He came toward us as though the star of a coronation processional.
"You Doc Doom?" I asked when he arrived. "Give me one good reason why I should take you seriously after that clown show."
Dojango, bouncing around like a puppy, seemed stricken. "Hey. Garrett. You can't talk to Doctor Doom that way, actually."
"I talk to kings and sorcerers that way. Why should I make an exception for a clown? You better pack your tents and get rolling. The nitwit who sent you made a mistake."
Morley said, "Garrett, don't get excited. The man is for real, he's just kind of into drama and maybe has a little bit of a puffed-up notion of his own importance."
"I'll say."
Doom hadn't spoken yet. He didn't now. He gestured. A breed beside him, female, about four feet tall who looked like she had a lot of dwarf and ogre in her—she was ugly—said, "The Doctor says he'll excuse your impertinence this once because you were ignorant of who he is. But now you know—"
"Bye." I turned. "Sarge, Morley, we got work to do. Sarge, maybe you better see if you can find a horse. We may have to send for the garrison." There isn't much law anywhere in Karenta, but guys like the General have access to a little. Somebody irritates them, they can always get a hand or two hundred from the army.
Dojango had a fit. He pursued us into the hall, where he lost the thread of his thoughts as he looked around at the paintings and hardware and bellicose scenes in glass. He mumbled something about, "He's desperate for work, actually."
Cook strode onto the scene, as formidable as a war elephant. Now I knew where Kaid had gone. She damned near trampled Roze. I said, "I don't think we'll need the army."
Morley said, "You're being too hard, Garrett. One more time. The man is the real thing."
"Yeah. Right." I went back to the door to watch Cook in action.
The action was over, essentially. She stood in front of the marvelous doctor with hands on ample hips looking like she might breathe fire. He was out of his wonderful hat already and getting rid of the tent.
Like I thought, the guy inside went more stone than I had fingers to count, but I had to revise his tonnage downward. He didn't go more that four-fifty in his work clothes.
He had some troll in him and three or four other bloods; once you saw him without the costume, you figured maybe he was smart to wear it. He made his little mouthpiece look gorgeous.
"Mr. Garrett. I'll dispense with the showmanship. As my good friend Dojango has assured you, I am the genuine article." His voice was down a well's depth below bass. Somewhere along the line somebody had popped him in the Adam's apple. That added a growly, scratchy character to his voice and made him hard to understand. He knew that and spoke slowly. "You have a problem with a malign spirit, I'm told. Unless it's of a class two magnitude or greater, I can deal with it."
"Huh?" I'm not up on the jargon. I try not to hang around with sorcerers. That can be hazardous to your health.
"Will you reconsider and allow me a preliminary examination of the premises?"
Why not? I'm an easygoing guy when people don't shuck me. "As long as you knock the horse apples off your boots and promise not to wet on the carpets."
He was so ugly his expression was hard to read. I don't think he appreciated my humor, though. I asked, "What do you need from us?"
"Nothing. I brought my own equipment. A guide, perhaps, to show me those places where the spirit most commonly manifests."
"It doesn't. Leastwise, not when anyone is looking. The only evidence we have that there is one is the doctor's opinion."
"Curious. A spirit of the sort he suspected ought to manifest frequently. Dojango. My kit."
Morley asked, "Could it appear to be somebody familiar?"
"Explain your question, please."
I told him about having a Morley in my room who wasn't.
"Yes. Exactly. If it wanted, it could cause a great deal of confusion that way. Dojango, what are you waiting for?"
Roze scampered off to the Doctor's coach. Meantime, Doom said, "Perhaps I should apologize for distressing you with my arrival. The sort of people who usually employ me won't believe I'm real unless they get a show."
I understood that. Sometimes I have that problem in my business. Potential clients look at me and wonder, especially when they catalog the marks on my face. I have to remind them that they should see the other guys.
Dojango staggered up the steps with four big cases. They probably outweighed him. His face was frozen in a rictus of a grin.
Cook seemed satisfied that everything was under control. She headed into the house. Never said a word to me. My feelings were hurt.
But not much.
Dojango arrived panting like he'd run twenty miles. Doctor Doom said, "Shall we begin?"
39
Once the good doctor stopped clowning, he impressed me as quite professional.
He started at the fountain, about which he made several remarks, suggesting he thought it one of the great sculptures of the modern age. He asked if it might be for sale in the foreseeable future.
Peters and I exchanged glances. Peters was way out at sea, encountering a side of the world about which he'd only heard before. He said, "Unlikely, doctor. Unlikely."
"A pity. A great pity. I'd love to own it. It would make a wonderful prop." He shuffled through his cases as Dojango popped them open, took out this and that—and nobody else knew what they were. For all I could tell they had no use at all and were just stuff to impress the peasants.
Three minutes later he said, "A great many traumatic events have occurred in this house." He looked at something in his hand, drifted to the spot where Chain had made his exit from this vale of tears. The boys had cleaned up good. I guessed Chain was taking his ease in the wellhouse till planting time.
"A man died here recently. Violently." Doom looked up. "Pushed, I'd guess."
"On the money," I admitted. "Maybe an hour after midnight last night."
He wandered around. "The dead have walked here. Zombies... No! Worse. Not under control. Draugs."
I looked at Morley. "I guess he knows his stuff. Unless he's got a friend on the inside."
"You're suspicious of everything."
"Occupational hazard."
The spook hunter spent fifteen minutes just standing by the fountain with his eyes closed, holding some doohickeys to his ears. I'd begun to wonder if we weren't getting shucked after all when he came back from wherever he'd been. "This is a house of blood. The very stones vibrate with memories of great evils done." He shuddered, closed his eyes for another three minutes, then turned to me. "You're the man who needs my help?"
"I'm the guy the General hired to straighten out a mess that only gets more tangled by the minute."
He nodded. "Tell me what you've learned. There have been so many evils done here that it's impossible to separate them."
"That'll take awhile. Why don't we get comfortable?" I led him to one of the rooms on the first floor west where, I presumed, in better times the business of the estate had been managed. We settled. Peters went off to sweet-talk Cook into providing the next best thing to refreshments in a household where alcohol was banned.
"A twisted place indeed," Doom said when he learned that. I decided maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
I told him what I'd learned, which wasn't that much when you came down to it. Mostly a catalog of crimes.
He asked no questions till I finished. "The spirit seems content to victimize your principal? The other deaths are the work of other hands?"