His men, ten strong in the room now, moved in on one Garangipore man at a time, culling their victims out like daks, for the slaughter. With fifteen Landsmen there, it might have been possible to act as a group and swarm their captors.
No one tried it.
It’s as if they’re waiting their turn, Abel thought.
You will see the highest and lowest of men in war, Raj said. But these are in a state of shock, completely disoriented. Perhaps they are not to be blamed for being such grazers.
I blame them, Abel thought savagely.
Raj laughed in his low growl. Oh, so do I, lad. At least a little.
And then he was back in the courtyard, staring down at a drunken Edgar Jacobson.
“These others,” he said. “Who are you?”
“These are the Cremoy boys,” Jacobson said. “Twins, you know. They like to share. Everything, if you know what I mean.” He cupped a hand around his mouth as if he were spilling a secret. “At the same time.”
“Why are you alive?” Abel said to them.
“We had to get out of Garangipore. They were coming!” one of them replied drunkenly. “A few of us First Family boys, the ones who had donts ready and could ride, well, we left as fast as we could. Got out of there. Let me tell you, it was just in time, too. We saw half the place burning behind us. You tell him, Edgar.”
Edgar shook his head. “I think he means more recently, Tab.”
“Oh,” replied the Cremoy who’d been speaking. “Recently. Like just now?”
Abel nodded.
“Well, we were out hunting,” the man continued. “Had that other pistol of Eloise’s. We saw them ride in. Hid out in the flax.”
“And the women?”
“Oh, they’re in there,” Jacobson said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the entrance door. “We left them locked up, where they were put, you know. Safe. Left them there for their own safety.” He smiled and winked, or at least attempted a wink. It looked more like he was attempting to work a bit of dust out of one eye. “And ours.”
“More like to give you time to loot the place and drink the wine,” Maday exclaimed. He lowered his rifle, spit out a stream of nesh juice from the wad he’d been chewing. He pointed the rifle at Jacobson. “Give me the pleasure to put this one out of my misery, Captain Dashian,” he said.
That would be convenient, Abel thought.
Jacobson looked up. “Oh, it’s you, Dashian. I didn’t recognize you. You’re as dark as a Delta man.”
“Gunpowder residue,” Abel replied. He turned to Kruso. “What do you think?”
“Eastways by northern run tha,” Kruso said. “Nah good.”
“They’ll hit the Canal levee and find it easy going from there,” Abel said. “We’ll have to catch them.”
A look of incredulity came over Jacobson’s face. “Dashian, we require an escort back to safety,” he said. He forced himself to sit up straighter. “You will see to a First Family before you go chasing Redlanders.”
“You’re entirely correct,” Abel said. “But we are woefully underequipped to protect you and might prove a danger instead, drawing fire your way. Your escort will be along shortly.”
He began to turn when Jacobson reached up and grabbed his left arm. His own hand tightened around the dagger hilt.
It would be so easy. And so easy to justify.
Instead he let go of the knife and deliberately raised his rifle and pointed it into Jacobson’s chin.
“Let go, citizen,” Abel said in a low, but strong, growl.
“You’ll pay for this, Dashian,” Jacobson said. “I won’t forget that you abandoned us. These men are First Family, too.”
“I don’t suppose you heard that the Militia had been called up?” Abel said. “You weren’t sitting out the action, now, were you?”
“You can’t be seriously holding that against us. If we hadn’t escaped, we’d be dead. You know that,” Jacobson said. “Do you still not realize who I am?” But Abel felt the man’s grip loosening on his sleeve.
Abel pulled his arm away and lowered his rifle.
“Your niece, Loreilei, how is she these days? Have you heard news from Lilleheim?”
Jacobson looked blank for a moment, then he smiled. “Yes, the one you claim to have saved.”
“Claim?”
“Or found wandering about in the Redlands,” he continued. “Something like that?”
“I asked how she was.”
“The child seems…the worse for wear,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Abel said. “Now quickly, do you have any weapons?”
“Guns? That would nishterlaub.”
“Do you have any guns?”
“The Cremoys still have…that pistol, I believe.” He glanced toward the others.
“And buck and ball?”
“I shot it all up hunting, but we found some inside,” said one of the brothers. “We could reload.”
“I suggest you do so,” Abel said. “There’s no telling who you might run into out here next.”
Without another word, he stalked past the three drunken men and entered the tavern. In the back was a closed wooden door. The key, of wood, had been inserted, the lock turned, and then the key broken off.
It took three of them to break down the door. When they did, the women flowed out. All were cut, some disfigured grotesquely. Others had gotten off more lightly, but all would live scarred from this day forth.
They gathered around Eloise, who walked stiffly out and looked at Abel, up at him, for she was a small woman. “You should have come sooner,” she said.
“I apologize,” Abel said. “Please try to forgive us.”
“Forgive?” said Eloise. For a moment, a look of rage passed over her ravaged features. But then she seemed to get a grip on herself, or at least her outward expression. “Yes, all right.”
“The men who left you locked in there are out on the veranda,” he said. “What do you want me to do with them?”
Eloise shook her head. Blood dripped onto her already bloody collar when she did so. She glanced over into the corner. There lay the pile of men’s bodies, thrown like so much stovewood, against the wall. A puddle of blood encircled the sight, and here and there a splayed arm or leg poked out of the mound, dripping blood into the general puddle. Eloise considered this sight for a long moment, and Abel patiently stood waiting for her answer.
“Better leave them there,” she finally said. “Looks like I need to hang on to what’s left of my paying customers.”
Outside, Jacobson stared at him as he walked past. Abel paused.
“You saw that in there?” he said.
Jacobson said nothing. He looked up balefully at Abel.
“What was I supposed to do?” he said. “They were already dead.”
“Yes,” Abel said. “The women are not dead, though, not most of them. They may want a word with you.”
Abel took his own pistol from its place tucked in his belt. “I’ll want this back,” he said. He turned it, butt first, and held it out toward Jacobson.
After a moment’s consideration, Jacobson reached up and took the pistol. He held it in his hand as if it were a poison animal, but he kept it nonetheless. “Thank you, Dashian,” he said.
“You are First Family,” Abel answered with a shrug. And you are her husband, the woman’s. Which means Mahaut’s status, her position in the Land, is attached to you, depends on you. For now. “Besides, those women in there may decide to kill you yet.”
He turned to Kruso, who was looking at him incredulously. He shrugged. “Let’s get after them.” He pulled on the reins and kicked his dont into motion. Within seconds they were galloping away across the levee. Abel couldn’t help but feel the odd certainty that the muzzle of his own pistol was pointed at his back. It was only when he knew he was out of its range that the feeling began to fade.