Read Online Book 04 - Old Tin Sorrows by Glen Cook - Free Book Online

might come equipped with secret passages and hidden panels and all that stuff, maybe with secret dungeons below the root cellar and bones buried behind false foundations. I was going to have a nice time here, I was, I was. All I needed to make it a real vacation were ghosts and monsters. I went to the window. The sky was clear. A nail paring of moon was headed west.
    “Come on. You’re not trying. We need some rain and lightning. Or at least some fog on the moor and something howling in the night.”
    Back for a circuit of the room. I didn’t find any secret entrances.
    I’d deal with that later, when there was time to measure walls and whatnot. Right now I had to prowl, while at least some of the denizens of the place weren’t keeping track.
    I dragged my tinsuit friend out of the closet, into the bedroom. I detached him from the support that held him upright, put him in bed. Better than using pillows to make it look like somebody was home. Looked perfect once I pulled a sheet over his helmet. “Rest easy, buddy.”
    I didn’t like the way things were going. Somebody here might be less than friendly. I collected my favorite head-knocker, an oak nightstick with a pound of lead in the business end, then slipped into the hall. I was alone out there. One lamp burned. Presumably Dellwood had been around to snuff the others to save oil. He was the only guy I’d seen working, other than Cook.
    I’d have to find out what everybody did. Should’ve asked Peters while I had him.
    I went to the east end of the hall where a small window looked out on the grounds. Nothing out there but darkness and stars. The werewolves and vampires were taking the night off. I retreated to the first door on the left.
    I seemed to be the only inhabitant of that floor in the wing so I didn’t try for quiet. I picked the lock and marched in, lamp in front in my left hand, head-knocker in my right. I needn’t have bothered. The room was a warehouse for cobwebs. Nobody had been in there in a decade.
    I did a cursory inspection, went to the room across the hall. Same story. Every suite on the floor was the same, except the last, which showed signs that someone had visited recently. In that room I noted circles on the mantel where the dust was thinner. Like something had been removed. Candlesticks or small doodads. I tried to get something from the marks left by the visitor’s feet. There’s always hope you’ll find something unique, like maybe feet the size of pumpernickels or only two toes if they run barefoot. It didn’t pay off this time. The intruder had shuffled, probably not intentionally. Not the sort of thing your average thief thinks of.
    The search was taking longer than I’d expected. I decided to take a quick tour and leave detail work for later. At least I’d know my way around.
    There was a partial floor above mine, reached via an enclosed stair. I went up. That floor was one vast dark room over the great hall. It was stuffed with junk, mostly as dusty as the rooms below. But there was a path beaten from the stairhead across to a stair down to the fourth floor of the west wing. A shortcut. The alternative was to descend to the second floor and cut across on a narrow balcony above the back door, placed there so somebody could address a crowd. Might as well go across, work my way down the west wing, come back on the ground floor and work my way up.
    The west wing was inhabited. I didn’t enter any rooms. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe while I was in town I could have a locksmith check my key to see if he could create a skeleton key for its type of lock.
    Fourth-floor hall and a stroll on the balcony there. Nothing. Likewise the third floor and its balcony. The design differed from my wing. The halls were shorter, ending at the doors of the suites of the masters of the estate. Two doors on the third floor showed light underneath. Either somebody was up late or somebody was scared of the dark.
    Second floor had only five large suites, probably for honored