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

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 anymore.
    “You’re certain they will return,