Spell of Catastrophe | Page 8

is a name.
"The word's out you're looking for a snatcher," Gag said.
"Sure," I said, "why not? Have you got one?"
"Who knows?" Gag said. "This town's so crowded this week, you can't
keep anybody straight."
I tossed him an ool. Fortunately for me, Skargool's wife was paying
expenses. Gag flagged the barmaid. The barmaid brought him a bottle,
which Gag upended, wiping green froth off his mustache. He burped,
and said, "Okay, now," leaning forward on one elbow. "A guy hears
lots of things. You don't always know what to think, you know what I
mean? This guy Skargool, one day you hear one thing, then you hear
something else. One day everybody wants to work for him, the next
day you hear he's flogging his crews."
Slipron, whose attention had apparently wandered off to another part of
the room, looked back at Gag. "Flogging?"
"Yeah, flogging," Gag said, "I mean like with whips. All these years
he's shipping grain, oats, like, and then all of a sudden they say there's
always been loot underneath. Treasure, I mean, gold, jewels, real loot.
Buried under the oats, all these years. I mean, I've got nothing against
oats, I've got to eat too, but oats isn't the same as loot."
"That's an interesting story, Gag," I said. "Now work the Creeping
Sword into it."

"You out of your mind?" Gag said. "What's that?"
"That's what I'd like to know. You find it out and it's worth money."
"How's about a, whatta you call it, a retainer?"
"I'll pay," I said, "when I have something to pay for. Don't push your
luck. You hear plenty of stuff, Gag, and that's good. Find out who
started this talk about Skargool."
Gag scowled and drained the bottle. I had been keeping an eye on the
rest of the room, watching for someone else, and now he came in,
heading straight for a small table in the back of the place in a corner
mostly in shadow. I rose and went over. A steaming casserole was
already present on the table, and the guy was digging into it by the time
I crossed the room.
I pulled up a chair across from him. "I want to talk to your boss," I said.
He didn't bother to look up; I was sure he'd spotted me on my way over.
He didn't miss much, that's why he had the job he had. "Are you on a
case," the man said, swallowing a mouthful off his knife, "or you just
looking for some action?"
"It's a case."
He grunted, pulled a piece of fish out of the casserole, squinted at it,
and threw it over his shoulder where it stuck to the wall. "We may have
a job, too. Interested in some honest work for a change?" The guy
laughed a coarse harsh laugh.
"Depends on the work," I said.
"Sure it does," he said. "Somebody'll come by your place."
"Right," I said. The table I'd shared with Gag and Slipron was empty,
so I headed for the door. I was almost there when it crashed open
behind a pair of lances and a rabble of tough-looking men wearing the
freshly printed armbands of the Guard.

"All right, you goons," the corporal shouted as he raised a truncheon,
"this place is closed! Move out to the street and -"
The place erupted. I ducked as a small table flew over my shoulder
directly toward the corporal, plunged my fist into an eye, shook my left
leg loose from a set of sharp teeth, and as I shoved a hand with a knife
out of my way something crashed into my back and knocked me to the
floor next to the wall. Sticking close by the wall, I dodged and crawled
forward and climbed through a broken shutter onto the street. A knot of
fighting guys spilled through the door to my left, the three Guard
mercenaries watching the front of the building turned to deal with them,
and I limped away from the bar down the street and around the first
corner. My back was throbbing, but I figured that was part of the job;
maybe I'd sock Skargool's wife for some extra expense money when I
hit her with the final bill. I rinsed my face in a trough and walked away
from the wharves into the city.
My office was over a laundry in the Ghoul's Quarter near the wall on
the south side, the clapboard sign with its open staring eye creaking
gently in the breeze from the river. A man was waiting outside my door
at the top of the stairs. "You are examining the disappearance of Mr.
Edrik Skargool?" he said.
"What's it to you if I am?" I said, unlocking the door.
He