Deadly Quicksilver Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 armistice.
    No doubt it would survive no longer than Karenta’s armistice with Venageta, which had lasted a whole six