Book 05 - Dread Brass Shadows

Book 05 - Dread Brass Shadows by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: Book 05 - Dread Brass Shadows by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online
Authors: Glen Cook
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Mystery
the son of Gnorst of Gnorst, is still canton praetor. Yes. By all means. Go see him. Invoke my name. He owes me a favor.
    The old bag of bones was getting going. He was more interested than I was. But he s a sucker for a puzzle.
    "Come on, Old Bones. Not even a dwarf gets stuck with a name like a hay-fever attack. Does he? And how can he owe you one? I've never seen any dwarves around here."
    They are long-lived, Garrett. They have excellent memories and a delicate sense for the proprieties of balance.
    That was supposed to put me in my place. Water off a duck, man. Us short-lifers don't have time to worry about gaffes.
    Once you visit the dwarves, you might enlist Mr. Dotes. If Mr. Tharpe learns nothing useful, and the Squirrel person likewise, you might begin researching the woman's story, detail by detail. Heraldry and peerage experts should know this baron and his stronghold. Traders and travelers who visit the region might cast light on events there.
    "Go teach Grandma to suck eggs. You're on my turf now."
    I am? I am talking legwork here, Garrett. Remember that facet of this business to which you are allergic?
    A base canard. The sour grapes of a guy who hasn't gotten out of his chair for four hundred years. Though it is easier just to stir the pot and see what floats to the top. "Guess I'll see if Dean will hang around. If he'll stay late, I'll head for Dwarf Fort."
    I went to the kitchen. hoisted me a brew. Of course Dean would stay over. Now that things were happening I couldn't run him off. Tinnie was one of his favorite people. He wanted to see somebody get hurt for hurting her "So hold the fort," I told him. "His Nibs has me off to the realm of the short and surly."
    "Don't be out too late I'm making deep-dish apple cobbler. Better when it isn't reheated."
    Surprise, surprise. That old boy knows how to take my mind off my troubles. One more talent and I'd marry him.
    I trotted up to my special closet and dressed myself for the street, then headed out. Not for the first time I didn't have the foggiest notion what the hell I was doing. Or maybe it was the first time and it just hadn't ever stopped.

11
    The Dead Man had suggested a stop, coming back, at the Joy House, owned and operated by one Morley Dotes, friend of mine, professional vegetarian, assassin, and elfhuman breed. I gave it a think and decided to skip it. Morley is handy when the going gets rough, but he has his liabilities. Most of them are female. No sense bringing him in where he'd face so much temptation. Besides, not having him in meant the odds were better for me.
    The Joy House. Some dumb name for a restaurant with a menu fit only for livestock. How about the Manger, Morley? How about the Barn? Or the Stable? Though that kind of smacked of upscale chic.
    What people call Dwarf Fort or Dwarf House sits on four square blocks behind the levee in Child's Landing. The Landing abuts the river north of the Bight, where the big water swings sharply southwest and the wharves and docks start and go on for miles, all the way to the wall. Legend says the Landing was settled when humans first came into the region. First there was a fort, then a village that grew because it lay near the confluence of three major rivers. Then there were more fortifications and a growth of industry during the Face Wars, when human insecurities compelled our ancestors to prove they could kick ass on the older races.
    The Face Wars were a long time ago. Things have come full circle. Now the Landing is occupied by nonhumans come to grab at the wealth floating around because of Karenta's endless war with Venageta.
    I can always work up a case of indignation about the war and its spin-offs. One is, the nonhumans are picking our pockets. Our overlords are cheering them on. Someday they'll be picking our bones.
    That's not racist, either. I get along with everybody but ratmen. Our rulers, in their wisdom, in their infallible opportunism, made treaties with these other races that shield

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