72

Marengo North English's digs were typical of Karenta's ultra-wealthy gentry. The centerpiece was a huge red-brick manor house that crowned a knoll half a mile behind a tall hedge of some plant consisting mostly of thorns. There was a lot of green grass, numerous well-groomed trees, sheep, cattle and neat military squares of tents. An illustration of the place would have overlooked the livestock and bivouac. Workaday aspects of the rural idyll always get overlooked.

"You ever been here?" I should've asked earlier.

"No. I always heard he's kind of reclusive." She indicated the tents. "Lot of relatives visiting. You been here?"

"My folks never moved in these circles." Tinnie started putting on her shoes. She'd been going barefoot, claiming she wanted to feel the dust squish between her toes. They were very nice toes, even dusty-dirty. But I decided to study the hoofprints outside the gate instead. Numerous oddly shod hooves had milled around there recently. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. The day was getting on.

"Why isn't anybody on guard?" Tinnie asked, between shoes. She danced on one foot while she tried getting a shoe onto the other, tucked up behind her. Her effort had its moments.

I'd been wondering myself. Was North English that confident? I didn't believe it. Not in this world. Not this near TunFaire. The gods themselves aren't that confident. I kicked at hoofprints. "It worries me, too." Those centaurs hadn't looked like they'd been in a fight.

"Should we head back?"

"It's late. It'd be dark before we got to the gate." In darkness, outside the wall, is nowhere I want to be. Call it prejudice. The owners and workers of manors, farms, orchards, and vinyards get by just fine. Those without stout walls just dive into deep cellars via twisty, tight tunnels if the big thunder lizards come calling. Anything else they kill before it kills them.

I don't take risks if I don't have to.

The night can hold things worse than death in the jaws of a hungry beast.

"You scared, Garrett?"

"Sure. You understand what I'm doing? If you don't, you'd better start—"

"We're a team, big boy. You and me and our ugly baby."

The Goddamn Parrot lifted his head long enough to give her a baleful look. I looked balefully at our surroundings. The spread seemed almost lifeless.

"Something I can do for you folks?"

Here came the missing guard, out of a cluster of evergreens not far inside the gate, next to the road. He was buttoning his trousers. He had trouble concentrating on his fingerwork. He was stunned by Tinnie.

I know the feeling. I get it all the time.

"Name's Garrett. I'm doing some work for Marengo. He was supposed to leave word—"

"I guess he did. I recognize the name." His nose wrinkled. "But he's not here. There's a big rally tonight." He checked Tinnie again, probably wondering if she'd like to change her luck in men.

Things are bad when groat-a-dozen brunos take on airs. Maybe belonging to The Call boosts your self-confidence.

He said, "Go on up to the house. Front door only. Someone will be waiting."

I lifted an eyebrow, started walking. Tinnie grabbed my arm. The gateman looked sad, soulful, constipated. Life just isn't fair.

"You little heartbreaker," I told my little heartbreaker.

"What?"

"You completely destroyed that man just by walking away with me."

"What are you talking about?" She never noticed.

Then she bumped me with her hip.

Devil woman.

73

Somebody was waiting. She was long and lean and looked surprisingly regal observing our approach from above. She also looked like she had a sudden toothache come on. I don't think she was glad to see me.

Tinnie offered me another solid hip bump. "That's for what you're thinking."

The woman must be half Loghyr.

Miss Montezuma seemed less than thrilled to see Miss Tate, too, but put her disappointment aside. She was cool, elegant, imperial. This lady was always in control. "Welcome to The Pipes, Mr. Garrett. Miss Tate. You've chosen an inopportune time to visit. Everyone's gone to town. Tonight is supposed to be important for the movement."

We joined Miss Montezuma on the porch. I considered the manor, which dated from the middle of the last century and was supposed to be a minor fortress. Some tightwad had been skimping on the maintenance. It needed a lot of exterior work. The surrounding protective ditch hadn't been cleared out in a generation. If I had friends like Marengo's, I'd keep it filled with acid and alligators.

I surveyed the vast lawns. Or pastures. They were pretty enough. One frazzled kid was trying to convince some sheep that they wanted to head back to their paddocks. "Everybody went? Even Marengo?" North English never included himself in The Call's public exercises. "What happened out there?" One area of lawn was torn up, as though cavalry had fought there. Maybe the livestock had been folkdancing.

Tama Montezuma frowned. "The cattle or sheep must have done it. Tollie has no help at all."

"Why did everybody go?"

"Marengo doesn't tell me everything. But he did say tonight will be a turning point for The Call and Karenta."

"It's a shame I missed him."

Miss Montezuma's gaze brushed Miss Tate. "Isn't it?"

My luck turns fantastic when there's no possibility of benefiting.

Tinnie kicked my ankle. I glanced at her. She had a flower petal in her hair.

The Goddamn Parrot snickered.

"So what do I do now?"

"'Come in. Have supper. I was about to start my own. Then I'll find you rooms. It's too late to go back to town. And you might not want to be there anyway. We could talk about why you came out. Maybe I can help."

I said, "Ouch!"

"Sorry." Miss Busyfeet took her heel off my big toe. "I'm so clumsy today." The Goddamn Parrot snickered again.

Who am I to argue with a beautiful woman?

She could've left her shoes off, though.

The Goddamn Parrot began to dance on my shoulder. He had not yet eaten today. He said something. It was just a mumble, garbled, along the usual lines but intelligible only to me.

I hoped.

The impact of the presence of two beautiful women must have weakened the spell binding his beak. Or we were too far away from the Dead Man for him to control that beak completely. Or His Nibs had become too distracted to stay on that job—or maybe he had turned routine buzzard management over to one of his less attentive subsidiary minds. None of those were very bright.

Certainly he would not have taken his attempt to mislead rightsist observers so far as to abandon completely his ability to spy on me. That would deprive him of so many opportunities to gather ammunition for future nag sessions.

Yes, Old Bones was still out there somewhere, playing his own hand, involved in some way, whatever appearance he tried to project. This case touched upon too many of his fascinations for his defection to be complete and real.

"You're so sweet," Tinnie said. She scratched the quacking feather duster's head. "How come you never say things like that, Garrett?"

Tama Montezuma offered me a dose of my own medicine. She raised one eyebrow and smiled a thin little smile that dared me to open my yap.

I took that dare. "Shut your beak, you perverted vulture." To the multitalented Miss Montezuma, I said, "Besides reporting in I hoped to do some research on shapeshifters."

She jumped. "Research? On shapeshifters? Here?" Ha! I'd blindsided her with that.

"The Royal Library referred me to The Call's Institute For Racial Purity. Which is supposed to have a library chock-full of books about nonhumans."

"Oh. That. I'm amazed any outsiders take it seriously. The books are piled all over the old dining hall. They keep collecting books without knowing what to do with them. They can't get anybody who knows anything to come out here. I suspect because they think a librarian should work out of conviction instead of for a salary."