"I'm not that optimistic, old buddy. Something will go wrong. It always does. Singe!" I couldn't mention Mooncalled. That would spark too many questions. I waved but Pular Singe didn't have courage enough to risk the center of the floor. Which wasn't a good idea, anyway. Almost everybody not in chains was now headed somewhere else in a hurry, many with their eyes closed in fear or in sheer determination not to become a witness to anything.
The gang from Heaven's Gate, however, remained preoccupied with their personal hobbies so didn't contribute to the general uproar. Trail and Storey remained determined to tap the settling tank. They wouldn't enjoy that particular vintage if they succeeded, though. It was particularly bitter, well beyond skunky. I headed that way. "Will you two leave that damned tank alone?" Shale, at least, had had the grace to pass out. Or just fall asleep. "There's all the goddamn beer you can possibly suck down over there by Quipo. Miss Trim! You're supposed to keep these antique idiots under control." But Quipo had reached a point where she was having trouble managing herself.
"Garrett. Heard 'bout you from your fren'. Winger." Quipo was speaking fluent drunkenese. "Where'd she go? Winger. Where'd-jou go?"
"Garrett." Max wanted me.
"What?"
"Must these people destroy my home?"
"Block!" I bellowed. "North English! Get your people under control!" Speaking of control, bigger trouble was on its way. Nobody was managing the shifters, especially that last one. It still wasn't yet properly shackled in silver.
The stormwarden descended into the chaos. He went among the handful of shapeshifters like a Venageti triage sorcerer, specialists who had used their talents to decide which wounded should go to the surgeons and which should be put out of their misery. Those guys hadn't saved many Karentines.
This guy ended two lives just like that, suddenly, viley, noisily. Shifters never went easily, it seemed.
The survivors evidently tendered an offer of submission. The stormwarden's golden buttboys got them up and moving. They went docilely, chains tinkling. I wondered what would happen if the sorcerer turned his back. I asked Max, "You want I should do something about that?"
"What?" Weider demanded.
"It's your house." I kept my outrage well hidden. Karentines learn to do that when our lords from the Hill are out. People who won't control their emotions will suffer severe humiliations—at the least.
"Let him have them. They deserve him. Tell Marengo to shut up and get his ass down here. He's been acting like a fool."
North English was harassing his own people from the balcony, apparently convinced that by yelling insults he could make them catch Tama sooner. I didn't yield to my urge to give him a swift kick. Nor would I give in to my inclination to let Tama get away.
While I got North English rounded up so Max could calm him down Morley assembled his friends and mine. He beckoned me. "You've got to get Singe on Montezuma's trail, Garrett. If she gets a big lead, we'll never catch her. She was ready for this."
"Why do you care?"
"Ooh, he's thick," Winger observed. "Dumb as a stump, we'd say back home." She had a strong beer flavor even from six feet away.
"I've got a notion I don't want an explanation if you're interested in it." I noted the not-yet-departed stormwarden watching us from near the front door. I shivered.
Morley said, "Garrett, even Saucerhead figured out that Montezuma has to have a cash stash. Possibly a very large one. She's been milking North English for several years."
"Oh." Exactly what I'd expect of the whole gang, barring Playmate and—maybe—Pular Singe. Hustle out there and disappear the stolen riches before the rightful owner could reclaim them. Then look innocent. I'd seen Morley do it before. The problem was, Winger was the sort of accomplice who wouldn't have enough sense not to start spending like a sailor before the sun came up. Dumb luck and brute strength keep that girl alive.
I don't think Saucerhead understood that. Someday he'll be genuinely unhappy about letting her talk him into things.
I glanced up at Marengo. He still didn't want to mix with us peasants on the main floor. All right. Go, Tama. I didn't mind him losing his money. And him being broke wouldn't hurt Max. Or any of those gorgeous ladies up there. In fact, it'd be a better world if Marengo North English couldn't afford to be a shithead. "What do you think, latrine-beak?" I asked my shoulder ornament.
The Goddamn Parrot was out of words again. Which was just as well. He'd given too many people too much to think about already.
I had a few of my own left, though. "Crask and Sadler are out there somewhere."
Morley replied, "Your pal the secret policeman can handle them. If he hasn't caught them already."
Relway had vanished while I was blinking. Many of his people were missing as well. I asked Singe, "You want to be part of this?"
"Double share," Dotes offered generously, which made Winger sputter. "You wouldn't have to kowtow to Reliance anymore." He knew his ratfolk. Or this ratgirl, anyway. But this ratgirl was smart enough to know when somebody was blowing fairy dust, too. She did a credible job of lifting an eyebrow when she looked to me for my opinion. A double share of what, Garrett?
I said, "I can't go. I've got work to do here. You guys catch her, you bring her back to me." I tried warning them with sudden shifts of my eyes toward the sorcerer. But the fire of the hunt was upon them.
"Winger, stuff it. Bring her back here. I know it sounds improbable but there're issues in this world as important as your greed."
"Ohh!" Saucerhead purred. "Listen to the man growl. Shut up, Winger. He's probably right."
"Be careful," I told Singe and she understood that I meant she shouldn't ever trust her present companions completely.
Their expedition never hit the street.
Garrett. Beware. We are about to enjoy a badly misjudged and mistimed rescue effort.
"A what?"
A racket broke out up front. A centaur galloped in through the front door, a javelin in each hand. It bowled over the stormwarden's glitzy henchmen while seeming utterly amazed to find them there. Another minute and the collision would have taken place outside. The stormwarden had just given up staring at me suspiciously.
"What's this?" Morley asked.
"Glory Mooncalled's been watching," I said. But evidently not closely enough to have seen the truth because that centaur had come inside with no idea whatsoever what he was charging into. He was astounded by the mob looking his way. After toppling the guards he tried to stop suddenly but shod hooves just won't do that on polished stone. He skidded. He howled. He tumbled. He whooped. He reached floor level traveling chin first. His language was enough to make the Goddamn Parrot cover his ears. It wasn't Karentine but every man in the place had been to the land where that language was spoken.
More centaurs arrived. Each was as surprised as the first. Their faces revealed their determination to free Mooncalled's allies and an equal intent to stifle the man's enemies. But they faced big problems achieving their ends, not the least of which was that they hadn' t come prepared to deal with so many enemies. I got the feeling that they'd expected to just prance in and prance back out. I guessed the first wave of people rushing out had lulled them.
None of the later arrivals suffered the full ignominy endured by the first. That fellow started getting thumped before he stopped sliding. Funny, though. At first only my friends and Colonel Block's showed much enthusiasm for the sport. You'd have thought the guys from The Call would be particularly unfond of centaurs. Centaurs are the most treacherous natives of the Cantard.