Текст книги "The Broken Bell"

Автор книги: Frank Tuttle

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Mama looked up at me and cussed and turned on her heel and waddled away at full bore.

I charged after her.

Gertriss was alone. The fire was a ploy. Even Mama had been sucked in, not knowing I wasn’t home.

People tried to stop me and talk, and I shouldered them aside, caught up with Mama then passed her.

There were lamps and torches on the street. By the bobbing lights I could see Mama’s door standing wide open, and I knew damned well she hadn’t left it that way.

I had Toadsticker out, low and level, just like I’d been taught. I hit Mama’s threshold at a run and dodged immediately to my right, where the rickety little table she uses for card readings shouldn’t have been. It was there, though, and I sent it flying.

Mama’s was pitch dark. I thought I saw a faint hint of movement. I grabbed one of Mama’s thousand jars with my left hand, and I threw it as hard as I could.

It exploded in a shower of glass and a stench so vile someone in the dark actually puked.

I charged them, felt something solid slice the air on the left side of my face, felt the something sharp graze my shoulder. But then my right shoulder plowed into a chest and I knocked someone off his feet, and we damned near took down Mama’s wall by slamming into it.

Light flared. Mama screeched. She shoved the torch she was carrying right into a stranger’s face, and I whacked him good on the side of his fool head with the flat of my blade about the same time Mama used a stool to make the stranger’s ability to ever sire children a matter of considerable doubt.

He slid to the floor, vomit still running down his chin, his hair singed and smoking.

I grabbed him, threw him face down, put a boot on his spine.

Mama was already past me, howling for Gertriss and Buttercup.

She had the torch. I couldn’t do anything but stand there helplessly and wait.

Mama came trundling back, her face ashen.

“They ain’t here. Boy, they ain’t here.”

“Mama!” It was Gertriss, from the door. Mama whirled, and the light caught Gertriss in a flimsy nightgown, one hand at her neck, the other gripping Buttercup’s hand.

The tiny banshee yawned and rubbed her eyes.

Mama yelled and slammed her door shut in the faces of a dozen curious onlookers.

“How did you get outdoors?”

“Buttercup.” Gertriss shivered. “We went through a wall. Right through it.”

I raised an eyebrow. The banshee was getting stronger. She’d never been able to do that with me, though she’d tried.

The man beneath me groaned. The stink from Mama’s jar was spreading.

“Mama. You know this man?”

Mama leaned over, raised the man’s head by yanking on his hair, and shoved the torch close enough to singe him anew.

“I don’t. I knows you can hear me.” She emphasized her point with a kick to his side. “What’s your name?”

The man groaned, but offered nothing more.

“The Watch will be around in a minute. You. Nobody in Rannit is going to blink if I skewer an arsonist. Give me an excuse. I dare you.”

I hauled him to his feet, keeping his right arm twisted behind his back.

“Mama, get the door.”

She did. I shoved him through it, right into the small mob that was forming. A few greeted him with punches and kicks.

“Thanks for your help,” I said, keeping the man on his feet as he swayed. “Mama and I appreciate it.”

“We hang him here, no?” offered one of the Arwheat brothers.

“We have rope and a scaffold, yes?” exclaimed the other.

“Maybe when the Watch is done with him. And certainly if we ever see him here again.”

The Arwheats were eyeing an exposed beam on the building next to Mama’s.

“I fetch rope, just in case, no?”

The man I was holding finally processed the gist of the conversation and started to struggle. I twisted his arm until it nearly broke, and kept it that way until a tall, black Watch wagon finally rolled down the street and disgorged a trio of beefy, bleary-eyed Watchmen.

“Good evening, officers,” I said, cheerfully. “Look what we caught, just for you.”

Chapter Ten

First light, and there I was, still scrubbing the soot and charring off my poor abused door.

It wasn’t going well. The bottom of the door had caught fire. I was sure it was burned so deeply a determined foot could make a hole all the way through it. My prized glass pane and its painted lettering was a loss. The heat had cracked the glass and the painted letters were gone and among the numerous unpleasant tasks facing me on that bright and cheery day was buying a new front door.

Too, there was no sign of Three-leg Cat. He was missing his breakfast, and that was never done.

Gertriss read my thoughts.

“He’ll be back. I’m sure of it.”

She was seated in my chair, her feet propped on my desk, ostensibly keeping an eye on the street while I was occupied with the door. Gertriss had gotten no more sleep than I last night, but she looked fresh and rested.

Her skirt was slit up one side, and a lot of leg was showing. Maybe she read that thought, too, because she swung her legs down suddenly.

“So, what do we do if Mama is right?”

I dropped my brush into the bucket long enough to huff and puff a bit.

“If Mama is right and he was another hexed hillbilly like the Sprangs, then we need to start planning a trip to Pot Lockney. Doors are expensive. My cat has been discommoded. I shall surely vent my wrath upon those responsible.”

“You’ll need me to come with you, boss. Unless you’d rather take Mama.”

I grinned.

“You sat up all night waiting to deliver that one, didn’t you?”

“Not all night. But I do have a point. Don’t I?”

I shrugged. “I was planning on taking you anyway. Can’t watch you here and take on rogue sorcerers there. Too, you’ll need to school me in the homespun ways of country folk, lest I demand bacon from the haunch of a virgin swine, or something equally scandalous.”

“When will we be leaving?”

I grabbed my brush. “That’s a problem. I need to find Carris Lethway before I go. The wedding date is fast approaching.”

“True.” Gertriss bit her lip.

“Spill it. You’ve got an idea?”

“Sort of. You won’t like it.”

“You’d make a lousy salesgirl, Miss.”

“Why not ask Evis to let Mama and Buttercup stay at Avalante, until people stop marching here to set us ablaze?”

“Mama. At Avalante.”

“Surely they have a guest house?”

“Mama? At Avalante?”

“You said that once already, boss.”

“I may say it again. Right before I say no. Anyway, where would you stay?”

“With you. We could watch each other’s backs, boss. Darla wouldn’t mind. She knows it’s strictly business. And since everyone in Pot Lockney thinks we’re a couple anyway, what’s the harm?”

I shook my head. “Evis is my friend, Miss, but there are things I just won’t ask.”

“You don’t have to. I already have. Evis said yes.”

“What?”

Gertriss blushed a bit.

“I had…a feeling, boss. A Sight thing. Trouble brewing. So I sent Evis a letter, asking if Mama and Buttercup could stay at Avalante for a while. He said yes.”

“When did you do all that?”

“Yesterday.”

He’d known the whole time we’d been drinking last night, and the sharp-toothed devil hadn’t said a word.

Gertriss spread her hands. “Boss, I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you had a good idea, and you acted on it. That’s what I pay you for.” I got off my knees and sank onto my client’s chair. My door was a loss anyway.

“It’s a good plan, Gertriss. I’m just frustrated. Not moving too fast these days. Always a step behind.”

“You’re as sharp as ever, boss. Just tired. And you’ve got a lot on your mind. I can see that plain as day.” She sat up straight, put her hands on my desk, touched her fingertips together in a mockery of my trademark pose. “You nearly killed our latest caller, you know.”

“My patience is running is pretty thin. And for all I knew he’d brought friends. Wasn’t time to be dainty.”

She shrugged. “I never did thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“I didn’t. Buttercup did.”

Gertriss shivered. I guess walking banshee-style through solid walls was an acquired taste.

“So, Mama smelled another hex.”

“Same one as before. Somebody back home really hates me, boss. I’m sorry it’s followed me here.”

“Don’t apologize for some crazed wand-waver’s actions, Miss.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Don’t apologize for apologizing, either.”

She made a rude gesture and frowned at the door. “Mama is coming to see us.”

Indeed, an instant later, I heard Mama slam her door shut and come stomping our way.

“This ought to be refreshing.” I shooed Gertriss out of my chair, and she perched on the end of the desk, remembering to cover her exposed knee an instant before Mama appeared in my open doorway.

“Boy,” she said. Her countenance was grim. She carried a small iron stew-pot that steamed and stank of sun-baked dead things rubbed with burnt hair and topped off with Three-leg Cat’s ten most malodorous gastric emissions.

Gertriss and I gagged as one.

“Oh, now, don’t start carryin’ on like you ain’t never smelled nothin’ ripe before.” Mama brought the foul pot inside, where it burbled and steamed and left a trail of stink. “This here brew is gonna save your skins, so you might be appreciative of my efforts, you might.”

Gertriss pinched her nose shut. As a veteran of the Troll War, I struggled to maintain my stolid military bearing and opted to hold my breath instead.

“Mama.” Gertriss’s eyes dripped with tears. “What. Is. That?”

“This here is a hex against hexes, child. You’d know that by now if’n you was taking any interest in your heritage, but seein’ as you ain’t, I’ll have to explain it.”

“Can you explain it outside, Mama? Or let me hire a carpenter and frame up a window we can open before we start?”

Mama grumbled and set the stew-pot on my desk and then began to rifle through her burlap bag. Before I could speak, she produced a top and clanged it down hard on the bubbling mess on my desk.

I made for my door, and waved it open and shut in hopes of driving some of the stench outside. I swear I saw an ogre trip as he went past, and a pair of idlers sharing a morning chat let out shrieks before fleeing for safety.

“Ain’t nobody can say it ain’t potent, can they, boy?”

“That they can’t, Mama. So, what is it? Do we just sit next to it, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever walk down Cambrit Street ever again?”

“It’s a potion.” Gertriss released her nose. “You took something from the Sprangs, didn’t you, Mama? And from the last visitor?”

Mama cackled. “Damn right I did. Hairs. Got some from all of ’em.”

Gertriss nodded. “The hairs from the Sprangs weren’t enough, because that was one hex, is that right?”

Mama allowed herself a small smile. “That’s right, niece. But two hexes, cast from the same hand-oh, I can work with that. Oh yes, I can. This here potion, it’s gonna show you who’s been hexed a third time. Ain’t going to be no sneakin’ up on anybody. No, sir. I has had enough.” She waggled a finger at me. “Somebody is a fixin’ to pay. For comin’ after my kin, and them that I holds in high regard. People has forgot who Mama Hog is, has they? Well, by damn, I’m about to remind ’em.”

Something inside the stew-pot popped and made the lid dance. Mama slapped it and muttered a word I couldn’t make out.

“Good for you,” I said. “Mama. How does this work? Please tell me I don’t have to drink it.”

“Drink it? Boy, how long you knowed me? Have I ever tried to pour anything down that throat of yours save for tea and coffee?”

I shrugged. “So it’s not dessert. Great. But specifics, Mama-what does it do, and how?”

“If it’s like most potions, boss, we’ll need to dab a bit of it here and there, and let it dry. Is that right, Mama?”

Mama nodded.

I grimaced, not in love with the idea of dabbing that concoction anywhere.

“And if someone being ridden by the same hex that drove the Sprangs and the firebug gets close to it, we smell the whole pot, all at once, all over again.”

“Well, I reckon you know a mite more than I was given’ you credit for knowin’, niece. That’s just how it works. A dab on your door. A dab on any door. Nobody gonna smell it but you.”

“Any door? What about objects? Pens, hats, money? Would that work too?”

“It will. Anything. Can’t wash it off, neither. I makes my brews to stick.”

I nodded. If the stuff worked, it certainly had potential.

And in any case, it would probably repel mosquitoes.

“Thank you, Mama. I mean that. I know you put a lot of work into this.”

“Hush. Now. I been askin’ about that last one, the firebug. I talked to old Mrs. Ramsay. Her son spent the night in the Old Ruth for tryin’ to snatch a hair off’n an ogre on some fool bar bet. He claimed the firebug was a Packer from over Deep Ditch way. Niece, you ain’t kilt no Packers, have ye?”

“Mama.”

Mama cackled. “Well, I had to ask. Now this Packer seemed a mite slow, dim-witted I mean, according to Mrs. Ramsay’s son.”

“If Mrs. Ramsay’s boy is pulling on ogre hair he’s no genius himself, Mama, but go ahead.”

“Well, don’t that sound odd to you, boy? If this Packer be touched in the head, how’d he go thinkin’ about setting your door on fire to get everybody looking the wrong way?”

“So somebody was helping him?”

“Somebody smart enough to stay their distance. Somebody hexed, too, I’m thinkin’, because there was enough spent hex in the air to cover two men thick and strong.”

“Damn.”

Mama nodded. “So there’s another one out there, smarter than the rest. More dangerous.”

I rose and closed and locked my burnt door.

“Gonna take more than a door to end this, boy.”

I sat and sighed. “I know, Mama. Going to have to take the fight to the wand-waver. Either of you have any idea who that might be?”

Both Mama and Gertriss shook their heads. I muttered an unkind word.

We spent another hour turning over possible motives. I couldn’t see anything about a two-acre cornfield that would be worth hexing for, let alone killing. Gertriss was sure that the land her late fiance had paid down on was nothing special, and that no princely sum was ever involved. And both were adamant that Harald Suthom’s family didn’t number any witch women, anyone with Sight, or any wand-wavers.

But my door and my missing cat were testament to the fact that someone with magical talent and a connection to Gertriss’s former fiance was determined to see us dead.

Mama at Avalante. The words ran hob-nailed through my mind. Mama and her cleaver, and that famous Mama mouth, setting her halfdead hosts straight with her salty down-home homilies at every opportunity. I’d be lucky if Evis himself didn’t yank my silver brooch off my jacket and rescind my beer privileges forever.

But the idea, repellent though it was, was looking better. I couldn’t be everywhere at once. The Hoogas couldn’t spend their lives guarding Mama’s door. And Buttercup needed somewhere safer than Mama’s back room until this was all over.

There are times, in life, when you must either bow to the inevitable, or be crushed by it.

“Gather up Buttercup and some clothes, ladies,” I said. “Enough for a good long stay.”

Gertriss nodded. Mama’s face pinched and glared.

“And just where you think I’m a goin,’ boy?”

“I need you to watch over Buttercup, Mama. And the safest place to do that right now is at Avalante.”

Mama expanded. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched.

“If’n you thinks I’m going to sleep under the same roofs as them halfdead devils, boy, you are mistaken.”

“Mama. Please. Hear me out.”

It wasn’t easy, getting a single word, much less a dozen in a line, past Mama’s grumbling.

But I’ve had lots of practice. In the end, Mama cussed and muttered, but she agreed.

“Wonderful. Let’s get you packed.” Gertriss started to bring up her plan to stay with me, but something in the set of Mama’s jaw stopped her cold. For once, I was glad that Gertriss still regarded Mama with a certain measure of terror.

We even packed a bag for Buttercup, who helped us by stuffing it with whatever was closest at hand, be it a spoon or a jar of feathers or a stray bent nail.

Mid-morning saw me putting Mama, Gertriss and Buttercup into a cab and sending them off for Avalante. My last sight of them was of Buttercup leaning out the window and waving before Mama grabbed her and yanked her back inside.

The cab rounded the corner, and I was alone, with only an ensorcelled murderer lurking close by to keep me company.

“Good morning, Miss Marchin,” I said to the woman seated behind the enormous marble desk. “Remember me?”

She smiled, but only a bit.

“Let me guess. You still don’t have an appointment, do you?”

“Oh, I hardly need one, Miss Marchin. Mr. Lethway and I are practically brothers, these days. Why just the other night we shared a cigar at the Troll’s Den. You can ask Mr. Pratt, who I suspect is now tip-toeing up behind me, aren’t you, Mr. Pratt?”

“Dat I am, Mr. Markhat.” There was humor in his voice. I turned around and greeted him with an outstretched hand.

He surprised me by taking it, and surprised me further by not breaking the arm to which it was attached.

His grip was firm but not threatening. Had I not known better, I would have suspected he was happy to see me.

“You got some nerve, coming back around here.” He spoke quietly and kept smiling for Miss Markin’s benefit. “You expecting lunch and a pat on the head?”

“Lunch would be nice. But before anyone pats me on the head, you might want to peep outside. My carriage belongs to Avalante. They know I’m here. Should that carriage return to Avalante empty, there will be unhappy people in unusually high places.”

“Is dat so? Well. Tell you what. Let’s you and I sit on a bench outside and have a little chat. Miss, I’ll be right outside.”

And then he sauntered out the door.

“If Mr. Lethway should inquire, Miss, I prefer fried chicken to baked. And dark beer to pale.”

Miss Markin stifled a snort. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I followed Mr. Pratt out into the sun.

The street was busy. Pedestrians were three deep on the sidewalk. Cabs and carriages and ogre-carts choked the cobblestone street with rattles and scrapes and shouts from the drivers.

Mr. Pratt, true to his word, settled on a bench in the shade of the Lethway building. I sat beside him, leaving room to dart away should any cutlery inadvertently appear.

“Nice morning, Mr. Pratt.”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Markhat.” He pushed the brim of his hat down and closed his eyes. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

“I imagine you have instructions regarding that. Something involving burlap bags and a shallow grave?”

He chuckled. “Why dig a grave when the Brown River flows south all night? But yes. That’s the spirit of the thing.”

“So why am I not being bludgeoned?”

“Too many witnesses, for a start. I’m glad you didn’t come sneaking back around to the House. I might not have had a choice, in that instance.”

“Me, at the Lethway home? You have me confused with someone else.”

“Sure I do.” He opened his eyes and turned toward me. “She’s not always been a drunk, Markhat. You ought to know that.”

“Who?”

A hint of menace crossed his face. “You know damned well who. Mrs. Lethway. You spoke to her, didn’t you?”

“Briefly. We didn’t have much of a conversation.”

He nodded. I decided to fill the silence before one of us thought better of consorting with the enemy.

“You just admitted Carris has been kidnapped, you know. I don’t think your boss would appreciate that.”

“Funny thing, Mr. Markhat. You know who hired me, eleven years ago, and why?”

“Nope.”

“Mrs. Lethway. Bodyguard. For her and the kid. While Mr. Lethway was off squeezing extra pennies out of his precious mines.”

My heart began to pound. I hoped it didn’t show.

“But here you are, working for the patriarch.”

“Kid grew up. House Lethway has its own security. Mr. Lethway doesn’t like it when the Missus leaves the House. When he settled back in Rannit, she didn’t need me anymore. He did.”

But you raised little Carris, didn’t you?I didn’t speak it aloud. I didn’t need to.

I’d found an ally– all I had to do was hope he didn’t reluctantly, and with deep and heartfelt regret, murder me.

“Mr. Lethway doesn’t seem too concerned about his son.”

“Mr. Lethway doesn’t give two damns about anything but getting another crown richer.” He realized he was speaking too loud, and he took a breath. “I don’t think he plans to pay any ransom, Mr. Markhat. He’s stalling them. Begging for time. That’s not the right way to handle a thing like that, is it?”

“I’m afraid not. Kidnappers don’t practice much patience.”

“They sent an ear in a box last week.” He swallowed and got control of his voice again. “Think it was his?”

I sighed. “I hate to say it, but yes. Probably so.” I let that sink in. “How are they communicating?”

“We get letters. They come here, all hours, delivered by street kids who got the letters from weedheads who got the letters from people they can’t describe. They pay the weedheads in smack and weed right after they deliver, and not one of them has been able to remember a thing. Even when I helped them try to remember.”

I nodded. Using weedheads as couriers was a common practice in Rannit’s thriving kidnapping industry. Most don’t recall their own names after years of puffing weed.

“The letters. Can you get them?”

Mr. Pratt shook his head. “He burns them after he reads them, Mr. Markhat. Doesn’t want a scandal.” He spat into the street. “Bastard even burned the ear.”

I cussed. There wouldn’t even be any evidence to turn over to the Watch, if I somehow surmised who the kidnappers were.

“How much are they asking?”

He let his eyes wander the street before speaking. Maybe he thought a bit too. But eventually, he spoke.

“That’s another funny thing, Mr. Markhat. I don’t think they’ve asked for money.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I can read, Mr. Markhat. Emily-Mrs. Lethway-she taught me. The letters are two, sometimes three pages long. I haven’t been able to read one up close yet, but who takes three pages to say ‘Give us so much money or else?’”

“So if it’s not money, what is it?”

He looked up at the sky and shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it’s some rival in the business, demanding that Lethway move out of their territory. Maybe it’s some union thing. Who knows what motivates the rich, these days.”

“Same thing that always has. Money or the means to lay hands on it.”

“Cynic.”

“Bet on it. Look. Any chance you could snag one of these letters before Lethway gets it?”

“Been trying. He’s a hawk where they’re concerned, though. Haven’t even come close yet.”

“Keep trying.” I wondered if I could believe a word of this. But I couldn’t see any angle to it. If Pratt wanted to finish what Lethway had started in the Troll’s Den, all he had to do was invite me to a quiet room upstairs. He hadn’t.

“Did they ever mention a deadline?”

“He let that slip once.” Pratt gave a date.

It was also the date of the wedding. I cussed under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Probably nothing. Same day as the wedding. They probably picked that on purpose, to give it a little extra emphasis.”

“Makes sense. I looked into the Fields. Bakers. Carris loves the girl. Don’t think they’re involved.”

I just nodded.

“So where does all this leave me and you, Mr. Pratt?”

“Well, Mr. Markhat, in a moment, I’m going to stand up and grab you and make a big show of threatening you. You’ll say something smart and push off. I’ll report you spun a line of nonsense and tried to bribe me.”

“Won’t your boss know we talked for a long time?”

“He’s in a meeting with the mining union right now. My partner is out back having a snort. Miss Marchin will tell the boss we talked, but as long as she sees us arguing that’s all she’ll tell.”

“You take a lot of chances.”

He shrugged. “So do you. Look, Markhat. I like the kid. I like the lady. I’ve got some money of my own. If you can find out who’s got Carris, and where they’ve got him, I can sure as Hell pay you a fee and go and get Carris myself. “

“I’m already working for his fiancee. But when I find out who took Carris, I’ll be back around to talk. I won’t accept any payment, but I might ask a favor. You in turn will refrain from decapitating me. Deal?”

He laughed. “Deal. Now. You can punch me, if you want. Not in the jaw. I just had these teeth fixed.”

I rose and backed away, into what I was sure was Miss Markin’s view. I put up my hands in a stay back gesture.

Mr. Pratt came roaring off the bench and clamped those beefy paws hard on my shoulders and gave me a powerful shove.

“Next time you come around dis place, I feed you to the ogres,” he bellowed.

I took a step forward, but didn’t swing. Whistles blew, and a pair of blue-capped Watch sergeants came charging out of a cafe.

“What’s the problem here?” demanded the first.

“White shoes after Armistice Day,” I replied.

“Beat it, both of you.”

I turned on my heel and made for my borrowed carriage, a smile on my face and a song in my heart.