Boy, what they brung back was disturbing.
He called his-self the Creeper. That don’t mean nothing to me. Maybe it does to you. Along with the usual spell-books and what-not, which is right now making a nice fire for me to write by, this here Creeper had maps. Maps of Rannit, boy. New ones. Ones what showed the walls and has all kinds of writing on them. I can’t ken what the writing says, but I don’t like the looks of it one bit.
It’s too heavy for birds so I’ll be a setting out for Rannit as soon as I gets some rest and some provisions. I reckon you’ll want to be a seeing all this. And don’t worry no more about folks from Pot Lockney coming for you and that niece of mine. All that is over and done and I told everybody what’s going to happen to anyone who starts talking foolishness about money owed on fields and the like. I even stuck a empty pole in the ground just so they can think about whose head might be goin’ there next.
I’m all out of room so you take care.
This here is a damned fine axe.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Markhat.”
Granny was seated across from me, smiling.
“Mama was full of news.”
“I trust she is well?”
“Quite.” She’d put a cup of steaming tea in front of me. I picked it up, pinky held out like a Peer of the Realm, and had a sip.
“My friend still with us?”
Granny shook her head no. “He has other business now. He asked me to tell you he doesn’t hold you responsible for what happened.”
“He said that.”
“He did. Mr. Mills was a gentle soul, despite his profession and vices.” Granny took a sip of tea from her own chipped cup. “He did insist that he saw his body up and moving about. Isn’t that an odd thing to say, even if one is a newly born ghost?”
I just nodded. Granny didn’t force the issue.
“I hesitate to mention this, Mr. Markhat, but your deceased friend appeared to be rather more healthy than you do, at the moment. I have a cot in the back, if you would care to rest for a bit.”
I drained my tea. “No thanks, Granny. Miles to go before I sleep.”
She nodded. “I suspected you would say that. Still. Take a biscuit. And do be careful. Weariness leads to tears, my mother always said.”
“Good advice. Thanks for the tea.” She pressed a napkin-wrapped biscuit in my hand. I slipped it into a pocket and stood. “If my ghost comes back around, you might ask him if there’s anybody I can pay his last fee to. Mum or kids.”
“He had no one. Be careful, Mr. Markhat. I fear dark days are upon us.”
“That they are, Granny. That they are.” She unbolted her door, and I stepped out into the light.
Chapter Eighteen
I had several stops to make. Darla’s, for one. And I’d need to look up Mr. Pratt to see if Lethway was dragging his fancy heels in regards to setting up the swap.
But Mama’s letter meant I had another name to call on. Since Evis was lounging on a foredeck somewhere up the Brown, I couldn’t pass this visit off on him, either.
Try as I might, I couldn’t rationalize away the need to see the Corpsemaster and at least let her know someone with a dubious past and links to Prince was keeping detailed maps of Rannit’s walls and who knows what else.
The invaders from Prince would need as much intelligence as they could buy. Knowing what they’d been told, and by whom, might make a difference, even if I couldn’t see how.
I cussed and bade my driver head to the nearest construction site along the walls. Maybe, I thought, I’d get lucky and catch the Corpsemaster watching the progress, as I’d done once before.
All I was doing was stalling, really. The last thing I wanted to do was head for Hisvin’s door. That location was a secret so guarded even the Regent didn’t know it.
But I did. And even though Hisvin knew I knew, I was loathe to actually hammer the point home by showing up and knocking.
There is little comfort to be found in knowing where the monster lays it head to sleep.
I toured the site. Cannon were being lifted into place with cranes worked by bellowing ogres. People looked, pointed and speculated aloud what the things might be. None of their guesses were even close.
No Corpsemaster. No black carriage, driven by a dead man. I took my borrowed carriage on a roundabout tour of Rannit’s north side, and got nothing for my trouble but a bruised fundament and a generous dusting of grime.
I made a brief stop at Darla’s, where I occupied my customary chair long enough to consume Granny’s biscuit. Women spoke and laughed, all in low tones. Mary hummed a wordless tune as she re-arranged the gowns in front window, and I must have drifted off to sleep for a bit, because I was awakened by Darla gently closing my mouth.
“Sorry, dear. You were snoring.”
“I was not. Have you never heard my rendition of the Trollish greeting roar?”
She smiled. “Mary wanted to put a bonnet on your head.”
“Tell her I never wear bonnets after noon.” I caught her around her waist and, sneaky devil that I am, pulled her into my lap.
There may have been a kiss involved. Witness accounts vary.
“I worried about you all morning.”
“I know. Sorry. But I’m fine. See?”
She tilted her head. “You’re exhausted. That’s what I see.”
“You mistake my scholarly contemplation of matters lofty and arcane for a lack of sleep. I promise, hon. I’m fine.”
“Any closer to finding Carris?”
“Much. I may have him back in time for his wedding, after all.”
“I never doubted you would.”
“I’d never give my favorite client less than my very best effort.”
“Still, I expect a substantial discount.”
“Anything for you, my love.” Mary sidled up, blushing and hesitant, and informed Darla in a whisper that a customer wished to speak to her personally.
Darla sighed. “Another cancelation, then.” She rose, brushed the wrinkles out of her pants, and smiled a sad little smile at me.
“I won’t see you again today, will I?”
“I’m afraid not, hon. Because I want you home behind locked doors as soon as you leave work.”
She just nodded. A grim-faced noblewoman wearing a hundred yards of grey marched up, her jaw set and her mouth puckered into a frown.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. I risked Scowling Woman’s ire by kissing Darla’s cheek. “Take care. Lock the windows too.”
I turned on my heel and departed.
We’ve got to find better ways of saying goodbye.
Finding Pratt was easy. I went back by my place, just to see if anyone interesting was sitting on my stoop, and damned if Pratt wasn’t there, pacing back and forth before my door.
I had the carriage slow to a halt, and then I opened the door and waved. Pratt saw and darted over and climbed right in.
“I’ve been waiting here for an hour,” he said. His face was red and oily. His suit was rumpled and redolent of too many fancy cigars. “Thought you said you’d look me up last night, after your talk with the Colonel.”
“Whoa there. I said I’d see you if I could. Turns out I couldn’t. Why the panic? Lethway catch wind of what you’re planning?”
“No panic.” He rubbed his grimy face with his hands. “Sorry. Been a long night. You lit a fire under the Colonel. I haven’t seen the man so mad since the War.”
I chuckled. “Good. He say anything to you about what his plans are?”
“He told me to be on the lookout for another letter from the kidnappers. Said he’d have a reply ready, this time. And he told me to start rounding up all I could about a certain finder named Markhat-where you live, who you know, where you can be found. Isn’t that comforting?”
I shrugged. “That’s something for another time, unless you think he plans to send for my head in the next couple of days.”