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children, perhaps speaking a foreign tongue. I felt a lot better when I
reached a real street filled with real people.
As I hurried the last mile, I tried to think of somebody I knew in the
religion racket who wouldn't run me off on sight. Most religious leaders are
paranoid about their privacy. They feel especially threatened if they suspect
an investigation of their finances. They have me run off just on the chance
somebody might want me to check them out.
Playmate was the only religious character I knew. And he was just a wannabe
preacher.
Then how about somebody who would answer my questions in order to get rid of
me? Somebody who had no use for me at all. I tried to recall who all had been
involved that time that Maya and I had straightened out the feud between the
Church and the Orthodox over their missing Terrell Relics.
Hell. I didn't even have useful enemies down in the Dream Quarter.
I hit the Street of the Gods farther to the west than I had planned, but
Slight Alley had given me a case of the willies. There was no reason not to
feel safe now. The Dream Quarter is the safest neighborhood in town.
I hustled past Chattaree and other huge places belonging to successful cults,
recalled from past cases. Back then, though, I was dealing with flawed holy
men, not the gods themselves. What was Maya doing now? I could ask Dean in a
few days. He would know. They stayed in touch.
The weather must have melted the stone hearts of the older priests because
the acolytes and postulants and what-have-you were all out fluttering like
mayflies. The scenery was positively brilliant around the female-oriented
temples.
The first four or five people I approached had not heard of either the
Godoroth or the Shayir. Farther east I got a couple of bewildered "I ought to
know what you're talking about but don't" responses, like the guy seven and a
half feet tall, pale as death, wearing a black robe and lugging an ivory staff
topped by an angry cobra's head. This character had no more meat on him than a
skeleton. He mused, "Shayir? Those the people with the squid gods?"
"I don't know." Squids? I'm not even fond of mortal cephalopods, let alone
many-armed critters with delusions of being masters of the universe.
"No, wait. Those are the Church of the Nameless Unspeakable Elder Outer
Darkness From Beyond the Stars folks. I'm sorry. I should know, but I don't.
But you're headed in the right direction. They must be right on the bottom
end, ready to fall into the river."
How you going to learn anything when nobody knows anything?
I thanked him, accepted a small card good for one admission into one of his
snake-worshipping services, said I sure would stop by, I just plain loved
snakes. The bigger the better. I had a few for breakfast in the islands.
He guaranteed me they had a serpent that was a genuine kick-ass god snake big
enough to snack on horses.
"Excellent idea. Round them all up and let him get fat." Then feed him to the
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ratmen.
A block later I met a guy who knew about both cults. He was a free-lance
guide and street sweeper. He did little odd jobs, and the temples fed him
scraps and let him sleep in warm spots out of the way, as long as he didn't
spook the marks. He was raggedy around the edges, so probably didn't get a lot
of work at the high end of the street.
"Name's No-Neck," he told me, proud of the fact that once upon a time folks
thought enough of him to hang a nickname. "Had a little muscle on me when I
was young."
"I figured. Marine?"
"Hey! Fugginay! How'd you know?"
It might have been the tattoos. "You can always tell a Marine. Got that
special attitude."
"Yeah. Ain't dat da troot? You too, eh?"
"First Force." I added the years, so he would know there was no chance we had
acquaintances in common. I hate it when people play that game. They find out
you are from a particular neighborhood, whatever, they spend an hour asking do
you know this one or that like all you ever did with your life was keep track
in case somebody asked.
"Good. Dat's good. You come wit' me. I show you where dey hang. What you say
you want to know for?"
"I didn't, No-Neck. But I'm supposed to check up on some changes going on
down here." I told him about the Antitibet cult coming in.
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "I'm gonna help wit' da moving. Dese here Dellbo
priests from da Cantard, you ask me, dey got no business taking over from
honest TunFairen gods, but rules is rules and the gods made dem demselfs. You
can only have so many temples and stuff or pretty soon you lose control and
have dem loony churches wit' only tree members where nutsos worship killer
radishes and stuff."
I am no heartbreaker, so I didn't let him know there were some off-Street
storefront temples where minuscule congregations really did worship holy
rutabagas and snails and whatnot. If the mind of man can come up with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]