Dark Jenny elm-3

by Alex Bledsoe

  He looked around at the small crowd of watchers. “Jameson, you and… yeah, you and Barker. Get on this wagon and go with this guy. Do what he says.” Ivy turned back to me. “Give the general my regards.”

  “I will,” I said. The irony threatened to choke me.

  Jameson and Barker hopped into the back with me. Both were lean, long-muscled types with numerous white and pink scars on their bare arms. Jameson wore a necklace of mismatched baubles taken after battles. If he lived long enough, he’d realize that it was far scarier not to have the need to display trophies. Barker had a blank, dim expression and his hair fell in his eyes. His fingers tapped constantly; either he had more energy than he needed, or he took something to keep him alert. His bangs kept me from seeing if his pupils were affected.

  The camp smells assailing me-sweat, mud, urine, burning meat, and metal-brought back memories I’d hoped to repress until my old age. And the worst part was, not all of them were unpleasant. When I saw two men laughing over their tankards as they sat beside a fire, I remembered the hours I’d spent doing the same thing, telling bullshit stories and calling bullshit on other people’s. After all, we’d faced death together, and even though it was just a job, it bonded us with shared experience. In the thick of battle the paid soldier took as many risks as the noble knights, and often more since we got bonuses based on results.

  There was a difference, though, and it was crucial: we fought to fight, the knights fought to win. If they defeated us, the war ended. If we defeated them, we’d just hire out for the next war somewhere else. How well they did depended on how desperately they wanted the victory, and that usually came down to leadership. How well we did depended simply on how much we needed our pay.

  There were the freaks on both sides, of course: men (and occasionally women) who enjoyed any excuse for killing. They were easy to spot, tough to stop, and ultimately did everyone a favor by attracting attention while the rest of us did our jobs. Their kills were usually less than you’d think, because after a while no one would engage them. They spent the latter part of the battle striding among corpses looking for someone to fight.

  Following the battles were the celebrations. We always had plenty to drink, and plenty of willing (or not) girls. There were boys for the ones who went that way as well. And unlike regular soldiers, we celebrated whether we won or lost.

  Without meaning to, I’d grown wistful and nostalgic over this period of my life. Which is why the universe had to balance things out by ensuring that I glanced to the side at just the right moment. “Stop,” I told Ollie.

  He did so without question. I hopped out of the wagon.

  “You need us?” Jameson asked.

  “No,” I said.

  Three crude tents circled a small fire, and weapons lay scattered about. The only person visible was a naked boy of about ten, who lay on his side. His wrists and ankles were tied to a stake. He looked up at me blankly, already numb from the horror he’d endured.

  Willing. Or not. Yeah.

  I drew my sword and cut the ropes. The boy slowly sat, his head down. “Get out of here,” I said. “Run toward the castle.”

  He rubbed his wrists and shook his head.

  I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upright. “Did you hear me? Get going!”

  “No,” he said hoarsely. “My mom’s in there.” He pointed to one of the tents.

  “LaCrosse,” Kay said warningly, over the blood thundering in my head. I ignored it and tossed the tent flap aside.

  There was a woman in the tent, at the moment its only occupant. She was naked as well and tied to the tent’s central pole. I cut her loose.

  She sat up and turned hateful, rage-filled eyes on me. “Where’s my son?” she hissed.

  “Outside. He wouldn’t leave without you.” I tossed her a blanket. “Go get him and run toward the castle. They’ll take you in.”

  “They’re the ones who did this,” she snarled as she pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “King Marcus gave them permission.”

  Aha. Now the destruction made sense. “Is that what they told you?”

  She nodded.

  I pulled her to her feet, more roughly than I probably should have. “The Knights of the Double Tarn are out there ready to defend the castle against these bastards. Think about that. Then take your son and run to them. Unless you like the way you’re being treated?”

  I thought for a moment she might spit on me, but instead she rushed out. Through the open flap I saw her grab the boy by the wrist and drag him behind her. She dropped the blanket for the sake of speed and ran toward what I sincerely hoped was rescue.

  As I stepped from the tent, its owner returned to camp. He saw me, then his captives fleeing in the distance. He was shorter and broader than me, like Agravaine but without the madness in his eyes. He was plenty pissed, though.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “That bitch was mine!”

  Without a word I drove my sword into his belly. I ripped it upward as I removed it. I returned the sword to its scabbard as I walked away and climbed onto the wagon seat without watching him fall.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Barker demanded.

  “Yeah, that was somebody’s prize,” Jameson added. “We get to keep whatever we-”

  I looked at them. Whatever they saw in my face silenced them. “Go,” I told Ollie. My nostalgia curdled in my belly.

  “And make it fast,” Kay said. He nodded toward several men riding down the hill toward us, led by Ivy. I suppose he’d checked me out.

  I grabbed the reins from Ollie and kicked him from the wagon. Kay drew his sword and put the tip at Jameson’s throat. Barker froze as well, too confused to make any move. I snapped the reins and shouted at the horses. We sprang forward and headed downhill at a full gallop. Ollie shouted curses after us.

  Now it was a simple race. Either we got through the mercenary camp and into the open, or we didn’t. After all the secrets and ambiguities, it was nice to have things be so simple for a change.

  I threw back my head and laughed.

  THIRTY

  I glanced back. Ivy and his men were also at a full gallop, gesturing for others to stop us. You’d have to be foolish to jump in front of a wide-open team going downhill, but fools in armor were common. And if one did try, the resulting collision would no doubt trip the horses and send us ass-over-teakettle across the grass.

  As we neared the bottom of the hill and the mercenary army’s indistinct front line, men with swords ran up to either side of the road. They lunged and swung wildly as we shot past. The blades clattered against the sides of the wagon and managed to cut one of the reins. I saw red slashes on the horses’ flanks as well and felt the wet spray of horse blood and sweat flying back at me.

  Then we were in the open. I looked back and saw Ivy and his friends slow down and stop. Without orders they wouldn’t follow us into the neutral no-man’s-land and risk precipitating the battle. They yelled insults, and a couple of badly aimed arrows whizzed overhead. I pulled on the remaining reins and slowed the wagon to a trot. The horses, terrified and injured, fought me at first but then obeyed.

  Ahead across the field, the Knights of the Double Tarn outside the white parley tent shuffled in their heavy armor as they watched us approach. No light fancy-dress metal for them today. The sun reflected in blinding hot spots from it. I hated wearing full armor; I knew just how uncomfortable it would be on a day like this. But the men here, and in the defensive line beyond, and on the castle walls, held their positions in stoic silence. Most of them might lack experience, but at least they’d had training.

  “You all right?” I called back to Kay.

  “Fine, but we lost one of our strong backs.”

  I looked back. Barker lay on the bed beside the coffin, nearly decapitated by a passing sword. Jameson’s own throat was shallowly sliced in places where the tip of Kay’s sword had bounced against his skin.

  When we got close to the tent, I saw a roun
d figure in bright lavender bouncing in frustration before the knights. It was Chauncey DeGrandis, lord of the manor, trying in vain to assert his lord-dom.

  “But I demand to see the king!” he shrieked, his voice high like a woman’s. “This is my castle! Those are my supplies you’re hoarding!”

  Two knights stepped around DeGrandis and into my path, swords drawn. A third leveled a crossbow at us. I stopped the wagon and showed my hands so they wouldn’t feel threatened.

  One of them raised his visor, exposing his sweat-drenched face. He was one of the older veterans. “That’s it, friend, stop right there. Keep your hands where I can see them, all of you. Now what’s the meaning of this commotion?”

  I did as ordered. Kay sat up straight and said, “It’s me.”

  The knights all snapped to attention with a mass metallic click. I was so tired this struck me as ridiculously funny, and I began to giggle. Kay shook his head.

  DeGrandis whirled on us like one of those vicious little dogs some women have instead of children. He pointed at me and said, “That’s him! That’s the killer! Arrest him at once! At once, I say!”

  No one paid him any mind. “Sir Robert,” the knight who’d stopped us said. “Your neck-do you need a physician?”

  “Get me a drink and we’ll see if it leaks,” Kay said. Two knights covered Jameson with their swords, and Kay climbed stiffly from the wagon. “First I need to know who’s inside that tent.”

  “King Marcus, Queen Jennifer, and Sir Thomas Gillian.” The veteran nodded at DeGrandis. “And this guy, if we’d let him.”

  “Where’s Medraft?”

  “He’s not here yet. He wanted to meet at sunrise but hasn’t shown up. The king is… annoyed.”

  “I bet. Get DeGrandis back inside the castle.”

  “But-,” the purple man started to complain.

  “Throw a pork roast at him if he won’t shut up,” Kay added.

  Two of the knights took DeGrandis by the arms and pulled him bodily away. They visibly strained to support his bulk. He kept his legs straight so that his heels left tracks in the grass, disturbing a big mottled snake as they raked over it. “But this is my castle! Mine!”

  I turned to Jameson. “All right, bring that coffin into the tent.”

  He looked at the knights, then at me. He finally understood he’d been had. “I can’t carry it by myself.”

  “Try,” I said flatly, and one of the knights prodded him.

  It was awkward, but he did manage to get his arms around the box and lift it. I knew Jenny wasn’t heavy, and the coffin was made of light, thin wood. Kay led the way inside the tent, followed by Jameson. I brought up the rear.

  It was dim and stuffy beneath the heavy canvas. In winter this kind of insulation would be luxurious, and on a normal summer day the tent’s sides would be open to let in the breeze. But this was a prebattle conference between opposing commanders, so privacy trumped comfort. It took a long moment for my eyes to pick out the figures from the furniture.

  A large rug covered the grass, and a small, round table with four chairs was set up in the middle of it. Benches waited along the sides for those of insufficient rank to sit at the table.

  King Marcus Drake, in full regalia including crown and scepter, turned in midpace with a swirl of his fur-edged official cape. He wore the same huge sword, the legendary Belacrux, at his waist. His deep blue tunic was sweaty around his neck and under his arms. “Bob!” he shouted in a mix of relief and anger. “Where’s Elliot?”

  “Elliot’s not coming,” Kay said as he dropped to one knee. I thought at first he’d collapsed, but then realized he was just greeting his king. “I’m sorry, Marc. I barely got out of sight of the castle before I got jumped. I never had a chance to look for Elliot.”

  “What?” the queen gasped. She stood on the opposite side of the table, in a simple dress devoid of any ornamentation. She wore the same kind of manacles Kay had put on me, with the chain slack but definitely present. “Is he… dead?”

  I looked at her. Her face shone, and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. The resemblance was absolutely staggering: if I didn’t know Jenny was in the box, I’d think she stood before me. No wonder it fooled Marcus.

  “I don’t know,” Kay said, using one of the chairs to get to his feet. “But there’s just so many of them, I can’t see how even he could get through.”

  Gillian stood quietly at ease near the tent’s wall. He wore a uniform but no armor. “That is unfortunate.”

  The sight of him, after all the time I’d spent dreading his appearance, annoyed me. “Yeah, well, at least you didn’t have to come chasing after me. I came back, like I said I would.”

  He looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

  Kay laughed. It was a tight, harsh, barking sound, and everyone in the tent turned to him. He fought what appeared to be the giggles and said, “Hell, Eddie, I made that up. You really think we send the Knights of the Double Tarn out as roving assassins?” Kay shuddered as he struggled not to laugh, one hand pressed to the wound at his neck.

  I stared at him. I was exhausted, pissed off, and no longer impressed by the world’s happiest kingdom. Then I used my arm to rake the royal finery from the table. The dishes, utensils, and crystal goblets hit the ground in a loud clatter, and Jennifer jumped back.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  I turned to Jameson. “Put the coffin on the table.”

  He didn’t move, frozen in place by the outsize presence of King Marcus Drake. His mouth hung open in wonder.

  “Do it!” I barked.

  He did so, then dropped to his knees before Drake. The king looked at the mercenary, then at me. “Who is this man? And what is that coffin doing here?”

  I nudged Jameson with my foot. When he looked up fearfully, I said softly, “Run.” He was out of the tent like a crossbow bolt.

  I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my eyes. Gillian said quietly, “This conduct does merit an explanation, Mr. LaCrosse.”

  “And it’ll get one,” I said, “as soon as all the players are here.” By now Medraft would know someone had broken through his lines bearing a coffin, and he’d have to come check it out. Then I could finish this.

  A hand the size of a dinner plate grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, and again I found myself face-to-chest with Marcus Drake. He glared down at me like a storm cloud about to spit forth lightning. “I really don’t have the time or the patience for showboating today, Mr. LaCrosse. I’m facing an insurrection.”

  I slapped his hand away. “You better have time for it.” I stood on tiptoe, leaned close, and spoke so softly only he could hear. “I know about Kindermord.”

  Even in the tent’s dim light I saw him turn red, then white. He stepped away from me without a word.

  Jennifer put one hand gingerly on the coffin. The manacle chain scraped lightly against the wood. “Is Elliot in there?” she asked me, her voice shaking. “Is that what you told Marc? Please, I have to know.”

  “Not unless we cut him off at the knees to make him fit,” I said. It was cruel, but I was out of patience.

  One of the knights standing guard called, “Someone’s coming, sire!”

  Kay peeked outside. “Medraft,” he spat.

  Cheers from the direction of the mercenaries grew louder. Armored horses approached and rattled to a halt outside. The tent flap was flung aside and two mercenaries entered, their eyes darting around to scope out any threat. They wore reasonably clean clothes and their hair was slicked down and neatly parted, like children forced to attend a civic function. It didn’t make them look any friendlier.

  They stepped to either side of the opening. One held the flap while the other gestured for someone outside to enter.

  It was “Dread Ted” Medraft. He wore his Double Tarn knight show armor and stood stiff and proud. A boy carried the end of his bloodred cape so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. Two more spit-polished mercenaries followed him in; the four soldiers t
ook up positions at each of the corners.

  Medraft frowned a bit at the coffin, but only momentarily. “Queen Jennifer, Sir Thomas,” he said coolly. His gaze finally settled on Marcus. “King Marcus.” No bowing or kneeling, not even a nod. “Or rather, Uncle Marc.”

  Marcus said nothing. Gillian stepped between the two men and said, “General Medraft, you’re a traitor to your kingdom, and possibly to me. I challenge you to defend yourself.”

  He swung a glove to slap the younger man, but Medraft blocked it with his forearm. “Don’t be an idiot, Tommy. I don’t know for sure if I’m your bastard or not, but this is not between you and I. It’s about our lovely queen, and her attempted murder of one of our fellow knights. I’m here to see a trial by combat. Now where, I wonder, is the queen’s champion?”

  “Not so fast,” I said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. This was the crowd I’d been waiting for. “Before anybody challenges anybody to anything, I have a story to tell you. You all know pieces of it, but only one person here knows it all.”

  “You, I suppose,” Queen Jennifer said scornfully.

  “Actually, no. But someone here does.”

  Then I spun, pulled my sword, and grabbed the boy who’d been holding Medraft’s cape. I yanked him into the open, kicked his feet out from under him, and put the tip of my sword beneath his chin. I bent back his wrist to immobilize him. He lay still, flat on his back.

  In drawing my sword I’d inadvertently slashed the tent’s roof. A shaft of sunlight fell on the boy’s face. I saw no fear, only rage and frustration.

  “I think,” I said coolly, “you should introduce yourself.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  The tavern had grown chilly as I told my story. No one had stoked the fire, and it had died to almost nothing. My mouth was dry from all the talking, and my winter-chapped lips were starting to crack. I picked up my mug.

  The crowd leaned in closer as if I might whisper the next part of the story. In the dead silence I heard the wind whistling outside. I’d never had so many eager faces turned my way, and it was kind of funny. The last of my ale bit at the raw spots on my lips, but it felt great going down my parched throat.