Faded Steel Heat

72

Marengo North English's digs were typical of Karenta's ultra-wealthy gentry. The centerpiece was a huge red-brick manor house that crowned a knoll half a mile behind a tall hedge of some plant consisting mostly of thorns. There was a lot of green grass, numerous well-groomed trees, sheep, cattle and neat military squares of tents. An illustration of the place would have overlooked the livestock and bivouac. Workaday aspects of the rural idyll always get overlooked.

"You ever been here?" I should've asked earlier.

"No. I always heard he's kind of reclusive." She indicated the tents. "Lot of relatives visiting. You been here?"

"My folks never moved in these circles." Tinnie started putting on her shoes. She'd been going barefoot, claiming she wanted to feel the dust squish between her toes. They were very nice toes, even dusty-dirty. But I decided to study the hoofprints outside the gate instead. Numerous oddly shod hooves had milled around there recently. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. The day was getting on.

"Why isn't anybody on guard?" Tinnie asked, between shoes. She danced on one foot while she tried getting a shoe onto the other, tucked up behind her. Her effort had its moments.

I'd been wondering myself. Was North English that confident? I didn't believe it. Not in this world. Not this near TunFaire. The gods themselves aren't that confident. I kicked at hoofprints. "It worries me, too." Those centaurs hadn't looked like they'd been in a fight.

"Should we head back?"

"It's late. It'd be dark before we got to the gate." In darkness, outside the wall, is nowhere I want to be. Call it prejudice. The owners and workers of manors, farms, orchards, and vinyards get by just fine. Those without stout walls just dive into deep cellars via twisty, tight tunnels if the big thunder lizards come calling. Anything else they kill before it kills them.

I don't take risks if I don't have to.

The night can hold things worse than death in the jaws of a hungry beast.

"You scared, Garrett?"

"Sure. You understand what I'm doing? If you don't, you'd better start—"

"We're a team, big boy. You and me and our ugly baby."

The Goddamn Parrot lifted his head long enough to give her a baleful look. I looked balefully at our surroundings. The spread seemed almost lifeless.

"Something I can do for you folks?"

Here came the missing guard, out of a cluster of evergreens not far inside the gate, next to the road. He was buttoning his trousers. He had trouble concentrating on his fingerwork. He was stunned by Tinnie.

I know the feeling. I get it all the time.

"Name's Garrett. I'm doing some work for Marengo. He was supposed to leave word—"

"I guess he did. I recognize the name." His nose wrinkled. "But he's not here. There's a big rally tonight." He checked Tinnie again, probably wondering if she'd like to change her luck in men.

Things are bad when groat-a-dozen brunos take on airs. Maybe belonging to The Call boosts your self-confidence.

He said, "Go on up to the house. Front door only. Someone will be waiting."

I lifted an eyebrow, started walking. Tinnie grabbed my arm. The gateman looked sad, soulful, constipated. Life just isn't fair.

"You little heartbreaker," I told my little heartbreaker.

"What?"

"You completely destroyed that man just by walking away with me."

"What are you talking about?" She never noticed.

Then she bumped me with her hip.

Devil woman.