Martin remembered the watch at Milecastle, and the hold the Boy-King had taken on his mind only scant hours before.
“They became mind-slaves?” he asked.
“Aye,” the messenger said. “And if your man hadn’t arrived when he did, the whole city would be gone, just like Nottingham.”
“Nottingham is gone?” Martin whispered, shocked.
“Aye. Last night. Their wall was breached early, and it fell within an hour. Ten men made it through to our east gate—ten men from a city of thirty thousand.”
Martin’s mind was reeling.
Last night they had slain hundreds of Others, but the Boy-King had still managed to increase his army by a huge number. He realised that the battle wasn’t over; it was only just beginning.
Martin was shown into the presence of the Duke. There were three other men in the room, and Martin guessed they were the commanders of the other sections of the wall.
There were no introductions.
“How many men did we lose?” the Duke asked.
“Ninety-three at the North gate, forty-five to the East, forty-two to the South, and three to the West,” the man who had brought him said. “One hundred and eighty three in total.”
The Duke’s eyebrows raised.
“Only three?” he asked Martin.
“Aye. One deserter and two in the fight. Two too many,” Martin replied.
One of them had been Hillman, the other, one of Hillman’s men. Martin didn’t know the story yet, but intended to find out as soon as he was given leave to return.
“What do you think?” the Duke asked. Martin realised he was being addressed.
“Do you think he will pass us by and head for London?”
“No,” Martin said, “After last night he will not want us at his back. And he needs to swell his army yet further if he is to take London.”
The Duke nodded.
“I agree. Although after Nottingham I fear his army is large enough already. We need more information on the size of his forces, and where they spend the daylight hours. I have asked for volunteers to go out of the city and reconnoitre.”
He looked at the other men in the room and snorted.
“None has so far been forthcoming. Are you game for it, sir?”
“Aye,” Martin replied without hesitation. “As long as I can choose my own men.” The Duke waved his arm.
“Of course. But no more than ten. The city cannot spare more.”
“Ten it is, then. And I will go with them, for I have been trained in the ways of the Others.”
“Only so long as you leave the wall in safe hands,” the Duke said. “I have heard stories of people leaving their posts already this morning—we cannot allow desertion.”
“I have no worries on that score,” Martin said. “I leave the wall with a Lieutenant Barclay, a former soldier in the Protector’s army with a special dislike for deserters. It was he who shot the man who left the line.”
“Old chap, a Captain in the Colonial battles?” the Duke said. “Smokes a clay pipe and looks half asleep most of the time?”
“Aye, sir, that’s the man.”
“Fine soldier,” the Duke replied, and turned away.
Martin nodded, then realised he had already been dismissed. The Duke had gone back to the other three men.
He walked back through the city.
All was quiet and still. Few of the townspeople were out and about...no business was being done. Even the alehouses were quiet. He supposed that later, once the fighting men had taken some rest, the ale would flow and the working women would get custom. That seemed to be the way of things before, during, and after battles.
Back at the west wall, Menzies was supervising the placing of cannon, oil and bellows in the street facing the gates.
“If they break through tonight, we will be ready for them,” the old man said.
Martin looked at the gate, and at the foot-thick oak doors that protected it.
“There was some fire on the other side,” Menzies explained. “And the wood might be weakened.”
“Send out ten men to check,” Martin said. “And double the guard above the gate.”
“Yes, sir,” Menzies said, and grinned.
“And what amuses you, old man?” Martin asked.
“For a man who was worried about command, you have taken to it very quickly,” the doctor said. “When did you start to forget to say please?”
This time it was Martin who grinned.
“You and my father taught me too well it seems. Meet me back at the billet in ten minutes...please. The Duke has given us new orders.”
When he got back to the billets he called a staff meeting, and five minutes later his officers were all in attendance...all bar one.
“First things first,” he said to Barr. “How did Hillman fall?”
“He died a man’s death, sir,” the young officer said. “We were falling back as the bellows arrived, when an Other came over the wall and bit one of his men.”
“Hillman didn’t hesitate—he stepped forward and thrust his sword through the creature. But he missed its heart, and the thing took him. Before any of us had time to react, he was bitten deep. The water from the bellows settled for the Other, but Hillman and his man were bitten too deep...we had to stake them.”
“And his sons? Have they been told,” Martin asked.
“Aye,” Fitzsimmons said. “Megan did it. She has them with her now. I do believe my family has grown.”
Martin nodded in approval.
“To business then: the Duke has asked for a scouting party. I will lead, and I need volunteers.”
Menzies spoke up first.
“You cannot go, sir. You are the commanding officer on the wall.”
“And I won’t be needed until nightfall,” Martin said. “Barclay will have command of the wall till then. Besides, the Duke has commanded it. I must go.”
“Then I go with you,” Menzies said.
“I expected no less. Gord, do you fancy some action? I need Fitz to stay here, but I’d be proud to have you at my side.”
Gord smiled.
“Then I’m your man,” he said. “And why am I to be left behind?” Fitzsimmons asked, aggrieved.
“We need more bulb, more oil, more silver, more barrels, more water, more buckets and more shot. And you’re the only one I trust to find them for me. Is that enough to be going on with?” Martin said
The man smiled broadly.
“When you put it that way, I’d better be getting on with it,” he said. “Just take care of the lad. He can be a touch impetuous at times.”
“I’ll watch over him,” Menzies said, “I’ll have to—Megan will kill me if any harm comes to him.”
Fitzsimmons laughed again.
“Aye...and she’s likely to kill me too for letting him go with you. I’d best be off somewhere else before she finds out.”
“Before you go,” Martin said, “I need ten horses, stakes, shot and bulb, and field rations for at least a six hour journey. And I need them in ten minutes.”
Fitzsimmons smile got broader.
“I’ve had horses ready for travel since we got here,” he said tapping the side of his nose with his hook, “You never know when you will have to travel fast. Now excuse me, and I’ll make sure they’re provisioned.”
Martin shook the man’s good hand, and gave him leave to quit the meeting.
“Toby,” he said. “Pick six of your men, and get yourselves ready to leave in ten minutes. Let us see if we can disturb some Others in their slumber.”
The smith saluted, and he too left. “Barclay, you have the wall, and Hillman’s men. Barr, you have charge of the bellows, the oil and the shot. Make sure the men are provisioned.”
Both men saluted and left.
“Well, friends,” Martin said to Menzies and Gord. “Shall we go and smoke out some Others?”
Ten minutes later they were ready to leave. He’d had to tie up the dogs to stop
them following him, and gave Barclay strict instructions not to unleash them.
“I’ll keep an eye on the pups myself,” Barclay said. “All they need is a little discipline.”
Martin was given the same horse he had on the trip from Far Sawrey, but Fitzsimmons had managed to find a new mount for Gord, a huge grey—a flighty beast that went quiet when Gord whispered to it and blew into its nostrils.
“How did you do that?” the smith said. “I thought for sure that the beast would be most likely to kick you in the balls.”
“Treat them like a woman,” Gord said. “Stroke their flanks and whisper soft words.”
“What, then blow up their nose?” Menzies said. “That’s never worked for me.”
“Mayhap you should try it, old man,” Gord said. “You might be doing it wrong.”
A loud voice called out.
“And what would you know of women?” Megan shouted.
Gord blushed deeply and began to stammer.
“Leave the man alone,” Menzies said. “You do want to be a grandmother, don’t you?”
“Not until I’m much older,” Megan said.
They all laughed, and Martin looked around the small group gathered around him: Megan, Fitz, Gord and Menzies...he realised that he had a new family.
They started to mount. Megan came forward and hugged Gord tight to her.
“Come back safe. And take care of the lad,” she said.
“I will.” Gord replied.
“I was talking to Martin,” Megan said, and they laughed again.
The laughter was warm and sweet, and stayed with Martin for a long time.
As they left the West Gate Martin saw that the doors were indeed badly burned on the outside.
“Did you double the watch?” he said to Menzies.
“Aye, sir. But it looks worse than it is. Yon is good English oak. It takes more than a wee bit of fire to weaken its strength.”
The Duke had squads of soldiers cleaning away the corpses, body parts and greasy ooze from the base of the walls. Martin didn’t envy the men the task—it was filthy, disgusting work, with the remains of burned mind-slaves and partially dissolved Others needing to be scraped from wall and ground.
The stink was horrendous, and all the riders covered their noses and breathed through their mouths until they left the city behind.
They turned to the northwest to avoid having to cross the Derwent before anyone spoke.
“OK, old man,” Martin said to Menzies, “I volunteered for this, but I don’t know where to go. I would welcome your ideas.”
“We should look for disturbed ground.”
“Aye,” Martin said, brusquely cutting the man short. “I know that. But where?”
“Anywhere, nowhere...these are Others we are tracking. They could be in caves, in cellars, or just underground. You are the C.O., you decide.”
Martin nodded.
“There must be plenty of villages for them to hide in...we passed several on our way here. We’ll start with them.”
They rode in silence for some time.
After a while Martin noticed that the smith’s men looked on him with something resembling awe.
“They think you’re some kind of hero,” the smith said, noticing his look. “The slayer of the dark lord of the North.”
Gord laughed.
“I was there,” he said. “The stories don’t tell the half of it.”
He began to regale the small troupe with a greatly exaggerated account of Martin’s “exploits”, and Martin had to stop him as he saw the wonder grow in the men’s eyes.
“That’s enough, Gord,” Martin said. “You’ll swell my head.”
Gord saluted.
“As you wish sir. But I was going to tell them about how you fought off the twenty zombi at Far Sawrey.” Some of the smith’s men gasped, and Martin let out a sigh.
“Just save the stories for the campfire,” he said. “Look, we draw nigh to a village.”
They had crested a small hill, and were looking down on a hamlet of some thirty houses.
There was no movement, and no smoke from the chimneys. It was only when Martin looked again that he saw the bodies in the street—ten of them.
When they rode through the houses, all was still quiet and, other than the ten bodies—three children and seven old people—there was no sign of the hamlets inhabitants.
“Toby. Get your men to search the houses,” Martin said. “Two teams of three men. Nobody goes into a house alone, and nobody goes out of sight of the other two.”
The smith dispatched his men, and Martin dismounted to examine the bodies. They had all been bled dry.
It didn’t take long to discover that the houses were all empty. They staked the bodies, said the words, and moved on.
“We should give them a Christian burial,” one of the smith’s men said.
“Not until the Boy-King is turned back,” Martin said. “There is no time. We will find more like this today.”
He was proved right just twenty minutes later when they came on another hamlet, with the same result.
“He leaves only those too small or too infirm to be of use,” Martin said.
“Aye,” said Menzies. “We saw as much at Carlisle.”
All that morning they came across the same result. By the time they stopped to feed themselves and their mounts, just after noon, they had travelled thirty miles and visited eight villages. They had yet to see another living soul, or any sign of the Others.
“This is fruitless,” the smith said, and silently, Martin agreed with him.
“For this afternoon, we’ll head back south in a wide circle,” he said. “I can see little point of going further north. It maybe that the Others are gone already, heading for London.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Gord.
“Nor I,” said Menzies.
Martin nodded.
“I concur. Let us head slowly back to the city. I fear we will be needed there when nightfall comes.”
Fitzsimmons had provisioned them with plenty of bread, cheese and ale, and their spirits were slightly lifted as they remounted and turned for Derby.
Gord lifted spirits further, singing songs from his repertoire, including a very bawdy ditty about the Duke of Cumberland that would have had him jailed for sedition back in the city. The smith’s men loved it, and pressured him for more every time he got to the end of a song.
Once he had finished singing, he entertained the band with an array of conjuring tricks...producing eggs from behind ears, coins from mouths and making flames appear at his fingertips.
But even Gord fell quiet when they came upon the town of Ashbourne.
They looked down on it from a vantage point high on a hill. This was the biggest town they had yet come across. There were more than two hundred buildings—houses, shops, two churches, and an inn. But it was the village green that commanded their attention.
The old, infirm and young of the town had been piled onto a grotesque pyramid of limbs, heads and torsos, some fifteen feet high.
“My Thane,” Menzies said beside him. “Look at the houses.”
Martin saw immediately what the Doctor meant. The windows were all shuttered against the light.
“The Others would have come upon them in the depths of night,” Menzies said. “It is logical that they should be shuttered.”
“Aye,” Martin said. “As it is logical that we take great care.”
“You do not mean to go down there?” Menzies said, and Martin nodded.
“We must. The Duke needs information. We will get none from up here.”
He led his men down into the silent town.
When they reached the green, they found it difficult to take their eyes from the jumbled bodies.
They dismounted and tethered the horses well away from the corpses, before Menzies went over to confirm they were all bitten.
“We should stake them,” Menzies said. “For many of these will rise with the ni
ght.”
“Aye,” Martin said grimly. “But we do not have the time. There is several hours work here, and we have to get back to the city. We must leave them be, no matter how much it sticks in the craw.”
Menzies was about to disagree, but he must have seen the look in Martin’s eyes and he held his silence.
“Gord,” Martin said. “Take three men and search the north end of the street. Toby—you take the south. Menzies and I will check the inn.”
“No sneaking a flagon of ale, old man,” Gord said.
“Surely I cannot pass an inn without finding out how good its beer is?” Menzies said. “Fitz would never forgive me if I didn’t provide a report.”
But when they entered the inn, the prospect of ale suddenly didn’t appeal.
The place had been a bloodbath. The floor, the benches, the walls and even the ceiling were splashed in runnels of blood. In places it looked black, but when Martin moved forward, hordes of lazy flies rose slowly from the thicker patches. He looked at Menzies, the old man nodded, and they backed out of the bar, grateful for what little sunshine there was.
Toby, the smith, was already coming back up the street with his three men.
“Anything?” Martin asked, and the man shook his head. Martin looked north up the street, but there was no sign of Gord or his men. At the far end he saw that the church door was open—it had been closed when they arrived in the town. A sudden chill ran through him.
“Gord,” he shouted. “Time to go.”
There was no reply. Then Martin heard it: the sound of a high scream.
Suddenly he was running, with Menzies alongside him. Martin reached the church first and, drawing his sword, he ran into the darkness within.
The church was empty. One of the smith’s men lay dead on the floor, his head caved in by some tremendous blow. Of the other three, there was no sign.
There was a cry from outside.
“Others. Others are coming.”
“Impossible,” Menzies said. “It is yet daylight.”
Martin followed the old man out of the church. One of the smith’s men was pointing north, beyond the church. Both Martin and Menzies turned to look.
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 40