Some questions, some answers

"So, this was a demon, come to make yer confused self an offer o' some sort.” Grindlebone sounded more than a little confused himself. That made two of us.

“Yeah.”

“What did he look like?”

“He looked like a demon, like the devil. Red skin, sharp black fingernails and toenails, horns on his head, pointy ears, sharp teeth, general smarmy 'let's make a deal' kinda manner. And a lovely pinstripe suit. I mean, beautiful suit. I might be willing to make a deal for a suit like that.”

“Eh, probably wouldn't fit you right. Or you'd get a pin the ass every time you sat down.” Grin was sitting behind his desk, examining the card that Vard the demon had given, right before he popped me back into Grin's office.

“Grin, I thought nobody could teleport or Step into the bar.”

“Well, in the normal run o' things, I'd say that was right. Thing is, even the Guild Seals are only so good. Average yob like you or me'd never be able to swing the kinda power ye'd need for such a thing. A Power, though, a serious Power, it'd brush aside anything the Guild might use. Yer friend didn't even break through Ix's defense systems. Went right through 'em, or around 'em, without even sending a twinge to the alarms. Shouldna been possible, from what I know. I don't think I have to mention, Red, that if it was anybody but you, I'd assume the bugger'd overdone the sot-weed or such.” Grin leaned back in his chair, holding the card between two fingers. “This here's pretty interestin', as well. You can feel the heat off'n it. Near hot enough to light a pipe all on its lonesome.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. That's something, at least.” I drained the last of the fine whiskey out of my glass. “You know what strikes me as odd?”

“Red, I'll bet ya 40 Crowns you can't name something about all this that isn't odd.”

“What strikes me as odd,” I said, ignoring him and gazing speculatively at my glass. “is neither the angel or the demon actually told me what they wanted from me.”

“Howzat?”

“Well, the angel just beat a couple of people up and told me I had to come with him. And from the way Vard spoke, it seemed like he might not have known, either. So he and I have something in common, at least. Grin, none of this makes any sense.”

“Boyo, you're speaking the truth there.”

“Where's Jack, anyway? I need him to read this crystal Jubjub gave me.”

“Ah, about that. The Warden from Charom, the one what took that Tub'la fella and his mates off our hands, he got in touch with me. I'd mentioned to him that we'd no idea why that crew brought all the ruckus here. He wanted t'offer us a look at the ghost they'd made of him, before they ended him. Jack offered to make a run and pick it up.”

“Huh. That was awful friendly of the Warden.” Grindlebone, staring at the ceiling, grunted in agreement. “I've always wondered how it felt. I mean, you know you're gonna die, and then you wake up a fake brain in a computer. How does it feel, when you realize you are dead, really, and as soon as they've wrung your digital mind dry, you get to die all over again?”

“Anybody ever told you you're a morbid son of a bitch, Red?”

“Once or twice.”

I got up and poured myself another glass of Walker's. Grin waved me off when I offered to pour him some. Both of us, me by the bar and Grin behind his desk, spent the next few minutes in silence, lost in our respective thoughts. Might have gone on considerably longer, with all the mental fat we had to chew, if Van Zandt hadn't joined us.

She stepped to where I stood, giving me a kiss on the cheek and stealing my drink, before sitting on the edge of the desk. Grin handed her the card and gave her a short rundown of my recently ended meeting with Vard. I poured another drink.

“Red, you find the oddest ways to pass the time!” She laughed, raising my former glass to me.

“Grindlebone said you knew something about this Mayfair person? The one all the guys who looked at the book-locket thing told me about?”

“Oh, yes. Part of the reason I'm here is because of Mayfair. Nobody I've ever talked to has had any first hand contact with Mayfair. But everyone who's interested in finding out about whatever new peoples pop up out on the newly opened areas, reads the studies Mayfair puts out. They're incisive, with a surprising depth of understanding. No one knows how Mayfair does it. Whoever Mayfair is, they have been able to conduct simultaneous studies of as many as four different new peoples of vastly different type and in widely separated areas. Each one was of a quality to make every other specialist in the field green with envy. The most common theory I've heard is that an incredibly well-funded and connected secret organization sets up each study, and then publishes under the Mayfair name. If that's true, though, no one has ever met anyone connected with them. Oh, there are third hand accounts of secret job offers and clandestine meetings and various other types of jiggery-pokery, but nothing that can be confirmed.”

“Great. Might as well have told me only the Ghost of Christmas Past could tell me about the thing. Whatever Jubjub gave me about finding this guy is probably gonna be full on moonshine. At best. At worst, it's gonna be some exotic way to die, so there ain't any chance I'll come back to have words with him about it.”

“Well, now, Red, I can't make any certain statements about how honest another fella might be," Grin said, rubbing his chin. "but, for all he's as weird as a man with a pant-load o' squirrels, Jubjub's made his reputation on bein' on the level when he offers a sale. Just sayin' is all.”

“Eh,” I grunted. I took another sip of the Walker's. “When did Jack head out, anyway?”

“I saw him leave through the Parkside Door, mmmm, half an hour ago?” Van Zandt ventured.

“OK. Look I'm feeling too wound up to sit around and wait for him to get back. Grin, you got my cut of the bounty you got off the Warden?”

“Surely do, Red.” Grin did something down under his desk, and came up with a surprisingly large valise. “Here ya go. Your fifteen percent of the bounty. This doesn't include your cut of the weapons, 'cause I haven't sold 'em yet, so there's a bit more comin'. The case has a couple of little things Mr. Ix added to keep nefarious souls from figurin' out you're transportin' cash. Good?”

“Better than good, choom.” I knocked off the rest of my drink, then reached into my vest. “I'm gonna head to the Free City, have them worry about keeping my money safe. You mind holding onto the data crystal? If Jack gets back before I do, go ahead and have a glance at it, how 'bout?”

“Don't mind a bit.” He took the crystal from my outstretched hand.

“Thanks. You too, Van Zandt. I'll be back before too long.” I grabbed the valise full of my money and headed out the door.