Dread Brass Shadows

20

Morley's place wasn't far out of the way. I ignored my weariness and the racket overhead and the doings of a night proceeding in the streets and headed for the Joy House.

Ratmen were out doing what they do, picking up after everyone if they worked for the city, stealing anything loose if they were self-employed. There were more goblins and kobolds and whatnot out than I was used to seeing. I guess the weather had turned for the night people, too.

I still had that feeling I was being watched. And I still couldn't spot a watcher. But I didn1t try hard.

Morley's place was a tomb. Nobody there but a couple of the kingpin's men. Even Puddle was gone, home or wherever. That gave me pause to reflect. I don't often think of guys like Puddle, or Crask and Sadler, in human terms. Home. Hell. The guy might have a family, kids, who knew what all. I'd never considered it. He'd always been just another bonebreaker.

Not that I wanted him to ask me over for dinner, to meet the missus and little bonebreakers coming up. I was just in one of those moods where I start wondering about people. Where they came from, what they did when I wasn't looking, like that. Probably got started when Chodo told me about his girlfriend.

It isn't a mood I enjoy. It gets me thinking about myself, my own lack of place and depth in the scheme. No family. Hardly any friends, and them I don't know that well. What I don't know about Morley or Saucerhead could fill books, probably. They don't know me any better, either. Part of being a rough, tough, he-.man type, I suppose. On stage all the time, hiding carefully.

I have plenty of acquaintances. Hundreds. We're all tied together in a net of favors done and owed, all of us keeping tabs on the balance, sometimes thinking it friendship when it isn't anything but a shadow of the obsession that drives Chodo Contague.

Comes out of the war. There isn't a human male in this city who didn't do time in hell. I even have that in common with the nabobs of the Hill. Whatever privileges they claim or steal, exemptions aren't among them.

Down in the Cantard witch's cauldron, you keep track of all the little stuff and strive to keep a balance because you don't want anybody checking Out owing you. And, even though you share a tent, cooking utensils, campfires, clothes, even girls, you never get too close to anybody because a lot of anybodies are going to die before it's over. You keep your distance and it don't hurt so much.

You dehumanize the enemy entirely and your comrades enough sG—though you'll charge into hell behind them or storm heaven to rescue them----you never open your heart and never let them open theirs.

It makes sense when you're down there in the shitstorm. And once you've survived the storm and they send you home, you're saddled with that baggage forever. Some come home like Crask and Sadler, purged of everything human.

That got me wondering what those two had done during their duty. I'd never heard. They'd never said. A lot of guys don't. They put it all behind them.

Then I started wondering why, though the night people were busier than usual, it was so quiet out. Night isn't Just the time of those races who have to shun the sunshine, it's the time of the bad boys, the time when the predators come out. I wasn't seeing anybody dangerous or suspicious.

I guess Chodo had the baddies beholden to him busy, and the free-lancers, not clued in, were lying low so they wouldn't catch his attention. Or maybe it was just the morCartha being so obnoxious nobody came Out who didn't have to.

The morCartha weren't that much trouble if you hugged the edge of the street and kept an eye out. They seldom risked crashing into a building just to swoop down and steal a hat.

Speaking of whom.

The tenor of their aerial pandemonium changed suddenly, radically. A violent outcry spread. It sounded like terror. Hasty wings beat the air frothy. The sky cleared. An almost total silence fell. It was so remarkable I paused to look at the sky.

A broken fragment of moon lay somewhere low in the east, out of sight, casting barely enough light to limn the peaks and spires of the skyline. But there was light enough to show a shape circling high up.

Its wings sprawled out a good thirty feet. It wasn't doing anything but making a wide, gliding turn over the city before heading back north.

A flying thunder-lizard. I hadn't known they were night hunters. I'd never seen one before. What I saw of this one made it look a lot like a prototype for all those dragons guys in tin suits are killing in old paintings. I hear they are. The dragons of story are mythical. Which makes them about the only imaginary creatures in this crazy world. Hell, I've even run into a god who thought he was real.

"Garrett."

I turned, less surprised than I expected. There must have been subconscious clues. "Winger. Kinda hoped I'd run into you again. Wanted to warn you. You got some bad people looking for you. Not in too good a mood, either."

That surprised her. "You can tell me about it on the way. Let's go."

I didn't think to ask where or why because her attitude tapped my anger. "I have a previous engagement. With my bed. You want to talk to me about something, come around in the morning. And try to ask nice."

"Garrett, you seem like a pretty good guy, considering. So let's don't butt heads. Let's don't do it the hard way. Just come on."

She had a problem. A serious problem. Now I wouldn't have gone anywhere with her even if I'd planned to before. "Winger, I kind of like you. You got balls and style. But you got an attitude problem that's going to get you hurt. You want to make it in the big city, you got to learn some street manners. You're also going to have to know who you're messing with before you mess. You cut somebody who has friends like Chodo Contague, your chances of staying healthy just aren't good."

She looked baffled. "What the hell you talking about?"

"That guy you cut in the alley off Pearl Lane. A couple thousand of his friends are looking for you. They don't plan to slap you on the back and tell you you did a great job."

"Huh? I never cut nobody."

"I hope not. But he was following you when it happened. Who else could've done it?"

She thought about it for half a minute. Then her frown cleared as she decided not to worry about it. "Come on."

"Not smart, Winger. You're pressing where you don't know what you're doing."

She was one stubborn woman. And just a whole lot too confident. Maybe where she came from men wouldn't defend themselves against a woman. Maybe she was used to them hesitating.

Hell, I might have myself. But she'd let me talk and that had given me time to get my mind right.

She got out a nightstick not unlike my headthumper. So I got out mine, a replacement for the one I'd left down by Dwarf Fort. She came in figuring to feint a few times and tap me up side the head. I didn't cooperate. My head had taken enough dents already.

I just slipped her guard, rapped her knuckles, then her elbow when the pain froze her for an instant, then jabbed her in the breadbasket as her stick tumbled toward the street. "That's how you use one of these things." She wasn't very good. All bull offense.

She didn't seem upset because she'd been disarmed so easily, just surprised. "How'd you get so damned fast?"

"There's two kinds of Marines, Winger. Fast ones and dead ones. Better get something through your head right now, before you run into somebody who won't cut you some slack. There isn't a man in this town, over twenty-three, who wasn't tough enough and fast enough to survive five years in the Cantard. A lot of them, you make a move on them, they'll leave you for the ratmen and not look back. Especially the bunch that are looking for you. They like to hurt people."

"I said I didn't cut nobody. Not yet."

"Then you'd better be able to tell them who did. Fast."

She raised both eyebrows. A strange woman. She wasn't afraid. You have to worry about the sanity of somebody who doesn't have sense enough to be afraid of Chodo Contague.

"You be careful," I told her. "Come by in the morning if you still want to talk." I turned to head for home.

Damned if she didn't try again. Barehanded.

The reflexes still worked. I heard her move, pranced aside, stuck out a leg and tripped her, grabbed her by the hair on the fly. "That's twice, Winger. Even nice guys run out of patience. So knock it off," I turned loose, started walking.

This time she listened to the message.