Yowler Foul-Up (13 page)

As was usually the case in Dullitch, the crowd ended up squabbling among themselves and generally forgot what all the fuss had been about in the first place.

Curfew sidled up to his secretary. “Well, it’s done, Spires,” he whispered. “We’ve managed to destroy the machine
and
avoid any repercussions from the Yowlers.”

“You think so, milord?”

“Absolutely. They can’t interfere while they’re trying to disassociate themselves from this breakaway group. All we have to do now is round up the stragglers and haul them in. At least, all those still at large in Dullitch.”

“Very good, Excellency.”

“I want you to send a group of guards to Karuim’s Church. As soon as anyone sets foot outside that building, I want them arrested.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

Curfew turned back to face the demolition squad. “The most important thing would seem to be the machine and, thankfully, we’ve annihilated that.” He pointed over at the massed heap of rubble. “Dump it on a barge and ship it out!” he screamed at the city guards. “You’ve done a good job, men. A very good job!”

As the crowd dispersed, Obegarde spotted Alan Sorrow and managed to catch up with the quartermaster before his guards vacated the warehouse.

“Yes, what is it now?”

“Did you catch the gnome?”

“Now, listen—”

Obegarde made a frantic grab for the quartermaster. “Did you or didn’t you?” he yelled, as three of Sorrow’s subordinates wrenched him away from their commander.

“No, we didn’t,” Sorrow fumed, shoving Obegarde into the impromptu wall formed by his men. “In fact, I very much doubt if there even
was
a frigging gno—Lord Curfew, what can we do for your excellency?”

The guard group parted to admit the viscount, Spires waddling along after him like an affectionate puppy.

“Is there a problem, here?” the viscount said.

“No problem, lordship, but this fellow here is getting to be a—”

“Hero?”

“Well, no—”

“City defender? Champion of the people? Choose your words wisely, Master Sorrow. You have the gnome known as Mixer in custody?”

Sorrow looked to his men for support but, unsurprisingly, they had all mooched away.

“Um … not exactly, lordship.”

“I assume you’re working on it.”

“Absolutely, lordship.”

Obegarde shook his head and marched from the warehouse. “As I said before, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

O
BEGARDE WAS QUITE SURPRISED
when, returning from the harbor district, he ran straight into the ragbag youth from the church. He was even more surprised when the stranger saw
him
, turned on his heel, and fled off up the lane.

“Hey, you! Wait there!”

The loftwing gave chase, hurtling over the cobbles and leaping the odd rubbish bin strategically kicked in his path. Eventually he cornered the stranger in an alley between Winding Way and Birch Street.

“My name’s Jimmy Quickstint,” Jimmy bleated. “I’m just a gravedigger. I’m not a thief, or an assassin, or a priest, or a curate, or anything to do with Yowler. I don’t know how I got involved in all this—just leave me alone!”

Obegarde grinned and nodded. “Jareth Obegarde, investigator; and you’re not going anywhere until you tell me why the gnome tried to kill you.”

“I don’t know why!” said Jimmy, exasperated. “He just
did
. He killed Grab, too.”

“Grab?”

“Yeah, Grab Dafisful; mind you, that was probably due to stealin’ for those cultists. That was why the bird was after him in the first place.”

“What’s this? A bird? I think you’d better tell me everything from the beginning.”

Jimmy collapsed into a sniveling heap on the floor. “I was afraid you’d say that,” he said. “But I’m tired. I’m so tired I can barely stand up.”

Obegarde helped the gravedigger to his feet. “I think I know somewhere you’d get a really good night’s sleep,” he said. “You can tell me all about your adventures on the way.”

So they walked, and they talked. At least, Jimmy talked and, apart from the occasional “What’s that?” and the more frequent “You’re having me on,” Obegarde listened.

E
LSEWHERE IN THE CITY
, Duke Modeset was nodding off to sleep in his new room, when the window rattled. He turned over and tugged on the mangy rag that the innkeeper had assured him was a blanket.

A wolf howled, and the window rattled.

Modeset frowned, opened one eye, and peered over the edge of the blanket. Outside, the twin moons kept up their nighttime vigil. He couldn’t see anything beyond the barrier, so, hugging his knees for warmth, he tried to drift off again.

An owl hooted, and the windows rattled.

It’s that rotten bastard of an innkeeper, he thought. I bet there was a wedge for that window and he’s had it removed … out of spite.

He sat up in bed and fixed his gaze on the glass as the downtime rains began their vigorous bombardment of the city.

The window rattled.

Modeset sighed, leaped out of bed, and padded across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it’d be fair to say that a vampire hanging from the gutter probably wouldn’t have made his top ten.

Inconceivable, he thought. Forty-seven rooms and he’s still gone and bloody found me.

The window was opened, and Obegarde barreled into the room. He did a neat little forward roll onto the floorboards, stood up, patted himself down, then spun around. Modeset thought he looked bigger in the half-light of the moons.

“Hello again,” Obegarde said, not unpleasantly.

“Yes, indeed,” said Modeset. “Good of you to visit. Er … how’s everything going?”

Obegarde shrugged. “So-so,” he said. “Nice room, this. Classy furniture.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the duke. “I expect you’re wondering how I persuaded the innkeeper to part with it?”

“No,” said Obegarde, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Actually, I was wondering why you didn’t open the window sooner.”

Modeset smiled humorlessly. “Now just look here: I’ve said I’ll go and see this Vrunak chap. What more do you want?”

“I just wanted to tell you what I’ve found out.”

Modeset folded his arms. He looked nonplussed. “I thought you didn’t want me to stick my nose in,” he said. “And then, as I recall, you almost broke it.”

“Yeah, okay, but you might as well help now you’re involved.”

“What? I’m not involved! Not one bit.”

Obegarde straightened himself up. He was well over six feet tall and, as far as Modeset could see, his wide chest didn’t contain one ounce of flab.

“You’re involved because I say you’re involved,” he began. “If you wanted to stay out of the case, you shouldn’t have broken into the warehouse.”

Modeset threw up his arms. “I didn’t break into the warehouse, you idiot! I already told you what happened.”

“Mmm. A likely story, and you’re still going to Vrunak’s house tomorrow. Now, listen—oh! I almost forgot.”

Obegarde hurried over to the window, stuck his head outside, and motioned down toward the street. A few minutes later, a figure fell, puffing and wheezing, through the window and onto the floor of the room.

Obegarde gave Modeset a friendly grin. “I believe you know Jimmy Quickstint,” he said.

When the duke had stopped shouting, Obegarde proceeded to tell him about Lopsalm, the second coming of Doiley, the missing book, and Jimmy’s involvement with the barrowbird. Modeset eventually got to sleep at a quarter to seven.

I
N THE FRONT GARDEN
of a small cottage on Royal Road, a bush rattled in an extremely suspicious manner.

Jimmy Quickstint, who had circled the building twice, leaped over the low front wall to crouch beside the bush.

“There’s nobody about,” he said. “The kitchens are deserted, and I’ve had a squint in all the windows on the first floor. Why don’t you just go and knock?”

Modeset stuck his head out of the biggest bush. “This is a very delicate matter,” he said. “I’d thank you not to interfere beyond surveillance suggestions.”

“It’s up to you, Duke Modeset. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.”

Modeset was getting sick and tired of Jimmy. He’d already sent Flicka back to the inn because of her constant nagging—now he had to put up with the gravedigger’s irritating chatter.

Jimmy yawned. “At least you can tell Obegarde we’ve checked the place out,” he said. “There’s obviously no one here.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Fine, fine.”

Modeset got to his feet and stepped out of the bush, shoving the gravedigger aside. He marched up the garden path and hammered on the door.

“Mr. Vrunak? Mr. Vrunak! My name is Modeset. I wondered if I could have a quick chat with you.”

Nothing.

Modeset put an ear to the door and listened, but he couldn’t hear any movement from within.

“Kick it down,” Jimmy urged. “No one’ll hear.”

“Shh! There must be another way.”

“What d’you mean? A key under the welcome mat?”

Modeset looked down. There was no welcome mat. “Probably not,” he admitted. “I’ll try the flowerpot instead.”

He reached down and lifted the pot, but there was nothing underneath it. He then tried running a hand under the wooden overhang at the foot of the door, working a finger into the keyhole and, finally, trying to get his fingernails around the edge of a fractured pane.

“Pity,” said Jimmy, when he’d given up. “Full marks for effort, though.”

Modeset shrugged. “Well, I’ve done what he asked me to do,” he said, knowing deep down that it wouldn’t be enough. “What more can he reasonably expect? It’s not my fault if the man’s not in.”

“Exactly. We
should
go; I mean, we can hardly wait here all day.”

“That’s right! I’m not waiting around like some … peasant. Vrunak’s out; well that’s just too bad. Obegarde can come back when it’s dark; do the job himself.”

“Yep. Sounds fair.”

“Right.”

“Let’s be off to meet him, then. Shall we?”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

The duke headed back up the garden path, Jimmy in tow. They were passing a dense thicket when Modeset tripped on a crack in the paving stones. He went down hard, and Jimmy, who hadn’t managed to anticipate anything from the Dafisful incident onward, landed in a crumpled heap beside him. Modeset groaned. He was bruised, his pride still ached, and he felt awful.

He tried to get to his feet, but Jimmy, suddenly alert, dragged him back down again and pulled him off the path. They rolled over one another before Modeset wrestled an arm free. “Let go! What’s with you?”

“Shh … there’s someone coming.”

Still flat to the ground, the duo watched as Vrunak’s gate creaked open. A straggly and bedraggled man stepped into the garden, closed the gate behind him, and carried on up the path.

“It’s the gnome from last night,” Jimmy whispered. Mixer had reached Vrunak’s front door, where he made straight for the flowerpot. When the key was found to be missing, he looked both ways and then flew into a rage, shaking his fists at the windows, kicking the door, and cursing Vrunak’s name in a variety of different languages. Modeset thought that he heard the words “treacherous old git” mentioned more than once.

Eventually the gnome seemed to come to a decision and made his way around the side of the cottage.

“Should we try and capture him, d’you think?” Modeset ventured.

“Nah, I doubt we could. I know
I
couldn’t.”

Modeset looked affronted. “Speak for yourself, coward,” he snapped. “I’ve had one fight already this week, so I—”

“Did you win?”

“Um … yes, sort of. In fact, the other chap didn’t get a single blow in.”

“Really? You’re that good?”

“No, actually I ran away before he could react. Now, come on!”

The duke nodded toward the house, but his determination was interrupted.

“Oi!” Jimmy whispered. “Get down! He’s comin’ back.”

Mixer, apparently unsuccessful in his quest to gain an illicit entrance to the cottage, emerged from the side of the building and stomped back up the path. When he reached the gate he took one last look at the house, spat on the ground, and headed off along Royal Road.

“We could follow him,” said Jimmy doubtfully.

Modeset looked astonished. “Follow him? In order to achieve what, exactly?”

The gravedigger shrugged. “To see where he goes, of course. Why else would you follow somebody?”

“No,” snapped Modeset. “I’ve got a much better idea. We split up, and
you
go after the gnome. Then you can come and find me at the inn.”

“Why me?”

“You suggested it.”

“So?”

“Just get a move on. Quick, before you lose him.”

I
T WAS EARLY EVENING
in Dullitch, and the Diamond Clock on Crest Hill struck six.

Flicka, who had been sent onto the old, half-rotted balcony of the inn to watch out for Jimmy Quickstint, whistled a tune that provoked jeers from the weary market traders.

The innkeeper had guided Modeset into the basement of the Steeplejack Inn to wake Obegarde.

The duke sat on the bottom step of the basement staircase, fidgeting nervously and trying to keep his eyes off the coffin on which the loftwing had placed his early-evening pick-me-up; freshly squeezed beetroot juice.

“Thins the blood,” he explained, when he saw Modeset’s expression. “Have to keep healthy, don’t you?”

Modeset shifted his buttocks to the top of a small wine barrel, but after a few minutes, looked about ready to give up and sit on the floor instead.

“So we’re waiting on Jimmy,” said Obegarde, savoring the juice with poorly concealed glee. Modeset had already filled him in on their expedition to Vrunak’s house. “I’ve been researching the Grinswood,” Obegarde continued, “and I fear we don’t know the half of it, yet.”

“Oh?”

“According to Jimmy, the barrowbird said it was a servant of the forest. That would also make it a servant of the Dark Trinity. ‘Watchers,’” Obegarde explained, holding up a hand to stop Modeset interrupting. “Those that make sure everything stays as it is, more or less.”