Old Tin Sorrows Part 27

38.

Sometime back a hundred years ago, Cook whumped up one big breakfast and she'd been re-warming leftovers ever since. The same old greasy meats and biscuits and gravy and all that, so heavy it would founder a galleon. Your basic country breakfast. Morley was in pain.

He concentrated on biscuits and muttered, 'At least the storm pa.s.sed.'

It was quiet out. The rain had fallen off to a drizzly mist. The wind had died down. It was getting colder, which I didn't interpret as a positive omen. I figured it meant the snow would be back.

Jennifer didn't show, which I didn't find mysterious and n.o.body else mentioned, so it must not be unusual. But Wayne wasn't around either and he wasn't the kind who missed his meals. 'Where's Wayne?' I asked Peters, who looked groggy, crabby, and like he still hurt plenty.

He gave me the answer I was afraid I'd hear. 'He pulled out. Soon as there was enough light, just like he said. Kaid said he had his stuff all packed and at the front door. He was raring to go.'

I looked at Kaid. Kaid looked like I felt. He nodded, which seemed to take all the energy he had. I muttered, 'And then there were three.'

Peters said, 'And I'm having a hard time talking myself into sticking.'

Cook rumbled, 'What are you boys on about now?' I realized she probably hadn't heard. I told her about Chain. And when I thought about Chain I wished I hadn't, because Wayne the gravedigger was gone and that meant either Peters or I or both of us would have to hike over to the graveyard and wallow in the mud till we got Art Chain planted. I knew Morley wouldn't do it. He hadn't hired on for that, as he'd remind me with a s.h.i.+t-eating grin while he kibbitzed my digging style.

Eight hundred and some thousands apiece now. And all the survivors improbable suspects.

I thought about burning my copy of the will right there. But what good would that do if they didn't know it was the last copy? Then I had a terrible thought. 'Was the will registered?' You can do that to keep your heirs from squabbling. It means filing a copy of the doc.u.ment. If Stantnor's was registered, then the villain did not have to worry about my copy or about the General having torched his.

They all looked at each other, shrugged.

We'd have to ask the General.

I started to say I wanted to see him, but a racket out front cut me off. It sounded like a cavalry troop arriving.

'What the h.e.l.l is that?' Kaid muttered. He shoved himself off his stool, started moving like he was forty years older than his seventy-something. Everybody but Cook toddled along behind. Cook didn't leave her bailiwick for trivia.

We swarmed onto the front porch. 'What the h.e.l.l?' Peters demanded. 'Looks like a d.a.m.ned carnival caravan.'

It did. And the mob with the garish coach and wagons boasted every breed you could imagine.

None of the vehicles were pulled by horses or oxen or even elephants, which you sometimes see with a carnival. The teams were all grolls-grolls being half giant, half troll, green, and from twelve to eighteen feet tall when they're grown. They're strong enough to tear out trees by their roots-big trees. trees.

A pair of those grolls waved and hollered. Took me a moment. 'Doris and Marsha,' I said. 'Haven't seen them for a while.'

A skinny little guy bounced up the steps. I hadn't seen him for a lot longer. 'Dojango Roze. How the h.e.l.l are you?'

'A little down on my luck, actually.' He grinned. A strange little breed, he claimed he and Doris and Marsha were triplets born of different mothers. I'd given up trying to figure that out.

'What the h.e.l.l is this, Dojango?' Morley asked. I've never been sure but I think Dojango is some distant relative of his.

'Doctor Doom's medicine show, carnival, and home spirit disposal service, actually. Friend of the Doc said you had a bad spirit needing handling.' He grinned from ear to ear. His brothers Doris and Marsha boomed cheerfully, not giving a d.a.m.n that I didn't understand one word of grollish. They and the other grolls and all the oddities with them got to work setting up camp on the front lawn.

I glanced at Peters and Kaid. They just stared. 'Morley?' I raised an eyebrow about a foot high. 'Your doctor friend's referral?'

His smile was a little weak around the edges. 'Looks like.'

'Hey!' Dojango said, sensing my lack of enthusiasm. 'Doc Doom is the real thing, actually. Real ghost tamer. Exorcist. Demonologist. Spirit talker. The works. Even does a little necromancy, actually. But there ain't much call for those skills, actually. Not when you're not human. How many of you humans would think of using a nonhuman to call up your uncle Fred so you can find out where he hid the good silver before he croaked? See? So Doc has to make a mark here and a mark there some other way. Peddles nostrums mostly, actually. Hey. Let me go get him, bring him up, let you judge for yourself.' He spun around and headed for the coach, which hadn't disgorged any pa.s.sengers yet.

He ran halfway down the steps. I muttered, 'I don't believe this. The old man would foul his drawers if he saw it.'

Morley grunted. His eyes were glazed.

Roze came back. 'Oh. Doc Doom is kind of a quirky guy, actually. You got to give him some room and be a little patient. If you know what I mean.'

'I don't,' I told him. 'Better not be too quirky. I've got quirky enough right here and no patience left over for more.'

Dojango grinned, managed to leave without using his favorite word again. Actually. He dashed down to that ridiculous coach, which was so brightly painted it would have blinded us on a sunny day. Breeds swarmed around it. A couple got up a giant parasol. Another one brought a set of steps. Somebody else laid out a canvas dingus from those steps to the steps to the house.

Morley and I exchanged glances again.

Dojango opened the coach door and bowed.

Meantime, grolls set up a circus on the lawn.

I asked Morley, 'You heard of this guy?'

'Actually, yes.' He smiled. 'Word is, he's the real thing. Like Dojango says.'

'Actually.'

Kaid sputtered and went back into the house.

A figure seven feet tall and maybe six hundred pounds wide descended from the coach. What it was wasn't immediately obvious. It was wrapped up in so much black cloth, it looked like a walking tent. The tent was covered with mystical symbols in silver. A huge hand came out and made a benevolent gesture to the troops. One of the taller breeds dragged something out of the coach and planted it atop Doctor Doom's head. It added three feet to his height. Priests should wear something so bizarre and ornate.

He came toward us as though the star of a coronation processional.

'You Doc Doom?' I asked when he arrived. 'Give me one good reason why I should take you seriously after that clown show.'

Dojango, bouncing around like a puppy, seemed stricken. 'Hey. Garrett. You can't talk to Doctor Doom that way, actually.'

'I talk to kings and sorcerers that way. Why should I make an exception for a clown? You better pack your tents and get rolling. The nitwit who sent you made a mistake.'

Morley said, 'Garrett, don't get excited. The man is for real, he's just kind of into drama and maybe has a little bit of a puffed-up notion of his own importance.'

'I'll say.'

Doom hadn't spoken yet. He didn't now. He gestured. A breed beside him, female, about four feet tall who looked like she had a lot of dwarf and ogre in her-she was ugly- ugly-said, 'The Doctor says he'll excuse your impertinence this once because you were ignorant of who he is. But now you know-'

'Bye.' I turned. 'Sarge, Morley, we got work to do. Sarge, maybe you better see if you can find a horse. We may have to send for the garrison.' There isn't much law anywhere in Karenta, but guys like the General have access to a little. Somebody irritates them, they can always get a hand or two hundred from the army.

Dojango had a fit. He pursued us into the hall, where he lost the thread of his thoughts as he looked around at the paintings and hardware and bellicose scenes in gla.s.s. He mumbled something about, 'He's desperate for work, actually.'

Cook strode onto the scene, as formidable as a war elephant. Now I knew where Kaid had gone. She d.a.m.ned near trampled Roze. I said, 'I don't think we'll need the army.'

Morley said, 'You're being too hard, Garrett. One more time. The man is the real thing.'

'Yeah. Right.' I went back to the door to watch Cook in action.

The action was over, essentially. She stood in front of the marvelous doctor with hands on ample hips looking like she might breathe fire. He was out of his wonderful hat already and getting rid of the tent.

Like I thought, the guy inside went more stone than I had fingers to count, but I had to revise his tonnage downward. He didn't go more that four-fifty in his work clothes.

He had some troll in him and three or four other bloods; once you saw him without the costume, you figured maybe he was smart to wear it. He made his little mouthpiece look gorgeous.

'Mr. Garrett. I'll dispense with the showmans.h.i.+p. As my good friend Dojango has a.s.sured you, I am the genuine article.' His voice was down a well's depth below ba.s.s. Somewhere along the line somebody had popped him in the Adam's apple. That added a growly, scratchy character to his voice and made him hard to understand. He knew that and spoke slowly. 'You have a problem with a malign spirit, I'm told. Unless it's of a cla.s.s two magnitude or greater, I can deal with it.'

'Huh?' I'm not up on the jargon. I try not to hang around with sorcerers. That can be hazardous to your health.

'Will you reconsider and allow me a preliminary examination of the premises?'

Why not? I'm an easygoing guy when people don't shuck me. 'As long as you knock the horse apples off your boots and promise not to wet on the carpets.'

He was so ugly his expression was hard to read. I don't think he appreciated my humor, though. I asked, 'What do you need from us?'

'Nothing. I brought my own equipment. A guide, perhaps, to show me those places where the spirit most commonly manifests.'

'It doesn't. Leastwise, not when anyone is looking. The only evidence we have that there is one is the doctor's opinion.'

'Curious. A spirit of the sort he suspected ought to manifest frequently. Dojango. My kit.'

Morley asked, 'Could it appear to be somebody familiar?'

'Explain your question, please.'

I told him about having a Morley in my room who wasn't.

'Yes. Exactly. If it wanted, it could cause a great deal of confusion that way. Dojango, what are you waiting for?'

Roze scampered off to the Doctor's coach. Meantime, Doom said, 'Perhaps I should apologize for distressing you with my arrival. The sort of people who usually employ me won't believe I'm real unless they get a show.'

I understood that. Sometimes I have that problem in my business. Potential clients look at me and wonder, especially when they catalog the marks on my face. I have to remind them that they should see the other guys.

Dojango staggered up the steps with four big cases. They probably outweighed him. His face was frozen in a rictus of a grin.

Cook seemed satisfied that everything was under control. She headed into the house. Never said a word to me. My feelings were hurt.

But not much.

Dojango arrived panting like he'd run twenty miles. Doctor Doom said, 'Shall we begin?'

39.

Once the good doctor stopped clowning, he impressed me as quite professional.

He started at the fountain, about which he made several remarks, suggesting he thought it one of the great sculptures of the modern age. He asked if it might be for sale in the foreseeable future.

Peters and I exchanged glances. Peters was way out at sea, encountering a side of the world about which he'd only heard before. He said, 'Unlikely, doctor. Unlikely.'

'A pity. A great pity. I'd love to own it. It would make a wonderful prop.' He shuffled through his cases as Dojango popped them open, took out this and that-and n.o.body else knew what they were. For all I could tell they had no use at all and were just stuff to impress the peasants.

Three minutes later he said, 'A great many traumatic events have occurred in this house.' He looked at something in his hand, drifted to the spot where Chain had made his exit from this vale of tears. The boys had cleaned up good. I guessed Chain was taking his ease in the wellhouse till planting time.

'A man died here recently. Violently.' Doom looked up. 'Pushed, I'd guess.'

'On the money,' I admitted. 'Maybe an hour after midnight last night.'

He wandered around. 'The dead have walked here. Zombies...No! Worse. Not under control. Draugs.'

I looked at Morley. 'I guess he knows his stuff. Unless he's got a friend on the inside.'

'You're suspicious of everything.'

'Occupational hazard.'

The spook hunter spent fifteen minutes just standing by the fountain with his eyes closed, holding some doohickeys to his ears. I'd begun to wonder if we weren't getting shucked after all when he came back from wherever he'd been. 'This is a house of blood. The very stones vibrate with memories of great evils done.' He shuddered, closed his eyes for another three minutes, then turned to me. 'You're the man who needs my help?'

'I'm the guy the General hired to straighten out a mess that only gets more tangled by the minute.'

He nodded. 'Tell me what you've learned. There have been so many evils done here that it's impossible to separate them.'

'That'll take awhile. Why don't we get comfortable?' I led him to one of the rooms on the first floor west where, I presumed, in better times the business of the estate had been managed. We settled. Peters went off to sweet-talk Cook into providing the next best thing to refreshments in a household where alcohol was banned.

'A twisted place indeed,' Doom said when he learned that. I decided maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

I told him what I'd learned, which wasn't that much when you came down to it. Mostly a catalog of crimes.

He asked no questions till I finished. 'The spirit seems content to victimize your princ.i.p.al? The other deaths are the work of other hands?'

'h.e.l.l, I don't know. The longer I'm here, the more confused I get. Every time somebody dies or emigrates, the list of suspects gets more improbable.' I explained how I'd had Chain locked in as the villain-till he took his tumble.

He considered. He reflected. He took his time. He was one guy who didn't get in a hurry. He said, 'Yours isn't my field of expertise, Mr. Garrett, but I would, as a disinterested layman, suggest that you may be following false trails because you began with faulty a.s.sumptions.'

'Say what?'