“Tear diamonds sparkling, eh?” One-Eye said. “I like that. Figure she’s pining for you, Croaker?”
“Knock it off. I don’t make fun of your games.”
The Lieutenant entered, seated himself, regarded us with a black scowl. Lately his mission in life has been to disapprove.
His advent meant the Captain was on his way. Elmo folded his hand, composed himself.
The place fell silent. Men appeared as if by magic. “Bar the damned door!” One-Eye muttered. “They keep stumbling in like this, I’ll freeze my ass off. Play the hand out, Elmo.”
The Captain came in, took his usual seat. “Let’s hear it, Sergeant.”
The Captain is not one of our more colorful characters. Too quiet. Too serious.
Elmo laid his cards down, tapped their edges into alignment, ordered his thoughts. He can become obsessed with brevity and precision.
“Sergeant?”
“Silent spotted a picket line south of the farm, Captain. We circled north. Attacked after sunset. They tried to scatter. Silent distracted Raker while we handled the others. Thirty men. We got twenty-three. We yelled a lot about not letting our spy get hurt. We missed Raker.”
Sneaky makes this outfit work. We want the Rebel to believe his ranks are shot with informers. That hamstrings his communications and decision-making, and makes life less chancy for Silent, One-Eye, and Goblin.
The planted rumor. The small frame. The touch of bribery or blackmail. Those are the best weapons. We opt battle only when we have our opponents mousetrapped. At least ideally.
“You returned directly to the fortress?”
“Yes sir. After burning the farmhouse and outbuildings. Raker concealed his trail well.”
The Captain considered the smoke-darkened beams overhead. Only One-Eye’s snapping of his cards broke the silence. The Captain dropped his gaze. “Then, pray, why are you and Silent grinning like a pair of prize fools?”
One-Eye muttered, “Proud they came home empty-handed.”
Elmo grinned some more. “But we didn’t.”
Silent dug inside his filthy shirt, produced the small leather bag that always hangs on a thong around his neck. His trick bag. It is filled with noxious oddiments like putrefied bat’s ears or elixir of nightmare. This time he produced a folded piece of paper. He cast dramatic glances at One-Eye and Goblin, opened the packet fold by fold. Even the Captain left his seat, crowded the table.
“Behold!” said Elmo.
“Tain’t nothing but hair.” Heads shook. Throats grumbled. Somebody questioned Elmo’s grasp on reality.
But One-Eye and Goblin had three big coweyes between them. One-Eye chirruped inarticulately. Goblin squeaked a few times, but, then, Goblin always squeaks. “Is it really his?” he managed at last. “Really his?”
Elmo and Silent radiated the smugness of eminently successful conquistadors. “Absodamnlutely,” Elmo said. “Right off the top of his bean. We had that old man by the balls and he knew it. He was heeling and toeing it out of mere so fast he smacked his noggin on a doorframe. Saw it myself, and so did Silent. Left these on the beam. Whoo, that gaffer can step.”
And Goblin, an octave above his usual rusty hinge squall, dancing in his excitement, said, “Gents, we’ve got him. He’s as good as hanging on a meathook right now. The big one.” He meowed at One-Eye. “What do you think of mat, you sorry little spook?”
A herd of miniscule lightning bugs poured out of One-Eye’s nostrils. Good soldiers all, they fell into formation, spelling out the words Goblin is a Poof. Their little wings hummed the words for the benefit of the illiterate.
There is no truth to that canard. Goblin is thoroughly heterosexual. One-Eye was trying to start something.
Goblin made a gesture. A great shadow-figure, like Soulcatcher but tall enough to brush the ceiling beams, bent and skewered One-Eye with an accusing finger. A sourceless voice whispered, “It was you that corrupted the lad, sodder.”
One-Eye snorted, shook his head, shook his head and snorted. His eye glazed. Goblin giggled, stifled himself, giggled again. He spun away, danced a wild victory jig in front of the fireplace.
Our less intuitive brethen grumbled. A couple of hairs. With those and two bits silver you could get rolled by the village whores.
“Gentlemen!” The Captain understood.
The shadow-show ceased. The Captain considered h wizards. He thought. He paced. He nodded to himself Finally, he asked, “One-Eye. Are they enough?”
One-Eye chuckled, an astonishingly deep sound for s small a man. “One hair, sir, or one nail paring, is enough Sir, we have him.”
Goblin continued his weird dance. Silent kept grinning Raving lunatics, the lot of them.
The Captain thought some more. “We can’t handle this ourselves.” He circled the hall, his pacing portentous “We’ll have to bring in one of the Taken.”
One of the Taken. Naturally. Our three sorcerers are 0I most precious resource. They must be protected. But... Cold stole in and froze us into statues. One of the Lady’ shadow disciples... One of those dark lords here No...
“Not the Limper. He’s got a hard-on for us.”
“Shifter gives me the creeps.”
“Nightcrawler is worse.”
“How the hell do you know? You never seen him.”
One-Eye said, “We can handle it, Captain.”
“And Raker’s cousins would be on you like flies on horseapple.”
“Soulcatcher,” the Lieutenant suggested. “He is our patron, more or less.”
The suggestion carried. The Captain said, “Contact him One-Eye. Be ready to move when he gets here.”
One-Eye nodded, grinned. He was in love. Already tricky, nasty plots were afoot in his twisted mind.
It should have been Silent’s game, really. The Captain gave it to One-Eye because he cannot come to grips wit! Silent’s refusal to talk. That scares him for some reason.
Silent did not protest.
Some of our native servants are spies. We know who they are, thanks to One-Eye and Goblin. One, who knew nothing about the hair, was allowed to flee with the news that we were setting up an espionage headquarters in the free city Roses.
When you have the smaller battalions you learn guile.
Every ruler makes enemies. The Lady is no exception. The Sons of the White Rose are everywhere... If one chooses sides on emotion, then the Rebel is the guy to go with. He is Fighting for everything men claim to honor: freedom, independence, truth, the right... All the subjective illusions, all the eternal trigger-words. We are minions of the villain of the piece. We confess the illusion and deny the substance.
There are no self-proclaimed villains, only regiments of self-proclaimed saints. Victorious historians rule where good or evil lies.
We abjure labels. We fight for money and an indefinable pride. The politics, the ethics, the moralities, are irrelevant.
One-Eye had contacted Soulcatcher. He was coming. Goblin said the old spook howled with glee. He smelled a chance to raise his stock and scuttle that of the Limper. The Ten squabble and backbite worse than spoiled children.
Winter relaxed its siege briefly. The men and native staff began clearing Meystrikt’s courtyards. One of the natives disappeared. In the main hall, One-Eye and Silent looked smug over their cards. The Rebel was being told exactly what they wanted.
“What’s happening on the wall?” I asked. Elmo had rigged block and tackle and was working a crenel stone loose. “What’re you going to do with that block?”
“A little sculpture, Croaker. I’ve taken up a new hobby.”
“So don’t tell me. See if I care.”
“Take that attitude if you want. I was going to ask if you could go after Raker with us. So you could put it in the Annals right.”