The Minstrel Boy sighed. His thin, pale face, framed by the mass of curly black hair, looked tired and ravaged.
‘I would have thought it was obvious. They’re just playing with us. They’re using dive bombers and H.E. bombs. It’s a cat and mouse game. If they really wanted to level the city, they’ve got at least two divisions of shock troops armed with fuse tubes who could take the whole place out in less than an hour.’
Billy scowled.
‘You could be right.’
‘I’m usually right.’
‘What I want to know is why? Who are these people? What do they want to attack the city for? There ain’t nothing worth having.’
The Minstrel Boy poured the last of the gin gourd into his mug. He was three parts drunk and felt prepared to accept anything.
‘Who knows? There’s always someone who wants to have a war.’
Carmen the Whore, who was sitting at the same table with them, snorted loudly.
‘What I want to know is why can’t the nobles and the guild get their shit in gear to surrender?’
The Minstrel Boy lit a small, black cigar and inhaled deeply.
‘How should I know? You’re in a guild. Why can’t the hookers push it through?’
Carmen grimaced.
‘Don’t make me laugh. The hookers got a guild because in this city everyone from beggars to surgeons got a guild. It don’t mean we got a voice on the council. You got to have mucho credits for that.’
Billy gave a wry smile.
‘You gotta have a few credits, Carmen baby.’
‘Bullshit!’
Carmen’s usual blowsy, dumb-blonde bonhomie was getting threadbare from the bombing.
‘You need more than we got to make a noise on the council.’
Olad the Siderian fingered the carved butt of his long barrelled .68 spiral magnum. He was a freebooting mercenary who made up the four at the table. He wore the usual rover’s leather breeches, a tunic decorated with brass studs, and heavy bracelets round his wrists. His powerful arms were covered in tattoos, and his head was shaved. An old scar ran down one side of his face, partly covered by his full beard.
‘I wish I could face them. I’d show them how a man fights.’
Like most of the inner fringe rovers, he was overly concerned about his courage and manhood. The Minstrel Boy’s lip curled.
‘Yeah?’
‘Sure, if they’d come out and fight like men.’
The Minstrel Boy grinned crookedly.
‘I’ll lay odds that as soon as they enter the city, you’ll be worming your way out like the rest of us.’
‘I’ll die like a man.’
‘Why?’
‘Huh?’
The Minstrel Boy brushed ash from his black velvet frock coat.
‘I said why will you die fighting?’
Olad puffed out his barrel chest.
‘A man’s got to do …’
The Minstrel Boy nodded.
‘What a man’s got to do. Yeah, I heard it. That ain’t no reason. I mean, it ain’t your city.’
Olad ran a hand across his shaved head.
‘That’s true,’
He grinned and snapped the clay neck of a fresh gin gourd.
‘I tell you one thing, we still got booze. That can’t be bad.’
In fact, the Court of Angels, the square where the gin house was situated, not only had booze, but functioned very much as normal. The Court of Angels was the centre of Feld’s criminal underworld. It lay where a number of narrow twisting streets converged between the ducal palace and the north wall of the city. It was a run-down, dirty, bustling area, crowded with brothels, gin houses and gambling dens. It provided sanctuary for the brigands, whores, pickpockets, gamblers and drifters who passed through the city. There would be the occasional raid from the pikemen of the Watch. A few thieves would be dragged away summarily to lose their right hands, and some prostitutes would find themselves on the bad end of a flogging. The real authority in the Court of Angels was the robbers’ guild. They protected the bordellos and the gin houses, regulated the level of crime in the city, ran off maverick, independent operators and took a cut from everything that went on. There were smaller guilds for the whores, pickpockets and beggars, but it was the robbers’ guild that wielded the power.
The system had been in operation almost since the foundation of Feld. It had history and tradition, and ensured an amicable coexistence between the burghers and the villains of the city.
When the vast army had appeared out of the nothings, with its advanced weapons and horde of black clad, highly trained shock troops, the system had still held together. When the dive bombers had dropped like hawks on the city, the nobility had retired to the inner sanctums of stone palaces, and the merchants had retreated to the cellars of their comfortable thatched houses. In the Court of Angels there was nowhere to hide. By necessity life went on almost as normal. The whores weren’t overworked, and it was a slow time for robbery, but the taverns found themselves packed as the inhabitants of the Court found there was no escape except to get drunk.
Heine, the blind beggar, walked into the gin house, removed the rag that covered his eyes while he plied his trade, and looked anxiously round. Carmen the Whore beckoned to him.
‘What’s new, Heine?’
‘It’s terrible, terrible.’
Olad looked up.
‘What’s terrible?’
Heine shook his head.
‘The shame of it.’
Olad grabbed him by the arm.
‘The shame of what?’
‘I can hardly bring myself to speak of it.’
Olad started to twist Heine’s arm.
‘You’d better speak of it, or I’ll break your scrawny arm.’
‘Alright, alright. I’ll tell you, just let me go.’
Olad released him.
‘Well?’
‘I was on the wall watching the invaders.’
Olad guffawed.
‘I thought you were blind.’
Heine looked at him contemptuously.
‘Don’t be so dumb.’
Olad scowled.
‘Get on with it.’
‘Alright, alright! I was on the wall and the Duke’s cavalry moved out against the enemy. The Duke’s own guard. We’ve seen them so often, riding through the city on their white horses with the plumes tossing and their breastplates shining.’
Olad belched.
‘Cut the fancy talk, get on with it.’
Heine shot him a vicious look.
‘They moved out against the enemy. It was a splendid sight. They started at a walk. Then they broke into a trot, and finally into a full charge. It was a magnificent sight for as long as it lasted, I can tell you.’
The Minstrel Boy’s lip curled.
‘I didn’t realize that you were such a patriot.’
Heine pulled a hostile face.
‘I may be just a beggar, but I’m a loyal subject of the Duke.’
Olad glared menacingly at him.
‘Sure, sure. What happened next?’
Heine shook his head from side to side as though trying to shut out the memory.
‘It was horrible. They were all cut down. A few of them reached the first line of armoured ground cars. They just rode around until they were killed, as though they didn’t know what to do. The enemy didn’t suffer any casualties at all.’
The Minstrel Boy grunted.
‘What do they expect if they throw cavalry at armour and fuse tubes?’
Heine shot him a poisonous look.
‘It was a valiant charge.’
‘It was stupid.’
‘What else could we do? We don’t have weapons like the enemy. We don’t have ground cars or flying machines or those terrible light guns. Why can’t the enemy fight like men with cavalry and pikes?’
The Minstrel Boy began to look bored,
‘Because they’re smart.’
‘It’s not fair.’
‘It’s war.’
‘What else can we do?’
‘Surrender.’