In a moment the stormwarden had a nebula of slithering lights clutched to his stomach. The ball persisted less than an eyeblink. There was another splat of waterlogged board against stone. The latecomer centaurs got a mighty assist in their efforts to get back out of the house. Sadly, none collided with the doorframe along the way. What must have been sold as an easy massacre had turned into a rout of the killers before they ever got started letting blood.
I looked around. I didn't need outside help to realize that the centaurs had expected to get support from allies already on the ballroom floor. But nobody raised a hand to help. Which suggested that Mooncalled had staged his rescue in near-ignorance, trusting too much in unreliable allies. Which didn't fit his reputation at all.
Did I smell desperation?
Love is blind stupid.
"Oh, no!"
Oh, yes, I fear. Your craziest speculation was correct.
There were more centaurs outside. The uproar out there made that clear. It sounded like a pitched battle. I grinned. My more noteworthy guests must have brought extra help. Just in case.
It's getting to be a sad old world. People just don't trust each other the way they used to.
105
The excitement had ended. The centaurs had fled. The rescue attempt had failed without ever having become clearly identifiable as such to some people. Colonel Block and a badly shaken, poorly focused Marengo North English soon worked out a tentative, fragile alliance. They would work together to catch Tama Montezuma. I suspected that alliance would collapse about as soon as somebody actually caught sight of Tama. Both men had plans.
Both were counting on me, too. If I couldn't get Pular Singe to track Tama, she might never be caught. She might not be anyway. She was a survivor. She'd had a long time to get ready for the inevitable. I figured there was a very good chance we'd find no trace of her.
I told Max, "It didn't go the way I planned... "
"Does anything?"
"Yes. Sometimes. Sort of. We did get to the bottom of it, didn't we? Sort of." And some good might come of it. Suspicion would attach to The Call for a long time. Plenty of people would believe Marengo was behind everything and had sacrificed his mistress to cover his ass. I planned to keep a foot in that camp myself until Tama offered a public confession, no matter what my sidekick claimed. I had a need to demonize North English, to see him as slicker and slimier than he could possibly be.
Perilous Spite departed, leaving echoes of sorcery fading in the street. With him went the surviving Dragons and the Wolves. Brief, feeble protests from the rightsists had had no effect. Being a cynic, I suspected the stormwarden's captives might not enjoy the full rigors of justice. A tame shapeshifter would be a handy tool if you were in the sorcery and dark master rackets. Guys like Spite have no interest injustice, anyway. Most are incapable of grasping the concept.
"Why didn't you do something?" I asked the Goddamn Parrot.
Perhaps because I had no inclination to become a part of the stormwarden's booty, Garrett.
I knew that but it still seemed he should have done something.
I am doing something. Rather more interesting than what you would have me waste myself doing. Spite will reap no benefit from those he has taken into his possession. His conscription was far too public.
That sounded a lot like one of those circuitous mollifications he always claims I'd misunderstood when things went to hell later. I couldn't recall why I'd been worried about him the past few days.
My friends stuck around, still hoping I'd give them the chance to beat everybody else to the bad girl. Miss Trim and the crew from Heaven's Gate wouldn't leave. There was still some beer left. I told Saucerhead, "You and Winger and Playmate take the old guys home. Make sure Winger's pockets are clean before she leaves. After you deliver them come back here and help get rid of that settling tank."
Garrett!
"Remove the tank, then."
Kindly get on with your chores. I am expecting company. It will go much easier if the crowd is smaller.
I threw up my hands in exasperation. That told me that he had managed his end not so he could be a card up my sleeve but in order to hook a fish of his own.
"Am I going with you?" Morley asked.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Bullshit, Garrett. I know you. You want to duck out with your furry girlfriend so you can get to Montezuma first. Not so you can grab some money but because you don't want the pretty lady to get hurt."
I'm not as squishy as Morley thinks. I'd done some thinking about that night at The Pipes, about the would-be visitor and the knife or cleaver I might have seen. I wanted to think I'd seen a changer in Montezuma shape. But I was keeping an open mind. My failing to survive that night might have solved several problems for Tama. Particularly if she knew what was supposed to happen to her uncle Marengo up on the edge of Elf Town.
I was sure she'd known, now.
She almost certainly did. Will you quit dawdling?
"What do you mean, almost certainly? You had plenty of time to dig around inside her head."
Easier said than done, Garrett. Her thoughts were terribly murky. She had some sort of protection.
"Well, of course." Was he lying? His motives aren't often clear.
Hell with it.
I turned to Morley. I don't mind him thinking I'm soft. It's an edge. "You figured me out." I turned away again. "I talk to the wind." That left him looking puzzled. "After all this excitement tonight I thought you'd want to run back to your place and snuggle up with your favorite squash. Unless you're romancing an eggplant these days."
Winger was leaving with Saucerhead, shooing the old-timers and Quipo, but she wasn't happy or moving fast. She snarled at Block as she passed him where he was hanging around hoping I'd help him. Marengo North English lurked on the balcony above, nursing the same foolish hope. I'd have to ditch them both without being obvious.
Morley and I had been whispering so Singe hissed, "What do you want me to do?"
Morley offered a show of teeth, amused. I told Singe, "This's your choice. You want to be independent. To do that you have to make your own decisions." That would be tough. Ratwomen are more oppressed than most human women. They never learn to think in terms of self-determination.
A smirking Morley Dotes drifted off to send his henchmen home.
"Do you want me to do it?" Singe asked.
"Of course I want you to do it. That's why I asked you. What I don't want is for you to decide to do it just because I want it. I want you to make a choice that's your own, made in your own interest." Gah! That sounded like one of Tinnie's serpentine evolutions.
It's certainly easier being the kind of guy who just uses people.
A stir at the door saved me any more skiprope. A man who appeared to be in his seventies paused to survey the hall before descending to its floor. The guard who should've kept him out seemed not to notice him. Maybe the old fellow was a ghost. He stood stiffly erect, partially supporting himself with a walking stick carved to resemble a fat black cobra. His skin was dusky but not dark like Playmate's or Tama's. His eyes were gray. He seemed to be going blind. He came downstairs slowly, with a marionette's jerkiness, feeling his way with his stick. He looked nothing like the image I'd carried in my head across the years since he'd started acting up in the Cantard. Dammit, this guy was just too old!
Manvil Gilbey, directing a crew already starting to clean up, asked, "Friend of yours?"