Book 06 - Red Iron Nights by Glen Cook Page B

for sure. Nobody sane would do that.”
    “You keep saying ‘they.’ You figure on more
than one?”
    I thought about it. It’d been a gut reaction. “Yeah.
Somebody had to get her away from her bodyguards. Somebody had to
bring her here. Somebody had to strip her and tie her and string
her up and do that. I don’t think a solo crazy could
manage.”
    I flashed on a kidnapping I’d helped break up one rainy
evening, went stiff and cold. Any connection seemed unlikely,
but . . . “These girls got anything in
common besides being high-class? They know each other? They all the
same physical type?” This one couldn’t have been
confused with Chodo’s brat, but she did have a similar build,
black hair, and dark eyes.
    “Age range is seventeen to twenty-two. All with dark hair
and eyes except for one blond. All between five-four and
five-eight. Built pretty much alike, near as I could tell, seeing
them this way.”
    “Five of them.”
    “That we know about.”
    There was that. In TunFaire there might be that many more not
yet found or reported. “You have yourself a blue-assed bitch
of a problem, Captain. These things are hard to untangle because
there’s nothing to grab hold of that makes any sense to
anybody who isn’t crazy. If you get many more, the thing will
turn into a circus.”
    “I know that, Garrett. Goddamnit, that’s why I came
to you. Look, you want me to beg, I’ll beg.
Only—”
    “No, Block. I don’t want you to beg.” That had
its appeal, but I couldn’t stomach it. “I want you to
calm down. I want you to come walk with me in the rain and tell me
everything you know. And I mean everything. Whatever little thing
you hold back, to keep from embarrassing somebody important, might
be the key.”
    I hadn’t decided to get involved. Not yet. I wanted to
distract him long enough to walk him over to my place so he could
have a sit-down with the Dead Man. The Dead Man could sort
everything stashed in his feeble mind and, probably, hand him what
he needed to solve his case. Thus would I satisfy my civic
obligation. I could feel smug without having to stick my neck
out.
    Only thing was, going back out that narrow passage,
Block’s boys went with us, carrying their torches. Those spat
and sputtered in the drizzle and gave me more light than I’d
had coming in. Which meant there was enough light for me to spot
the butterflies.
    There were three of them. They weren’t anything special.
Just little green butterflies. But how come there were butterflies
dead in an alley in the Bustee?
    I stopped when we reached the narrow street. “Take that
old man somewhere and feed him. Get a doctor to look after him. Do
whatever you have to do to get him well enough to tell us what he
saw. If he saw anything.”
    Block told his men, “Do it.”
    I headed for home, Block hustling along beside me, telling me
anything he thought might help. I didn’t listen as closely as
I could have. Besides being horrified, I was bemused by the fact
that I might hold the fate of the Watch in my hands. I could
destroy the useless bastards. Or maybe even force them to become
some small percentage of what they were supposed to be. Hell,
people will do anything to keep their jobs. Sometimes even
do
their jobs.
    I wasn’t used to that kind of power. Maybe I’d have
to have Dean follow me around whispering in my ear to remind me I
was mortal.
    Dean had noticed that the door was unlocked. He’d locked
it. I whooped and pounded till he tore himself away from his
evangelists. When he opened up, he had a gleam in his eye that had
nothing to do with salvation.
    “You rogue, you.” He pretended he didn’t
understand what I meant. Hell, a fling would be good for him and
them both. If it didn’t kill him.
    I’d never let Westman Block enter my house before. He did
so warily, like a soldier visiting an enemy stronghold.
    The Dead Man is no secret. Anyone interested in such things
would know he lives with me. But hardly anyone has