Tomorrow, the Killing Read Free

Gilchrist,’ he said, and smiled at my reaction. ‘You don’t much care for old Iron Stomach?’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If the Creator hadn’t given us dung beetles, we’d have to spend a lot more time cleaning our shoes.’
    ‘He’s not a regular at Sunday dinner. But his avarice makes him easy to predict. I’m rich, he knows it, and that keeps him in my stable.’
    ‘All the money in the world wouldn’t buy him a spine – he’s a coward, and useless in a pinch. Even if you could trust him not to screw you, you still couldn’t trust him not to screw up.’
    He nodded, not like he agreed with me, but like it didn’t matter. ‘Whatever else he is, he knows his business, and his business is knowing people, and he says you know yours.’
    That was quite a little play on words, though I figured it was best not to call him on it. ‘As flattering as it is to hear Iron Stomach thinks so highly of me, the fact remains, finding lost children isn’t my line.’
    I got the impression that Montgomery had expected this conversation to go easier. He took a long breath and rocked back in his chair, marshaling his forces before returning to battle. ‘You never met Rhaine, did you?’
    I had perspired through my shirt. I figured if I sat here much longer I’d soak my way through the overcoat as well. ‘Not that I recall.’
    ‘When last you and I met she would have been a child. In many ways I suppose she’s still a child now. Roland quite doted on her. So did I. There were times when it seemed it was the only thing the two of us could agree on. And of course she returned his affection. After his death I fear it turned to adoration. The longer he’s been gone the more closely he resembles a saint.’
    I concentrated firmly on the window behind the general, dull with dust and the glare of the sun.
    ‘He always spoke highly of you, Roland. Even when he had little good to say of the Crown, of Black House in particular – he always spoke very highly of you.’
    ‘That’s nice to hear,’ I said. It was the least definite statement I could think of.
    ‘Yesterday I asked Iomhair for the names of three men who were solid enough to find my girl, and whom I could expect not to put my business out into the street. When yours came back at the head of that list, I must admit that . . .’ he groped silently for words. It was clear the general was not one generally given to strong displays of emotion – I found myself wishing he’d hewn closer to his traditional habit of restraint.
    ‘I’m not a religious man, you understand. But somehow when I saw your name I couldn’t help but feel that the Daevas had some hand in it, in bringing you back into my life after such a long absence.’
    I was far more keen to see the hand of the infernal in our renewed acquaintance than the divine. ‘Roland was a friend,’ I said. The fact that this was one of the few truths I’d bothered to tell over the course of the conversation was not lost on me. ‘And if I thought I could help you, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I’m not the sort to promise something I can’t deliver, and I can’t deliver this. I don’t know Rhaine, don’t know her habits, associates, don’t know anything about her. Low Town is a big place, and even I don’t have ears in all of it. And say I found her, what then? I’ve no leverage to force her to return, and cruel though it may be, the law wouldn’t allow me to drop her in a sack and carry her here by force.’ Laying them out like that they seemed like good excuses, not excuses even, explanations. I hoped he’d take them. ‘I’m sorry, sir – but there just isn’t anything I can do for you.’
    He settled his antique body back into his chair, his face a shadow of what it had been a scant moment earlier. Nothing like breaking an old man’s heart before lunch. ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice indistinct. ‘I understand. Forgive me for wasting your time.’
    ‘It was no trouble,’ I returned,