Moonheart (56 page)

Gannon appeared from further down the hall. The latter had a grim look on his face and Blue knew he was in for some hard questioning. Tucker, though he seemed relieved to see him, had a grim look about his features as well.

"Suppose you tell us what you were trying to prove," Tucker said, "going out—"

"I'd like to hear about Robert Mercier," Gannon said. He fixed his cold eyes on the biker.

Like a shadow, Chevier appeared at Gannon's elbow, methodically chewing a mint, one hand in the pocket of his sports jacket. Clearly, Chevier had a gun in there. Tension crackled in the air. Blue was caught between the implicit threat he read in the eyes of Mercier's companions and the need to know what had happened to Ur'wen'ta. He could still feel the drumming inside him, only where was the Indian?

"We're waiting," Gannon said.

Tucker stepped forward, but before he could speak, Chevier whispered: "Keep out of this, Inspector. This is between us and Mr. Wonderful here. Got it?"

"So this is it, then?" Blue said softly.

He moved Sally aside and wished he'd stopped and thought about this happening before he'd come roaring in. His Weatherby was strapped to his back. Mercier's .38 was in his pack. The Margolin pistol was in his pocket. All three of them might as well be on the moon. Tucker had his own gun still in his hand, but it was hanging down by his leg. By the time he got it up, Chevier could gun him down just by firing through his pocket.

"Just talk," Gannon said. "If you make it good, there doesn't have to be any trouble. For the rest of them, that is. You... well, you've got a problem."

Gannon hadn't meant to start something now. There were too many people hanging around, getting in the way. But he'd gotten edgy, doing nothing but waiting all day. He'd found nothing in Jamie's study. Chevier'd come up with dick-all. And there was the biker, roaring into the hallway just asking to be hassled.

What was there to say? Blue thought. He could feel the sweat start up on his forehead, could sense the anger just waiting to rip out again. But this time he wasn't going to be so lucky as he'd been with Mercier. There were too many people around, too many chances for someone to get hurt. He couldn't risk it.

"Better put the gun down, Inspector," Gannon said quietly. "No point in playing the hero at this point in the proceedings. The biker's dead meat."

Tucker weighed his chances and they weren't good. Chevier was a pro. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Tucker once since this little drama started up. That was because Tucker was the only one holding a piece. "Uh... Mr. Gannon..." Jamie began.

"Shut your mouth, Tams."

As Tucker started to drop his gun, the front door opened. All eyes turned to see Ur'wen'ta standing there in a totem mask of a bear's head topped with stag's antlers, looking like a demonic figure out of a Bosch painting. Smoke wreathed about his clothing, smoke the color of his hair. The sound of his drumming filled the air. For long moments no one spoke, no one moved. Then the drumming stopped and the spell lifted.

"Jesus!" Tucker said and lifted his gun.

"No!" Blue lunged for the Inspector's arm, belatedly remembered Chevier's gun, but neither action was played through.

Ur'wen'ta's drum spoke again, but this time it spoke its rhythm on its own, the drum skin resonating without a hand tapping against it. It breathed calm throughout the hall, stole the tension from each of those gathered there. The Inspector lowered his gun. Chevier took his hand from his pocket. The tightness even in Gannon's features eased as the drumming thundered inside him, inside them all.

Ur'wen'ta regarded Blue.
This is your tribe?
he signed.

Yes and no,
Blue replied.

There is much anger present.

I know.

Blue frowned, wondering how to translate an explanation of what was going down.

It does not matter,
Ur'wen'ta signed.
Where is your drummer?

I will show you.

As Blue took the shaman upstairs to where Thomas lay, the others finally stirred.

"What happened?" Jamie asked. "One minute we were all set to kill each other, and in the next..."

"He stopped us," Traupman said. He looked up the stairs, features thoughtful. "Just like that. As though we were merely children that needed to be silenced. To him, we probably
are
children."

"We better go see what they're up to," Tucker said.

"I don't think it would be wise to disturb them just now," Traupman said. "It seems that Blue's found a shaman to cure Thomas Hengwr. We've done what we can with Hengwr. Let's give the shaman his chance."

"Screw that!" Gannon said.

He started for the stairs but pulled up sharp as Tucker lifted his .38. The Inspector looked at Gannon, then at the gun. The drumming still resonated in him, so when Gannon backed off, Tucker bolstered the weapon. He should have taken Gannon's and Chevier's while he had the drop on them, but something in the rhythm of the drumming stopped him.

He could see Chevier and Gannon trying to work it out as well.

"Who was that Indian?" Maggie asked. "Where did he come from?"

"Blue found him, I guess," Tucker replied. "Though where he found him..." He glanced out the open door, slowly shut it. "Somewhere out there, I suppose."

"Can we trust him?"

"I don't know, Maggie. I don't know if we have a choice."

"I think we can trust him," Traupman said.

"Did you understand what they were saying?" Tucker asked. "Waving their hands around like that?"

Traupman shook his head. "No. But it begins to lend credence to our earlier suspicions."

"What suspicions?" Jamie wanted to know.

"That you people know more than you're letting on," Gannon said.

The vehemence had left his voice and he looked uncomfortable. Tucker knew just how he was feeling. It was weird being just... shut down like this. It was like every time you started to get angry, something cut in and mellowed you out. The drumming.

"It's not true," Jamie replied. "I've never seen that... man before."

"Then where did Blue find him?" Tucker asked. "How come they can communicate?"

"I don't know. Blue's got a thing about Indians— he used to live with some down in Arizona. Maybe he picked it up there."

Tucker nodded. He remembered Blue mentioning that. But that still didn't explain what the Indian was doing here or how Blue had got in touch with him.

"I think we'd better go up," he told Traupman. "We won't interrupt or anything, but I've got to know what's going on up there."

Traupman hesitated, then stepped aside. One by one they went up the stairs.

Ur'wen'ta paused in the doorway of Jamie's study, his attention caught by the painting that was propped up on the desk beside Memoria's terminal. Glancing at Blue, he crossed the room to study it, removing his totem mask as he did so.

How can this be? he
signed.
This is my drum-brother A 'wa'rathe— He-Who-Walks-With-Bears. My drum-brother and Redhair from across the Great Water.
He reached out to touch the painting, drawing his fingers back before actual contact. Turning back to Blue, he signed,
Powerful are the medicines of the Great Lodge. They drum all around us.

Remembering how easily Ur'wen'ta had stopped the confrontation downstairs, Blue signed back,
Powerful are the medicines of Ur'wen'ta as well.

The old Indian smiled.
This is so. Come. We will see your drummer.

Ur'wen'ta's humor died away as he approached the bed where Tom lay. Whatever it was that kept his drum playing by itself quickened its tempo. Ur'wen'ta replaced his totem mask. For long minutes he stood studying Tom's pale features. Then he climbed on the bed and knelt beside him. He took a pinch of pollen from the medicine bag at his side and, murmuring, touched it to each of the wizard's eyelids. Then he laid his hand on Tom's brow, fingers spread so that his thumb and little finger each gripped a temple. Abruptly, the drumming ceased and Ur'wen'ta moved away from the bed.

I know this drummer,
he signed.
He is a man driven by devils. Always it has been so. He stalks Mal'ek'a— the Dread-That-Walks-Nameless— and it stalks him. He was my drum-brother's brother, and so is kin to me. But I cannot help him.

What is wrong with him?

He has confronted that which he hunted and that meeting has sent his soul fleeing. It hides deep within him, lost and shaken. Given time, I could draw him back, but time I do not have now, Blue-Rider. A'wa'rathe's daughter Ha'kan'ta has summoned our tribe to a meeting that I must attend. When I am done there, I will return.

When?

Before moonset,
Ur'wen'ta signed.

Thanks are given to you,
Blue replied. His hands were moving more deftly as the half-forgotten movements returned to him.
We will wait for you until that time.

I will return.
Ur'wen'ta paused, then added with a quick cutting motion:
The others— your people. They do not trust you. Some of them mean you ill. I tell you this because I sense in you an echo of my totem.

You honor me.

Ur'wen'ta shook his head.
It is Mother Bear who honors us both. I will return, Blue-Rider, perhaps with others of my tribe. Toma'heng'ar is known amongst my people. Many have drum-ties with him, though there are some who frown on his enmity withs
— He made an unfamiliar sign that translated into "Silver-Brow."
Redhair. It is an evil time when enemies are blooded to the same tribe.

He looked to the door where Tucker and the others were now gathered.

Your own people have come, Blue-Rider.

Ur'wen'ta's drum began to speak once more and smoke arose to wreathe about him.

Until moonset.

Until moonset,
Blue signed. He pulled Ur'wen'ta's totem stick from his belt and offered it back.

Keep it until my return,
the shaman signed.

The smoke billowed and then he was gone, taking the drumming with him. In the ensuing silence, Blue knew a sharp sense of loss. Ur'wen'ta had filled him with a sense of peace. Of control. Sighing, he turned to face the door, knowing what he still had to go through and not looking forward to it.

Tucker stepped back as Blue turned, eyes locked on the totem stick still in the biker's hand. Blue grinned. So it made them nervous, did it? Well, he'd play that up for all it was worth. Maybe it would stop them acting like such a bunch of assholes.

"I guess we'd better talk," he said.

"You've got a real glow about you," Sally told him hours later. "Ever since you got back."

Blue nodded. He felt it too. It was like the rhythm Ur'wen'ta had played that twinned the pulse of his blood through his own body and never stopped. He heard it like a soft drum echoing still. Like the distant sound of a horse's hooves against the ground.

His confrontation with Tucker and the rest of them had come off a lot smoother than he'd thought it would. A
lot
smoother from the way it had been shaping up before Ur'wen'ta showed. The shaman had left them all subdued, which suited Blue just fine. They'd brought up Mercier and quietly accepted his version of what had happened. Even Gannon and Chevier did— though there was a flicker of something in the latter's eyes. Gannon remained impassive.

"You scared me, going off like that," Sally said.

"I scared myself. But we had to do something. We're just lucky things worked out the way they did."

"You really think he'll come back?"

"He'll be back, babe. He's the kind of guy that plays it straight."

"I don't know how you can be so sure."

Blue tapped his chest. "In here. He reads okay in here. Just like you do."

"Well, in that case," she said, snuggling closer to him, "he's got to be okay."

Blue grinned. "I kinda thought you'd see it that way."

"I wish you didn't have to do that."

Tucker looked up from the table where he was dismantling and cleaning his gun.

"Why not?" he asked.

Maggie shrugged. She was wearing a blue workshirt and some jeans that Fred had found for her. "It just reminds me of too much that's ugly," she said at last.

Tucker sighed. "I can't take a chance on it not working at its optimum performance level. Especially not now. You know that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just all on edge."

"Still thinking about this afternoon?" Maggie nodded.

"Well, Gannon worries me, too," Tucker said. "He's a dangerous man and I'm getting the feeling that he's getting too jumpy. That just makes him more dangerous. Him and his whispering goon. I haven't seen them around for awhile, have you?"

"No. And I'd like to keep it that way."

"We'll get out of this," Tucker said.

He peered down the inside of the .38's barrel. Satisfied, he set aside the swab and cleaning cloth.

"How?" Maggie wanted to know. "There's a feeling of... wrongness in the air tonight."

Tucker nodded. "I know. I can feel it too. That's why I'm cleaning this sucker. Something's going to break tonight."

"I just hope it isn't us," Maggie said softly.

"Are we still going through with it tonight?" Chevier asked. "Now that the biker's got himself a magic wand..."

"The biker does, but Tams doesn't."

"There's that."

Gannon looked out of the window into the darkness and frowned. "Did you find a place we can work on him?" he asked.

"It's got to be the cellars. Nobody goes down there and the walls are so thick that no one'll hear anything. Even if they miss him, in a place this big they'll never find us. At least not before we get what we need from him."

"Good," Gannon said. "Good."

But he kept thinking about the biker. The anger that gripped him wasn't very professional and he knew it. But nothing had been professional about this operation. Still, the biker would have to wait. And Tucker. Until Jamie Tams gave them what they needed.