Tully stomped out a minute later. "All right. I'm here. What's so goddamned important? Where's Fish and Timmy?"
"Fish had something to do." Smeds thought he knew what. "He'll catch up. Timmy's dead. We're going to bury him."
Tully looked at him blankly, not watching where he walked. "You're shitting me."
"No, I'm not." Smeds told it in driblets, when no one could overhear. There were a lot of people in the street, moving restlessly, aimlessly. There was tension in the air. Smeds figured the grays wouldn't be able to keep the lid on much longer. A little more patience, a little more care, and they would have weathered the siege.
Wherever they went, wherever there were no grays, people whispered about the white roses, fed the rumor that the White Rose herself had come to Oar and was just awaiting the right portents to start the insurrection.
The grays had spies everywhere, Smeds knew. Spidersilk and Gossamer would have heard of the whispers within an hour of their first muttering. They would have to act, absurd as the rumors might be. Else someone would see something as a sign and would raise the torch of rebellion. There was another whisper, more sinister, running beneath the foolish hope of an adventure by the White Rose. This one was harder to catch because the rumor mongers were much more cautious in retailing it.
The twins, this fable insisted, had begun to feel pressed for time. They were getting set for mass executions in which they would slaughter the men of Oar till someone bought his life by surrendering the silver spike.
There was no mystery at all now about what was happening to Oar. Everyone knew about the silver spike. The knowledge seemed to signal the opening measure of a long, dark opera of dread.
Tully fussed and worried about the impending massacre till they neared the fire-gutted section where the bodies lay. Then he shifted the focus of his whine. "I ain't going in there, Smeds. They're dead, let them lay."
"The hell you're not. This whole mess came jumping out of your pointy head. You're going to hang in and help the rest of us do whatever it takes to get through it alive. Or I'll break your head personally."
Tully sneered. "Shit."
"Maybe not. But you goddamned well better believe I'll give it my best shot. Move."
Tully moved, startled by his intensity.
Fish caught up a minute later. He exchanged glances with Smeds, said, "There isn't anybody behind us. Slow down while I scout ahead." He went. Two minutes later he signaled all clear and Smeds slipped into the killing place.
The smell of death was in the air already, though not yet strong. Fish growled outside. Tully responded with a snarl but clumped inside. Smeds eased down the cellar stairs and was surprised to find the death room still illuminated by the stubs of some of the candles that had been burning before.
Nothing had changed except that the corpses had stiffened and relaxed again and a roaring swarm of flies had gathered, working their eyes, nostrils, mouths, and wounds.
Tully said, "Oh, shit!" and dumped whatever was in his stomach.
"I've seen worse," Fish said from the doorway. "And there's just a bare chance this scene here could get worse. Sit down in the chair, Tully."
"What?"
"Sit down. Before we get to work we have to have a talk about who got into the money Timmy kept in his bedroll."
Tully started, went pale, tried bluster. "What the shit you trying to pull, Fish?"
Smeds said, "Sit your ass down, Tully. Then tell us how come you got to be stealing from Timmy and mooching from me when you just made the biggest hit of your life."
"What the hell are you… ?"
Fish popped him in the brisket, pushed him into the chair. "This here is serious business, Tully. Real serious. Maybe you don't realize. Maybe you haven't been paying attention to what's going on. Look around. Come on. That's the boy. See this? This was our pal Timmy Locan. Just a sweet happy kid you conned into thinking he could get rich. These other guys did this to him. And they were gentle as virgins compared to some of the people who are after us. Look at them, Tully. Then tell us how you've been dicking up, being too damned stupid to be scared, too damned dumb to sit tight and wait the storm out."
Malevolent rage filled Tully's eyes. He looked like he was thinking about getting stubborn where stubborn was pointless.
Smeds said, "You're a screw-up, cousin. You had one damned good idea in your whole damned life and as soon as we get to work on it you got to go and try to mess it up for all of us. Come on. What did you do? Are we all in a hole?"
A flicker of cunning, quickly hidden. "I just made a couple bad bets is all."
"A couple? And you lost so much you had to go stealing from Timmy?"
Tully put on his stubborn face. Fish slapped it for him. "Gambling. You dipshit. Probably with somebody who knew you from before and knew you didn't have a pot to piss in. Tell us about it."
The words came tumbling out and they did not disappoint Smeds's suspicions in the least. Tully told an idiot's tale of bad bets made and redoubled bets laid then doubled again and lost again till, suddenly, here was Tully Stahl not only broke but behind a stack of markers that added up to a bundle and the boys holding them were not the sort to laugh it off if he reneged. So he'd had no choice. Anyway, he would have paid Timmy back out of his share as soon as they'd sold the spike, so…
Fish cut him off before he started justifying his idiot behavior. Smeds knew it was coming. And knew if Tully went at it he would turn the whole thing around so it was all their fault. He asked, "How much you still owe, Tully?"
That hint of cunning again. Tully knew they were going to bail him out.
"The truth," Fish snapped. "We're going to cover you, yeah. But one of us is going to be there to see you pay off. And then you're not getting a copper more. And you're going to pay back every bit, with interest."
"You can't treat me like this."
"You don't want to get treated like an asshole don't act like an asshole."
Smeds said, "You act like a spoiled brat…"
Fish continued, "You'll get treated a lot worse if you screw up again. Come on. Let's get to work."
Tully shrank from the menace in Fish's voice. He turned to Smeds in appeal. Smeds told him, "I'm not getting killed because you can't understand why you have to act responsible. Grab Timmy's legs and help me carry him upstairs. And think about the condition he's in next time you get a wild hair and go to thinking about doing something. Like anything."
Tully looked down at Timmy. "I can't."
"Yes you can. Just think about what if somebody else was to find him and figure out who he was and who he hung around with. Grab hold."
They moved the bodies upstairs, then waited for nightfall. Fish knew a place not far away that would be perfect, some low ground that turned marshy when it rained and bred diseases. The imperial engineers were using it for a landfill. One day the bodies would lie fifty feet below new streets.
They took Timmy out first, of course. He represented the greatest peril. The man who had been questioning Timmy went next, then the thugs, with the little one going last. Tully and Smeds did the carrying while Fish floated around watching for the grays or an accidental witness.
It went beautifully. Till the last one.
"Somebody coming," Fish breathed. "Move it. I'll distract them if they spot us."
XLIX
Toadkiller Dog was amused by his companions in misfortune, so eager to spend themselves in the digging yet so loath to do what had to be done to ensure their strength. After four days of increasing hunger he killed the weakest. He fed, and left the remains to the others. It did not take them long to overcome their reservations and revulsion. And that quickened their determination. None wanted to be next on the menu.