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we open it, however much we spend on made-up jobs for our friends? I spoke to
Singe but eyeballed my sidekick.  Or did we pawn something?
Chuckles ignored me. Of course. And Singe shrugged, indifferent to another
incomprehensible moral outburst.  We had a windfall.
I started to get all righteous. His Nibs cut me off.
Would you feel more comfortable if the A-Laf cult s resources went to
Director Relway? When their bad behavior depleted our resources? That is your
alternate option.
It had been a cruelly long day. And the residual effect of the samsom weed
really had kicked in.  I m going to bed.
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We had an easy ten days. More or less. Morley came by when the weather
permitted, mostly to remind me that I faced a reckoning.
The repair and replacement of his front door had been a unique experience.
The Palms had been forced to suspend business for days while the place aired
out.
 My man Junker Mulclar is your proper modern vegetarian gentleman, ain t he?
 Grumble rumble rabble bazzfazzle!
 You muttered something under your breath, sir?
 Browmschmuzzit!
John Stretch was in and out. He seemed willing to make himself at home.
Equally frequently, Penny Dreadful, having conquered her terror of the Dead
Man, visited the Luck. Without offering to take them away. She meant to open a
temple real soon now as soon as she found the right place. I had my eye on
Bittegurn Brittigarn s dump.
I hung around the Tate homestead plenty. Too much. Tinnie s male relatives
made that obvious by their attitudes, though they never failed to be polite.
Business is business.
Deacon Osgood and the surviving lovers of A-Laf escaped custody. Bribery was
suspected. They decided to end their mission to this fractious city.
I wished those boys devilspeed on their journey home, and foul weather all
the way.
The unseasonable weather seldom let up. Before long it would be seasonal.
Colonel Block s people, and Relway s Runners, never ceased to be underfoot.
Block was sure TunFaire would mend its evil ways if only he could catch good
old ever-loving blue-eyed Garrett with his hand in the cookie jar.
My friend Linda Lee at the Royal Library knew the whereabouts and provenance
of lots of special books. And she knew what books had gone missing from the
King s Collection and private libraries over the past dozen years.
Using Winger and Saucerhead, because they couldn t read the messages they
carried, I informed certain collectors that a cache of purloined tomes had
surfaced during an unrelated investigation. It was possible some of their
treasures were part of the hoard.
Harvester Temisk s memoirs, detailed though they were, recorded only the
dates when he d added to his collection. Neither sources nor the name of his
specialist provider was mentioned. Nor did I get many opportunities to revisit
Temisk s place. Good guys and bad alike kept right on watching it. Teacher and
the Sculdytes were gone, but others still had designs on Chodo, his
mouthpiece, and his designated heiress.
Finding people and things is what I do. Usually by being hired to, but
finding is at the root of the Garrett reputation. After ten days, nineteen of
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twenty-four bibliophiles had made generous arrangements for recovering their
treasures.
The others would come around.
Collectors are that way.
Teacher White stayed with us four days. He left with his mind washed clean
and his heart set on a career as a knife sharpener. Playmate accepted him as a
part-time apprentice. Play honestly believes there s good in everybody.
Excepting maybe me. He ll make a great Godshouter someday. If I don t get him
killed.
Old Bones didn t go back to sleep.
His uncharacteristic taste for the real world made me suspicious. Deeply,
abidingly suspicious.
81
I d just completed the successful reunion of several books with one Senishaw
Cyondreh, the past-her-prime spouse of a grimly named habitue of the Hill. The
woman had an eye so hungry I d nearly run for it, shrieking. Once I d gotten
my hands on the ransom. Reward. Finder s fee. If I ever dealt with her again,
I d drag a squadron of eunuch bodyguards along.
I d peeked inside before I turned the books over. They were what are called
pillow books. Blistering. I blushed when we made the exchange.
There was something different about the old homestead. I sensed it when I
spotted the odd coach among the abandoned goat carts. Having suffered a
similar dyspepsia on occasion recently, I thought about heading on over to
Tinnie s place. But I was carrying the take from the pillow book swap.
There are villains out there who cansmell noble metals.
I took a glim at the weird coach before I went inside.
It had been fabricated of some silvery metal, then painted wood grain with
paint I didn t recognize.  I have a bad feeling about this.
Distraction arose. Silverman, riding a donkey cart and surrounded by younger
men afoot, all cast from the same mold, appeared. The youngsters carried
cudgels. A Tin Whistle tagged along behind, curious.
 Ah. Garrett, Silverman said, reining in.  I ve completed the commission.
Executed to a much finer standard than the original specifications. Tough to
do even after I determined how the spells were written.
 Why aren t I surprised? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]