribes and selling donated supplies
are perks of the job. They wouldn't understand you if
you bitched about it—unless they figured you were
trying to increase the override you take off the top."

She gave me a disgusted look. "Somebody sug-
gested that yesterday."

"There you go. I bet you blew up. And didn't get
through. And now everybody in the place thinks
you're crazy. Maybe the better-placed guys in the big-
ger money are wondering if you're dangerous crazy.
They worry about these new Guards kicking ass and
taking names. It takes a while to corrupt reformers."

She settled with a fresh cup of tea, honey and mint
in it. She eyed me, then mused, "West says you can
be trusted."

"Nice of him to say. Wish I could say the same."

She frowned. "Point is, I'm dangerous already. A
few days ago, several thousand marks worth of medi-
cal supplies vanished. Right away I filled two orderly
slots with men I knew personally. Men I can trust."

"I see." In view of her Guard connection, I guessed
they were Block's men. He had a character named
Relway working for him, running his secret police
force. Relway was nasty.

If Relway became interested in the Bledsoe, heads
would roll and asses get kicked. Relway doesn't let
bureaucratic roadblocks and legal technicalities get in
his way. He gets in there and rights those wrongs.

I suggested, "You be careful. They think you
brought in spies, they could forget their manners."

100

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101

She sipped tea, studied me, which made me uncom-
fortable. Not that I object to having a beautiful woman
check me out. I was born to be a sex object. But this
beautiful woman had something less thrilling in mind.
"I'm not as naive as you think, Garrett."

"Good. That'll save you a lot of pain."

"You have any idea who signed you in?"

"No. I was asleep. But I hear the prince who paic
for it goes by the name Grange Cleaver."

"Cleaver? Grange Cleaver?"

"You know him?"

"He's a hospital trustee. Appointed through the im-
perial household." She studied me some more. "I told
you I'm not as naive as you might think. That does
include understanding that I might be hi danger."

Could be was not how I would put it. "So?"

"So maybe I should get somebody to stick close by
till the dust settles."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"You game?"

I was game, but not for that. "You want a
bodyguard?"

"Wes says you won't sell out."

"Maybe not. But there's a problem."

"What?" She sounded irked.

"I don't do bodyguard work. Sorry. And I have a
client already. Wouldn't do to let that obligation slide,
much as part of me wants to. Also, your staff is going
to harbor grudges. I wouldn't dare hang out around
there."

She looked like she was getting mad. "Then what
would you suggest?" She didn't try to change my
mind. My feelings were hurt. Maybe she could have
talked herself into something.

She was too damned businesslike.

Maggie Jenn would have tried to talk me into
something.

"Friend of mine, Saucerhead Tharpe, could do the

job. Or several other guys I know. Trouble is the best
guys all look like what they are." Then my muse in-
spired me. "My friend from last night will be looking
for work."

My guest brightened, her mind darting past all the
obvious caveats that would have obtained had Winger
been male. "Can she do the job?"

"Better than I could. She doesn't have a
conscience."

"She trustworthy?"

"Don't put her in temptation's way. The family sil-
ver might accidentally fall into her pockets. But she
can get a job done."

"She tough?"

"She eats hedgehogs for breakfast. Without peeling
them first. Don't get into a tough contest with her.
She don't know when to quit."

She smiled. "I understand the impulse. When you
step outside tradition, there's a temptation to show
the boys you can do everything they can do better.
All right. Sounds good. I'll talk to her. How do I get
in touch?"

Finding Winger isn't easy. She wants it that way.
There are people she'd rather not have sneaking up.

I explained what worked for me. She thanked me
for breakfast, advice, and help, and headed for the
front door. I was overwhelmed still. She was ready to
let herself out before I got myself together. "Hey!
Wait up. You didn't introduce yourself."

She smirked. "Chastity, Garrett. Chastity Blaine."
She laughed at my goofy look, slipped out, and closed
the door behind her.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

103

i

22

By daylight, the Joy House is dull. Lately Morley has
been open continuously, driven by some bizarre civic
impulse that wants weeds and grass clippings made
available to all. I was concerned. The place might start
attracting horses.

I invited myself up to the bar. "Cook me up a rare
steak, Sarge. And let Morley know I'm here."

Sarge grunted, scratched his crotch, hitched his
pants, thought about it before he did anything—which
was mainly to wonder aloud why I thought Morley
Dotes gave one rat's ass whether I was infesting the
Joy House or stinking up the place in Hell, where I
belonged.

"You ought to open a charm school for young ladies
of superior breeding, Sarge."

"Fugginay. Ain't dat da troot?"

I settled at a table. My steak arrived before Morley
did. It was a thick, rare, prime center cut. Of eggplant.
I forced part of it down by holding my breath and
closing my eyes. If I didn't have to smell it or see it,
it wasn't too bad.

Sarge's buddy Puddle trundled out of the kitchen,
half a foot of hairy bare belly hanging out from under
his shirt. He paused to blow his nose on his apron.
He had him some kind of key on a rope around his
neck. I asked, "What the hell are you supposed to be?
One that got away? They didn't tie the noose tight
enough?"

102

"I'm da wine stewart aroun' here, Garrett." My
worst fears were confirmed—not only by ear but by
nose. Puddle's breath told me he diligently tested his
vintages. "Morley says we got to attrack a better class
a' custom."

Time was you could have done that by dragging in
a dozen derelicts. "You're just the guy who can do it,
Puddle."

"Fugginay. Ain't dat da troot?"

These guys had the same rhetoric teacher.

"You want some wine, Garrett? To go wit' what
you're havin' dere we got us a perky little fortunata
petite what's maybe not as subtle as a Nambo Arsenal
but—"

"Puddle!"

"Yeah?"

"It's spoiled grape juice. If they call it wine, it's
spoiled grape juice. I don't care if you call it coy or
brujo or whatever. Talk that wine snob talk till dooms-
day, that don't change the main fact. Hell, go look at
the stuff while it's changing into brassy brunette or
whatever. It's got mold and shit growing on it. What
it is, really, is how you get alcohol that winos and
ratmen can afford."

Puddle winked and whispered, "I'm wit' you. The
gods meant real men to drink dat stuff dey wouldn't
of invented beer."

"What you do, you get Morley to serve beer by
telling him it's cream of barley soup?"

Morley arrived during this exchange. He observed,
"Wine is how the smart restauranteur fleeces the kind
of man who walks around with his nose in the air."

I asked, "How come you want that kind of guy
cluttering up your dance floor?"

"Cash flow." Morley planted himself in the chair
opposite me. "Plain, simple, raw money. If you want
it, you have to find ways to pry it loose from those
who have it. Our current clientele doesn't have it.

104

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

105

Often. But I've noted that we've begun to attract ad-
venturers. So I've started positioning us to become the
in place."

"Why?"

He looked at me funny.

"Don't let me throw you with the trick questions,
Morley. If they get too tough for you, holler."

"Look around. There's your answer."

I looked. I saw Puddle and Sarge and a few local
"characters" using the place to get out of the weather.
"Not real appetizing." I meant Puddle and Sarge.

"It's that old devil Tune, Garrett. We're all a pound
heavier and a step slower. It's time to think about
facing realities."

"Puddle and Sarge, maybe." Morley didn't have an
ounce of fat on him. I did my famous eyebrow trick,
one of my more endearing skills.

He read that right. "A guy can get a step slow be-
tween the ears, too. He can lose that lean and hungry
way of thinking." He eyed me as though I, of all peo-
ple, should know that.

"Or he can start thinking like a cow because he
doesn't eat anything but cattle fodder." I laid a
pointed stare on the corpse of my eggplant filet. It
had failed to live up to even my low expectations.

Morley grinned. "We're breaking in a new cook."

"On me?"

"Who better? Right, Puddle? No way we can disap-
point Garrett. He was disappointed when he walked
in the door. He'll bitch and gripe whatever we serve
him."

I grumped, "You could poison me."

"If it would improve your disposition."

"There's an idea!" Puddle enthused. "Hows come
I never thought a' that one?"

"Because you've never had a thought. If one got
loose in that abandoned tenement of a head, it'd never

find its way out," I muttered, but Puddle caught on
anyhow.

"Yo! Sarge! We got any of dat rat poison left? Tell
Wiggins to bring dis guy Garrett a special chef's sur-
prise dessert."

I made noises to let them know what I thought of
this level of humor and told Morley, "I need the bene-
fit of your wisdom."

"You going to cry on my shoulder about one of
your bimbos?"

"There's a thought. I never tried that. Maybe by
way of a little sympathetic magic ..."

"Don't expect sympathy from me."

"What I want to do is listen to you, not have you
listen to me."

"This has to do with your Maggie Jenn thing?"

"Yes. The name Grange Cleaver mean anything?"

Morley glanced at Puddle. A shadow crossed his
features. Puddle exchanged glances with Sarge. Then
everybody faked indifference. Morley asked, "You
saying the Rainmaker is back?"

"Rainmaker?"

"The only Grange Cleaver I know was called the
Rainmaker. He was a fence. Big time. Where did you
come onto the name?"

"Winger. She said she was working for him."

"That woman isn't your most reliable witness."

"You're telling me. But she did have an interesting
story about how this guy was using her to keep tabs
on Maggie Jenn. She said she thought Cleaver was
Maggie's brother. Or some sort of close relation."

Again Morley tossed a glance at Puddle, then
looked thoughtful. "I've never heard that one." He
chuckled. There was no humor in the sound. "It can't
be true, but it would explain a lot if it was. Maybe
even including why she is back in town."

"You changing your position?"

"Huh?"

106

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

107

"You said she was in exile. What're you going on
about, anyway?"

"All right. Grange Cleaver, alias the Rainmaker,
was a very famous fence years ago."

"How can you be a famous fence? Seems to me
you could be one or the other but not both."

"Famous among those who use the services of
fences, wholesale or retail, supplier or end user. The
Rainmaker operated on the swank. There were ru-
mors he choreographed several big jobs himself, that
he had a connection who got him the inside informa-
tion he needed. He hit several Hill places. There
weren't many guards back then. His raids were one
reason the Hill folk set up their goon squads."

"This all connects with Maggie Jenn?"

"Maybe. It just occurred to me that the Rainmak-
er's heyday coincided with Maggie Jenn's famous af-
fair. Specifically, with those months when Theodoric
was dragging her around in public, not giving one
good goddamn what anyone said."

"You have to admit nobody would've figured her
for a spotter."

"Exactly. Her social crimes were reason enough to
hate her."

"All of which is interesting but, as far as I can see,
doesn't have anything to do with the job I'm getting
paid to do." Though I might be wrong. Cleaver hadn't
drafted me into the crackdome brigade because my
colors clashed when I dressed. I was a threat some-
how. "You still say Maggie Jenn doesn't have a
daughter?"

"I said I didn't know about one. I still don't. But
now I have a notion there's a lot I don't know about
Maggie Jenn."

"Heard anything off the street?"

"Too soon, Garrett. It's a big town. And if the
Rainmaker is in it, people who remember him might
not talk."

"Yeah." A big town. And somewhere in it, a miss-
ing girl.

Somewhere in TunFaire there are scores of missing
girls. More vanish every day. This just happened to
be a girl who had someone willing to look for her.

I started toward the street.

"Garrett."

I stopped. I knew that tone. The real Morley was
about to speak from behind all the masks. "What?"

"You be careful about the Rainmaker. He's as crazy
as they come. Dangerous crazy."

I leaned against the door frame and did some rumi-
nating. "I've got some real funny people in this one,
Morley."

"How so?"

"They all have two faces. The Maggie Jenn I know
and the one Winger told me about aren't much like
the woman you describe. The Grange Cleaver Winger
worked for and the one you describe aren't anything
like the Grange Cleaver I heard about from another
source. That Cleaver is one of the directors of the
Bledsoe. He's connected with the imperial family."

"That's another new one on me. But so what?"

Yeah. So what? It occurred to me that Chastity's
troubles with theft and corruption might stem from
the very top.

For some reason, I just can't get used to the think-
ing it takes to encompass that kind of villainy. It
doesn't seem reasonable to steal from the poor and
the helpless, though I'm sure Morley could paste on
his puzzled frown and make it all clear: you steal from
the poor and helpless because they can't fight back.
Because nobody gives a damn. But you do have to do
one hell of a lot of stealing in order to make much
money.

That's why most thieves prefer wealthier victims.

23

I decided my best course was to go home and settle
in with a beer or five while I figured out how to do
my job. Grange Cleaver was a side issue. Maybe I'd
put time in on him after I found the missing daughter.
I owed the clown. But Emerald came first.

Speaking of debts, by now his people inside the
Bledsoe should have reported my brilliant, dashing es-
cape. It might behoove me to keep a close watch on
my behind.

You work yourself Into the right frame of mind, it's
sure something will happen. I was all pruned to turn
paranoid. Naturally, fate just had to set me off.

"How are you doing? I'm Ivy."

I squeaked and jumped up there where the pigeons
fly. I could have clicked my heels and turned a somer-
sault on the way down but was too busy making funny
noises. I landed. And there, by the gods, was my old
prison pal Ivy.

And not just Ivy. Behind Ivy, grinning merrily, was
that big bozo who'd helped me with my breakout.

"You guys made it, eh? That's great." I tried easing
around them. That didn't work. "How many others
managed? Any idea?" I was just being sociable. You
do that with unpredictable and potentially dangerous
people. Hell, you should do that with anybody you
don't know. You should be rude only to friends you're
sure won't slice you into cold cuts. That's what man-
ners are for.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

109

The grinning fool grinned even wider. "Most every-
body scooted, Garrett. The whole ward, I think."

"How did that happen?" I'd thought the staff were
gaining control when I ran out.

"Some of us guys that had uniforms on decided to
go get some paybacks after we got the smoke out of
our lungs. And then a bunch of the guys still inside
went berserk."

"Lucky for us they weren't crazy before." But they
were crazy now and on the loose. I tried easing away
again. The big guy had a knack for staying in my way.

I hadn't overlooked the fact that he knew my name
even though I hadn't introduced myself. "How did
you guys come to be here?" Here being Macunado
Street less than two blocks from my house. A coinci-
dence that monstrous could occur only every third
leap year. It wasn't leap year.

The big guy got red. He confessed, "We was sneak-
ing around trying to find a way out and we heard you
talking to Doc Chaz. So we're on the street all this
time, we don't know where to go or what to do. I ast
Ivy and he don't got no suggestions."

Ivy's face brightened at the mention. He introduced
himself, in case he'd forgotten his manners, then went
back to studying the street. He seemed more per-
plexed than frightened, but I didn't think it would be
long till he was ready to go back inside. I suspected
that would be true for a lot of men.

"So you came looking for me."

The big guy nodded like a shy kid. "Seemed like
you was a guy would know what to do."

I cussed myself silently for being the kind of fool I
am. "All right. I got you into this, I'm kind of respon-
sible. Come on. I'll get you fed, put you up tonight,
maybe help you make arrangements."

Yeah. I know. Chances were good they would smell
like long-dead fish before I got them out. But I did
have a card up my sleeve. The Dead Man isn't handi-

110

GLEN COOK

capped by manners or an overdeveloped sense of so-
cial obligation. Guests don't overstay his welcome.

I wondered if it wasn't maybe time to start nudging
him. I could use a little advice.

I let my guests into my house. The big guy was as
nervous as a kid in unfamiliar territory. Ivy was as
curious as a cat. Naturally, the Goddamn Parrot
started raising hell in the small front room. Ivy invited
himself in there while I tried to solve a problem by
asking the big guy, "Do you have a name? I don't
know what to call you."

Mr. Big cussed Ivy for not bringing him food.

I was beginning to miss Dean for yet another rea-
son. He had dealt with that foul feathered fiend before
he left. I still wasn't used to it.

It went into its act. "Help! Rape! Save me! Oh,
please, mister, don't make me do that again." It man-
aged to sound like a preadolescent girl. The only par-
rot in captivity smart enough to remember more than
four words, and some wit had taught it that. I just
knew if the neighbors ever heard the beast I'd never
convince the lynch mob that a parrot had done the
squawking. The bird would not say boo till I was
swinging high.

Meantime, the big fellow stood around wearing a
thoughtful look, trying to remember his name. His
wits seemed to turn through seasons. Must have been
summertime when he helped me at the Bledsoe. Now
it was late autumn or early winter. I was glad I didn't
have to deal with him all the time. I could go crazy
myself.

Powziffle.

Ivy closed the door to the small front room. The
Goddamn Parrot went right on screeching. Ivy grinned
from ear to ear. I had a feeling I knew what was
going to become of that bird. He could become the
companion of a tortured fellow who needed a friend
desperately.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

111

The tortured fellow roamed on down the hall while
his sidekick continued to ruminate the big question.

"Hey! Yeah!" His face brightened. "Slither."
Brighter still. "Yeah! That's it. Slither." His grin
dwarfed Ivy's.

"Slither?" What the hell kind of name was that? A
nickname for sure, though he didn't look like a Slither
to me.

Ivy had his face shoved into my office. He froze.
Eventually he let out a little squeak of dismay, the
first break in his six-word pattern. From the direction
he was facing, I guessed he'd gotten a look at Eleanor.
That painting had plenty to say to anyone with the
open eyes of madness.

Slither preened, proud that he had recalled his
name.

I said, "You guys come back to the kitchen. We'll
have us a beer and a snack." I suspected that they
hadn't eaten since their flight from the hospital. Free-
dom does have its disadvantages.

Slither nodded and flashed his grin. Ivy ignored me.
He crossed the hall to the Dead Man's room, went
inside, and got himself a shock even more horrible
than the terror in the shadows behind Eleanor. The
Dead Man isn't furry, little, or cuddly. He can't win
instant love through cute.

I pried Ivy out of there and got him into the
kitchen. We settled down to a snack of cold roast beef,
pickles, cheese, mustard with verve enough to water
your eyes, and adequate quantities of beer. I did more
sipping than eating. Once Slither and Ivy slowed
enough so they took tune to breathe as well as eat, I
asked, "You guys able to do anything?"

"Huh?" That was Slither. Ivy was sucking up an-
other mug of beer, his fifth. He'd begun to look
brighter, more human. I'd begun to suspect the nature
of his madness. He was a wino.

112

GLEN COOK

"What did you do before they put you in that
place?"

Slither started another five-fall match with his
memory.

I wondered how well he'd done before his venture
inside.

Ivy drained his mug and headed for the cold well.
I caught his wrist. It didn't take much to set him down.
"Don't let's overdo, Ivy."

He stared at his plate a minute, then lifted a sliver
of meat to his lips. He chewed slowly for a long time.
After he swallowed he startled me by saying, "You
can't forget to eat, Garrett. That's the thing you've
got to hang onto. You can't forget to eat."

I stared at him. Slither stared at him. Slither howled,
"I'll be damned! I'll be double dog damned, Garrett!
He talked. What did we do? I never heard him talk
before."

The event seemed to give Slither's intellect a kick
in the slats, too. He started chattering at Ivy, trying
to draw him out. Ivy didn't want to be drawn. He
stared at his plate and picked at his food. He looked
up only once, to toss a longing glance toward the cold
well. The object of his affection, my keg, lay there all
alone.

"Well?"

Slither looked at me. "Huh?"
"I asked what you did on the outside, before you
went in."

"How come you want to know?" The fires of genius
never burned real hot here.

I had to move before he faded again. "I want to
know because if I know what you can do maybe I can
find somebody who'll pay you to do it." There is no
shortage of work in TunFaire, honest or otherwise,
what with all our young men spending five years in
the Cantard and a lot of them never coming home.
"Mostly I done bodyguarding. I was pretty good

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

113

when I started, but I figure I picked up something
when I was down south. I started kind of fading out
sometimes. I started making mistakes sometimes. I
screwed up on a real good job I got on account of my
size mostly, so I took another one that wasn't quite
as good and I screwed up on that one, too, so I took
another job and all the time the fading got worse and
worse. I started not remembering anything sometimes.
Nothing. Except I kept getting the feeling that I was
doing things that weren't right. Maybe really wicked
things, only whatever I was doing I wasn't getting
caught by nobody because I always woke up at home.
Sometimes I had bruises and stuff, though. And then
I was right in the right place at the right time and
landed me a real sweet job. I don't know what hap-
pened or how. One day I wake up, I'm there where
you found me and I don't know how long I been there
or what I done to get myself put inside."

I'd seen him during one blackout. Powziffle. Maybe
that one had been mild and harmless. Maybe he went
berserk sometimes.

But then he'd have been in the violent ward.
Wouldn't he?

"What did you do in the army?" I asked.

"Nothing, man. I wasn't no friggin' ground-
pounder."

I knew that tone and that look and that fire in the
eye. "You were a Marine?"

"Absofugginlutely. First Battalion. Fleet Marines."

I was impressed. That meant something to a Marine.
Slither had been one of the elite of the elite. So how
come ten years later he set up housekeeping in the
charity bughouse? The man had to be tougher than
rawhide.

On the other hand, how many tough guys fall apart
with a nudge in the right way at the right time?

Slither asked, "What about you?"

"Force recon."

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

115

"Hey! All right!" He reached out to slap my hand,
a silly habit left over from the Corps.
They told us when we went in we'd never stop being

Marines.

"If you can keep your head together, I could maybe
use you on the job I'm doing."

He frowned. "What kind of work you do? Besides
bust places up like you was trying to turn the whole
world into a barroom brawl?"

I explained. I explained again. He didn't get it till
I told him, "It's kind of like being a mercenary—only
I just find things or figure things out for people who
can't handle their problems themselves."

He still frowned but got the basic idea. His trouble
was that he couldn't grasp why I'd galavant around
like I was some kind of white knight.

So I put that into terms he could understand. "Most
of my clients are loaded. When things go my way, I
can soak them for a bundle."

Even Ivy brightened at that. But he kept looking at
my cold well like it was the gate to heaven.

I got up, dug out a bottle of wine that had been
around since the dawn of time, plopped it down in
front of Ivy. I drew more beer for Slither and me. I
settled. Ivy went to work on his bottle. After he fin-
ished a long pull, I asked, "How about you, Ivy? What
did you do in the war?"

He tried. He really did. But his tongue got tangled.
Gibberish came out. I suggested he take another long
drink and relax. He did. That worked. Sort of.

"So?" I urged, gently, in the back of my mind be-
ginning to hear guilt nag because I was getting soaked
with a pair of fruitcakes when I ought to be hunting
a missing daughter. "What did you do down there?"
"La-la-long ra-range re-re-recon. Ra-ranger stuff."
"Excellent!" Slither murmured. Civilians wouldn't

understand.
I nodded encouragement and tried to cover my sur-

prise. Ivy didn't look the type. But a lot of guys don't.
And it's often guys who make the elite outfits who're
good enough to survive. They know how to take care
of themselves.

"Pretty grim?" I asked.

Ivy nodded. Any other answer would have been a
lie. The fighting had been tough, vicious, endless, and
unavoidable. Mercy had been an unknown. The war
seems won now, years after our hours in the ranks,
but fighting continues on a reduced scale as Karenta's
soldiers pursue diehard Venageti and try to stifle the
guttering republic created by Glory Mooncalled.

"Dumb question," Slither observed.

"I know. But once in a while, I run into somebody
who insists he liked it down there."

"He was rear echelon, then. Or a liar. Or crazy.
The ones that can't live no other way just stay in."

"You're mostly right."

In a thin voice, Ivy said, "Th-there's sp-space for
them na-now we ga-got out."

I agreed with him, too.

"Tell us more about what you do," Slither said.
"What you working on now that got somebody so
pissed they shoved you into the Bledsoe?"

"I'm not sure anymore." I saw no reason not to so
I shared most of the details. Till I mentioned Grange
Cleaver.

"Wait a minute. Whoa. Hang on. Cleaver? Like in
the Rainmaker, Cleaver?"

"He's called that sometimes. Why?"

"That last job I had. The plush one. I was running
errands for that faggot asshole."

"And?" I suffered a little twinge.

"And I don't remember what the hell I was doing
before I woke up in the bughouse, but I'm damned
well sure it was the Rainmaker what put me there.
Maybe on account of I bucked him."

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"This is interesting. How come you're so sure?" It
wasn't that long since he couldn't remember his name.

"Account of now we're talking about it, I remember
two times I helped carry guys hi there myself. Guys
what the Rainmaker didn't figure was worth killing
but what he had a hard-on for anyway, one reason or
another. He'd say anybody crazy enough to give him
grief belonged in the bughouse."

I held up a hand. "Whoa!" Once he got rolling he
was a rattlemouth. "I have a feeling I need to talk to
Mr. Cleaver."

Slither got pale. I guess the idea didn't have a uni-
versal appeal.

24

My conscience insisted I do something to fulfill my
compact with Maggie Jenn. What? Well, her daugh-
ter's backtrail had been strewn with mystical whatnots,
supposed surprises to mom, indicators that Emerald
was into that old black magic.

The juju stuff had been so plentiful and obvious
that you had to wonder about a plant. Then you had
to wonder who and why (guess I should have been
digging into that), and then you had to wonder if the
obviousness of the evidence argued against its having
been planted. Could anybody be dumb enough to
think someone would buy it?

Well, sure. A lot of TunFaire's villains aren't long
on brains.

I decided I'd follow the road signs, genuine or false.
If they were false, whoever planted them could tell
me something.

I couldn't discount the witchcraft angle. My fellow
subjects will buy anything if the guy doing the selling
is a good enough showman. We have a thousand cults
here. Plenty lean toward the dark side. Plenty go in
for witchcraft and demon worship. Sometimes bored
little rich girls amuse themselves by dabbling.

Maybe I should have inquired after the state of Em-
erald's virtue. That had not seemed important at the
time. From her mother's account, she was in good
health and otherwise normal. There was no apparent

117

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

119

reason for her to suffer virginity at her age. Most ado-
lescents cure that before they get rid of their acne.

If you want information about something, it always
helps if you corner an expert. Sure, the street is a
great source of news, but out there sometimes you
have to separate raindrops from the downpour. That's
maybe a lot of needless sorting if you know somebody
who stays on a first-name basis with all the interesting
raindrops.

People had called her Handsome for as long as I
can remember, for no reason I know. Though mostly
human, she had enough dwarf blood to give her a ver,
long life. She'd been a cranky old woman when I wa
a kid. I was sure time had not improved her temper

Her shop was a hole in the wall in my old neighbor-
hood. It lay down an alley so dark and noisome even
homeless ratmen would have avoided it had it not led
past Handsome's place.

The alley was worse than I remembered. The trash
was deeper, the slime was slipperier, the smell was
stronger. The reason was simple. Every day things do
get worse than they've ever been before. TunFaire is
falling apart. It's sinking into its own offal. And no-
body cares.

Well, some do. But not enough. Scores of factions
front as many corrective prescriptions, but each group
prefers to concentrate on purging heretics and infidels
from the ranks, which is easier than improving the
state of the city.

I should complain? Chaos is good for business. If
only I could recognize lawlessness as a boon.

No wonder my friends don't understand me. / don't
understand me.

There were ratmen sheltering in that alley, which
was so insignificant it didn't merit a name. I stepped
over one and his wine bottle bedmate to get to Hand-
some's door.

A bell jangled as I entered. The alleyway had been

dark. Handsome's hole was darker. I closed the door
gently, waited for my eyes to adapt. I didn't move
fast, didn't breathe deeply for fear I would knock
something down.

I remembered it as that kind of place.

"Gods be damned! It's that Garrett brat. I thought
we got shut of you years ago. Sent you off to the
war."

"Nice to see you again, too, Handsome." Whoops!
Big mistake there. She hated that name. But she was
in a forgiving mood, apparently. She didn't react.
"You're looking good. Thank you for caring. I did my
five. I came home."

"Sure you didn't dodge? Garrett men don't never
come home."

Gave me a twinge there. Neither my brother nor
my father, nor my father's father, had come home.
Seemed like a natural law: your name was Garrett,
you got the glorious privilege of dying for crown and
kingdom. "I beat the odds, Tilly." Handsome's real
name was Tilly Nooks. "Guess that old law of aver-
ages finally caught up with the Venageti."

"Or maybe you're smarter than the run of Garrett
men."

I'd heard similar sentiments expressed before. Tilly
spoke more forcefully than most. She carried a grudge.
My Grandfather Garrett, who went long before my
time, jilted her for a younger woman.

That bitterness never kept her from treating us kids
like we were her own grandchildren. Even now I can
feel her switch striping my tail.

Handsome entered the shop through a doorway
blocked by hanging strings of beads. She carried a
lamp that had shed no light on the other side. The
lamp was for me. Her dwarvish eyes had no trouble
with the gloom.

"You haven't changed a bit, Tilly." And that was
true. She was just as I remembered.

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

121

"Don't feed me that bullshit. I look like I been rode
hard and put away wet about a thousand times."

That was true, too.

She looked like a woman who'd survived seventy
very hard years. Her hair was white and thin. Her
scalp shone through even in that light. Her skin hung
loose, as though she'd halved her weight in a week. It
was pale though mottled by liver spots large and small.
She moved slowly but with determination. It hurt her
to walk, but she wouldn't surrender to her frailties. I
recalled those making up the bulk of her conversation.
She complained continuously but wouldn't slow down.
She was wide in the hips and her flesh drooped badly
everywhere. Had I been asked to guess, I would've
said she'd borne a dozen kids from the shape she was
in, only I'd never seen or heard of any offspring.

She peered at me intently, trying to smile. She had
only a few teeth left. But her eyes glittered. The mind
behind them was as sharp as ever. Her smile turned
cynical and weary. "So, to what do we owe the honor
after all these years?" Maybe she wasn't going tc
catch me up on her lumbago.

The rest of "we" was the scroungiest calico cat thai
ever lived. Like Handsome, she was ancient. She, too
had been old and scroungy and worn out all those
long years ago. She looked at me like she remembered

me, too.

You can't lie to Handsome. She always knows if
you do. I learned that before I was six. "Business."

"I heard the kind of business you're in."

"You sound like you disapprove."

"The way you go at it, it's a fool's game. You're
not going to get you no happiness out of it."

"You could be right."

"Sit a spell." Groaning, she dropped into a lotus
position. That she could had amazed me as a kid. It
amazed me now. "What's your business here?" The
cat set up camp in her lap. I tried to remember the

beast's   name,   couldn't,   and   hoped   the   question
wouldn't come up.

"Witch business, maybe. I'm looking for a missing
girl. The only clue I have is that I found witchcraft
type stuff hi her rooms."

Handsome grunted. She didn't ask why that brought
me to her. She was a major supplier of witchy stuff;
chicken lips and toad hair and frog teeth. "She left it
behind?"

"Apparently." Handsome provided the very best
raw materials, but I've never understood how. She
never left home to acquire stock and I never heard
of anybody who wholesaled that stuff. Rumor says
Handsome is rich despite the way she lives. Makes
sense to me. She's supplied the witch trade for genera-
tions. She's got to have chests full of money
somewhere.

"Don't strike me as the kind of thing a witch would
do."

"Didn't me, either." Occasionally a bunch of bad-
dies will ignore the lessons of history and try to rob
Handsome. None succeed. Failure tends to be painful.
Handsome must be a pretty potent witch herself.

She's never said she's a witch. She's never claimed
special powers. The fakes do that. The fact that she's
grown old swimming with sharks says all that needs
saying.

I told her my story. I left nothing out because I
didn't see any point. She was a good listener.

"The Rainmaker is in it?" Her whole face pruned
into a frown. "I don't like that."

"Oh?" I waited.

"We haven't seen him for a while. He was bad news
back when."

"Oh?" Handsome liked to talk. Given silences to
fill, she might cough up something especially useful.
Or she might take the opportunity to catch me up on
her illnesses and infirmities. "People keep telling me

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GLEN COOK

he's bad, but it's like they're embarrassed to say how.
It's hard to get scared once you've spent five years
nose to nose with Venageta's best and more than that
butting heads with people like Chodo Contague."
Chodo used to be the kingpin of crime in TunFaire.

"A Chodo uses torture and murder and the threat
of violence like tools. The Rainmaker hurts people on
account of he enjoys it. My guess is he's anxious not
to get noticed. Otherwise he wouldn't stuff people into
the Bledsoe. We'd find pieces of them all over town."
She went on to paint the portrait of a sadist, yet an-
other view of Cleaver.

I was starting to have misgivings about meeting the
guy. But I had to do it, if only to explain that not
liking a guy isn't any reason to shove him into the
cackle factory.

Handsome rattled on, passing along fact, fancy,
rumor, and speculation. She knew an awful lot about
Cleaver—in the old days. She could tell me nothing
about him now.

"All right," I finally put in, stopping that flood.
"What about witchcraft cults today? The kind of black
magic stuff that would appeal to bored kids? Any of
that going around?"

Handsome didn't say anything for a long time. I
wondered if I'd overstepped somehow. Then she said,
"There could be."

"Could be?" I couldn't picture her not knowing ev-
erything about such things. "I don't get it."

"I don't got a monopoly on witchcraft supplies.
They's other sellers around. None to match me for
quality or inventory, but they's others. Been new peo-
ple coming into the trade lately. Mostly they go after
the nonhuman market. The folks you want to talk to
is Wixon and White. They don't ask questions the way
I would and their slant is toward your rich crowd."

"I love it when you talk dirty."

"What? Don't you jump to no conclusions about

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

123

folks on account of where you find them, boy. They's
geniuses in the Bustee and fools on the Hill."

"I don't see what you're saying."

"You always was dense."

"I'd rather people said things straight out. That way
there's no confusion."

"All right. I don't know anything about anything
like what you're hunting, but I got me a strong suspi-
cion that they's a whole passel of rich folks getting
used by some real nasty demon worshippers. Wixon
and White is where you start. They'll sell anything to
anybody what's got the money."

"That's all I wanted. A place to start. You remem-
ber Maggie Jenn?"

"I recollect the scandal."

"What kind of woman was she? Could she have
been connected to the Rainmaker?"

"What kind of woman? You think we was friends?"

"I think you have an opinion." If she didn't, it
would be a first.

"They was a thousand stories. I think maybe they
was some truth in all of them. Yes, she was connected.
Bothered that Teodoric considerable. One time he
threatened to have the Rainmaker killed. Worried the
Rainmaker enough that he got out of town. I heard
Teodoric was plotting to hunt him down when he got
killed hisself."

"Any connection?"

"Coincidence. Every king makes him a crop of ene-
mies. The Rainmaker staying away after Teodoric died
says he had other reasons to go. There was talk he
got the wise guys mad. I wonder what brought him
back?"

She mentioned wise guys. It could have to do with
Chodo's semi-retirement. Already several ambitious
men had tried to take advantage, but Chodo's daugh-
ter played the game as hard as her father. She would

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GLEN COOK

cast a cold eye on the Rainmaker if he made a wrong
move.

And on the law side we had us the new Guard, who
would love to lay hands on a famous villain—if one
could be found who didn't have connections. The
Rainmaker might do.

I inched toward the exit. "Wixon and White?" I
was afraid she'd do the old give us a kiss.

"That's what I said. You come around more than
once every twelve years, you hear?"

"I will," I promised, with all the good intentions I
always have when I make that promise.

She didn't believe me. It was getting so I was begin-
ning to doubt myself.

25

I've done some dumb things in my time—for example,
forgetting to ask Handsome where Wixon and White
hung their shingle. I remembered after I was three
blocks away. I hustled back—and got what I deserved.

Her shop wasn't there anymore. The alley wasn't
there. I was boggled. You hear about that stuff, but
you don't expect it.

After that disappointment, I just strolled to the
nearest place where I knew somebody and asked if
they'd ever heard of Wixon and White. It's a fact.
Somebody you know will at least know somebody who
knows the person or place you want.

That's the way I got to it. A bartender I knew, name
of Shrimp, had heard of Wixon and White from a
client. So Shrimp and I shared a few beers on me,
then I started hiking. The Wixon and White establish-
ment lay way out in the West End.

They were closed. Nobody answered my knock. The
place was a rental. Wixon and White were so highly
priced and cocksure they didn't live on the premises.

That part of the West End is pure upscale. The
shops all serve those who have money they don't
know what to do with. Not my land of people. Not
any kind of people I can understand, buyers or sellers.

I kept an eye out for armed patrols. Those had to
be around, else the shops would all be boardups. I
wondered if the Outfit wasn't involved. Some of the

125

126

GLEN COOK

shops had glass windows. That meant real heavyweight
protection.

Wixon and White looked like a place that would
serve upper-crust dabblers in black magic, at embar-
rassing prices. Wixon or White, whoever did the buy-
ing, probably acquired inventory from Handsome,
tripled her retail, then tripled it again. Then they'd
probably jack up the price on particularly thick-witted
customers. The people who shopped the area would
be the kind who got off on telling friends how much
they paid for things.

Feeling my prejudices coalesce into an urge to break
glass, I got me out of there.

I had nothing to do and no inclination to go home
to a house where all I'd have for company would be
a psychotic parrot and a couple of bark-at-the-moon
boys. I hoped that foul-mouthed squab was starving
to death.

I asked myself why I didn't stop in and see how
Playmate was doing. He might have regained con-
sciousness by now.

26

Damn! Playmate looked none the worse for wear. I
snapped, "What the hell are you? Twins?"

"Garrett!" He swept out of the shadows of his sta-
ble, arms spread wide. He'd been using a pitchfork to
do what you do a lot of if you operate a stable. He
didn't seem stiff or sore. He swept me up in a hug.
He's never stopped being demonstrative when I come
around, though it's been a long time since I saved his
business.

"Easy, man. I'm breakable. Unlike some I could
name." The tenderness wasn't gone from my ambush
bruises.

"You heard about my mishap?"

"Heard? I was there. I'm surprised you can walk,
what they had to do to bring you down."

"I am a little sore. But somebody's got to care for
the beasties."

"So send for the boys from the tannery." Me and
horses don't get along. Nobody takes me seriously,
but I know for a fact that the whole species is out to
get me. The moment nobody is looking, the moment
I have my back turned, those damned oatburners start
moving in.

"Garrett! What a cruel thing to say."

"You think the best of everybody." They've got
Playmate fooled. They stood right there hi their stalls
sneering and measuring me for a shroud while he de-

127

128

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

129

fended them. He actually loves the monsters. He
thinks I'm just ribbing him, making jokes in bad taste.

Somebody he'll learn. When it's too late.

I asked, "Got a lot of work to do?"

He indicated the manure pile. "You have to haul
the hay in and the fertilizer out. They don't take days
off."

"Make that pressing work. You have time for a few
beers? On your old buddy? That pile won't go
anywhere."

"Not if I don't move it." He frowned. "On you?
Must be an awful big favor."

"What?"

"Must be some giant favor you want. You never
offered to buy me a beer before."

I sighed. "Wrong." This was a battle I'd been fight-
ing for years. All my friends insist I never come
around unless I want something. Wasn't all that long
since I'd bought Playmate dinner and all the beer he
could drink, so he'd introduce me to a man who made
coaches. "But I'm not going to fight." I'd show him.
"You coming?"

The trouble with a guy Playmate's size is, he can't
just drink a beer. One beer is a drop in the necessary
stream. The man decides to get seriously ripped you
have to send for the beer wagons.

He picked the place. It was a small, dark, shabby
one roomer furnished in Early Thrownaway. Everyone
there knew Playmate. They just had to come say hello.
It was a long tune before we could talk—and that got
interrupted every time another body arrived.

Meantime, we ate. And drank. On me. Ouch, said
my purse.

Hole in the wall though that place was, it served a
fine dark ale supposedly brewed on the premises. And
someone in the kitchen had a more than nodding ac-
quaintance with the art of cookery. I devoured slice

after slice of a roast that would have embarrassed
Dean's best effort.

The prices were reasonable, too—for those not try-
ing to support a one-man regiment in the habit
of eating only when someone else was buying. I
asked, "How come this place isn't swamped with
customers?"

Playmate awarded me one of his righteous, thought-
i ful looks. "Prejudice, Garrett."
5    "Uh-hum?" It was testing time again. Playmate,
; who wanted to be a priest once, has to keep checking
to make sure I stay more good guy than bad.

Forewarned, sure he was going to zing me by telling
me the place was run by ratmen—whom I dislike more
than I dislike horses, with, admittedly, weaker
cause—I was pleasantly surprised when he told me,
"It's run by centaurs. A refugee family from the
Cantard."

"Where else?" Through a heroic effort I kept a
straight face. "I can see how they might have trouble
building a clientele." Centaurs aren't beloved. They'd
long served Karenta's forces as auxiliaries in the Can-
tard. But when the mercenary Glory Mooncalled de-
fected and proclaimed the Cantard an independent
republic, every centaur tribe joined him. Chances were
this family had fought Karenta till recently. When
things fell apart down there, where did they run?
Straight to the cities of Karenta, whose soldiers they'd
been killing.

I don't understand why they're welcomed. Sure,
there's room in the economy, what with all the young
men gone for soldiers. But all those young men are
going to be coming home. Venageta has been driven
from the Cantard. Glory Mooncalled has been
crushed. Sort of.

Centaurs. Bloody hell.

I kept my thoughts to myself, shifted subjects, told
Playmate what I was doing for Maggie Jenn. I didn't

130

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

131

overlook such embarrassing adventures as my unex-
pected visit to the Bledsoe. Playmate wasn't Winger.
He wouldn't spread it all over town. He smiled gently
and forebore the opportunity to score a remark on
the state of my mental health. That's why I love the
guy. None of my other friends could have resisted.

He asked, "What do you need from me?"

"Need? Nothing."

"You come, brought me out here, fed me, and filled
me up with beer, Garrett. You got to want
something."

"That stuff used to be funny, Playmate. About a
thousand years ago. Ragging me for the fun, I can go
along with that. For a while. But it's gotten real old.
I wish you guys would find a new song to sing."

"You mean that?"

Butter wouldn't have melted in my mouth.
"Damned straight." I was getting what I needed al-
ready, an uncritical ear and a break from loneliness.

"You just don't realize," he muttered. Louder, "In
that case, maybe I can help."

"Huh?"

"I know a little something about the witchcraft
scene. I have clients who belong to that world."

I was surprised. His religion, a self-defined offshoot
of Orthodoxy, doesn't hold much truck with witches.
Which doesn't make a lot of sense when you think
about how big sorcery and demonism are in this burg.
But I have a suspicion that religion isn't supposed to
make sense. If it did, there'd be no buyers.

This was Playmate showing off his tolerance again.

"All right. I'll take you up on it. There any new
covens around?"

"Of course. In a city this size, there are always cov-
ens forming and falling apart. Human nature, being
what it is, there are always egos getting bruised
and—"

"I understand. You heard of any in particular? Any
that have been recruiting young women?"

"No."

"Damn! So, that's that. Well, then, tell me about
Maggie Jenn. Morley tells me you've got the skinny
on the royals."

"Tell me what you already know."

I highlighted.

He told me, "There isn't much I can add. She did
have a daughter. I thought the girl died but evidently
not. Nobody's proved it, but Maggie probably was a
pricy pro before Teodoric took her up. Under a differ-
ent name, of course. Morley was wrong about her
being in exile. She does spend most of her time on
the Isle of Paise, but that's preference. She spends a
month each year in the Hill place. If she doesn't use
it, she loses it. She does keep her head down when
she's in town. She doesn't want her enemies to get
too unhappy."

I nodded, understanding. I signaled for more of that
excellent house brew. I had enough inside me already
that sounds had buzzes around their edges, but that
superman Playmate hadn't yet stumbled over his
tongue.

"Grange Cleaver," I said. "The Rainmaker. What
about him?"

"Been a while since I've heard of him. Curious that
he's back in town."

"Maybe. I think it has something to do with Maggie
Jenn."

"You be careful of him, Garrett. He's crazy. Blood
crazy. They called him the Rainmaker because he left
so many weeping widows around. He was big into
torture."

"Just your average, everyday psycho next door.
What was between him and Maggie Jenn?"

"I can't swear. From the little I've heard, he could've
been her pimp."

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GLEN COOK

"Her pimp?" I tried it out. "Her pimp." That had
a feel to it, all right.

I dropped some money in front of Playmate, for the
house. "Enjoy. I'm going to go put my thinking cap
on."

Playmate divested himself of various remarks of the
sort that have become fashionable among my acquain-
tances. I ignored him.

That last piece of news put a whole different weight
on everything. Unless I was guessing way wrong.

It could happen.

27

Once bitten, twice shy? How often have I gotten
nipped because I don't have the sense to get out of
this racket? Often enough that I no longer wander
around without tools to defend myself. Often enough
that I stay alert once somebody starts getting physical.

Despite a few ales too many, I spied the ambush
on Macunado—mainly because the night traffic was
missing. The denizens of my fair city can smell trouble
at a thousand yards, like small game when a troll is
prowling the woods.

So it was as rowdy as a desert ruin around my place.
It was so quiet I had trouble picking out the
ambushers.

I finally caught the stir of a shadow in a breezeway
across Macunado. There was no way to sneak up from
where I was, so I retreated, took a long way.

All of a sudden I felt cheerful, the prospect of crack-
ing heads making me high. That wasn't my way. The
case was getting to me—if it was a case. I wasn't
convinced.

I came at the guy from behind, singing a ratman
working song. Far as I know it's the only working
song they have, so few of them actually hold jobs....
Between the fake accent and fake drunken singing,
my man was way off guard. He cussed me instead of
getting set for trouble.

I staggered up and popped him between the eyes
with my headthumper. He said "Gleep!" and stum-

133

134

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

135

bled backward, his knees watery. I grabbed his shirt,
pushed him down onto his knees, slipped behind him,
and laid the length of my stick under his chin. "All
right, bruno, I lean back sudden and you find out what
it'll be like the day you hang." I gave a little jerk to
make my point. Also to keep him from getting too
much ah-. He wouldn't be interested in much else if I
kept him on short rations. "Get the point?"

He got the point. He grunted cooperatively—after
I'd cut him off for a while.

"Excellent. Now here's the part where you tell me
who sent you and how many buddies you have and
where they're hanging out."

Give the guy credit. He was loyal to his pals. You
don't see a lot of that in street thugs. He made me
take him to the brink of the big sleep before he gave
in. That was right after I whispered, "I've always
found that the best way to run a bluff is don't be
bluffing. You don't help me out here I'll just hunt me
down another guy."

I was bluffing.

He made noises indicating that I'd smooth-talked
him into cooperating. I eased off on the stick. "Maybe
you better talk on the exhale. Or I might get edgy.
You guys messing with me last night got my dander
up."

Wham! I quick thumped him for thinking about
what he was thinking of trying. "So who sent you?" I
went back to choking him.
"deafer," he gasped. "Guy named deafer."
"Surprise, surprise," I muttered. "He happen to say
why?"

Grunt and choke. Meant no, and who gave a damn
why anyway? This deafer was paying real money.

"How may pals you got with you?"

Seven. Seven? "I'm flattered. This deafer must
have a high opinion of me." I have a high opinion of
me, but my enemies don't usually agree.

My man made sounds indicating he couldn't have
agreed less. I took that to mean that he was recovering
too fast. I popped him again.

I get less nice as I get older.

We chewed the fat till I knew where his buddies
were hiding and I understood their grand strategy,
which was to round me up and drag me off to their
boss's hideout. Friendly Grange deaver, pre-owned
property salesman, wanted to have a chat.

"Yeah. I like that idea. We'll do that. Only maybe
we won't stick too close to the original scheme."

I popped the guy again, hard enough to put him to
sleep. He was going to have a headache worse than
the one his gang had given me.

Funny. I didn't feel bad about that.

So I went around pounding the stuffings out of guys
till thumping heads no longer made me feel better. I
wondered what folks on the shadow side would say
when word got around. After the usual exaggerations,
it might start worrying the kind of people who get in
my way.

Nobody would believe it, probably. Everybody
thinks I use Morley Dotes for all my heavy work.

I rounded up the smallest thug, a bit of a guy so
tiny he had to be a breed. I slung him over my shoul-
der and headed for the Joy House.

Sometimes you can use a helping hand.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

137

28

Morley tousled the little fellow's hair. "He's mad,
Garrett. This is one you'd better not leave behind."
We were in Morley's office upstairs at the Joy House.
The veggie killers were rioting downstairs.

"And after I decided to give him a break. Any of
those guys related to you, Stubby? Your lover or
something?"

The little breed glared.

"I like this guy." Morley frowned at Spud, who was
sizing the prisoner up for some painful burns.

"What?" the kid demanded.

"He's still officially a guest."

"Sure. And if I was here with a guy who'd just offed
my whole gang but me I think I'd be a little more
disturbed. Look at that fool. He's already sizing us up
for some pain when it's him that's in the shit."

"Narcisio! Language!"

"He's got a point, Morley," I said. "The clown
ought to be more scared."

"He's going to be, Garrett. It's just that he's from
out of town."

I agreed. "How can you tell?" I wanted to see if
his thinking paralleled mine.

"Because he isn't scared. Look, now he's got an
idea who has him. He's starting to tense up. They
didn't tell him anything when they gave him the job.
They just put money in his pocket and told him to
help with a snatch."

136

"I do believe you're right." I tried out a ferocious
smile, like the guys from the violent ward would wear
if they were sent out to play.

Morley was right. The little guy had heard of Mor-
ley Dotes even if he hadn't heard of me. He squeaked.
Maybe Winger was right about reputation's tool value.

"I do believe he has a notion to deal," Morley
observed.

"So," I said. "You want to be lucky number seven,
the one who got away, or just another stiff?"

"Lucky seven sounds great to me."

"Look at that. He kept his sense of humor, Morley,
I think that's great. All right, Lucky, what was the
plan?" I told Morley, "Be a shame to let it go to
waste."

Morley flashed a humorless grin. "Best thinking
you've done in years." He was ready to go. I'd been
surprised by how quickly he'd agreed to help. I re-
called the glances between him and Sarge and Puddle.
Was there old business between them and the
Rainmaker?

I worry when Morley gets agreeable. I always end
up getting jobbed.

"How much are you ready to spend, Garrett?"

I considered my agreement with Maggie Jenn, then
the size of my advance. "Not much. You have some-
thing in mind?"

"Recall the Rainmaker's reputation. We could use
some specialists to calm him down if he gets excited."

"Specialists?" Here comes a sales pitch. "Like
who?"

"The Roze triplets." Naturally. Perennially under-
employed relatives.

Specialists I wouldn't call them, but those guys
could calm people down. Doris and Marsha were
about sixteen feet tall and could lay out a mammoth
with one punch. Part giant, part troll, the only way to

138

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beat them was to booby-trap their resolve with barrels
of beer. They'd drop anything to get drunk.

The third triplet was an obnoxious little geek barely
Morley's size good for nothing but translating for his
brothers.

"No, Morley. This is a freak show already. I just
want to talk to the guy, find out why he's messing
with me."

Morley stared at Lucky.  "Garrett, Garrett, just
when I thought you were developing sense. You don't
talk to the Rainmaker. All he understands is raw
power. Either you can kick his ass or he can kick
yours. Unless he's changed his spots in a big way."
I grimaced.
"What?"

"My budget is pretty tight."
"Big news, big news."
"Hey!"

"There you go getting cheap again, Garrett. You
want to save money? Don't bug the Rainmaker. Just
lock your door and snuggle up to your moneybags and
hope he can't think of a way to get to you. After
tonight, he'll be trying for real."

I knew that. Cleaver sounded like he was all ego
and no restraint. All the reason he needed I'd already
provided.

What a dummy, Garrett. Your troubles are all your
own fault. You should try a little harder to get along.
I mused, "How did he know I was out of the
Bledsoe?"

Morley and Spud perked up, smelling a tale not yet
told. I had to yield enough sordid details to get them
off my back. Which was way more than I wanted any-
one to know, really. "I get any razzing back off the
street I'm going to know where to lay the blame."

"Yes." Morley gave me his nasty smile. "Winger."
That smile turned diabolical. He saw he'd guessed

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

139

right. I hadn't thought about who knew the story
already.

What Winger knew could spread from river to wall
hi a night. She liked to hang out with the guys, get
drunk and swap tall tales. The story would grow into
a monster before she was done with it.

I said, "You really feel like we need the Rozes, get
the Rozes."

"You gave me a better idea."

"Well?"

"Use those clowns you have stashed at your place.
Make them earn their keep. You said the big one
owes Cleaver anyway."

"That's an idea. Lucky, what direction are we going
to head?"

Morley added, "Keeping in mind that I'll be a lot
deadlier a lot quicker than Cleaver if Garrett is
disappointed."

"West." The little fellow's croak contained under-
tones of frightened whine. I didn't blame him. He was
in the proverbial between of the rock and the hard
place.

"West is good," I said. "West means we can drop
by my place on the way."

I assumed Lucky's buddies would have cleared off.

Morley and his bunch looked unexcited by this op-
portunity. They're villains, though, and no villain in
his right mind got within mind reading range of the
Dead Man. However strong my assurances that he was
asleep.

"His bark is worse than his bite," I said.

"Right," Sarge sneered. Puddle and Morley backed
him up. Spud took that as his cue to ape his elders. I
gave up.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

141

29

I found Ivy in the small front room arguing with the
Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot was making
more sense. Beer and brandy odors were potent.
Which had drunk more? Who knows? The Goddamn
Parrot would suck it up as long as you let him.

Ivy seemed determined to clean me out before he
got kicked out. I told him, "You'd better ease up or
there won't be anything left for breakfast."

Ivy looked distressed. You could see him struggling
to light a fire under the pot of his thoughts. I doubted
he'd get them simmering. He did seem to grasp the
notion that my alcohol reserves were finite.

"Where's Slither?" The big guy was nowhere in
sight. There was a racket from upstairs, but nothing
human could be making that.

I could see through the open kitchen doorway. The
view set me to talking to myself. Friend Slither was
trying to do to my larder what Ivy was doing to my
drinking supply.

So much for good deeds.

They start preaching at you when you're barely old
enough to walk. But what the hell happens when you
do try to help your fellow man? You get it up the
poop chute every tune. Without grease.

Where do the preachers get their crazy ideas? How
many cheeks do they have to turn? How come they
aren't hobbling around with bandages on their butts?

"Where's Slither?" I demanded again.

140

Ivy answered with a slow shrug. I don't think he
understood anything but my tone. He started trying
to explain Orthodox transcircumstantiation to the
Goddamn Parrot. The Goddamn Parrot made remarks
with which I agreed.

I commenced a quest for Slither. Snores from above
seemed worth investigation.

Slither was sprawled across Dean's bed, on his back,
his snores like the bellows of mating thunder-lizards.
Awe held me immobile. The man couldn't be human.
He had to be a demigod. He was producing an orches-
tra of snores, humming and roaring and snorting and
sputtering. He seemed capable of combining every
known species of snore. All in the same breath.

When I could move again I went to my own room.
I hate to disturb an artist at work. I shut my door,
went to the window, checked Morley and his crew and
the ever astonishing traffic on Macunado. Where could
all those creatures be going? What drove them to be
out at this hour? Was just my neighborhood in a fer-
ment? I couldn't recall seeing as much traffic any-
where else—though the whole city seemed crowded
these days.

I could hear Slither's every snore. I'd hear every
snore plainly for however long he remained in my
house.

So much for doing good deeds.

Merely gave the boys a glance and said nothing. He
did shake his head. Even I now wondered if they
hadn't made it all up about their service. Especially
Ivy. He had the Goddamned Parrot on his shoulder.
It mixed its finest gutter observations with declarations
of, "Awrrgh, matey! We be ferocious pirates." That
naturally drew a lot of attention. Just the thing you
want when you're out to sneak up on a guy calls him-
self the Rainmaker.

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My prisoner indicated a brick and stone monstrosity
he insisted was the Rainmaker's headquarters. Dotes
opined, "You get what you pay for, Garrett." His
glance speared Ivy and Slither. "You didn't pay for
the Roze brothers."

"Don't remind me." Slither was awake but might
as well have been snoring. It was winter at his house.
Ivy was still trying to argue with the Goddamn Parrot.
The feathered devil figured he'd sorted Ivy out already
and had turned to reminiscing about his sailing days.

Morley tossed a glance sideways, checking to see
how near Spud was. He flexed his fingers like he suf-
fered the same temptations I did. "Go ahead," I said.

He scowled. "Can't. But I'll figure a way."

I said, "The course of our relationship has shown
me a few things about dear Mr. Big." More cunning
than usual, having foreseen the possibility that the
Goddamn Parrot might become a liability, I'd brought
a little flask of brandy I'd dug out of a cache Ivy
hadn't found.

Morley snickered. So, he knew. I said, "We need to
keep Ivy away long enough to get the bird snockered."

"He was a scout, send him scouting. Along with
Spud."

"You sneak." I looked at Cleaver's place. "What
did they do to the guy who designed that place?" The
building had been a small factory once. Undoubtedly
manned by the blind. It was ugly. I was amazed that
so much ugliness could be committed with simple con-
struction materials.

"Probably burned him at the stake because they
couldn't think of a punishment nasty enough to fit the
crime." Dotes chuckled. He was going to have some
fun with me playing high-nose elf.

His tastes in art and architecture naturally weren't
human. For all I knew, the lunatic who designed that
factory was one of his forebears.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

143

I expressed that opinion and added, "It may be on
the elvish list of historic structures."

Morley scowled. He wasn't pleased. He grabbed
Spud and Ivy and told them to go check the place
out. "And leave the bird here. It doesn't have sense
enough to keep its beak shut."

Off they went. The rest of us got out of sight and
listened to Cleaver's man bitch because I hadn't cut
him loose yet. "I'm busy, man," I told him. "I'm feed-
ing my parrot." The Goddamn Parrot was sucking up
the brandy. "I'll cut you loose as soon as I know you
didn't job us." I didn't think he had. Nobody sane
would pick such an ugly hideout. Cleaver did sound
like he had the kind of ego that would appreciate the
place.

Ivy and Spud scurried back. The kid said, "The
place is occupied. I didn't ask names, though. The
guys I did see looked antisocial enough to be the sort
Mr. Garrett wants to find."

I didn't want to find anybody. "You been giving
him lessons?"

"It's in the blood. Needs to work on his diction and
grammar, though."

"Definitely. Smartass ought to know how to talk
good."

"Can I go now?" the prisoner asked.

Spud demanded, "What happened to Mr. Big? Hey!
He's drunk. Uncle Morley, did you? ..."

"No, Lucky," I said. "I still don't know you didn't
job us. Suppose you just led us to a place where some
hard boys hang out?"

Morley opined, "That monstrosity is the kind a
fence would use. Plenty of storage. Probably an owner
who hasn't been seen in years. No traceable connec-
tion to anyone if you looked for one. You going to
do it?"

I considered my help. Neither Ivy nor Slither incited

144

GLEN COOK

confidence. "Looks like we're as ready as we're gonna
get. Any tactical suggestions?"

"Straight through the front door might work."

"Wise ass. Slither, Ivy, come on." I trotted toward
that monument to ugliness. My strange assistants tod-
dled after, bewildered but loyal. Morley told Sarge to
stick with us, just in case. He came himself. So Spud
and Puddle volunteered, too. Spud was protesting,
"Mr. Garrett, you shouldn't give Mr. Big alcohol."

What I always wanted to do: storm a fortress at the
head of a pack of killer elves, fugitives from an insane
asylum, and a drunken parrot.

The Goddamn Parrot was muttering something
about its imperiled virtue but in Drunkenese so fluent
even a tipsy ratman would have had trouble following
him.

Spud said, "Uncle Morley, did you? ..."

"Be quiet."

I looked at that jungle chicken and grinned like a
dwarf just awarded an army weapons contract.

30

The place was ugly, but it was no fortress. We found
an unguarded side door. I cracked the crude stopper
and invited us in. Dean should've been there to see
how much good locks do.

"Dark in here," Ivy said. What did he expect?

He sounded troubled, like somebody wasn't playing
fair.

"Crackbrain's got one sharp eye on him," Sarge
sneered. "Goddamn Rainmaker can't fool him for a
secont."

"That's enough," Morley snapped. He peered
around. Elves really can see in the dark, almost as
good as dwarves.

"What you see?" I whispered. We all whispered.
Seemed the sensible thing to do.

"What you would expect."

What kind of answer was that? What I'd expect was
filth and squatters and a lot of upset on account of
the style of our entrance. But only the rats seemed
disturbed—and they were so confident they just went
through the motions.

According to Spud, the natives resided on the other
side of the building. And so they did. Mostly.

We were sneaking along a hallway illuminated by
one halfhearted candle, me thinking what a cheap-
skate the Rainmaker had to be, when some sleepy-
eyed goof ruined everything.

He stepped out of a room just ahead, both hands
145

146

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

147

harrowing hair already well-harvested by time. He
woke up fast, generated one man-sized squeal before
I bopped him with my second-best headthumper. He
squealed even louder. I had to pop him four times
before he laid down.

"That tears it," Slither muttered. It was hard to hear
him because of the racket being raised by people I
couldn't see wanting to know what the hell was going
on.

"Never mind the opinion survey. You know this
place?"

"Never seen it before."

"Thought you said ..."

"Never was here. That I remember."

The hall hung a right. I stayed with it. I met a native
coming the other way. He had a stick, too. His eyes
got big. So did mine. I swung first. He ducked, showed
me some heel, whooped and hollered.

"You could have moved a little faster there, Gar-
rett," Morley suggested. The racket ahead grew
louder. Morley was concerned.

The fugitive blew through a doorway. I was only
two steps behind, but when I got there the door was
closed and locked. I flung one granite shoulder against
it. It gave about a thousandth of an inch.

"You do it." Morley indicated Slither. "Stop whim-
pering, Garrett."

"I dislocated everything but my ankle bones."

Slither knocked on the door with his very large feet,
smashing away numerous times before he risked his
own tender shoulder.

The door exploded like stage furniture. Guess you
have to have the knack.

We'd reached the warehouse area. Only a few lamps
burned there. Definitely a cheapskate, the Rainmaker.
Looked like the place was being used as a barracks.
People flew around like startled mice, headed for

other exits. Only the guys from the hall looked like
fighters.

Curious.

Amidst the howl and chaos I glimpsed a familiar
gargoyle, my old pal Ichabod. Excuse me. My old pal
Zeke. Zeke did a fast fade. I went after him. We
needed to have a talk. My pretty Maggie Jenn had
troubles enough without her butler being hooked up
with the Rainmaker.

I didn't find a trace. He vanished like the spook he
resembled.

We searched the dump. We found no sign of
Grange Cleaver. We caught only three people—the
guy from the hall who I'd bopped, plus an old couple
who hadn't reached their walkers in time to grab a
head start.

The old woman was about a week younger than
Handsome. Her husband and the thug showed little
inclination to talk, but she chattered like she was so
full of words they ripped out of her like gas after an
unfriendly meal.

"Whoa, granny, whoa!" She'd lost me in some kind
of twin track complaint that blamed her lumbago on
the incredible ingratitude of her willfully neglectful
children. "That's unfortunate. It really is. But what I
need to know is where is Grange Cleaver?"

"You might try to be more diplomatic," Morley sug-
gested. Like he had the patience of a saint when he
was after something.

"I was diplomatic the first three times. I did my
part. Now I'm not in the mood for diplomacy, I'm in
the mood for busting heads."

I didn't do it good enough. Nobody was impressed
until Spud let his young mouth run too long and the
bad folks figured out that they were in the hands of
the infamous Morley Dotes. Then, even the hard boy
developed a mild case of cooperation fever.

Yep, maybe Winger was right.

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

149

Fat lot of good that all did. Granny Yak-Yak had
the definitive answer and the definitive answer was:
"He just went out, him and his boys. He never said
where, but I figure he was gonna check on some guys
he sent out a long time ago. He paid them and they
never reported back." She laid a hard look on pal
Lucky.

Lucky looked a tad frayed. The old folks under-
stood whose information had brought us to uglyville.
He was growing concerned about his boss's temper.

Morley spun him around. "Cleaver brought you
from out of town. He do that with a lot of men,
Lucky?"

Lucky gave us the daggers glare. We were leaving
him no exit. "Yeah." Sullenly. He thought we were
cheating on our end of the deal. Maybe we were.
Tough.

"Why?"

"I guess on account of he couldn't find anybody
here what was willing to work for him. 'Specially after
they found out who he was when he was here before.
Way I hear it, he made him some enemies back then
what nobody wants to piss off."

I gave Morley a look. Some people might consider
him major bad news, but he wasn't big enough bad
news that his displeasure would intimidate thugs work-
ing for somebody he didn't like. I didn't think.
"Chodo," I said. Call it intuition.

Morley nodded. "There was a little brother who
died badly. Chodo was way down the ladder then. He
couldn't get the go-ahead. But he didn't forget."

Not once in his life had Chodo Contague let a debt
go unpaid. "But ..."

"You and I know. No one else does."

He and I knew that Chodo had become a vegetable
after suffering a stroke. These days, his daughter was
the power in the outfit. She only pretended to take
instructions from her father.

"Crask and Sadler." Those two knew, too.

Morley inclined his head slightly. "They might ex-
plain a few things."

Crask and Sadler had been Chodo's chief bone-
breakers before they turned on him, caused his stroke,
tried to take over. They disappeared after Chodo's
daughter outmaneuvered them.

Coincidentally, there'd always been some doubt
about their commitment to masculinity, despite the
fact that they were two human mountains on the hoof.

I described them. Lucky's discomfort made it obvi-
ous he had met the boys. I shot Morley a look. "I
don't need any more complications."

Morley prodded Lucky. Lucky admitted, "You
won't see them guys around here. Grange, he's got a
straight look to him back home. Didn't want them
guys turning up in his public life. Figured they'd be
lightning rods for trouble around here. So he gave
them jobs in Suddleton."

Where, I had no doubt, they spent their spare time
scheming revenge on me. "Morley, you get the feeling
pal Lucky is holding out? He knows an awful lot about
the Rainmaker's business."

"I noticed that."

Lucky protested. "I just heard his regular guys gos-
siping. You know how it is, guys sitting around, killing
time drinking."

"Sure. Tell me, Lucky, where you going to run when
we cut you loose?"

Lucky checked the old folks, shrugged. He was
scared. They weren't, though the old woman had chat-
tered. I wondered if they were something special to
the Rainmaker.

I was about to ask about Zeke when Morley re-
marked, "We've spent enough time here, Garrett.
Help could be on its way."

Yes, indeed. It could be.

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151

31

"You just walk along with us, answer a couple more
questions," I told Lucky and the old folks, "and we'll
be done." I gestured, a comealong. "There was a guy
named Zeke ..."

The Goddamn Parrot did the only worthwhile thing
I ever saw him do. He flailed out of the darkness
shrieking, "Save me! Oh, save me, mister." His tone
suggested he wasn't just being obnoxious.

He wasn't.

There were eight of them. Wasn't hardly fair to
them, even considering they were all big, experienced
villains. Sarge and Puddle pounded our captives, then
vaulted the leftovers and began twisting limbs. There
was something evilly fascinating about them at work.
It was kind of like watching a snake swallow a toad.

I didn't have time to be fascinated. I was up to my
crotch in crocodiles. I held them off till help arrived.

Morley and Spud flew around like they were part
of some absurd combat ballet. Mr. Big flapped and
squawked. He made more racket than a herd of pea-
fowl. His vocabulary achieved new lows. Puddle,
Sarge, Slither, Ivy, and Cleaver's thugs tried to help
him expand that but had nothing to teach him.

Four brunos took quick dives.

I've heard people that've never been there claim it's
impossible to lay somebody out with your fists. That's
true for your average drunken amateur who gets into

150

it with his brother-in-law at the corner tavern but not
so for the unrestrained violence of professionals.

puddle developed a bloody nose. Spud managed to
get kicked in the funny bone. He leaned against a wall
clutching his elbow, face pale, language vile. Such a
look Morley gave him.

"Kill them, damnit! Kill them all!" The girlish voice
slashed through the mayhem. "Stop playing with them
and kill them!"

I spotted a short guy screaming from what he
thought was a safe distance. Cleaver? The Rainmaker
himself?

Morley spotted him. Cleaver's brunos were coming
to the conclusion that it was not a bright idea to piss
off guys who could handle them so easily. They didn't
follow orders. Morley grinned and headed for the
Rainmaker.

I was on my way already.

The Rainmaker, however, did not care to join the
party.

That little bastard could run!

Naturally, our whole crowd dropped everything and
lumbered after us, with predictable results. The Rain-
maker vanished down the same rabbithole that had
swallowed Zeke. His people grabbed up each others'
parts and headed for the exits. Suddenly, we had us
nothing but one big empty building and one hysterical
parrot. And, according to Morley, "The Guard's on
its way."

"You could be right." These days, people actually
called for official help. These days, the police forces
sometimes actually responded.

Morley snapped, "Narcisio, catch that faggot pigeon
and shut it up." Mr. Big was no joke right then.

I checked to see if all our people could leave under
their own power. No major injuries. Workable legs
were available. It was brains that were hi short supply.

Slither and Ivy helped round up the GDP. Mr. Big

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

153

made it easy. He flew into a wall full speed, cold-
cocked himself.

Pity he didn't break his neck.

I considered wringing it and blaming it on the bird's
own erratic piloting, but Spud kept too close an eye
on the beast.

As we hustled into the street, I asked Slither, "That
short guy was Cleaver, wasn't it? The shrimp with the
girl voice?"

Morley seemed intensely interested in Slither's
reply. Could it be he'd never seen Cleaver before?

"Yeah. That was him. That hunk a shit. Fda caught
the little turd I'da turned him into a capon. Put me
in the bughouse. I'da used my bare hands. Twisted
'em off. I'da fixed him." But he was shaking. He was
pale. He was sweating. Rock-throwing range was as
close to Grange Cleaver as he wanted to get.

Cleaver must be some swell guy.

I checked Ivy. Ivy didn't have an opinion. Ivy was
all wrapped up in his feathery buddy.

Morley opined, "Cleaver is going to turn scarce
now."

"Think so?"

"His being in town is no secret now, Garrett. A lot
of people who don't like him will hear. And he'll have
a good idea how many enemies he has once he gets
together with Lucky."

"Think he'll leave town?"

"No. But he would if he had the sense the gods
gave a goose. You going to have another chat with
Winger?"

Guess who was hiding in the shadows outside when
we came thundering out. "You saw her, eh?"

"I saw her."

We cleared the area before the Guard arrived.
Safely away, I checked our surroundings more care-
fully. No more sign of my oversize blond friend.
Maybe she wasn't interested anymore.

"You need to get her to talk, Garrett."

"I know. I know. But I want to let her come in
when she's ready." I wondered why Winger wasn't off
looking out for Chastity Blame.

Morley made no mention so I supposed he'd missed
the other watcher, the character who'd followed me
to Maggie Jenn's place.

I was confused. Nothing made sense.

It wasn't going to get any better.

"Don't wait too long," Morley told me. "Two tries
in two nights means the Rainmaker is serious."

"Seriously disturbed." Cleaver's enmity made the
least sense of all. "Yeah. With that thought in mind,
I'm going home and get some shut-eye."

Spud had the Goddamn Parrot. He kept whispering
to the fancy pants little drunk. I tried to ease away
before anyone noticed. Morley grinned and shook his
head. "No, you don't. Narcisio."

My luck stays stuck in the same old rut.

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155

32

Slither surprised me. He was a decent cook, which I
learned when I stumbled down for breakfast, after
having been rousted out by Ivy, who must have caught
something Dean had left behind.

"You have to loosen up, Ivy," I grumbled as I tod-
dled into the kitchen. "This isn't the service. We don't
have to haul out before the goddamn crack of noon."

"My daddy always told me a man's got no call lying
in bed after the birds start singing."

Inertia more than self-restraint kept me from ex-
pressing my opinion of that perverted delusion.

One songbird was wide awake up front, rendering
chorus after chorus of such old standards as, "There
was a young lady from ..." I wondered if Dean still
had some of that rat poison that looked like seed
cakes. The rats were too smart to eat it, but that
bird ...

"You're working on a job, aren't you?" Slither was
still vague about what I do.

"The mission," Ivy mumbled. "Old first rule, Gar-
rett. Even a jarhead ought to know. Got to follow
through on the mission."

"Watch that jarhead stuff, Army. All right. All
right." Good old attitudes from the bad old days. But
was the mission more likely to be advanced at sunrise
than at high noon? Excuse me for entertaining doubts.

I wondered if they had noticed the changes in Tun-
154

Faire. Probably not. Neither was in close touch with
the world outside his skull.
I surrendered. "I guess we can hit Wixon and

White."

At the moment, the occult shop was my only angle.
Mugwump had not yet materialized with the promised
list of contacts.

Slither's cooking would have appalled Dean and
sent Morley into convulsions. He fried half a slab of
bacon while baking drop biscuits. He split the biscuits
and soaked them in bacon grease, then sprinkled them
with sugar. Poor people food. Soldier food. Food that
was darned tasty when it was hot.

33

It had rained during the night. The morning air was
cool. The breeze was fresh. The streets were clean.
The sky was clear. The sun was bright. It was one of
those days when it was too easy to relax, too easy to
forget that a brighter sun means darker shadows.

Fortunately, even the shadows were relaxing. Not a
one belched a villain bent on mischief. The whole
town was in a rare humor. Hell, I heard singing from
the Bustee.

It wouldn't last. Before sundown, the wicked would
be slashing throats again.

We did develop a following, including the inept
creature who had followed me to Maggie Jenn's place
and a guy with an earring who was maybe a ferocious
pirate, but I doubted that.

Even Ivy noticed the clumsy guy.

"Let them tag along," I said. "They'll go cross-eyed.
What I do is excruciating to watch. Not to mention
tough on the feet."

"Be like being back in the Corps," Slither observed.

Ivy had the Goddamned Parrot with him. That ob-
scene buzzard had a great time. "Holy hookers, check
them melons. Oh. Look it there. Come here, honey.
I'll show you ..." We were lucky his diction was
sloppy.

The streets were crowded. Everybody wanted a
lungful of rain-scrubbed air before TunFaire returned

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157

to normal. The old and weak would be falling over
left and right. All that fresh air would be poisonous.

Before we reached the West End, I spotted another
tail. This guy was a first-string pro. I made him by
accident, my good luck and his bad. I didn't know him.
That troubled me. I thought I knew the top players.

It was quite a parade.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

159

34

Wixon and White were open. I told Ivy, "You stay
out here. You're the lookout." I went inside. Slither
followed me. I wished I was as bad as I tried to look.

Both Wixon and White were on board, but no other
crew or passengers were. "Bless me," I murmured,
pleased to have something go my way. And, "Bless
me again. More fierce pirates."

The guys eyeballed us and took just an instant to
decide we weren't the sort of customers they hoped
to attract. Neither mislaid his manners, though. Nei-
ther failed to notice that between us Slither and I
outnumbered them by two hundred pounds.

"How might we help you?" one asked. He made
me think of a begging chipmunk. He had a slight over-
bite and the obligatory lisp. He held his soft little
hands folded before his chest.

"Robin! ..."

"Penny, you just hush. Sir?"

I said, "I'm looking for somebody."

"Aren't we all?" Big smile. A corsair comedian.

Penny thought it was funny. Penny tittered.

Slither scowled. Garrett scowled. The boys got real
quiet. Robin looked past us, toward the street, as
though he hoped the answer to his dilemma might
show up out there.

"I'm looking for a girl. A specific girl. Eighteen.
Red hair. So tall. Freckles, probably. Put together so
nice even fierce pirates might take a second look and
maybe shed a tear about choices made. Probably going
by either Justina or Emerald Jenn."

158

The guys stared. My magic touch had turned them
into halfwits.

Outside, Ivy told a dowager type that the shop was
closed, only for a little while. She tried to disagree.
The Goddamn Parrot took exception and began
screeching crude propositions.

I moved around the shop, fingering whatever looked
expensive. The boys had a lot of square feet and
plenty of bizarre furnishings. "That description ring
any bells?" I couldn't read their reaction. Its schooled
neutrality gave nothing away.

Penny sneered, "Should it?" I could tell him from
Robin only by the size of his mustache. Otherwise,
they could have passed as twins. A strong strain of
narcissism united these wild and woolly buccaneers.

"I think it's likely." I described the black magic
stuff I'd found in Emerald's rooms. My descriptions
were faultless. The Dead Man taught me well. Those
studied neutral faces betrayed teensy cracks.

Penny for sure knew what I was talking about.
Robin probably did. Robin was a better faker.

"Excellent. You guys know the items. Presumably,
you provided them. So tell me to who." I picked up
a gorgeous dagger of ruby glass. Some true artist had
spent months shaping and carving and polishing it. It
was one beautiful, diabolic ceremonial masterpiece.

"I wouldn't tell you even if ... Stop that!"

The dagger almost slipped from my fingers.

"What? You were going to say even if you knew
what I was talking about? But you would tell me,
Penny. You'd tell me anything. I'm not nice. My friend
isn't as nice as I am." I flipped the dagger, barely
caught it. The boys shuddered. They couldn't take
their eyes off that blade. It had to be worth a fortune.
"Boys, I'm that guy in your nightmares. I'm the guy
behind the mask. The guy who'd use a priceless glass
ceremonial dagger to play mumbletypeg on a tern-

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161

pered oak floor. The guy who'll vandalize you into
bankruptcy. Unless you talk to me."

I put the dagger down, collected a book. At first
glance it seemed old and ordinary, shy any occult sym-
bols. No big thing, I thought, till the boys started
squeaking answers to questions I hadn't asked.

They babbled about the man who'd bought the stuff
I'd described. Puzzled, I examined the book. And still
saw nothing special.

Why had it loosened their tongues so?

Its title was The Raging Blades. That made it the
central volume of the semi-fictional saga trilogy No
Ravens Went Hungry. The Raging Blades was pre-
ceded by The Steel-Game and followed by The Battle-
Storm. The whole related the glamorized story of an
historical character named Eagle, who plundered and
murdered his way across two continents and three seas
nearly a millenium ago. By today's standards, the man
was a total villain. Friend or foe, everyone eventually
regretted knowing him. By the standards of his own
time, he'd been a great hero simply because he'd lived
a long time and prospered. Even today, they say, kids in
Busivad province want to grow up to be another Eagle.

I asked, "Might this be an early copy?" Early copies
are scarce.

The boys redoubled their babble. What was this?
They were ready to confess to murder.

"Let me check this. You say a man with red hair,
some gray, green eyes, freckles, short. Definitely
male?" Nods left me with one theory deader than an
earthworm in the noonday sun. Not even these rowdy
reever types would mistake Maggie Jenn for a man.
"Around forty, not eighteen?" That fit no one I'd en-
countered so far, unless maybe that nasty runt in the
warehouse. "And you don't have any idea who he
was?" I hadn't caught the colors of Cleaver's hair and
eyes. "You know anything about him?"

"No."

"We don't know anything."

Eyes stayed stuck to that book while their owners
tried to pretend everything was cool.

"He paid cash? He came in, looked around, picked
out what he wanted, paid without quibbling about in-
flated prices? And when he left, he carried his pur-
chases himself?"

"Yes."

"A peasant, indeed." Smiling, I put the book down.
"You see? You can be a help when you want. You
just need to take an interest." Both men sighed when
I stepped away from their treasure. I asked, "You
don't recall anything that would connect all that junk
together?" It had seemed of a sort to me when I'd
seen it, but what did I know about demon stuff?
Mostly, I don't want to know.

I got headshakes.

"Everything had its silver star with a goat's head
inside."

Penny insisted, "That's generic demon worship stuff.
Our stock is mass-produced by dwarves. We buy it in
bulk. It's junk with almost no intrinsic or occult value.
It isn't fake, but it doesn't have any power, either." He
waved a hand. I stepped to a display box rilled with me-
dallions like the one I'd found hi Justina's suite.

"You know the girl I described?"

Headshakes again. Amazing.

"And you're sure you don't know the man who
bought the stuff?"

More of that old shaka-shaka.

"You have no idea where I might find this guy?"

They were going to make themselves dizzy.

"I might as well go, then." I beckoned to Slither.

Wixon and White ran for their lives for their back
boom. I don't know what they thought I meant to do
iJnext Nothing pleasant. They slammed the door. It was

stout one. We heard a heavy bar slam into place.
Slither grinned as he followed me outside.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

163

35

Slither glanced back. "How come you didn't push
them harder? You seen how they sweated, 'specially
when you was messing with that book."

"Sometimes I take the indirect approach. Ivy, wait
right here. Whistle if anybody comes snooping." Right
here was the end of a breezeway that led to the skinny
alley behind Wixon and White.

The shop had no back window. Surprise, surprise.
Even in the best parts of town there are few windows
at ground level. You tempt fate as seldom as possible.

The place did have a rear door, though. And that
wasn't much more secure than a window. I wondered
what the boys did that they needed a sneak-out door.
Was that how they handled customer complaints?

That back door led to the room whither the boys
had fled. It did little to muffle their argument.

"... could you have been thinking of, leaving it lay
out like that?"

"I forgot it. All right?"

"You forgot it. You forgot it. I don't believe this."

"He didn't think anything about it. You saw that.
All he cared about is where the Jenn chit is."

"Then why couldn't you tell him and get him out?
He has to be suspicious, the way you were ..."

"I didn't tell him because I don't know, love. She
hasn't been seen since her mother came to town."

Well, well, well.

162

"Stop worrying about the damned book. A thug like
that can't read his own stupid name."

Slither said, "Garrett ..."

I waved him off, listened as hard as I could. I had to
fill hi here and there, from context, to get everything.

Me and the occult corsairs were going to have an-
other talk.

"Garrett!"

"Wait a minute!"

An unfamiliar voice observed, "You guys better be
ratmen trash hogs in disguise because if you ain't..."

"Which one you want I should eat first, Garrett?"

"... if you ain't, you're gonna be going outa here
on a trash wagon." This sweet-talker was the spokes-
man for five thugs in slapdash butternut costume. I
assumed that was the uniform of the neighborhood
watch. I did mention how peaceful and confident the
area seemed? Getting old and slow. I'd forgotten that,
then I'd failed to stay alert.

They'd come from the direction Ivy wasn't covering.

I heard no more conversation behind the alley door.

Naturally.

"Which one first?" Slither asked again. He was hot
to go and sure he could handle them all. They weren't
big guys and they all had bellies that hung over then-
belts. They had mean little pig eyes. Slither's growling
got the boss pig thinking. He got a look like he
thought maybe Slither could follow through.

Didn't seem like the best time to get into a fight. I
still had a bottle of Miracle Milt's Doc Dread magic
getaway juice. Last one. I whistled so Ivy would know
something was up, then slammed the bottle into the
bricks at the toes of the guardians of order.

I was lucky. The bottle broke.

A nasty dark stain spread like something alive. And
nothing else happened. The brunos didn't twitch. They
understood that something was supposed to happen.
They didn't want to get it started.

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I grabbed Slither's arm. "Time to take a hike."

A thin feather of mist curled up off the bricks. Well,
better late than never. Only it leaned toward me, the
one guy moving.

Slither said, "Aw, Garrett. Do I have to? Can't I
just bust up one or two?"

"Go right ahead. But you're on your own. I'm leav-
ing." The streamer of mist reached farther toward me.

I exercised my philosophy of discretion swiftly and
with great enthusiasm. I grabbed Ivy as I flew out of
the breezeway. That startled the Goddamn Parrot into
one of his more memorable sermons.

Slither must have had an epiphany because he was
stomping on my heels.

36

The Wixon and White street door was locked. The
CLOSED sign stood in the window, supported by drawn
shades. I had a feeling the boys wouldn't answer if I
knocked.

I said, "We'll check back after those characters start
thinking we've forgotten them. Right now, we'll find
the weather friendlier in another part of town." I
could see several butternut outfits. They weren't easily
overlooked since all normal traffic had deserted the
street. Way it goes in TunFaire.

We moved out as fast as Ivy would travel with that
idiot bird. The butternut brunos were content to let
us take our trouble elsewhere.

After a while, I asked, "Slither, you know why I
like working alone?"

"Huh? No. How come?"

"On account of when I'm working alone, there's
nobody around to call me by name in front of people
I don't want to know. Not even one time, let alone
four."

He thought about that and eventually concluded
that I was peeved. "Say! That was pretty dumb, wasn't
it?"

"Yes." Why shield the man's feelings? That kind of
mistake can be fatal.

On the other hand, the butternuts had no reason to
keep after me. They had run me off before my pockets
filled with doodads they doubtless felt only they had

165

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167

the right to pilfer. They could beat their chests and
tell the merchants association they were mighty hunt-
ers and protectors.

I couldn't see the swashbucklers pursuing the mat
ter. All they cared about was that book. I growled,
"Shut up, you mutant pigeon."

I wondered about the book. I'd read all three vol-
umes of No Ravens Went Hungry, waiting around at
the library. What set the story in motion was a dynas-
tic squabble among mobs of people who were all re-
lated somehow. The prize was an almost nominal
kingship over a loose association of barbarian clans.
Not one person in the whole saga was the sort you'c
ask into your home. This hero, this thug Eagle, mur
dered more than forty people during his life.

No Ravens Went Hungry was based on actual events
that marinated in the oral tradition a few centuries
before being recorded.

I hadn't enjoyed it, partly because no likable people
were involved, but more because the author had felt
a duty to name every player's antecedants and cousins
and offspring and, likewise, those of everyone they
ever murdered or married. After a while, it got hard
to keep track of all the Thoras, Thoralfs, Thorolfs,
Thorolds, Thords, Thordises, Thorids, Thorirs, Thor-
ins, Thorarins, Thorgirs, Thorgyers, Thorgils, Thor-
balds, Thorvalds, Thoriums, and Thorsteins, not to
mention the numerous Odds and Eiriks and Haralds—
any one of whom could change his name any time the
notion hit him.

"What now?" Slither asked, prodding me out of my
thoughts.

Ivy looked over his shoulder, expectant. He seemed
more disappointed than Slither about having missed a
brawl. But he did stifle the Goddamn Parrot whenever
that stupid harlequin hen started propositioning
passersby.

"I'm going to go home, get me something to eat.
That's what now."

"What good will that do?"

"It'll keep me from getting hungry." And it would
set me up to get shut of him and Ivy and the parade
that stretched out behind us.

I had plans.



37

I let Slither and Ivy make lunch. I retreated to my
office to commune with Eleanor. Eleanor didn't help
me relax. My restlessness wouldn't go away. Curious,
I crossed the hall. The Dead Man appeared to be
soundly asleep, but I wondered. I'd suffered similar
restlessnesses before.

I didn't feel up to dealing with him, so I gobbled
some food, fed the boys a quick, plausible lie about
ducking out for just a minute, hit the cobblestones. I
lost the people watching me by using the density of
the crowds. The streets were busier than usual. There
were refugees everywhere. In consequence, every
street corner boasted its howling mad bigot who
wanted to run them all out. Or worse.

I sensed another crisis in the wind.

Sure I was running free, I headed for the Hill.

I strode up to Maggie's door as bold as if I'd been
summoned. I used that discrete knocker, over and
over. Nobody responded.

Was I surprised? Not really.

I studied that grim, featureless facade. It remained
grim and featureless. And uninviting.

I wandered the neighborhood for a while and wasn't
challenged. I didn't stick with it long enough to press
my luck.

I was halfway to Morley's place when I realized that
I was no longer without a tail. The inept guy was on

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

169

me again. Say what? Maybe he had something going
after all.

I walked into the Joy House. There sat my two best
pals, Morley Dotes and Saucerhead Tharpe, making
goo-goo eyes at my favorite fantasy. "Chastity! What's
a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Morley gave me a look at his darkest scowl, the one
he reserves not for victims but for guys who venture
to hint that they might possibly think the Joy House
is less than the epitome of epicurean paradises.

Saucerhead grinned. He is one great huge goof. I
love him in a brotherly way. I noticed he was missing
another tooth.

Chastity said, "I was checking up on you."

"Don't believe anything these guys tell you. Espe-
cially Morley. Can't tell the truth when a lie will do.
Just ask his wife or any of his seventeen demented
children."

Morley showed me a bunch of pointy teeth. He
looked pleased. Saucerhead's grin got bigger. He had
teeth like yellow and green spades.

I figured it was time to check my shoes, see what
I'd stepped hi because my feet were whizzing past
pretty close to my mouth.

Unlikely as it seemed, folks had been saying nice
things. I sat down. "Puddle! I need some apple juice.
Shoeleather leaves a bad taste in your mouth."

Dotes and Tharpe kept smirking. Spud brought me
my drink, like to dumped it all over me. The kid
couldn't keep his eyes off the lady doctor. I couldn't
fault his taste. She sure looked good.

I told her, "You didn't answer my question."

"Why I'm here? Mr. Tharpe suggested we eat here
before we go to the hospital."

"We? The Bledsoe?" Mr. Tharpe hated the Bledsoe
with a blind passion. Mr. Tharpe was poor. Mr.
Tharpe had been born in the Bledsoe and had been

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171

forced to rely upon its medical care all his life, excep-
ting during his years in military service, when he had
discovered what real doctoring could be. I could not
imagine Saucerhead going near the place voluntarily.

A lot of people will suffer almost anything before
letting themselves be committed to the Bledsoe. Many
see it as the last gate to death.

"I'm bodyguarding her," Saucerhead told me.

"What? I thought ..."

"I saw your friend." Chastity smiled. My best pals
snickered.

"My friend? I'm beginning to wonder. She didn't
want the job?"

"Sent her on to me," Tharpe told me.

That deserved some thought.

Morley asked, "Where are your buddies, Garrett?"

"Home minding the Goddamn Parrot. Slow roasting
it, I hope. Why?"

"There's a story going around about the three of
you trying to rob some nancys out hi the West End."

I frowned. Strange that should be out already. "I
was trying to get a line on Emerald. I never pushed
that hard." I told the story.

Morley soon developed a deep frown. He let me
talk, but when I finished he asked, "You're sure it
was an old copy of one of the volumes of No Ravens
Went Hungry?"

"It was The Raging Blades. You know something I
don't?"

"Do you know the story?"

"I read the book."

"That doesn't surprise me." He grinned. He re-
called my troubles with Linda Lee. "Since you've read
it, you know what happens at the end. Eagle is in his
eighties, still hale except that he's going blind. The
women start pushing him around, probably getting
even for the way he always treated them. He gets
pissed off, grabs a couple of slaves, takes the treasure

he's stolen over the past seventy years, and heads for
the boondocks. A few days later, he comes home
alone and empty-handed and never says a word about
what happened to the slaves or the treasure."

"So?"

"So Eagle's treasure is one of the big prizes treasure

hunters yak up when they get together. One of their

myths says the earliest version of No Ravens Went

Hungry contains all the clues you need to find it. The

copyists supposedly actually found the treasure, after

they produced maybe five copies of each volume, but

I they murdered each other before they dug it up."

| Morley touched the highlights of a tale of greed and

[double-dealing worthy of Eagle himself.

Tell the truth, Morley's story sounded like one of
those worth the paper it was written on. If he hadn't
had a certain familiar gleam in his eye, I would have
ignored everything he said. But that gleam was there.
I knew his gold sniffer had been excited. He believed.
He was thinking of paying Wixon and White a visit
that had nothing to do with mine.

"The second volume?" I asked, hoping to cool him
down. "Why that one? It wasn't until the end of the
third that Eagle buried the treasure."

Morley shrugged, smiled. Poor dumb Garrett
couldn't see the obvious. Chastity gave us a funny
look. She knew something was going on but wasn't
sure what it was. Morley said, "You could be right,"
which I assume he said to confuse everybody.

He knew something he didn't want to tell. Like ev-
eryone lately. I shrugged and said, "I'm going to visit
Maggie's house. Want to come along?" His gold snif-
fer would respond to that, too.

He said, "Why not?"

Saucerhead got it, too. He gave me a dubious look
but asked no questions. No need letting Chastity in
on everything. Especially since she had friends in the
Guard.

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173

She knew we were closing her out. She didn't like
it, but she had a strong notion she wouldn't want to
know anyway.

I asked her, "You familiar with Grange Cleaver?
He ever hang out at the Bledsoe?"

"I've seen him. More lately than in the past. He
seems to be living in the city, now. He's Board. Board
are in and out all the time. The rest of us only pay
attention if they start throwing their weight around."

"I see. What's he do there?"

"I don't know. I'm a ward physician. I don't fly that
high."

Morley was ready to go. He asked, "What's he look
like these days? He used to play around with disguises.
Only his closest friends knew what he looked like."

Perplexed, Chastity said, "How would a disguise do
him any good? There aren't many men that short."

"He wasn't always a man," Morley told her. "He
could be a dwarf if he wanted."

"Or an elf?" I suggested.

"Never was an elf that ugly, Garrett!" Morley
snapped. "Not that lived long enough to get out of
diapers."

I thought about the prince at the warehouse. Effem-
inate but not ugly. Just an unlucky gal fate stuck with
the wrong plumbing. "Could you describe him, Chas-
tity? I mean, besides as short."

She did her best.

"Good enough for me. That's the guy, Morley."

Morley grunted irritably. Chastity looked perplexed
again. "I'll explain later," I promised. I wondered
what it was between Dotes and the Rainmaker.

Morley did have his share of feuds. I stayed out of
them. And I figured it was just as well I didn't know
their details. I hoped he would explain if I needed to
know.

I would keep my eyes open, though. He'd been
known to wait a bit too long in the past.

"You going or not?" he grumped.

"I'll catch up with you later," I told Chastity.

"Promises, promises."

Saucerhead gave me a look that told me, yes, he
would look out for her. I wouldn't suggest it because
it was a big sore spot with him. Once upon a time, I
asked him to guard a woman and he didn't come
through. She died. He slaughtered a whole herd of
villains and came within an inch of death himself, but
lall he saw was that he'd failed. There was no talking
jjhim out of thinking that.

Chastity was as safe as it was possible for her to be.

38

"Hey, Garrett! How about you do away with the
goofy grin and the glassy eyes long enough to let me
in on the plan?"

"Jealous." I wrestled with the grin, got the best of
it. "We're going to take what I call the Dotes Ap-
proach." We were nearing the Hill. Soon we would
be on patrolled streets. I had to get my grin under
control, stop daydreaming about remarkable blondes.
The thugs up there had no patience with happy
outsiders.

"The Dotes Approach? Dare I ask?"

"You ought to know. You invented it. Straight
ahead and damn the witnesses—we'll just bust in."

"One tune. During a thunderstorm in the middle of
the night. Talk about exaggeration."

I didn't grace his protest with a reply. I told him,
"There's an alleyway runs behind those places. Used
for deliveries and by the ratmen who haul the trash
away."

"Haul the trash away?"

"A novel concept, I admit. But it's true. This alley
is cleaner than the street out front. I never saw any-
thing like it."

"Almost unpatriotic, what?"

"Un-Karentine, certainly. High weirdness."

"A conspiracy."

He was needling me, probably because I was run-
ning the inside track with Chastity.

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

175

"That thing about a wife and kids wasn't playing
fair." He glanced back casually.

"Sure it was. You're just sore because you didn't
try the gag first. They still back there?"

"Stipulated. Maybe. She is worth a trick or two.
They're still there. A whole parade of potential wit-
nesses. This one is a first-class lady, Garrett. Don't
mess up the way you did with Tinnie and Maya." Be-
fore I could object, he added, "You do attract it, don't
you?"

"What?"

"You said it. High weirdness."

"I can't argue with that. Though this one is only
weird because it doesn't make sense, not because I've
got guys walking through the sky or refusing to stop
committing murder just because we've killed and cre-
mated them. I haven't seen any shapechangers and
nobody is going around biting anybody's neck."

"There is an occult angle of some kind."

"I think it was planted by Cleaver. I think Cleaver
has the girl. The occult crap is to throw Maggie off
the trail."

"You going ahead anyway?"

I'd been considering. "For now. For them back
there. Might be interesting to see who does what once
they figure out what we're doing." We were on the
Hill now, strutting like we were honest. Act like you
belong, who notices you? Even on the Hill there's
plenty of legitimate traffic. The local guardians didn't
dare roust everybody. I remarked, "Someday these
clowns will recall their training and set up checkpoints
and start issuing passes."

Morley snorted. "Never happen." He didn't think
much of the Hill brunos. "People who live here won't
tolerate the inconvenience."

"Probably right." That's the problem with public
safety. It is so damned inconvenient.

"You counting on those people back there being as

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177

crooked as you are? That would be as bad a bet as
counting on everyone to be honest."

"Crooked?" I protested, but I knew what he meant.

"You know what I mean. One might be secret po-
lice." The secret police were a new problem for Tun-
Faire's underworld. Always flexible, though, Morley
seemed to be having no trouble adapting.

"Might be." But I didn't believe that and doubted
that he did. The Guard were less shy than these peo-
ple. Even Relway's spies.

Morley did have to say, "Winger could have that
kind of connection."

Damn! "Yeah. If there's a profit in it." I wondered.
Could Winger turn up the closest thing she had to a
friend, just for money? Scary. I couldn't answer that
one.

I said, "You gave me some advice one time: never
get involved with a woman crazier than I am."

"And I was right. Wasn't I?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah."

We turned into the alley that passed behind Maggie
Jenn's place. Luck had given us clear sailing so far.
Not one patrol even came into sight. We were as good
as ghosts in the official eye.

"Be careful with Winger, Garrett. She is crazier
than you." He stared down that improbably clean al-
leyway. "Though not by much. It isn't closed off. Any-
one could walk in here." He sneered, unable to
believe the arrogant confidence that showed. Nobody
lives so high on the Hill that they're immune. Even
the great witches and wizards, the stormwardens and
firelords, who set counts and dukes to shaking in their
boots, get ripped off.

"I'll worry about Winger later. Right now we need
to do a B and E before our fans show. Up there." I
indicated a wrought iron balcony that existed as a
drop point for garbage. The ratmen ran their waste
wagons in underneath and household staff dumped

away. Similar balconies ornamented the rough stone-
work all along the alley.

"Except for the clean, they didn't do much to put
on the dog back here, did they?" Morley asked.

"You want they should've done fancy masonry for
the likes of us?"

Sneering, Morley darted forward, found handholds
in the rough stonework, scrambled up, did a job on
the flimsy door, then hung over the rail to help me
up. The balcony creaked ominously. I flailed my way
aboard. An instant later, Morley and I were inside.
We peeked out an archer's slit of a window, looking
for witnesses. It was a minute before any of our tails
entered the alley.
Morley chuckled.
I sighed. "Only Winger."
"Where does she get those clothes?"
"If I knew, I'd strangle the seamstresses. That stuff
has got to be against divine law if nothing else."
"We're inside. What do we look for?"
"Hell, I don't know. Anything. Things keep happen-
ing that don't make sense, since I'm only supposed to
be looking for a missing girl. I shouldn't be up to my
mammaries in maneating pirates. I'm pretty sure that
finding Emerald isn't the main reason Maggie hired
me."
"Huh?"

"You recall I got into this because Winger wanted
me to keep tabs on Maggie. She thought Maggie
wanted me to waste somebody."

"And now you're thinking maybe Winger was right,
that the whole point might have been to get you but-
ting heads with the Rainmaker."
"Could be. I thought I might find a clue here."
"So let's dig. Before Winger figures out what hap-
pened and walks through the wall."

"Absolutely. But first let's see who else takes a
chance on the alley."

178

GLEN COOK

The whole parade passed by before it was over.
Morley got a good look at them.
"That one," I said. "That's the pro."
"I see it. I smell it He's a major player."
"Who is he?"

"That's the rub." Morley looked worried. "I don't
know him."

I worried, too. I could figure Winger was working
for Winger and anybody else she could get to pay her.
The fierce pirate had to be on Cleaver's payroll. But
what about this slick pro?

They did seem to be aware of one another.

Then- sneakery caught some squinty eyes. Guard
thugs began to appear. Even Winger cleared out
rather than tempt those clowns too much.

"Quit your snickering and get to work," Morley ad-
vised. "The guys with the squashed noses won't hang
around forever."

We started right there in that very room.

39

We had been whispering. Soon I wondered why. We
found no trace of Maggie or her marvelous staff.

I thought it but Morley voiced it first. "People don't
live here, Garrett. They haven't for years." Not one
room that I hadn't visited earlier wasn't in mothballs
and choked with dust. I kept hacking and honking.

"Yeah. It's a stage set they used to play out a drama
for me."

"Make a guess. Why?"

"That's what I'm here to find out, if Winger wasn't
right the first time."

Over and over, all we found was more of the same
old dusty rooms filled with covered furniture.

"Some nice antiques here," Morley noted. He pre-
tended indifference, but I sensed his disappointment.
He could find no wealth that was easily portable. He
was trying to think of ways to get the furniture out.

In time, because we had time to look, we did find
an upper-story bedroom that had seen use but which
I hadn't visited before. Morley opined, "This was oc-
cupied by a woman with no compulsion to clean up
after herself."

And nobody to clean up for her, apparently. Rem-
nants of old meals provided spawning grounds for blue
fur.

Morley said, "My guess is this stuff dates from be-
fore your visit. Let's check this room carefully."
I grunted. What genius.

179

180

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

181

A minute later "Garrett."

"Uhm?"

"Check this out."

"This" was a shocker. "This" was a woman's wig.
"This" was a wild shock of tangly red hair so much
like Maggie Jenn's that, in an instant, I was mug to
Ugly mug with a horrible suspicion.

"What's that?" Morley asked.

"What?"

"That noise. Like somebody goosed you with a hot
poker."

"I tried to picture Maggie without hair." I lifted
that wig like it was an enemy's severed head.

"Out with it. Out with it."

"Know what's the matter? Here's a hint. You take
a wig like this wig and grab the Rainmaker and stuff
his head into said wig, you'd have a dead ringer for
the little sweetheart who hired me to find her kid—
assuming you dressed her girlie style. A dead ringer
for a sweetheart who all but point-blank invited me
up here for ..."

Morley grinned. Then he snickered. Then he burst
out laughing. "Oh! Oh! That would have made the
Garrett story to top all Garrett stories. People would
have forgotten the old lady and the cat like this." He
snapped his fingers. He started grinning again. "I'll
bet you Winger knew. I'll just bet she did. At least
she suspected. Maybe that's what she wanted to find
out. Send in Garrett. He has a way with redheads.
He'll go for it if you drop one in his lap." He was
breaking up now, the little shit. "Oh, Garrett, she just
rose way up in my estimation. That's a slicking /
wouldn't have thought of."

"You have a tendency to think too complicated," I
protested. "Winger don't think that way." I went on,
arguing, I don't know with whom. My voice rose and
rose as I imagined the myriad piratical horrors that
might have befallen me simply because of my connois-

I

sieur's appreciation of the opposite sex. Just because
Maggie Jenn, who had heated me to a rolling boil,
might have been wearing a wig.

I glared at that wig. The fury of my gaze changed
nothing. It remained a perfect match for Maggie's

hair.

"You get it?" Morley asked, like it hadn't been my
idea in the first place. "Grange Cleaver put on a wig
and fooled you one thousand percent." His leer set
my cheeks ablaze.

"Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Let's say he did.
Just for now, let's say he's the Maggie Jenn who hired
me. Let's ignore the fact that that makes things make
even less sense than before. Cleaver wouldn't aim a
dagger at himself. So let's look for the bottom line.
Let's figure out what my employer really wanted, who-
ever he, she, or it was."

"Don't be so touchy, Garrett." He kept fighting the

giggles.
"The question, Morley. The question. I got paid a

nice advance. Why?"

"You could always assume you were supposed to
do what you were hired to do. Find the girl. When
you think about this mess, Maggie Jenn not really
being Maggie Jenn makes sense."

"Huh?"

"Look. If she was Cleaver in disguise, then there'd
be no conflicts in what us old experts told you about

the woman."

"I saw that when you waved that damned wig in
my face. The real Maggie Jenn is probably on her
island with her feet up and not a suspicion that her
old pal Grange Cleaver is blackening her reputation
by pretending ..."

"You have to wonder how much he did that in the
old days. When she was involved with the crown

prince."
"Not around the prince, he wouldn't have. The

182

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

183

prince definitely preferred girls and wasn't patient
with girls who played hard to get. He knew the real
Maggie Jenn."

"But a fake Maggie could have gone around looking
at places that interested the Rainmaker."

"Somebody told me Cleaver might be her brother.
Maybe they were twins."

"He was his sister's pimp?"

"Like that'd be the first time a guy ever sold his
sister?"

"You're right. I lost it for a second. Wishful think-
ing. Thought I'd outgrown that. Shouldn't ever forget
what slime humans can be."

"We've still got rooms to search." I didn't want to
get into the subject of necessity—though Morley
would have to slither down there under a snake's belly
to hold an opinion of my species lower than I do.

Necessity I understand. Necessity I won't condemn.
The despicable are those who sell their sisters and
daughters and wives because that saves them having
to work. "Bear with me, Morley."

"I do, Garrett. And with all your kind. Like it or
not, you're the present and future of the world. The
rest of us are going to have to find what niches we
can. Otherwise, time will pass us by."

"Bravo!" I clapped. "You've got the vision. Get
yourself appointed to the city board of aldermen."

"I'm not human enough. And I wouldn't have
time."

I boggled for an instant. My facetious remark had
been heard seriously. Interesting. Morley Dotes, bone-
breaker and lifetaker, your alderman and mine?

Actually, that could be an idea whose time had ar-
rived. The Goddamned Parrot could do as well as the
crooks and incompetents and senile halfwits running
things now.

TunFaire is a human city in the human kingdom of
Karenta. This is established by numerous treaties. It

means human rule prevails except in such ways as may
be modified by treaty in particular regards or areas.
TunFaire is also an "open city," meaning any race
with a treaty can come and go freely, essentially with
the same rights and privileges as Karentine subjects.
And, in theory, the same obligations.

In practice, all races come and go, treaty or no,
and a lot of nonhumans evade their civil obligations.
Centaurs are the outstanding example. All treaties
with centaurs perished when the tribes went over to
Glory Mooncalled. Legally, they're enemy aliens. But
they've been flooding into city and kingdom as Moon-
called's republic fades and nobody except extremists
seems to object.

Guest workers and resident nonhumans make up
half of TunFaire's population. With the war winding
down and ever more folks realizing that society is
headed for dramatic changes a lot of resentment is
building.

Shouldn't be long before the nonhuman question
becomes a central fact of politics. It is now for splin-
ters like the Call. You won't find any euphemism or
circumlocution in the message of the Call. Their strat-
egy is kill nonhumans till the survivors flee.

Gods, I didn't want this mess of mine to lead me
into the snakepit of racial politics. Lords Above or
Below, render me outside politics of any stink.

Morley and I pressed on. We searched high and
low, right and left, north, south, east, and west. We
placed special emphasis on the suite supposedly be-
longing to Justine Jenn. Morley opined, "Nobody
lived here, Garrett. It was stage-dressed."

I agreed.

"Think there's anything else to find?" he asked.

"I doubt it. Want to try the basement?"

"Do you?"

"I remember the last time we did a basement. I'm
more inclined to go shopping."

184

GLEN COOK

"Wixon and White. The hens' teeth salesmen. They
actually knew the girl?"

"A girl," I grumped, identities being so shifty lately.

"Good point. But it's a start. Mind if I tag along?
I haven't been out that way for a while."

"Gee. I'm psychic." I'd just known he would want
to go. "Wasn't for those buccaneers, I'd have serious
doubts that the girl exists."

"A girl. Like you said. What say let's don't just hit
the street?"

"Good thinking." We checked for observers.
Winger and a ferocious pirate type were holding down
the alley, pretending they couldn't see each other.
"Nice to see folks get along."

"Makes the world run smoother. Crack that view
slit up front and check the genius out there."

The front face of the house wasn't as featureless as
it had looked from the street. I peeked.

The pro had decided we would walk out the front
door like we lived there. Which he'd have done him-
self. He had done and admirable job of fading into
the background. Nobody looking for him was going
to miss him, though.

There was no sign of the inept guy. Curious.

Chuckling, Morley asked, "How long will they wait
if they don't know we're not in here anymore?"

"How?"

"The rooftops."

I chuckled right back. "Sounds like an experiment
worth making. Let's do it."

"We could even sic the brunos on them after we're
clear."

"No. no. That's too much. I don't want to spend
the rest of my life watching over my shoulder for some
of Winger's paybacks."

"Good point. Let's go."

We went. It was easy. The roofs were all flat. The
only hitch we encountered was getting down.

40

We tried three downspouts. None would support me.
"Need some home repairs in these parts," I grumbled.
"People ought to show some pride. Ought to keep up
their property."

"Or we could start a weight loss program at the
Garrett dump." Morley, the little weasel, could have
gone down any of the spouts.

Worse, last try we had caught the eyes of some
prematurely cynical kids who'd jumped to the conclu-
sion we were up to no good. Just because we were
running around on the roofs. We could have been
roofers shopping for work.
No more fun. The patrol would be along soon.
Morley bent over the edge, tried another down-
spout. A herd of preadolescents watched from the
street. I made faces, but they didn't scare. Morley said,
"This will have to do."

I shook it myself. Not that I didn't trust him. He
was right. It would have to do. It was more solid.
Still ...

"We have to get down now, Garrett."
"I'm not worried about getting down. What con-
cerns me is how many pieces of me there're going to
be after I get there."

Morley went over the side, abandoning me to my
fate. I gave him a head start, then followed, my weight
taken by different supports. I had descended about
eight feet when furious elvish cursing broke out below

185

186

GLEN COOK

me. For a second, I thought I had stepped on his
fingers.

"What?" I demanded.

"I'm hung up."

I leaned out so I could see. Sure enough. His shirt
was out and tangled in one of the supports that an-
chored the downspout to the building. He tried to
climb a little to get loose. For reasons known only to
the gods who engineer these things that only made
things worse. I heard cloth tear. Morley started cursing
all over again. He let go with one hand and tried to
work his shirt loose.

It would not yield. But he was being awfully
damned delicate about it.

Down below, some kid came up with the notion
that it would be fun to throw rocks at us. First shot
he got Morley on the knuckles of the hand he was
using to hang on.

Only thing that saved him was that his shirt was
hung up.

The gods give and the gods take away.

Morley's shirt tore a little more.

Morley's temper ripped. He invented new curses.

"Cut it loose!" I yelled.

"It's a new shirt. First time I ever wore it." He
continued fighting with it.

Stones peppered the wall. A racket from up the
street gave warning of the patrol. "You'd better do
something. In a couple of minutes, you're going to
have people throwing more than rocks at you."

"/ am?"

"You am. I'm going to climb down over you and
leave you hanging."

He started to say something testy, but a small stone
hit him in the back of the head.

Blur of steel. Pretty cloth flying. Morley down that
spout like a squirrel as kids shrieked and scattered. I
caught up while he was trying to decide which kid to

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

187

|run down. "Let's go." The patrol were damn near in
I spear-chucking range.

|   Morley looked like he'd rather stay and fight. He
^wanted to hurt somebody. He rubbed the back of his
head and got set.
"Come on!" I commenced the old high-speed heel

and toe work.
Morley opted not to take on the world alone.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

189

41

Even Morley was puffing before we shook the pursuit.
Staggering, I gasped, "It was torn already. And you've
got another shirt. I've seen it."

He didn't respond. He was holding a wake for his
apparel, though you could hardly tell there was a
problem if he stayed tucked in.

I croaked, "Those guys've been working out." My
legs were rubber.

"Good thing you started before they did." He
wasn't puffing nearly enough to suit me. I don't know
how he stays in shape. I've seldom seen him do any-
thing more strenuous than chase women.

Maybe he just lucked out when he picked his
ancestors.

"How about we take five?" We could afford it. I
needed it. Before I puked up my toenails.

We had ended up dodging into one of those small
sin sinks that cling to the skirts of the Hill and cater
to and prey upon the idle rich. Nobody would help
trace us there. Patrol folks weren't welcome.

Morley and I planted our posteriors on a stoop
where traffic seemed limited. Once I had sucked in
enough air to rekindle my sense of humor, we began
fantasizing scenarios wherein Winger did Winger sorts
of things to find out what we were up to inside Mag-
gie's house—only with her suffering my kind of luck
instead of her own.

188

You would have thought we were eleven again. We
ended up with the giggles.

"Oh, damn!" I couldn't stop laughing, despite the
bad news. "Look who just showed up."

The clumsy guy almost tripped over us before he
realized that he had found us. His eyes got big. His
face went pale. He gulped air. I gasped, "This clown
has got to be psychic."

"Want to grab him?"

The suspicion that we might try occurred to him
first. He went high-stepping around a corner before
we finished swatting the dust off the backs of our laps.

"Damn! Where did he go?"

"What I expected," Morley said, suddenly morose
as he stared down that empty cross street.

"Expected?"

"He's a spook. Or a figment of your imagination."

"No. He's no ghost. He's just lucky."

"I've heard luck called a psychic talent."

"Give me a break, Morley. How can random results
have anything to do with talent?"

"Luck was really random it would even out,
wouldn't it?"

"I suppose."

"So you ought to have some good luck once in a
while, right? Unless you're directing it somehow."

"Wait a minute. . . ." Our squabble wandered far
afield. It kept us entertained all the way to the West
End. For the heck of it, we set a couple of ambushes
along the way. Our tail evaded both through sheer
dumb luck. Morley did a lot of smirking.

I told him, "I'm about to come around to your way
of thinking."

"You say this Wixon and White place has a flimsy
back door?"

"A bad joke. Unless it's a trap." There are spiders
that specialize in catching other spiders.

190

GLEN COOK

"Show me. We'll treat your Mends to chills and
thrills."

Right. Morley was along just for the fun.

Wixon and White were open for trade. We lurked,
watched a few customers come and go. "We'd better
get on with it," I said. "Their local watch is a little
too serious for my taste."

Morley grunted. I introduced him to the alley door.
He scoped it out, suggested, "Give me ten minutes."

"Ten? You going to take it out frame and all?"

"No, I was considering doing it quietly. You wanted
fast you should have brought Saucerhead Tharpe. Fi-
nesse, Garrett. Surprise. I don't do Thon-Gore the
Learning Disabled."

"Right." I left the artist to his easel.

My old pal was hustling a personal agenda again. I
had a good suspicion, too. And I didn't care. I just
wanted to get on with my job—the way I had denned
it.

I wondered if I had an employer anymore. I hadn't
heard.

I waited in the breezeway while Morley did what-
ever. He did keep the racket down. I never heard a
thing. No butternut thugs showed up to inconvenience
us, either. I tried to psych myself into a role.

Time. I walked to the shop door and invited myself
inside.

42

"Howdy." I grinned. Wasn't nobody there but them
and me. I locked the door. I put the CLOSED sign in
the window.

One bold corsair demanded, "What are you doing?"
He wanted to sound tough, but his voice scrambled
right up into a high squeak.

The other one didn't say anything. After ten sec-
onds frozen like those mythical birds that stare down
snakes, he bolted for the back room. A moment later,
he squealed like Morley was whipping him with a
naked woman.

I trotted out my cheerful charlie voice. If you do
that right, it's really sinister. "Howdy, Robin." It had
taken me a moment to sort them out. "We just
dropped in to get the real skinny on Emerald Jenn."
I pasted on my salesman's smile. Robin squeaked
again and decided to catch up with Penny.

Both those fierce buccaneers were taller than Mor-
ley. They looked pretty silly being held by their collars
from behind, facing me, when I entered their lumber
room. They were shaking.

I closed the door. I barred it. I leaned back against
it. I asked, "Well? Want to pick a spokesman?" The
room was an extreme mess. I'm sure it was a wreck
to start but now had the air of a place hastily tossed,
perhaps by a dedicated bibliophile in quest of a rare
first edition. "Come on, fellows."

Heads shook.

191

192

GLEN COOK

"Let's don't be silly."

Morley forced them to kneel. He hauled out a knife
way too long to be legal. He made its blade sing on
his whetstone.

"Guys, I want Emerald Jenn. Also known as Justina
Jenn. You're going to tell me what you know about
her. You'll feel better for it. Start by telling me how
you met her."

Wixon and White whimpered and whined and tried
to exchange impassioned farewells. Boy, I was good.
Oh, the drama. Morley did his bit by testing his edge
on Penny's mustache. A big hunk of lip hair tumbled
to the floor. Morley went back to work with his
whetstone.

"Don't nobody need to get killed," I said. "I
thought I'd just skin one of you." I toed that glob of
hair.

"Immigrants," Morley observed.

"Probably." Karentines don't rattle easily, having
survived the Cantard. They would have made us work.
"Talk to me, outlanders."

Robin cracked. "It was almost a year ago."

Penny glared.

"What was almost a year ago?"

"The first time the girl came to the shop. Looking
lost. Looking for any handle."

"Just wandered in? Wanting to borrow a cup of frog
fur?"

"No. She was just looking. In more ways than one."

"Uhm?"

"She was a lost soul, drowning in despair, looking
for straws to grasp. There was a young man with her.
Kewfer, I believe she called him. He was blond and
beautiful and young and that was the only time he
came around."

"Sorry he broke your heart. Don't go misty on me."

Penny didn't like Robin's wistful tone, either, but
he just kept the glare cooking.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

193

"Kewfer?" I stressed it just as he had.

Thoughtfully, Morley suggested, "Quince
Quefour?"

"Quince." Left me thoughtful, too. Quincy Quentin
Q. Quintillas was pretty enough to launch a thousand
ships filled with fierce pirates. He was a small-time
conman of the smallest tune, too damned dumb to
amount to anything. He was part elvish. Made him
look younger than his real years and got him out of
army time. A faked spook thing would be right up
Quefour's alley.

I barely knew him, didn't want to know him better.
I described him.

Robin nodded vigorously, eager to please. I won-
dered if he was just telling me what he thought I
wanted to hear.

"Thank you, Robin. You see? We can get along
fine. What was Quefour up to?"

Baffled look. "He wasn't up to anything. He was
just with the girl. Wasn't much special about her,
either."

Of course not. You were lusting in your heart.
"Please explain."

"She wanted an easy answer. She was looking for
easy answers."

"I thought she was desperate."

"Desperate after the fashion of her age. Kids want
results without work. They believe they deserve magi-
cal answers. They don't want to hear that real magic
is hard work. Your stormwardens and firelords spend
twenty years studying and practicing. These kids think
you just wiggle your fingers ..."

Morley's magic fingers darted, slapped Robin's
hand. Robin had started wiggling fingers as if by way
of demonstration. He might have suckered us had we
not been in the back of a shop that supplied witches
and warlocks.

"Stick to Emerald Jenn. I develop a taste for social

194

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

195

commentary, I'll head for the front steps of the Chan-
cery." The most marvelous lunatics hold forth there.
"Emerald, Robin. Quefour didn't come back but she
did. Talk to me."

"You don't need to be brutal. Emmy was a run-
away. Came from upcountry. We knew that but not
much more till a few weeks ago."

"A runaway," I repeated, trying to put an evil twist
on everything I said. Morley rolled his eyes. "On her
own here for a year." Scary idea. A girl can live a
lifetime in a year on the streets of TunFaire. "What
did she run from?"

"Her mother."

Who had been worried because her baby had been
missing six days. "Go on."

"She didn't go into detail, but it was obvious the
woman was a horror."

"Emerald spend a lot of time here?"

"She helped out. Sometimes she stayed back here."
Gesture toward a ratty pallet. I didn't apologize for
what I had thought about that. "She was a wounded
bird. We gave her a place to feel safe." Hint of
defiance.

I could see a girl feeling safer with Penny and Robin
than on the street. Trouble was, I had trouble ac-
cepting them as philanthropists. Too cynical am I.

Robin was a real chatterbox when he loosened up.
I spent a lot of energy guiding him back to the main
path.

"Seen her lately?"

"No. She heard her mother had come to town."

"That would make her stay away?"

"She thought her mother would look for her. And
she is looking, right? You're here. She doesn't want
to be found. People who don't know where she is
can't give her away."

Morley and I exchanged glances. "What's she scared
of?"

Robin and Penny got into the look-trading business.
A growth industry. Only they were puzzled.

"You don't know." My intuition was at work. "She
told a tale but you didn't buy it. Think you know her?
She the kind to fill you up and leave you to feed the
wolves?"

"What?"

"She knows her mother. She'd know what kind of
people would be sent."

More looks flashing. The ferocious pirates of this
world are paranoid. Given our record, they are justi-
fied in expecting evil of the rest of us.

Penny had spent the interview glowering at Robin.
He seemed to suffer a sudden pessimistic epiphany.
He barked, "Marengo North English."

"What?" Tell me I heard wrong.

"Marengo North English."

I heard right. But why did he have to say that?
Things had been crazy enough. I feigned ignorance.
"What's that?"

Robin tittered. "That's a who. One of our biggest
customers. A very powerful underground adept."

That was disheartening news, but useful if ever I
found myself dealing with the lunatic fringe.

Penny said, "He met Emmy here. Invited her into
his coven. She went a few times but didn't like the
people or what they wanted to do."

Robin said, "We thought she might have run to
him."

I stipulated, "He could protect her." Morley looked
at me askance. I said, "I've met the man. I didn't
know he dabbled in black magic, though." North
English mostly concentrated on virulent racism.

Penny and Robin seemed surprised, as though they
had not heard of Marengo North English in any but
an occult context. Silly boys. The man had a special
place in his heart for their sort, too.

Morley moved sudden as heat lightning, startling us

196

GLEN COOK

all. He ripped the alley door open, stepped out, stared
for a moment, shook his head, and closed up. "Guess
who?"

"Some guy who tripped over his own feet getting
away."

"You win first prize. Near time to go."
"I have a few more questions."
"That guy is a lightning rod for the law."
Right. And I didn't accomplish much more, though
I had hoped to get at their angle for helping Emerald.
I did get the names of three people who were on
speaking terms with the girl. Not real friends. Not peo-
ple likely to be useful. Emerald evidently didn't have
any friends.

We departed as suddenly as we had arrived. We
were gone before those bold buccaneers knew we
were going. We were out of the West End moments
later. We were long gone before the boys in butternut
closed in.

43

Miles from the West End, we ducked into a smoky
dive frequented by the lowest classes. The bar was
wide planks on sawhorses. The fare consisted of bad
red sausages and worse green beer. Nobody paid me
any mind, but Morley drew some vaguely hostile
looks. Nobody would recognize him if he stayed a
year, though. You don't look for Morley Dotes in that
kind of place.

Morley settled opposite me at a scarred trestle table
and steepled his fingers. "We have some names."

"Five. And none worth the paper it's written on."

"You reacted to one."

"Marengo North English. I don't know why the
black magic connection surprised me. The man has
the brain of a snake."

"You met him? Tell me about him."

"He's a loony. A racist loony. The Call. Sword of
Righteousness. He wouldn't be involved hi this. He
would have cut Emerald off the second he heard
about Maggie and the Rainmaker. Not our kind, you
know, old bean."

"Wasn't what I meant. I think."

"He's the Call."

Not many patrons found themselves in circum-
stances sufficiently insufficient to have to take then-
custom into that dump, but those that did were curi-
ous. Ears pricked up and twitched first time I men-

197

198

GLEN COOK

tioned the Call. Second time, various faces turned
toward us.

This was the sort of place where the Call would find
recruits for the Sword of Righteousness, the sort of
place infested by folks who'd never once in life had a
bad break that was their own fault.

Morley caught the significance of my glare. "I see."

In a softer voice, I said, "He was a founding father
of the Call. I met him at Weider's estate. I was doing
security. Weider mentioned my military background.
He tried to recruit me into the Sword of Righteous-
ness. Sicking him on me was Weider's idea of a joke."

Party police isn't my usual, but Old Man Weider
had asked nice and he's had me on retainer so long
we're practically business partners. I said, "Be afraid
of Marengo North English. He's crazy as hell, but he's
the real thing. Had me ready to puke in his pocket
two minutes after he started his spiel."

"But you didn't."

"Of course not. That was Weider's place. He was
Weider's guest." The brewery retainer keeps me going
through the hard times. "Like me, Weider can't help
it if he has to do business with crazies."

"You didn't sign on with the Sword?"

"Give me a break. I grunted and nodded and got
away from the man. The way you do when you don't
want to make a scene. Why're you so interested?"

"Because I know Marengo North English, too. That
man is going to be trouble. Why don't you sign up?
Give sanity an agent inside."

I hemmed and hawed and cast meaningful looks at
the big-eared clientele. I waved for another pint.

Morley got it. "Something to think over. We can
talk about it later. Meantime, I think you're right. He
might have seen a chance at some sweet young stuff,
but he wouldn't keep her around ten seconds after he
found out she had a scandal in her background."

I must have had a funny look on. He added, "I get

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

199

to meet all kinds." I presume he had done some work
for North English. I didn't ask.

"Where are you going from here, Garrett?"

"I was thinking Quefour. Not that he'll know
anything."

"I need to get back to the store."

"Got to read that book?"

"Book?" He started out with a hard look, decided
on a different tack. "Wasn't a book. It was gone al-
ready." He grinned. Beat me to death with honesty.

"I'm heartbroken for you." I tossed coins onto the
table. The tavernkeeper made them vanish before they
stopped rattling. "Thanks for your help."

"Hey, it was fun. Anytime. I have some advice for
you, though."

"I can't wait."

"There's a chance black magic is involved. You
should take precautions."

"I'm a certified genius. I was thinking that very
thought." Really. Because I was getting uncomfortable
about how easy it was for one inept gorilla to keep
getting back on my tail.

I knew I would see him as soon as we stepped into
the street. And he didn't disappoint me.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

201

44

Handsome's alley was back where it belonged. I exam-
ined it as I ambled past, not wanting to lead trouble
to the house of a friend. Neither did I want to make a
fool of myself by stepping into something unpleasant.

Second time past I turned in, leaving the inept guy
trying to blend into a mob of dwarves. What worried
me was that my other fans might realize they could
stay on me by keeping track of him.

The trash had deepened. It was deeper everywhere.
Such was the nature of things.

The shop felt unnaturally quiet—though how that
was possible I couldn't say. It never got rowdy. Maybe
it was like the breathing of the mice and roaches
was absent.

Handsome's ragged cat padded in, sat, fixed me with
a rheumy stare. I wondered how bad its eyes were. I
didn't move around. I killed time watching from inside
while my eyes adjusted. No point finding out how
Handsome protected herself.

Then she was there. For one moment, I lapsed into
a daydream and suddenly I wasn't alone.

Spooky.

She looked me in the eye. "You grew up with some
sense after all."

"Only a fool goes around touching stuff in a place
like this."

"Not what I meant, boy. You learned better than

200

that when you was a pup. I'm talking about you having
sense enough to know you're hi over your head."

I did? I was? I nodded. I never shatter illusions.

"Garrett men just bull ahead, confident they can
handle anything."

That was me, sort of. Except the part about the
confidence.

"Explains how you managed to come home when
they didn't."

Mystified, I let her talk. Patience is a sound strategy
when you don't know what is going on. When she did
slacken, I wedged in, "Wixon and White did know the
girl. But it looks like Grange Cleaver faked up the
black magic connection." I related the details of my
adventures as I would have done for the Dead Man.

Handsome let me run dry. She let me stand empty
a while, too. Then, "Why would the Rainmaker want
to find the girl?"

"I don't have a clue. Maybe her mother is dead and
he needs Emerald to control the estate."

"She is valuable or dangerous. One or the other."

"Or both."

"You'll have to find her to know which. Can you?"

"Given time."

"You've made enemies. And you let someone mark
you with a finding spell."

"I was afraid of that. The stumblebum?"

"He's tracking you. He didn't mark you."

"Winger or Maggie, then."

"And the Jenn woman seems to be the Rainmaker
in drag."

"Who wants me sleeping with the fishes."

"And who wouldn't be above using a dollop of sor-
cery to get his way."

"No way can this klutz be Cleaver's. Whenever I
sit still long enough to draw a crowd, I accumulate
one of Cleaver's own kind. So who could the guy
work for?"

202

GLEN COOK

I

"Am I a mind reader? You want that, go home."

"Why did Cleaver get after me in the first place? I
just can't figure that."

"At this point, why don't matter. He is. Deal with
that."

I moved slightly. Just a twitch of impatience, really.
But the old cat hissed.

"Patience, boy. And caution. These days a hundred
evils could jump you before you got a hundred paces
from this shop."

"I know." That was why I was there.

She told me, "I'm not going to let you go back out
there till you're better prepared."

Who, me argue? "Thank you. That was in the back
of my mind."

"I know."

"I'd be eternally grateful for any help."

"Don't heap it on with a manure fork, boy. It's all
part of putting the Rainmaker hi his place."

She knew the rules. Never let on how much you
care. If you care, you're vulnerable.

The cat hissed again.

"What? I didn't do anything."

"Never mind Malkyn. She can smell the trouble on
you. She worries about me."

Malkyn. Of course. What the hell else? "I smell the
trouble on me, too. It's a curse."

"Or a calling." Her right eyebrow rose. Excellent!
There was one talent I hadn't known she commanded.

"No. I just wish I could wash it off. I don't want to
get into all these crazy things. I'd rather sit around
the house drinking beer and—"

"You're bullshitting an old bullshitter, boy. I know
more about you than you think."

My cue to hoist a brow.

"That don't slice no ice." She started moving
around, fiddling, muttering. I realized she was naming

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

203

names. "Hey! Wait a minute! What do they have to
do with anything?"

"You wouldn't have met one of those ladies if you'd
stayed holed up. And you ain't going to meet no
more—"

"All right!" Truth is pain. Female remains my great
weakness. A flashy smile and saucy wink can lure me
away from safety.

Grinning evilly, Handsome cleared nonhuman skulls
off a fern stand, started assembling her candidates for
weirdest items in the shop. I started to say something
but didn't get past opening my mouth.

"Give me that stick, boy."

I surrendered my headknocker, then opened my
flycatcher again.

She didn't give me a chance to speak. "We don't
got no idea what you're gonna run into, so what I'm
gonna do is give you a range of generic defenses."

Oh, that sounded good. If it meant anything. "What
are you doing to my stick?"

"Toughening it up, boy. When I get done with it,
you're going to be able to whack right through all the
common protective spells. You see that red thing
there?"

"Looks like a dried-out sow's ear somebody dyed
red?"

"The very thing. It looks like a sow's ear on account
of once upon a time somebody hacked it off the side
of a pig's head. I want you should take it and put it
in your right front pocket. And keep it there until you
settle up with the Rainmaker."

"Why?" She was getting ahead of me.

"On account of the Rainmaker is the kind who
would get a laugh out of fixing you so's you wouldn't
have no more reason to leave your house looking
for women."

Ouch! I needed only about a quarter-second to mull
things over. I accepted the sow's ear, placed it as di-

204

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

205

reeled. "You're the expert." Some fates are too horri-
ble to contemplate.

"Remember it." She aligned four more objects, then
regrouped them. One was a small wooden box given
to fits of angry buzzing. Whatever was in there
sounded huge for a bug.

Handsome noted my interest. "It's more wicked
than it sounds."

"I wanted to hear that."

"It's not gonna bother you, son. Once I tell it you're
its friend."

"Oh, hey, by all means. I'm a bug-lover from way
back. I probably met most of its family when I was in
the islands. I got intimate with lots of bugs when I «j
was down there."

"You always did have a tongue of nonsense, boy."

What the hell did that mean?

She continued, "You don't want to use the little \
devil, don't bother. What they call a last resort. When j
you and your tongue have gotten you into something |
where there ain't no weaseling out, just pop that lid'
open."

"Yeah?" Call me dubious. I stopped being a bug
booster during my Marine days. "Then what? It bites
a hunk out of me and I scare the bad guys away with I
my screams?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it just comes home and tells me
you need help."

Somehow having a bug in a box didn't sound that \
useful if I was in it deep, but Mom Garrett never ^
raised her boys to backtalk the likes of Handsome. *
She always said we should keep our yaps shut when
we were around somebody who could turn us into >
table scraps. There were tunes when Mom was pretty
astute. "Uhm," I grunted.

Handsome gave me the fish-eye, then resumed her
explanations. I did listen. And found my imagination
captivated immediately.

Handsome offered me a doodad that looked like a
wood chip stained red on one side and green on the
other. She told me, "When you want you should turn
invisible to that guy following you, you should rub
your thumb three times across the red side here. He
shouldn't ought to turn suspicious because the spell
he's using isn't all that reliable. You think it would be
handy having him tag along, you rub your thumb three
times on the green side."

"What? Why would I want him following me?"

"How would I know?" She shrugged. "Reckon
that's all I can do for you right now. Time you were
getting along, anyway, boy. I've got paying customers
backing up."

Where? But I only thought it.

The old cat looked at me like she was thinking
about taking a bite out of my ankle before I got away.
Or like she thought she would take a bite, if only she
had some teeth.

Handsome patted me down, making sure I was
carrying everything exactly where she wanted me car-
rying it.

I kept at it. "What can you tell me about—"

"Go on, boy. Out of here. Shoo. Scoot. How do
you kids expect me to get any work done if you pester
me all day long?"

Had she gone senile all of a sudden? Or was she
trying to make me nostalgic?

I treasured my childhood memories but didn't con-
sider those times the good old days. The good old
days never were. These are the good old days, right
here, right now.

Won't never get no better than this.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

207

45

I'd told Morley I would see Quefour while doubting
there was any point. But brave soldier I, dedicated to
my mission, I spent a half hour trying to trace that
most useless of beings and learned that when last seen
he had been floundering around with an inept homo-
sexual murphy in the Tenderloin, which was a stupid
game to play. The wise guys could help him take a
swim with a hundred-pound rock strapped to his back.

The beauty of being your own supervisor is you
set your own hours. If the spirit moves you, you can
procrastinate till hunger boots you into action.

I headed for home thinking life couldn't get any
better.

Of course, it could have a Chastity Blaine perched
on your front stoop when you came home, so damned
radiant all your male neighbors had found some rea-
son to come out and gawk.

She was alone. I broke into a trot, wove through the
crowd, felt the deep disapproval radiating from such
bastions as Mrs. Cardonlos's rooming house. Chastity
was the only woman hi the neighborhood smiling when
I puffed up. "Where's Saucerhead?" I demanded.

"Saucerhead?" She really seemed puzzled.

"You know. Saucerhead Tharpe. Big goof with
snaggle teeth. Your bodyguard. Able to outsmart
small rocks if you give him an hour."

She smiled grimly, not in the mood. "I let him go."

206

"Why'd you do a fool thing like that?" What a
sweet tongue.

"I don't have to worry anymore. It seems the episode
of the escaping patient who couldn't have been in the first
place because there's no record of any admission tore it
for me. The Knopfler Bledsoe Imperial Memorial Charity
Hospital no longer welcomes my services."

"They canned you. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a learning experience."

"Uhm?" Philosophy straight from the Dead Man.

"I discovered that bitter old cynics like my father
are right. No good deed goes unpunished."

"I like his thinking. So how come you're here? Not that
I'm complaining. I couldn't have daydreamed a nicer sur-
prise." I was hungry. I couldn't correct that hanging
around on the stoop. I went to work with my key.

"I guess because you're the only one who knows
what's going on."

"Boy, don't I wish." The door was bolted on the
inside. I let out a shriek that got everybody within two
blocks looking my way. I pounded away. Nobody
responded.

"Is anyone in there? I couldn't get an answer."

"They'd better be dead. If they're not, I'm going to
kill them. They're drinking up my beer and eating up
my food and now they won't let me into my own
house. I'm going to skin them and make myself a suit
out of their hides."

"What are you going on about?"

"How many escaped patients have they recovered?"

"Only a few. It's not like they're trying real hard."

"A couple of them turned up here and I let them
stay." The Goddamn Parrot was in there hollering so
loud I could hear him through the door. I put on
eternity's most forced smile. "You said it. No good
deed goes unpunished."

"They're here now?"

208

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

209

"Somebody barred the door. If I have to break in,
I'm going to carve somebody into rat snacks."

"Aren't you overreacting a little?"

Yes. "No!"

I received a completely unexpected hug. "Guess I'm
not the only one who's had a bad day."

"Once we get in, let's butcher one of the clowns
and discuss our bad days while we eat him."

"Don't be so gruesome. Who are they?"

"Ivy and Slither."

"Are you sure?"

"That's the names they use. What they want to be
called." I pounded on the door and howled some more.
"Soon to be past tense." Across the street, Mrs. Cardonlos
came to her window and gave me that look. I was going
to get another protest from the citizen's committee. How
dare I raise hell on my own front stoop?

I sent Mrs. Cardonlos a smile. "Wait till I get my
next psychopathic killer, lady. I'll tell him you're des-
perate to meet a real man."

"You don't have some secret way to get in?"

"You didn't grow up in this neighborhood, did you?
If I had a secret entrance, the villains would have used
it to clean me out a long time ago."

"You don't expect me to apologize for where I
grew up?"

Careful, Garrett. "You didn't pick your parents.
Just ignore me. I get testy when I can't get into my
own house." I went to work on the door again.

The lady had begun to doubt the wisdom of being
with me. I made a special effort to remain calm and
reasonable when Ivy finally cracked the door an inch,
keeping it on the chain while he checked me out.

"Ivy, it's me. I'm home and I'd really like to visit
my kitchen. Think you could speed it up?" I scanned
the street quickly. Looked like everybody who'd
shown any interest lately was out there watching. Even
a guy with an eyepatch and an earring. I couldn't see

if he had a pegleg, but I knew where he could pick
up a parrot cheap.

The door opened. There to greet me was Slither.
"Doc Chaz. Garrett. Sorry. I was in the kitchen whip-
ping something up. I thought Ivy was taking care
here." Ivy was at the door to the small front room,
looking inside with eyes that had glazed over. "Looks
like he's having one of his spells."

"I'm about to have one of mine."

"Bad day?"

"That catches the spirit of it." Slither wasn't lis-
tening. He was headed for the kitchen.

Chastity asked, "These men escaped with you?"

"Not with me. But they were both in my ward."

"I know Rick Gram." She indicated Ivy. "The other
one is a stranger."

"Slither claims he got in there the same way I did.
And the same guy put him there."

"Grange Cleaver?"

"The very one."

"Maybe. I don't recognize him. But there were four
hundred men in your ward. And I was expected to
concentrate on the female population."

We hit the kitchen. Slither announced, "Not a lot
of supplies left here, Garrett. You need to do some
shopping."

Scowling, I put an arm around Chastity's shoulder
and headed for the back door. I didn't want to be
home after all. With the thumb of my free hand I
stroked the red side of a wood chip. "I'm ducking out
the back way, Slither. The front door ever gets barred
again I'm going to cut somebody's heart out. You
make sure Ivy understands." Intuition told me that
was all Ivy. He been Long Range Recon once upon
a time, but he was afraid of his own shadow now. "My
house, Slither. My rules and my ways."

"Stay cool, Garrett. I got it under control. You and
Doc Chaz go somewhere, have a good time."

46

"I hope every villain in town is camped out in front
of my place." Chastity and I were enjoying a perfect
evening. Nearly perfect. I had one bad moment at a
place where I caught a glimpse of Maya Stuub. Once
upon a time Maya had thought more of me than I'd
thought of myself.

Maya didn't see me. I put her out of mind and had
a nice time.

Chastity was all right. I could relax with her. I told
her tales of the Garrett that was, suitably edited for
modern audiences, and she did the same with Chaz
Blaine—though she didn't say much about her family.
We lost track of time. Time lost track of us. An apolo-
getic fellow with a grungy towel on his arm advised
us that it was time to close. We nodded and apolo-
gized back and left too much money and went out to
wander streets we didn't see. For both of us the world
had come into narrow focus. We were our universe—
that teenage feeling....

"My gods you're beautiful," I told her in a place
that wasn't mine. And she was. More than I had
imagined.

Her insecurities burned through. She protested,
"My nose is crooked and one eye is higher than the
other and my mouth is tilted and one boob is bigger
and higher than the other."

"You got weird toes, too, but I don't give a damn.
210

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

211

You hear me howling about what a prize I am? Lucky
you, not even having to find the end of the rainbow."

"We're all overstressed these days, aren't we?"

"Absolutely." Nobody anywhere was comfortable.
Conflicts were feeding upon one another. "A moment
that loosens us from the cycle of despair is a treasure."

"Was that a compliment? I'm going to take it in
that spirit."

Actually, it was a quote from the Dead Man, but
why disappoint the lady?

Got to be getting old. I woke up feeling guilty about
not having done anything useful about Emerald Jenn.
I watched Chaz sleep. I recalled Morley's comment
about her quality. I remembered seeing Maya. I felt
a twinge of pain.

Chaz opened an eye, saw me looking, smiled,
stretched. The sheet slipped off her. I gulped air,
astounded all over again.

Next time I knew it was an hour later and I hadn't
heard a word from my might-have-beens the whole
time.

"So what do you intend to do?" Chaz asked, having
heard the details of the case.

"That's my problem. Common sense says walk
away. Tell myself some people tried to use me, I made
some money, we're even."

"But part of you wants to know what's going on.
And part is worried about the girl."

I admitted nothing.

"Waldo told me about the case he helped you
with."

Naturally. He wouldn't have missed a chance to play
his big It Was All My Fault scene. "Waldo?" They
were on a first-name basis?

"Waldo Tharpe."

212

GLEN COOK

"Saucerhead. Sometimes I forget he has a real
name."

"And your Mend Morley told me about a case in-
volving a girl named Maya and something called the
Sisters of Doom."

"He did?" That startled me.

"It's pretty obvious, Garrett. You're an idealist and
a romantic. With big clay feet, maybe, but one of the
last good guys."

"Hey! Wait a minute. I'm turning red here. Any-
way, there's never been anybody more pragmatic than
Mrs. Garrett's little boy."

"You can't even convince yourself, hard boy. Go.
Find Emmy Jenn. Help her if she needs it. I'm getting
out of the way. You don't need distractions."

"That's where we disagree."

"Down, boy. When you've wrapped it up, send me
a message at my father's house. I'll be knocking on
your door before you can say Chastity is a naughty
girl."

"Uh-oh." Not again.

"What?"

"Don't get mad. I don't know who your father is."

"You didn't investigate me?"

"I didn't see a need."

"My father is the Firelord Fox Direheart."

Oh, boy. I made a squeaking noise.

"Can you remember?"

Squeak. I don't dally with the daughters of sorcerer
nobility. I don't relish the honor of having my hide
bind somebody's grimoire.

"Don't let the title intimidate you. He's just old
Fred Blaine at home."

Right. What I've been looking for all my life, a girl-
friend whose pop is a frontliner but wants me to slap
his back and call him Fred.

"You'll get in touch?"

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

213

"You know I will, devil woman." I wouldn't be able
to resist.

"Then get back to your quest. I can find my way
home." Cute little frown. "And then Daddy will get
hi his 'I told you so' about the hospital job. I hate it
when he's right, because he's always right about peo-
ple being cruel and selfish and wicked."

I collected a farewell kiss and headed for home
wondering why one of Karenta's leading sorcerers was
here in TunFaire instead of working the cleanup detail
down hi the Cantard.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

215

47

I slipped in the back door. Slither and Ivy were in the
kitchen, one drunk and the other cooking. Slither said,
"Yo, Garrett. The cupboard is bare."

"Need a new keg, too," Ivy slurred.

"Sing, Johnny One-Note," I grumbled. If they didn't
like it, they ought to do something about it.

Up front, the Goddamn Parrot was squawking
about neglect. I wondered if Slither had started eating
parrot chow, too.

I wondered what the Dead Man would think if he
woke to find himself in this zoo.

I said, "I guess that means it's time you moved on
to greener pastures."

"Huh?"

"You done anything to find work? To find your own
place? I think I've done my share."

"Uh ..."

"He's right," Ivy said. His tongue tangled, but oth-
erwise he was more articulate drunk than his sidekick
was when he was sober. "We haven't contributed
here. It's possible we're not capable. And this is his
home."

Damn. The man made me feel guilty when all he
was doing was telling the truth.

"I washed the goddamn dishes, Ivy. I did the laun-
dry. I scrubbed woodwork. I even sprayed bugweed
juice on the thing hi the lib'ary to keep the crawlies
off n it. So don't go saying I didn't do nothing, Ivy.

214

What the hell you keeping a mummy around for, Gar-
rett? And if you got to, how come you got to keep
such an ugly bugger?"

"He makes a great conversation piece. The girls all
tell me how cute he is."

That didn't wake him up, either.

Slither wasn't listening. "And how about you, Ivy?
What've you done? Besides suck down that horse piss
till you make me wonder where the hell you put it
all? You hungry, Garrett?"

"Yes."

"Sink your fangs into these here biscuits. Gravy
coming up." He wheeled on Ivy, but Ivy had gotten
going, headed up front. I shut them out, ate hastily,
wondered if they'd gotten married. Slither started hol-
lering the length of the house.

"Enough!" I snapped. "Has anyone been around?"

"Shit, Garrett, you got to be the most popular guy
in town. Always somebody pounding on your door."

"And?"

"And what? You ignore them, they go away."

"That's always been my philosophy."

Ivy stuck his head in. "There was that cute little
girl."

I raised an eyebrow, which was talent wasted on
those two.

"Yeah," Slither said. "Ivy answered that one. He's
a sucker for a skirt."

Ivy shrugged, looked embarrassed.

"Well, guys?"

"I don't know," Ivy said. "I didn't understand."
Hardly the first time, I thought. "She didn't make
much sense. Something about could you help her find
her book yet."

Find her book? "Linda Lee?"

"Huh?"

"She tell you her name? Was it Linda Lee?"

Ivy shrugged.

216

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

217

No good deed unpunished, Garrett. I downed a last
bite, knocked back a mug of weak tea, headed for the
front of the house. T.G. Parrot seemed less intolerable
by the hour.

Everything is relative.

I used the peephole.

That was Macunado Street all right. Infested with
quasi-intelligent life. Not much use studying it through
a hole, though. I opened up and stepped onto the
stoop.

I spotted nobody but sensed the watching eyes. I
settled onto my top step, watched the sweep of com-
merce. As always, I wondered where everybody was
going hi such a hurry. I nodded at people I knew,
mostly neighbors. Some responded. Some hoisted
their noses and wished I would vanish in a puff of
smoke. Old Mr. Stuckle, who roomed at the Cardonlos
place, was one of the friendly ones. "How you
doing, son?"

"Some good days, Pop. Some bad days. But every
new day is a blessing."

"I heard that. You got Gert stirred, you know."

"Again? Or still?"

He grinned a grin with only two teeth left to support
it. "There you go." Gert Cardonlos always took the
other side when my neighbors got upset. I wondered
whether she had changed her name to Brittany or
Misty, she would have grown old without growing
sour.

Probably not.

As I watched Stuckle breast the stream of flesh a
neighborhood urchin sidled up. "There's people been
watching your place."

"No kidding?" Becky Frierka had illusions about
getting involved in my adventures. I don't mind having
girls around, but they need to be a little older than
eight. "Tell me about it." You never know where

you'll learn something useful. And me listening would
make Becky feel good.

I don't remember my father much. Mom always said
one of his philosophies was each day you should do
at least one thing to make somebody feel good. She
probably made it up. People like Handsome let me
know Mom did a lot of creative revision. But this was
a good idea.

"Thank you, Becky. That's quite useful." I offered
her a couple of coppers. "Better scoot."

"You took that lady to dinner."

"What?"

"Last night."

"So?"

"I don't want money. I want you to take me out."

Oh. Right. And would I ever hear the end of that?
"How come you know what I did last night?"

"I saw you go out the back. I followed you." She
put on her devil smile. "I know what you done."

"You a dwarf in disguise? You trying to blackmail
me?"

"No. But I could tell you who else followed you,"

Whoa! I hadn't noticed any tail. Not even her. "You
have my attention, Becky."

"You going to buy me dinner? Same place as the
blond lady?"

"You got it." No problem. Her mother would get
me out of it. "Soon as I get this job wrapped. Deal?"

She was suspicious. I gave up too fast. But, "Deal.
And don't think you're gonna weasel out."

"Talk to me about the somebody who followed
me, brat."

"It was a man. A weird man. Not very tall but really
huge-mongous anyway." She spread her arms. "He
walked funny." She showed me how.

"Mugwump," I guessed aloud. I hadn't seen Mug-
wump's walk, but that had to be it.

"Mugwump?"

218

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

219

"Man's name. Probably who that was. He have re-
ally big hands?"

"I don't know."

Great. "What did he do?"

"Just followed you where you went. After a while
he left. He's really weird, Garrett. He talked to him-
self all the time."

"Probably from living hi a neighborhood like mine."
I spied Saucerhead Tharpe headed my way. I could
think of no reason for him approaching with such a
purposeful stride. "Thanks, Becky. Time for you to
scoot now."

"Don't forget. You promised."

"Who? Me? Get on with you." I hoped she would
forget, but I never have that kind of luck. "So who
died?" I asked Tharpe. The big goof wasn't even
breathing heavy.

"Huh?"

"You were charging this way like a guy loaded with
the worst bad news he could imagine."

"Really? I was thinking about Lettitia."

"Lettitia? That off the menu at Morley's?"

"My lady. You haven't met her yet." Saucerhead
always has a new girlfriend. I didn't see any bruises
so maybe this one was nicer than usual.

"You came for advice to the lovelorn?"

"From you?" His tone wasn't generous.

"From His Nibs in there. The world's foremost au-
thority." On everything. According to him.

"Speaking of him, you give him the latest from
down south?"

"Something happen?" The street didn't have the
edgy feel it gets when there's big news from the
Cantard.

"Ain't out general yet on account of it's supposed
to be a big military secret, but I heard from my sister's
husband who's got a cousin works for the Stormwar-

den Burner Skullspite, First Cav Spec Ops raided
Glory Mooncalled's headquarters."

"Our guys have found his hideout about five tunes
already, you silly groundpounder." A good-hearted
fellow, Saucerhead didn't quite grasp reality. He'd
been a plain old foot-slogging infantryman during his
service. He suffered from the common army delusion
that cavalry were some sort of elite. I mean, come on!
They're not even Marines. You add in the fact that
they're dimwit enough to voluntarily ride horses ...

"This was the real headquarters. An old vampire
nest."

Something about his tone ... "Don't tell me."

"The very one."

"Life is weird."

An earlier case had taken me back to the war zone.
In the course of events, Morley and I and some others
invaded a subterranean vampire nest, a stronghold of
horror. We were fortunate. We escaped. We passed
word to the Army. The soldiers took time off from
the war.

The war with vampires takes precedence.

That was before Glory Mooncalled rebelled. Just.

One of my gang had been a centaur. "There's
more?" I asked. Tharpe was antsy. There was
something.

"Yeah. The attack was a big ass surprise. They
barely figured out what hit them before it was over.
They hardly destroyed any documents."

So Mooncalled's deep well of luck was running dry.

"What's the bottom line?"

"Them documents showed he wasn't in the Cantard
no more. Our big boys been chasing shadows."

I have my moments. "And the only documents the
republicans did destroy were ones that might say
where the boss was?"

"How'd you know?"

"I'm a good guesser." This would interest the Dead

220

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

221

Man. His hobby was tracking and anticipating Glory
Mooncalled.

"They get anything out of the prisoners?"

"Didn't take no prisoners, Garrett."

"You always take prisoners."

"Not this time. Them guys never had no chance,
but they wouldn't give up."

I couldn't believe that. However fanatic a group is
there's always a member who doesn't want to die.

"But that ain't why I come here, Garrett."

"Oh?"

"Winger wanted me to—"

"Winger! Where is that oversized ... ?"

"If you put a clamp on it, I might tell you
something."

The best advice I ever got. It repeated suggestions
from my mother and the Dead Man. You have a hard
time hearing with your mouth open. I shut mine.

"Winger said tell you that you and her ain't pulling
the same oar no more but you ought to know them
West End pansies was coached to tell you what they
told you. You was supposed to head off in a new
direction."

He looked at me like he hoped I would explain.

I considered. I thought Robin and Penny had talked
straight. They maybe forgot a fact or three but steered
a tack close to the truth. Why point me at Marengo
North English? Why would Winger turn me away?

Smelled like somebody was dragging a squashed
skunk across the trail. Somebody big and blond with
too much faith in my naivete. "How would she
know?"

"I figure she got it from her boyfriend."

"Her what? Boyfriend? Since when?"

Saucerhead shrugged. "Been around a while, off
and on. She never made no announcement. I don't
figure she wants us to know. You'd come out of your
hole and hang out, you would know, though."

He had a point. Information was the blood of my
trade and connections the bone. I wasn't taking proper
care of either. I did before I moved in with the Dead
Man. "Go on."

"She just wanted to warn you. Didn't want you
should step in anything unexpected."

"That's my pal. Always thinking of me. She couldn't
drop by herself, eh?"

Saucerhead grinned. "You ask me, she don't want
to get close enough you can get your hands on her."

"Surprise, surprise." I glanced over my shoulder.
The boys and bird weren't watching. "Think I'll wan-
der over to Morley's. I'll buy, if you want to come
along."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

223

48

Morley didn't seem thrilled to see Saucerhead. He
gave me a dark scowl. I couldn't understand why.
Tharpe was a good customer.

Dotes joined us anyway. It was obvious immediately
that he was distracted. He listened with half an ear,
kept one eye on the door all the time.

I told him, "I've got most of it figured."

"Uhm?" How did he get so much incredulity into
one grunt?

"When Maggie Jenn left town, she was so bitter
she never wanted to come back. Her lover had been
murdered, his people hated her, but she still had to
go through the motions to keep what he gave her, for
the kid's sake as well as her own. Her old pal and
maybe brother Grange Cleaver played her to get the
skinny on the Hill places he robbed, so she got him
to play her whenever it was time to make her annual
shows. Cleaver was happy to help. It gave him a way
to get into and out of TunFaire without getting gob-
bled up by Chodo Contague. Along the way, he
hooked up with the imperials, sold them some con,
and got involved with the Bledsoe. Bet you he's been
stealing from the hospital and the Hill place both.

"Now get this. One day along come Crask and
Sadler with a tale about Chodo and his little girl.
Cleaver eats it up. This is what he's been waiting for.
This is his big chance to get back into the big time in
the big town. But there's a loose end: Emerald Jenn.

222

She's in the city. A runaway. She knows the truth
about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver. And she'll
tell it."

Morley and Saucerhead looked like they were hav-
ing trouble grasping it Why? It wasn't hard.

"So Cleaver tries to set up an operation here, and
nobody signs on because they know about Chodo's old
grievance. Except Winger. And she starts wondering
what's what. But she smells a chance to score. When
Cleaver mentions he wants to look for the girl without
it being obvious it's him looking, Winger drops some
hints about me, figuring to use me somehow. Cleaver
puts on his Maggie Jenn face and hires me, only I
mess up by letting it drop that I was warned Maggie
was coming. He smells a rat inside his outfit. Who it
is doesn't click right away. Being a good actor, he
doesn't have any trouble staying in character long
enough for me to finish up at the Hill place. Soon as
I'm gone, though, he takes off for his headquarters
and sets it up to get rid of me. He'll get somebody
else to look for the girl.

"Winger hears him sending his men out She realizes
it won't be long before he figures out who told me he
was coming. She grabs anything she can carry and takes
off. She helps me get away from the Bledsoe.

"She gives me a double ration of bullshit when I ask
her what's really going on. She still thinks she can make
a big score, so now she's staying away from me."

Sarge brought tea while I theorized. Morley poured,
sipped, grimaced. Evidently the tea hadn't been
brewed from anything off a tea bush. Big surprise.
They serve nothing normal there.

Dotes was distracted. He was listening, but every
time the door opened he lost his concentration. Still,
he'd remained attentive enough to observe, "Your hy-
pothesis doesn't contradict any of the known facts."

"Hell, I know that. I made it up. But? I can tell—
you have a but."

224

GLEN COOK

"Couple of them. You don't contradict any known
facts, but you don't account for everything that's been
happening around you. And you've done a feeble job
of examining Cleaver's motives."

"What? Wait. Whoa. You just lost me."

"Chodo's kid shirked any of the duties of a
kingpin?"

"Hardly. Ice and iron." I had the gashes and frost-
bite to prove it.

"Exactly. So whatever Crask and Sadler might
claim, being here is a major risk for Cleaver. I've iden-
tified the pro who's dogging you. His name is Cleland
Justin Carlyle. He's a specialist assigned to watch you.
You get three guesses why. Only the first counts."

I nodded. "And, wonder of wonders, C.J. was never
seen in these parts before I mentioned the name
Grange Cleaver to my pal Morley Dotes, once said
pal failed to meet up with Cleaver his own self."

Morley shrugged, which was as good as a
confession.

He had no regrets. He never looked back and sel-
dom apologized. He saw no need to apologize now.
He asked, "What's Winger's angle?"

"I don't know. I doubt that it matters. She probably
doesn't know what she's doing herself, she just wants
to keep the pot boiling till she finds a way to score."

Morley slew a pity smile a-borning.

"You know something I don't?"

"No. You're ahead of me. Though you do seem to
be late catching on to an essential point."

"Really? What?"

"That Winger lied about everything. Right from the
beginning. That not one word she said can be counted
on to be true. That anything that comes from her
should be thrown out altogether."

"Oh. Yeah. I knew that."

I knew it now. Now that I looked at it. Forget every-
thing Winger said. Sure.

49

"I conned Puddle into doing you a favor, Garrett,"
Morley told me. I didn't ask; I just waited for the
inevitable wisecrack.
He  fooled   me   again.   The   crack   didn't  come.

"Uhm?"

"I had a feeling you wouldn't get around to
Quefours."

"Puddle scare him up?"

Morley nodded.

"Waste of time, right?"

"Puddle's still sulking."

"What's the story?"

"Quefours hasn't seen the girl for eight months. His
choice. He broke it off because she wouldn't play his
way. Made her sound prudish."

"And Quefours doesn't have the ghost of a notion
where to find her now. Right?"

"Wrong."

"Huh?" I've always had a knack for witty repartee.

"He said dig around among the witchcraft commu-
nity. The girl is looking for something. His notion was
you should start with the blackest black magicians.
That was where she was headed when they split."
Dotes appended a big nasty smile.

"You saying Cleaver framed her with the truth?"

"Maybe just to get you headed in the right direc-
tion." More teeth. He had to have about two hundred.

225

226

GLEN COOK

too.

Looked   like   he'd   been   filing   them   again,
"Thought you'd get a kick out of that."

"A kick in the butt." It just got more confusing, i
started to get up.

"Hey!" Saucerhead growled. "You told me ..."

"Feed this beast, Morley. Something cheap. LiVe
alfalfa."

"Where are you going?"

I opened my mouth to tell him and realized that I
didn't know.

"Like that? Then why not just go home? Lock your
doors. Get comfortable. Read. Wait for Dean. Forget
Grange Cleaver and Emerald Jenn."

I responded with my most suspicious look.

"You got your advance, didn't you? This Jenn chit
sounds like she can take care of herself."

"Answer me one answer, Morley. Why did she riin
away from home?" Might be important if the whole
thing had to do with a missing kid after all.

"There are as many reasons for going as there a >
children running."

"But they mostly boil down to a perceived need
escape parental control. I don't know enough abo
Emerald. I don't know enough about her mothe .
Their relationship is a mystery."

"What did I just recommend? Don't keep gnawing
on it, Garrett. You don't have any reason. You dor
need any more grief. Turn loose. Spend some money
Spend some time with Chastity."

"What?"

"Gods preserve us," Saucerhead muttered. He
stopped attacking his dinner long enough to sneer.
"He's got that look, ain't he?"

"Got what look?"

Morley told me, "The dumb stubborn look you gc:
when you're about to jump into something without a
reason even you understand."

"About to? I've been in it four days."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

227

"And now you're out because you know it was a
game that didn't take. You did your usual stumbling
around and knocked over everybody's apple carts.
Now it's over. You're out. You're safe as long as you
don't go around irritating people. Consider it a phe-
nomenon. You don't go charging around like a lunatic
trying to find out why if it happens to rain live frogs
for three minutes in the Landing. Do you?"

"But ..." But that was different.

"There's no need to find the girl now. Not for her
sake, which is the thing that would bug you."

"Garrett!" I jumped. I hadn't expected Saucerhead
to horn in. Everybody in the place stared at him. He
told me, "He's making sense. So listen up. Nothing I
beared about this makes me think these folks're really
worried about the kid."

"He's making sense," I admitted. "Morley always
makes sense."

Dotes gave me a hard look. "But?"

"I'm butting no buts. I mean it. You're dead on the
mark. There's no percentage messing with this
anymore."

Morley eyeballed me like he believed me so surely
he wanted to wrap me in another wet blanket. I com-
plained, "I really do mean it. I'm going to go home,
get ripped with Eleanor, grab me a night's sleep. To-
morrow I get to work on running my guests off. All
of them. Only one thing I'm wondering."

"What's that?" Morley remained unconvinced. I
couldn't believe that they really thought I had the
white knight infection that bad.

"Could Emerald be another Cleaver disguise? You
think he could manage makeup good enough to pass
for eighteen?"

Morley and Saucerhead opened their mouths to ask
why Cleaver would want to, but neither actually
spoke. Neither wanted to feed me any reason to go
chasing something potentially lethal.

228

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

229

"I'm just curious. He has a rep as a master of dis-
guises. And Playmate told me he'd always thought
that the daughter was dead. I wonder if maybe the
plot wasn't more complex than we suspected. Maybe
Cleaver didn't just plant clues up on the Hill. Maybe
he created a whole character."

Morley snarled, "You're psycho, Garrett."

Saucerhead agreed. "Yeah." He was so serious c
put his fork down. "I know I ain't no genius like r>
ther one of you guys, but I do know you got to go w>
the simplest explanation for something on account
about a thousand times out of nine hundred nine
nine that's the way the real story goes."

What was the world coming to when Saucerhe
got a smart tongue on him? "Am I arguing? I agrc
Sometimes I think this brain of mine is a curse. ThanK
you, Morley. For everything. Even when you didn't
mean it." I left enough money to cover Saucerhead's
meal, though I could have made it to the street before
anyone realized that the tab hadn't been satisfied. I
figured Saucerhead deserved it. His luck rolled down
a steeper incline than mine. He seldom lived better
than hand to mouth.

Me, I, Garrett, was out of the game. Whatever it
might be. I was going to go home, get organized, drink
some beer, have a bath, scope me out a master plan
that included seeing a lot of Chastity Blaine.

But I left Morley's place with my hackles up, like
some atavistic part of me expected the same old gang
to be out there set to reintroduce me to the pleasures
of the Bledsoe. I was on edge all the way home.

The Bledsoe was a sight, they said. Supposedly it
was disappearing behind fast-rising scaffolding.

My tension went to waste. Nobody paid me any
mind. I didn't even get followed. Made me feel
neglected.

I'd never had a case as exciting as this just sputter

nd fade away, but some jobs have. Those kind usually
«ee me ending up snacking on my fee. I recalled with
pride that this time I'd been clever enough to snag a
oercentage up front.

I wouldn't win any kudos from the Dead Man, but
he would have to admit that I was capable of being
businesslike on occasion, even in the face of a lusty
redhead.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

231

50

Despite sleeping well I wakened restless. I chalked it
up to rising before noon even though Ivy hadn't pes-
tered me. Once again I wondered if the Dead Man
wasn't stirring. I looked in but saw no sign that he
was. But what could you expect? Awake or asleep,
the Dead Man's physical appearance changes only as
time gnaws.

Slither and Ivy were unusually subdued. They
sensed that I planned to move them out. I had a no-
tion where to send them, too. But old lady Cordonlos
wouldn't believe a word I said to make them sound
like worthy potential tenants. Darn her.

So after lunch I consulted someone who might actu-
ally give a rat's whisker about their welfare.

Wonder of wonders, Playmate had some ideas. Be-
fore long, my old campaigning pals had probationary
jobs and probationary housing and I found me, O mir-
acle of miracles, with my own place all to my ownself
again. Except for the Dead Man and the Goddamn
Parrot. That cursed bird had gone into hiding before
Ivy could hunt him down and take him along. My
generous self-sacrifice wasted.

It would be a while yet before I saw Dean again. I
hoped. What with Chaz and all....

I talked it over with Eleanor. She had no objections,
so I wrote a letter and hired a neighborhood kid to

230

deliver it to Chastity. He insisted on a bonus for ap-
proaching a wizard's house.

I checked and rechecked the street while I gave the
little mercenary his instructions. I saw no one even
vaguely interested in the Garrett homestead. Even my
neighbors were ignoring me. Still, I was uneasy.

I squabbled with the Goddamn Parrot till that got
old, then communed with Eleanor. I was lonely. Your
social circle isn't much when it consists of a talking
bird, a painting, and a character who hasn't only been
asleep for weeks and dead for centuries, he hasn't
been out of the house since you met him.

My friends were right. This was no way to live.

There was a knock. I would've ignored it had I not
been expecting to hear from Chaz.

Even so, I used the peephole.

It was the kid. He held a letter up. I opened the
door, tipped him extra, checked the lay of things
again, still saw nothing unusual. I like it that way.

I settled behind my desk, read, then shared the news
with Eleanor. "Chaz says she's gonna pick me up.
How about that? One bold wench, eh?"

After a pause, I continued, "All right. Call her a
role-breaker, not a bold wench. And she's gonna stay
nontraditional. Taking me someplace she likes. And
she's bringing her father."

Only a painting, I reminded myself. This chatter was
only an affection. No way could Eleanor taunt me
with a spectral snicker.

I didn't much want to meet Chaz's pop, him being
one of the top twenty double-nasty wizards infesting
this end of the world. I hoped he wasn't a real old-
fashioned kind of dad. I don't deal well with foamy-
mouthed avengers of soiled virtue.

Another ghostly guffaw? "She says he just wants to
ask about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver."

Right. That worried me more than if she'd tipped
me to expect a daddy smoking with outrage.



232

GLEN COOK

No good kicking and screaming now.

Eleanor insisted this was a great opportunity to
make contacts among the high and mighty. "Right,
babe. You know how I value my contacts among the
rich and infamous. Exactly what I've always never
wanted."

I went to make myself lunch.

My guests had left me my shoes and half a pitcher
of water.

51

I went into that evening with my philosophy of life
firmly fixed in mind: expect the worst and you can't
possibly be disappointed. Chastity's old man was a
boomer. If he took a notion, he could flatten me like
a cow patty and skip me across the river.

He surprised me. He was no centenarian gargoyle.
He looked like an ordinary guy barely on the lying
side of fifty. His black hair had gone half silver. He
had a small paunch and stood four inches shorter than
me. He was groomed till he gleamed. He glowed with
good health. Those were obvious badges of power.
But he dressed no better than me. And he had the
tanned and roughened skin of a guy who spent a lot
of time outdoors. He didn't seem taken with himself,
either.

He turned out to be one of those guys who is such
a good listener you tell things you didn't know you
knew. That skill would have served him well in the
war zone. The best leaders are those with ears.

He interrupted only twice, with penetrating ques-
tions. Before I finished, I adopted the attitude I take
when reporting to the Dead Man or chatting with El-
eanor. I talked to me, thinking out loud.

I finished. Chaz looked at her father. He stayed
clammed. I asked, "So how come you're interested?
Because of Chaz and the hospital?" He called her
Chaz, too.

233

234

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

235

"Our home was looted during the crime spree that
paralleled Teodoric's affair with Maggie Jenn."

I gave Chaz a mild fish-eye. She hadn't mentioned
that.

"A few items were recovered. They traced back to
a Grange Cleaver—who couldn't be found."

"You didn't connect him with the hospital
Cleaver?"

"I wasn't here when Chaz decided to work charity.
Nor would I have looked for a thief in such a high
place."

"No? I think I'd look there...." I got control of
my mouth when Chaz kicked me under the table.

The firelord's expression told me I was fooling no
one. He was right, really. We look for shady character;
in the shade. Unless we're cynics.

"I always thought Jenn was involved, Garrett. That
raid took military timing. No outsider knew the family
schedule. But you can't accuse the royal mistress of
theft."

"I see." Sort of. Chaz offered a smile meant to give
me heart. Didn't work. I had a notion where her dad
was headed.

I wasn't wrong.

Blaine said, "I'm as vindictive as the next guy. Even
now I can't go after Jenn, however much the royals
hate her. They take care of their black sheep, too. But
Cleaver has no friends that count and no guardian
angels. Chaz says she told you we know Colonel
Block. I'm pulling strings with the Guard and else-
where, but I'd really like you to find Cleaver. If Block
does it, it ends up on a court docket. I want to deal
with Cleaver personally."

Ker-pungk! The daddy of all fat leather wallets hit
the table. "Nice workmanship," I noted.

Faint smile. "Chaz gives you glowing reviews, Gar-
rett. Westman Black, though, suspects that you can't

dance on water." I gave Chaz a look. She reddened.
"But I know Block, so I solicited other opinions."

Was I supposed to be impressed? Blaine had begun
to sound pompous.

Maybe there was a problem with my hearing.

I gave the Firelord an opportunity to appreciate my
raised eyebrow trick. It worked. He told me, "They
say you're the best but you're no self-starter." He ca-
ressed that wallet like it was a special lady. "Devil
snatch you, man! Don't you have a bone to pick with
Cleaver? You could've spent your life hi a lunatic
ward." He edged that wallet half a foot closer.

Chaz smiled, nodded encouragement. Maybe her
daddy danced on water, too.

"I did talk to Block, Garrett. There's more than
money here." Caress, caress. "There's a letter of intro-
duction over my chop. Use it any way you want. It
says you're my agent and anyone who won't help you
just might find life unrewarding. There's also a warrant
from the good colonel that you can use to comman-
deer help from city employees. There are letters of
credit that should be sufficient to cover your expenses
and fees."

Oh? And the damned wallet jingled like it was
stuffed with more gold than a troll could hoist.

Chastity's old man had come prepared to do busi-
ness. He didn't expect to go home disappointed. And
I couldn't argue with him.

He wouldn't let me.

He was like all his class—though he did seem in-
clined to play fair.

Chaz kept right on saying nothing and grinned like
she was watching me being inducted into paradise. I
stalled. "I'm not sure what you want."

"Find Grange Cleaver for me. Bring him to me or
lead me to him. Once we're face-torface, you're out
of it."

Reluctantly, like that wallet was a real troll-buster,

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DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

237

II:

I dragged his bribe toward me. I peeked. I saw pretty
calligraphy, nifty official seals, a sweet double handful
of shiny gold. And ... a wishbone? "A killing bone?"
I asked.

"What? Oh. That's right. You served in the islands."
Where the natives owned their own special nasty magic.
To which Karenta and Venageta reacted by exterminat-
ing its practitioners wherever they were found.

"Yes." Growl and scowl.

"This isn't that. This is just a gimmick. Should you
get into terrible trouble, spit on the bone. You'll go out
of focus to anyone concentrating on you. Any disinter-
ested observer will see you fine, but somebody trying to
kill you won't be able to fix on you. Clever, eh?"

Maybe. I didn't say so. I didn't say his kind were
so clever they fooled themselves most of the time.

"All right. It isn't much. My talents run more toward
smashing cities."

And Chaz kept on smiling like she meant to melt
me down.

The firelord excused himself. "Got to run. You'd
think I could back off and take it easy now we've won
the war. You two don't need me getting in the way,
anyhow."

This guy couldn't be real. I waved bye-bye. My new
boss. Like it or not.

The thrill doesn't last like it used to.

"Isn't it great?" Chaz asked. She was so excited. I
wondered if somebody had hit her with a stupid spell.

"What?"

Her smile turned puzzled. "What's the matter?"

"Your daddy." I kept a firm grasp on that wallet.

"I don't understand." She thought I should be
pleased.

"I'm concerned about his agenda."

"Was he indirect? Did he blow a lot of smoke?"

"No." I couldn't deny that. "What do you recall
about this big ripoff?"

"Nothing. I wasn't here."

"Uhm?" I reached deep into my trick bag and came
up with my best eyebrow lift. That drives them wild.

"I was away at school. Being finished. Boys go to
the Cantard as subalterns." Her class, she meant.
"Debs go to finishing school."

"Let's don't fight." Especially since I'd survived a
face-to-face with a father who wasn't overburdened
with ordinary paternal prejudices.

"Daddy's people are rustics, hon. He doesn't fake
it. Forget his fire talent. He calls it a curse," She kept
scooting her gorgeous little tail ever closer. I didn't
think she wanted to talk about Daddy anymore.

But I had to ask, "Is this like him?"

"What?"

"Would he hire somebody to hunt somebody so he
could settle an old grudge?"

"Maybe. We only got robbed one time. I know he's
never stopped being mad about it. He'd go burn some-
thing down whenever he got thinking about it."

Interesting. Even curious. Not for an instant had he
come across as hagridden.

"Come on, Garrett. Forget all that," Chaz cajoled.

"Yeah? Think I should?"

"I think you should think about what the doctor
wants to prescribe."

I did my eyebrow thing. "Not another thought in
my head." She did an old female trick back that set
me to drooling on myself.

In a perfectly cool, rational, businesslike voice she
said, "Daddy's paying. Make a pig of yourself."

"Oink, oink. But not here."

"Oooh! Promises, promises. Better be careful. I
don't have to work tonight."

That was the best idea I'd heard in a while, but
because she was one gorgeous woman, I let her have
the last word.

52

A couple of regulars actually lifted welcoming paws
when I drifted into Morley's place. The attitude didn't
infect management, though. Puddle scowled like he
was trying to remember where he put that damned rat
poison.

Morley was in a good mood, though. He bounced
downstairs as my tea arrived.

I said, "I know that look. You just won big on the
water spider races. Or somebody's wife tripped and
you ravished her before she could get up."

He showed me a mouth like a shark's. "I gather
you're doing some ravishing yourself."

"What?"

"You were seen with a stunning blonde in a place
way out of your class."

"Guilty. How'd you know?"

"You won't like the answer."

"Yeah? Hit me with the bad news. I'm overdue."

"A couple came in late last night. Slumming. He
was mister Flashy. She was Rose Tate. She'd seen you
earlier."

"Bet she had her nasty smile on." Rose Tate was
the cousin of my lapsed girlfriend, Tinnie Tate. And
Rose had a grudge.

"She did. You're going to star in some interesting
girl talk."

"No doubt. But Tinnie knows Rose. Rose mention
who else I was with?"

238

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

239

"You running a string?"

"Chaz brought her dad." I told the tale, then asked,
"You ever seen Blaine?"

"No. Why?"

"Wondering about ringers again."

"You think Chastity is jobbing you, too?"

"It's paranoia time, Morley. My world has stopped
making sense."

"When you're well paid, sense needn't enter the
equation. Right?"

"But it helps."

"You're concerned about coincidence."

"What are the chances Chaz would work the same
place as a thief that robbed her father?"

"What are the odds you'd get thrown in there where
you could meet her? A lot longer, I'd say."

"How come?"

"Where would a female doctor have the best chance
of getting started? Where would the imperials set
Cleaver up if they wanted to put him into TunFaire?"

"You figure he's into something with them?"

"My guess is they think they are, but he's only using
them so he can slide in and out of town without being
noticed by people he used to know. You'll recall he
meant nothing to Chastity at first."

"And her father?"

"You'll have to do your homework there."

"I've started. His place was cleaned out. It was one
of the big jobs of the time. He only got back to town
day before yesterday."

"After this started."

"And he's been away for years. Only came home
for a few days each winter." Winter is the slack season
in the war zone.

Morley looked at me hard, shook his head. "Your
real problem is common sense is nagging you."

"What?"

"You can't let this thing alone. You have to keep

240

GLEN COOK

picking at it. You set yourself up so you'd find an
excuse. Now that you've done that common sense
wants to make a comeback. Forget the Rainmaker,
Garrett."

I jacked one eyebrow way, way up. "Oh?" Did he
have a private line on Cleaver?

"He's on a traveling bullseye now, Garrett. Not
mine. You get too close you could get hit by the volley
that gets him." He gestured as though to push me
away. "Go. I'll find out what I can about your lady's
father."

53

Had to be magic. By the time I got home, after visiting
a couple war buddies now in the extremist human
rights movement, my place was surrounded. Ferocious
pirates lounged on convenient corners. The guy from
the outfit was back, with friends. The clumsy guy was
there, and not alone, though I only glimpsed Winger
before she vanished.

I'd even attracted some new folks. How many
friends and enemies did the Rainmaker have?

I should have gathered the crowd and suggested we
set up a pool, reduce duplication of effort, but I got
distracted.

Slither and Ivy were camped on my front stoop.

Ivy had the good grace to blush. "We got thrown
out," he told me. "I was trying to explain something
to a guy and accidentally said the P word."

"What? What do you mean, the P word?" I checked
Slither. The man looked awful.

"You know. Where he goes berserk."

Powziffle. Right. "Just out of curiosity, does he re-
member what he does after he hears that?"

The answer seemed a little much for Ivy's overtaxed
intellect. He shrugged. I had a good idea, though.
Might go a ways toward explaining Slither's problems.

Somewhere, sometime years ago, somebody twisted
his mind trying to turn him into a human weapon, his
trigger a nonsense phrase. Who and why didn't matter
anymore, but they botched the job. Slither was out of

241

I!

242

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

243

control. He went into the Bledsoe improperly, but h
belonged there. Out here he was going to get worst
till somebody killed him.

Half the men roaming TunFaire belong inside some
where. There aren't that many sane folks around, not
that cross my path.

I went inside. The boys followed. Ivy headed for
the small front room. The Goddamn Parrot started
up. I paused to use the peephole. Morley must have
run through the streets screeching about me bein
back on the job.

Interesting to note that the Rainmaker's pals were
out as fast as his enemies. I wondered if some of those
guys worked for Chastity's daddy.

With the boys so thick, it wasn't possible they were
unaware of one another. That suggested possibilities

If I was working for the outfit and thought some
body nearby worked for Cleaver, I'd snatch him and
forget about Garrett. Were the lot so lazy they wanted
me to do their work for them? Nah. They had to know
about my lack of ambition.

Slither must have lost the landmarks blazing the
trail to the kitchen. He just tagged along after Ivy
While the boys renewed acquaintances with TGD Par-
rot, I hit the kitchen fast and got my meager stores
put out of sight.

Some forsaken jerk started pounding on the door.
His knock was so diffident I almost let it go.

The Goddamn Parrot was heaping the Garrett lin
cage   with  fulsome   praise.   "Strangle   that  jungle
chicken. I'm going to sell the feathers." I returned to
the peephole.

Where did they find these guys? Slight financial
types, they were the kind of guys who fought their
war shuffling papers. The kind of ninety-three-pound
brain cases anybody who ever did any real soldiering
swore he was going to drown in urine if he ever got

the chance.... Curious. Their kind seldom ventured
into my part of town.

Macunado Street isn't the Bustee but is in a neigh-
borhood silver spoons are scared to visit.

Maybe they had something to do with the Blaines.

I opened up.

Error.

Maybe I did sense something. I did have one hand
on the grip of my headknocker. Useful. Because two
men as big as Saucerhead Tharpe materialized from
the blind spots beside my door and tried to run me
over.

I stumbled back, astonished. I produced my stick.
The guy nearest me tried to tackle me. I drifted aside
and laid my stick across the back of his skull. These
clowns had to be from another dimension. Nobody
tries to take me at home.

The Dead Man doesn't suffer disturbances.

Well, not usually. If I hadn't been busy, I would've
gone to see what was keeping him. He didn't stir a
mental muscle.

That first guy curled up for a nap. His behemoth
buddy scoped it out and opted for a less precipitous
approach. He remained confident. He had valiant
commodities brokers to harry my flanks.

Slither stuck his head out of the small front room.
He didn't look like he could be much help, but he
was behind the crowd. "Hey, Slither. Powziffle
pheez."

My pronunciation was good enough.

The screams for help had died away. I didn't hear
much groaning or furniture breaking anymore, either.
Careful to make no noise, I moved the table away
from the kitchen door, took a peek down the hall.

Ivy had Slither up against the wall, shaking a finger
under his chin. The Goddamn Parrot was on the little

244

GLEN COOK

guy's shoulder, singing. Near as I could tell, most of
the invaders were breathing.

I stepped into the hallway.

"Why did you have to go and do that?" Ivy whined.

"Because these guys wanted to operate on me with-
out getting patient permission." Even the guy I put
down myself had bruises on his bruises. Slither must
have been practicing his fancy dance steps. "He ail
right?"

"He will be. No thanks to you."

"Let's don't squabble. Prisoners of war here. Ge>
it? Interrogation." I opened the Dead Man's door-
like I'd be able to see what the hell he thought he
was doing, sleeping through all this. I saw what I de-
served to see, which was the corpse of a fat Loghy
slouched in a dusty chair.

My pals just needed guidance. When I finished
checking on my one-time partner, the invaders were
trussed like pigs set for live roasting. The action
brought Slither back.

"You guys ever work interrogation?" I asked.

Ivy nodded. Reluctantly, it seemed. Slither looked
dumb. He was real good at that. A natural talent.

"My style is to scare them without hurting them—if
that can be helped. We have four guys here. One
ought to be a weak sister. Right?"

Blank looks.

"We try to figure out which one will tell us what
we want to know without we bust them up."

"Can you do that?"

Why do I try to be a nice guy? Even people on the
side of the angels, my side, don't understand.

I took my pals into the kitchen. We slapped to-
gether a really rough meal while we waited for those
guys to wake up.

One by one they came around. They didn't seem
thrilled with their circumstances.

54

Cup of tea in hand, accomplices at my sides, the God-
damn Parrot cussing like he'd invented the genre, I
returned to the hallway. "All right, boys. Let's play a
game. Winners get to go home with all their fingers
and toes." If they didn't know enough to be wary of
the Dead Man, they didn't know I seldom toast off
villainous digits.

Slither had his own ideas. He broke a guy's arm.
Casual, no big deal, just part of the job, all empathy
absent. When his victim stopped squealing, I said,
"Mainly, I want to know who you are. And why you
busted in, of course."

The clerk type with two good arms volunteered,
"We were supposed to discourage you. Warn you off."

"We're gaining ground. Now clue me in. Warn me
off what? Why? And who says?"

He looked at me like I was retarded.

Maybe he was right. "I don't have a clue, friend."

"You've got to drop what you're doing...."

"Let's try getting more specific."

That didn't elicit a response. "Lords of Shadow," I
muttered, gesturing at Slither. Slither took a step.

"Hold on! Hold on! Mr. Davenport asked us to
convince you that you shouldn't waste any more time
looking for Miss Jenn."

"Good. Except I don't know any Davenport. I've
never heard of any Davenports. Who the hell is he?"

My man got a big "Duh?" look on him. Which

245

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GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

247

meant he did have brain enough to want to find a
connection if he was supposed to pound on a guy whe-
never heard of the guy who wanted him pounded. W
were confused, us two. But I had Slither to help clar
ify. Slither glowered. Slither loomed. I remarked, "H
likes hurting folks. You don't want to go home in
litter, you'd better whisper in my ear. And tell me n
sweet little lies. What'd I do that got this Davenport
clown upset?"

"You're trying to find Miss Jenn."

Miss Jenn, eh? "Give me some details. I'm a detaH
kind of guy."

The staff type went to talking like he'd contracted
diarrhea of the mouth. I squatted beside the flood anc
panned for nuggets.

He claimed a character named Davenport, goofl
buddy of Marengo North English, didn't much lib;
the idea of me maybe finding Emerald Jenn, so he'd
asked some pals to discourage me. His pals had no
idea why Davenport gave a damn who did or didn i
find Emerald.

I poked in a question whenever he paused for
breath. He answered everything. He couldn't shut up
now. In time I did understand that I hadn't gotten on
the wrong side of Marengo North English himself
This was Davenport's alone. Good. I have no desire
to get noticed by the lunatic fringe.

I said, "I know this is going to break your hearts,
guys, but I don't give a rat's ass about that kid. I'm
not on that case anymore. These days I'm hunting a
creep named Grange Cleaver. You help me out there.
I'll forget you messed up my hallway. I won't even go
break Mr. Davenport's arms."

I harvested a crop of blank looks. None of those
guys ever heard of Grange Cleaver.

"All right. Out of personal curiosity, because of all
this, I would like to talk to Emerald. Pass that on to
her. I want to ask about her mother and Cleaver." I

gestured. Ivy and Slither both got my drift without
elaborate instructions. Ivy opened the door. Slither
herded the gang that way. The Goddamn Parrot got
into the game, encouraging their departure.
"Hey! You guys want a talking chicken?"
Sometimes people are just too fast. Those guys got
out without answering or even looking back.

You'd think a talking bird would be a real prize—
wouldn't you?—if you hadn't been around him long
enough to know better.

I watched the watchers watch the flight of the four
dismayed human rights activists. Their going didn't
generate much excitement.

Could I lay hands on one of those fierce pirates? If
he talked, I could get the Firelord what he wanted
fast. Maybe. Cleaver had spent a life being light on his
feet. He wasn't about to convenience anybody now.

I went back to the kitchen, built another sandwich.
I checked on the Dead Man. Out of it still. I went
back to the peephole. Evening had started lowering
its skirts. Which made no difference. The street was
as crowded as ever. My fans hadn't called it a day.

My gaze swept a pair of earringed angels—and I
suffered a mighty intuition.

I knew where to find Grange Cleaver. He hadn't
hauled his buccaneer behind out of TunFaire. He was
still around, laughing at everybody trying to track him
down. It was a game for him. A vicious game. If he
feared he risked losing, he'd cut and run.

I summoned Ivy and Slither. "I admit I wanted you
guys out of my hair. Didn't work, but my misfortune
looks lucky now." The Goddamn Parrot didn't like
being left alone. He started spouting off in a big way.
I stepped over where he could see me, gave him the
evil eye. He shut up while he considered the situation.
"I need you to hold the fort."

Ivy stared. Slither said, "Huh?"

248

GLEN COOK

Great. "I'm going out the back way." I spoke slowly
and clearly. "I'm leaving you in charge. Anybody
knocks, either ignore them or don't tell them any-
thing." I donned my best scowl, faced the Dead Man's
door. Old Bones was way overdue.

Hell, maybe I'd grown too dependent on him. I re-
minded me that in real life you* can't count on any-
body but you, yourself, and you.

"All right, Garrett." Ivy's voice was half-strength.
Was he fading?

It could be worse. The Dead Man says it can always
get worse. Don't ask me how.

I slid out the back way.

55

"What's dis shit?" Sarge bellowed. "I got ta put up
wit' you tree times a day now?"

"Bask in the reflection, my man. Morley is my num-
ber one boy now. He up there showing some married
lady the ins and out of cross stitch? I could maybe tell
him something he wants to hear."

"Yeah? Like what?" I wasn't selling Sarge no
swamp.

"Like where to find some buried treasure."

Sarge moved out.

We've all endured one another so long we all know
when the yak means something and when it's just
macho yammer. Sarge figured I had something, so he
got intimate with the speaking tube. I didn't hear what
he said, but hardly three minutes passed before Mor-
ley descended the stab's. A woman of astonishing
beauty peeked down for a moment, as though she just
had to see what improbability could distract Morley
Dotes from her. From what I saw of her, I had to
consider that an excellent question.

"I'm sorry." The woman retreated, but my imagina-
tion went with her. I hated Morley for having found
her first. How did he do it? "Who was that?"

He sneered. "Wipe the drool off your chin. Some-
one might mistake you for a mad dog werewolf."

"Who is she?"

"No, you don't. I was a gentleman about Chaz. I
suffered in silence while you wasted Tinnie Tate. I

249

250

GLEN COOK

didn't birddog when that went bad because it might
get good again. So forget my little Julie, eh?"

"I'll give you half a minute."

"Generous, Garrett. Generous. How come you're
down here making my life miserable again?" Oddly,
he seemed anxious. He covered by glancing upstairs
like he was thinking about maybe spanking somebody
for revealing herself to the rabble. Then he eyed me
like he really did expect to hear about buried treasure.

"While back I got the impression you wanted to get
face-to-face with the Rainmaker."

He glanced at the stairway. Glorious, lovely Julie
was very much with us even though she remained un-
seen. He said, "Tell me about it."

I wondered. I knew Morley's priorities. Seldom did
he find a Julie less interesting than revenge. "I think
I know where to find him."

Morley cast one more longing glance upstairs. "How
did you manage that? You turn psychic? Or psycho?
Or did the Dead Man wake up?"

"Through the exercise of reason, my man. Pure
reason."

Morley offered me one of his special looks, just to
let me know I couldn't fool a stone with a learning
disability. "I'll bite, Garrett. Where?"

"On the Hill. Maggie Jenn's place."

He made a show of thinking about it before he
smiled nastily. "Damn if I don't think you stumbled
into it and came up smelling sweet. I should have
thought of that. Let's go."

"What? Me? No way. I did my part. Take your
help. Sarge and Puddle need the exercise. I'll stay here
and hold the fort."

"Ha. That's ha, like in half a ha-ha, Garrett."

"Some guys got no sense of humor."

"You talking about me? I gave you a parrot, didn't
I?"

"My point exactly."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

Z51

"What can you do? People just won't show any
gratitude anymore. All right. Let's go see the man."

I smirked. Behind Morley's back. No sense having
him figure out who was manipulating whom. Not just
yet.

56

I began to wonder if there wasn't an alert out withi
my name on it. Three times we tried to go up the Hill)
and three times patrols got in our way. Unbelievably]
bad luck.

Morley snapped, "Don't be so cheerful!"

I started to open my mouth.

"And don't give me that dog barf about never being
disappointed if you only look for the worst."

"You are in a fine mood, aren't you?" I reflected
a moment. "We've known each other too long, you
realize?"

"You can say that again."

"All right. We've known each other ..."

"And you turn into a bigger wiseass every day I
know you. The Garrett I used to know ..." Off he
hared on an expedition into reality revision. We live
in different worlds. He remembers nothing the way I
do. Maybe that's cultural.

The old work ethic paid off. Fourth try we got
through. As we gained the high ground, I muttered, "I
was beginning to think my magic gizmo was working
backwards."

"Your what?"

"Uh ... I have this amulet thing. Somebody uses a
tracing spell on me, I can steer them off."

"Oh?" Morley eyed me suspiciously.

I don't tell him everything. And he keeps things

252

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

253

from me. You just don't share everything, friends or

not.

As we neared that grim gray canyon of a Hilltop
street we grew cautious. I found myself feeling ner-
vous in a premonitory way. And Morley said, "I have
a strange feeling about this."

"It is quiet. But it's always quiet up here. These
people want it that way."

"You feel it, too."

"I feel something.*'

But we saw no one, sniffed out no slightest scent of
a patrol ambush.

We approached the Jenn place through the alley.
And strolled right on past, pretending we were scouts
for the ratmen who would come for the trash.

Someone had employed the balcony route to get
inside. Someone not very circumspect. We judged the
break-in to be recent because there was no evidence
of the patrol having taken corrective action.

I told Morley, "I need to go in there."

Dotes didn't argue, but he wasn't enthralled by the
notion. He observed, "The roof hatch is unlatched—if
nobody cared how we got out before."

We'd left it unlatched because the catch couldn't be
worked from outside. "Just what I wanted to do today.
Clamber around rooftops."

"You're the one can't leave well enough alone."

"The firelord is paying me very well not to."

"All right. Let's don't bicker." Morley looked
around. I looked around. We could've been sur-
rounded by a ghost city. Other than the buildings,
there was no evidence of human presence.

"Spooky," I muttered, while Morley scampered up
a downspout like some pointy-eared ape. I dragged
my bulk after, groaned as he helped me roll onto a
flat roof. "I thought I was getting back in shape." Puff

254

GLEN COOK

"Tipping a beer stein doesn't stress your leg muscles
nearly enough. Come on."

Beer stein? / was getting to be a wiseass? Uh-oh.

Starting after Morley, I glanced back into the alley
and spotted a housemaid on a balcony down the way,
gaping at us. She had come out while we were climb-
ing. "Trouble," I told Morley. "A witness,"

"Keep low, then. If she doesn't see where we go,
we'll have enough time."

But time for what? I had real strong doubts about
the wisdom of my approach, now.

As we neared the roof hatch, I noted that Morley
seemed to lack confidence, too. But he was a dark elf,
partly. He wouldn't back down without more reason
than a growing premonition.

57

We listened intently, heard nothing on the other side
of the hatch. Grimly, I prized it open an inch. Morley
listened with his better ears, peered into the inner
darkness with his better eyes. He sniffed, frowned
slightly.

"What?" I whispered.

"I don't know."

"Someone there?"

"Not that. Open it up. We need to hurry."

I lifted. There was no racket in the street yet, but
I doubted that that would last. Light poured into the
stairwell. Neither villain nor monster rose to greet us.

Morley descended quickly. I followed less swiftly, it
having gotten inky dark in there once I shut the hatch
again. We entered the top story without incident. Mor-
ley kept sniffing the air. So did I. I sucked in enough
dust to have to fight sneezing. But there was some-
thing ...

A sound echoed up from below, a moaning wail like
the last cry of a lost soul. "Spooks," I said again.

"No."

No. He was right. Somebody was being hurt badly.
I'd just have preferred spooks.

We grew more cautious.

Confident that that floor was untenanted, we stole
down a level. I murmured, "We're going too slow."

Morley agreed. "But what can we do?" Twice more
heard that cry of agonized despair.

255

256

GLEN COOK

What we could do was get out before the goon
squad showed.

The next floor down showed evidence of human
habitation. Morley and I held silent debate over the
numbers, which had to have been more than a half
dozen and possibly the whole crowd from that ugly
warehouse.

Another cry. From the top of the stair that led down
to the second floor we could hear remote voices en-
gaged hi argument. Morley held up three fingers, then
four. I nodded agreement. Four. Plus whoever was
getting hurt.

The Rainmaker had his reputation for tenure, I
recalled.

That smell in the air was stronger but not yet strong
enough to identify.

Morley kept hesitating about going on down. I no
longer wanted to risk even a whisper so had to trust
his instincts. As he did start down, something made a
clunking racket on the floor below. We froze. Surprise,
surprise.

Three very large male individuals dripping sharp
steel galumphed across our field of view and headed
down the stair to the ground floor. Patrol thugs. Come
on the scene via the balcony door, I guessed. Moving
fast because somebody tripped over his bootlace and
gave them all away.

Morley whispered urgently, "Hide!" He jerked a
thumb heavenward. I nodded. It did seem likely that
younger and more agile guards would take the path
we'd used.

Our timing was superb. No sooner had we ducked
under the dustcovers shielding adjacent antiques than
we heard lots of boots hustling down from above. I
worried about sneezes betraying me. Then I worried
about footprints in the dust. I couldn't recall if there
had been enough prior traffic to disguise our
movements.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

257

An uproar broke out downstairs. Sounded like a
major battle: lots of metal banging metal, people yell-
ing and screaming, furniture crashing. I guessed patrol
types had entered at ground level, too.

A pseudopod of combat scaled the stairs. The ex-
pected gang from the roof arrived and jumped in. The
hollering and cussing grew ferocious, but I kept
squeezing my nose anyway. With my luck, those guys
would notice even a little sputter of a sneeze.

It got brisk. For a while, despite their edge in the
odds, I thought the patrol guys would lose out. They
lacked motivation. They hadn't hired on to get killed
protecting property.

I never doubted that people were dying.

The guys on the stairs launched an angry
counterattack.

After that the battle lasted only minutes. Soon it
left the house for the street. The patrol bunch hollered
in angry pursuit of those they had routed.

Came a scratch on the sheet concealing me. I
gripped my headknocker, ready for a mighty two-
handed swing. Morley whispered, "Let's go. Before
they come back to look around."

He was right, of course. They would be back. But
at the moment we were invisible—assuming the patrol
thought the people downstairs were the guys that maid
had seen.

The silence didn't last. I picked out a groan followed
by something I hadn't heard for years—the rasp of
a man with a punctured lung trying desperately to
breath.

Morley and I descended in spurts, always ready to
flee. We encountered casualties, all of whom had
rolled to the bottom of the stair ending on the second
floor. None of the four would brawl again.

I knew that smell—now it was fresh and strong.

Blood.

256

8L£NCOOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

259

Three of the fallen wore crude patrol uniforms. The]
fourth had fought them.

"Know this guy?" I asked Morley, sure he knei
pro thugs better than I did. And I had recoj
Hammerhand Nicks, middleweight enforcer type f<
the Outfit.

"Yes." Dotes seemed to grow still more alert.

I told him, "I'm going down." Not that I wanted
to.

I made my feet move. I did want to know.

The smell of death grew dense.

Three more patrol types lay dead in the ground,,
floor hall where the stair ended. Blooded steel laj
everywhere. I found another syndicate character there,]
just less than dead. I beckoned Morley.  "Gerichl
Lungsmark?"

He nodded. "Over there. Wenden Tobar."

More Outfit hitters. Lungsmark groaned. I mov<
away. Didn't want him seeing me if he opened
eyes. "She figured it out before I did."

"Maybe."  Dotes  eased  toward  the  next  r<
whence came the sounds of the man with respirati
difficulties. "Or maybe she had help."

"Oh?"

"Lot of ears in my place." He started to say
name, recalled that this was not the best place,
somebody told somebody and that somebody mov<
fast...."

Maybe, but I shook my head. Likely the Outfit di<
have the pull to get the patrols to do a favor, but..
"They—"

Morley made a silencing gesture.

No. The patrols wouldn't get into it with the Outfit
without they didn't know they were up against syndi-
cate guys.

Come to think of it, the hoods probably did the
logical thing and snatched themselves a pirate off the ]
street outside my place.

Morley gestured again, slipped through the door-
way. I went to the other side, crouching.

We found the fellow with the breathing problem,
one Barclay Blue, journeyman bonebreaker. "Going
to be some advancement opportunities, looks like," I
said.

Morley scowled. His situation was way less comfort-
able than mine. Further, there was the question of
why Contague associates had gotten into a deadly bat-
tle high on the Hill. Not politic, that.

Next room boasted the remains of the main encoun-
ter. The Outfit guys had come from farther back and
met the invaders there. At least one patrol bruno had
carried a crossbow. I counted eight corpses. Four were
Outfit. Some fine antiques had been rendered kin-
dling. Blood covered everything.

I didn't like the implications. Things had gotten way
out of hand.

We entered the dining room I'd shared with Maggie
Jenn. I understood why the Outfit guys hadn't been
willing to surrender.

The stench of death was heavy. Most of the chairs
at the table had dead or probably soon to be dead
people tied into them. I recognized the old guys from
the warehouse, Zeke, the woman who had served
Maggie and me, and others I'd seen on the street.
Nobody's breathing was real robust.

I said, "They were hiding here."

"There were two battles. Belinda Contague won the
first one."

Fourteen people were tied into the chairs. Zeke and
Mugwump were among the breathing. Excepting sev-
eral guys who obviously got themselves killed when
the thugs moved in, everyone had been tortured. None
of the survivors were conscious.

Morley asked. "You see any Rainmaker? I don't.
No Maggie Jenn, either."

He's famous for not being there when the shit

260

GLEN COOK

comes down." I double-checked Mugwump. He was
the healthiest of the survivors.

"Yes. He is. What are you doing?"

"Cutting the guy loose. Sometimes I do stuff just
because it feels right."

"Think you'll find anything useful here?"

"Probably not." I noted that we were no longer a
we. "Probably be a good idea to go." We'd have the
victorious patrolmen back soon and the Guard right
behind them.

A bloody knife lay on the floor, probably a torture
instrument. I placed it in front of Mugwump. "So let's
scat."

58

"Freeze, slimeblog!"

Huh?

I was always a rebel. I didn't freeze. I didn't even
check to see if I was outnumbered.

Neither did Morley. And he was where the speaker
couldn't see him.

I dove, rolled, came to my feet out of view, charged.
Morley attacked from the other side of the doorway,
low, shrieking.

One lone heavyweight had thought he could bluff
me. He didn't pull it off.

Morley smacked and kicked him about nineteen
times. I whacked away with a headknocker rendered
magically unbreakable. Down the man went, his ex-
pression saying it just wasn't fair. Poor baby. I knew
what he meant. Just when you think you've got it
knocked, along comes some clown with a bigger stick.

Morley and I got no time to congratulate ourselves.
More patrol types materialized. After the intellectual
form of their subspecies, one demanded, "What's
going on here?"

Bippetty-bappetty-bopp!

I was not unaware that real heroes flail around with
singing swords while I rated only an enchanted hunk
of oak.

Morley whooped and hollered and popped guys ali
over the place. He was having a great time. He could
hustle when he was motivated.

261

262

GLEN COOK

We broke through. We headed upstairs, disdaining
the front way because every thug on the Hill had gath-
ered to attend the business of counting bodies, cussing
villains, and abusing captives.

My normally abysmal luck failed to assert itself
completely, mostly because the patrol guys were mak-
ing so much racket. They couldn't hear me and Morley
getting away.

"Let's try the balcony first," Morley suggested.
"And quickly."

I didn't expect an easy getaway. Anybody with half
a brain would have posted guards at every potential
exit.

You never know, though, when you're dealing with
TunFaire's bonebreakers. Most can't think past the
next arm they mean to twist. They're efficient and
technically polished within their specialty but feeble
when it comes to planning and making decisions.

There had been a major engagement on the second
floor, back toward the balcony door. There was a lot
of blood but no bodies. Blood trails indicated that
several bodies had been dragged out of what had been
a lumber room last time I looked. My impression was
that here was where the Outfit's invasion first met
serious resistance. I wondered why. That room was no
place to make a stand.

I took time out to look it over.

What the hell?

Seconds later, Morley called from the balcony exit,
"What're you doing? Come on! There's nobody out
there right now."

I finished scanning the vellum sheet, one of several
pages come loose from a book evidently damaged dur-
ing the fighting. The rest of the book was gone. The
loose pages might have gotten lost during a hasty
getaway.

"I'm going to leave you here," Morley threatened.

I folded the vellum, slipped it into my shirt. Best to

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

263

get going and not pique Morley's suspicion. I'd read
the story before, anyway. The whole book, not just
one page.

I reached the balcony, saw that Morley had given
up on me and dropped into the alleyway. I glanced
right and left, spied no trouble moving in. I landed
beside Dotes. "We probably ought to split up now."

He eyed me closely. He's sure that any time I know
what I want, I'm up to something that won't be to his
advantage. I can't fathom why he would think that
way. I said, "Do me a big one. Couple hours from
now I'm going to lead that clumsy guy down to your
neighborhood. Help me grab him."

"Why?"

"I want to talk to Winger. He'll know where to find
her."

He gave me another glimpse of his suspicious side,
then told me, "Be careful. Right now, they're touchy
around here. They'll jump anything that moves."

I nodded, less concerned about me than about him.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

265

59

I wasn't in a real good mood. I didn't turn cartwheels
when Colonel Block waved his clowns off and told
me, "Cheer up, Garrett. It's all straightened out."

"How can you put these clowns on the street if they
can't recognize a pass put out by their own beloved
captain?" What, me worry about getting off the Hill?
I had passes and paper from a troop of heavyweights.

"The fellow who reads and writes doesn't normally
opt for a career in law enforcement. And you'll have
to admit that you refused to provide any good reason
for being where you were found."

"Where I was found? I was—"

"Detained, then."

"And with way too much enthusiasm. I did try to
cooperate. They wouldn't let me talk."

"I will."

"Huh?"

"I'll let you explain. To your heart's content."

A wise guy. I admonished myself to be careful. Qui-
etly. "I was just trying to do what the Firelord hired
me to do. I'd heard a rumor the Rainmaker was hiding
out on the Hill."

Block offered me a try again look. I wasn't snowing
him. His agents would have relayed any such rumors.
"What happened in that house, Garrett?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, Captain."

"It's Colonel, Garrett. As you know. And that's
true. I do have you. If I wanted, I could send you

264

over to the AI-Khar to be held for questioning. It's
entirely possible for somebody to fall between the
cracks there, same as in the Bledsoe."

The Al-Khar is TunFaire's city jail. "Why you want
to be like that?"

"Mainly because I don't like to be jerked around.
I have an eyewitness who saw two men climb a drain-
spout. One of them was dressed exactly like you."

"Without so many rips and tears, I'll bet. Doubtless
a daring youth out pretending to swash a few buckles.
An amazing coincidence."

"Witness summoned the local patrol. Patrol went
looking around and found a house showing multiple
signs of forced entries. Inside they found lots of
corpses and plenty of people willing to fight. I
wouldn't accuse you of stretching any rules, Garrett.
Not you. You're not that kind of guy. But I'd bet that
if I wanted to spring for a cut-rate diviner, I could
place you inside that house. Hm?"

I admitted nothing.

"Give me a hint, Garrett. Who were those people?"

I could discern no obvious profit in keeping my yap
shut and sliding farther out of official favor. "Some
were the Rainmaker's people."

"Was that so hard?"

Of course it was. Guys like me aren't supposed to
cooperate with guys like him, especially if doing so
would save some headaches. In my racket, you're sup-
posed to be troll-stubborn. Apparently, dumb is sup-
posed to help, too. "The others answered to the
Combine. I've heard that a long time ago Cleaver had
some part in the death of Chodo's brother." I doubted
Block was hearing much that was news.

"I see. And Chodo pays his debts."

"Always."

Block had stayed seated, fortified behind his desk.
Now he picked up a folded document bearing a fancy
seal, tapped it against his desk top. "How bad will it

266

GLEN COOK

get, Garrett? We in for a gang war?" That wouldn't
look good on his record.

"I doubt it. You know Chodo's rep. Cleaver had to
hire his muscle out of town. After this fiasco, he'll
have not friends left. His dearest boyfriend is gonna
ask 'Grange Who?1"

Block kept tapping that document. It looked more
legal by the minute. He mused, "So many people in-
terested in Grange Cleaver." He waved that paper.
"Including mine, now." As if only then realizing what
he held, he said, "This just came in. One Grange
Cleaver is to be found and brought before the Court
of Honor of the Magistry of Manpower Procurement.
There's no record of him having performed his obli-
gated service to the realm." You had to be there to
get the full effect of Block's seditious sneer and sarcas-
tic tone.

I grunted. Hadn't I thought maybe Cleaver was a
dodger?

"I'm not going to strain myself trying to round up
dodgers. Get out of here, Garrett."

I patted myself. Yep, I'd gotten back everything that
was mine. Block's crew were almost honest. I started
to take his advice.

"Wait!"

Damn! I knew he'd change his mind. "What?"

"You still seeing Belinda Contague?"

He knew too much about me. "No."

"Too bad. I thought you might suggest to her that
her dad recall that it's to be kept off the Hill."

"Oh." A slightly more than gentle hint that he
wanted all that passed along. "I don't think there'll
be a problem again." Since all of Belinda's thugs
dumb enough to get involved up there were no longer
with us.

I got out.

60

It had been a long, hard day. And it was just getting
started. Aching all over, looking way too much like a
guy who got into one-sided brawls with zealous min-
ions of public safety, I sneaked through the postern
door of the Royal Library. Which was a whole lot less
of a big deal than you might think.

Old Jake was supposed to keep that door secure,
but when he did that his wartime cronies couldn't get
in with supplies of liquid refreshments. Old Jake was
all the security the library had. He didn't get around
so well on his wooden leg, but his heart was in the
right place. Linda Lee had a bad habit of saying he
was me at twice the age.

Jake was asleep. What the hell. There wasn't a lot
in the library your average thief would consider
worth stealing.

I slipped past the grizzled old goat. He was snoring.
I'd seldom seen him do anything else. Hard to believe
he'd been given a job for life because he'd lost his
leg becoming one of the all-time heroes of the Royal
Marines. Sometimes it's better to have your legends
dead.

I went looking for Linda Lee. I hoped I wouldn't
scare many of her coworkers before I found her. They
were easily spooked.

She found me.

I was peeking around the end of a stand of
shelves—stacks, in the approved jargon—when she

267

268

GLEN COOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

269

spoke behind me. "What the hell are you doing in
here?"

I caught my breath, got it back where it belonged,
made sure my feet were back on the floor, then turned
around. "I'm thrilled to see you, too. You're as lovely
as ever."

She looked me up and down. Her cute upper lip
wrinkled. "You just stay where you are. And answer
the question."

I opened my mouth, but she didn't stop. "You really
ought to take more trouble with your personal appear-
ance. Good grooming is important. Come on. What
are you doing here?"

I opened my mouth.

"You're going to get me into bad trouble—"

I pounced. I clapped a hand over her mouth. She
wiggled a little—a not unpleasant experience. "I
wanted to talk about the book somebody stole from
you. Was it a first edition of The Raging Blades?"

She managed to stop wiggling and started listening.
She shook her head.

Startled, I growled, "Damn it! I really thought I had
it locked." I turned her loose.

"It was a first of The Steel-Game. The library has
had it since early imperial times." She went on
about some ancient emperor having wanted to as-
semble a set so he could seek Eagle's fabulous
horde, about how no outsider could have known the
book existed.

I expelled some remarks of my own. "Ha! I was
right! Wrong book but right idea." I produced the
fragment of vellum I'd lifted from Maggie Jenn's
place, a solitary page from The Metal-Storm, edition
uncertain, but people had died trying to protect it
from other people who hadn't cared about it at all.
The intensity of that encounter had set the tone for
the atrocities that followed.

Linda Lee asked, "What about The Raging Blades'?
We've never had a first of that one."

"Because I saw a copy the other day. Somewhere
where it shouldn't have been. But I didn't realize that
until today. Then I thought I could solve your
troubles."

I'd begun developing troubles of my own. Linda
Lee wouldn't stay still. I couldn't stay focused. She
was too close and too warm and had begun purring
like she really appreciated my thinking of her.

"You just come on down here, Jack! I'll show you.
You wouldn't believe me, but I'll show you."

A voice muttered, "I wouldn't believe you if you
told me the sky was up, old woman."

"You fell asleep. You go ahead and lie, but we all
know you fell asleep at your post and let an outsider
get in. You're too old."

I hated that woman's voice almost as much as I
hated the voice of the Goddamn Parrot despite having
heard it only a few times. Those few were a few too
many. It was nails on slate, whined through the nose,
always complaining.

"Talking about old, you been dead three years but
too damned stupid to realize it. Still got people to
make miserable, too." Old Jack didn't care if he hurt
her feelings, but it wasn't likely he would. She was
two-thirds deaf.

"You were sound asleep when I came to get you."

"I was resting my eyes, you impossible hag."
Clump! Old Jack collapsed. His fingers weren't too
nimble anymore. When he got in a hurry, he some-
times failed to get his wooden leg strapped on right.

I gave Linda Lee a peck on the forehead. "I'd bet-
ter run."

"Later." She winked fetchingly. I've always had a
soft spot for women who wink. "Promise," she
breathed, then went to help Old Jack. She ignored the
old woman, who didn't miss the attention. She was

270

GLEN COOK

doing just fine carrying two sides of an argument
herself.

I ducked out of sight. The old man hadn't seen me,
so he started spouting off about frustrated old maids
who imagine men lurking behind every stack.

61

A long, hard day, and not yet done. I had aches where
plenty of people don't have places. I'd walked too
many miles and had been thumped too many times.
Hell, this was like the bad old days when the Dead
Man made sure I got no rest at all.

I told myself I would make one last stop, then I
would hang it up for the day. Then I groaned. I re-
called my arrangement with Morley.

Not Winger on top of everything else. Why had I
done that?

Good soldier, I soldiered on.

I wondered what bean-brained civilian had come up
with that one. Every soldier I ever knew never moved
a muscle unless that was the final option.

I sensed trouble long before I hove in sight of
Wixon and White. That end of town was silent with
the silence that bubbles around immediate, terrible
violence.

The moment passed. The ghouls were gathering
when I reached the storefront, panting over the
bloody wreckage.

One look and I knew smart money would choose
putting one set of toes in front of the other and re-
peating the process briskly. In my case, while facing
in a southeasterly direction. But I just had to take a
fast look around the shop.

271

272

GLEN COOK

Colonel Block banished his henchmen with a wave.
"Cheer up, Garrett. It's all straightened out now."

"Must be an echo in here." Not to mention way
too much sunlight. The stuff flooded in through an
open, eastern window casement at gale force. It was
way too early for any reasonable man to be upright.
Block obviously wasn't reasonable. Tell the truth, I
wasn't feeling real reasonable myself. "We've got to
stop meeting like this."

"Wasn't my idea, Garrett. You enjoy your
accommodations?''

I'd spent a too-short night on a straw pallet in a
stinking cell in the Al-Khar, charged with being a pos-
sible witness. "The fleas and lice and bedbugs enjoyed
my visit." They should feel right at home. Block was
a dirty dog.

"This is where you tell me why my men found you
right in the middle of another massacre."

"Somebody yelled for help and your gang actually
showed up. I was amazed." The old Watch would have
headed the other direction, just to make sure nobody
got hurt that didn't need hurting. "Thought you said
it was all straightened out."

"I meant I know you didn't slice anybody into cold
cuts. Witness says you showed after the screaming
stopped. I want to know why what happened hap-
pened. And how come you were there."

"Grange Cleaver."

"That's it?" He waited for me to say more. I didn't.
"I see no connection. Maybe you'll enlighten me.
Meantime, you should know it looks like some really
nasty black magic did the killing."

I nodded, but I didn't believe it. "That's what
doesn't make sense." Someone made it look like magi-
cal murder. I was willing to bet Robin and Penny had
kept their appointment with doom through the agency
of a devil named Cleaver, once again trying to point
a false finger at Marengo North English. Made me

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

273

think Emerald Jenn was holed up with North English
and Cleaver wanted to bust her loose.

"Why do I got a feeling you're being too coopera-
tive, Garrett?"

"What? Now what the hell do you want? I answer
your questions, you get aggravated. I don't answer
them, you get aggravated. If I wanted aggravation, I'd
stay home and argue with the Dead Man."

"You're answering questions, but I got a hunch you
aren't telling me what I want to know."

I took a deep breath. We were about set for one of
those ferocious head-butting sessions so gratifying to
men of our respective professions. I exhaled....

An ugly little breed stormed in. He scowled at me
like I had no right to be cluttering up Block's office.
I nodded. "Relway." He didn't respond.

"It's started," he told Block.

"Damn them." Block lost all interest in bugs as
small as me. Must be fatter victims available some-
where else. He glared at me, though. "The Call." He
stalked after his secret police chief, who was gone al-
ready. "Get out of here. And try not to stumble over
any more bodies."

Good advice all. Maybe he wasn't a complete
dunce.

What was that about The Call?

Didn't take long to find out. I hit the street. Off
east, looking like it might not be rooted far from my
place, was a growing tree of smoke. I caught snatches
of news from people rushing through the streets.

A bar brawl had turned into major racial trouble.
Humans were going after centaurs. Apparently, it
hadn't gotten out of hand till somebody in The Call
had served up an inflammatory diatribe and people
had responded by firing the homes of centaur immi-
grants. Other species were becoming involved. There
had been some kind of deadly guerrilla battle in the

274

6LENCOOK

scaffolding festooning the Btedsoe. They were losing
ground getting the hospital repaired.

The insanity had begun. I hoped Block and Relway
could contain it. At least this time.

There would be other times. And they would get
worse before they got better.

People were going to get polarized real soon now.

I walked carefully. And went about it visible to any-
one who might have a tracking spell laid on me.

62

Slither and Ivy got on me the minute they let me in
the house. "Guys. Guys! I want this kind of crap I
can get married. I need food. I need sleep. 1 need a
bath. I need that foul-mouth flamingo strangled so I
can do the rest without getting so aggravated I have
to kill somebody." The bird must have saved up for
my homecoming.

I got some money from the Dead Man's room, stud-
ied him suspiciously before I left. Was that a re-
strained amusement I sensed there for just a second?

I sent Slither out for supplies. I told Ivy to let me
have three hours of sleep. When he woke me up, I
wanted food and bath water ready. Then I dragged
me upstairs and splashed me into my bed. The Dead
Man could get the bugs out later. I lay there tossing
and turning and listening to the Goddamn Parrot
cackle for half a sentence, then it was time to get up.

Ivy did his part like that was all he had to live for.
I rose on time. I scrubbed up in my ten-gallon copper
tub. Downstairs, I found a classic breakfast waiting.
Ivy was as drunk as a skunk, the Goddamn Parrot on
his shoulder. The bird wasn't talking. It needed its
whole attention just to hang on. Its breath was worse
than Ivy's. Maybe Slither got him his own bottle.
Good old Slither, looking out for everybody.

I stuffed myself, then told the boys, "I was going to
run you guys off again today, but I don't think I'm
going to have time. Either of you has a good after-

275

276

GLEN COOK

noon, I want you to get out and look for a place, find
a job. I'm not going to take care of you forever."

Slither nodded. Ivy said, "There's some letters for
you."

"Letters?"

"We didn't let nobody see you," Slither explained.
"Mainly on account of you wasn't here. So some peo-
ple wrote you letters. We put them on your desk."

There were three letters. Two showed no indication
whence they sprang. The other bore Morley's chop. It
was a nag about where the hell was I last night? He
couldn't waste all his valuable time playing my games
if I wasn't going to show up.

By now he would know why I hadn't. Him and his
thugs probably thought it was funny.

I opened a letter that purported to be from Maggie
Jenn. She wanted to meet. Oh? Right. "Slither! You
remember who brought these?"

The big man leaned through the doorway. "That
one was brung by a lady. Cute little bug of a thing
with red hair."

Surprise, surprise. Bold little witch.... Oh, horrible
thought! What if this was the real Maggie Jenn, come
in from her island hideout?

No. Because I didn't want that.

"That one you done opened come from your friend
with the funny ears."

"Morley Dotes. I know." I picked up the last one
"How about this?"

"One of them fellas that was here when I had my
seizure brung that one."

"One of those lunatics from the Call?"

"Them fellas what tried to push you around."

That didn't make sense. I supposed I'd have to open
the letter to straighten it out.

It was from Emerald Jenn. She would talk to me it
I would meet her at a certain estate south of TunFaire
I didn't know the estate, but I did know the area. I'd

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

277

met Eleanor out there. Folks down there were a lot
like folks from the Hill—only way more reactionary.
Their wealth consisted of land rather than treasure or
power. A more smugly self-righteous, bigoted bunch
would be hard to imagine.

Emerald Jenn's suggested meeting place wasn't far
from the main estate of Marengo North English.

Interesting.

"How is your memory, Slither?"

"I'm pretty good today, Garrett."

He didn't sound good, but I had to take his word.
"Need you to run over to Morley's. Tell him I'm com-
ing, he wants to get on with what we talked about last
night. You manage that?"

He thought about it. "I can do it. You got it. Now?"

"Always a great time to start."

"Pretty rough out there, Garrett. They're killing
each other in the streets."

"Take Ivy, makes you feel better."

"I was thinking about you."

"I'll take my chances." Wise ass. Do I carry a sign
only I can't see? Garrett's ego. Kick here.

I occupied the stoop in order to field marshal Slith-
er's departure. I checked the street, too. "I know how
a horse apple feels," I told Ivy, who was inside the
doorway and had to have the allusion explained.
"Flies?"

All my fans were back. Except for the fierce pirates.
Grange Cleaver friends seemed scarce.

I predicted that, didn't I?

I shrugged, went inside, and scribbled a note to
Maggie Jenn. Ivy could give it to whomever came
around to get my reply.

63

"Getting predictable in your old age," I told Dotes,
settling beside him on the exact set of steps where I'd
guessed he would be waiting.

"Me? I'm here because I knew this is where you
would come looking. I didn't want you wasting time
stumbling around looking for me."

Invisible sign. Absolutely. "Can we take him?"

"He's caught. Nobody is so lucky he gets out of
what I have set." He glanced left, at smoke rising
in the distance. "Quiet out." The street should have
been busier.

All streets should have been busier. Slither was
right. They were killing each other out here—though
it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Block's heavies
were fast on their feet. And they had the army garri-
son to help discourage disorder.

Trouble never got a chance to grow up.

Too, word was out that Marengo North English
didn't approve. He said this wasn't the time. The cap-
tains of many sister nut groups agreed. They asked
for restraint now, promising license later.

"Interesting times," I told Morley.

"It's always something." Like he hadn't the least
concern. "Well, here's our guest."

The clumsy guy smelled a rat. He was moving care-
fully. Trouble was, his sniffer wasn't sensitive enough.
It was too late by the time he got a good whiff.

Morley waved. "Come on over."

278

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

279

The guy looked around. Just the way he moved you
could tell he thought his luck was with him still. He
was in it up to his chin but knew he always got out.
So maybe this time he would fall up and blow away
on the breeze. A regular dandelion seed.

Morley's friends and relatives and employees closed
a ring. Luck failed its compact with our man. Gravity
didn't reverse itself.

I thumbed a wood chip while Morley watched the
man get a grip on his disappointment.

"Pull up a step, Ace," I told him.

He did, but he had the fidgets. He kept looking for
his lucky exit.

I told him, "I didn't really want you. But I can't get
ahold of Winger." Not that I'd tried.

"What? Who?"

"Your girlfriend. Big blond goof with no common
sense, always has an angle, never tells the truth if a
lie will do. Her."

"Part of that fits everybody in this thing," Morley
said. "Even up on the Hill, they turned the truth to
quicksilver."

"Untruths, too."

"Quicksilver lies. I like that."

"Deadly quicksilver lies." I spotted friend C.J. Car-
lyle. "Look who missed the slaughter at Maggie
Jenn's place."

Our guest eyed us as though he was sure we were
loony. Winger must have mentioned my stint in the
Bledsoe. He never noticed C.J. I said, "No telling
what story you got from Winger. She comes up with
some tall ones. I've known her since she came to town.
I don't remember her ever telling the truth if there
wasn't a profit in it."

Our man didn't reply, but his skill at hiding his
thoughts did not exceed his skill at tailing.

He was inept but loyal. He stayed clammed. I told
him, "I want to get ahold of her mainly as a friend."

280

GLEN COOK

That hadn't been the case the night before. A few
hours had altered my perspective. "I no longer think
she could tell me anything I don't know. I am sure I
know a few things she doesn't. Things that could get
her killed. Maybe right after they get you killed."

Not only did I get him thinking, I got his attention.

He didn't plan to die for love. Guys just aren't ro-
mantic anymore. He had something going with
Winger—and he had a real good idea just what that
was worth.

He didn't speak up, though.

"She isn't going to get those books," I told him.
"Not a chance. All the guts and luck you can muster
won't get that done."

The man stayed clammed. So did Morley, though
he looked like he wanted to hear more. I told him,
"When you get past all the blown smoke, Winger and
Cleaver are after a set of first editions of When No
Ravens Went Hungry. Winger has the notion she can
get them away from the Rainmaker." She had an even
sillier notion that she could decipher the clues in them
once she had them.

"The woman doesn't suffer from any lack of self-
confidence."

"Trouble is, she's digging through the wrong hay-
stack. The Rainmaker doesn't have the firsts. He could
have grabbed them all, but he didn't pay attention so
the one he did come up with got away."

Morley gave me a big evil dark-elf grin. "Why do I
get the feeling you're going to explain everything
again? How come I have the notion I ought to bet
the deed to the Joy House against you?"

I snarled at our captive, "Tell Winger she's wasting
her dreams. Cleaver can't lay hands on more than two
books. Go on. Get out of here."

Baffled, the man went, maybe thinking he had
found another angle to his luck.

Morley asked, "What was that? I set up a major

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

281

operation, then you mutter some cryptic stuff at the
guy and let him go."

"You fooling somebody? You know this mess has
got to do with Eagle's treasure."

"Maybe. Sort of. I had a passing interest when I
thought you'd stumbled onto something there in the
West End."

"What you told me then was the key to the whole
thing," I exaggerated. That wasn't a lie. Not really.
Not exactly.

The truth was I was guessing again, playing with the
known information. I had it figured out. but as Dotes
hinted, I'd been wrong before. I yelled after Winger's
friend, "Tell Winger what I said." To Morley, "She'll
ignore me and do something dumb, but this way my
conscience will be satisfied."

64

I expected more grief about letting Winger's guy go.
But after the one snip, Morley leaned back and, ap-
parently, never gave it a second thought.

I started to nag him....

"Can it, Garrett. Once upon a time I had a notion.
But I changed my mind."

I awarded him the grandfather of ail raised
eyebrows.

"Last night Julie wasn't there to distract me. I got
to thinking about Eagle's saga. And guess what I real-
ized? Nowhere does it say that the jerk was really
rich—by our standards."

I indulged in a self-satisfied smirk. My good buddy
was telling me I'd figured the angles right. "You ever
wonder how Eagle murdered those slaves? If he was
so blind and feeble he needed them to haul and bury
his treasure, how could he get the angle on them slick
enough to off them all?"

Obviously, Morley hadn't wondered. "Sometimes I
do like the way your mind works, Garrett."

"Let me tell you something you maybe don't
know." I hadn't known till I got it from Linda Lee,
back when I was reading sagas. "Most of the sagas
were composed at the instigation of the guys they're
about. The No Ravens thing was done by Eagle's sis-
ter's grandson, partly in collaboration with the old
man himself. And they started long before the busi-

282

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

283

ness of the mocking women, the treasure, and the
murdered slaves."

"I'm sure you'll get to the point eventually."

"You see it. Unless you're slower than you pretend.
Say a guy is paying to have puff stories written about
him. Not only will he decide what he wants put in
and built up, he'll decide what gets played down or
left out."

"You mean like maybe Eagle wasn't a big success
just because he was treacherous and quick with a
blade? Maybe he had a small natural talent as a
wizard?"

"Bingo! He was accused by others, but obviously
it wasn't anything major, nothing backed by formal
training. He wouldn't have stayed quiet about it if
he'd had a sheepskin declaring him a heavyweight ass-
kicker. But he had something that helped him slide
through the tight places."

"There'll be curses on the treasure, then."

"That's the way these things are done."

"There'll be ill-tempered ghosts in the neigh-
borhood."

"What are murders for?"

The Eagle sort isn't uncommon. Usually he tries to
parlay his lucky genetic draw into a big, fast score.
Manipulating the fall of dice is a favorite pastime.
Hobbling around on crutches after getting found out
is another.

"Also, if you ask me, it couldn't be much of a trea-
sure, even if it hasn't been found. They figured wealth
different back then."

"Indeed. And here's a thought." Which he didn't
bother to relate.

"Well?" I snapped.

"Just checking to see if you've taken up your part-
ner's evil habit of reading minds. Or have started rea-
soning from the available evidence."

"Not me."

284

GLEN COOK

"Silver, Garrett. Silver. You said it. They figured
wealth differently in primitive times. Silver wasn't
worth much."

It was now, though. Even with the war seemingly
settled and the mines solidly in Karentine hands, the
silver shortage was severe. The disappearance of silver
coinage threatened to strangle business.

Silver fuels most heavyweight sorcery. Lately its
value has been on a par with gold. The Royal Mint
has been valiant in its efforts to produce alternate
means of exchange, some of which are pretty
unwieldy.

Silver. An apparent opportunity to unearth an old
cache would excite all sorts of greed.

"By the Devil Harry," I swore, rolling out one of
my granny's favorites. "Maybe you just tripped over
the real core of the thing." That might even explain
why a nose-hoister like Marengo North English would
take an interest in the daughter of the notorious Mag-
gie Jenn. It might explain why all this insanity had
come to a head at this point in time.

The silver shortage wasn't likely to ease soon.
Maybe never if the wrong people grabbed control of
mine production.

"But what do I do about it?" I muttered.

Morley frowned my way. "Excuse me?"

"I think you're right. We have all sorts interested
in Eagle's treasure because of the distorted metals
market. People who wouldn't have given it a thought
in normal times. Probably including my honey's
daddy."

"Here comes that explanation." He stunned me by
hoisting an eyebrow.

I got my breath back. "You been practicing."

"Almost forever. What about Chaz's father?"

"Call it intuition, but I'd bet your deed to the Joy
House that what he really hated losing to the Rain-
maker and Maggie back when was a first edition of

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

285

the middle volume of When No Ravens Went Hungry.
Which Emerald took when she ran away from home.
Which she gave to Wixon and White for safekeeping,
or they got it away somehow. That book is why I was
hired. It's why Emerald was framed up with the black
magic stuff. Cleaver knew where she was. He couldn't
get to her. He thought he'd toss me in there to butt
heads with the human rights guys and maybe break
her loose."

I rolled right along till I took note of Morley's smug
smile. He stared into infinity, listening with half an
ear. "What?"

"I was right. It's another explanation. You realize
your theories clash?"

"We're not talking mutually exclusive, though. We
have a lot of secret motives driving people. You aren't
helping me for the same reason I'm helping Chaz's
pop."

"I won't argue that, though I wish I was. You made
up your mind yet?"

"Huh?"

"About what to do now."

"I'm going to stroll out to this estate. See what Em-
erald says."

"Flashing more nerve than brains, Garrett. You're
jumping into deep doodoo."

I laughed. The professional lifetaker couldn't say
one word that flowed easily from naughty six-year-
olds. "With my eyes open."

"You're doing a Winger on me, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You've got an angle."

"I'm just not as paranoid as you. And I know how
to talk to those people. You stroke their egos and let
them think you love the cracks in their pots and they'll
act like you're visiting royalty."

Dotes didn't agree but didn't argue. He suggested,
"Maybe you'll take Saucerhead along?"

65

I didn't take Saucerhead. I didn't need any help. I was
just going to chat with a teenage girl.

I didn't take anybody but me because I sold myself
the notion that Marengo North English was commit-
ted to an old-fashioned, rigidly fair way of doing
things.

So I fooled myself. Eagerness to meet Emerald Jenn
didn't take me anywhere near Marengo North English.
The estate belonged to the character who had sent his
pals to roust me, a fact I could have determined had
I bothered to do a little homework before hitting the
trail. One Elias Davenport owned The Tops. Elias
Davenport thought Marengo North English was a
candyass who was just pussyfooting around the human
rights thing. Elias was ready to act.

I didn't listen when Slither told me who brought
Emerald's invitation.

Getting onto the grounds of The Tops wasn't a
problem. Managing a sit-down with Emerald was a
little more trouble.

Silly me. I thought they'd let me see her, get me
out of their hair, forget the whole thing. I had no idea
they were out of control.

I figured it out, though.

The guys who smiled me through the manor gate
shed their senses of humor when the gate chunked
shut. Their eyes got mean. They kept on grinning, but

286

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

287

the only part of the joke they wanted to share was
the punchline. Kidney high.

The guys who'd visited my place ambled out of the
shrubbery. Didn't look like their manners had
improved.

They made me so nervous I hit them back first,
shielded by the spell that put me out of focus to any-
body trying to concentrate on me. Damn, that was a
neat one! They hopped and flailed and swung and
cussed and missed me like a bunch of drunks. Mean-
while, I was hard at work with my mystical head-
knocker, scattering unconscious bodies. Davenport's
gardeners were going to be busy picking up fertilizer
for a while.

I amazed myself. But we're all capable of amazing
behavior once we're adequately motivated.

The Davenport mansion couldn't be seen from the
gate. I undertook an odyssey across vast expanses of
manicured lawn, maneuvering between sculpted
shrubs and trees. Almost got lost in a maze created
from hedges. Gawked my way through an incredible
formal flower garden, thinking half the people of the
Bustee slum (every one a human) could've supported
themselves farming that ground.

The Davenport place was enough to kindle revolu-
tionary fervor hi a stone. Something about it shrieked
contempt for every race.

I didn't march up to the door and hazard the mer-
cies of another Ichabod. Once I spied the main house
I resorted to my old recon training. I sneaked and
hustled and lurked and tiptoed till I got to the rear of
the house. There were plenty of people around and
plenty saw me, but they were cringing characters wear-
ing tattered Venageti military apparel. They were em-
ployed at such socially useful tasks as trimming grass
with scissors. They pretended blindness. I returned the
favor, didn't see their humiliation.

Never had I thought prisoners of war might be re-

288

GLEN COOK

duced to this. Not that I had any love for the Vena-
geti. You got people chasing you through the swamps,
trying to kill you, making you eat snakes and bugs to
stay alive, you won't develop much sympathy if they
stumble later. Still, there was an essential wrongness
about their situation. And the core of it, I suspected,
was that Elias Davenport wouldn't distinguish be-
tween vanquished foes and the "lower orders" of
Karentines.

Elias must have had him a cushy desk mission far
from the fighting back when he was serving his king-
dom. Most ruling-class types get out to the killing
grounds and discover that when they're cut they bleed
the same as any farmboy or kid from the Bustee.
"Sharp steel don't got no respect," one of my ser-
geants used to say, wearing a big-ass grin.

I found a back door that wasn't locked or guarded.
Why bother? Who was going to do a break-in in this
loony nest? Who would dare discomfit Elias
Davenport?

(The name was a cipher to me at that point.)

I don't mind folks being stinking rich. I'd like to get
there someday myself, have me a little hundred-room
shack on a thousand acres well stocked with hot and
cold running redheads and maybe a pipeline direct
from Weider's brewery. But I expect everybody to get
there the same way I would: by busting their butts,
not by burying some ancestor, then raising their noses.

I know. It's a simpleminded outlook. I'm a simple
guy. Work as hard as I need to, look out for my
friends, do a little good here and there. Try not to
hurt anybody needlessly.

That house was a house of pain. You couldn't help
feeling that as soon as you stepped inside. Sorrow and
hurt were in its bones. The house now shaped its in-
habitants as much as they shaped it.

You find houses like that, old places possessed of
their own souls, good or evil, happy or sad.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

289

This was a house possessed by disturbing silence.

It should have had its own heartbeat, like a living
thing, echoing comings and goings, creaking and rat-
tling and thumping with the slamming of distant doors.
But there were no sounds. The house seemed as
empty as a discarded shoe—or Maggie Jenn's place
up on the Hill.

Spooky!

I started thinking trap. I mean, those guys had been
ready at the gate. A minute stalling around while
somebody ran to the house, supposedly for permis-
sion, then they were all over me.

Was I expected to get past them? Was I supposed
to walk into ... what?

I grinned.

Saucerhead says I think too much. Saucerhead is
right. Once you commit, you'd better give up the
what-ifs and soul-searchings, do your deed and scoot.

I moved into the silence carefully, wearing a re-
newed grin. If I ever name my jobs, this one would
have to be the Case of the Burglar Who Was the
Good Guy. I was sneaking into every place I came to.

Not that I wanted it that way. People made me.

66

I didn't have the strength to lift my eyes in search of
the source of the voice that said, "You're a resourceful
fellow, Mr. Garrett. And remarkably adept with a
truncheon." The speaker had the nasal drawl of an
old-line aristocrat, scion of a lineage dangling down
from the age of empire.

I barely retained the presence to wonder what had
happened. One moment I'm trying to conjure a good
rationale for my breaking and entering habit, the next
I'm in a cold red place of echoes, tied into a hard
chair, limp as a wet towel. No mental effort, however
mighty, supplied details of intervening events.

"Pay attention, Mr. Garrett. Otto."

Fingers ungently buried themselves in my hah-. The
helpful presumptive Otto yanked my head back so I
could do my blurry-eyed mouth-breather act in full
view of a guy on some kind of elevated seat. He was
just a terrible silhouette against a scarlet background.

I was too dizzy to be scared. But I was hard at
work trying to get control of my head so I could be.
I recognized my surroundings from whispers about it
by some less than sane acquaintances connected with
the Call. I was in the star chamber of the Holy Vehm,
the court of honor of the Call. Not being an active
member, I had to assume I stood accused of being a
traitor to my race. Only ...

The way I'd heard, there were supposed to be three
290

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

291

judges. The spook in the high seat should've been the
meat in a lunatic sandwich.

I focused my whole being on my tongue. "What the
hell is going on?" I don't know why I bothered after
the first few words. They all came out in a language
even I didn't understand. But I'm an optimist. I kept
trying. "I just came here to interview Emerald Jenn."
Had I been given the tongue of a dwarf while I was

out?

"It takes the spell a while to wear off, lord," a voice
announced from behind me.

Can a silhouette glower? This one did. "I am aware
of that fact, Otah." Otah? Like in Otto pronounced
backward?

I sagged again. A hearty yank on my hair helped
me stay focused on the silhouette. A guy started slap-
ping my cheeks. That helped, too.

Oh, heavens. Another guy stepped in to help the
first. He was an exact copy of the other. Identical twin
thugs? This concept was too bizarre. Time to wake
up.

I woke up but only to find identical cretins waling
on my face. My tongue had lost its skill at dwarvish.
I began to render opinions in only mildly accented
Karentine. And my mind raced far ahead of my lag-
gard tongue. "Do you realize to whom you are speak-
ing?" the silhouette demanded. The guy sounded put
out.

"I did, I could've said something more specific
about angles of approach and velocities of insertion."

The silhouette snapped, "Control your vulgarity,
Mr. Garrett. You broke into my home."

"I was invited. To see Emerald Jenn."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"She not around? Then I'd better be going."

Davenport chuckled. He must have done well at
crackpot villain school because he brought it up from
the pit, full of evil promise. "Nonsense, Mr. Garrett.

292

GLEN COOK

Really." He gave me another chuckle just as good as
the first. "Where are the books?"

"Huh?"

"Where are the books?"

Uh-oh. "What the hell you talking about?" I never
thought anybody would ask me.

"Do you think me naive, Mr. Garrett?"

"I think you're a raving lunatic." Pow! Right in the
chops. Chaz was going to have to do without a kiss
next time we ran into each other. I guess Otto or Otah
didn't agree with me.

I also thought Davenport was a damned fool. He'd
made the same mistake the Rainmaker's thugs had
back in the dawn of time, when they hadn't emptied
my pockets. His boys were fools, too, because they
hadn't bothered to check. Davenport wouldn't have
risked breaking a nail touching me himself.

I had my stuff.

I just needed to get to it. Nothing to that. Once I
shed the twelve nautical miles of rope cocooning me.

"Where are the books?"

"Give me a clue, Bonzo. What the hell you talking
about?"

"Otto."

Pow!

As the constellations faded I suffered an idea. It
wasn't the best I'd ever had. It was going to hurt.

Typical Garrett plan.

"llie books, Mr. Garrett. Unaltered first editions of
When No Ravens Went Hungry. Where are they?"

"Ah. Those books. I don't have the faintest." Could
he have been behind the wrecking of Penny and
Robin?

"I don't believe you."

"You want to sell me the idea a jerk as stinking
rich as you needs to bust people up and kill them and
steal old books over a treasure as puny as Eagle's?"

"The record says that treasure consisted entirely of

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

293

silver, Mr. Garrett. To accomplish its purpose, the Call
needs that silver."

I lost my focus as I intuited the nature of his inter-
est. He meant to become the boss crackdome.

Silver was the fuel of sorcery. Black magic lurked
behind the Call. Maybe the silver shortage was holding
the Call back more than was any excess of reason,
humanity, or common decency. Maybe the guy who
brought the silver in would own the Call. And maybe
whoever ran the Call would own the kingdom if the
lunatics got their racist revolution roiling.

"Marengo North English tell you to find it?"

Elias Davenport said nothing for a moment, which
confirmed what I'd guessed. Then, still not speaking,
he came after me. He didn't exactly bound my way,
though, and when he stepped into a better light I saw
why. He was probably around when Eagle sneaked
off with his slaves.

He had a bulging, throbbing vein in his left temple.
I suggested, "Don't have a stroke, old-timer."

Shucks. He didn't. He just got really mad. He made
a gesture that must have meant punch Garrett in the
face till you turn him inside out because the twins
really went to work.

Felt great when they took a break. Gave me a
chance to spit the blood out and suck some air.

"Where are the missing pages, Mr. Garrett?" Dav-
enport was shrieking now.

67

Yep, it sure wasn't the cleverest idea I ever had and
it sure did hurt. I decided I'd strung them along long
enough. "Shirt. Pocket," I gurgled. "Box. Key. To
house."

Davenport was right hi my face, gagging me with
foul breath caused by rotten teeth. He was so eager
he didn't wait to hear the story I'd rehearsed. He
pawed my shirtfront, found the box I wanted him to
find, snatched it, and stumbled toward his high chair.
Or whatever he called it.

My ears rang like church gongs, but I still heard the
buzz when the whatever in the box woke up. The
twins heard it, too. "Please be careful, lord!" one
squealed. "There's something wrong...."

Davenport fumbled the box open. I knew when be-
cause he screamed to let me know.

If I hadn't hurt so bad I might have felt sorry for
nun, such was the agony and despair hi his shrieking.

One of the twins squeezed my throat "You better
make it stop...." He went to work on his own
screams before he made his point. That aggravated his
backward named brother, who stepped up to maul me,
only just as he reached for me he got a big look of
surprise and started howling himself.

I never did see what got them. They'd tied me up
real good. I do know the uproar attracted people from
elsewhere because I heard new voices rushing around
asking what the hell was going on. Then some of those

294

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

295

started screaming, too. Their shrieks left the star
chamber and dwindled.

Circumstances being what they were, I couldn't do
much but sit around plotting my next move. Despite
my discomfort I even fell asleep (I'm too tough to
pass out) for a while. Probably a long while, though
in such situations the whiles tend to stretch longer
than they really are. I doubt more than a couple
months passed in the outside world.

My big worry was the killer bug coming back, but
when sounds disturbed my nap I learned that I had
more immediate troubles.

"Got yourself in it real deep this time, Garrett."
Winger strolled around me while her boyfriend
watched from a distance. This was my fault. I'd made
it possible for him to track me again. But I'd had my
reasons. They just didn't make much sense now.

Winger wasn't suffering from any overwhelming
passion to set me free, so I didn't act like I was as
aware as I was. I was confident that Otto and Otah
had left me looking well done. I turned loose a moan
that didn't take much acting.

"Think he told them anything?" the boyfriend
asked.

"What? How? He don't know anything."

The boyfriend grunted but sounded unconvinced.
But he'd been on my tail closer than Winger had.

Winger grabbed my hair, lifted my head. "You in
there, Garrett? Where did everybody go? Where did
you send them?"

"Hon? Wrong question," the boyfriend said. He
was over by the judge seats now. "Ask him what he
did to them."

Winger went to check what was left of Elias Daven-
port. "What would do that?" She glanced back at me
nervously.

"I don't think I want to find out," the boyfriend

296

GLEN COOK

said. "There are more over there. Four, maybe five.
All torn up the same way."

"What did you do, Garrett?" Winger actually
seemed concerned. Like maybe she was worried I
might do it again. Maybe she was getting old.

I noticed that nobody was straining to get me loose
yet Winger asked, "They have all three books, Gar-
rett? Or just the one the girl took from her mother?"

I wondered if I could lure her close enough to bite
her.

"Hon!"

I couldn't turn, but I heard them come into the
chamber, at least four men. Maybe more. Things
froze. Winger was at a loss for what to do. I wondered
why.

"Holy hooters! Looka them gazoombies!"

The Goddamned Parrot! What the hell?

Slither moved across my field of vision. For reasons
known only to him he was lugging a military en-
trenching tool. He brandished it at Winger but didn't
say anything.

Next thing I knew Morley was lifting my head, look-
ing into what little could be seen of my eyes behind
the swelling. "He's alive. Get him untied." A second
later, Ivy and Spud went to work on the ropes holding
me. They didn't seem to be in any hurry, though.
"Saucerhead. Cover that door. Sarge, get that one
over there. Looks like they went that way when they
ran." He lifted my head again. "What happened?"

"Mimble sif cubby bunka snot!" Oh, damn! I was
speaking fluent dwarvish again. Courtesy of my swol-
len face and tongue. But this time / knew what I was
trying to say.

The Goddamned Parrot definitely possessed a work-
ing man's taste in femininity. And he wasn't going to
let Winger get away without hearing about it.

She and her boyfriend were making sure they didn't
do anything to get anybody upset.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

297

Ivy and Spud kept fumbling and I kept trying to
tell them not to be so thoughtful of the ropes, just
haul out a knife and hack away. They didn't under-
stand me, though. They kept doing it the hard way till
Morley snapped, "We don't have any call to be careful
of property, Narcisio. The owner is over here full of
holes. A prosecuter won't worry about a damaged
rope."

Saucerhead scolded Winger. Spud and Ivy tried to
get me to stand. Morley faked looking like my well-
being was the only thing of any interest to him. Slither
wandered around muttering and waving his shovel.
Sarge studied the expanse of his belly, maybe contem-
plating drawing a map.

Somebody somewhere shrieked in pain, somebody
not there in the chamber but not real far away. Then
another somebody screamed. Then we heard a furious
buzzing, getting louder. My pet was coming back.

That fool Slither chuckled like this was what he'd
been waiting for all his life, like he'd finally found his
chance to use that killer comeback he'd thought of
fourteen years ago. He told Sarge, "Better get outa
the way, Ace, 'less you want it coming right through
you."

Sarge took a peek at the bodies. He opted for dis-
cretion and cleared the doorway fast.

An instant later, something came through that door-
way so fast it was barely a blur on a course that curved
right toward me.

Slither swung his shovel. He stepped into it, got his
arms extended and all his arm and shoulder strength
into his swing.

Splangf

He dropped the blade of his tool to the floor and
began cleaning it with the edge of his sole. His grin
was huge. "There's how you handle them little boog-
ers. They're fast and they're mean, but you can handle

298

GLEN COOK

them easy if you just don't take your eye off them. I
guess nobody around here must've seen them before."

Morley asked me, "Will you be able to walk?" He
left Slither's strokes to the others.

I tried to ask the big guy where he'd run into those
devil bugs before. Only dwarvish came out. Morley
thought I was talking to him. "Good," he said.
"You're tougher than you let on. Let's get out of
here."

A good idea. After making sure nothing got left
that would implicate any of us. Though I couldn't see
how it would be possible for some of us not to be
connected somehow. There were live people in the
house still, and the POWs outside could be forced to
reveal whatever they had seen.

Winger and her pal tried to turn sideways and
thereby become invisible, but as TG Parrot reminds
us occasionally, Winger in profile is hard to miss.

"We can leave you here," Morley told her. "There
is ample rope now." He indicated the chrysallis I'd
left behind.

"No. No. That's all right." Winger didn't want to
stay. It was likely the weather would turn real nasty
soon. The Call wouldn't know that Davenport had
gone rogue. They would want a blood price paid.

It was all my fault. I admit it. If I'd been able to
shuffle my feet faster, we might not have had to play
in the rest of the game.

68

We never cleared the star chamber. I mean, I was
heeling and toeing as fast as my heels and toes would
cooperate, but we just didn't get far.

Morley bowled suddenly. That startled the rest of
us into freezing. Another bug? I thought. How?...
Dotes leapt into the air. As he peaked out, a guy
stepped into the chamber and presented his chin for
kicking. He dropped like his legs had been cut off,
but a whole herd of brunos stormed in over him. He
was going to have bruises on his bruises and powdered
bones if he ever came around.

Everybody but me got into the mix-up. Ivy and
Spud propped me against a wall and jumped into it,
I stood there so focused on trying not to fall that I
had little attention left for rooting for my pals. I did
try fishing something useful out of my pockets, but
the effort was too much for what meager energy I had
left.

I didn't even realize who this bunch were till Mug-
wump appeared admid the second wave. By then
things had grown too serious to be settled amicably.
We had dead and bad hurt people everywhere, mostly
on the Rainmaker's side, but poor addlepate Ivy made
a wrong move and accidentally got himself stabbed in
the back about forty-five times. The Goddamned Par-
rot ripped the scalp off the character responsible, a
ratman so weeded up he couldn't stop stabbing long
enough to brush the bird off his head.

299

300

GLEN COOK

Slither picked Mugwump up and tossed him about
forty yards, then headed for the Rainmaker, who had
just made his appearance, had spotted Saucerhead al-
ready headed his way, and was concentrating on evad-
ing that behemoth. Then Cleaver saw Slither coming,
squealed and ducked between the two big men. I won-
dered where he had managed to find so many brunos
stupid enough to work for him, what with everybody
in TunFaire out to buy his head. Maybe he put on his
girl disguise and let them think they were working for
a woman.

His thugs sure were disconcerted when they recog-
nized my friends.

Slither was altogether too determined to pay
Cleaver back for Ivy and his own old grievances. He
threw pieces of people right and left as he stormed
after the Rainmaker, but he never quite caught up
and he didn't keep an eye out behind him. I tried to
yell, but my yeller was out of action. Just as he
grabbed the raving runt somebody stuck a dagger in
his spine. I would have cried for him if I could. In-
stead, I spent my last reserve to bawl, "Pwziffle
pheez!"

Slither was a dead man, but he didn't let that slow
him down. Nobody he could reach enjoyed the experi-
ence. He broke Morley's arm. All Morley was trying
to do was get out of his way.

I tried to get my feet moving toward a doorway, but
they just wouldn't cooperate. Davenport's headbusters
must have given me something more than a beating.
I had a bad feeling I wasn't going to make a getaway
the way I had at the Bledsoe, even with Slither demol-
ishing the unenthusiastic crowd Cleaver had brought.

I did reflect that everyone who'd ever trailed me
seemed to have come to the Tops. I guess everybody
thought I was about to glom the mystic trilogy.

About the time Slither wound down, one of the
Rainmaker's thugs got a knife into Winger's boy-

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

301

friend. She had a blood fit, jumped some guys trying
to get away. They didn't make it.

I glanced around. It looked like Winger and Grange
Cleaver were the only players not hurt. Saucerhead
was leaning against a wall, looking pale. Sarge was
down, but I couldn't tell how badly he was injured.
Spud, with T.G. Parrot on his back, cussing, was on
hands and knees not having much luck getting back
up. Morley, despite his injury, was making sure none
of Cleaver's thugs ever inconvenienced him again.

Looked to me like the whole thing had been a blood
sacrifice in aid of nothing. Nobody profited and a lot
of people lost big.

I was proud of myself. With a little help from my
pal the wall I was making headway toward a door.

Movement took all my concentration. I had to stop
to catch up on the struggle.

Things had not gone well. The floor was littered
with bad guys, but the good guys had vanished. Unless
you counted the Goddamned Parrot, who swooped
around exercising the slime end of his vocabulary. I
wanted to yell for Morley or Winger or somebody,
but my yeller was out of commission.

Cleaver was still upright. So was Mugwump, mainly
because he was so wide he rolled back upright when-
ever somebody knocked him over. Slither had had the
right idea: just hurl him through the wal!.

Where were my pals?

Ducking somebody else's pals?

I was moving again when Cleaver and Mugwump
got to me, just as yet another gang of players plunged
into this pool of insanity.

I recognized one, Belinda's specialist, Cleland Justin
Carlyle. I assumed his companions were Outfit heavy-
weights, too.

Now I knew why my friends had disappeared.

Carlyle and his buddies had blood in their eyes.
Events at the Jenn house had to be avenged. Some-

302

GLEN COOK

body messes with syndicate guys, somebody has to
pay. Didn't matter than much who.

Mugwump grabbed me by the shirtfront. He
snagged Cleaver with his other hand. He hauled us
both to a door. I don't know what he was thinking, I
guess he was a little distressed. He chucked Cleaver
through, held me a second, rasped, "Even, fella," and
chucked me, too.

Into some damned hidey-hole behind the ever-loving
thrones of the lunatic judges of the Call. Not through
an exit.

Mugwump made a whole lot of noise negotiating
with the boys from the Outfit. Then the debate ended.
Utter silence filled the universe ... unless you counted
the sonofabitching Goddamned Parrot, who wouldn't
shut up if you drowned him.

Everybody else had left him behind. Maybe I could
work it that way, too.

Not bloody likely. Not with my luck. The gods prob-
ably had me whipped up on like this just so I couldn't
shed that talking feather duster.

It was real tight in that closet. It hadn't been in-
tended to take two people. It hadn't been intended to
take two people of the sorts we were.

Well, Mugwump had put me close enough to
Cleaver to choke him, which is where I'd wanted to
be for a while. But I didn't have the strength.

The squabble between the parrot and sanity contin-
ued as I blurted, "Get your hands off me!" I suppose
prowlers nearby, possessed of sharp ears, might have
heard. Might have understood, too. My diction was
improving. "I don't play your game."

Cleaver giggled.

And I blushed red enough to glow in the dark. Be-
cause Cleaver's movements had nothing to do with
me. Sometimes the man did dumb stuff, but only a
total damnfool would make a pass with slavering cut-

OEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

303

throats stalking around looking to chop him into bea-
gle chow.

"Garrett, you're a wonder." That was the voice of
Maggie Jenn, sizzling like a red hot poker. "Maybe I
will lay hands on. If we get out of here."

"Back off!" I barked.

He backed. But his Maggie voice chuckled wickedly.
Evil, evil person. A moment later, he became all busi-
ness. "You have your strength back?"

"They gave me something. I'm not going to be any
good for anything for a long time."

"We have to step out of here sometime. And I don't
have so much as a nail file."

I said "Fooey!" which is dwarvish for "Oh, shit!"
Getting out was a significant goal. Out of the closet—
out of that closet, damn it!—out of the Tops, maybe
even out of the province for a while, all seemed attrac-
tive goals. The mess here was beyond any cover-up
now.

The closet door whipped open.

Light poured in. It nearly blinded me. I could barely
make out the silhouette of somebody short and impa-
tient. The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, cussing.

69

"Get out of there!" a hard voice snapped. I shud-
dered—then recognized the voice.

"Relway?"

"Yes." The little halfbreed secret policeman was
curt always, impatient forever. "Move it."

"I wondered if you or the firelord's men would turn
up."

"Direheart's guy was the first one here: you. And I
find you in a closet with some bimbo in yet another
place where we're gonna need wagons to haul the
stiffs off."

Relway's men helped us out of the closet. They
were particularly solicitous of the bimbo.

I covered my surprise. They said Cleaver was a mas-
ter of disguise. Here was proof. That bit of wiggling
in the dark had been him rearranging his clothing and
donning a black wig. He looked like the devil woman
lurking around many a man's fantasies.

Relway said, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for
who owns this place. Block kowtows to the panjas,
but I ..." He stopped before he wasted half an hour
on a favorite gripe.

"Panjas. I haven't heard them called that since I
was a kid."

"Call me old-fashioned. What's your story,
Garrett?"

"The girl I'm looking for was supposed to be here.
I got a letter supposedly from her. Wanted me to

304

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

305

come talk. I came. Some thugs grabbed me, I woke
up here drugged to the gills, tied into a chair. They
started asking questions that made no sense. Then a
bunch of people busted in, there was a fight, some-
body cut me loose maybe figuring I was one of their
guys. I headed for cover since I wasn't in any shape
to help myself."

He seemed somewhat less than convinced that I was
telling the whole story. Can't figure why. He showed
no interest in Cleaver and didn't ask questions about
known associates of one Garrett who might have been
seen lurking.

I asked, "Why is Elias Davenport of interest?"

"He's a lunatic panja who makes the rest of the
Call look like a social club. He's behind most of the
rioting. What kind of magic did they use?"

"Magic?"

"Something made a lot of corpses. Put holes right
through them. No weapon will do that."

"Didn't play no favorites, neither, Lieutenant," one
of Relway's men observed. Relway grunted.

I said, "I never got a good look, but I thought it
was a giant bug. Some guy took it out by whacking it
with a shovel." Said guy and his guilty tool weren't
lying all that far away. Relway stepped over for a
moment, scowled down.

He asked, "You get what you came for?"

"Hell, no! Never saw her. I came straight here.
Wherever here is—I never saw the in-between."

Again Relway's look said he lacked conviction in
his acceptance of my tale. People just don't take your
word anymore. "That so? I'll be busy picking up the
pieces here now. I'll want to talk later. Meantime, you
might report to the firelord. I have a feeling he's un-
comfortable with the bloodshed that follows you."

"I can go?"

"Just don't go so far I can't find you."

306

6LEN COOK

"Perish the thought." I tried to recall old war bud-
dies who lived outcountry and might put me up.

"Garrett."

I stopped oozing toward the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Unusual mix of stiffs. You happen to notice who
brought them in here?" His tone and expression sug-
gested his thoughts were on a plane not even vaguely
connected to my own.

"Not really. Not that I recognized."

"Any centaurs? Anyone with an unusual accent?"

"Huh?" He really was somewhere else.

"You see anybody might have been a refugee from
the Cantard?"

"Not that I knew was. Why? What's up?"

"There's cause to think the refugees have organized
for their own protection. Directed by fugitive Moon-
called officers."

"Oh." Now wouldn't that be the bloom on the rose?
TunFaire hiding Glory Mooncalled's survivors. "Inter-
esting notion." Relway would give it up as soon as he
identified a few bodies.

I resumed traveling. I made sure I kept a deathgrip
on my bimbo. And a close watch on her free hand,
lest it dart into her bosom in search of some equalizer.

Cleaver always had a fallback.

70

Looked like Relway had brought the secret police cav-
alry brigade. Must have been ten thousand horses out-
side the manor house. Every damned one gave up
tearing up property to glare malice my way. I limped
and lumbered in between police equipment carts and
made my getaway before they could get organized.

They aren't so bright. If you catch them by surprise,
you can get the best of them.

A guy had passed me while I was creaking up the
stair from Davenport's cellar. He must have given the
word I was free to go. Hardly anyone even bothered
to notice me, except a few vaguely familiar guys who
nodded.

Cleaver kept his lip buttoned till we were far from
anybody who might listen in. "That was nice, Garrett.
You could've ratted me out."

"I didn't do you any favor."

"I didn't think so, but I wanted to check." He made
a feeble attempt to get away. You could almost hear
him sorting options.

I glanced back. Those horses had decided to let me
go. This time. They seemed nervous, preoccupied.
Weird, considering this was a chance to hoof me some
major grief.

Cleaver sensed my unease. "What's up?"

"Something weird here."

"You just noticed?" That in a Maggie voice.

"Besides our weirdness. Walk faster." I smelled pol-

307

308

GLEN COOK

itics. Relway was around. Relway's world didn't en-
compass good guys and bad. Heads there didn't get
busted for profit but for the power to make people do
what they were told rather than what they wanted.

I let myself become distracted. Cleaver tried to yank
my arm out by the roots. He got loose. I chugged after
him, running weakly. The front gate came in sight.
The little villain was gaining when he went through. I
kept on plugging. I could outlast him. I was used to
running.

Galoop, galoop, I turned into the lane. And, behold,
there was my pal Grange Cleaver, passing the time of
day, ducking around and betwixt Morley, Sarge, and
Spud, who were trying to surround him. Sarge and
Spud seemed to be in moods as dark as mine. Morley,
though, was grinning like a croc about to pounce on
a not very bright wild pig.

Cleaver chopped him on the bum wing. He yelped.
Cleaver pranced past and darted away.

"Hi," I puffed.

Morley said a few things. Surprised me. Spoke quite
fluent profanity when he wanted. Then he added,
"Your luck with girls never improves, does it! Even
that kind runs away."

"He bet he could beat me back to town. I was gain-
ing on him." There was no hope of catching Cleaver
now.

"Of course you were."

"Where's Mr. Big, Mr. Garrett?" Spud rasped. The
kid was putting on a show of boldly standing up to
his pain.

"Damn! It's silver lining time." I glanced back at
the gate. "If we're lucky, by now Relway has taken
all the beak he can stand and he's twisted its fowl
head off."

The kid glared daggers.

I asked Morley, "You going to be all right?"

DEADLY QUICKSILVER UES

309

"I'm giving up cartwheels. Listen. Somebody
coming."

Turned out to be a lot of somebodies.

We faded into the woods opposite the Tops before
another troop of Guards arrived, their mounts acting
spooky. "Those look like regular cavalry," Morley
whispered.

Did to me, too. "Relway is putting on a big show."
I wondered if maybe there wasn't something to his
paranoia.

"We better scat," Sarge suggested. " 'Fore they get
so thick we cain't move."

Good idea.

"Not yet," Morley said.

Baffled, Sarge asked, "How come you want to hang
out?"

Good question. We couldn't do ourselves any good.

"I'm waiting for Tharpe."

"He all right?" I asked.

"Was."

"How long we gonna ... ?"

"I'll let you know, Sarge. Garrett!"

I'd begun shaking, had lost focus. I had passed be-
yond the immediacy of the moment and had time to
reflect on what I'd lived through. And on the fact that
a couple of mentally handicapped guys hadn't made
it.... "What?"

"You're the healthiest. Go watch for Saucerhead."

I sighed. I wanted to go home. I wanted to put
myself to bed and sleep a week, till the pain and guilt
were gone. Then I could get shut of this life. I could
see Weider, tell him I was ready to take that full-time
security job. They don't drug you and torture you and
kill your friends at the brewery—and you're never far
from a beer.

I found me a nice spot and settled to watch the
manor gate.

I'd been there just seconds when buzzing flies and

310

GLEN COOK

an odd odor grabbed my attention. Well. Fresh horse
apples. And horsehair in the bark of a nearby tree. I
looked around. Leaves on the ground had been
turned. I found the impression of a shod hoof smaller
than that of any riding horse. The shoe style would be
recognized by anyone who had served in the Cantard.

It was a centaur's shoe.

The impression wasn't clear enough to tell me which
tribe, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that
a centaur had been watching the manor gate from this
same spot until very recently.

The ugly angles grew heavier by the minute. I
wanted away. None of this stuff out here had anything
to do with me and my troubles.

71

That misbegotten Saucerhead. He didn't bother using
the gate even though there was nobody there to con-
test it. He came over the wall, down the lane. I noticed
when a major tree branch suddenly dipped its chin in
the dust. It popped when Tharpe let loose.

He was carrying somebody.

How does the man do these things? He isn't human.
I limped over. "What you got?" Like I hadn't figured
it out at first glance.

Her mother had told me that she looked like her
only with less wear. I promise you, Maggie Jenn
turned them to stone in her day. The kid made it plain
why Teddy went goofy back when.

"Spotted her when we was sneaking out. I figured
it wasn't right we went to all that trouble, so many
folks got hurt, you didn't get a crack at what started
it all."

His shirt wiggled, heaved. Something made an ugly
noise. I had a bad feeling.

Saucerhead worsened it immediately. "Oh. Yeah. I
brung your bird. I stuffed him in my shirt on account
of he wouldn't shut up."

I brandished a fist at the sky.

The breeze in the boughs sounded like divine
snickers.

Saucerhead asked, "You want the bird or the girl?"

"Looks like I got the bird already."

311

312

GLEN COOK

"To carry." He did understand, though. "The chit,
she don't really want to come."

"No. And you with your sweet tongue."

She hadn't said anything yet. She didn't now but
did flash me a cold look that made me glad she
couldn't do what she was thinking.

"Give me the talking feather duster. I can't manage
anything bigger."

"Suit yourself." Saucerhead had kept the girl on his
shoulder, sack of grain style. He asked her, "You want
to walk? Or do I got to keep carrying you?"

She didn't answer. Saucerhead shrugged. He hardly
noticed her weight.

The others joined us, drawn by our voices. Spud
fussed over the bird. Morley had rigged himself some
crude splints. I gestured at the parrot. "My pal had to
do me a favor."

Morley tried to chuckle. Pain got in the way. I
asked, "Can you manage?"

"Just won't play bowls this week."

"Poor Julie."

"We'll work something out." He offered a glimpse
of his wicked grin. "Let's roll. Before Relway realizes
he's played it wrong and wants us to explain."

"What happened to Winger? Anybody see?"

Nobody had but Morley opined, "She got away. She
has her own guardian angels."

"She gets Relway after her she'll need them." We
walked as fast as we could with wounds and burdens,
the Goddamn Parrot denouncing the whole bleeding
world for all the indignities he'd suffered. Even Spud's
patience became strained.

Sarge sneered, "Least it ain't blamin' everythin' on
you no more, Garrett."

Morley eyed that jungle chicken like he was consid-
ering abandoning the vegetarian life-style. I told him,
"Thank Saucerhead. / left it for Relway. They're per-
fect for each other."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

313

Nobody laughed. Sourpusses.

"Was that the Rainmaker you was chasing back
there?" Saucerhead asked. He spat a wad of sourgrass
he'd been chewing. He remained indifferent to Emer-
ald's weight.

"Yeah."

"That runt? Hey!" The girl was wiggling. "Knock
it off." He swatted her bottom. "I always thought the
Rainmaker had to be nine feet tall."

"With hooves and horns. I know. I was disap-
pointed, too."

Morley snickered. "He sure was." I gave him a dirty
look. He never let up, pain or no pain.

72

I lost the election. My place got picked for the human
reassembly party. Morley hinted that he didn't want
word of his injury getting out right away. He didn't
want the wolves smelling blood before he was ready.

I bought it. He has his enemies.

I had trouble getting comfortable. My home con-
tained too many reminders of Slither and Ivy.

"It wasn't right," I told Eleanor. "They didn't de-
serve it." I listened momentarily. My kitchen had be-
come an infirmary. Saucerhead had recruited a
defrocked doctor who imagined himself a crusty town
character. He reeked of alcohol and hadn't stumbled
against soap or a razor for weeks so I guess he

qualified.

"Yeah, I know," I told Eleanor, "Life don't make
sense, it ain't fair and don't ever ask the gods for
dramatic unity. But I don't have to like it. Got any
idea what I should do with the girl?"

Emerald was confined in Dean's room. She hadn't
delivered a word yet. She wouldn't believe me when
I said I wasn't on her mom's payroll.

Could be she didn't care if I wasn't. You snatch
some people, they never do warm up.

Eleanor had no suggestions. I said, "I'd cut her
loose if there weren't people out there who'd jump all
over her." Eleanor did not disapprove. "Speaking of
whom, I wonder how long it'll be before Winger turns
up with one of her outstanding stories?"

314

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

315

I was looking forward to that.

Morley howled. There was a crash. I headed for the
kitchen. Dotes began threatening bloodshed. "Not in
my kitchen!" I yelled. I stopped to check on the Dead
Man.

A bug darted across his cheek, hid behind his pro-
boscis. If Dean didn't get home soon, I was going to
have to clean him up myself. Maybe I'd bring him
some flowers. He used to like bouquets.

The Goddamn Parrot started yelling louder than
Morley. I told the Dead Man, "You're not earning
your keep."

It wasn't pretty hi the kitchen. All that whimpering
and whining. The doc had finished, though. He was
under an inverted wine bottle, using a hah0 pint to
clear his palate. I made a face. Even ratmen shunned
the stuff he was swilling. "You all going to live?"

"No thanks to that butcher," Morley snarled.

Saucerhead asked, "You ever see him act like such
a baby?"

"You oversized ... If brains were fire you couldn't
burn your own house down." He jumped up on a
chair and started ranting like some Holy Roller soul-
scavenger.

I asked Sarge, "The doc give him something?"

Sarge shrugged. "Come on, boss. Give Doc a break.
He fixed your arm. And he ain't been getting much
work since they cut him loose from the Bledsoe."

No wonder he was drinking bottom of the barrel.
He was bottom stuff himself.... I glanced at Sau-
cerhead. Doc must be some relative of his new lady.

Surly but silent, Morley paid his fees. Spud didn't
look much happier. I decided to get the old boy out
while Dotes was feeling generous. I got hold of Doc's
arm and pulled.

"You really get the boot at the Bledsoe?" Hard to
imagine that as possible, yet I'd met two such in just
a few days.

316

GLEN COOK

"I drink a bit, son."

"No."

"Steadied my hands when I was young, chopping
off arms and legs down in the Cantard, couple life-
times ago. Don't work anymore, though. Barley kills
the pain now."

He stepped outside, cloaked himself in what dignity
he retained, started down to the street, stumbled, fell
the last two steps. On her stoop, Mrs. Cardonlos
paused to glare and nod to herself. I blew her a kiss.
I studied the street.

It was hard to tell, but I thought I saw a few folks
who didn't ring right.

Again? Or still? I eyed Mrs. Cardonlos again. Her
being out on point might mean she expected further
proof that Garrett was a peril to the neighborhood.

I shut the door, thoughtful.

I had an idea.

I headed for the kitchen. "Saucerhead, want to run
an errand?" I showed him some shiny copper.

"Talked me into it, you smoothie. What?"

"Give me a minute. I need to write a letter."

73

At last the house was quiet. The mob was away. The
Goddamn Parrot had a full crop and was sleeping. I
was in my office sharing the silence with Eleanor.

Naturally, somebody came to the door.

"My answer from Chaz." Or maybe Winger, if her
creative side was hot.

I was hoping she had a block.

I used the peephole.

Got it right first guess. Mr. W. Tharpe with mail.

I leaned into the gloom of the Dead Man's room.
Vermin scurried. I told him, "I'm off. And she's the
most beautiful blonde you never saw. Don't wait up."

He didn't wish me luck.

I left the house without so much as a passing
thought about the gorgeous redhead stashed upstairs.

It was the best table in the place but still only the
Joy House. You do business with a world-class sor-
cerer, you can be a little more comfortable doing it
on familiar ground.

Conscious of their bid to go upscale, Morley and
his thugs were on their best behavior. Puddle even
donned a clean shirt and tucked it in.

The Firelord had dressed down. Excellent. I didn't
want casual acquaintances getting nervous because of
my contact with him.

He looked like a big old dock walloper.
317

318

GLEN COOK

With him dressed down and Chaz dressed up, no-
body paid him much attention. Even I had trouble
concentrating. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'm serving my own interests."

I recalled now. I'd thanked him for not making a
show. "Oh."

"Believe it or not, there are people who might do
me an injury if they caught me off my usual range."

"Really?" My gaze swerved back to Chaz. The
woman had dressed to kill and was armed with her
best assassin's smile.

"Hard to believe, right? Big old cuddle bear like
me?" He turned to Morley, who hovered at the head
of a platoon of ready servers. "I'm not real hungry
tonight, I'll take half pound of roast beef rare, sides
of mutton, and pork. No fruits or vegetables."

Morley went paler than a blanching vampire. He
nodded sharply, once, some postmortum spasm. He
fish-eyed me and my grin. His eyes were the lamps of
hell. I decided not to rub it in.

I ordered one of the more palatable house special-
ties. Chaz followed my lead.

Morley stamped toward the kitchen, dragging Pud-
dle, muttering orders. I wondered which neighboring
establishment would subcontract Direheart's order.

I fought the chuckles as I brought the firelord up
to date.

"You let him get away?"

"I didn't let. Let wasn't part of the equation. He
got. You want, I'll take you to see him after supper."

Good Old Fred raised both eyebrows. But then he
came after me about the centaur sign outside The
Tops. His intensity confirmed my suspicions. He'd had
definite reasons for coming home from the Cantard
early.

In time, I led him back to the Rainmaker. He
frowned, told me, "I'm generous to a fault, Garrett
Anyone will tell you that. Especially where my little

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

319

girl is concerned. But I won't let you milk this
forever."

"That's good to hear. 'Cause I'm sick of the whole
damned thing. I've got one bruise too many, for
nothing."

Morley returned to hover in time to overhear. He
lifted an eyebrow.

I continued, "I'm closing this down soon as we eat."

Morley stifled his surprise, but Chaz and her pop
both blurted, "What?"

"We eat, I take you to Cleaver, my part's done.
You all settle up. I'm home having a beer before I hit
the sack."

Direheart started to get up. He was ready.

Morley started slide-stepping toward the kitchen.
Maybe he was headed for cover.

Chaz smiled like her brain had gone north. I'd
begun to wonder about her. When her dad was
around, she worked at cute and dumb.

"Sit down," I said. "Morley went to a lot of trouble
with your order. And Cleaver will be there when we
get there." Dinner hadn't yet arrived.

Morley could've been going to check its progress,
but I wouldn't have bet two dead flies on that.

Nice of him to be so predictable.

After the Tops, I didn't have a trick left. What I
hadn't used I'd lost or had taken. Might have been
smart to see Handsome before dinner.

Too late now.

Dinner did come. I drooled over Direheart's while
I choked down mine, a kind of souffle thingee I'd had
before and hadn't found myself vomiting.... But this
time somebody clever had chopped green peppers into
the mix.

Morley looked so innocent I would've strangled him
if I hadn't needed him.

I told Direheart, "There's no way you're going to
get your book back. It's long gone."

320

GLEN COOK

The man was resilient. He displayed one scant in-
stant of surprise. "Oh?"

"Near as I can tell, Maggie Jenn's daughter swiped
it from Cleaver about a year ago, brought it to Tun-
Faire, showed it to the wrong people, had it snatched
by the human rights nuts." Which was true, to that
point.

The Firelord smiled, in control. "I rather doubted
I'd see it again, especially considering the bloodletting
following it."

"Just wanted you to understand."

"Could you recover it if I hired you to?"

"I don't want the job. There're too many people
ready to kill people over it."

Direheart didn't like what he heard. It wasn't Good
Old Fred who laid that evil eye on me while he won-
dered what I was doing.

I saw him decide that I was too damned lazy to
glom the book for myself.

The Firelord ate like a little dog trying to get his
nil before the big dogs come. 1 ate at a leisurely pace,
mostly staring at Chaz, who matched me bite for bite
and stared right back, all but hollering her wicked
intentions.

74

My stride faltered a few steps into the street. There
should have been more people out. Some hint must
have escaped the Joy House.

If the Firelord noticed he didn't let on. Maybe he
didn't. He'd been in the Cantard forever. He'd be
street naive.

Chaz was uncomfortable, though. She knew an off
odor when she smelled one. The dumb blonde disap-
peared fast.

Considering my recent experiences, I didn't think it
unreasonable to be alert to the point of frayed nerves.
So, naturally, nothing happened. Except ...

Wings beat the cool evening air. I braced for the
advent of some batwinged demon belched from the
hell of one of TunFaire's thousand and one cults.

The mythological is manageable.

Reality can be uglier.

The Goddamn Parrot plopped onto my shoulder.

I batted at it. "That goddamn Dean! Comes home
in the middle of the night, lets that monster get loose."
How did the damned thing find me?

The bird remained silent as it fluttered to Chaz's
shoulder. It was unnatural.

"What the matter with you, bird? Chaz, he'll proba-
bly mess on you." This adventure wasn't going the
way I'd hoped.

I didn't try to confuse anybody. I took the direct
321

322

8t£NCOOK

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

323

route. We weren't halfway there when Chaz chirped.
'The Bledsoe?"

For Mortey's sake—he had to be out hi the darkness
somewhere—I replied, "Where else? He's used up his
other hideouts. And they don't know the real nun
there."

Maybe. I'd begun to doubt my intuition already.

And I'd begun to doubt my good sense. Head into
danger with a sorcerer? I had no cause to trust Dire-
heart. His sort were notoriously treacherous. And my
only insurance was a dark-elf with a broken wing who
might not remain devoted to my well-being once he
sighted the Rainmaker.

People say I think too much. No doubt.... Why on
earth did I think Cleaver would hang around TunFaire
after his latest misadventure? Why, of all places,
would he hide out at the Bledsoe?

I was one rattled guy when I pushed into the
Bledsoe receiving lobby. But I got my confidence back
fast.

Two steps in I spotted the female half of the elderly
couple I'd held captive at that ugly warehouse. She
spotted me, too, and headed out at her fastest shuffle.
She made her break for the stairwell I'd used to make
my getaway a couple of ages ago.

I won the race. "Hello again."

Direheart joined me. "Somebody you know?"

I offered a brief synopsis.

The Firelord surveyed the area. Our arrival hadn't
gone unremarked. Staff were gathering. I saw familiar,
unfriendly faces. "These guys can't take a joke, Fred.11
He'd heard a bare bones version of my incarceration.
Those guys made the mistake of thinking it was pay*
back tune.

The Firelord did one of those things that make reg-
ular folks uncomfortable when his sort are around. It
involved muttering and finger-wiggling and a sudden
darkness as black as a lawyer's heart. An instant after

that there were pillars of fire everywhere. Each con-
tained a staffer who objected loudly. One unfortunate
goose-stepped toward us. Direheart fixed it so we
needn't hear his shrieks, but the guy kept on trying.
He became a human torch to light our climb.

Chaz wasn't shocked. Her daddy hadn't disillu-
sioned her.

The old woman broke away and tried to outclimb
us. She failed. We passed the ward where I'd done
my damage. The fixing up had hardly begun. I wasted
a tear for Ivy and Slither.

The old woman suddenly wheeled like she had some
mad idea about holding us off. She was a horrible
vision, illuminated by the burning man. Her terror was
absolute, but so was her determination. Death was in
her eyes. She was a sow bear between hunter and
cub....

Bingo. I knew her now, nose to nose and her eyes
on fire. Take away a few decades of pain and poverty
and you'd have another Maggie Jenn.

Maggie hadn't said anything about her mother's
fate.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

325

75

The topmost floor of the Bledsoe was reserved for
those who had no truck with poverty except by way of
charity. It sustained an environment those folks would
deem minimally adequate while they decided the fates
of TunFaire's Waldo Tharpes.

We didn't need the burning man up there. Good Old
Fred let him go. He collapsed, burnt meat and charred
bone. Direheart ignored the old woman. We didn't need
her. I tried to shoo her away. She wouldn't go.

Chaz wasn't frayed but didn't seem to be in close
touch with reality anymore, either. During my own
occasional brushes with sanity I'd begun wondering if
she really was the girl for me. Her good points were
obvious, but something was missing. When Good Old
Fred was around she could turn into a zombie.

That green-and-yeilow-and-red feather duster on
her shoulder didn't betray any character, either.

Weird.

It got weirder.

First, Ichabod rematerialized. Pardon me. Make that
Zeke. Maybe he came back from the grave. I'd thought
he'd got plenty dead on the Hill. But here he was, all
skin, bones, and white hair, trying to heft a big black
sword that was beyond his strength. Good Old Fred
did some evil things. That sword turned on Zeke. The
old boy didn't even get out a good scream.

Mugwump emerged from the shadows. That human
324

stump was not in a good mood. (He had to be immune
to disaster.) I was glad Fred was in between us.

Direheart wasn't ready for a Mugwump. Mugwump
like to broke him into kindling before he conjured a
bucket of eldritch fire. Mugwump ended up blind and
burning. Direheart came away dragging a foot. He
couldn't use his left arm.

Chaz showed no distress. She drifted along, gor-
geous and empty and handy. Her dullness worried me
more and more.

The Goddamn Parrot's silence didn't help.

Then we found a sleep-fuddled Grange Cleaver try-
ing to pull himself together. Twenty feet separated us
from him. Fred went out of control. He snarled,
cursed, pulled a knife, and charged. Cleaver got loose
from his cot and discarded his surprise. He pulled two
knives. Lucky he wasn't one of those gods with a
bunch of arms. He threw both blades. One knicked
Direhearfs right shoulder.

The blow wasn't crippling, but it did put the fire-
lord's good arm out of commission. Sorcerers don't
do well when they can't talk with their hands.

I closed in on Cleaver. Cleaver had another blade.
He assumed a knifefighter's crouch, edged sideways.
His eyes were hard, narrow, and serious. He didn't
seem frightened.

Chaz said something. I told her, "Take care of your
father. After you lock the door." The Bledsoe was
crawling with guys who begrudged me my fine escape.

Direheart shook Chaz off. Calmly, he explained to
the Rainmaker how he was going to feed his scum-
sucking corpse to the rats. Direheart had him an awful
big anger about that old burglary.

Cleaver kept his knife weaving between him and
me. He edged toward an outside wall. His caution
seemed to be taking him back into a corner.

I got it way too late.

326

GLEN COOK

Direheart tried to let me become Cleaver's focus
while he got ready to sneak in some deadly spell....

Cleaver lunged at me. I stumbled back. Quick as a
conjurer, the Rainmaker spun and flipped his blade.
It sank into Direheart's throat.

I froze. Chaz screamed. Cleaver cackled, whirled,
jumped out a window. Chaz grabbed me with one
hand and her father with the other, pulled like I could
do something.

A born gentleman, I grabbed blond hair and pried her
loose. "You're a physician. Do what you trained for."

I threw one angry glance at the old woman, let her
get on with her shuffling getaway. Oh, she was ready
to go now. I went after Cleaver.

I'm not fond of heights—especially if Mrs. Garrett's
boy might conceivably fall therefrom. I paused to eye-
bail the scaffolding below me.

Sneering laughter electrified me. I dropped the eight
feet to the highest level the workmen had reached. I made
a lucky grab and didn't plunge sixty feet to the cobble-
stones, where shadows darted. I was too far up to recog-
nize anybody—not to mention I didn't consider trying.

The Goddamn Parrot swooped past, dove through
the scaffolding. He zig-zagged like a bat, let out one
serious squawk as he ripped past Cleaver. The Rain-
maker cursed. Softly.

I concentrated on not achieving the unexpected ex-
perience of flight. All my hands grabbed anything con-
venient. All my feet assiduously maintained contact
with whatever lay beneath them. I stormed slowly
toward the Goddamn Parrot's noxious racket.

Cleaver cursed again. He'd looked down into a dark
future. Big trouble was waiting.

I checked the street, too. Its shadows harbored folks
who wanted to talk to the Rainmaker up close and
personal. They must have picked up a clue or two via
denizens of the Joy House.

Instead of heading down, Cleaver fled around the

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

327

Bledsoe. Through one open window I spied Outfit
hardcases on the prowl. Belinda must have had a crew
on standby.

I don't quite get Morley's relationship with those
people. He's no made man himself. He does them
more favors than seems right.

The Goddamn Parrot kept beaking news of Cleav-
er's progress. I really wondered about that bird. This
was out of character. His natural style would be to
betray me, instead.

The thugs below couldn't see us. They tried to track
the bird, too.

That hunk of spoiled hawk bait blew the big one.
Cleaver set an ambush. He let me slink right into it.

I was twice Cleaver's weight and twice Cleaver's
strength and that saved me a three-story decline in
fortunes. He threw himself at me. I grabbed some
scaffold and absorbed the impact. I tried to glom onto
him while I was at it but didn't do real well.

He ricocheted off me, banged into an upright,
bounced back toward the stone face of the Bledsoe,
let loose one whimper of outrage, dropped into the
gap between scaffolding and building. He scratched
and grabbed and banged around as he fell but didn't
verbalize at all.

I followed more cautiously. The Goddamn Parrot
flapped around me but managed to keep his big
damned beak shut. I caught up.

Cleaver had broken his fall and dragged himself
onto planking maybe ten feet off the ground. His
breathing was shallow and rapid. He wasn't in good
shape. But he bit down on his pain.

The vinegar was out of him, but I moved carefully
anyway. A guy has the Rainmaker's rep, you're care-
ful with him even after he's dead.

76

I dropped to one knee. A hand seized mine. I jerked
away for an instant, startled. That hand was warm and
soft.

"We could have had ... something. But you're ...
too damned dumb ... Garrett. And stubborn."

I don't know about stubborn, but I was doing dumb
pretty good. I didn't get it right away.

Cleaver was fading. Didn't seem right, considering
his record. A long, agonizing cancer was more in
order, not this just kind of drifting off into oblivion.

My hands were trapped. I didn't try hard to pull
away. I had empathy enough to guess what was hap-
pening in Cleaver's mind. Though broken, he pulled
himself toward me, closer, closer ...

Realization came slowly, sort of sideways, without
generating much shock. This creature desperately
grasping at one final moment of human contact wasn't
male at all.

I held her. I murmured, "Yes, love," when she re-
turned to her notion that we might have had some-
thing remarkable.

I'd been wrong from the beginning. But so had all
TunFaire. Past and present, high and low, we'd all
seen only what society had conditioned us to see. And
in her madness, she had exploited that blindness.

There never was any nasty little villain named
Grange Cleaver. Not ever. Never.

328

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

329

1 shed a tear myself.

You had to if you encompassed any humanity, rec-
ognizing the enduring hell necessary to create a
Grange Cleaver.

You could weep for the pain of the child white
knowing you had to destroy the monster it had
become.

77

I lost Chaz at the Bledsoe. I don't know why. Maybe,
emotionally, she chose to blame me for what had hap-
pened to her father.

Her medical skills hadn't been adequate.

Whatever the reason, the magic failed that night.

It was not one of my better nights. I blew the rest
of it retailing explanations. Seemed anyone who'd ever
heard of me or Grange Cleaver wanted all the dope.
I was actually pleased when Relway materialized.

He was a magic man was Relway. People vanished
in droves.

"It's all straightened out now, Garrett," Colonel
Block told me. I was visiting him again. After having
been allowed another ten hours of cell time to ripen,
I'd had to do my time with the Goddamn Parrot, too.
"Weren't nearly so many bodies this time." He looked
at me expectantly.

I tried not to disappoint him but kept it short and
got out. He wasn't much interested. Didn't even ask
much about the Tops. He was preoccupied with the
racial strife.

I headed for home. I didn't manage to leave the
bird of doom behind. For no obvious reason, that
breathing feather duster didn't have much to say.
Even while we'd been locked up he'd held it down
most of the time.

330

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

331

Maybe he was sick. Maybe he had some terminal
bird disease.
I couldn't be that lucky.

Dean didn't respond when I pounded on my front
door. Irked, I used my key, went in and stomped
around hollering and cussing till I was convinced the
old boy wasn't there after all. There was no sign he'd
come back.

Huh? How'd the bird get loose?

Add another puzzle. Why hadn't Emerald taken ad-
vantage of my extended absence? The kitchen sug-
gested that she had visited several times and was less
than fanatical about order and cleanliness. But she
hadn't tried to bust out.

Strange.

Stranger still, T.G. Parrot went to his perch without
a squawk.

That was more than strange. It was suspicious.

"Justina? I need to tell you something." It wasn't
going to be easy.

She was seated on Dean's bed. She looked at me
without emotion but with what seemed too-knowing
eyes.

Straight ahead seemed the best way. I told her.

She continued to look at me, apparently un-
surprised.

But she did love her mother—despite knowing the
truth about Maggie Jenn and Grange Cleaver. She
broke.

I held her while the tears flowed. She accepted that
but nothing more and never said a word, even while
I led her to the front door and told her she was free
to go.

"Chip off the old blockhead," I muttered, a little
put out, as I watched her fade into the crowds. "Oh,
but she was beautiful, though."

332

GLEN COOK

I was in no way pleased with the case. I don't like
unhappy endings even though they're the most com-
mon kind. And I wasn't certain that much had been
settled or wrapped up.

78

I locked myself in. I didn't answer the door. I just used
the peephole whenever some sociopath compulsively
exercised his knuckles. I argued with the Goddamn
Parrot. That squawking squab was slower than normal
but nailed me with the occasional zinger.

Suspiciouser and suspiciouser.

Ever bold in the face of despair, I sent a letter up
the Hill. Never got so much as a "Drop dead!" back.

And I'd just about decided Chaz was the lady for
me. Oh, well. Live and learn.

I asked Eleanor, "Don't know what she's missing,
does she?" That killed the ache, boy.

I swear Eleanor sneered. I could about hear her
whisper, "Maybe she does."

I got the distinct feeling Eleanor thought it was time
I stopped being stubborn about not apologizing to
Tinnie Tate for whatever it was I didn't know I did,
or maybe never did.

"Or I could look Maya up. She looked good the
other night. And she's got her head on straight." Elea-
nor's smile threatened to become a grin.

I broke training once, allowed one special visitor
inside. You couldn't refuse the kingpin of crime. Be-
linda Contague spent an enigmatic half hour at my
kitchen table. I didn't disabuse her of her notion that,
with the invaluable assistance of my acquaintance
Morley Dotes, I'd engineered the fall of Grange
Cleaver just for her. I guess for old time's sake.

333

334

GLEN COOK

She's one spooky black widow of a gal, bones of
ice. Probably a real good idea she decided we should
stay "just friends." Anything else could turn fatal.

Belinda expressed herself the one way she knew
well, learned at daddy Chodo's knee. She gave me a
little sack of gold. I passed it quickly into the Dead
Man's care.

The Rainmaker business had been profitable,
anyway.

Days slipped away. I sneaked out on several little
errands, each time discovering that I still had one
watcher on me. Becky Frierka was determined to col-
lect her dinner. I saw no evidence her mother discour-
aged her from dating older men.

Mostly I kept it up with the bird and Eleanor, then
went to reading with a frown that threatened perma-
nent headache. I began to think Dean wasn't coming
home and Winger might actually have the sense to
stay away from me. Or maybe her luck had run out.

"It's gotten awful damned quiet," I told Eleanor.
"Kind of like in those stories where some dope says,
'It's too quiet.

Someone knocked.

Starved for real conversation, I scurried toward the
door. Hell, a night out with Becky didn't sound that
bad anymore.

I peeked. "Well!" Things were looking up. I yanked
the door open. "Linda Lee Luther. You lovely thing.
I was just thinking about you."

She smiled uncertainly.

I grinned. "I've got something for you."

"I'll bet you do."

"You're way too young and beautiful to be so
cynical."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Can't possibly be mine. Come on in here. Got a
story to tell you."

DEADLY QUICKSILVER UES

335

Linda Lee came in but made sure that I saw she
still had her cynical face on. And that after she'd come
all the way down to see me.

The Goddamn Parrot let out a whoop. "Hey,
mama! Shake it up!"

"Stifle it, catfood." I closed the door to the small
front room. "You interested in a new pet?" So hap-
pened I knew she had a cat.

"If I wanted one that talks, I'd pick up a sailor."

"Marines are way more interesting." I set us up in
the kitchen, which was clean. Life had been that slow.
I poured Linda Lee a brandy. She nursed that while
I talked about the Rainmaker business.

One of Linda Lee's less blatant charms is her ability
to listen. She doesn't interrupt and she does pay atten-
tion. She didn't comment until I paused to freshen my
beer and pour her a dribble more brandy. Then she
cut right to it. "What did you find when you went
back?"

"Wreckage. The Guard tore the Tops up. Sending
a message to the Call. Most of the Venageti were still
there. They didn't know where to run. Guys like them
could turn out to be another big headache. Come on
to my office."

She gave me a kind of puzzled look, like my office
was the last place she expected to be lured. She
stretched like a cat as she left her chair. Woo!

I got my breathing under control. "Plop it into that
chair." I squeezed around and into mine, dropped a
hand down under my desk, dragged out one of those
masterpieces that had been giving me wrinkles. "Look
at this."

"Oh, Garrett!" She squealed. She bounced up and
down. She squealed some more, jiggling deliciously all
the while. "You found it!" She dashed around the
desk and hopped into my lap. "You great big wonder-
ful hero."

Who am I to complain? I had an idiot bird in the

336

GLEN COOK

next room covering that. He went to carrying on like
he was being murdered. I smirked and surrendered to
Linda Lee's excitement.

When she paused to catch her breath, I leaned down
and coaxed another book out of hiding. "Apparently
nobody who knew those were there survived the ex-
citement at the Tops. None of the interested parties
thought to check, either." At least they hadn't before
the notion came to me.

"This is a true first, too! I've never seen a Raging
Blades before. Where did they find it?"

"It's the book Emerald stole from her mother. Her
mother stole it from Firelord Direheart. No telling
who he stole it from. The boys at Wixon and White
got it away from Emerald somehow, but she com-
plained to her pals in the Call. That wasn't real bright,
but how many kids her age, spoiled the way she was,
have a full ration of sense?"

Linda Lee snuggled down and opened the book.

"Wish you'd treat me that tenderly," I observed.

"Oh, no. I'm not going to be tender at all." She
purred and turned a page.

I stretched down and retrieved the third book of
the trilogy.

"The Battle-Storm! Garrett! Nobody's had a com-
plete set for three hundred years." She let Raging
Blades fall into her lap and grabbed Battle-storm. I
leaned back, relaxed, felt smug.

I got so relaxed I almost dozed off while Linda Lee
sighed over her treasures.

A squeal of fury ripped me out of a reverie wherein
I stood idly by while my old pal Winger enjoyed her
just deserts. "What?" Silly me, for a second I thought
she'd stumbled onto the secret of Eagle's treasure.

"This is a forgery! Garrett, look at this page. It
shows a watermark that didn't appear till two centu-
ries after Eagle's sagas were recorded." She seemed
totally deflated.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

337

"You were floating a yard off the floor when you
only thought you had your Steel-game back. Now
you've got two originals and a copy...."

"Grrr! Yeah, you're right. But it really makes me
mad. It isn't really all a copy or forgery. Part is origi-
nal. You see what they did? They took out some pages
and replaced them with forgeries."

I showed more interest then. I leaned over. She was
examining the book I'd seen at Wixon and White, not,
as I'd expected, The Battle-storm. "Emerald's book.
Any idea how long ago it was altered?"

"The paper is old. It's just not as old as it ought to
be. And if you look really close at the ink, you can
see it isn't nearly as faded as it should be."

"Never mind the paper, love. I wanted old paper
I'd steal an old book somewhere and scrape some
pages down." Which is what master forgers do when
a document has to look old.

"Oh. You're right." She studied the book some
more. "I'd guess it was done quite recently. Somebody
dismantled it, then put it back together with the new
pages but couldn't match the original thread. This
looks like a standard bindery thread like what we use
at the library." She got after the other two books.
"Damn! This Battle-storm isn't even a first. It's early,
though. Maybe a student's copy of the Weisdal Illumi-
nation. And look! Somebody's tampered with Steel-
Game, too. This whole signature is a replacement.
They're going to hang me out, Garrett. This book was
all right before it was stolen."

Interesting. It occurred to me to wonder if Emerald
Jenn wasn't just as clever and conniving as the woman
who'd borne her. "You do have a copy, though. Don't
you? Squirreled away, just in case?"

Linda Lee scowled. "Maybe."

"Of course you do. It might be interesting to com-
pare texts."

338

GLEN COOK

Up front the Goddamn Parrot started having a fit
Sounded like he was laughing.

Linda Lee hugged a book to her chest with one
hand, gulped the rest of her brandy. "I need you to
walk me back to the library."

"Right now?" Boy, don't whimper.

"There's nobody there." She took a big key out of
a pocket in her skirt. "They're gone for the weekend."

My white knight side took over. "Of course I'll go
with you. People kill people because of these books."

I locked my door, pranced down to the street. I
waved to Mrs. Cardonlos. She hoisted her nose so fast
she threw her neck out of joint. Then I stuck my
tongue out at my own house.

I was sure the gesture wasn't wasted.

79

Two days passed. I was distinctly distracted when I
headed home. I entertained only one non-nostalgic
thought during the walk home. Was I the only sucker
who hadn't known about the tampering with the
books? Was that why nobody raced to the Tops after
the Guard cleared out?

My door opened as I dug for my key. An old guy
about as impressive as Ivy glared out at me. "About
time you made an appearance. You turned this place
into a shambles. The cupboards are bare. You didn't
leave me a groat to shop with."

Beyond him, the Goddamn Parrot went to work on
me, too.

"I had a feeling my luck wouldn't last."

"What?"

"You didn't stay lost." He'd aged, it seemed. Must
have been rough work, keeping reality from setting in
on the young couple. "You know where the money
is."

He didn't like getting close to the Dead Man so
he'd moped around hoping to con me. He didn't say
so, though. "And you let someone use my bed."

"Couple of someones. And a good thing you took
your time getting back. Your heart couldn't have
taken being around the last one. You going to let me
get into my own house? It's too early to be out here."
My master plan included half a dozen hours in my
own bed. I'd had to vacate the library at that worm-

339

340

GLEN COOK

catcher time of day when only abnormals like Dean
are awake.

"Mr. Tharpe is here."

"Saucerhead? Now?" Tharpe's attitude is more
flexible than mine, but he isn't fond of getting out
while there's still dew in the shade.

"He arrived moments ago. Inasmuch as you were
expected shortly, I settled him in the kitchen with a
cup of tea." Not to mention with most of the meager
supplies I'd laid in recently, I discovered.

Saucerhead seldom lets a polite refusal get between
him and a free meal.

I settled myself. Dean poured tea. I asked Tharpe,
"What gives?"

"Message from Winger."

"Really?"

"She needs some help." He had trouble keeping a
straight face.

"I can't argue with that. What's her problem? And
why should I give a rat's whisker?"

Tharpe snickered. "Her problem is she needs some-
body to bail her out of the Al-Khar. Seems she got
caught digging around inside a certain country home
and couldn't con the Guard into believing that she
lived there. In fact, they were on the lookout for a
big blonde who might be able to tell them something
about what had happened there."

"I love it. But how did you find out? You sound
like Colonel Block."

"Block came around to Morley's place on account
of he couldn't find you here."

"Why'd he want me?" I could guess. Some little
question about events at the Tops.

"He said on account of Winger claimed you as her
next of kin when they asked who to notify she was
inside so she could make bail or get bribe money for
the turnkeys or whatever."

"I see." Boy did I believe that.

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

341

"And I went up and seen her. She already got into
it with some screw thought he ought to collect special
favors. Broke his arm."

"They charged her with anything?"

Tharpe shook his head. "Relway's just trying to
squeeze her about what went down. But you know
Winger. She's gonna be stubborn."

"I know Winger. She's lucky Relway's in a good
mood these days. Things are going his way." Bad
weather and ferocious behavior by the Guard and se-
cret police had calmed the riots. For now.

There would be more. There had been no good
news from the Cantard, like a resumption of the
fighting.

"Yeah, I told her. Probably won't even beat her
much."

"Then let her rot. No. Wait. Here. Run a message
for me. Ask Block if he'll warn me before he turns
her loose."

Saucerhead took my money. "How come?"

"So I can meet her coming out and tell her what a
hard time I had getting her cut loose."

"You're wicked, Garrett."

"It's the company I keep. Been learning from a
master." I jerked a thumb toward the Dead Man's
room.

80

I shut the door behind Tharpe, locked up, strode to
the Dead Man's door. I leaned inside. He looked the
same: big and ugly. "I did all right for a guy whose
help is so bone lazy...."

/ kept close watch. You were less at risk than you
imagine. He puts thoughts directly into your head.

"After you started siccing the bird on me, maybe.
By then I'd been through the hairiest part."

You understand that the Winger creature knew the
Jenn woman and Cleaver were one, right from the
start?

"Sure. And she knew you were snoring or she'd
never have came in here to set her hook. She still
has an angle. She thinks. Only Emerald was ahead of
everybody, probably from before she ever left home."

Indeed. The female of your species, if at all present-
able, is capable of manipulating the brightest of you.

"If that's her scheme. The Belindas and Maggies
and Emeralds aren't that common, though. Luckily."

Far be it from me to note your eagerness to be
suborned by such females.

"Yeah. But not far enough." In the other room the
Goddamn Parrot started preaching what the Dead
Man was thinking with one of his other minds. "Got
to do something about that thing."

Somebody knocked. Once more you have the oppor-
tunity to keep your word.

Becky Frierka. And her mother, of course.

342

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

343

"Why should I be the unique truth-telling character
in this part of town?"

As I went to the door the Dead Man sent. The quest
for Eagle's hoard is vain. The burial cairn lay on a
slope overlooking Pjesemberdal fjord. That entire
mountainside collapsed into the fjord during an earth-
quake three centuries before my mishap.

"Really?" If anyone around today would know, he
would. "Might have been handy to know that before.
When you were watching so close."

Any adventurer who deciphers the sagas discovers
the truth eventually. But so much blood gets spilled that
the guilty dare not give warning to the world. He
loaded that thought up with a cargo of amusement at
human antics. But something unrelated leaked through,
too. He was worried about the political climate. He
had a stake in a tolerant TunFaire.

Details plucked from my mind didn't reassure him.

I pasted on my boyish grin and got to work. It took
an effort to keep smiling. Becky's mother doesn't have
a husband. She's actively screening candidates.

Couldn't have been a better time for my parrot to
go berserk, for my houseman to show his mean streak,
for my partner to be himself. Naturally, nobody
cooperated.

I am nothing if not valiant in my efforts to do the
right thing. Becky got her date, exactly according to
terms.

81

Playmate was with me, trying to look fierce as a favor.
So were Saucerhead and Winger, whom we'd collected
from jail. Two weeks inside hadn't taught her a thing,
which is why I had recruited my friends. I needed help
getting Winger to go in the direction I wanted.

A couple weeks can make a big difference in the
Safety Zone. Morley's place had a new name: the
Palms. Scraggly palms in pots stood out front, already
wilting in TunFaire's chunky city air. Street lamps had
appeared. Elf-breed lads decked out like Venageti col-
onels stood by to handle horses and coaches, despite
the time of day.

Playmate observed, "I don't think I'll feel comfort-
able around here anymore."

"That's the point," Tharpe said. "Dotes has got him
some high-tone ambitions all of a sudden. No place
here for the likes of us now."

I glanced at Winger. Still sulking, she didn't offer
an opinion.

The interior of the Joy House had been redecorated
to fake the inside of a lunatic's idea of some tropical
shack. I've been to the islands. It didn't work. After
Morley bustled us upstairs, so we wouldn't frighten
the customers if any turned up, I told him, "There
aren't enough bugs, old buddy."

"What? Bugs?"

"Tropical places got bugs. Bugs big enough you got
to fight them for table scraps. Flies and mosquitos

344

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

345

that'll hang you up in a tree for later. And lots of
them."

"You can overdo atmosphere, Garrett."

"Bugs don't sell to the Hill," Saucerhead guessed.

Dotes scowled. Our presence made him uncomfort-
able. I hate it when people social climb. He asked,
"What do you want?"

"Just a couple wraps on the Rainmaker thing. Wing-
er's out, which you probably noticed. And all the tril-
ogy books are accounted for, only somebody mutilated
them. Which won't do them any good." And I briefed
him on what the Dead Man had told me. Given their
natures and acquaintances, these four would get the
word spread. And people would stop following me
around.

I'd begun to accumulate watchers again. I guessed
the Venageti at the Tops had mentioned my visit to
someone who cared.

Pained, Morley asked, "Seen the girl?"

"Vanished without a trace. Gone treasure hunting,
I presume." I hadn't tried to find her.

"That's it?" He was puzzled. He didn't see my
angle.

I didn't clue him in. "That's it."

"Then I have to rush you. I have a million things
that need doing before our reopening tonight. One
thing before you go, though. A favor I need
desperately."

"You're starting to talk like those ferocious pirates.
What?"

He faked hurt. "Friends are always welcome at the
Palms. But we have to present a refined image. If you
could dress a little more ..."

I got no chance to respond because Winger un-
loaded first. "You guys ever stick a foot in a fatter
load of camel shit? Can you believe this seeping sack
of slime? You half-breed runt, I know who you are."

The lady is articulate in her own special way.

346

GLEN COOK

Winger and I came to a meeting of the minds, more
or less. Playmate and Tharpe took off. I straggled
homeward. Winger tagged along. She didn't seem
eager to put distance between us anymore. "Garrett,
it true, what you said about Eagle's treasure?"

"Absolutely. Came straight from the Dead Man."

She didn't want to believe me but decided she had
no choice. I was too damned dumb straight-arrow.
"That thing awake again?"

"And Dean came home. I'm back to being errand
boy in my own house."

She snapped her fingers. "Shucks. Been a long dry
spell, too."

I shook my head. This is where we started. "You
never fail to surprise me, Winger."

"Huh?" She grabbed my arm, pulled me out of the
way as a flight of pixies, buzzing like angry hornets,
harried several centaur kids they'd caught stealing.
Idly, I noted what looked like one of Relway's spooks
trailing the action.

"Last time you told me that, I found out you had
a boyfriend you never mentioned to anybody and he
can follow me around like he's got me on a leash."

She didn't lie straight up. "Hightower? Wouldn't
exactly call him a boyfriend...."

"No. More like a sucker who thought he was. And
got dead for his trouble."

"Hey! Don't you go climbing on your high horse
with me! I seen you with your pants down."

"I'm just reminding you that people you care about
get hurt, too, Winger. Lies can kill. If you have to lie
to your friends and lovers to get where you want to
go, maybe you'd better stop and give a good hard
think about whether this is the road you have to
follow."

"Stick it in your do-good ear, Garrett. I got to live
with me. You don't." Which was about as close to an

DEADLY QUICKSILVER LIES

347

admission of error or offer of apology as anyone was
likely to get out of Winger.

"When you came down here fishing me in, you
knew Maggie Jenn was the Rainmaker. You figured
you could work an angle, you being the only one out-
side her crowd that knew. I won't forget you trying
to do that to me."

Winger never apologizes in any of the customary
ways. "I found out by accident. Pure dumb luck. And
nobody but her kid really knew for sure. Her old lady
and Mugwump and a few others maybe had all the
facts right there in their faces, but they didn't want to
believe it.... What the hell am I doing? It's over.
Done. We got to move on. All the crap that's going
on around town now, this racist bullshit, there's got
to be lots of opportunities. But I'll check it out later.
Why don't you come on over to my place?"

A temptation, if only to find out where she lived.
But I shook my head. "Not this time, Winger." The
Dead Man wanted me to bring him up to date on
Glory Mooncalled, events in the Cantard, and recent
events in general, real soon now. I knew because he
had the Goddamn Parrot following me around, telling
me all about whatever notions happened to be bub-
bling through his feeble minds.

My worst nightmare had come true. I couldn't get
away from him even when I was away from him.

Also, I needed to consult Eleanor on potential ca-
reer changes. I had some ideas. At their root were the
willies I got every time I thought about being caught
inside the Bledsoe cuckoo ward.

If I had planned this thing out right, I would have
been born rich and would have lived out a useless life
as a wastrel playboy.

Doing that life somewhere besides TunFaire proba-
bly would have been a good idea, too.

Still, life won't be completely awful as long as I'm
somewhere where they keep brewing beer.