The Sword-Edged blonde

TWENTY-FOUR

B ernie didn’t take it very well when I told him he couldn’t tag along. He took it even less well when I wouldn’t share the address with him. If Canino was involved, he pointed out, then likely some major illegalities took place in and around my destination. I sympathized, but I also knew I had to do this alone. Bernie was both my friend and the long arm of the law in Cape Querna, and I might have to break a few statutes to resolve things for Phil, Rhiannon and myself. I couldn’t risk either implicating or confronting Bernie in a pinch.

Back in the boarding house I tried to catch up on some lost sleep, but I was too anxious to relax. I risked a drink, not knowing how it might mix with the dregs of the Dragonfly’s joy juice still in my system. It had no effect of any kind.

I stood on the balcony and watched night approach over the ocean as the sun set. From dark blue to purple to black, the sky darkened like a bruise forming over Cape Querna. Beneath it roamed the people who hated the light, whose furtive acts needed to be hidden from decent, daytime eyes. Tonight, I would be one of them.

My strategy was simple. Go to the address Tanko gave me, sneak into the place and see if, as I suspected, the Dwarf was also Andrew Reese. After that, I’d have to improvise.

My sad little plan was based entirely on my only real clue, the note I’d found at Epona’s old hut. I lit one of the balcony’s torches, unfolded the faded piece of parchment and looked it over one final time. Translated, it read:

I KNEW YOU WOULD COME BACK. AND YOU KNEW I’D FIND YOU.

I read no hidden meaning, no inside joke or inadvertent irony that might give something away. I saw only the bitter cackle of triumph from an old enemy. The rest of my chain of reasoning was so insubstantial it might have been made from fairies’ hair.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if people hadn’t been counting on me to be brilliant. I imagined Queen Rhiannon, now scruffy and despondent in her cage beside the city gate. Each morning the same work traffic would pass her, and she would endure their jeers and stares knowing she was innocent. Was she allowed to speak to any of them? Would she eventually form relationships with her tormentors the way all prisoners do? Or was she kept silent, in public isolation, overhearing but not participating in the city life around her? Would her guards abuse or coddle her? Would Phil demand daily reports, or try to pretend she wasn’t there? And would all this finally convince her to admit she did know who she was, and why someone hated her so much? Or had she told the truth all along?

Completely out of the blue, I had a vivid flash of my hand on Epona Gray’s inner thigh, sliding toward the horseshoe scar. A cushion of sweat smoothed my palm’s progress along her fever-cooked skin. She had been real, I was absolutely sure. She had been a genuine, tangible woman. But I’d never touched Rhiannon; she told me about the scar, but I never saw it. So how could I know if she truly was Epona Gray with blond hair and blue eyes?

That was my basic dilemma. I just wasn’t sure of anything. I couldn’t believe Epona Gray had been a goddess; that was just goofy. And I didn’t believe Rhiannon was an amnesiac. Yet I was sure that, somehow, they were the same person. How could that be true? Rhiannon could not still be so young and unchanged after ten years unless she really was supernatural. Epona had been deathly ill, so she couldn’t have been supernatural. One, or both, had lied. Because nothing made sense if both had told the truth.

I packed all my belongings and left the bag on the bed. If I returned to claim it, I wouldn’t be staying long, and if I didn’t, the housekeeper shouldn’t have to bother on my account. I wore dark clothes that, I hoped, would seem like formal evening wear at a distance, but would allow me to hide in the shadows if needed.

I slipped through the crowded, smoky tavern without being noticed and went into the stables. The boys had finished feeding and grooming the guests’ horses for the evening and gone off to do whatever stable hands do after work.

My stolen ride stood patiently in her stall. The dim light from scattered oil lamps turned her a deep chocolate color. She tossed her head slightly when I put the saddle on her back, but made no protest when I cinched it tight. I pulled the bridle over her head, and she accepted the bit without complaint.

I looked into her eyes. For the first time with any horse, I didn’t get that frisson of alien, vaguely malicious intelligence. “You’re a pretty good girl, aren’t you?” I said as I stroked her face. “Hope you like being with me, because I don’t think you’ll ever find your way back to those border raiders in Pema. I guess if we’re going to keep working together, I really should give you a name.”

She gently tossed her head in what truly seemed like agreement.

“I’ve never named a horse before. Let’s see… I guess I should base it on some quality you have. You’re patient, you’re smart, you’re loyal… hm, ‘Loyola’?”

The horse just looked at me as if I was an idiot.

“You’re right. What if we shortened it to ‘Lola’?”

I swear the animal cocked her head as if thinking about it, then whinnied and stepped forward to rub her snout against my cheek.

“Lola it is, then,” I said as I swung my leg over her back. “Hope I’m still around tomorrow to introduce you to people.”

I’d memorized the route from the map in Bernie’s office. I rode Lola though the dark streets toward Brillion Hill, doubling back several times to make sure I wasn’t trailed by either Bernie or someone connected with Canino. Foot traffic thinned out as I neared the mansion district, and once I reached it I passed only closed buggies delivering the scions of these wealthy families to ritzy galas. I heard music and crowds behind some of the massive privacy walls, while others remained mysterious and silent.

The small castles and newer houses on Brillion Hill reflected the world of my own childhood. I’d been one of those decked-out rich kids living from party to party. I could dance, use the right fork at a lavish dinner, negotiate a wine list and play a passable piano. My partner in crime had been the ultimate cool dude, Crown Prince Phil. And for a while, my girlfriend had been the delectable Princess Janet. At that moment, though, it seemed no more real than some book I’d once read.

I passed numerous huge, ancient gates before I reached the one that bore the number Tanko had written down. Through the heavy iron bars I saw a three-story house, newer but not really new, behind the tall trees. The grounds grew thick with flowering bushes, and I recalled Spike’s comment that Canino always brought back fresh flowers from his visits to the boss. Only a single light gleamed in one window; no galas tonight for the Dwarf, apparently. The gate looked solid, and its lock mechanism appeared in good shape. There was a gatehouse, but it was unmanned.

Only after I’d absorbed all this did the gate’s design register. The bars were decorated in the shape of a giant horseshoe, upside down so the luck wouldn’t spill. I almost laughed.

A buggy approached as I took in the sight. I rode on as if still searching for the right address. Lola’s hooves clopped on the cobblestone road as we passed two other homes. When the traffic finally disappeared and I had the street to myself for a moment, I stopped and slid quietly to the ground. I led Lola into the shadows beneath a thick, ancient oak branch that stretched over an estate wall and almost across the entire street. I tied her to the lowest limb, and if she stayed still and quiet, she’d be invisible until dawn.

I pulled the brand-new Edgemaster Series 3 dark-steel sword from the saddle and strapped the scabbard across my back. The trusty Fireblade had served me well, but its blade was far too shiny for night work. I’d picked up the new sword earlier that day, and although taking an untried weapon into combat was a beginner’s mistake, there’d been no time to break it in. I waited while more buggies passed. Then, ducking from shadow to shadow, I returned to the gate.

I lingered in the dark beside the gatehouse for a long time, listening for any movement on the grounds behind the wall. Crickets and mosquitoes, uncaring of social status, went about their business here just as they did among the common folk at the bottom of the hill. Two carriages passed on the street, one silent and one full of giggling debutantes. I heard nothing from the house or the surroundings.

There was no reason to prolong this. I crouched by the gatehouse door and picked the lock with more speed and silence than I could’ve managed on the gate itself. I slipped into the tiny building, then through the opposite door and onto the estate grounds. I ducked behind a tree near the wall and again waited for any sign I’d been spotted.

I could see the layout better from here as well. The driveway led in a graceful arc to a carriage house where guests could disembark with no fear of the weather. The main building’s first story boasted towering windows that opened directly onto the front porch, but were now closed and draped into darkness. Upstairs that single dim light still burned in one window, but I couldn’t see its source. A buggy passed on the street just over the wall behind me, and the noise echoed in the silence.

It certainly didn’t seem like the hideout of a criminal mastermind. No guards, no vicious dogs, barely even a lock. I wondered if, like Lonnie, Tanko had rushed to warn them I was coming. More likely he’d given me the wrong address just to get us out of his office.

I moved from tree to tree, each time closer to the house. There was a small, narrow moat around it that was likely a holdover from its pioneer days. Anyone not weighed down by armor could easily leap it, and small foot bridges crossed it at several places. The water in it was dark, and its surface sparkled just enough to tell me it was flowing, however slightly. I crouched in the bushes beside the carriage house and was contemplating forcing a window open, when I heard the distinct sound of splashing in the moat behind the house.

It took several minutes of dodging from one bush to another to reach the rear wall of the estate. Torches lit the back of the house where a patio had been added, but I couldn’t see over the rows of damn hedges that formed a small, shoulder-high topiary maze.

At the very back of the yard, a gigantic old blackjack oak towered over the newer trees that had been landscaped in. These oaks usually lived on gnarled rock outcroppings overlooking the ocean, which Brillion Hill had once been before men built things all over it. To have grown this large, this one must’ve been spared from the original clearing, because I’d never seen one with a trunk this thick. Wincing at every faint crackle of bark and creak of branch, I hoisted myself into the tree and climbed high enough to get a wide, unobstructed view.

A section of the moat had been enlarged to form a kind of swimming pool. A lone figure traversed it with awkward, uncertain strokes. The swimmer was small like a kid, but lacked a child’s pale pudginess. This character seemed lean, tanned and somehow elderly. His exertions reeked of desperate effort, but he wasn’t drowning. He methodically reached one side of the moat, turned and started back. At this distance I couldn’t make out his face.

A door opened, and my old friend Canino emerged from the dark house. He wore pale slacks and a pink tunic with rolled-up sleeves. He was barefoot and carried a tall tankard. I heard his voice clearly over the swimmer’s splashing.

“The ledgers for this month are on your desk. Kandinsky was short again; I’ll pay him a visit.”

The figure in the moat bobbed up and down, struggling to tread water. “His daughter is around fifteen now, isn’t she? Use her virginity as leverage, if she’s still got it. I can’t ignore that kind of shoddy management.”

Canino sipped his drink. “How do you know he’s not doing it deliberately?”

The figure in the water swam to the edge of the pool at Canino’s feet. “Because he’s the latest in a long line of idiots named Kandinsky.”

“Then why do you still use him?”

“Because I know him. He completely lacks the capacity to surprise me. His grandfather tried to cheat me once, and I made sure his child-fathering days were over. His father spent ten years in prison for trying to fix an election against the guy I was backing. I’ve seen him grow up, and I know fear of me keeps him honest. Too bad it can’t make him any smarter. Give me a hand out of here, will you?”

Canino put his drink on a table and reached for the offered hand. He pulled the swimmer from the pool, and I got a rush of alternating terror and excitement.

The naked man was no more than three feet tall. His head and torso were of normal size, and that’s all he was: a head with short black hair and a muscular, tanned torso. His hands stuck out directly from his shoulders, the right one up and the left horizontal. His feet dangled from his hips, the left one quite a bit lower than the right. His genitalia, at this distance, appeared normal.

Canino lowered him to the patio. He moved with an understandably odd, jerky grace to the table and retrieved a bright red towel. Somehow he tied it around his chest, and it still dragged on the ground.

“I’m going to get dressed,” the Dwarf said. “I’ll look over the ledgers and get back to you with any other problems.”

Something nearby moved at the periphery of my vision, and I froze. There was no breeze, and I had not changed position. Anything that moved had to be alive.

Close to my hand I both felt and saw motion on the branch. Curled up atop the wood, barely visible in the darkness, was a small furry shape. It could not be a squirrel, because they weren’t nocturnal, and it was too small for either a possum or a raccoon.

Now that I’d noticed one, I suddenly realized the tree was full of these same creatures. It was a miracle I hadn’t grabbed one as I climbed. They were tiny, no bigger than my two fists put together. I felt a serious case of the creeps rising as I tried to figure out what the hell they were, until one suddenly rolled over, stretched and yawned. Both relieved and excited, I recognized it as a tiny monkey. They weren’t native to Cape Querna, yet a monkey had been essential to framing Rhiannon, and its presence on the Dwarf’s estate was at least a minor confirmation.

As the Dwarf waddled toward the house, the door opened again and a girl walked out. She wore a skimpy top and a low, long sheer skirt. Her face was hidden behind what I thought at first was a white mask. She stood aside and held the door open.

“Hey, Gretchen,” the Dwarf said with malicious cheerfulness. “You look thirsty; would you like a jug of water?”

His laugh echoed in the dark house. Gretchen walked heavily over to stand next to Canino by the moat. He did not look at her as he said, “Care for a swim?”

She shook her head. Her voice had none of its former cockiness. “The doctor said I shouldn’t get my bandages wet.”

Canino smiled but still didn’t look at her. “You’d swim if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, thoroughly defeated. “Of course.”

He handed her his drink. “That’s okay. I’d rather see you dance.”

He picked up a lap drum and settled himself in a chair, the drum between his knees. Gretchen put his drink on the table next to him.

“Please don’t make me dance,” she said in a voice so small I barely heard it. She pointed to her bandaged face. “It hurts when I move, even a little. The cuts start bleeding again.”

Canino said nothing, and began tapping out a slow rhythm.

“Why do you enjoy hurting me?” Gretchen choked out, sounding like a little girl. “All I ever did to you was like you.”

Canino remained silent and motionless except for his hands on the drum.

Gretchen slid her feet back and forth, her slippers skitching against the stone patio. She began to sway to the beat, although I heard her sniffle and choke as she did so.

I’d never get a better chance, and carefully plotted my descent. I’d scaled the tree in blissful ignorance, but now I climbed down as a nervous wreck. If I disturbed one sleeping monkey, they’d all go off in a screeching, leaping cacophony. I timed my movements to the rhythm of Canino’s drum, and when my feet finally touched the ground, I almost wanted to cheer.

If she’d glanced up at the wrong moment Gretchen might have seen me, but it was dark and I was good at stealth. I used the perimeter of the hedge maze to hide as I scuttled around the yard, until I crouched out of sight fifteen feet behind Canino in the shadow of a silver maple.

I pulled a miniature crossbow with only a foot-wide prod span from a holster strapped to my lower leg. The weapon folded down to a slender tube no bigger around than my thumb. I snapped the prods out and wound the cranequin as tight as it would go.

Gretchen had shed her top and was now dancing in only the sheer skirt. Her bandaged face showed wet stains from both tears and blood. She moved like a doll dangling from a string.

I loaded a short, razor-sharp bolt into the crossbow. I’d get one shot if I was lucky. If this whole dance routine hadn’t been some ruse to lure me out. I felt no particular sympathy for Gretchen beyond what I would for any victim of cruelty; after all, she’d slipped me the sleepy-time and helped Canino torture me. But Canino might not comprehend that, and assume I’d react the way most men would at the sight of a half-naked damsel in distress and come to her rescue. If this was a trap.

It was time to stop thinking. I stood, leveled the crossbow and shot Canino through the back of his neck.

I don’t know what sort of reaction I expected, really. But I was surprised when he did nothing at all except stop drumming. Gretchen froze in mid-spin, eyes wide inside the holes cut in her bandages, then quickly crossed her arms to cover her bare breasts. Given our previous encounter, I thought her modesty misplaced.

I waited, but Canino still didn’t move. Had I gotten lucky and sliced his spinal cord? I wondered if I dared take my eyes off him long enough to recock and reload the crossbow. I decided that would be foolish, so I dropped the weapon and drew my sword. I really didn’t want to get within blade-range, but I also couldn’t just stand there and wait for something to happen.

I took a step forward, and Canino stood up and turned to face me. The movement was so quick and graceful I barely held back a yell.

The bolt tip protruded from the front of his neck, to one side of his Adam’s apple. Blood stained the collar of his pink shirt, but not as much as I expected, because the bolt itself blocked the bleeding. He breathed with difficulty, but his demeanor was so calm it was terrifying.

“Now this is ironic,” he said with a smile. His voice was suddenly rough and husky, with a raggedness identical to Spike’s.

I didn’t say anything.

His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the chair for support. “You didn’t even give me a chance,” he rasped.

“Had a feeling you were too good to give a chance to,” I replied.

Suddenly Gretchen stepped forward and yanked the bolt from the back of his neck. It popped free with a wet smacking sound. He spun to face her as blood gushed from both holes. She stood with the bolt in her hand, fresh tears soaking the bandage around her blazing eyes.

Canino lunged toward her and she made no move to evade him. I never saw him draw the knife, but he drove it into her belly and then ripped it upward with all his fading strength until the bone of her sternum blocked it. He pulled her close and worked the blade deep into her, probing for her heart. He found it.

They stayed motionless for a long moment, two lifeless bodies propped together like tent poles. Their mingled blood pooled at their feet. At last they collapsed, smacking into the wet patio stone beneath them. Droplets of red splashed into the moat and vanished into the night-black water.

This whole lethal encounter had taken less than three minutes, and occurred in almost total silence. I sheathed my sword, slipped the crossbow back in its tube and quietly stepped into the shadows. The door through which the Dwarf had entered the house remained open, and no light showed anywhere inside. I listened intently, unable to believe the little freak was really alone inside the huge dark house. Where were the other guards, or the additional strong-arm thugs like Canino? Did he really feel so secure?

I wouldn’t learn anything standing on the patio like some kid selling cookies. No one appeared to check on Canino, and no one moved about inside. I slipped through the open door into the main room, and waited until my eyes adjusted enough so that I wouldn’t trip over the furniture. The light from the patio torches reflected from an enormous chandelier over a long, elegant dinner table that ran lengthwise toward the door. Along the walls were overstuffed sofas, and beside each a little footstool to allow the Dwarf access.

Huge paintings covered the walls, all with an identical motif: horses in agony. Some were drowning, some being burned alive, some simply ridden to the point of exhaustion. The styles were as varied as the subjects were similar. I recognized some of the artists, masters from across the world, and was impressed with the Dwarf’s resources, if not his taste. An original Finkelman must cost a damn fortune.

Near the front of the room, a huge staircase swept upward in a graceful arc around the foyer’s entire perimeter. This puzzled me, until I saw that a smooth ramp ran alongside the steps, and explained the need for such a gradual slope. The Dwarf, unable to use steps, would need something like this to reach the upper floors.

I took the steps silently, listening for any movement around me. The house was deathly quiet; I could even hear the pool rippling outside, and the occasional crackle of the torches. The staircase did not creak, but I felt it shift under my weight, and knew it might give me away. It made me, if possible, even tenser.

I reached the second floor landing. To my right, the hallway stretched away into darkness, but down the opposite hall I saw the same faint glow I’d observed from outside. It came from under a door halfway down the corridor. No other goal presented itself, so I crept toward it. I passed several other closed, silent rooms before I reached the lit one.

I paused. I had no idea what to expect, so I could really prepare for nothing. I could only hope that the clues and hints that led me here would see me through whatever happened, for the sake of my best friend and his wife. I put my hand on the knob, opened the door and stepped into the room.