Dread Brass Shadows

18

I slid into the Dead Man's room, starting to feel sorry for myself. I hadn't had me a good dose of that yet. I suppose it was due. Part of being human.

"What's up? This one a ringer, too?"

This one is genuine. She is an open book, easily read— though the truth be told, there is not much written there. Her light does not shine brightly. Be kind to her, Garrett.

"Aw, hell. That ain't playing fair."

He filled my head with a chuckle. There is kindness and kindness, Garrett. I would not ask you to cease being human.

"Big of you." Not much, he wouldn't. "What's up?" Looking at all of him here and thinking of all of Carla Lindo over there, I was headed into withdrawal.

One significant factor has escaped you. No. You need not feel slow. Indulgent of him. It escaped me until you told Miss Ramada about Miss Tate's narrow escape.

That's the way he is. Nothing straight out. Try to make me figure it out for myself. "Well?"

He didn't play with me long. You related the same account to the pretender earlier. That woman, if she is indeed the Serpent—and I now believe she is—then knows that Miss Ramada had not been harmed and was in fact ignorant of that threat, so was in no danger of being scared away. Presumably she had something to do with your adventure near Dwarf House. So. Assuming the house was not watched while you were away, because you were not expected to return .

"I've got it. Do you think she figured out that you were here?"

That is of no consequence. It is no secret that you share the home of a Loghyr. She will know once she starts to ask questions.

I skipped his invitation to feud over whose house it was. I considered what we knew about the Serpent. Damned little, but if she was heavyweight enough to create the kind of book that was the root of the excitement, she could be heavyweight enough to cause us trouble. The Dead Man can do incredible things, but strength isn't everything. Sometimes you have to bob and weave and he just isn't light on his feet. There are disadvantages to being dead that even he can't get around.

"Let's back off and look at this. Why is she here? To get her book back. That's the big thing. Keeping me out of her way ought to be secondary. When she was here, she got everything I knew. She gave me stuff back, but only because then she figured me to do her legwork." But if she wanted me to do legwork, why try to hit me? "Maybe she changed her mind when she got wind I was seeing your pal Sneezy."

Sneezy?

"Gnorst Gnorst Gnorst, and so forth. Maybe she started feeling the heat, realized how much she'd stirred up. She's got me and Saucerhead and you and the Tates after her on account of Tinnie, as soon as we figure out she isn't Carla Lindo. She's got the kingpin after her because he wants whoever cut Squirrel. I visit the head dwarf, he squawks like a stuck turkey when I mention the Book of Shadows, goes into a panic, says he's going to put his whole mob on the warpath. They're after her, too. She's got to make some moves. Maybe she figures if she gets rid of me, everybody will sit back for a while because I was the common denominator tying her enemies together."

I'd gone from explaining to thinking out loud. "She's going to push hard, going after that book. She might take another whack at me when she finds out I got away from her boys. Now I can raise the heat even more."

Yes.

"Can there really be a book where you just read a page and turn into whoever's written there?"

She believes it. Gnorst believes it. The girl and those who sent her believe it. The man who stole the book believed it. Miss Tate was wounded because people believe it. What I believe does not matter. This has become a race, Garrett. You have to find that woman before she finds the book.

"How about I just find the book and wait for her to come to me?"

An admirable strategy, simple and direct. I should have seen it myself. How do you propose to execute it?

Sly, sarcastic old devil. Of course it would be easier to find the witch than the book. She was running with a strange pack. Even in TunFaire, it would stand out like pants on a mare.

"I shouldn't be here. I should be at Morley's, in case Sadler gets an interesting report."

Mr. Dotes's establishment would be convenient. I can get a message to you there. Though perhaps a modicum of rest would better serve you at the moment.

"Right." He was. "I'm on my way."

Dean looked expectant when I returned to the small front room. "He wanted to remind me that we told the other woman about Tinnie. Which means she knows Carla Lindo is still kicking."

The redhead's eyes got huge. Damned if that didn't make me want to charge over there and set her in my lap and tell her everything was going to be all right. Even if I didn't know everything was going to be all right. Because things would be plenty all right with me as long as she remained perched there.

I said, "We figure there's no reason for you to worry. The cat's out of the bag. Killing you won't chase it back in. She'll concentrate on finding the book."

"You can't let her find it!"

"Take it easy. She'll need some fantastic luck to find it before she gets found herself. In about a minute I'm going to take a walk and tell a man about her, and before you can wink there'll be about three thousand bad people looking for her." I had a thought, which sometimes happens. Sometimes even before it's too late. "What's she look like when she's not being you?"

Carla Lindo just looked at me.

"Well?"

"I'm trying to think. I don't know. I don't think I ever saw her. At least not and know it was her."

"Say what?" The Dead Man had warned me. "You lived in the same place and you never saw her? She had to see you if she put a page in her book that was you." Had to see her pretty damned close. About all she'd left out was the freckles.

"She stayed locked up in her tower. Nobody went in there but people she wanted in there. All those dwarves and ogres and creepy ratmen. If I ever saw her, I didn't know it was her. I'm sure I never saw her."

The Baron's castle had to be some weird place. Not one where I'd like to spend a lot of time. Unless Carla Lindo had her four or five sisters. Maybe I ought to find Out if there were any more at home like her.

I must've been showing my thoughts. She gave me a look like she was reading my mind. I stammered some, then managed to say, "You can't give me anything to go on?"

"No. Yes. I never saw it, but they say she wears a ring. Middle finger of her right hand. She never takes it off. It's a snake that wraps around her finger three times. It has a cobra head. They say there's venom in the ring that can kill you instantly."

"That's handy to know." I reflected. "The woman who was here wasn't wearing a ring. I don't think." That was still foggy. "Did you see one, Dean?"

"No." Good man. He refrained from mentioning the extra redhead.

"Then she will take it off in some circumstances. Is there anything else?"

Carla Lindo reddened, which was surprisingly fetching considering her coloring. But I couldn't imagine her doing anything that wasn't fetching. She only had to breathe.

She said, "She has a tattoo. They say. It's how she got her name. The Serpent."

"Huh?" Vagrant memory, of a guy in my company when I was in the Marines. He'd been stuck with the name Donkey Dick till one night he'd gotten all drunked up and had a tattoo artist go to work. After that we called him Snakeman. If he's still alive, I'll bet he regrets it. Unless he's turned it into a carnival act.

The girl stood up. "The whole front of her is supposed to be a snake's face." She gestured. "Her breasts are supposed to be the snake's eyes."

Boy. There was a thought. Imagine waking up and looking over at that next to you. That would dampen your ardor. No wonder old Stonecipher took up with a chambermaid. "That's a vivid image. Anything else?" I could just see me going around ripping open the blouses of suspects.

She shook her head. All that copper hair flying around left me with another vivid image. But this one faded to red hair against cobblestones.

I wondered if Tinnie was going to haunt me. Maybe I'd better go see how she was doing. Tomorrow.

"I have to go out, Dean. Over to Morley's."

His face pruned up with concern. "Is that wise?"

"It's necessary. Put Miss Ramada in the front guest room. She'll be safe enough there."

His look said she'd be safe only as long as I was Out of the house. I didn't argue. I seldom do. There's no way to change Dean's mind. Maybe he should've gone ahead and become a priest. You sure can't rattle him with facts.

He'd make a great little old lady, too.

Probably comes of having to live with all those nieces. I hate to wish them on anybody, but I do wish they'd find husbands and get Out of his hair.

Dean nodded. I stepped out of the room, deaf to the girl's appeals. I went upstairs and rearmed, then came down and stopped by the office to say good-bye to Eleanor. "Wish me luck, lady. Wish me better luck." I hadn't saved a soul in the case that had involved her. Unless, maybe, in a way, I'd saved me. After the hurting went, I'd found a renewed resolve to do my bit to make the world a better place.