Old Tin Sorrows

3

The cool in the hallway felt like high winter in the Arctic. For a second I worried about frostbite.

The General was right about Dellwood. He was there, waiting. The way he did it suggested he'd been scrupulous about not getting so close he might overhear anything. Though I doubted explosions could be heard through that door. I decided I could like the guy in spite of the stick up his spine.

"The General says he wants to see Peters."

"Very good, sir. I'd better attend to that. If you'll return to the fountain and wait?"

"Sure. But hold on. What's wrong with him? He had a couple of pretty fierce attacks while I was in there."

That stopped him dead. He looked at me, emotion leaking through for once. He loved that old man and he was worried. "Bad spasms, sir?"

"They looked that way to me. But I'm no doc. He cut the interview short because he was afraid another one would be too much for him."

"I'd better check on him before I do anything else."

"What's wrong with him?" I asked again.

"I don't know, sir. We've tried bringing physicians in, but he throws them out when he finds out what they are. He has a morbid fear of doctors. From what they've said, I understand that a physician's care might not do any good. They haven't done anything but scratch their heads and say they don't understand it."

"Good to see you can talk, Dellwood."

"I believe the General brought you on board, sir. You're one of the household now."

I liked that attitude. Most people I meet either stay clammed or tell lies. "I'd like to talk to you some more when you get the time."

"Yes sir." He pushed through the General's door.

I found my way to the fountain. Wasn't that hard. But I'd become one of the company scouts after Sexton disappeared. I was a highly trained finder of the way. Peters often reminded me how much the Crown had invested in me.

I'd left my bag leaning against the fountain for lack of desire to lug it around before I decided if I was hired. It had seemed safe enough, still as the place was. I mean, I'd visited livelier ruins.

Someone was digging through it when I reached that temple to overstated militarism.

She had her back to me and a mighty fine backside it was. She was tall and slim and brunette. She wore a simple tan shift in imitation peasant style. It probably set somebody back more money than a peasant saw in five years. Her behind wiggled deliciously as she dug. It looked like she'd only gotten started.

I moved out on scout's tippytoes, stopped four feet behind her, gave her fanny an approving nod, said, "Find anything interesting?"

She whirled.

I started. The face was the same as the one I'd seen earlier but this time it wasn't timid at all. This face had more lines in it. It was more worldly. That other face had had the placidity, behind timidity, that you see in nuns.

Her eyes flashed. "Who are you?" she demanded, unrepentant. I like my ladies unrepentant about some things, but not about snooping in my stuff.

"Sexton. Who are you? Why are you going through my stuff?"

"How come you're carrying a portable arsenal?"

"I need it in my work. I answered a couple. Your turn."

She looked me up and down, raised an eyebrow, looked like she didn't know if she approved or not. Wound me to the core! Then she snorted and walked away. I'm not the handsomest guy in town but the lovelies don't usually respond that way. Had to be part of a plan.

I watched her go. She moved well. She exaggerated it a little, knowing she had an audience. She disappeared into the shadows under the west balcony.

"Going to be some strange ones here," I muttered. I checked my bag. She'd stirred it up but nothing was missing. I'd arrived in time to keep her out of the little padded box with the bottles inside. I double-checked, though, opening it.

There were three bottles, royal blue, emerald green, ruby red. Each weighed about two ounces. They were plunder from a past case. Their contents had been whipped up by a sorcerer. They could get real handy in tight situations. I hoped I didn't have to use them. I'd brought along more tight-situation stuff than clothing. Clothing washes.

I prowled the hall while I waited for Dellwood. That was like visiting a museum alone. None of the stuff there meant anything to me. Richly storied, all of it, no doubt, but I've never been a guy to get excited about history for its own sake.

Dellwood took his time. After half an hour I started eyeballing an old bugle, wondering what would happen if I gave it a couple of toots. Then I spotted the blonde again, watching me from about as far away as she could get and still be in that hall with me. I waved. I'm a friendly kind of guy. She ducked out of sight. A mouse, this one. Dellwood finally showed. I asked, "The General all right?"

"He's resting, sir. He'll be fine." He didn't sound convinced. "Sergeant Peters will handle the requests you made." Now he sounded puzzled. "I'm curious, sir. What are you doing here?"

"The General sent for me."

He looked at me a moment, said, "If you'll come with me, I'll show you your quarters." After we'd climbed to the fourth floor east wing and he had me puffing again, he tried another tack. "Will you be staying long?"

"I don't know." I hoped not. The place was getting to me already. It was too much a tomb. In the other wing the master was dying and the place seemed to be dying with him. As Dellwood opened a door, I asked, "What will you do after the General passes on?"

"I haven't given that much thought, sir. I don't expect him to go soon. He'll beat this. His ancestors all lived into their eighties and nineties."

Whistling in the dark. He had no future he could see. The world didn't have much room for lifers with their best years used up.

Which made me wonder again why anyone in that house would want Stantnor to check out early. Black Pete's suspicions were improbable, logically.

But logic doesn't usually come into play when people start thinking about killing other people.

I hadn't looked at the thing yet. I'd keep an open mind till I'd done some poking and prying and just plain listening.

"What's the word on meals, Dellwood? I'm not equipped for formal dining."

"We haven't dressed since the General took ill, sir. Breakfast is at six, lunch at eleven, in the kitchen. Supper is at five in the dining room, but informally. Guests and staff sit down together, if that presents any problems."

"Not to me. I'm an egalitarian kind of guy. I think I'm just as good as you are. I missed lunch, eh?" I wasn't going to be happy here if I had to conform to the native schedule. I see six in the morning only when I haven't gotten to bed yet. The trouble with morning is that it comes so damned early in the morning.

"I'm sure something can be arranged, this once. I'll tell Cook we have a newly arrived guest."

"Thanks. I'll take a minute to settle in, then get down there."

"Very well, sir. If anything is not satisfactory, let me know. I'll see that any problems are corrected."

He would, too. "Sure. Thanks." I watched him step out and close the door.