shun alcohol and drugs, so wouldn’t have any real standard by which to judge the product.
“I wish I had time for a relaxed chat, Mr. Garrett. I’d love to catch up on the adventures of my old friend, your partner.”
My partner?” Maybe he is but I don’t go around admitting it in public. I laughed. “I’ll forget you said that. I don’t want to give him ideas.”
“To be sure. He’s stubborn at times. I’ll drop in someday. It’s been too long Meanwhile, indulge my impatience. I’m pressed”
“Sure. I’m in a hurry myself.”
“What brought you, then?”
“The Dead Man’s idea, A friend of mine was knifed yesterday. The gang that did it were mostly dwarves.”
Gnorst popped up. “Dwarves! Involved in a killing?”
“Attempted killing. So far.” I explained
“Strange. Very strange.” But he relaxed visibly, like maybe he’d concluded his own bunch couldn’t he responsible. “I don’t see how I can help you.”
“The Dead Man hoped you could give me a line on those guys. The dwarf community is pretty tight.”
“This one is. But there are dwarves who aren’t part of this enterprise. Still . . . The behavior isn’t to be countenanced. It aggravates prejudice. That’s bad for business. I’ll quiz my people. Someone may know those dwarves—though I hope not. A dwarf gone bad is a bad dwarf indeed.”
That sounded like a proverb. I told him, “Thanks for your time. I didn’t think it would help. One more thing. You ever heard of something called a book of shadows? Or a book of dreams?”
He jumped like somebody goosed him with a hot poker He stared at me a whole minute. I exaggerate not. Then he squeaked, “A book of dreams?”
“A woman came to the house before I came over here. She looked a lot like my friend who got stabbed. I think she was the intended victim. She wanted to hire me. Gave me a long story about a witch called the Serpent and a book of dreams that got stolen from her and is supposed to be in TunFaire now.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Garrett “ Gnorst scuttled off, mumbled at the guy who’d brought the beer. He stomped back over. “I just canceled some appointments. You have more time.”
“I ring a bell or something?”
“A gong. A carillon. I guess you’re unfamiliar with early dwarf history.”
“Everybody else’s, too. What’s up?”
“You’ve recalled an ancient terror.”
“Maybe you’d better explain.” Before I got dizzy.
“The Book of Dreams, more often called the Book of Shadows, is infamous in dwarfish legend. It must be unimaginably ancient to you. It dates from before men walked the earth.”
Yesterday’s breakfast is unimaginably ancient to me most of the time, but I didn’t say so. I didn’t want to seem shallower than I am. Wipe off that sneer.
“In those days dwarfish sorcerers were quite powerful, Mr. Garrett. And some were quite dark. The most powerful and darkest was Nooney Krombach, who created the Book of Shadows.”
Praise me, I kept a straight face. Nooney Krombach. I reminded myself that they probably find our names just as quaint. “Nooney Krombach?”
“Yes. Quite possibly fanciful, of course. Like so many saints in human mythologies. But he doesn’t have to have existed to have influenced his future.”
“I understand.” I did, because just a few months ago I’d survived a case involving several of TunFaire’s religions. This city is cursed with a thousand cults.
“Krombach’s legend has led thousands of would-be masters of the world to attempt to create their own Book of Shadows.”
That was fine by me but didn’t make anything clearer. “What was it?”
“A book of magic. One hundred sheets of brass hammered paper thin, bound in tooled mammoth leather, every page bearing a spell of immense potency. And every spell created and set down with our dwarfish passion for perfection.”
I began to see why people were after this book. But not why they were after me. I didn’t have any grimoires lying
“I wish I had time for a relaxed chat, Mr. Garrett. I’d love to catch up on the adventures of my old friend, your partner.”
My partner?” Maybe he is but I don’t go around admitting it in public. I laughed. “I’ll forget you said that. I don’t want to give him ideas.”
“To be sure. He’s stubborn at times. I’ll drop in someday. It’s been too long Meanwhile, indulge my impatience. I’m pressed”
“Sure. I’m in a hurry myself.”
“What brought you, then?”
“The Dead Man’s idea, A friend of mine was knifed yesterday. The gang that did it were mostly dwarves.”
Gnorst popped up. “Dwarves! Involved in a killing?”
“Attempted killing. So far.” I explained
“Strange. Very strange.” But he relaxed visibly, like maybe he’d concluded his own bunch couldn’t he responsible. “I don’t see how I can help you.”
“The Dead Man hoped you could give me a line on those guys. The dwarf community is pretty tight.”
“This one is. But there are dwarves who aren’t part of this enterprise. Still . . . The behavior isn’t to be countenanced. It aggravates prejudice. That’s bad for business. I’ll quiz my people. Someone may know those dwarves—though I hope not. A dwarf gone bad is a bad dwarf indeed.”
That sounded like a proverb. I told him, “Thanks for your time. I didn’t think it would help. One more thing. You ever heard of something called a book of shadows? Or a book of dreams?”
He jumped like somebody goosed him with a hot poker He stared at me a whole minute. I exaggerate not. Then he squeaked, “A book of dreams?”
“A woman came to the house before I came over here. She looked a lot like my friend who got stabbed. I think she was the intended victim. She wanted to hire me. Gave me a long story about a witch called the Serpent and a book of dreams that got stolen from her and is supposed to be in TunFaire now.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Garrett “ Gnorst scuttled off, mumbled at the guy who’d brought the beer. He stomped back over. “I just canceled some appointments. You have more time.”
“I ring a bell or something?”
“A gong. A carillon. I guess you’re unfamiliar with early dwarf history.”
“Everybody else’s, too. What’s up?”
“You’ve recalled an ancient terror.”
“Maybe you’d better explain.” Before I got dizzy.
“The Book of Dreams, more often called the Book of Shadows, is infamous in dwarfish legend. It must be unimaginably ancient to you. It dates from before men walked the earth.”
Yesterday’s breakfast is unimaginably ancient to me most of the time, but I didn’t say so. I didn’t want to seem shallower than I am. Wipe off that sneer.
“In those days dwarfish sorcerers were quite powerful, Mr. Garrett. And some were quite dark. The most powerful and darkest was Nooney Krombach, who created the Book of Shadows.”
Praise me, I kept a straight face. Nooney Krombach. I reminded myself that they probably find our names just as quaint. “Nooney Krombach?”
“Yes. Quite possibly fanciful, of course. Like so many saints in human mythologies. But he doesn’t have to have existed to have influenced his future.”
“I understand.” I did, because just a few months ago I’d survived a case involving several of TunFaire’s religions. This city is cursed with a thousand cults.
“Krombach’s legend has led thousands of would-be masters of the world to attempt to create their own Book of Shadows.”
That was fine by me but didn’t make anything clearer. “What was it?”
“A book of magic. One hundred sheets of brass hammered paper thin, bound in tooled mammoth leather, every page bearing a spell of immense potency. And every spell created and set down with our dwarfish passion for perfection.”
I began to see why people were after this book. But not why they were after me. I didn’t have any grimoires lying
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