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

lying.
    “So what’s her real story?”
    I dare not hazard a guess.
    Oh-oh. This didn’t sound good
    I was unable to capture any but the most fleeting surface thoughts.
    Oh, my. What the hell? “I thought you could read anybody.” This was getting to be a bad habit. Was he getting near the end, slipping over the edge?
    Only simple minds.
    Ouch! “And you complain about my sense of humor? What’s it mean?”
    That she is no chambermaid. She bears close observation—not that way—though we have no real business mixing in here. I got the distinct impression he wanted to mix.
    Not in the manner you have in mind.
    “What’s wrong with mixing business with pleasure? She was . . .”
    Yes. She was. And what else?
    “Hey! She’s a client now. A paying client.”
    And it is quite obvious why. Amaze me sometime, Garrett. Think with your brain instead of your glands. Just once. Astonish your friends and confound your enemies.
    I considered sulking. I considered mentioning the fact that I hadn’t broken a sweat over Winger—though even that wouldn’t have been a definitive truth. Winger’s only distracting feature was her size. “Hell. You’re just being sour grapes because you can’t anymore.”
    Which was near enough the truth that he changed the subject. How do you propose finding the book she wants? With no more information than you cozened out of her? You are such a clever interrogator.
    “How was I to know you’d gone feeble?”
    You have to learn to carry yourself, Garrett. I cannot do it all for you. Rather than start a quarrel, I suggest you try to overtake Mr. Tharpe and engage him to watch the woman.
    “How about the book she wants? It has to be the book we heard about before. What about it?”
    Nothing about it. A book of shadows, a book of dreams, you tell me. Something mystical, presumably. But the concept is unfamiliar. Knowing what that book is might well illuminate everything else. She suggested a great many dwarves were associated with the woman she called the Serpent. That is unusual. Even unlikely, I would suspect. Perhaps you should visit the local enclave and see if anyone can elucidate. I believe the dwarf Gnorst, 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.