“He’s not here yet. Marantz sent him on an errand.”
“He’s one of Marantz’s guys?”
She nodded. “He pretends to be a believer. Knows all the prayers and rituals, but doesn’t believe a word of them.” She smiled mischievously and added, “Like you. He keeps Marantz up on the flock gossip.”
“Okay. I need to finish looking around down here; how will I find you?”
“I’ll be in the common room. I’m safe as long as I stay there. We can go to one of the private rooms after that.”
I nodded. She started to say something else, thought better of it and swept dramatically out of the cave, her red cloak billowing enough to display her bare feet and calves.
I waited to hear the distant slam of the cellar door. Then I went back down the tunnel. At the far end, a single torch blazed in a sconce and illuminated a second cavern. This one was smaller, and was mostly taken up by a slow-flowing black river that emerged from one low-roofed tunnel and exited down another with a much higher ceiling. Three docks for rowboats stretched out from the narrow, rocky ledge. Two boats remained; Marantz and Tempcott must’ve departed in the third. There was no way to tell where this river ended up for sure, but to be efficient for smuggling it had to join up with the Gusay at some point. That meant the two ringleaders were probably somewhere in Neceda.
I reminded myself that I was, too. The Lizard’s Kiss, or whatever the hell it was now, was smack in the middle of town, yet I’d seldom felt so isolated. A dragon cult, sponsored by a gangster and patronized by royalty, operated underground-literally-in a third-rate river village. The royal might be a genuine convert, but the gangster had to be in it for the money. And why had the gangster ordered the torture and death of a girl in the Black River Hills?
And how did it tie in to Lumina, half of an obscure cult’s dragon deities? The fire dreams are made of, Frankie had called it. They had one skull for an icon; did Laura Lesperitt know where the other was? Would that be worth her life to these people?
And how did that fit in with the old guy with the gloves? And Liz’s apparent betrayal? And Hank Pinster’s murder? And Mother Bennings’?
Clearly I didn’t have all the pieces yet. And I wouldn’t find them huddling upstairs with a pretty young girl.
I’d promised her I’d come back; I didn’t say when. I climbed into one of the two remaining boats, untied it and shoved it off. The current caught me and carried me off into the dark.
SIXTEEN
At least I didn’t fall out of the boat.
The softly lapping water and humid darkness put me right to sleep before I’d even gotten out of sight of the little dock. It had been a long day, after all. I had no idea how far I’d traveled, and didn’t awaken until I emerged from the tunnel. The boat scraped loudly against the shallow bottom at the point the stream entered the Gusay. I grabbed the oars, looked around and had only an instant to orient myself before the current yanked me downstream.
Apparently I slept through some major twists and turns underground, because the hidden tunnel exit was just up stream from Neceda, whose lamps and torches loomed out of the night. I got the boat under control and rowed up to an overgrown part of the riverbank. I beached the boat and hid it beneath some brush, hoping I could find both it and the tunnel again when I needed to return. If the one Marantz and Tempcott used was no larger than mine, they could’ve gone no farther than town. The Gusay was too treacherous for a long rowboat trip in the dark.
According to the stars it wasn’t very late, so I’d only slept for a few minutes. The passenger boat was still docked, so the town should be crowded and active, making it easy for me to blend in again. My plan was vague: track down Marantz and Tempcott, then decide what to do based on what they were doing. After that, I’d have to slip back into the Lizard’s Kiss, find Nicky and hide her from the guy with more than religion on his mind. It looked like my little catnap might be all the sleep I’d get tonight.
The streets were full, and light blazed from the windows of most public buildings. As I skulked along the streets, avoiding eye contact and darting from shadow to shadow, I thought about where Marantz and Tempcott might go. Neceda wasn’t a very big town, and I couldn’t imagine the old geezer interested in gambling or women. That left food and drink. I started with Long Billy’s, where Pansy was still tied among the other horses. I actually hid from her as I slipped into the tavern, because if any horse would betray me, it was this one.
I seldom came to Long Billy’s, mainly because of my loyalty to Angelina. I didn’t know much about it except that Billy was the reason Angelina first came to Neceda, and that even though they lived in the same town they hadn’t spoken in over five years. Neither ever mentioned the other, and woe to the idiot who asked Angelina about it. I wondered if Billy was similarly touchy. It forced people to make a choice of loyalties, and luckily the town split fifty-fifty, which let both establishments prosper.
Long Billy Hudson sure didn’t appear touchy right now, though. He sat on a stool behind the bar, holding forth to a half-dozen men and women young enough to be his children. He earned his name: six and a half feet tall and rail thin, with a round, open face always set in a smile. In five minutes he could convince you that you were his best friend for life.
I sidled up to the group in time to hear the end of the story. “No,” the bartender said, “they’re there to hold down Old Joe; he doesn’t go for that sort of thing, either!”
His audience laughed in appreciation. Ah, to be so young I hadn’t heard that joke a hundred times, I mused wistfully. At that moment Billy noticed me and scowled. “Eddie LaCrosse? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” I said. His entourage made room for me, so I leaned my arms on the bar. The girls, much drunker than the boys probably due to some selective pouring, eyed me provocatively. “Got a minute, Billy?”
“For a sword jockey on a case, always.”
One of the girls, a blonde who could barely keep her eyes open and her bodice closed, stumbled into me. “Ooh, you’re a sword jockey? Really?” She raised her thigh provocatively between my legs.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently away. Her skin was silky and firm. “No, honey, I’m just a figment of your imagination. I don’t really exist.”
She blatantly pressed her hand to my crotch. “Are you sure?” she giggled.
“Hey, sweetie, Eddie doesn’t play games,” Billy said. He pulled the girl away and firmly but gently pushed her into the welcoming arms of one of the boys. The girl did not seem to miss me.
Then Billy guided me across the floor into his office. It was neat, roomy, and reminded me of my own. I wondered what business a tavern owner like Billy needed it for. He offered me a drink from one of the expensive bottles on his desk. “So what can a lowly bartender do for you?” he asked.
I took the drink and tossed it down. It was smoother than the Biwabik infantry. “I’m looking for some VIPs I know are in town. Wondered if you’d seen them.”
He sat on the edge of his desk. “And who might that be?”
“Gordon Marantz.”
He nodded, appreciating the scale of the name. “That’s a VVIP in my line of work.”
“Mine, too.”
“Why do you want to find him?”
I smiled. “Billy, if I told you that, I’d have to slice out your tongue to keep you quiet about it.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Secrets aren’t my specialty.”
“But gossip is.”
“True. Everyone talks to their bartender. Even you, from what I hear.”
I didn’t take the bait. “Can you help me?”
“Well, I do owe you for making sure my flatbread supplier didn’t get muscled out by that bakery syndicate. Even though you weren’t working for me on that, I got the benefits of it. So I would help you if I could.” He spread his hands in a shrug. “But I haven’t seen Gordon Marantz in probably two years. If he’s in town, he hasn’t come in here.”
