Bitter Gold Hearts by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online

personally.”
    “Thank me? For what? I didn’t do a damned thing.” The kid had one of those apologetic, whiny voices that made you suspect he wanted to be excused for being alive.
    “But you did. At least you appeared to. The kidnap­pers... I overheard them talking. They had somebody watching our place. When they saw you, they talked it over and decided they had to play the whole thing as straight as they could. Because of your reputation. So you see, I owe you a debt of thanks. I might not be here if you hadn’t...”
    In addition to his other charms Junior was a rocker. Whenever he spoke, he jerked back and forth, staring into space. It must have been a joy growing up in the Stormwarden’s household.
    I got a strong feeling that he had much more on his mind, that gratitude was just an excuse for seeking me out. But you don’t have much luck pressing guys like him when you don’t have a hold on them. They tend to break for cover. So I leaned back and tried to look pleased with his praise and interested in anything else he might want to tell me. In a moment it was obvious he was working himself up to something. He started stammering. But he never got the chance to open up.
    “Here you are, my lord.” And here he was, the Domina’s florid flunky, Slauce, wearing an ingratiating smile belied by eyes in which the humor had been extinct for years. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
    I doubted that. He had to have been following Junior to pop up so quickly and inconveniently.
    “Courter. I was just telling Mr. Garrett how grateful I am for his help.” He rocked. His eyes gave him away. He was terrified of this char­acter Courter, who had used the name Slauce when he had visited me.
    “The Domina needs you right away, my lord.” A command cautiously couched for my benefit. Junior flinched.
    Across the room Bruno and the boys had been hud­dled together for a while. Apparently they decided the presence of Junior and his keeper meant there was no more percentage for them there. They went away, though Bruno left me a final dirty look. Junior got up and Courter took hold of his arm, not heavy-handed but definitely like he thought his man might try to run. He passed close enough to trip. I thought about giving it a shot to see what would happen, but I left it as a thought.
    “See you later, Karl.”
    His look of despair brightened as he took the notion seriously. Courter looked at me for the only time during his visit. He had visions of bloodshed echoing through his eyes. I smiled and gave him a big friendly wink. It did nothing for his ulcer. I gave it the old try but I couldn’t gel involved in my drinking. I held a caucus with myself, took a vole, and decided to go home and purge my soul by either subject­ing it to the torment of old Dean’s recitation of the encyclopedia of his eligible relatives, or simply dosing it with a generous helping of the Dead Man’s poisonous humors.
    They disappointed me. Both of them. I think they had discussed it while I was gone. Dean was whistling when I walked in. “What happened? Your females ambush a troop of hussars and take them prisoners for life?”
    He was in too good a mood to take offense. I couldn’t get a pout from him. I demanded, “What’s going on around here? Why are you grinning like a fox with goose feathers in his whiskers?”
    “It’s his nibs. He’s ebullient. Exultant Positively ecstatic.”
    “All that, huh? This I’ve got to see.”
    “It is one for the books, Mr. Garrett.”
    “What’s that you’re working on there?”
    “A lamb roast.”
    “Lamb is mutton. I don’t like mutton.” I had more mutton than I ever wanted while I was in the Marines. We ate it every meal except when we had to make do with rocklike chunks of salt pork or circumstances forced us to eat our horses or, worse, we had to subsist on roots and berries.
    “You’ll like this. You’ll see.” He talked cooking technique.
    I walked, grumbling, “Mutton is mutton is