“Soft as a girl’s arse. Reminds me of that new whore down at Charlotte the Harlot’s place in Pahdookahport.” Then he threw back his head and laughed, and, still laughing, he picked up his weapons and stalked back toward the barracks. Later that same day, Sir Djaimz and his servants had departed Pirates’ Folly, riding east toward Twocityport at about the time Martuhn was being ushered in to his dinner with Duke Tcharlz.
When once the remnants of the last course were cleared away and the table bore only a set of small silver cups and a goodly assortment of brandies and cordials, the duke gave over from chitchat and got down to business. “The Twocityport citadel is completed, Martuhn. I took the liberty of installing in it the bulk of your old company, under command of Lieutenant Mawree, almost a fortnight agone.”
Martuhn looked every bit of his surprise. “But… my lord, it was no more than a plan when I departed.”
The duke grinned like a cat. “Well, nonetheless, it’s done, every last stone and timber and treenail of it, and with no less than three clearwater springs inside the walls. A full year’s worth of provisions for two thousand men and five hundred horses’ should be in its magazines by the time you reach it to take command, along with a full complement of wall engines and a well-stocked armory. And none too soon, say I.”
He leaned forward conspiratorily, nudging the table with his burgeoning paunch, sweat brought out by the rich foods and strong brandies gleaming on his face. “There’ve been developments since you left. Duke Alex, that arrogant, overweening, greedy, pig-spawned, dung-eating hound of a sneak thief, has—or so my agents in Traderstown court inform me—entered into a criminal collusion with the witless young jackanapes who now styles himself King of Mehmfiz. Through that supposedly royal ninny, our scheming neighbor is hiring himself an army from anywhere he can scratch up men, but mostly from the northwestern duchies of the Southern Ehleenee.
“Moreover, they—this precious pair of gelded jackasses— have begun to make threatening noises and movements toward certain of my downriver client-states and allies, states that that stunted, imbecilic dwarf Uyr of Mehmfiz has had his eyes on for years. They assume that I cannot but go to the aid of my allies whenever Alex and Uyr scratch up enough personal sand and armed men to actually attack one, and they’re right on that score, I’ll have to at least send troops down there, possibly even lead them myself.
“But they’ve not the collective brains of a ptssant if they think I’m deluded. I know full well what they’re up to. You know it too, Martuhn, and so does every thinking man in my duchy: The one scheme that that prince of deceptions has harbored in his cesspool brain ever since the old duke died has been to rule both Traderstown and Twocityport, that he might control both ends of the transriverine cables.
“Therefore, my dear Martuhn, however much dust these two bastards may kick up downriver, we may be assured that their true objective is Twocityport and its immediate environs, and when once they feel they’ve engaged the bulk of my forces downriver, they’ll strike hard to seize my chief city. My spies at the court of my bitch wife are convinced that she and certain of hers are into this up to their plucked eyebrows, and they’re likely right, but I can’t prove the case just now, else I’d have her ugly head.
“Now fortifying Twocityport—that is, adding to the existing and somewhat old-fashioned defenses—would not only have taken far too long, but such action would’ve alerted my enemies that I was aware of what is afoot here. Therefore, I’ve had it bruited about in the duchy and beyond that this new fortress is, like Pirates’ Folly, simply another—albeit an expensive—way to prick Ann’s scaly hide. It’s an eminently believable yarn, for it’s well known up and down both rivers that we cordially hate each other.”
“My lord duke.” Martuhn held up his hand, palm outward. “If a part of my responsibility is to be preserving the cables from capture, would it not be better to lengthen them a bit, then secure them inside the walls of the citadel?”
The duke grinned again. “Great minds, it is said, run in the same channels, my good Martuhn. Not only are the cables now lengthened and secured within the new fortress, but from the outer walls down to the very lip of the river, they are now housed within very strong and solid stone-built tunnels. Moreover, it is now an open secret in Twocityport— which means that that ewe-raping Alex knows of it—that the fabric of the tunnel is fitted with devices that will assuredly sever the cables if any attempt is! made to enter or dismantle the sheathings. “So, my good Martuhn, now you know as much as do I. Do you think you can hold that citadel against Duke Alex for as long as a year? Ill either be engaged downriver or holding Pahdookahport and the Folly, while my horsemen harry the various besiegers and their inevitable patrols. So you and your garrison will be completely on your own, slam in the center of a probably hostile town—for the bulk of the Twocityporters have always hated me and loved my Sow of a wife—and with no hope of relief until I’ve scared that gutless young Uyr out of this affair and can amass enough of a force to be sure of extirpating—or at the least, soundly trouncing—the Traderstown army in open battle. Well, what say you, Captain Count Martuhn of Twocityport?”
Now, in his towertop aerie, the new-made Count of Twocityport sat down to the spartan breakfast brought up by the faithful Wolf, who had also prepared it, since he felt that he knew his lord’s tastes better than did the new cooks. While he ate the fried fatback, cornmeal mush and crisp little apples, washed down with drafts of cider, he read through a pile of dispatches just in from Pirates’ Folly, commenting to Wolf, who took notes when necessary in his cribbed writing.
The duke is taking my advice and retaining almost all of the lancers and dragoons to his personal force.”
“A good thing, too,” Wolf put in, nodding his hairless, scar-furrowed head. “Horsemen don’t do neither side no good in a siege, ‘cept mebbe as far-riding foragers for them as is besieging.”
“Yes,” Count Martuhn continued, “only the officers and sergeants and a score or so of dispatch riders will be mounted in this garrison.” Wolf grunted. “This here garrison his grace promised you had better stir their stumps, if they means to get here afore Duke Alex’s folks does. Talk’s all over town that he’s gonna be a-landing ‘fore the end of the month, and any street you walks down, you can hear the spades a-ringing in the backyards with plate and money and all a-getting put under till it’s all over.” The captain stabbed a long finger at the topmost letter on the pile before him, bearing the elaborate and gaudy ducal seal. “The first battalion—Baron Burklee’s six hundred pike-men, plus two hundred and forty crossbowmen—marched out from Pirates’ Folly before dawn this morning, according to this dispatch.”
Wolf grunted again and scratched at one of his cranial scars with the nib of his quill pen, heedless of the ink lines he scribed into the skin. “How ‘bout the engineers? ‘Sides me and my lord and a handful of others, don’t nobody know pee turkey ‘bout servicing, laying and manning all these here spearthrowers and rock lobbers and such, as his grace’s got mounted up on the walls and roofs.” Martuhn frowned. “I don’t know, Wolf. I’ve not yet read all of the dispatch.” He fell silent for a moment, then announced, “Ah, yes, here it is. The second battalion, which includes the engineers as well as the surgeons and the rest of the service troops, was originally scheduled to be here before Burklee’s, but die duke had to relieve the commander and then reform them to some extent… He doesn’t say why, he just says that they’ll be on the march soon.” “Which could mean a lot or nothing!” snorted Wolf disgustedly. “Best I elect, ever’body as knows anything ’bout ’gines and start a-schooling our comp’ny in how to use ’em. ‘Cause sure as can be, that baron’s pikepushers ain’t likely to know shit ’bout ’em.”