Woes and Hose

by Igor Ljubuncic

  There was a shuffle behind her, sudden, loud, unexpected, and she turned, alarmed. One of the guards had stepped forward, holding back a stranger who had moved too close. Like her, the man was wearing a hood to keep himself dry from the morning patter. Eva couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but whatever he said mollified the guard. The soldier let go off the man’s arm.

  Eva relaxed.

  Without hesitation, the stranger approached her. His soft limp only made his sudden action eerier.

  Eva felt a cold lump rise in her throat, and she instinctively pulled back. No! I have been discovered. Dick’s men have sold me to the enemy! She wanted to run, but her legs froze. Oh, silly me. I’m no Loredana.

  “Do not be alarmed. It’s me, Dick,” the cowl whispered.

  Dick? Eva realized she was standing with her mouth agape. Then she noticed the outline of Dick’s smug face. “What…are you doing?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate some company.”

  “You are wearing a disguise, too!”

  “A very astute observation.” He snickered.

  She frowned. “You have done this before?”

  Dick shrugged. “I might have. There have been occasions when I needed to hide my actions from Old Fa…my father. Please, keep walking.”

  Eva felt weak in the knees, but she mustered enough strength to continue. She noticed Dick continued limping. “Is that part of your ruse?”

  Dick grunted. “Not quite. I strained my groin last night. Too much exercise.”

  Eva marveled at Dick’s newfound resolve. She had thought him lazy, and didn’t believe he would take sword practice after sunset. But then, he had surprised her quite a few times lately. He may have changed.

  Become a better man.

  Another novelty of walking about pretending to be a commoner was the bustle and rub. Inside narrow streets, people pushed past one another with determination and a clear absence of propriety. She was used to having a clear, unobstructed path whenever she ventured into Enissia. Even in Eisenstar, she had enjoyed a privileged status, and the castle servants would scurry out of her way.

  In Ostfort, she was a nameless face in a busy, worried crowd. Fighting for her space on the wet, slippery cobbles was an exciting experience.

  Dick didn’t seem to enjoy the sentiment. He was huffing under his breath.

  “They are your people,” Eva said, trying to cheer him up.

  “That does not mean I should share their lice and foul breath.”

  And yet, he was still doing it so he could be with her. That was almost noble of him.

  Her random stroll took her past the city walls, a section that divided the fort from what she believed was a merchant and workshop district. High on the battlements, there was raucous music, shouting and singing.

  “What is that?”

  “My new tactic for boosting city morale. I asked all the bards and minstrels to sing the Monarch royal anthem all the time. And old battle songs of bravery and glory. This gives people hope.”

  And a headache, Eva thought, not liking the aggressive sounds. Enissian music borrowed heavily from the Valedian history. It was melodic, rhythmic, flowing. The Monrich tunes were erratic and resonated with violence. Bad words, too.

  “What if you insult the Barvans and the Nurflanders?” She remembered the incident at the Swan. Count Rotger’s face flashed in her mind.

  “Won’t be the first time. However, I can’t imagine our lovely music dejecting the sheep fu…the enemy, no matter how savage or vindictive they are. Then again, that sounds like a good idea. I will ask the musicians to compose some new songs.”

  “My father would agree with you. He always said you want your foe to be angry. That way, they make more mistakes.”

  “Yes, but they are also more likely to cause you more pain if they win. It’s a very delicate affair, like ballez…”

  Then she realized Dick had tensed—and stopped walking. What did she say to upset him so?

  Dick was staring at a pelt seller standing in front of his small stall.

  “I don’t—”

  Dick pushed her away, and she fell hard on her bottom.

  Half a blink later, the seller whipped a blade from under his coat and lashed at Dick. But Dick was ready and had already ducked, the short, narrow sword slicing thin air over his bent form.

  Then, there was a loud crack—the unmistakable sound of a gun shot—and a chunk of wall exploded behind Dick, roughly where his face had been.

  Eva wanted to scream—and then she did scream—as someone leaped over her, a knife in each gloved hand.

  Oh, gods! It’s an assassination attempt!

  Dick rolled on the ground, away from the attackers. The seller looked at the knife-wielding newcomer, looking confused. The other killer had also stopped his charge, hesitating between charging Dick or fighting the man with the sword.

  Eva looked quickly over her shoulder and saw Dick’s guards were rushing forward. Too slow.

  Please, gods, save him!

  Dick completed his roll, quite gracefully for his bulk. He had two pistols out and fired them almost at the same time. Smoke engulfed him. The knife man spun around from the blow of the gun pellet, dropping one of his blades, blood arcing from his right shoulder. The seller was on his knees, holding his belly. His fingers were turning red, life slithering out between them.

  The second assassin started running.

  Eva edged away, as far as she could. The narrow street was suddenly loud with shouting and curses. The wounded assassin was fleeing, stooped, his right arm limp. He rushed past Dick without trying to attack again. The guards briefly followed him, but then turned on the seller. They started hacking at him as Dick yelled at them to stop.

  Eva watched with dark fascination, unable to look away.

  “I need him alive. I need to know who sent him,” Dick complained, half out of breath. He rose on his knees. He leveled two fresh pistols at the diminishing figure of the second assassin. Eva held her breath. There were people in front of the killer, innocent men and women of Ostfort.

  Dick fired.

  The assassin crumpled. The crowd winced as the man went down, but they seemed oblivious to what had just happened.

  Dick already had a new pair of pistols in his hands and was looking around the street and up toward the windows and rooftops. The discharged guns were lying on the ground, smoking. “Get the other one!”

  The guards, all save but one, stopped cutting the seller and trotted down the alley. The last stayed with Dietrich, shadowing him protectively. To her amazement, Eva noticed the second assassin rise again and resume his flight. He was dragging his leg. She wanted to tell Dick, but her voice choked in her throat.

  Dick looked up the street again and growled when he noticed the pursuit.

  People were getting quite upset now. There was a lot of noise and people were shouting Dick’s name. City guards were pushing against the tide of angry citizens. A lot more soldiers were there, suddenly, but the narrow confines only made their movement difficult, ungainly.

  “Prince Dietrich!”

  “Saint protect us, the enemy is within our walls!”

  “Keep back. Move. Cover that cellar, there might be someone there.”

  “Defend the Warden.”

  “Check the rooftops, there might be someone up there.”

  Eva realized she was being ignored. No one paid her any attention. Almost like in a dream, she began crawling on all fours, drawn toward an abandoned pistol. The knife man must have used it. She was terrified, but there was also crazy curiosity in her heart. She wanted to hold…

  Dick shuffled over and put his boot on the weapon. “That’s not something a lady should touch.”

  She looked up at him, still feeling dreamlike, but the emotion was rapidly receding, leaving her weak, empty, and shaken. Pain was starting to register through her shock. Her left leg was on fire. “You pushed me. I twisted my ankle.”

  Dick was still panting. Men were hove
ring around him, but no one wanted to step too close to his pistols. “That is most unfortunate.”

  Eva pointed weakly at the dead killer. “How did you know he was an assassin?”

  Dick snorted. “Never looked me in the eye. As if I didn’t exist. You don’t expect that from a street peddler, especially when times are dire. That was decidedly suspicious. Helmut, take her away from here. Quickly, quietly.”

  The remaining guard helped her stand up, his grip on her shoulders firm and unyielding. She winced as she tried to put her foot down.

  Soon enough, Dietrich was encircled by armed men, and everyone wanted to look important and worried.

  “Prince Dietrich, if we knew, we would have organized proper escort,” one of the soldiers, probably a sergeant, was explaining.

  “I had reasons for my discreet business here,” Dick said, waving the man into silence. “Make sure you do not draw any unneeded attention.”

  Helmut was pushing her. She tried to resist, but the man was much stronger. She looked at Dick. He seemed worried. About her? He must be. His first action was to get her to safety.

  “We must get you back to the castle. Please, Your Royal Highness.” Helmut insisted, speaking over his shoulder.

  “The city’s been breached,” one of the citizens standing nearby muttered.

  Dick leveled his left gun at the man’s forehead. “You will not say such things in my presence.” The crowd gasped, then went quiet.

  Dick quickly looked around and up. He lowered the gun, and the crowd sighed in relief. Then, he tucked one of the pistols away, and picked the assassin’s weapon instead. “This is a finely crafted Gevine dragon, with a grooved barrel and a walnut grip,” he spoke loudly, to and over the crowd. “Those sheep lovers would never own one of those. Whoever that killer is—find him!—he comes from a civilized nation.”

  The crowd cheered, angry, agitated.

  “But then, a really good assassin would use Ravash weapons,” Dick muttered.

  Eva struggled against Helmut’s grip. She wanted to see. Despite her horror, she wanted to know more.

  “Apologies, Your Royal Highness,” another soldier said.

  Dick fumed. “Stop using my title! If I wanted to be seen, I would have worn crimson silk!”

  “Apologies, Your…sir.”

  “Move,” Helmut growled at her. “Lady, shuffle along or I will carry you.”

  Eva looked at the guard. She had never tried to charm him before—or any of his friends. Another mistake. Nicole would have swayed all their hearts long ago. “What about Prince Dietrich?” Gods, she was cold! She was shivering all over.

  “Saint willing, he will outlive all of us.”

  “The rooftops are clear!” a city watchman shouted, his face sticking over the building ledge.

  I remember hearing a gun shot, Eva recalled. Was I the only who heard it? Was the street moving?

  “Get that crowd away. They must not get near,” a gruff voice ordered.

  Dick pointed at the mutilated corpse of the pelt seller, lying in a pool of dark blood. “I want to know who he was. Wrap the body in a cloth or a cape, and carry it to the castle…”

  That was the last thing she saw or heard. The sight of the dead man convinced her. She emptied her stomach on Helmut’s jacket, and then decided to faint in what she hoped was a ladylike fashion.

  CHAPTER 28

  A Ruined Shirt

  “You cannot anticipate death, but you can grow immune to its debilitating beckon.”

  —VILSTROM, FAMOUS MILITARY STRATEGIST, 2ND CENTURY

  9th Day of the Month of the Sickle

  Mutt raised his leg and pissed on the knight’s legs.

  It was his favorite spot. The armor statue was already turning rusty from his daily libations.

  “Come, you Tufamid mongrel.” Despite its small size, the dog had a lot of resistance in him. Dick had to pull on the leash to get him moving again.

  Dick didn’t enjoy strolling about the ugly Ostfort castle, especially not with the feces contraption at his side, but, like in Eisenstar, much the same phenomenon had taken over this forsaken place. Dick was showered with attention, praise and smiles like never before. The hairy thing seemed to mellow hearts, and in the process, make Dick more likeable with the staff, the court, and the few noblewomen that could be found in the city.

  Now, despite the siege and food scarcity, small dogs were becoming a craze with the well-established. A tiny pup could fetch a handsome price, as there were so few of them to be found inside Ostfort. Dick had heard a story of someone trying to flog a rat as a short-haired, long-tailed dog.

  The smiles kept coming.

  It was a sacrifice he was willing to make. If only Eva could appreciate it.

  Mutt was doing his best to sniff everything. The walk was painfully slow.

  “Why does he have to sniff every corner?”

  “Dogs experience the world through their nostrils, Master,” Crispin said, following a step behind.

  “I think he’s doing it on purpose, to spite me.”

  “Oh master, Mutt loves you.”

  “Does he now?” Dick grunted. Deep down, he almost liked the useless little thing. Mutt was busy rubbing the side of his nose against the wall.

  “My father used to say dogs are man’s most loyal servant.”

  “If only they could polish boots and serve food.” Dick squinted. “You never really mentioned your father.” Dick only vaguely recalled Crispin’s old man, a surly if talented bard, often too drunk to remember his own songs. But he did have that neat trick with scissors and carrots where he would pretend to severe one of his own fingers, which he used to delight and frighten kids, until he had gotten too drunk one day and really sheared off his own thumb.

  “He wasn’t much around, Master. I guess when he spoke of loyalty, he meant it.”

  Dick snorted. “Luckily, you haven’t inherited that from him.”

  Crispin moved forward, into Dick’s field of vision. “Thank you, Master. May I say you look pensive?”

  “I am not happy, Crispin.”

  “Why so, Master?”

  “All this.” Dick pointed at the forbidding dark stone of the fort-city. “This siege, this wardenship. Too much trouble. Why can’t I have a quiet, peaceful life of indulgence and opulence like I’m meant to. Why do I have to worry about grain and those sheep lovers and not insulting this or that noble?”

  “Master, being a prince is all about war and power.”

  Dick tugged on the leash. Dogs, loyal? Only to the smell of their own piss, maybe. “Once I’m king, it will change. I won’t have to prove myself, and I’ll have the Drechknights wage campaigns in my name.”

  “How will you inspire the people then, master?”

  Dick pulled on the leather strap, lifting Mutt off the ground. “With things like this. Seems to work a charm. Don’t you worry, Crispin, you are irreplaceable to me.”

  “I wasn’t worried, Master.”

  Dick pointed. “Something is on your mind, my little servant.”

  Crispin stopped walking. “The assassinations, Master. I feel like I failed you. Twice now. I should have been at your side when those attackers came. It is my duty to protect—”

  “Don’t fret. You have done what I asked you to do.” He lowered his voice. “You brought Eva. And you’re making sure my stay in this ugly place is as comfortable as it can be. A most admirable cause, Crispin. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

  “If you say so, Master.”

  Dick preened. “But it was a spectacular feat on my end, wasn’t it? Two assassins, and I got them both.”

  “Well, Master, the city patrols still haven’t located the other man.”

  “With a lead pellet in his shoulder and leg, he will soon die in a gutter somewhere.” But it did irk him that he wasn’t able to learn more about these killers. Who they were, and more importantly, who had sent them.

  He was absolutely certain they had nothing to do with the Barvans and Nurf
landers. He had other enemies, invisible ones. And thinking of the previous year, it was absolutely everyone.

  Clouding his mind was the morning meeting with Lady Enduria and Reeve Gotelieb. This time, he had made doubly sure the knight was present. The reports were annoying. Duke Ettore had dispatched help, true to his honor and duty, but the victuals were nowhere near getting into Ostfort. The land caravan was delayed a good eightday away from the city. They needed a military escort, otherwise their whole contingent would just fall into the enemy’s hands and give them free supplies for an even longer siege.

  The ships had unloaded their goods in Gradt, but some of the war-leery merchants had decided to sell them off at half a price rather than risk marching north toward death. And there was no news from General Eusebio yet.

  On the bright side, that Hyevan mercenary captain was willing to settle for just seventy thousand silvers and a title. Dick remembered he had once promised General Eusebio his share, too, but Old Fart wouldn’t have it. Fortunately, money mended all sorts of insults and broken promises.

  I could possibly have this Afanasy on my side, and if Father wants to renege on my word, it won’t be my problem anymore.

  Sieges were no fun. He couldn’t go anywhere. He really wanted to visit Challe again. And entertainment was scarce. Ostfort sure wasn’t built for culture and sophistication.

  Servants streamed past him, keeping a wide berth. Dick watched them carefully, mindful of the assassination attempt three days ago. He even wore a light vest of mail under his fine cream doublet, to stop any knife thrusts. But he spotted no malice or feigned disinterest on their faces. As always, Mutt drew more glances, and it was perfectly acceptable to stare at the royal mongrel.

  He wanted to see Eva again, but the duties of the castle and the risk of death kept both of them confined. Just as he was getting to know her and softening her defenses…

  This time, Dick didn’t see the killer.

  The man was just another clerk in plain livery, and he lunged with speed and grace. His blade raked across Dick’s ribs.

  They stared at each other, surprised.

  Crispin recovered first, drawing his own daggers, spinning, attacking.