Songreaver (28 page)

Marla looked surprised. "You visited the
ghost again?" she asked.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "she's taking care of
Lampwicke for me. She's really nice."

Marla shook her head. "Garrett," she said, "I
don't like you going down there. It isn't safe."

Garrett laughed. "I know my way around now,"
he said, "I haven't been anywhere near the spiders since... you
know."

Marla frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"Something has been bothering me about that
too," she said.

"The spiders?" he said, "Yeah, I had
nightmares for a month about that."

"No, I mean, how did we get away from the
spiders?" she asked.

"You and Warren fought them off," Garrett
said, "...well mostly you."

Marla shook her head. "I don't remember doing
it," she said, "I mean I remember fighting them... and then... we
were at the ghost's lair."

Garrett snorted.

"What?" she asked.

"Lair?" he said, "It's just a house. It's
actually pretty nice inside."

Marla laughed. "Yes, if you like being
roasted in an oven."

"Does sunlight really burn you like that?" he
asked.

"It's not exactly burning," she said, "It's
more like someone pouring hot sand into all your internal organs at
once... not a very pleasant experience."

"I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I wish you could
see it... it really is beautiful."

Marla shrugged. "An open flame is beautiful
too," she said, "You still wouldn't want to stick your hand into
it. I'm just a little more sensitive to sunlight than you are."

Garrett smiled.

Marla laid her towel aside. "Do you have a
comb?" she asked.

Garrett chuckled. "I... don't really have
much use for combs."

Marla's face drained of what little color it
had. "Oh, Garrett! I'm so sorry," she gasped.

He raised his hand. "Don't worry about it!"
he said, "I've got a magic wig now. Who needs combs?"

Marla stared at him for a moment and then
snorted with laughter. "
Magic wig?
" she said.

"Yeah, well... gotta call it something," he
said.

Marla smoothed back her tangled hair with her
hands and looked away, a little smile on her face.

"Anyway," he said, walking into his room,
"I'm worried about Caleb."

Marla followed him inside, sitting down on
the edge of his unmade bed. "Do you think he will come back on his
own?" she asked.

"I don't know," Garrett said, "If he doesn't
come back by nightfall... well, I don't want the Night Watch to
find him... again."

"I'll help you look for him," she said,
"We'll find him and bring him home before Curfew."

"Yeah, just let me get changed," Garrett
said, pulling a heavier robe and hood from his dresser drawer. He
pulled off his hood and tugged open the collar of his sodden dress
robe before he realized what he was doing. He glanced toward Marla
who sat on the bed, watching him. She did not take her eyes from
him, her face expressionless and calm.

Garrett lowered his eyes and peeled off his
wet robe and his undershirt as well. He felt her eyes on his scars,
burning like dragonfire. He tried not to, but he looked at her
anyway. She was smiling.

Garrett smiled back and pulled on the fresh
robe and hood.

****

The rain had stopped by the time they reached
the alleyway where Caleb had died. They found the zombie kneeling
at the end of the alley with his hand stuck in the drain grate.

"Caleb!" Garrett called out, "What are you
doing?"

The zombie lifted his milky eyes to Garrett,
and his face twisted in a miserable groan.

Garrett and Marla cautiously approached him,
but Caleb turned his attention once again to the drain grate. He
moaned again as he tried to force his hand through the narrow
bars.

"He's trying to reach something," Garrett
said.

Marla knelt beside Caleb then glanced back
toward the entrance of the alleyway. She waited until the people in
the street beyond had passed, then she grasped the bars of the
grate in both hands, planted her feet squarely, and pulled.

The grate came loose with a shriek of rusted
metal. Caleb fell over onto his backside, staring numbly at the
grate in his lap, struggling to pull his pale hand free of it.
Garrett helped him get it off.

Marla tilted her head, peering into the
shallow pipe beneath the drainage hole. She reached inside and
pulled out something small, heavy, and coated with filth.

"Ugh, what is it?" Garrett said.

Caleb let out a soft, pitiful moan.

Marla scraped most of the black muck from the
object to reveal a stained leather pouch. She hefted it in the palm
of her hand, and it jingled a little. She tugged away the rotten
cord that held it shut, and looked inside.

"Oh, my," she said.

"What?"

Marla held it out for him to see. The cold
gleam of gold coins shone from the open mouth of the bag, a lot of
gold coins.

Caleb sighed, lifting his hand to paw gently
at the sack of gold. Marla handed it to him, and he took it.

Garrett helped Caleb to his feet as Marla
picked up the iron grate and returned it to its rightful place. She
looked at Garrett questioningly.

"I think he stole it," Garrett said, "That
must have been why he was out past Curfew."

"Who does it belong to?" Marla asked.

"I don't know," Garrett said, "There was some
guy down in the Lower City that recognized Caleb and tried to beat
him up for taking his money. Maybe..."

Caleb bared his teeth in an angry growl.

"...or maybe that was the guy who stole it in
the first place," Garrett said.

"What should we do with it?" Marla asked.

"I don't know," Garrett said, "I guess we
could..."

Caleb clutched the gold tightly to his chest
and lurched off in the direction of the street.

Garrett and Marla looked at each other and
then followed him. They followed him for two miles, coming at last
to the narrow, steaming lanes of Cookston.

In the space of only four city blocks, most
of the servant class for the Upper City made their homes. Walled in
and hidden from the sight of those wealthy enough to employ them,
most lived in cramped apartments above the little shops that
catered to the needs of those who served others for a living.

Caleb moved, unheeded, through the crowds of
maids and gardeners who made no eye contact and hurried to complete
whatever errands took them away from their duties. Garrett and
Marla shadowed him, finally catching up to him when he stopped on a
busy sidewalk near a line of laundry kettles steaming in the
street.

Garrett sidestepped a man carrying a roll of
carpet and then quickly moved to Caleb's side.

Caleb stood, watching the women drowning
laundry in bubbling cauldrons with large wooden paddles.

"What is it, Caleb?" Garrett asked.

Caleb clutched the sack of gold against his
chest with his left hand. His right hand lifted toward the women at
the kettles.

Garrett followed his line of sight and then
gasped. One of the laundry women lifted her oar to push a dirty
coat beneath the soapy surface of her kettle. She looked so much
like Caleb that she might have been his... "Sister," he
whispered.

Caleb groaned. The zombie lurched forward,
his hand outstretched. He took a few shambling steps before he
stopped. Caleb put his hand to his face, his pale fingers against
his cold lips. A little whimper came from his throat. He stumbled
backwards and then fled into the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

Garrett and Marla followed him into the
alleyway, finding him with his forehead pressed against the wall.
The gold he clutched in his left fist, his right he pounded against
the moldy bricks of the wall.

Caleb's jaw moved, trying to form words, but
only a warbling moan came out.

"Caleb?" Garrett said, "Is that girl really
your sister?"

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, his body
shaking.

"It's all right," Garrett whispered, putting
his hand on Caleb's shoulder, "It's all right."

Caleb lurched back from the wall and looked
toward the street, his eyes full of sorrow. He held the gold up and
looked at it, a horrible groan coming from between his clenched
teeth.

Garrett looked at Marla then back at Caleb.
"You want to give her the gold?" he asked.

Caleb looked at him, making a little mewling
noise.

"Don't worry about it," Garrett said, "I'll
give it to her for you."

Caleb fell silent, with what could have been
a look of hope in his eyes. Then he lifted his hand again to his
face and groaned.

Garrett's heart ached for his friend. "You
don't want her to know, do you?"

Caleb's lips twitched into a sort of sad
smile.

"It's all right," Garrett said, "I won't tell
her what happened... just that the gold is from you."

Caleb held the bag out at arm's length, his
white fingers creaking as they opened to release the coin pouch
into Garrett's hands.

Garrett smiled and nodded, taking the gold.
He looked down at the rotten pouch and frowned. "I think I have
something a little better than this," he said.

Garrett fished around in his satchel until he
found the little green velvet pouch that held his writing kit. The
seal of Mauravant was embroidered in gold upon it, and it had a
little gold-threaded cord to hold it shut. "Perfect!" he whispered.
A few moments later, and the contents of the kit were dumped out in
the bottom of his bag, and the gold secured inside the new
pouch.

"Wait here," he said.

Marla smiled and nodded, moving to Caleb's
side and placing her hand on his arm.

Garrett took a deep breath and thought fast
as he crossed the street. All he knew was that Caleb's original
name had been Kurtz. It sounded like a last name. He'd have to take
that chance. He quickly tucked his necromancer's medallion inside
the collar of his oilskin smock and put on his best smile.

"Good day, miss," Garrett said, approaching
the girl who looked like Caleb.

The girl looked up, wiping the dampness from
her brow with her forearm as she lowered the handle of her oar.
"Yes, sir?"

"Would your name happen to be Kurtz?" he
asked.

Her eyes narrowed.

The older woman at her side stood up straight
as well, and Garrett saw the family resemblance. "My name's Kurtz,"
the gray-haired woman said, her voice and face hard, "What do you
want?"

"Ah, yes," Garrett said, scrambling for
something to say, "You have a son, do you not?"

The younger woman's eyes flashed with
surprise. "John!" she gasped, "Where is he?"

"What's happened?" the older woman said.
There was no hope in her voice.

"Oh... John... John is fine," Garrett
stammered, "he is..."

The younger woman gasped with relief her
hands at her lips.

"Is he in trouble?" the older woman asked,
struggling to hide the relief on her own face.

"No, not at all..." Garrett said, "As a
matter of fact, he's doing quite well." People were starting to
stare now. "Perhaps I could speak with you both... in private?"

The older woman looked at the younger, and
then they set aside their laundry paddles and motioned for Garrett
to join them inside the shop.

In the cool shadows of the laundry house,
Mrs. Kurtz looked old and tired, and her daughter looked pale and
thin. Years of hard labor weighed heavy upon their faces and
frames, and they looked at Garrett with the only hope they had
left, that Caleb... John was still alive and well somewhere.

"Where's he gone?" Mrs. Kurtz said.

Garrett sucked in a breath and lied again.
"He's away in the North, fighting the Chadiri with the army," he
said. He flinched at the fear that flashed in their eyes and
hastily added, "...ah, that was until recently. He's being
transferred south now after their most recent victory."

"When will he be home?" the sister asked.

"...not for some time, I'd imagine," Garrett
said, "They've made him a captain now, and his duties... you
know."

"A captain?" Mrs. Kurtz said. She stared at
Garrett in disbelief.

"Why would he join the army?" the younger
woman asked, "Why didn't he tell us?"

"From what I understand," Garrett said, "he
got into some sort of trouble in the city and had to leave in a
hurry."

The mother snorted with laughter.

"We have to get word to him that we're all
right," the sister said, "He'll be worried about us."

"Not likely," Mrs. Kurtz said, "John took off
runnin' and he ain't lookin' back."

The younger Miss Kurtz started to argue, but
Garrett interrupted.

"That's not exactly true, Mrs. Kurtz," he
said, "You see, John asked us to deliver his combat pay to
you."

"What?" Mrs. Kurtz said.

Garrett handed her the pouch of gold. "Direct
from the temple, with the gratitude of the High Priestess herself,"
Garrett said.

Mrs. Kurtz took the pouch and marveled at the
sigil of the Worm Mother for a moment before tugging the drawstring
open and looking inside. Mrs. Kurtz gasped and put her hand to her
mouth. John's sister looked inside as well and began to cry.

"Your son is a hero," Garrett said, "He
wanted you to have that and to know that he did it for you... for
both of you."

Mrs. Kurtz broke into sobs as well, holding
her daughter close.

Garrett smiled, feeling a lump in his throat.
He nodded at them and lifted his hand in parting as he stepped
away.

An angry voice called from the back of the
shop. "Belorra! What the devil are you doing?"

A large man in a greasy apron stomped across
the wooden floor planks toward the two women. His unshaven face
screwed up into a mask of rage. "Who's this now," he demanded,
waving a meaty hand at Garrett, "and why aren't you doing the job I
pay you for?"