Wicked Bronze Ambition

36

Closer to hand and ecstatic about seeing me again was my pal Brownie. Her number two, which I had decided would be called Number Two henceforth because of her number-two attitude, wasn’t nearly so pleased. The other two ladies didn’t care, one way or another, but they were happy that Brownie was happy.

The strays from earlier hadn’t stuck with the crew.

Belinda asked, “These your friends from in back of the Grapevine?”

“Yeah.”

“They were at the cemetery.”

“Yeah. That odd girl was with them, too, when they caught up with me near Playmate’s place. Her attitude was still the same. Playmate has her now. He’s gonna try to find out who she is and what we ought to do with her.”

“She was pretty.” She checked for the mouse in my pocket.

“She was.” In fact, on reflection, I thought she had looked a lot like Belinda might have when she was still a fresh fourteen.

Elwood, Leon, their guests, and the sullen driver of a coach drawn by four Garrett-contemptuous drays headed westward toward my Macunado estate.

Belinda said, “That’s enough of that. Let’s walk.”

I glanced at her, thought about Little Moo, wished I had known Belinda when she was that age. But I would have been that age, too, then, which meant my head would have been on sideways.

Belinda’s remaining troops spread out. Brownie took her usual place, forcing Belinda around to my left. That did not sit well there, but Number Two kept her displeasure contained. She sensed that Belinda’s level of tolerance for uppity canines was quite low.

We hardly got our bad selves sorted into a traveling formation, reminiscent of the squad diamond of my defense days, when we got to the shop where most of the theater industry’s custom metalwork got done. Belinda invited us all inside despite the protests of some apprentices who, after considering the odds, put their hands in their pockets and stuck to muttering.

Belinda told them, “I want your master out here. Now.”

So I was expecting a master smith on Playmate’s scale, high and wide and muscle-bound. Instead, we got a guy who had some elf and a bit of dwarf in him, about five feet tall, who ambled out of the forge shed cleaning his hands on a rag. I was looking past him for the burly guy when he asked, “You wanted to see me?”

Me, Belinda, her crew, and the dogs all snapped to a higher level of readiness. He sounded like a martial arts master, confident, at peace, absent any concern. This was somebody who could be dangerous if he wanted.

Belinda said, “You were asked to make replicas of antique swords. The men who commissioned them were involved in the murder of this man’s wife.” She indicated me, gaping at the mad queen of crime being polite and reasonable. “We want to find them so we can ask them a few questions.”

The smith eyed me, considered Belinda, cataloged her thugs, even checked Brownie and her crew. I got the impression that he saw more than what was immediately obvious-in keeping with the martial arts master image. With those guys it’s always all about perception. He said, “I see.” Slightest of frowns as he took another look at Brownie. Puzzled, “The dogs have nothing to do with that, right?”

He was mumbling to himself, so nobody responded.

He took a single step toward me. “Please tell me your story. It would be best if you don’t edit.”

I grinned, slipped into the mode I use while reporting to the Dead Man, confident that this man deserved complete honesty and respect. I gave him exactly what I had given Deal Relway. Belinda’s troops grew restless before I finished.

The smith said, “You cleave to the truth as you know it. I did get a negative feel while those two were here. Also, I will stipulate that I know Tournaments of Swords used to take place, but I thought the last one happened about eighty years ago.”

“There have been others more recently. Tries, anyway. My wife’s grandmother helped mess up the last one.”

“As would appear to be the case again. One wonders why the Operators would go ahead in the face of such poor odds.”

“One does wonder.”

The smith considered the dogs again, obviously intrigued. I wondered why. The mutts clearly were not pets.

He was even more intrigued by Belinda. She had not identified herself, but it was plain what she and her men must be, if not who.

The smith said, “I hold no brief for the tournament concept, especially in a form where the contestants are expected to die.”

Belinda made a tiny gesture meant to caution me. Impulse control was no problem, though. I could see that the smith needed space to lead himself on.

I had witnesses. We could declare a day of celebration later: Garrett kept his big damned mouth shut for a whole damned minute. . How long the miracle might persist remained to be seen.

“My problem would be diminished if the participants entered the game of their own free will. But even then there is the ugly prospect of so much power ending up condensed into one person smart enough and ruthless enough to slaughter all the others, some of whom would have been friends or, at least, lifelong acquaintances.”

I had to break my silence. “Wow!” The fighting and killing longtime friends might be a key reason why Shadowslinger and her friends were determined to sabotage the process. That last man standing would be a very dark personality indeed.

And maybe I was last to really get that. Belinda had seen it right away. Enlightened self-interest might be moving her more than friendship was. That kind of villain, running loose, would not benefit her shadowed interests.

It occurred to me suddenly that Strafa could have been murdered by someone she thought was a friend. That would explain how the killer got close enough to hit her with a big-ass crossbow.

The wee smith told me, “I can’t control my curiosity. Tell me about the dogs.”