Faded Steel Heat

79

"What actually happened last night?" I asked North English, after we took time for him to rest and take a painkiller.

"I'd arranged to meet Belinda at a rooming house on the far north side. She said the place belonged to her family."

"Remember the name of the street?"

"I don't. That was the driver's responsibility." When I frowned, he said, "I don't think it had one." He colored slightly.

"You went into an elven neighborhood?" Elves don't get excited about frills like street names or house numbers.

"Just the edge. Nobody would expect to find me there."

"No. But somebody did."

"Yes." North English proceeded to describe the attack on his coach, which occurred soon after it entered that street. It mimicked the attack on Belinda's coach.

Was that coincidence?

Quite possibly he'd had an earlier close call and didn't yet realize it. Belinda had asked him to meet her at The Palms. And CeeJay Carlyle had been with Belinda when she headed for her postparty rendezvous. Did Crask and Sadler mess everything up?

I asked, "Should I talk to your coachman?"

"If you know a good necromancer, you might. I'm the only survivor. They didn't get me dragged out of the coach fast enough."

There'd be no way of double-checking details short of consulting the men who had tried to kill him. I had a suspicion that was a long-shot daydream.

The details didn't matter. Had to be Belinda's doing. And Marengo knew that. But I wondered if she might not have had more than one motive.

Her attack had been extremely vigorous, even for her. If, indeed, she had ordered the attack. It risked warfare now and persecution later if The Call enjoyed any enduring political success.

She must've decided that the Outfit had to make a clear, definitive statement incapable of being misunderstood by anybody. Which might mean she hadn't just been responding to business encroachments.

Just suppose Marengo had had some remote connection with the attack on Belinda...

I decided that he must have had. Based upon no evidence whatsoever.

Poor Marengo! That made him a zombie, dead but still walking toward the knife.

Somebody had brought Crask and Sadler back. Those two were fearless but they weren't stupid and were only marginally crazy. They knew lots of people wanted to carve them up.

They must have been sure they could do their work quick and dirty and profitably and be gone before death could pick up their trail.

So somehow North English got word to them when Belinda showed up with me, cleverly grasping the moment. He might not have known that those two thought they owed me. But would he have cared?

I didn't think so, either.

Then Belinda made a date, probably hoping to let North English meet Carlyle for an exercise in comparative knife techniques. And North English agreed, probably thinking he'd have fun with Belinda if his hitters missed.

No proof. None whatsoever. All speculation. But I thought the Dead Man would agree. And he'd looked inside Belinda's head, where the snakes and spiders lurk.

I can conclusion-hop with the best. I've run with villains for years, people who play those kinds of games. You can smell them out if you know the stakes and luck onto a few hints up front.

These scenarios fit the facts neatly.

They didn't toss light into the shadows surrounding the shapeshifters and the Weiders, though. They gave me no mention whether or not The Call was trying to strong-arm the Weiders, or was connected to the shapeshifters somehow.

Damn it. The one thing I'd figured out didn't help much. Belinda and The Call could work out their differences, with bloody steel or rattling jaws. That wouldn't touch me.

Belinda might have let the nonhumans know about the advent of the Cleansing. The Outfit had tentacles reaching inside shadows Relway only dreamed of penetrating. Everybody owes them something, somewhere, somehow. Though in this case Marengo was, probably, the leak himself.

I asked, "Any way you can bully your council into backing off?"

"Backing off?" He got that air of struggling to concentrate again.

"To quit trying to horn in on the rackets."

"I can try. If I had a good reason. If they're really doing that."

"How about staying alive? Is that a good reason?"

"They wouldn't do anything just on my say-so, Garrett. Again, if they're really involved."

Why did he keep pretending? "Here's a reason they can understand. If you get in a war with the Outfit, it won't just be Marengo North English who gets dead.They can get to anybody. Eventually. They'll find somebody close willing to be corrupted. They won't be impressed by who you are, who your parents were, how much you're worth, or who you know. You should've gotten that message last night."

"Last night is why I hope you'll find us a basis for negotiation."

I was puzzled. It showed.

"What?" North English demanded.

"What's to negotiate? They'll tell you to go away or get dead. Then they'll kill as many of you as it takes to make you understand."

I exaggerated a little. The Outfit is no monolith and the people inside are as venal as any other. It could be tamed by somebody who wanted to focus a lot of energy and resources. Somebody like Relway, someday, when he doesn't have to deal with all the other distractions.

Assuming Belinda didn't get to him first.

"Why go for the rackets, anyway?" I asked. "The Call is festering with rich people."

"Not many of whom want to open their purses for the Cause. They're investing their leadership skills." Yes, he was sarcastic. And bitter. "I've financed almost everything. I've fed and armed and clothed a thousand men for Colonel Theverly. Before Theverly it was the Brotherhood Of The Wolf."

"What became of those guys?" I still wanted to figure out where Gerris Genord fit.

"They wouldn't be controlled. They were disbanded when Colonel Theverly came aboard. Some joined the new corps. The hardheads dropped out, went somewhere else." North English waved a hand weakly, dismissing the Brotherhood. It was old news. He had a hobbyhorse to ride. "Do you have any idea how much weapons cost when you have to buy them from dwarves?"

Wouldn't it be something if the dwarves used this crisis to strip humans of their wealth?

Wouldn't it be something if the dwarfish weapons were used to exterminate the dwarfish race?

Life gets funny that way.

I grunted. He could take that as thoughtful commiseration if he wanted.

He changed the subject. "Have you found anything in the library?"

"No. And I really hoped I could root out something about shapeshifters. That bunch at Weider's were part of something big. If I can learn more about the race I might be able to guess what."

North English didn't get excited. "Tama says you're sorting as you go. I appreciate that. I know gathering information and studying it is important but somehow we just never get around to the library. How did you know about it?"

"I went to the Royal Library. They said I'd do better here or in some wizard's private library. I don't know any friendly wizards."

"Does anybody?"

"You kidding?" But he was talking to himself, bitterly. Maybe he had had an unhappy experience.

I must have risen in his consideration. He was treating me like an old retainer now. Almost with respect. But with cautious lack of trust.

"Did you have a problem with one of our sorcerers?" Wouldn't exactly be unique if he had.

North English realized he had given something away. He didn't like that. "Didn't everyone who visited the Cantard?" Quick shift of subject. "Tama overstepped herself by allowing you into the library without consulting me but it was a good idea. Let me know if you find anything interesting. Max Weider is my friend, too."

I was dismissed. He accentuated the point by closing his eyes. He wanted to rest. He wanted to think, to conjure some way he could take his special breed of liberty to TunFaire with better effect.

I left the room.

I found a crowd outside, frowns prevalent, everybody afraid they'd missed something important. Lost in thought, I ignored them.

Marengo had a connection with a wizard? Should that surprise me? He was a powerful man. Wizards prefer the company of powerful men to that of slobs like me. Why? I can be charming.

Did it even matter?