Bitter Gold Hearts

"Representing a client or clients, of course."

She waited a moment. When I didn't add anything, she asked, "Who?" Then, "No, strike that. You won't tell me if you think it's to your advantage to reserve it. Let me think a moment."

After she'd reflected a moment, she continued. "Di­saster after disaster has trampled my family the past few weeks. My son kidnapped, to be redeemed for a ransom so huge the financial future of the family is in doubt. And my adopted daughter decided she had to fly the nest and for her trouble got herself slaughtered by bandits."

I wagged a cautionary finger at Saucerhead.

"My son, after being freed, killed himself. And my natural daughter, despite your efforts and those of Willa Dount, fled home not once but twice."

"Not to mention trivia like Courter Slauce getting him­self killed on his way down to see me last night, or the fact that thieves have stripped the daPena warehouse."

Her face shaded with the faintest cloud of emotion, the first she'd shown. "Is that true?"

"Which?"

"About the warehouse."

"Yes."

"I hadn't heard."

"Maybe Domina has been too distracted to keep track of what's happening on the commercial side."

"Horse feathers. Domina is feeding me disasters in tid­bits in hopes I won't have her flayed and use her hide for bookbinding."

It was a sour, trite remark, not meant to be taken seriously. Witches and sorcerers had stood the accusation so long it had become a joke of the trade.

Having done my dance to show off, I waited, leaving the next play in her hand.

"I'd suspected you possessed knowledge not at my command, Mr. Garrett. Now you've told me as much, for whatever motives move you. All right. We both know I want the rest. You want something for yourself. Can we arrive at a peaceful middle ground?"

"Probably. I doubt if our goals are too far apart."

"Indeed? What do you want, then?"

"The man or woman who gave the order that got Amiranda Crest murdered."

I guess when you play for stakes as high as she had for so long, you learn to keep yourself controlled. That face would have made her a deadly card player. "Go on, Mr. Garrett."

"I want the person no matter who it is. That's what I want."

She surveyed my companions. Sadler and Crask were blanks, but Saucerhead had leaned a little toward us. "It's obvious you know a great deal that I don't."

Saucerhead couldn't restrain himself. "Skredli and Donni Pell, Garrett. We get them, too."

The Stormwarden looked at me. I said, "My friend was there when Arniranda was murdered. He tried to save her and failed. He feels obligated to restore a bal­ance. He also has a personal score to settle. Show her."

Saucerhead understood. He started stripping. The wounds he exposed still looked nasty. The deeper cuts wouldn't lose their purplish-red color for months.

"I see," the Stormwarden said. "Would you care to tell me how it happened?"

Saucerhead put his shirt back on. I said nothing. Raver Styx muttered, "So that's the way it's going to be."

All the while I stared smoke and fire at Saucerhead. He had to mention Donni Pell in front of the wife! I'd wanted to reserve Donni Pell for the moment of maxi­mum impact.

She hadn't reacted to the name at all.

"I suppose the thing to do is hire you, Mr. Garrett. Then you might be more responsive."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I do my job my own way. Be­tween the hiring and the results I don't put up with meddling from my principal. I'm the specialist. If I can't be trusted to do the job without interference, I shouldn't be hired in the first place." I don't think my voice squeaked. I sure hoped it didn't. "What did you want to hire me for, anyway?"

She looked at me like I was a moron.

"I don't mind having multiple clients, but I don't take them on when their goals conflict."

She continued to stare. Serpents of temper had begun to stir beneath the surface of her calm. No more pushing permitted.

"Before we go on there's something I've got to show you, Stormwarden. I warn you up front, you're not going to like it. You're going to be upset. But you need to see it so you don't walk into anything with the web of illusion across your eyes."

The Dead Man brushed me with a touch of approval. The Stormwarden rose, her face carefully composed. I said, "You ought to finish that glass and pour yourself another before we go."

"If it's that tough, I'll take the bottle along."

Just one of the guys. "Come on, then."

I crossed the hall to the Dead Man's room, stepped inside, stepped aside. The parade followed, the Storm-warden first. The boys lined up against the wall beside the door. Crask and Sadler stared at the Dead Man and went gray around the edges.

Seeing is believing.

"A dead Loghyr!" The Stormwarden enthused, sound­ing like she'd just spotted a cute fairy toddler peeking out of the bushes. "I didn't know there were any around anymore. What do you want for it?"

"You wouldn't want this one. He's a social parasite. My personal charity project. He does nothing but sleep and amuse himself by playing with bugs."