Suddenly, Rix was very glad that he had not raised Grandys’ petrified body from the Abysm.
“They’re back, Deadhand,” said Nuddell. He had run all the way from the front watchtower to Rix’s chambers and was breathing hard. “The enemy are back in force. Must’ve come in the night.”
Rix grabbed his coat, sword and field glasses, and eased on the steel gauntlet.
“What are they doing?” he said, pretending a casualness he did not feel. The lord of Garramide had to set an example of calm control at all times. Was this it? Would they all be dead by tonight?
“Same as last time. Just sitting there, out of range, setting up camp.”
They went down. Swelt met them at the foot of the stairs. He was wearing his sword again.
“You’ve heard?” said Rix.
“I have. And I’ve ordered the household to prepare for the worst.”
“I’ll be on the main watchtower,” said Rix. “How many?” he said to Nuddell as they headed that way.
“More than before. Close to a thousand.”
“Do you reckon that’s all that’s coming?”
“I’m just a sergeant, Deadhand. Kicking heads and backsides is more in my line.”
“Nonetheless, I’m asking.”
“No. I reckon there’re more coming.”
“So Swelt’s information was good. How long can we hold them out?”
“Half a day; maybe a full day if we’re lucky…”
“How’s morale?”
“I’ve known it to be better.”
“What would you say the problem is?”
“Reckon you know that better than I do.”
Rix stopped in the middle of the yard. “Answer the damn question, Sergeant.”
Nuddell swallowed, avoided Rix’s eyes, then said quietly, “It’s the shifter.”
“Kindly elaborate.”
Nuddell cleared his throat. “Personally, I don’t mind the fellow. Lagger put up a mighty fight on the wall last time — I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t. And he ain’t like other shifters. Almost human, he is. Must’ve been a rare gentleman before he caught the curse.”
“He was,” said Rix. “I mean, he is.”
“But your other men, they haven’t seen the world like I have, Lord. Traditional. Closed minds. To name the thing is to condemn it. You let him in, they’re saying. You protect him, and what if he starts creeping down the halls at night, at his gory work?”
They reached the watchtower and began to climb the steps. “So that’s what they say. What will they do?”
“Lord?”
“Will they desert? Refuse to fight? Mutiny?”
Nuddell looked everywhere except at Rix. He strained, but no words came out.
“You took the sergeant’s badge, Nuddell. You have to do the sergeant’s job.”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
Rix waited.
“A handful could be thinking about deserting. I’ll give you their names. But refuse to fight an attacking enemy — no, they won’t go that far.”
“What about mutiny?”
They reached the top of the watchtower. Three guards were on duty, all watching the enemy camp. They turned around, snapping to attention. Rix studied the enemy camp for a minute or two, doing his own estimate of their numbers — the same as Nuddell’s count — and their gear, then led him across to the far side where they would not be overheard. The sergeant was sweating now but Rix had to know.
Nuddell glanced at the guards, then lowered his voice. “If anyone was plotting mutiny, reckon they’d slit my throat quick smart if they thought I was informing on them.”
“I dare say they will. And my corpse will be lying right beside yours. Give me their names.”
Nuddell closed his eyes, then began to tick names off on his fingers. “Bailley. The twin brothers Hox. Rancid — ”
“Is there really a man on the rolls called Rancid?” said Rix.
“By nature and by name. Oily fellow, always sucking up, but as soon as your back’s turned he’s bitching about you. I’ll point him out. Knives are his specialty. He likes to slit weasands with them.”
“I wonder if he mentions that when he writes home to his mother?” said Rix.
“Doubt if he’s got one. Reckon he oozed out from under the jakes.”
“Anyone else?”
“Tumblow and Tiddler.”
“I know Tiddler,” said Rix. “He’s the giant.”
“Yeah. Blacksmith. Watch out for his hammer. Those six are the worst. Put ’em away and I doubt if you’ll have any trouble with the others.”
“How long do I have?”
“Until after the battle — assuming we win. And if we don’t… well, we don’t have to worry, do we?”
“Why not before the battle?”
“Mutineers are scum, everyone knows that. But there’s no one in this fortress so foul, dishonourable and treacherous that they’d start a mutiny with the enemy at the gates.”
“Thank you, Nuddell. I appreciate it.”
“Then there’s the servants.” Nuddell was warming to his task. “I don’t know all of them, but there’s Blathy, of course, and Porfry — ”
“What about Astatin, the witch-woman?”
“Mad as a maggot,” said Nuddell, “but desperately loyal. She won’t betray you. And that’s all I know.”
Rix nodded and looked through his field glasses. “Looks like the enemy have brought up a bigger bombast-hurler this time. That could cause us some grief.” He turned away. “Keep me informed.”
“You going already, Lord Deadhand?”
“Orders to write, messages to send, allies to call upon, scouts and spies to send out. It never stops, Sergeant.”
CHAPTER 63
“No one knows who tried to kill Tobry,” said Holm, late that night. “It could have been anyone. And they’ll try again.”
Tali, Rix, Tobry and Holm were in Holm’s small room. It had formerly been the sitting room of one of the great dame’s ladies and none of the decorations had been changed. The curtains and pillows were festooned with ribbons, the chair covers embroidered in intricate detail, while every surface was covered in crocheted doilies and little china animals. But at least it had a fire.
Tali’s stomach cramped. She went to the small window but found no solace there. Outside, the snowy dark was lit by red or white bombast blasts. The enemy had not yet attacked, but their bombasts and grenadoes had already smashed the gates in and were steadily eroding the basalt wall behind it. It was unlikely to last another day.
She turned back to the sombre group. “Can I see it?”
Holm removed a doily draped over an upturned glass resting on a saucer. Inside the glass, a small yellow scorpion struck at the inside wall with its stinger.
Tali shivered. “And it’s deadly, you say?”
“It’s got enough venom to kill ten people,” said Holm. “Slowly and agonisingly.”
“How do you know it was a murder attempt?”
“They don’t live round here. Too cold. Only place I’ve seen them is Bleddimire, and that’s four hundred miles away.”
“It was hidden under the seat of the jakes I use, down near the black hole,” said Tobry.
“It could have been intended for anyone,” said Tali, trying desperately to deny what was all too obvious. “Why do you think it was for you?”
“No one else has used that jakes since I came to Garramide,” Tobry said quietly. “They’d sooner die than do their business where a filthy shifter does his. I’m going up to practise my magery.”
“You’re always practising.”
“But I’m not getting any better.”
“Why not?”
“Because magery gets weaker every day.” He went out.
Tali sat in silence for a few minutes, staring into the fire, then said, “Holm?”, in what she imagined to be a cajoling tone.
“No, Tali.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I’ve got a fair idea. I can read it in those innocent blue eyes of yours.”
“What, then?”
“If there is a way to heal Tobry, no one knows it.”
“I have to try.”
“He won’t allow it.”
“Stupid man!”
“He’s trying to protect you.”