Dread Brass Shadows by Glen Cook Page B

pays. And for Chodo it pays very well indeed.
    “I thought you might when I heard from Dotes.”
    Thanks a bunch, Morley. There you go thinking for me again.
    “I know how a man feels in such a situation, Mr. Garrett. I once lost a woman to a rival. A man grows impatient to restore the balance. I thought I would save time if I came to the city.”
    Huh? Didn’t he know Tinnie was going to be all right? Or did he know something I didn’t? That was likely, since almost everybody knows something I don’t—but not about Tinnie, he shouldn’t. “I appreciate it more than you know.” He had a girl once. Funny. I’d never thought of him having been anything but what he is right now.
    “You’re surprised. It’s a pity you’re so determined to maintain your independence.” That’s a problem between us. I want the world to know I’m my own man. He’d like to get a hold on me. He said, “I admire you, Mr. Garrett. It would be interesting to sit and talk sometime about have-beens and might-have-beens. Yes. Even I was young once. Even I have been in love. I once considered getting out of this life because a woman caused me such despair. But she died. Much as yours did. I recall the pain vividly. For a time it left my soul as crippled as my flesh is now. If I can help, I will.”
    For the first time I began to suspect there was something going on between me and Chodo that was on a level having nothing to do with antipathies and favors accidentally or knowingly done. Maybe he’d glommed me as some kind of tenuous lifeline from his shadow world to one where “higher” standards reigned. And maybe his continued attempts to seduce or coerce me into his camp had something to do with tempering that lifeline.
    Whoa! Hip boots time, Garrett. “Sure. Thanks. Only, Tinnie didn’t die, see? She was hurt, but they say she should get better. Squirrel was supposed to tell you, only . . .”
    His face darkened. “Yes. Squirrel. Mr. Crask and Mr. Sadler told me what you said. I failed to make sense of it.”
    “I can’t, either. But the whole world is going crazy. We got morCartha fighting all night, mammoths and saber-tooth tigers roaming around, thunder-lizards maybe migrating south. Today I saw centaurs on the street and almost tromped a gang of gnomes. Nothing makes sense anymore.”
    He made a feeble gesture with one hand, a sure sign his blood was up. He seldom spends the strength. “Tell me.”
    “You have a professional interest?”
    “Tell me about it.”
    My mama didn’t raise many kids dumb enough to argue with Chodo Contague while hip-deep in Chodo’s headbreakers. I gave him most of the bag. Exactly what I’d given Crask and Sadler. I didn’t contradict myself. The Dead Man taught me well when it comes to retaining detail. I added some speculation just to give the impression that I was making a special effort for him.
    He listened, relaxed, chin against chest, gathering his strength. What went on inside that strange brain? The man was a genius. Evil, but a genius. He said, “It makes no sense in terms of the information at my disposal.”
    “Not to me, either.” I arrowed to the key point. “But there’re dwarves under arms roaming the streets.”
    “Yes. Most unusual.”
    “Is there a dwarfish underworld?”
    “Yes. Every race has its hidden side, Mr. Garrett. I’ve had contact with it. It’s trivial by human standards. Dwarves don’t gamble. They are incapable of making that mental plunge into self-delusion whereby others become convinced that they can beat the odds. They don’t drink because they make fools of themselves when they’re drunk and there is nothing a dwarf fears more than looking foolish, They shun weed and drugs for the same reason. There are individual exceptions, of course, but they’re rare. As a breed, they have few of the usual vices. I’ve never known one to become excitable enough to employ lifetakers.”
    “Pretty dull bunch.”
    “By your standards or mine. All work,