You try your damnedest, but something always goes wrong.
That’s life. If you’re smart, you plan for it.
Somehow, somebody got away from Madle’s, along about the
twenty-fifth Rebel who stumbled into our web, when it really looked
like Neat had done us a big favor, summoning the local hierarchy to
a conference. Looking backward, it is hard to fix blame. We all did
our jobs. But there are limits to how alert you stay under extended
stress. The man who disappeared probably spent hours plotting his
break. We did not notice his absence for a long time.
Candy figured it out. He threw his cards in at the tail of a
hand, said, “We’re minus a body, troops. One of those
pig farmers. The little guy who looked like a pig.”
I could see the table from the corner of my eye. I grunted.
“You’re right. Damn. Should have taken a head count
after each trip to the well.”
The table was behind Pawnbroker. He did not turn around. He
waited a hand, then ambled to Madle’s counter and bought a
crock of beer. While his rambling distracted the locals, I made
rapid signs with my fingers, in deaf-speech. “Better be ready
for a raid. They know who we are. I shot my mouth off.”
The Rebel would want us bad. The Black Company has earned a
widespread reputation as a successful eradicator of the Rebel
pestilence, wherever it appears. Though we are not as vicious as
reputed, news of our coming strikes terror wherever we go. The
Rebel often goes to ground, abandoning his operations, where we
appear.
Yet here were four of us, separated from our companions,
evidently unaware that we were at risk. They would try. The
question at hand was how hard.
We did have cards up our sleeves. We never play fair if we can
avoid it. The Company philosophy is to maximize effectiveness while
minimizing risk.
The tall, dark man rose, left his shadow, stalked toward the
stair to the sleeping rooms. Candy snapped, “Watch him,
Otto.” Otto hurried after him, looking feeble in the
man’s wake. The locals watched, wondering.
Pawnbroker used signs to ask, “What now?”
“We wait,” Candy said aloud, and with signs added,
“Do what we were sent to do.”
“Not much fun, being live bait,” Pawnbroker signed
back. He studied the stair nervously. “Set Otto up with a
hand,” he suggested.
I looked at Candy. He nodded. “Why not? Give him about
seventeen.” Otto would go down first time around every time
if he had less than twenty. It was a good percentage bet.
I quick figured the cards in my head, and grinned. I could give
him seventeen and have enough low cards left to give each of us a
hand that would burn him. “Give me those cards.”
I hurried through the deck, building hands. “There.”
Nobody had higher than a five. But Otto’s hand had higher
cards than the others.
Candy grinned. “Yeah.”
Otto did not come back. Pawnbroker said, “I’m going
up to check.”
“All right,” Candy replied. He went and got himself
a beer. I eyed the locals. They were getting ideas. I stared at one
and shook my head.
Pawnbroker and Otto returned a minute later, preceded by the
dark man, who returned to his shadow. Pawnbroker and Otto looked
relieved. They settled down to play.
Otto asked, “Who dealt?”
“Candy did,” I said. “Your go.”
He went down. “Seventeen.”
“Heh-heh-heh,” I replied. “Burned you.
Fifteen.”
And Pawnbroker said, “Got you both. Fourteen.”
And Candy, “Fourteen. You’re hurting,
Otto.”
He just sat there, numbed, for several seconds. Then he caught
on. “You bastards! You stacked it! You don’t think
I’m going to pay off . . . ”
“Settle down. Joke, son,” Candy said.
“Joke. It was your deal anyhow.”
The cards went around and the darkness came. No more insurgents
appeared. The locals grew ever more restless. Some worried about
their families, about being late. As everywhere else, most
Tallylanders are concerned only with their own lives. They
don’t care whether the White Rose or the Lady is
ascendant.
The minority of Rebel sympathizers worried about when the blow
might fall. They were afraid of getting caught in the
crossfire.
We pretended ignorance of the situation.
Candy signed, “Which ones are dangerous?”
We conferred, selected three men who might become trouble. Candy
had Otto bind them to their chairs. It dawned on the locals that we
knew what to expect, that we were prepared. Not looking forward,
but prepared. The raiders waited till midnight. They were more
cautious than the Rebel we encountered ordinarily. Maybe our
reputation was too strong . . .
They burst in in a rush. We discharged our spring tubes and
began swinging swords, retreating to a corner away from the
fireplace. The tall man watched indifferently.
There were a lot of Rebels. Far more than we had expected. They
kept storming inside, crowding up, getting into one another’s
ways, climbing over the corpses of their comrades. “Some
trap,” I gasped. “Must be a hundred of them.”
“Yeah,” Candy said. “It don’t look
good.” He kicked at a man’s groin, cut him when he
covered up.
The place was wall-to-wall insurgents, and from the noise there
were a hell of a lot more outside. Somebody didn’t want us
getting away.
Well, that was the plan.
My nostrils flared. There was an odor in the air, just the
faintest off-key touch, subtle under the stink of fear and sweat.
“Cover up!” I yelled, and whipped a wad of damp wool
from my belt pouch. It stunk worse than a squashed skunk. My
companions followed suit.
Somewhere a man screamed. Then another. Voices rose in a hellish
chorus. Our enemies surged around, baffled, panicky. Faces twisted
in agony. Men fell down in writhing heaps, clawing their noses and
throats. I was careful to keep my face in the wool.
The tall, thin man came out of his shadows. Calmly, he began
despatching guerrillas with a fourteen-inch, silvery blade. He
spared those customers we had not bound to their chairs.
He signed, “It’s safe to breathe now.”
“Watch the door,” Candy told me. He knew I had an
aversion to this kind of slaughter. “Otto, you take the
kitchen. Me and Pawnbroker will help Silent.”
The Rebel outside tried to get us by speeding arrows through the
doorway. He had no luck. Then he tried firing the place. Madle
suffered paroxysms of rage. Silent, one of the three wizards of the
Company, who had been sent into Tally weeks earlier, used his
powers to squelch the fire. Angrily, the Rebel prepared for a
siege.
“Must have brought every man in the province,” I
said.
Candy shrugged. He and Pawnbroker were piling corpses into
defensive barricades. “They must have set up a base camp near
here.” Our intelligence about the Tally guerrillas was
extensive. The Lady prepares well before she sends us in. But we
hadn’t been told to expect such strength available at short
notice.
Despite our successes, I was scared. There was a big mob
outside, and it sounded like more were arriving regularly. Silent,
as an ace in the hole, hadn’t much more value.
“You send your bird?” I demanded, assuming that had
been the reason for his trip upstairs. He nodded. That provided
some relief. But not much.
The tenor changed. They were quieter outside. More arrows zipped
through the doorway. It had been ripped off its hinges in the first
rush. The bodies heaped in it would not slow the Rebel long.
“They’re going to come,” I told Candy.
“All right.” He joined Otto in the kitchen.
Pawnbroker joined me. Silent, looking mean and deadly, stationed
himself in the center of the common room. A roar went up outside.
“Here they come!”
We held the main rush, with Silent’s help, but others
began to batter the window shutters. Then Candy and Otto had to
concede the kitchen. Candy killed an overzealous attacker and spun
away long enough to bellow, “Where the hell are they,
Silent?”
Silent shrugged. He seemed almost indifferent to the proximity
of death. He hurled a spell at a man being boosted through a
window.
Trumpets brayed in the night. “Ha!” I shouted.
“They’re coming!” The last gate of the trap had
closed.
One question remained. Would the Company close in before our
attackers finished us?
More windows gave. Silent could not be everywhere. “To the
stair!” Candy shouted. “Fall back to the stair.”
We raced for it. Silent called up a noxious fog. It was not the
deadly thing he had used before. He could not do that again, now.
He hadn’t time to prepare.
The stair was easily held. Two men, with Silent behind them,
could hold it forever.
The Rebel saw that. He began setting fires. This time Silent
could not extinguish all the flames.
You try your damnedest, but something always goes wrong.
That’s life. If you’re smart, you plan for it.
Somehow, somebody got away from Madle’s, along about the
twenty-fifth Rebel who stumbled into our web, when it really looked
like Neat had done us a big favor, summoning the local hierarchy to
a conference. Looking backward, it is hard to fix blame. We all did
our jobs. But there are limits to how alert you stay under extended
stress. The man who disappeared probably spent hours plotting his
break. We did not notice his absence for a long time.
Candy figured it out. He threw his cards in at the tail of a
hand, said, “We’re minus a body, troops. One of those
pig farmers. The little guy who looked like a pig.”
I could see the table from the corner of my eye. I grunted.
“You’re right. Damn. Should have taken a head count
after each trip to the well.”
The table was behind Pawnbroker. He did not turn around. He
waited a hand, then ambled to Madle’s counter and bought a
crock of beer. While his rambling distracted the locals, I made
rapid signs with my fingers, in deaf-speech. “Better be ready
for a raid. They know who we are. I shot my mouth off.”
The Rebel would want us bad. The Black Company has earned a
widespread reputation as a successful eradicator of the Rebel
pestilence, wherever it appears. Though we are not as vicious as
reputed, news of our coming strikes terror wherever we go. The
Rebel often goes to ground, abandoning his operations, where we
appear.
Yet here were four of us, separated from our companions,
evidently unaware that we were at risk. They would try. The
question at hand was how hard.
We did have cards up our sleeves. We never play fair if we can
avoid it. The Company philosophy is to maximize effectiveness while
minimizing risk.
The tall, dark man rose, left his shadow, stalked toward the
stair to the sleeping rooms. Candy snapped, “Watch him,
Otto.” Otto hurried after him, looking feeble in the
man’s wake. The locals watched, wondering.
Pawnbroker used signs to ask, “What now?”
“We wait,” Candy said aloud, and with signs added,
“Do what we were sent to do.”
“Not much fun, being live bait,” Pawnbroker signed
back. He studied the stair nervously. “Set Otto up with a
hand,” he suggested.
I looked at Candy. He nodded. “Why not? Give him about
seventeen.” Otto would go down first time around every time
if he had less than twenty. It was a good percentage bet.
I quick figured the cards in my head, and grinned. I could give
him seventeen and have enough low cards left to give each of us a
hand that would burn him. “Give me those cards.”
I hurried through the deck, building hands. “There.”
Nobody had higher than a five. But Otto’s hand had higher
cards than the others.
Candy grinned. “Yeah.”
Otto did not come back. Pawnbroker said, “I’m going
up to check.”
“All right,” Candy replied. He went and got himself
a beer. I eyed the locals. They were getting ideas. I stared at one
and shook my head.
Pawnbroker and Otto returned a minute later, preceded by the
dark man, who returned to his shadow. Pawnbroker and Otto looked
relieved. They settled down to play.
Otto asked, “Who dealt?”
“Candy did,” I said. “Your go.”
He went down. “Seventeen.”
“Heh-heh-heh,” I replied. “Burned you.
Fifteen.”
And Pawnbroker said, “Got you both. Fourteen.”
And Candy, “Fourteen. You’re hurting,
Otto.”
He just sat there, numbed, for several seconds. Then he caught
on. “You bastards! You stacked it! You don’t think
I’m going to pay off . . . ”
“Settle down. Joke, son,” Candy said.
“Joke. It was your deal anyhow.”
The cards went around and the darkness came. No more insurgents
appeared. The locals grew ever more restless. Some worried about
their families, about being late. As everywhere else, most
Tallylanders are concerned only with their own lives. They
don’t care whether the White Rose or the Lady is
ascendant.
The minority of Rebel sympathizers worried about when the blow
might fall. They were afraid of getting caught in the
crossfire.
We pretended ignorance of the situation.
Candy signed, “Which ones are dangerous?”
We conferred, selected three men who might become trouble. Candy
had Otto bind them to their chairs. It dawned on the locals that we
knew what to expect, that we were prepared. Not looking forward,
but prepared. The raiders waited till midnight. They were more
cautious than the Rebel we encountered ordinarily. Maybe our
reputation was too strong . . .
They burst in in a rush. We discharged our spring tubes and
began swinging swords, retreating to a corner away from the
fireplace. The tall man watched indifferently.
There were a lot of Rebels. Far more than we had expected. They
kept storming inside, crowding up, getting into one another’s
ways, climbing over the corpses of their comrades. “Some
trap,” I gasped. “Must be a hundred of them.”
“Yeah,” Candy said. “It don’t look
good.” He kicked at a man’s groin, cut him when he
covered up.
The place was wall-to-wall insurgents, and from the noise there
were a hell of a lot more outside. Somebody didn’t want us
getting away.
Well, that was the plan.
My nostrils flared. There was an odor in the air, just the
faintest off-key touch, subtle under the stink of fear and sweat.
“Cover up!” I yelled, and whipped a wad of damp wool
from my belt pouch. It stunk worse than a squashed skunk. My
companions followed suit.
Somewhere a man screamed. Then another. Voices rose in a hellish
chorus. Our enemies surged around, baffled, panicky. Faces twisted
in agony. Men fell down in writhing heaps, clawing their noses and
throats. I was careful to keep my face in the wool.
The tall, thin man came out of his shadows. Calmly, he began
despatching guerrillas with a fourteen-inch, silvery blade. He
spared those customers we had not bound to their chairs.
He signed, “It’s safe to breathe now.”
“Watch the door,” Candy told me. He knew I had an
aversion to this kind of slaughter. “Otto, you take the
kitchen. Me and Pawnbroker will help Silent.”
The Rebel outside tried to get us by speeding arrows through the
doorway. He had no luck. Then he tried firing the place. Madle
suffered paroxysms of rage. Silent, one of the three wizards of the
Company, who had been sent into Tally weeks earlier, used his
powers to squelch the fire. Angrily, the Rebel prepared for a
siege.
“Must have brought every man in the province,” I
said.
Candy shrugged. He and Pawnbroker were piling corpses into
defensive barricades. “They must have set up a base camp near
here.” Our intelligence about the Tally guerrillas was
extensive. The Lady prepares well before she sends us in. But we
hadn’t been told to expect such strength available at short
notice.
Despite our successes, I was scared. There was a big mob
outside, and it sounded like more were arriving regularly. Silent,
as an ace in the hole, hadn’t much more value.
“You send your bird?” I demanded, assuming that had
been the reason for his trip upstairs. He nodded. That provided
some relief. But not much.
The tenor changed. They were quieter outside. More arrows zipped
through the doorway. It had been ripped off its hinges in the first
rush. The bodies heaped in it would not slow the Rebel long.
“They’re going to come,” I told Candy.
“All right.” He joined Otto in the kitchen.
Pawnbroker joined me. Silent, looking mean and deadly, stationed
himself in the center of the common room. A roar went up outside.
“Here they come!”
We held the main rush, with Silent’s help, but others
began to batter the window shutters. Then Candy and Otto had to
concede the kitchen. Candy killed an overzealous attacker and spun
away long enough to bellow, “Where the hell are they,
Silent?”
Silent shrugged. He seemed almost indifferent to the proximity
of death. He hurled a spell at a man being boosted through a
window.
Trumpets brayed in the night. “Ha!” I shouted.
“They’re coming!” The last gate of the trap had
closed.
One question remained. Would the Company close in before our
attackers finished us?
More windows gave. Silent could not be everywhere. “To the
stair!” Candy shouted. “Fall back to the stair.”
We raced for it. Silent called up a noxious fog. It was not the
deadly thing he had used before. He could not do that again, now.
He hadn’t time to prepare.
The stair was easily held. Two men, with Silent behind them,
could hold it forever.
The Rebel saw that. He began setting fires. This time Silent
could not extinguish all the flames.