“Uhn. One-Eye, I want Rebel names. Lots of names.”
“Yes sir, boss, sir.” One-Eye produced an exaggerated salute. It became an obscene gesture when Elmo turned away.
“Push those planks together, Doughbelly,” I suggested. “Your deal, One-Eye.”
He did not respond. He did not bitch or gripe or threaten to turn me into a newt. He just stood there, numb as death, eye barely cracked.
“Elmo!”
Elmo got in front of him and stared from six inches away. He snapped his fingers under One-Eye’s nose. One-Eye did not respond. “What do you think, Croaker?”
“Something is happening at that whorehouse,”
One-Eye did not move a muscle for ten minutes. Then the eye opened, unglazed, and he relaxed like a wet rag. Elmo demanded, “What the hell happened?”
“Give him a minute, will you?” I snapped.
One-Eye collected himself. “The Rebel got Zouad, but not before he contacted the Limper.”
“Uhm?”
“The spook is coming to help him.”
Elmo turned a pale shade of grey. “Here? To Oar?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, shit.”
Indeed. The Limper was the nastiest of the Taken. “Think fast, Elmo. He’ll trace our part in it... Cornie is the cutout link.”
“One-Eye, you find that old shit. Whitey. Still. Pokey. Got a job for you.” He gave instructions. Pokey grinned and stroked his dagger. Bloodthirsty bastard.
I cannot adequately portray the unease One-Eye’s news generated. We knew the Limper only through stories, but those stories were always grim. We were scared. Soul-catcher’s patronage was no real protection against another of the Taken.
Elmo punched me. “He’s doing it again.”
Sure enough. One-Eye was stiff. But this time he went beyond rigidity. He toppled, began thrashing and foaming at the mouth.
“Hold him!” I ordered. “Elmo, give me that baton of yours.” A half dozen men piled on One-Eye. Small though he was, he gave them a ride.
“What for?” Elmo asked.
“I’ll put it in his mouth so he doesn’t chew his tongue.” One-Eye matte the weirdest sounds I’ve ever heard, and I have heard plenty on battlefields. Wounded men make noises you would swear could not come from a human throat.
The seizure lasted only seconds. After one final, violent surge, One-Eye lapsed into a peaceful slumber.
“Okay, Croaker. What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. The falling sickness?”
“Give him some of his own soup,” somebody suggested. “Serve him right.” A tin cup appeared. We forced its contents down his throat.
His eye clicked open. “What are you trying to do? Poison me? Feh! What was that? Boiled sewage?”
“Your soup,” I told him.
Elmo jumped in. “What happened?”
One-Eye spat. He grabbed a nearby wineskin, sucked a mouthful, gargled, spat again. “Soulcatcher happened, that’s what. Whew! I feel for Goblin now.”
My heart started skipping every third beat. A nest of hornets swarmed in my gut. First the Limper, now Soulcatcher.
“So what did the spook want?” Elmo demanded. He was nervous too. He is not usually impatient.
“He wanted to know what the hell is going on. He heard the Limper was all excited. He checked with Goblin. All Goblin knew was that we headed here. So he climbed into my head.”
“And was amazed at all the wide open space. Now he knows everything you know, eh?”
“Yes.” Obviously, One-Eye did not like the idea.
Elmo waited several seconds. “Well?”
“Well what?” One-Eye covered his grin by pulling on the wineskin.
“Dammit, what did he say?”
One-Eye chuckled. “He approves of what we’re doing. But he thinks we’re showing all the finesse of a bull in rut. So we’re getting a little help.”
“What kind of help?” Elmo sounded like he knew things were out of control, but could not see where.
“He’s sending somebody.”
Elmo relaxed. So did I. As long as the spook himself stayed away. “How soon?” I wondered aloud.
“Maybe sooner than we’d like,” Elmo muttered. “Lay off the wine, One-Eye. You still got to watch Zouad.”
One-Eye grumbled. He went into that semi-trance that means he is looking around somewhere else. He was gone a long time.
“So!” Elmo growled when One-Eye came out of it. He kept looking around like he expected Soulcatcher to pop out of thin air.
“So take it easy. They’ve got him tucked away in a secret sub-basement about a mile south of here.”
Elmo was as restless as a little boy with a desperate need to pee. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked.
“A bad feeling. Just a bad, bad feeling, Croaker.” His roving gaze came to rest. His eyes got big. “I was right. Oh, damn, I was right.”
It looked as tall as a house and half as wide. It wore scarlet bleached by time, moth-eaten, and tattered. It came up the street in a sort of shamble, now fast, now slow. Wild, stringy grey hair tangled around its head. Its bramble patch of a beard was so thick and matted with filth that its face was all but invisible. One pallid, liver-spotted hand clutched a pole of a staff that was a thing of beauty defiled by its bearer’s touch. It was an immensely elongated female body, perfect in every detail.
Someone whispered, “They say that was a real woman back during the Domination. They say she cheated on him.”
You could not blame the woman. Not if you gave Shifter a good look.
Shapeshifter is Soulcatcher’s closest ally among the Ten Who Were Taken. His enmity for the Limper is more virulent than our patron’s. The Limper was the third corner in the triangle explaining Shifter’s staff.
He stopped a few feet away. His eyes burned with an insane fire that made them impossible to meet. I cannot recall what color they were. Chronologically, he was the first great wizard-king seduced, suborned, and enslaved by the Dominator and his Lady.
Shaking, One-Eye stepped out front. “I’m the wizard,” he said.
“Catcher told me.” Shifter’s voice was resonant and deep and big for even a man of his size, “Developments?”
“I’ve traced Zouad. Nothing else.”
Shifter scanned us again. Some folks were doing a fade. He smiled behind his facial brush.
Down at the bend in the street civilians were gathering to gape. Oar had not yet seen any of the Lady’s champions. This was the city’s lucky day. Two of the maddest were in town.
Shifter’s gaze touched me. For an instant I felt his cold contempt. I was a sour stench in his nostrils.
He found what he was looking for. Raven. He moved forward. We dodged the way small males duck the dominant baboon at the zoo. He stared at Raven for several minutes, then his vast shoulders hunched in a shrug. He placed the toes of his staff on Raven’s chest.
I gasped. Raven’s color improved dramatically. He stopped sweating. His features relaxed as the pain faded. His wounds formed angry red scar tissue which faded to the white of old scars in minutes. We gathered in a tighter and tighter circle, awed by the show.
Pokey came trotting up the street. “Hey, Elmo. We did it. What’s going on?” He got a look at Shifter, squeaked like a caught mouse.
Elmo had himself together again. “Where’s Whitey and Still?”
“Getting rid of the body.”
“Body?” Shifter asked. Elmo explained. Shifter grunted. “This Cornie will become the basis of our plan. You” He speared One-Eye with a sausage-sized finger. “Where are those men?”
Predictably, One-Eye located them in a tavern. “You.” Shifter indicated Pokey. “Tell them to bring the body back here.”
Pokey got grey around the edges. You could see the protests piling up inside him. But he nodded, gulped some air, and trotted off. Nobody argues with tile Taken.
I checked Raven’s pulse. It was strong. He looked perfectly healthy. As diffidently as I could, I asked, “Could you do that for the others? While we’re waiting?”
He gave me a look I thought would curdle my blood. But he did it.