Read Online Brown River Queen by Frank Tuttle - Free Book Online

Nobody asks. What makes this woman so special the Watch is pestering me about her?”
    “You’re telling me you don’t know her.”
    “I’m telling you I don’t.”
    “What happens if I stand up and try to walk out of here, Markhat? You going to turn your vampire loose on me?”
    I stood. “Beat it,” I said. “Get out and stay out until you calm down enough to talk sense. Try and snag me again, and you can explain yourself to the Corpsemaster. That clear enough for you?”
    “Corpsemaster is dead.”
    “Maybe. Maybe not. Why don’t you piss me off again and we’ll see?”
    He stood. Evis watched but didn’t move.
    “We’re not done here.”
    “I beg to differ. Get out.”
    He did, slamming my door behind him.
    Evis glided back into the shadows, chuckling.
    “Markhat. Did you really arrange for a Watchman to be bathed in excrement?”
    “The Arwheats don’t much care for the Watch. I almost had to force their pay upon them.”
    Evis shook his head. “They’ll not forget that. Not for a long time.”
    “Good.” I put my hands back behind my head. “Something about that dead woman has the Watch nervous.”
    “Indeed. Have you learned anything new about her?”
    “Nothing. I was heading to the hotels downtown today to see if anyone fitting her description skipped a bill. Maybe she left something in her room with her name on it, along with a note detailing her dastardly plans.”
    Evis nodded. “Still. A bucket of shit?” He shook his head. “As your attorney, I must admonish you against future use of night soil as a deterrent for loiterers.”
    “As you say, counselor.”
    Evis chuckled and produced fresh cigars.
     
     
    A Lowland Sweet later, I was heading downtown to mingle with the upper classes.
    I was dressed for it, too. Darla’s new hat sat rakishly atop my well-combed head. My coat was pressed and I smelled of a subtle cologne and even my socks were fine, upstanding examples of quietly tasteful footwear.
    In light of my recent brief acquaintance with a knife-wielding maniac, I carried several less refined implements upon my person. Toadsticker hung openly at my side. Being a Captain of the guard allowed me to flaunt all but the most stringent of Rannit’s open carry laws.
    I took a cab right to the shadow of the High House and stood directly under the Brass Bell when it clanged out two of the clock.  
    By the time it rang out three, I’d visited four of Rannit’s finest hotels and had half a dozen quiet conversations with desk clerks and concierges. Only one, the concierge at the Bedlam Towers, had the audacity to raise objections to Toadsticker, and he’d quickly swallowed them when he recognized my name.
    As I said, being a Captain, however unwilling, in the Corpsemaster’s private army does confer certain favors.
    But even my lofty rank couldn’t pry any information concerning small-framed, black-haired women out of the Bedlam Towers or anywhere else. I’d also offered to cover the woman’s bill if she left one unpaid.
    No one nibbled at the bait.
    My next stop was a pre-War monstrosity of soot-blacked granite called simply Orlin’s Inn. Word has it that Orlin’s is one of Rannit’s most haunted structures, and even in the bright afternoon sun and under a brilliant blue sky, Orlin’s manages to look shadowed and mysterious.
    I dodged carriages and pedestrians and clambered up the worn thirteen steps that stretch from the street to the wide, tall doors. The Ogres flanking the entryway dipped their eyes to me in greeting, and I doffed my hat in return.
    A human doorman held the door for me.
    “Welcome to the Orlin,” he said. He was fat and fifty and bald but his smile was wide and possibly genuine.  
    “Thanks,” I said. I took off my hat as I crossed the threshold. “Say, maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a woman.”
    His smile didn’t waver. “Not that kind of place.”
    “Ha. She’s not that kind of woman, either. Twenty, maybe twenty-five. Smallish.