Cold Copper Tears by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

defined as anybody of quarter blood or more who wants to revoke his human rights and privileges forever. Lately, though, the press gangs had been grabbing anybody who couldn’t produce a parent or grandparent on the spot. That’s what happened to the captains of the Travelers, though they were breeds.
    Maya said, “So you want a couple of chukos off your back.”
    “No. I want you to know they’re there. If they bother me I’ll just knock their heads together.”
    She looked at me hard.
    Maya has a byzantine mind. Whatever she does she has a motive behind her surface motive. She isn’t yet wise enough to know that not everyone thinks that way.
    “There’re a couple of farmer types staying at the Blue Bottle, using the names Smith and Smith. If somebody was to run a Murphy on them and it was to turn out that they had documents, I’d be interested in buying them.” That was spur of the moment but would satisfy Maya’s need for a hidden motive.
    It couldn’t be that I just wanted to see how she was doing. That would mean somebody cared. She couldn’t handle that.
    I paused at the door. “Dean says he’s whomping up something special for supper. And a lot of it.” Then I got out.
    I hit the street and stopped to count my limbs. They were all there, but they were shaky. Maybe they have more sense than my head does. They know every time I go in there I run the chance of becoming fish bait.
     
     

11
     
    Dean was waiting to open the door. He looked rattled. “What happened?”
    “That man Crask came.”
    Oh. Crask was a professional killer. “What did he want? What did he say?”
    “He didn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.”
    He doesn’t. Crask radiates menace like a skunk radiates a bad smell.
    “He brought this.”
    Dean gave me a piece of heavy paper folded into an envelope. It was a quarter-inch thick. I bounced it on my hand. “Something metal. Draw me a pitcher.” As he headed for the kitchen I told him, “Maya might turn up tonight. See that she eats something and slip her a bar of soap. Don’t let her steal anything you’re going to miss.”
    I went into the office, sat, placed Crask’s envelope on the desk, my name facing me, and left it alone until Dean brought that golden draft from the fountain of youth. He poured me a mug. I drained it.
    He poured again and said, “You’re going to get more than you bargained for if you keep trying to do something for those kids.”
    “They need a friend in the grown-up world, Dean. They need to see there’s somebody decent out there, that the world isn’t all shadow-eat-shadow and the prizes go to the guys who’re the hardest and nastiest.”
    He faked surprise. “It isn’t that way?”
    “Not yet. Not completely. A few of us are trying to fight a rearguard action by doing a good deed here and there.”
    He gave me one of his rare sincere smiles and headed for the kitchen. Maya would eat better than Jill and I if she bothered to show.
    Dean approved of my efforts. He just wanted to remind me that my most likely reward would be a broken head and a broken heart.
    I wasn’t going to get into heaven or hell letting Crask’s present lie there. I broke the kingpin’s wax seal.
    Someone had wrapped two pieces of card stock tied together with string. I cut the string. Inside I found a tuft of colorless hair and four coins. The coins were glued to one card. One coin was gold, one was copper, and two were silver. They were of identical size, about half an inch in diameter, and looked alike except for the metal. Three were shiny new. One of the silver pieces was so worn its designs were barely perceptible. All four were temple coinage.
    Old style characters, a language not Karentine, a date not Royal, apparent religious symbology, lack of the King’s bust on the obverse, were all giveaways. Crown coinage always shows the King and brags on him. Commercial coinage shouts the wonders of the coiner’s goods or services.
    Karentine law lets anyone