Book 02 - Bitter Gold Hearts by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

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?”
    I 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.
    “Uhm. 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. When they stand near a center of power and are
as changeable and spoiled as this one probably was, I want to play
it very carefully. I thought I saw a way.
    “I’m a charming scamp, I know. Hurt me to the quick
though it does, I’m