Book 07 - Deadly Quicksilver Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

character in
the Punch and Judy shows going around. Ichabod and the bad doctor
had a lot in common, but the puppet was six feet shorter.
    Some people have no sense of humor. We had us one of those here.
Ichabod neither cracked a smile nor twitched one of those woodlots
camped over his eyes. He did speak, though. Fair Karentine, too.
“You have some cause for disturbing this
household?”
    “Sure.” I didn’t like his tone. I never like
the tone of Hill servants. It’s filled with the defensive
snobbishness you find in the tone of a turncoat. “I wanted to
see if you guys really do shrivel in the sunlight.” I had the
advantage in this dumb game because I was expected and he’d
been given my description. And he’d recognized me.
    If he hadn’t recognized me, he would’ve slammed the
door against my nose. Word would have gone out to the thugs who
defend the rich and mighty from nuisances like me. A band would be
hastening hither to deal me an exemplary drubbing.
    Come to think of it, they could be hastening anyway, if Ichabod
had a confederate with no better sense of humor.
“Name’s Garrett,” I announced. “Maggie Jenn
asked me to come for dinner.”
    The old spook stepped back. He never said a word, but it was
plain he doubted his boss’s wisdom. He didn’t approve
of letting my kind in the house. No telling what might have to be
dragged back out of my pockets before they let me go. Or maybe
I’d scratch off some fleas and leave them to colonize the
rugs.
    I glanced back to see how my tail was making out. Poor sod was
playing hell staying inconspicuous.
    “Nice door,” I observed as I caught it edge-on. It
was four inches thick. “Expecting a debt collector with a
battering ram?” Hill people are rich enough to have those
kinds of problems. Nobody would loan me enough for me to get in
trouble.
    “Follow me.” Ichabod turned.
    “That should be ‘follow me, sir.’ ” I
don’t know why the guy made me antagonistic. “I’m
a guest. You’re a flunky.” I began having second
thoughts about revolutions. When I go over to the Royal Library to
see Linda Lee, I poke around in the books, too. Once I read one
about rebellions. Seems like the servants of the overthrown get it
worse than their masters do—unless they are perceptive enough
to be agents of the rebels.
    “Indeed.”
    “Ah. A comment. Lead on, Ichabod.”
    “The name is Zeke, sir.” The sir dripped
sarcasm.
    “Zeke?” That was as bad as Ichabod. Almost.
    “Yes, sir. Are you coming? The mistress doesn’t like
to be kept waiting.”
    “Do lead on, then. The thousand and one gods of TunFaire
forfend that we distress Her Redheadedness.”
    Zeke elected not to respond. He’d concluded that I had an
attitude problem. He was right, of course, but for the wrong
reasons. And I was a little ashamed. He was probably a nice old man
with a herd of grandkids, forced to work into his dotage in order
to support ungrateful descendants who were the offspring of sons
killed in the Cantard.
    I didn’t believe that for a minute, though.
    The interior of that place bore no resemblance to the outside.
It was pretty dusty now, but it had started out as the daydream of
some wharfside loser who imagined himself a great potentate. Or a
great potentate with the tastes of a wharfside loser. I’ll
get some of these and a bunch of those
and . . . And the only thing missing was a
troop of houris.
    The place was lousy with tasteless billows of wealth. Plush
everything and way too much of it, and even more of everything as
we moved nearer the center of the pit. Actually, we seemed to
advance from zone to zone, each another expression of bad
taste.
    “Whoa!” said I, unable to restrain myself.
“There it is.”
It
being a mammoth’s-foot
cane and brolly stand. “You don’t see a lot of
those.”
    Zeke gave me a look, read my reaction to that bit of down-home
chic. His stone face relaxed for a moment. He agreed. In that
instant, we concluded a shaky