Sweet Silver Blues

24

"Are we making any headway?" Morley asked as we climbed aboard the rented rig.

"Oh, yes. We've eliminated some legwork, like making the rounds of every Orthodox parish in Full Harbor. We've added a visit to the army office at the military city hall to see if they will help us locate Major Kayeth Kronk."

I did not look forward to that. They'd probably assume we were Venageti spies.

"What now?"

"We can try that. We can try the civil city hall, too, though I don't think we'd get much there. Or we could go back to the inn and I could lay around staring at the ceiling and wondering what a sensible young woman can do to get herself excommunicated."

"That doesn't sound productive. And butting heads with the army, even to get them to tell us to get out and leave them alone, is likely to be an all-day job."

"The civil city hall it is, then."

We were headed up the steps when a voice roared, "Hey! You two."

We stopped, turned. Near the rig stood a city employee, the type who carries weapons and is supposed to protect citizens from their neighbors' villainies, but who spends most of his time force-feeding his purse and sparing the reputations of the wealthy and powerful. "This yours?"

"Yes."

"You can't leave it here. We don't want no horse apples tracked all over the hall."

Despite his friendly way of putting it, his position had merit. I marched down the steps. "Have you a suggestion what I can do with it?"

He did not know who we were. We had come in a fancy rig. We were well dressed. Morley looked a bit like a bodyguard. I wore a look of cherubic innocence. A suspicion slithered through his slow wit. I had handed him that straight line so he would stick his foot in his mouth. Then I would choke him on it.

"We usually ask visitors to leave their conveyances in the courtyard behind the hall, sir. I could move it back there for you, if you like."

"That's very thoughtful of you. I'd appreciate that very much." I dug out a tip about one and a half times the going rate for such a task. Enough to impress, not enough to arouse resentment or suspicion.

"Thank you, sir."

We watched him drive into a narrow passageway between one end of the hall and the city jail.

"Slick, Garrett."

"What?"

"You should have been a con man. You sold him using nothing but intonation, bearing, and gesture. Slick."

"It was an experiment. If he'd had two ounces of brain to rub together, it wouldn't have worked."

"If he had two ounces of brain he'd be making an honest living."

I think Morley's attitude toward so-called civil servants is as cynical as mine.

The next public employee we encountered—on a more than which-way-do-we-go? basis—had two ounces of brains. Just barely.

I was digging through what passed for vital statistics in Full Harbor and finding that four of the Kronk children were not listed at all. Morley, in pursuit of an inspiration of his own, dug through the property plats and brought one over. He sat on the floor reading it.

Two-Ounces appeared out of nowhere and bellowed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Research," I replied in my reasonable voice.

"Get the hell out of here!"

"Why?" Reasonable again, of course.

That got him for a moment. Both ounces went stumbling after something with more authority than a bottom-rung city flunky's "because I said so."

Morley dealt himself a hand. "These are public records legally open to public inspection."

That left Two-Ounces armed only with bluster because he didn't know for sure. "I'm going to call some guards and have you wise guys thrown out on your asses."

"That won't be necessary." Morley closed the plat book. "No need for a scene. The matter can wait till after you've explained to the judge tomorrow morning."

"Judge? What judge?"

"The judge who's going to ask you why a couple of honest investigators like ourselves, sent down from TunFaire, can't look at documents any vagrant off the streets of Full Harbor has a right to see." He went off to return his plat book.

Two-Ounces stared at me while I neatened up after myself. I think he saw nothing but potential disaster. There is no man so insecure as a bottom-level functionary in a sinecure he has held for a long time. He's done nothing for so long that nothing is all he can do. The prospect of unemployment is a mortal terror.

"Ready?" Morley asked, returning.

"When you are."

"Let's go. See you in the morning, friend."

The man turned slowly to watch us go, his face still drained. But the poison had begun to creep into his eyes. It was the hatred and power greed that make vicious liars out of people who tell you they're public servants.