Free Wicked Bronze Ambition: A Garrett, P.I., Novel by Glen Cook Page A

notion of a last man standing takes all was just too stupid . . . How would you come up with that many players all convinced that there was no way they could lose?
    All mysteries would be unraveled. This gathering in the rain consisted of people who loved Strafa and, universally, were convinced that the truth would be found. They were determined to make that happen.

21
    Though we were doing things the Orthodox way, at least by pretense, we had not held a wake for Strafa. Shadowslinger wanted to wait till after the funeral. I announced it there, before I broke down, as cemetery employees sealed the tomb. I wanted everyone to come to Strafa’s place. We would enjoy a banquet in her honor and share some memories.
    It wasn’t something I expected to be a draw. My expectations were in error, maybe because Barate circulated vigorously, issuing personal invitations.
    He spoke directly to such luminaries as Belinda Contague and General Block, people I expect Constance Algarda might consider potentially useful in the war she was about to launch.
    I’ve never quite been a lone wolf—being the face and fist and punch absorber of the Garrett investigative empire—but I’ve seldom gone after anything as part of a mass movement, either. I like being my own boss. However, Shadowslinger was doing the shot-calling today. She meant to get every swinging blade she could hacking at the air.
    The house seemed a great cold hollow shell without Strafa there. Her two regular servants, assisted by her grandmother’s pair and several borrowed from Morley Dotes’s restaurants—whence had come the food as well— created a reception that was surprisingly upbeat.
    I stayed busy greeting commiserating mourners, me, Barate, and Kevans gripping hands gently and accepting condolences spoken softly, with Shadowslinger nowhere to be seen. She saw selected mourners in the library, individually, as Bonegrinder or Moonblight delivered them.
    The old horror could be doing that for show. Kyoga Stornes hovered near the library door. He picked at a plate of canapés while he kept watch. He was not good at disguising what he was doing.
    Shadowslinger was fishing while trying to forge deadly alliances.
    During a quiet moment Barate told me, “I think she’s about to quit coasting on her reputation.”
    “Scary thought.”
    “You can’t imagine. Hello, thank you for coming. Garrett, this is Moonslight, Tara Chayne’s sister, Mariska. Mariska, this is Strafa’s husband. And you know Kevans, of course.”
    “Of course.” The woman offered me a hand while sizing me up more blatantly than her sister had. She did not need to explain that “Tara Chayne and I are twins.” I wasn’t so sure about “But I’m the hot one. Got to go.”
    Moonblight was headed our way like a tornado-spawning thunderstorm.
    Kevans told me, “They don’t get along.”
    “I picked up on that, kiddo. Not completely senile yet. Looks like Kip is about to head out. You maybe ought to say good-bye.”
    “Yeah. I should.”
    She made it sound like forever lurked in the back of her mind.
    We had no customers. Barate and I could talk. He said, “That boy is thicker than a paving brick.” Meaning Kip Prose had no clue that his longtime best friend, who was a girl, was just as much taken by him as was his girlfriend, Kyra, a fact that even Kyra suspected.
    “He doesn’t think of Kevans as a girl.” I sneaked a sideways glance, thinking he might have some feelings about his daughter’s infatuation. I saw nothing but parental concern.
    “I won’t touch it, Garrett. It’ll be one of those Daddy-don’t-see things.”
    Kip had a mother out there somewhere. She did not participate in his life except to enjoy the allowances he provided. I was more of a parent, which was scary. Mostly that meant he was raising himself. “That sounds like the best plan. He wants us to think he’s a grown-ass man. Let’s treat him like one till he asks for help.”
    Barate grunted. “Not