A crowd surrounded Corbie's place. "Bad news travels fast," Case said. "Sir."
"Doesn't it? Make a hole here, men. Coming through." He paused inside. "He always this tidy?"
"Yes, sir. He was obsessive about order and doing things by the numbers."
"I wondered. He stretched the rules a bit with his night walks."
Case gnawed his lip and wondered if he ought to give the Colonel Corbie's message. He decided it was not yet time.
"Upstairs?" the Colonel asked one of the men who had found Corbie.
"Yes, sir."
Case was up the stairs already. He spied Corbie's oilskin packet, without thinking started to slide it inside his jacket.
"Son."
Case turned. Sweet stood in the doorway, frowning.
"What are you doing?"
The Colonel was the most intimidating figure Case could imagine. More so than his father, who had been a harsh and exacting man. He did not know how to respond. He stood there shaking.
The Colonel extended a hand. Case handed the packet over. "What were you doing, son?"
"Uh… Sir… One day…"
"Well?" Sweet examined Corbie without touching him. "Well? Out with it."
"He asked me to deliver a letter for him if anything happened to him. Like he thought his time was running out.
He said it would be in an oilskin packet. On account of the rain and everything. Sir."
"I see." The Colonel slipped fingers under Corbie's chin, lifted. He returned the packet to the table, peeled back one of Corbie's eyelids. The pupil revealed was a pinprick. "Hmm." He felt Corbie's forehead. "Hmm." He flicked several reflex points with his finger or fist. Corbie did not respond. "Curious. Doesn't look like a stroke."
"What else could it be, sir?"
Colonel Sweet straightened. "Maybe you'd know better than I."
"Sir?"
"You say Corbie expected something."
"Not exactly. He was afraid something would happen. Talked like he was getting old and his time was running out. Maybe he had something wrong he never told nobody about."
"Maybe. Ah. Holts." The horse doctor had arrived. He followed the course the Colonel had, straightened, shrugged.
"Beyond me, Colonel."
"We'd better move him where we can keep an eye on him. Your job, son," he told Case. "If he doesn't come out of it soon, we'll have to force-feed him." He poked around the room, checked the titles of the dozen or so books. "A learned man, Corbie. I thought so. A study in contrasts. I've often wondered what he really was."
Case was nervous for Corbie now. "Sir, I think that way back he was somebody in one of the Jewel Cities, but his luck turned and he joined the army."
"We'll talk about it after we move him. Come along."
Case followed. The Colonel seemed very thoughtful. Maybe he should give him Corbie's message.
Chapter Twenty-Six: ON THE ROAD
After three days during which Tracker and I returned to our landing place, loaded the wagon, then headed north on the Salient Road, I began to wonder if I had not erred. Still no Goblin or One-Eye.
I need not have been concerned. They caught up near Meystrikt, a fortress in the Salient the Company once held on behalf of the Lady. We were off the road, in some woods, getting ready for supper. We heard a ruckus on the road.
A voice undeniably Goblin's shouted, "And I insist it's your fault, you maggot-lipped excuse for fish bait. I'd turn your brain into pudding for getting me into it if you had one."
"My fault. My fault. Gods! He even lies to himself. I had to talk him into his own idea? Look there, guano breath. Meystrikt is around that hill. They'll remember us even better than they did in Roses. Now I'm going to ask you once. How do we get through without getting our throats cut?"
After an initial relief I halted my rush toward the road. I told Tracker, "They're riding. Where do you suppose they got horses?" I tried finding a bright side. "Maybe they got into a game and got away with cheating. If One-Eye let Goblin do it." One-Eye is as inept at cheating as at games of chance themselves. There are times I think he has a positive death wish.
"You and your damned amulet," Goblin squeaked. "The Lady can't find him. That's great. But neither can we."
"My amulet? My amulet? Who the hell gave it to him in the first place?"
"Who designed the spell that's on it now?"
"Who cast it? Tell me that, toad face. Tell me that."
I moved to the edge of the woods. They had passed already. Tracker joined me. Even Toadkiller Dog came to watch.
"Freeze. Rebel!" I shouted. "First one moves is dead meat."
Stupid, Croaker. Real stupid. Their response was swift and gaudy. It damned near killed me.
They vanished in shining clouds. Around Tracker and me insects erupted. More kinds of bugs than I imagined existed, every one interested only in having me for supper.
Toadkiller Dog snarled and snapped.
"Knock it off, you clowns," I yelled. "It's me. Croaker."
"Who's Croaker?" One-Eye asked Goblin. "You know anybody named Croaker?"
"Yeah. But I don't think we ought to stop," Goblin replied, after sticking his head out of the shining to check. "He deserves it."
"Sure," One-Eye agreed. "But Tracker is innocent. I can't fine-tune it enough to get just Croaker."
The bugs returned to routine bug business. Eating each other, I guess. I constrained my anger and greeted One-Eye and Goblin, both of whom had donned expressions of innocence and contrition. "What you got to say for yourselves, guys? Nice horses. Think the people they belong to will come looking for them?"
"Wait up," Goblin squawked. "Don't go accusing us of..."
"I know you guys. Get down off those animals and come eat. We'll decide what to do with them tomorrow."
I turned my back on them. Tracker had returned to our cook fire already. He dished up supper. I went to work on it, my temper still frayed. Stupid move, stealing horses. What with the uproar they had caused already… The Lady has agents everywhere. We may not be enemies of the grand sort, but we are what she has. Someone was bound to conclude that the Black Company was back in the north.
I fell asleep contemplating turning back. The least likely direction for hunters to look would be on the route to the Plain of Fear. But I could not give the order. Too much depended on us. Though now my earlier optimism stood in serious jeopardy.
Damned irresponsible clowns.
Way back down the line the Captain, who perished at Juniper, must have felt the same. We all gave him cause.
I braced for a golden dream. I slept restlessly. No dream came. Next morning I packed Goblin and One-Eye into the wagon, beneath all the clutter we deemed necessary for our expedition, abandoned the horses, and took the wagon past Meystrikt. Toadkiller Dog ran point. Tracker strolled along beside. I drove. Under the tucker, Goblin and One-Eye sputtered and grumbled. The garrison at the fort merely asked where we were bound, in such a bored manner I knew they did not care.
These lands had been tamed since last I passed through. This garrison could not conceive of trouble lifting its naughty head.
Relieved, I turned up the road that led to Elm and Oar. And to the Great Forest beyond.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: OAR
"Don't this weather ever let up?" One-Eye whined. For a week we had slogged northward, had been victimized by daily showers. The roads were bad and promised to get worse. Practicing my Forsbergeron wayside farmers, I learned that this weather had been common for years. It made getting crops to town difficult and, worse, left the grains at risk from disease. There had been an outbreak of the firedance in Oar already, a malady traceable to infected rye. There were a lot of insects, too. Especially mosquitos.