Текст книги "The Broken Bell"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Five

We were soon surrounded by Army tallboys, Army troop transports and whopping big twenty-horse Army cargo flats.

Lucky for us, my borrowed mare was Army bred and Army trained, and she snorted at the biggest and the worst of them and kept plodding dutifully along.

The address Pratt provided led to a busy coffee shop five blocks from Lethway’s lair. The usual clientele was gone, replaced by idling officers who knew a good place to lay low while there was real work to be done, but that suited me just fine. It was a poor place for murder.

I seated Darla at a table next to a trio of smiling young lieutenants and then I shouldered my way into the coffee shop.

Pratt himself was seated at a table in the back. He wasn’t alone. I didn’t know the man seated across from him, but at a word from Pratt the big-boned stranger stood and offered me his seat and then vanished into the crowd.

I sat.

Pratt looked bad. His right eye was concealed with a bandage. His lips were swollen and split. An ugly purple bruise peeked out from under the bandage wrapped around his forehead, and I realized he wasn’t wearing a hat to hide the damage because the swelling left him with nothing that fit.

When he grinned, he revealed a couple of missing teeth. But he grinned anyway, and stuck out his hand, and I took it and shook it.

“Glad to see you made it.”

“Likewise.”

“You don’t have a scratch on you, you lucky bastard.”

I shrugged. “I broke a nail, though. Nasty business.”

“I guess you heard Lethway took it worse than either of us.” Pratt shifted in his seat and grunted in pain. “Had a stroke while his doctor was patching him up. Word is he won’t live through the night.”

“What a pity. How’s the missus?”

“She’s fine. I did it, Markhat. Took her out of there. Got a house on Verdant. You should come around sometime.”

“Heard from Carris?”

Pratt shook his head. “Not a word. But I know he got out, Markhat. Saw him leave. So maybe I should be asking you where he is.”

“Wish I knew.” I told Pratt about Carris and his visit to the Fields house. Then I described trying to catch him at the docks and watching the last boat leave instead.

I didn’t tell Pratt about the wedding, or Tamar, or the Church.

Shame on me.

“So the kid made it, wounded and feverish, all the way uptown.” Pratt beamed. “He’s a damned tough kid.”

“Somebody taught him that.” I eyed the crowd. “You know, a boat out of town might not be a bad idea.”

“She can’t travel just yet.” He didn’t look up. “No, we’re staying put. You?”

“I hate boats.”

“I had some men check the bodies,” said Pratt. “Japeth Stricken wasn’t there.”

“Damn.”

“Damn is right. He’ll be apt to look you up, Markhat. Once he’s done with Lethway.”

“The thought crossed my mind. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Pratt nodded and grimaced at the effort.

“But I guess anybody that can kill wand-wavers and walk away looking fresh and rested isn’t much worried about the likes of Stricken, are they now?”

“He slipped. I got in a lucky stab. Nothing miraculous about it.”

“Slipped. Sure he did. Just like the pair you dropped in front of me. They found the wand-waver’s body, you know. Burned to a crisp. Still, you could see he had a big hole all the way through him. That’s one Hell of a stab you landed.”

“Guess it was.”

He gave me a wary look. A look that said he once had me figured out, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I wouldn’t have gotten out of the Timbers if not for you. So I owe you one. Just wanted to make that known.”

I rose. “Thanks. One day soon we need to have a beer.”

“That we do.” He grunted and struggled to his feet. The effort left him pale and shaking.

“You take care, Markhat.”

“Always do.”

I fought my way back through the mob of lazy soldiers and found Darla. Then we elbowed our way through the crowd. The mare looked winded and thirsty, so we ate a pair of apples and had some water ourselves while a stable boy gave our mount a meal and a brushing.

Then we hit the road again. Word among the soldiers was that the mobs had been broken and a rough sort of order once again ruled the streets. I pulled a couple of bright-eyed lads from their nice comfy chairs and ordered them to saddle up.

Time to check in with Evis and see just how bad things were likely to get.

As it turned out, I didn’t need the pair of bodyguards at all.

The fires burned out. Already, crews were pulling down burnt walls and loading debris onto wagons. Many of those doing the pulling and the loading were the looters who’d set the blazes, now working happily to restore the grandeur of Rannit under the watchful eyes of Army bowmen.

Here and there, the corpses of those who had shown reluctance to display such commendable civic-mindedness swung slowly back and forth in the wind. Each bore a sign around their neck, describing their crimes. Most read simply LOOTER. A few bore the title ARSONIST. One hapless fellow was described simply as a MAN OF LOW MORALS.

“Since when did that become a capital offense?”

Darla squeezed me hard and fast, and buried her face in my back as we passed beneath the corpse.

We were challenged, now and then, but with decorum and calm. My name got us through every time. I had mixed emotions about becoming well known as a soldier in Hisvin’s secret army.

Traffic across the Brown River Bridge was packed and slow. The bridge clowns didn’t dance. They huddled together in what looked like prayer.

The Brown below us was empty. Not a single barge, not a lone rowboat, dotted the faraway water.

“I’ve never been up the Hill,” she said, shouting.

“Time you see how rich folks live.”

I felt her shiver.

“They’re just people, like you and me,” I yelled. “Well, except for being dead. But Evis is my friend, and you’re my wife-to-be, so that means you’re perfectly safe.”

“Wife-to-be. Ha. Where’s my ring, then?”

“A good point.” I would need a ring, even for a false wedding. “I might have a few in a drawer somewhere. Trophies of my mis-spent youth. How big are your fingers?”

That earned me a punch in the small of the back.

I saw an opening in the near-motionless line of cabs and gave the mare a gentle nudge. She leaped into it, sidestepped a sleek black carriage, and within moments we were scattering angry clowns and making good time toward the Hill.

Once off the bridge, we were confronted by another barricade, this one erected by a throng of House soldiers, each with the insignia of their House sewn over their hearts. They were polite and efficient and the sight of so many silver-tipped arrows peeking over the ranks of their shields left no one in a mood to bluster.

My turn came and went without incident. A man bearing the Avalante crest took our names and waved us through, and we were let through the line and onto the Hill proper.

The Hill bristled. Each and every House was transformed overnight into its own elegant fortress. Catapults lurked in every ornate rose garden. The oaks sported archers. Lawns were thick with lancers and infantry.

Everywhere, slack-jawed groundskeepers wrung their hands and wept.

If war did indeed come to Rannit, the invaders were going to face a bloodbath, at least on the Hill.

I doubted that the invaders had a foot campaign in mind. If I were in command of a flotilla armed with cannon, I’d simply float a barge down the Brown and bombard the Hill at my leisure, smashing the Houses to bits from a safe distance and trapping the populace between the Brown and the walls.

I shuddered at the thought. Avalante might have cannon of its own, but the pair I’d seen on the lawn would prove no match for a couple of barges bristling with the things.

We rode, challenged but never detained for long. Even houses with no love for Avalante proved cooperative.

Seeing the Houses holding hands and cooing was almost as disturbing as the thought of the cannon.

What was usually a twenty-minute ride took an hour. At last we reached the familiar face of Avalante, and we dismounted while a pair of stable boys led the mare off to Avalante’s stables.

I didn’t recognize the trio of day folk who greeted Darla and I. I did note that they already knew Darla’s name. We were taken immediately to the sitting room, each given cold tea and a decent ham sandwich, and were told we would be seen to as soon as possible.

Darla nibbled. I gulped.

“I expected the House to be darker,” she said, opening her sandwich and inspecting the ham.

I swallowed.

“It’s just ham. We’re guests here. They take that seriously, even if Evis isn’t around.”

She took a healthy bite.

“It’s not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Try to think of them as business associates.”

“I know. And I do like Evis. But-”

The door opened. The door opener wasn’t a day staffer, but Victor, wrapped in black silk and peering at us through black-lensed spectacles.

“Markhat. Miss Tomas.” He executed an old-world bow, obviously aimed at Darla, since he never bothered with such niceties when greeting humble finders. “Be welcome in our House.”

Darla stuck her half-eaten sandwich in my lap and stood, extending her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “A beautiful House it is.”

Victor took her hand, very gently, and shook it twice. Darla beamed.

Victor turned to me. “I regret that we are unable to communicate with our friends on the Regency,” he said.

There is nothing gloomier than a worried vampire.

“Why? Problems with the long talker?”

Victor shook his head. “Our technical staff believes the problem does not lie here,” he said. “They are unable to determine the nature of the failure.”

“Could it be the dingus at the other end?”

“The dingus, as you name it, is far less complex than the main device, which resides here. It was designed to withstand the rigors of travel.”

Darla put her hand on my shoulder.

“Surely the House has other means of communicating?”

Victor sighed again. The sound of it was that of long-trapped air hissing from an old dry place.

“These methods, too, have failed. Sorcerous and otherwise.”

I cussed. Darla squeezed my shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean they were overtaken. Could be a lot of things. Maybe the wand-wavers from Prince are just filling the Brown with silence spells.”

“Perhaps that is so,” said Victor. His tone suggested he entertained no such notion. “But we must prepare for the worst.”

“The worst being that the barges made it through, the Regencyis sunk and four thousand cannon are nearly upon us.”

“Just so.” Victor produced a plain-looking bag from beneath his robes. I took it and nearly dropped it at the unexpected weight.

“More of the explosive rounds for your weapon,” he said. “Also, a contrivance which will allow it to be worn on your waist, much like a sword. The House judges the time for secrecy regarding the weapon to be ended.”

I gently let the bag rest on the floor.

“How many more rounds?”

“A thousand,” he said. “One standard issue.”

“Standard issue? You’re handing these out to the staff?”

“Many have already been trained in the use of small arms. Many more will see training this day. If war comes to Rannit, Markhat, Avalante has no intention of falling.”

Darla tilted her head, curious but unwilling to interrupt.

“You may both take refuge here,” said Victor. “Our chambers are deep. We have long prepared against this day.”

“Thanks. I mean that. But I’ve still got a case to round up, and my client is an unreasonable woman with small regard for petty excuses.”

That earned me another kick in the shins.

“What he’s trying to say, sir, is that we are honored by your offer, and if the time comes, we are honored to fight at your side.”

Victor bowed to her. If he was smiling behind that silk, I couldn’t see it, and didn’t want to.

“As you wish. Good luck to you both. I fear the coming days will be dark ones.”

“Good luck to you, too.”

He bowed again and was gone.

“A thousand what?” whispered Darla. “What contrivance? What weapon? Is that the thing you’ve been hiding in your coat pocket all day?”

“I’ll explain on the way home,” I said. “You need to pick out a dress. I need to polish some shoes. Aren’t we getting married tomorrow? I do seem to recall something about that.”

Darla doesn’t giggle often, but she did then, and we stole a kiss right there inside a house full of vampires.

Some days, you just never know where your path is going to take you.

The rest of that day is, even now, a blur.

I returned my borrowed mare, and in her place I took a sleek black carriage and a pair of sturdy-looking ponies. I repaid a confused shoemaker for the mismatched pair of shoes I’d looted. I sought out a few unsavory acquaintances in search of news of Japeth Stricken, but found my ne’er-do-wells either dead or fled. I even made the long trip to Elfways, hoping Granny Knot had found a pigeon bearing news from Pot Lockney on her windowsill, but found her shack bolted shut and silent

That left nothing to be done but prepare for my wedding.

False wedding, I reminded myself. Sham wedding. An effort to keep Tamar and her young man safe. That, and nothing more.

I watched Darla smile at me from across the cab and hoped she was thinking along the same lines.

As the co-owner of a gown shop, I assumed Darla could simply reach out in any direction and fill her hands with a gown appropriate for a wedding, even a sham one. I assumed some alterations might need to be made, and that would be the business of an hour or so, but I didn’t consider the matter likely to demand more time or resources than that.

Oh, how wrong I was. Within moments of arriving, Darla and Mary and even Martha Hoobin set about conducting what appeared to be a full-on ruthless ransacking of their wares.

Gowns flew. Veils and unmentionables followed. Opinions and judgments came fast and furious, all reduced to a hushed female shorthand-

“This one is too-”

“If only that were-”

“Too light-”

“Too dark-”

I pulled my hat down over my eyes, forgotten in my appointed chair.

I did not sleep. I managed to buckle the contrivance Victor had given me around my waist. The belt held a leather holster for the hand cannon. It was ringed around with clever little leather pockets, each of which held an explosive round. I loaded the hand cannon and filled the belt and put a handful of extra rounds in my pocket just in case those eighty-five weren’t enough.

Darla and Mary and Martha tittered and whispered and plotted. So did I.

I had to have a ring.

Oh, I could just stop by Whistler’s or Trader Mac’s and walk away with a two-penny ring with a bit of sand in the middle. And that would be just fine for a sham wedding.

But I didn’t need Mama to tell me that handing Darla a backstreet petty ring and taking her to a lie of a wedding was going to have repercussions of the negative variety. Soon.

Very soon.

The street outside was all but deserted. Save for the Army, of course. Soldiers marched by in nervous little bands. Lone Army wagons thundered past, sparks flying from iron wheels, bound for destinations on the Wall.

I stood up quietly, so the floors didn’t creak. I unlocked Darla’s door with the stealth of a footpad.

I locked it behind me when I went out. Laid a finger across my lips to the soldiers I left standing there.

She still doesn’t know I left her there, that day.

We all need our little secrets.

One of the mysteries of the matrimonial process is the disparate amount of effort required in the assemblage of the respective costumes required.

By my count, the bare preliminaries involved in getting Darla kitted out for her wedding required seven and a half hours of continuous effort by no fewer than three determined women, each an expert in the field of elaborate costumery. That doesn’t count the night I’m sure Mary and Martha put in, making alterations or creating accoutrements from scratch.

My outfitting, by contrast, took an hour. Mary hemmed up the cuffs on a pair of black pants that sported grey pinstripes up the sides. Martha added fancy jade and silver buttons to a new white shirt, after Darla claimed the green in the buttons complemented my eyes. Darla found an old-fashioned long-tailed jacket, black as a crow’s wing, which fit. A black hat, black gloves, and some shiny black shoes were procured, I was admonished to shave, and I was pronounced worthy of groom-hood.

I did not see Darla in her final fitting. I reminded the ladies that this was not a real wedding, and thus the old superstition about seeing a bride in her bridal gown early did not apply, but Mary slapped my fingers with a fly-swatter and I decided not to push the matter further.

Night fell. My soldiers outside were swapped for fresh ones. I admonished them to resist the temptation to slack off until Darla caught me by the elbow and led me back inside.

“There’s no need to terrify them so soon, is there, dear?”

“Ha. Shows what you know about soldiers. They’re already plotting ways to get Mary baking them pies.”

“Hush.” She kissed me.

She was dressed again in her black pants and black canvas shirt. The dagger was back in her boot. I felt another hidden away at the small of her back when I put my arms around her, and my heart ached.

This is what you’ve done to her, said a mean small voice. She can’t even go outdoors without arming herself.

“I wore knives well before I met you, Mr. Markhat,” she whispered in my ear.

“Did you now?”

“I did. What’s next?”

She didn’t see. I almost didn’t. A man was walking slowly down the sidewalk, across the street. There was nothing remarkable about him, or the way he walked. He was just a man, perhaps a bit weary, holding his hat against a wind that still smelled of smoke.

But as he moved beneath a street lamp, he pulled back his hat and looked across the street.

It was Mills. His eyes were sunken and circled by mottled black rings. His skin was slack, going blue. The scarf wrapped around his ruined neck was stained an ugly brown in the front.

He nodded, lowered his hat, continued on.

“Dear, what is it?”

“Nothing. I remembered something. You stay here. I won’t be long.”

“Damn it. Damn it all, anyway.” She let go of me and hurried to the back. A cheery little bell tinkled as she closed the door.

I cussed a bit myself. Then I went out the door, gave the soldiers a glare, and hurried off after the dead man.

Mills set a good pace for a corpse. He went two blocks north and turned into an alley. I’d been keeping half a block behind, on the assumption the Corpsemaster wanted some privacy for our talk. I figured the alley was it.

In the alley, though, a plain Army tallboy waited. Its driver was either living or so freshly dead he still felt the need to sneeze. I nodded at him and clambered inside, and once I was seated he snapped his reins and off we went.

Mills sat across from me. There was no smell. No buzzing of flies. Nothing but a slouched figure in a bloody scarf.

“Captain.”

The voice wasn’t even that of Mills. It was the Corpsemaster’s own voice, or at least the voice she’d led me to believe was hers.

With her breed, one can never be too sure.

“Corpsemaster.” I didn’t salute. “Any news from upriver?”

“You refer to the Regencyand her attempt to blow the bluffs.”

“I do.”

There was a small stirring of Mills’s dead limbs. “An ingenious stratagem. I had no idea Avalante had continued their research, after the War. I commend you, Captain. Your efforts were daring and bold.”

“But were they effective?”

Silence.

“That, Captain, I simply do not know.”

“With respect, Corpsemaster, might I inquire as to what you do know?”

She chuckled. “Very little, I’m afraid. A powerful charm has been laid on the land itself, north of Rannit. I suspect it required the full efforts of all three of our sorcerers, working in close concert. That is in itself troubling. Nearly as troubling as the extent to which it has rendered me blind and deaf.”

“That’s why the long-talker isn’t working anymore.”

“Yes. Also disabled are the other more conventional lines of arcane communication used by the House. Oh yes. I know of those. Long ago, Captain, I laid certain charms of my own, up and down the Brown. All those that lie north of here have fallen silent.”

“We’re blind, then.”

Mills nodded.

“I have reason to believe, though, that the invaders are also reduced to what they can see with their unaided eyes,” she said. “This can work to our advantage. An unexpected boon, granted by the Angel of Chance herself, perhaps.”

“I don’t follow.”

“They perhaps do not see the Regency. Perhaps not be aware of her approach, or her mission. Indeed, her crew may have already laid the charges and blown the Bluffs. If the crew of the Regencymade the attempt after the invaders loosed the concealment spell, the enemy may have well masked the very agents of their undoing. Poetic, is it not?”

“Is that what happened?”

“I have no way of knowing. I merely offer it as a possibility. It is also possible the Regencywas discovered and sunk before she laid a single charge. I simply do not know.”

I nodded. We rolled on ahead, heading east, and not in any hurry.

“The reason for your visit?”

“If I should fall, finder, all those who serve me will fall as well. The few remaining sorcerers in Rannit may continue the defense of the city, or they may flee, or they may join the invaders. In any instance, there will be chaos. You will find no place of safety here, in the aftermath. Neither you, or those you love.”

“Is this one of those morale-building pep talks I remember? Because, with respect, if it is, it needs work.”

“Take those you care about. Go to my house. Find the lowest chambers. There is a door lined with silver at the end of a hall lined with lead. Open that door with this.”

A key appeared in my hand. She didn’t hand it to me. It was just there, cold to the touch.

“Why, Corpsemaster?”

She caused Mills to shrug.

“Because it amuses me. Because I would not leave this world knowing I was a villain to all. Because it is Tuesday and the whim stuck me-what does it matter?”

“Thank you.”

“I hear you’re getting married.”

That threw me. I gobbled air for a moment.

She laughed. “You did get the lady a proper ring, didn’t you? Not some dime-store trinket?”

“It’s not a real wedding. We’re at war, or about to be.”

“So?” Mills turned his head. “You can spend your life waiting for the right moment, Captain. You can spend a thousand lifetimes. A hundred thousand. Take it from me. I can make that statement, and mean it quite literally. Driver. Stop. The Captain will be leaving now.”

The tallboy rolled to the curb.

Mills hid his face with his hat.

“I would shake your hand, Captain, but I fear that would be less than pleasant for either of us. You have the key. Use it if all is lost.”

“We’re a long way from that, sir.”

“Optimism does not suit you, Captain. Fare thee well.”

“And you, sir.”

Mills turned away. I leaped to the pavement. The door slammed shut and the tallboy charged away.