Bitter Gold Hearts by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

mutton,” figuring I would have to eat the stuff with a big show of appreciation because whenever I get critical of Dean’s cooking and he takes umbrage, the next meal is sure to include green peppers. There is no foodstuff in this or any other world quite so hideously nauseating as the green bell pepper. A pig — even a hungry pig — has better sense than to eat green peppers. But not people. It positively astounds me what people will eat.
    In such a humor I shoved into the Dead Man’s room.
    Ah. Garrett. Good afternoon. Good of you to stop in. How is that kidnapping business going?
    “The kid came home in one piece.” I stepped out of the room, looked around, stepped back inside.
    Congratulations. A job well done. You will have to tell me all about it. What was that little dance step?
    “Just making sure I was in the right house with the right Dead Man. No congrats due. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” I went ahead and brought him up to date, leaving out none of the details but Amiranda’s overnight vacation from the household of the Stormwarden.
    An interesting situation, infested with anomalies. Al­most a pity you have no concern in it. A challenge to crack its shell and lay open the meat within.
    “Feeling our genius today, are we?”
    Indeed. Yes indeed. The mystery of the magic of Glory
    Mooncalled is a mystery no more. Subject to observational confirmation, of course.
    “You figured out how he does it? When the Venageti War Council can’t do better than stumble over their own feet?”
    Indeed.
    “How?”
    Ratiocination, my boy.
    My boy? He was in a mood to crow.
    Cogitation. Induction. Deduction. Repeated experiment manipulating the possible course of events within the known parameters. And from this came a hypothesis bearing the weight of near certainty. I know how Glory Mooncalled did what he did, and with just a bit more information I could predict with some degree of certainty what he will do next.
    “So how does he do it? Does he turn invisible? Does he run through secret tunnels to sneak up and sneak away?”
    / have to reserve the how for now, Garrett. The hypoth­esis is insufficiently tested, based as it is on one assump­tion not yet validated. A bit more observation should confirm it, though, and you will be the first to know.
    “No doubt.” He would crow like a herd of roosters watching three suns rising. If he was not already. “Why don’t you —”
    “Mr. Garrett?” Dean had his head in the doorway. “Excuse me. There’s a young woman here to see you.”
    His nose was up and his choice of the word “woman” over “lady” told me he thought her a floozy and proba­bly some playmate of mine not nearly as worthy of me as any one of a dozen of his nieces.
    “Who is she?”
    “She wouldn’t say. She seemed perfectly familiar with you, though.” Again with the nose up.
    I excused myself and headed for the door expecting Amiranda. They just can’t stay away from you, Garrett. It was Amber. She gave me her big teasing smile as I let her in. Dean had instructions to let no one in without consulting me or the Dead Man first. I scanned the street as Amber brushed past. I didn’t see Courter Slauce but assumed he was out there watching.
    Amber did some posing, showing off her best features, of which she had several. “Aren’t you dressed for the kill today? What’s the occasion?” I gave the street another scan. Nothing. But women from the Hill don’t wander my end of town unchaperoned. Not unless they’re so severely unaware of personal danger that the bad guys shy off as if they were holy madmen.
    “A hunt. Of sorts.” She did have a promising smile.
    “I see. How old are you, Amber?”
    “Twenty.” She lied. My immediate guess was eighteen going on thirty.
    “Uhn. This way.” I stalled for time while I led her to my office. There is a side of me that is very fond of women. There is also a side that’s wary of those who bring gifts without being asked.