Book 1 - Sweet Silver Blues by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

said. “The gold
and silver is all there.”
    “They weren’t after gold or silver.”
    “Huh?” All the Tates are brilliant. But they hide
their light under a bushel. Maybe it’s a business reflex.
    “They were looking for Denny’s papers. His letters
to the woman. I took care of hiding most everything, but there
could have been something I overlooked. Those papers might be worth
more than any amount of metal they could haul out of
here.”
    Old Man Tate looked dumbfounded, so I told him about my little
chat with Denny’s partners. He did not want to believe me.
“But that’s—”
    “Trading with the enemy when you take the costume off it
and look it straight in the face.”
    “I know my son, Mr. Garrett. Denny wouldn’t betray
Karenta.”
    “Did you hear me say anything about treason?” I
thought it, though. Mainly in the context of what happened to folks
foolish enough to get caught trading with the Venageti. I have no
moral reservations about that. The war is a struggle between two
gangs of nobles and wizards trying to grab control of mines likely
to give their possessors near mastery of the world. Their motives
are no higher than those displayed in squabbles between street
gangs right here in TunFaire.
    Being Karentine, I would prefer the gang running my country to
win. I love being with a winner. Everybody does. But it
doesn’t hurt my feelings if somebody besides the lords makes
a little profit from the squabble. I explained that to Tate.
    “The problem is, the connection is still alive,” I
said. “And some pretty tough boys want to keep it that way.
Meaning they don’t want you and me meddling. Do you follow
me?”
    “And they want Denny’s papers and letters and
whatnots so they can keep contact with the woman?”
    “You catch on fast, Pop. They’ll let their claim to
the metals go for the papers. And Denny will live on forever in
letters he never wrote.”
    He thought about it. There was a part of him that wanted to grab
the big score while it was there for the grabbing. But there was a
part of him that was crazy stubborn, too. Maybe if he had been a
little poorer . . . But somewhere along the way
he had made up his mind and set it in concrete. Changed
circumstances would not budge him. “I
will
meet this
woman, Mr. Garrett.”
    “It’s your neck,” I said. And tried to time a
meaningful pause. “And your family’s. That could be one
of the boys on the floor, attracting flies.”
    I got to him that time. He puffed up. His face got red. His eyes
bugged out, which is a sight in the half elfin. His mouth opened.
He began to shake.
    But he did not let it get hold of him. Somehow, he turned it
off. After half a minute, he said, “You’re right, Mr.
Garrett. And it’s a risk due more consideration than I have
given it. If, as you say, those men were army friends of
Denny’s who survived the Cantard, it’s damned lucky
several of the boys weren’t killed instead of that poor
fellow.”
    “Like you said, they panicked. They just wanted to get
away. But next time they’ll be looking for
trouble.”
    “You’re sure there’ll be a next time? Coming
so close to getting caught already?”
    “You don’t seem to understand the stakes, Mr. Tate.
In eight years Denny and those guys built a handful of prize money
into a hundred thousand marks.” Plus whatever fun they took
along the way, but I did not mention that. The old boy did not need
all his illusions stripped. “Think what they could have done
with another eight years and that kind of capital.”
    Gotten into a crunch, probably. Too much wealth draws
attention—though I suppose Denny knew that and planned
accordingly.
    “Perhaps I do not, Mr. Garrett. I’m only a
shoemaker. My interest is fathers and sons and a family tradition
that goes back more generations than can be counted. A tradition
that died with Denny.”
    He was an exasperating old coot. I think he understood plenty.
He just didn’t give a damn