Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,99

to use your visit to get around his security precautions.”

“You know he won’t let me in with anything dangerous.”

“It won’t be anything dangerous. Just the kind of things Heris rooted out here. Pella! That boy is dogging it, Piper. He needs a little more direct encouragement.”

“He’s a kid. It’s what they do at that age.”

Delari grunted. “May be. I don’t remember ever being that young.”

Heris and Pella returned from another trip to the gutter. Pella lugged the chamber pot. Heris carried a covered stoneware dish. She handled it like it was hot. “Are you ready for this, Grandfather?”

“Yes. Set it on that stand.”

She did that. Delari removed the lid. Fragrant steam rolled up.

“Damn! That smells good!” Hecht said. He leaned into the steam.

The dish looked to be something featuring lamb and rice, with red beans, fragments of vegetable, seasoned heavily with garlic and fennel and something less familiar.

Delari said, “This would be some of Mrs. Creedon’s best work.” He took a packet from a pocket, added what looked like a dozen dried button mushrooms. He stirred those in with a wooden spoon presented by Heris. “We’ll let this set a minute.” Heris replaced the lid. Delari continued, “I’m sure Anna has fed you up just fine. You’ve filled out some already. But when I tell you, you should gobble this down. The mushrooms are particularly important.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain when you get back. Also, we need to get Grandfather’s amulet off you before you head out. That’s the sort of thing they’ll be looking for. Bronte Doneto is already suspicious because you’ve survived so much. We’ll reinstall it when you get back. Be especially careful while you’re doing without.”

Hecht had a library of questions but got no chance to ask them.

“Time to eat.” Delari lifted the stoneware lid. Heris proffered a tin spoon. Pella slumped past, grumbling because he had to do all the work.

A clatter rose outside, the Principaté’s coach leaving hurriedly. Heris spun sideways and disappeared. She rotated back into being seconds later. Anna and the children gawked like that was something new. Heris said, “The Patriarchal messenger is just a few blocks off, Grandfather. Let’s get busy. The watchers out there need to forget seeing anything after Lieutenant Consent left.”

“Right. Do what you can while I deal here. Piper. Be honest with the Patriarch. But don’t volunteer anything. Make him work to find out anything. Eat, damnit! Those mushrooms. And stick your left hand out here so I can get that amulet off. Anna. You and the girls need to come in here for a second.”

* * *

The pounding on Anna’s door bespoke arrogance. Bewildered, Anna answered it. She suffered that confusion one has after hastening into a room to do something, then not being able to remember what. The children had the same confused air.

Piper Hecht occupied his customary chair. He shared the confusion. Something had happened but he was not sure what. He rubbed his left wrist. It felt odd. Moist, too. And it itched.

A mild stomach cramp startled him. He belched.

The man at the door was being unpleasant to Anna. Hecht went over, pushed children aside, moved Anna, smacked the man squarely in the nose. “Pella, bring my sword. And a rag for the blood.” He wore a short sword when he was out and about. Though the blade had seen action, it was more symbol than substance.

Anna begged, “Don’t start anything, Piper.”

“I won’t, sweet. Much. Except for this asshole. Who seems to have lost the manners his mother taught him.” The deliberate use of “asshole” was more likely to get the man’s attention than the pop in the snot locker. All Brothe knew that the Captain-General—emeritus, now—used bad language only when extremely provoked. “Or can we expect those manners to improve, Mr. Silo?”

Hecht knew the man, barely. Deepened Silo. Related to the new Patriarch. An ambitious thug with none of the skills necessary to get where he thought he deserved to go. He had been rejected by the Brotherhood, had enjoyed a three-week career with the Patriarchal forces of Captain-General Piper Hecht, then had been asked to leave the constabularii of the City Regiment after failing to shine there. Family connections were all he had.

None of his problems, of course, were his own fault.

Hecht wondered what Silo was doing working for Serenity, family or no. Bronte Doneto seldom let sentiment ignore incompetence.

Silo was, undoubtedly, scheduled to become a throwaway in some underhanded scheme.

“Do I have your attention, Mr. Silo? Or shall I break something else?”

Venom