Old Tin Sorrows by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online

side of life wouldn’t offend the eyes of those who lived in the house. The rich are that way. They don’t want to be reminded that their comfort requires sweaty drudge labor.
    There were half a dozen outbuildings of various shapes and sizes. Stone was the main structural material, though it wasn’t stone that matched that in the big house. The stable was obvious. Somebody was at work there. I heard a hammer pounding. There was a second structure for livestock, presumably cattle, maybe dairy cattle. It was nearest me and had that smell. The rest of the buildings, including a greenhouse off to my right, had the look of protracted neglect. Way to the left was a long, low building that looked like a barracks. It also looked like nobody had used it for years. I decided to start with the greenhouse.
    Not much to see there except that someone had spent a fortune on glass and then hadn’t bothered to keep the place up. A few panes were broken. The framework that had been white once needed paint desperately. The door stood open a foot and sagged on its hinges. I had trouble pushing it back enough to get inside.
    No one had been in there for a long time. The place had gone to weeds. The only animal life I saw was a scroungy, orange, feral cat. She headed for cover when she saw me.
    The building next on the left was small, solid, and very much in use. It turned out to be a wellhouse, which explained why it looked like it handled a lot of traffic. A place this size would consume a lot of water—though I’d have thought they’d pipe it in from a reservoir.
    The stable was the next building over. I gave it a skip. I’d talk to whoever was there after I finished snooping. Next over was a smaller building filled with a jungle of tools and farm implements with an air of long neglect. There was another cat in there, a lot of mice, and from the smell, a regiment of bats. There’s nothing like the stink of lots of bats.
    Next up was the barn and, yes, that’s what it was. Bottom level for the animals, dairy and beef. Top level for hay, straw, and feed. Nobody around but the cows and a few more cats. I figured there must be owls, too, because I didn’t smell bats. The place needed maintenance. The cows weren’t friendly, unfriendly, or even curious.
    The day was getting on. The gloom was getting thick. I figured I’d better get on with it and save the detail work for later. Supper would be coming up soon.
    The building I’d thought looked like a barracks was probably for seasonal help. It was about eighty yards long, had maybe fifteen doors. The first I looked behind showed me a large, dusty bunkroom. The next opened on smaller quarters divided into three rooms, a bigger one immediately inside and two half its size behind it. The next several doors opened on identical arrangements. I guessed these were apartments for workers with families. Trouble was, there was a lot of waste space between doors, space unaccounted for.
    The far end of the barracks had a kitchen the size of the bunkroom. Its door was on the other side of the building. Glancing along that face, I saw more doors, which explained the missing space. The apartments faced alternate directions. I stepped into the kitchen, a windowless, cheerless place that would have been depressing at the best of times. I left the door propped open for light.
    There was little to see but dust and cobwebs and cooking utensils that hadn’t been touched in years. Another place nobody had visited in a long time. I was surprised the stuff was still lying around. TunFaire and its environs have no shortage of thieves. All this stuff had some market value.
    A gold mine that hadn’t been discovered?
    The door slammed shut.
    “Damned wind,” I muttered, and edged my way through the darkness, trying to remember what was lying in ambush between it and me.
    I heard somebody secure the rusty hasp.
    Not the wind. Somebody who didn’t want to be my friend.
    Not a good situation, Garrett. This place