Bitter Gold Hearts

"They're not a very bright race. Come. By the by, you'll have noted that he isn't sensitive to sunlight."

No. That hadn't registered. Teeth had registered. "How come you know my name?" Great straight line to a witch. "How did you know I was co—geek!"

Amiranda was seated beside a small fire, hands folded in her lap, staring at something beyond my right shoul­der. No. Not Amiranda. The essence of Amiranda had fled that flesh. That wasn't a person, it was a thing. The pain would be less if I thought that way.

"Excuse me?" I glanced at the witch.

"I said Waldo told me you would come. I expected you sooner."

"Who's Waldo? Another pet like Shaggoth? He can see the future?"

"Waldo Tharpe. He told me you were friends."

"Waldo?" There must have been a little hysteria edg­ing my giggle. She gave me a frown. "I didn't know he had a name. I've never heard him called anything but Saucer head."

"He's not enthusiastic about being Waldo," she admit­ted. "Sit and let's talk."

I sat, musing. "So Saucer head jobbed us. The big dope isn't as dumb as he lets on." I kept getting drawn back to the corpse. It did look very lifelike, very undamaged. Any moment now the chest would heave, the sparkle would come back to the eyes, and she would laugh at me for being taken in. The witch settled into a chair facing mine. "Waldo said you'd have questions." Her gaze followed mine. "I worked on her a little, making her look a little better, putting spells on to hold the corruption off till she can be given a decent funeral."

"Thank you."

"Questions, Garrett? I went to a good deal of trouble on Waldo's behalf. What will you need to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I want to know why she was killed and who ordered it done."

"I'm not omniscient, Garrett. I can't answer that sort of question. Though 1 can surmise—which may not stand scrutiny in the light of what you already know—why. She was about three months pregnant."

"What? That's impossible."

"The child would have been male had it seen the light of day."

"But she spent the last six months practically impris­oned in the house where she lived."

"There were no men in that house? Hers was a miracu­lous conception?"

I opened my mouth to protest but a question popped out instead. "Who was the father?"

"I'm no necromancer, Garrett. The name, if she knew it at all, expired with her."

"She knew. She wasn't the type who wouldn't." I'd begun to get angry all over again.

"You knew her? Waldo didn't. Nothing but her name and the fact that you sent her to him."

"I knew her. Not well, but I did."

"Tell me about her."

I talked. It eased the pain a little, bringing her to life in words. I finished. "Did you get anything out of that?"

"Only that you're working in a tight place. A storm-warden's family, yet. Did Waldo tell you that the assas­sins were ogre breeds?"

"Yes."

"A curse on the beasts. Waldo hurt them, but not nearly enough. I sent Shaggoth to find them. He caught nothing but graves. There was nothing on the bodies to betray them."

"I know. I saw them myself. Tell Shaggoth to watch his step in the woods. There's something out there that's bigger than he is."

"You're making a joke?"

"Sort of. A mammoth did sneak up on me while I was looking at those ogre bodies."

"A mammoth! Here in this day. A wonder for cer­tain." She rose and went to a cabinet while I sipped tea. She said, "I've been considering your situation since Waldo left. It seemed—and does more so now that I know who she was—that the best help I could offer would be a few charms you might use to surprise the villains."

I looked at Amiranda's remains. "I appreciate that. I wonder why you'd commit yourself that way, though."

"For Waldo. For the woman. Maybe for your sake, laddie. Maybe for my own. Certainly for the sake of justice. Whatever, the deed was cruel and should be repaid in coin equally vicious. The man responsible should be ... But your tea is getting cold. I'll put another pot of water on to boil."

I got fresh tea, this time with fire-hardened flour bri­quets that must have been the scones mentioned earlier. I gave them a try. One should show one's hostess the utmost in courtesy, especially when she is a witch.

Shaggoth stuck his head in and grumbled something in dialect that sounded suspiciously like, "Where the hell did my scones go?" He gave me a narrow-eyed look when the witch replied.

"Don't you mind him," she told me. "He's just being playful."

Right. Like a mongoose teases a cobra.

She sat down and explained how I could use the tricks she'd prepared for me. When she finished, I thanked her and rose. "If you can get Shaggoth to help me without breaking any bones in his playfulness, I'll get out of your hair."

She looked scandalized at first, then just amused. "You've heard too many stories about witches, Garrett. You'll be safer here than out in the moonlight. Shaggoth is the least malign of those creatures who haven't yet emigrated. Consider the moon. Consider her ways."