The Sword-Edged blonde (27 page)

She gently tossed her head in what truly seemed like agreement.

“I’ve never named a horse before. Let’s see . . . I guess I should base it on some quality you have. You’re patient, you’re smart, you’re loyal . . . hm, ‘Loyola’?”

The horse just looked at me as if I was an idiot.

“You’re right. What if we shortened it to ‘Lola’?”

I swear the animal cocked her head as if thinking about it, then whinnied and stepped forward to rub her snout against my cheek.

“Lola it is, then,” I said as I swung my leg over her back. “Hope I’m still around tomorrow to introduce you to people.”

I’d memorized the route from the map in Bernie’s office. I rode Lola though the dark streets toward Brillion Hill, doubling back several times to make sure I wasn’t trailed by either Bernie or someone connected with Canino. Foot traffic thinned out as I neared the mansion district, and once I reached it I passed only closed buggies delivering the scions of these wealthy families to ritzy galas. I heard music and crowds behind
some of the massive privacy walls, while others remained mysterious and silent.

The small castles and newer houses on Brillion Hill reflected the world of my own childhood. I’d been one of those decked-out rich kids living from party to party. I could dance, use the right fork at a lavish dinner, negotiate a wine list and play a passable piano. My partner in crime had been the ultimate cool dude, Crown Prince Phil. And for a while, my girlfriend had been the delectable Princess Janet. At that moment, though, it seemed no more real than some book I’d once read.

I passed numerous huge, ancient gates before I reached the one that bore the number Tanko had written down. Through the heavy iron bars I saw a three-story house, newer but not really new, behind the tall trees. The grounds grew thick with flowering bushes, and I recalled Spike’s comment that Canino always brought back fresh flowers from his visits to the boss. Only a single light gleamed in one window; no galas tonight for the Dwarf, apparently. The gate looked solid, and its lock mechanism appeared in good shape. There was a gatehouse, but it was unmanned.

Only after I’d absorbed all this did the gate’s design register. The bars were decorated in the shape of a giant horseshoe, upside down so the luck wouldn’t spill. I almost laughed.

A buggy approached as I took in the sight. I rode on as if still searching for the right address. Lola’s hooves clopped on the cobblestone road as we passed two other homes. When the traffic finally disappeared and I had the street to myself for a moment, I stopped and slid quietly to the ground. I led Lola into the shadows
beneath a thick, ancient oak branch that stretched over an estate wall and almost across the entire street. I tied her to the lowest limb, and if she stayed still and quiet, she’d be invisible until dawn.

I pulled the brand-new Edgemaster Series 3 dark-steel sword from the saddle and strapped the scabbard across my back. The trusty Fireblade had served me well, but its blade was far too shiny for night work. I’d picked up the new sword earlier that day, and although taking an untried weapon into combat was a beginner’s mistake, there’d been no time to break it in. I waited while more buggies passed. Then, ducking from shadow to shadow, I returned to the gate.

I lingered in the dark beside the gatehouse for a long time, listening for any movement on the grounds behind the wall. Crickets and mosquitoes, uncaring of social status, went about their business here just as they did among the common folk at the bottom of the hill. Two carriages passed on the street, one silent and one full of giggling debutantes. I heard nothing from the house or the surroundings.

There was no reason to prolong this. I crouched by the gatehouse door and picked the lock with more speed and silence than I could’ve managed on the gate itself. I slipped into the tiny building, then through the opposite door and onto the estate grounds. I ducked behind a tree near the wall and again waited for any sign I’d been spotted.

I could see the layout better from here as well. The driveway led in a graceful arc to a carriage house where guests could disembark with no fear of the weather. The main building’s first story boasted towering windows that opened directly onto the front porch,
but were now closed and draped into darkness. Upstairs that single dim light still burned in one window, but I couldn’t see its source. A buggy passed on the street just over the wall behind me, and the noise echoed in the silence.

It certainly didn’t seem like the hideout of a criminal mastermind. No guards, no vicious dogs, barely even a lock. I wondered if, like Lonnie, Tanko had rushed to warn them I was coming. More likely he’d given me the wrong address just to get us out of his office.

I moved from tree to tree, each time closer to the house. There was a small, narrow moat around it that was likely a holdover from its pioneer days. Anyone not weighed down by armor could easily leap it, and small foot bridges crossed it at several places. The water in it was dark, and its surface sparkled just enough to tell me it was flowing, however slightly. I crouched in the bushes beside the carriage house and was contemplating forcing a window open, when I heard the distinct sound of splashing in the moat behind the house.

It took several minutes of dodging from one bush to another to reach the rear wall of the estate. Torches lit the back of the house where a patio had been added, but I couldn’t see over the rows of damn hedges that formed a small, shoulder-high topiary maze.

At the very back of the yard, a gigantic old blackjack oak towered over the newer trees that had been landscaped in. These oaks usually lived on gnarled rock outcroppings overlooking the ocean, which Brillion Hill had once been before men built things all over it. To have grown this large, this one must’ve been
spared from the original clearing, because I’d never seen one with a trunk this thick. Wincing at every faint crackle of bark and creak of branch, I hoisted myself into the tree and climbed high enough to get a wide, unobstructed view.

A section of the moat had been enlarged to form a kind of swimming pool. A lone figure traversed it with awkward, uncertain strokes. The swimmer was small like a kid, but lacked a child’s pale pudginess. This character seemed lean, tanned and somehow elderly. His exertions reeked of desperate effort, but he wasn’t drowning. He methodically reached one side of the moat, turned and started back. At this distance I couldn’t make out his face.

A door opened, and my old friend Canino emerged from the dark house. He wore pale slacks and a pink tunic with rolled-up sleeves. He was barefoot and carried a tall tankard. I heard his voice clearly over the swimmer’s splashing.

“The ledgers for this month are on your desk. Kandinsky was short again; I’ll pay him a visit.”

The figure in the moat bobbed up and down, struggling to tread water. “His daughter is around fifteen now, isn’t she? Use her virginity as leverage, if she’s still got it. I can’t ignore that kind of shoddy management.”

Canino sipped his drink. “How do you know he’s not doing it deliberately?”

The figure in the water swam to the edge of the pool at Canino’s feet. “Because he’s the latest in a long line of idiots named Kandinsky.”

“Then why do you still use him?”

“Because I know him. He completely lacks the
capacity to surprise me. His grandfather tried to cheat me once, and I made sure his child-fathering days were over. His father spent ten years in prison for trying to fix an election against the guy I was backing. I’ve seen him grow up, and I know fear of me keeps him honest. Too bad it can’t make him any smarter. Give me a hand out of here, will you?”

Canino put his drink on a table and reached for the offered hand. He pulled the swimmer from the pool, and I got a rush of alternating terror and excitement.

The naked man was no more than three feet tall. His head and torso were of normal size, and that’s all he was: a head with short black hair and a muscular, tanned torso. His hands stuck out directly from his shoulders, the right one up and the left horizontal. His feet dangled from his hips, the left one quite a bit lower than the right. His genitalia, at this distance, appeared normal.

Canino lowered him to the patio. He moved with an understandably odd, jerky grace to the table and retrieved a bright red towel. Somehow he tied it around his chest, and it still dragged on the ground.

“I’m going to get dressed,” the Dwarf said. “I’ll look over the ledgers and get back to you with any other problems.”

Something nearby moved at the periphery of my vision, and I froze. There was no breeze, and I had not changed position. Anything that moved had to be alive.

Close to my hand I both felt and saw motion on the branch. Curled up atop the wood, barely visible in the darkness, was a small furry shape. It could not be a squirrel, because they weren’t nocturnal, and it was too small for either a possum or a raccoon.

Now that I’d noticed one, I suddenly realized the tree was full of these same creatures. It was a miracle I hadn’t grabbed one as I climbed. They were tiny, no bigger than my two fists put together. I felt a serious case of the creeps rising as I tried to figure out what the hell they were, until one suddenly rolled over, stretched and yawned. Both relieved and excited, I recognized it as a tiny monkey. They weren’t native to Cape Querna, yet a monkey had been essential to framing Rhiannon, and its presence on the Dwarf’s estate was at least a minor confirmation.

As the Dwarf waddled toward the house, the door opened again and a girl walked out. She wore a skimpy top and a low, long sheer skirt. Her face was hidden behind what I thought at first was a white mask. She stood aside and held the door open.

“Hey, Gretchen,” the Dwarf said with malicious cheerfulness. “You look thirsty; would you like a jug of water?”

His laugh echoed in the dark house. Gretchen walked heavily over to stand next to Canino by the moat. He did not look at her as he said, “Care for a swim?”

She shook her head. Her voice had none of its former cockiness. “The doctor said I shouldn’t get my bandages wet.”

Canino smiled but still didn’t look at her. “You’d swim if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, thoroughly defeated. “Of course.”

He handed her his drink. “That’s okay. I’d rather see you dance.”

He picked up a lap drum and settled himself in a chair, the drum between his knees. Gretchen put his drink on the table next to him.

“Please don’t make me dance,” she said in a voice so small I barely heard it. She pointed to her bandaged face. “It hurts when I move, even a little. The cuts start bleeding again.”

Canino said nothing, and began tapping out a slow rhythm.

“Why do you enjoy hurting me?” Gretchen choked out, sounding like a little girl. “All I ever did to you was like you.”

Canino remained silent and motionless except for his hands on the drum.

Gretchen slid her feet back and forth, her slippers skitching against the stone patio. She began to sway to the beat, although I heard her sniffle and choke as she did so.

I’d never get a better chance, and carefully plotted my descent. I’d scaled the tree in blissful ignorance, but now I climbed down as a nervous wreck. If I disturbed one sleeping monkey, they’d all go off in a screeching, leaping cacophony. I timed my movements to the rhythm of Canino’s drum, and when my feet finally touched the ground, I almost wanted to cheer.

If she’d glanced up at the wrong moment Gretchen might have seen me, but it was dark and I was good at stealth. I used the perimeter of the hedge maze to hide as I scuttled around the yard, until I crouched out of sight fifteen feet behind Canino in the shadow of a silver maple.

I pulled a miniature crossbow with only a foot-wide prod span from a holster strapped to my lower leg. The weapon folded down to a slender tube no bigger around than my thumb. I snapped the prods out and wound the cranequin as tight as it would go.

Gretchen had shed her top and was now dancing in only the sheer skirt. Her bandaged face showed wet stains from both tears and blood. She moved like a doll dangling from a string.

I loaded a short, razor-sharp bolt into the crossbow. I’d get one shot if I was lucky. If this whole dance routine hadn’t been some ruse to lure me out. I felt no particular sympathy for Gretchen beyond what I would for any victim of cruelty; after all, she’d slipped me the sleepy-time and helped Canino torture me. But Canino might not comprehend that, and assume I’d react the way most men would at the sight of a half-naked damsel in distress and come to her rescue. If this was a trap.

It was time to stop thinking. I stood, leveled the crossbow and shot Canino through the back of his neck.

I don’t know what sort of reaction I expected, really. But I was surprised when he did nothing at all except stop drumming. Gretchen froze in mid-spin, eyes wide inside the holes cut in her bandages, then quickly crossed her arms to cover her bare breasts. Given our previous encounter, I thought her modesty misplaced.

I waited, but Canino still didn’t move. Had I gotten lucky and sliced his spinal cord? I wondered if I dared take my eyes off him long enough to recock and reload the crossbow. I decided that would be foolish, so I dropped the weapon and drew my sword. I really didn’t want to get within blade-range, but I also couldn’t just stand there and wait for something to happen.

I took a step forward, and Canino stood up and turned to face me. The movement was so quick and graceful I barely held back a yell.

The bolt tip protruded from the front of his neck, to one side of his Adam’s apple. Blood stained the collar of his pink shirt, but not as much as I expected, because the bolt itself blocked the bleeding. He breathed with difficulty, but his demeanor was so calm it was terrifying.

“Now this is ironic,” he said with a smile. His voice was suddenly rough and husky, with a raggedness identical to Spike’s.

I didn’t say anything.

His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the chair for support. “You didn’t even give me a chance,” he rasped.

“Had a feeling you were too good to give a chance to,” I replied.