Twig

by wildbow

  A hand touched my shoulder. Jamie pointed, gestured.

  Indicating our path. He had to have some idea as to why. We were heading through side streets, but he might have glanced down another street while we’d been walking with our handpicked squadron and picked up a sense of how the area was laid out.

  We ran for a couple of minutes, passing by a patch where the rocky ground was too uneven for any kind of building to be planted on it.

  Behind the residential block, a few streets down, was a building, recessed into a nook in the patch of rockier terrain. The building was surrounded by walls, in turn. It wasn’t one of the sturdier constructions, standing half-again as tall as a typical one-story house did, as wide on any side as two houses, and on approach, I could smell traces of shit and blood. There was a peculiar cast to the smell, suggesting it wasn’t fresh—just the opposite. Weeks upon weeks of blood and shit piled onto one another, as if the rocky ground here had trapped the smell in.

  A slaughterhouse, or it had been. Not a huge one, probably only taking in six to twelve animals at a time, bringing them in along a road that branched in off the main street. The lack of freshness to the smells made me think it hadn’t been used anytime in the last week or two. Closed for the colder months, perhaps, or it worked on a schedule, as boats came in.

  Weapon, Jamie signaled.

  Did I want to pass up my spear of twin-bone for something from the slaughterhouse? I could think of a dozen things I could do with the right tool and the right circumstance. Meathooks, saws, chains, and sharp blades? On any other day, it would have been perfect.

  “No,” I said. If we weren’t far enough away from the Twins to be able to speak without being overheard, then we were as good as dead as it was. “But it’s a good thing to put between us and the twins. Strong smell, to make us harder to sniff out, walls to block sounds. Even if they’re strong, and even if they’re nimble, it doesn’t look like it’s easy to get onto the roof, and cutting across the property looks like it’s a pain.”

  It was true. Fences, corrals, barriers to keep thieves out, and doors, all bounding a building that looked dilapidated enough to discourage kicking one’s way through doors. Part of the reason I didn’t want to put time into going into the building and getting my hands on things.

  “Good,” Jamie said.

  “How did you even see it? Through an alley as we walked by?”

  “If you stand near the harbor and look northeast, you could see it. Looking the other way, the slope and intervening buildings hide it.”

  “Maybe we could see it, but I definitely couldn’t tell what it was from that distance.” Or remember where it was supposed to be.

  “Neither could I. I figured something like this, set a little bit away from the other buildings, a bit large—”

  “Was set apart from other stuff for a reason. Because it offended the senses. Loud or smelly.”

  “Which means tools.”

  I nodded. Which mean options.

  Every interaction with this Jamie seemed to create more distance between me and the old Jamie. As if it reminded me, again and again, over and over, that my best friend was gone and he was being left behind.

  That this Jamie was proving himself and honing his abilities in a way very different from the Jamie I knew was a bittersweet thing. Bitter because it only widened the gap, sweet, if it could be called that, because it helped keep us alive.

  My finger touched the ring at my thumb. The options afforded by the slaughterhouse weren’t worth the time it took to get in, or the risk of finding ourselves at odds with very angry twins in an environment filled with sharp things.

  More likely they’d figured out where we were, and were moving in the same direction we were. If our group had headed toward Mauer, then they had waltzed right into the soldiers. Jamie and I had backtracked a little and were now heading to that same general perimeter.

  My hope was that the soldiers had taken notice of the group of seven and were now moving from their position to collapse in on the group. The line became a ‘u’, which became a circle, ever-closing on the seven. If the soldiers thought we were part of that group, then there was a very real chance we could come in behind the soldiers as they closed the circle, approaching from the outside of that circle while the people that composed it were looking inward.

  The twins, if they were following us, would have found themselves cut off by terrain and by the setup of the fences and walls of the little slaughterhouse. They would turn, moving in parallel to us as we headed toward the soldiers who were attacking or surrounding the seven.

  Jamie’s little tidbit of knowledge had bought us distance.

  There were two possibilities, now. The first was that the seven were dead, and the twins would find their soldiers and give the order to chase us. That would be bad, and it would be a test of whether grown men or two boys who had been running all night were quicker on their feet.

  The second option was that the seven were alive. The twins would reach their soldiers, give the order, and make those soldiers attack. Whatever was holding them back, whatever had happened that let the seven live, the twins would force a resolution, even if it meant making their soldiers mount a suicidal attack on the seven. That done, they could attack Mauer’s back line or chase us.

  Both options were different brands of bad.

  Mauer was only a five minute run away, going by the fires and the glow of the countless people who held torches. The Crown—I had no way of telling. Too many people were shooting in too many places.

  I watched the buildings, looking, my eye focusing on the darkness, to see if I could see shadow moving against shadow, as the Crown’s soldiers moved closer to the seven.

  Where had they set up, and where were they going? Given a choice, where would a talented soldier set up?

  A sharp whistle made Jamie and I turn our heads simultaneously.

  A moment later, a gunshot. It was answered by three more. The first gunshot and the answering gunfire had very different sounds, the latter muffled, not nearly as crisp.

  The twins had found the soldiers. The first gunshot we’d heard had to be one of their soldiers, if not one shot fired by a member of a pair or trio. A response to the whistle that summoned them, I imagined. ‘We can’t come because we’re the only thing between the enemy and Mauer’, it was saying.

  The answering gunfire would have been the response of the seven. Or however many were left, now. Not a response I would have recommended. They had just told everyone where they were.

  I gestured. Jamie nodded.

  We moved in the direction of our allies, keeping closer to the shadows.

  Pinned down, surrounded, injured, and unaware that the twins were about to catch up with them.

  We reached an intersection. I could look down the length of this particular street and see the back lines of Mauer’s force. So close, yet those forces were preoccupied.

  It was salvation. I could have abandoned my hand-picked group and gone to Mauer. I was carrying a trophy that would likely buy some mercy from the man. It could even buy us soldiers, a force of men that could strike at a smaller squad of the twins’ men and the twins themselves.

  It would be so easy to be the utter bastard, to just dispose of those lives. The risk, the reward, the likelihood it saw us living versus the nobles dying.

  I wondered if Mauer would have decided to return to the main force. I felt like he might, if it was civilians and not his trained soldiers. For his men to be loyal, he had to justify that loyalty. To do otherwise would have required constant manipulation. He was good at leading and directing people, shepherding his flock, but he seemed far too pragmatic a man to adopt lies and manipulations that would tie his hands just a little in every interaction over just about every single day.

  I couldn’t do it.

  We glanced around, checking every avenue, then, at a signal from me, we crossed the street at a run.

  We were three-quarters of the way across when I saw move
ment in the corner of my eye.

  One soldier.

  I gestured, and Jamie and I began to follow the man, as he wound his way through alleys, heading in the direction of the whistle.

  He moved at a brisk walk. Jamie and I moved at a jog. It would have been a run, but we both took caution to move silently. The heat in the air from the bodies and the fires of Mauer’s forces was plunging skyward alongside plumes of smoke, and the difference in cold air and hot air was stirring the wind, drawing in cold air from the harbor and up the sloping city. It was windy, and the wind stirred up snow, it blew in the ear and it caught sounds, carrying them away. Moving while upwind of the man would help, if only a little.

  You. Right. Me. Left. I gestured.

  Jamie and I parted as we approached the soldier from behind. Sure enough, he was focused on the direction of the seven and on getting to the Richmond Twins quickly enough to avoid their ire.

  Jamie glanced at me.

  You. High. Me. Low.

  He nodded.

  The man was a few paces away, but he was walking away from us. Moving closer meant having to be quieter, which generally necessitated moving slower. It was a paradox, one that made the approach an exercise in agony. The strain of smoothly rolling my weight forward with more careful motions of my legs and feet was making the cut in my calf hurt. Courtesy of the younger twins.

  I saw Jamie’s head turn, and then reluctantly drew back, dropping lower to the ground and closer to the edge of the nearest building, where I could be out of sight.

  Another soldier, approaching from a different position, converging on the same point as our quarry.

  There would be no careful execution of that pair. Especially with the risk that another soldier might approach and spot us as soon as we stepped out of cover and attacked.

  Jamie had stopped as well. He watched from the other end of the street, through precipitation-beaded glasses, his hood up, a rifle in his hands.

  I gestured at Jamie. Enemy. Count. Question.

  One-five, the response came.

  Fifteen. Fifteen soldiers to worry about. Fifteen, and the two we’d just seen had approached from points that seemed set fairly far from one another. Assuming they had started traveling when they heard the whistle…

  Back, I gestured. Fast.

  We reversed course.

  I could imagine Gordon explaining it: it didn’t make sense that the soldiers would position themselves that that far apart, with so much of an area to watch. Drawing a mental circle around the handpicked group of seven, extrapolating from what we had seen, there would be seven or eight different positions where soldiers had taken up watch. Those positions left wide, wide gaps between them.

  The only plausible explanation was that there was more than one soldier at each post. The whistle code had called for only one to arrive and report in. Others were still at their posts.

  Knowing the direction they would be looking and the direction the two soldiers we’d seen had been traveling, I could start looking for the vantage points they might have taken up.

  Have to be fast. The twins are closing in.

  There. Built adjunct to one building was a rigging of planks and pieces of wood, some of the lengths of wood still had bark on them. A ladder led up to the top of what looked to be a water reservoir tower. Set up to catch the rain like a water barrel, with a hose drooping down for showers or some industrial work.

  A perfect vantage point. It offered a good view of surrounding streets.

  I gestured for Jamie to wait. He nodded, and retreated a bit, to where he could point the gun up and in the general direction of the tower.

  The construction gave me cause for concern. It wasn’t shoddy, and it didn’t look wobbly—it wouldn’t have held any proper amount of water if it was either. But it wasn’t so solid that I could be sure that any movement wouldn’t vibrate through the entire construction, alerting the guy or guys on the top that someone was approaching.

  I moved with care, my calf aching as I adjusted my weight upward, rather than climbing or hauling myself up. Holding the spear of carbon-strong bone, I had to be extra careful not to knock it against anything.

  I knew the angle the man or men on top might be looking, if they were watching out for their buddy and for the group of seven. They would be especially alert, because their buddy was gone, and there was a lot of ground to watch, more with fewer sets of eyes.

  I had to approach from one side. I tucked the spike of bone through the back of my shirt and down the back of my pants. Once I was sure it wouldn’t fall free, I moved from one side of the ladder and climbed around the platform, gripping the ledge with my fingers, my legs dangling over the sloped roof below. The spots in my arm where the younger twin’s fingers had dug into flesh throbbed with pain, and my right hand was noticeably weaker than my left, as a consequence of the damage.

  Not a terminal fall, but falling would be terminal. I would make noise, and if I was right and if someone had set up position here, then I would be gunned down before I finished rolling off the roof and landing on the street below.

  Wood creaked under my hands. I froze, trying not to move.

  I heard a murmur.

  The mental image of the scene above me clarified. I knew which way he was looking, and now I had a general sense of where at least one of the people were.

  Moving a hand up, I gripped the rail above me, splinters digging into my palms. Legs still dangling, I hauled myself up until I could see everything on the platform.

  Platform, circular, with the barrel situated on top. The platform with its rail at the boundary would let the owner fix the water barrel if it started leaking, after weather or the weight of water warped it too much.

  One man sat with his back to the barrel, watching in the direction I’d guessed.

  I hauled myself up further, brought one leg over, and then brought the other up. Once I was secure, with four points of contact with solid terrain, I reached back, and slid the spike of bone onto the platform beside me. Flexible enough to move, now, I walked myself forward, still maintaining a death grip on the railing, until I was lying down on my back, my arms over my head, holding the railing.

  I relaxed, flipping over and taking hold of the spike, and crawled around the circumference of the oversize water barrel.

  I attacked from around the corner. One blow. Ambush, I could do, calculating my move in my own time, no rush and no fuss. Fighting was something else, leaving me one step behind.

  All of my weight behind the blow, I drove the spike of bone into the front of the man’s throat. He fell over, eyes going wide, and I planted my feet, thrusting the spike in deeper, so there was more bone in his throat, blocking and tearing through windpipe and arteries.

  He reached for his gun, a final, suicidal attack. I put my foot out, blocking the gun from coming around to point at me.

  The fight went out of him quick, but he was slow to die. He struggled for what seemed like a minute. He’d stopped trying to use the gun, and his hands weakly grasped at the bone that extended in one side of his neck and out the other. He was showing no sign of stopping, grunting and gasping, making thick choking sounds.

  Then, as I pulled the spike free, he seemed to go out like a snuffed candle. As he went limp, he made a singular, low, gurgling groan that seemed like the accumulation of all the sounds he’d been unable to make during that one minute of struggle.

  My finger touched the ring at my thumb.

  A man with a family. A man who had shit and laughed and cried, countless times over the course of his life. On a level, he might have had no choice but to follow the nobles. He wasn’t any more or less guilty than the citizens of Lugh I’d hand-picked. On another level, he was participating in a city-wide extermination, trying to kill children and relative innocents who had only picked up this fight to defend themselves.

  It didn’t break down to right or wrong. It was too complicated, and that complication was matched with the simple reality that he’d had to
die, because he might have shot us if he was given the chance.

  With all of my strength, I hauled him back up to a sitting position. It took some doing. With care, I buttoned up his shirt and raised his collar before buttoning that too, to cover the wound. I positioned his head so he sat in nearly the exact same posture he’d sat when I found him. The stiff collar helped to keep his head up, but I suspected it would give way with a few more minutes of his heavy chin pressing down on it.

  It only took thirty seconds to prop him back up like that, and if someone came to find him in the meantime, the confusion and alarm might help us.

  Collecting his gun, I headed back down the ladder, climbing down with two feet and one hand, as fast as I was able. Jamie met me at the bottom, waiting patiently while I slid the bone spike back into my shirt, the fat end in my back pocket.

  I pointed. Jamie nodded.

  Circling around to the south of the group of seven, we headed in the general direction the other soldier had come from.

  He found us before we found him. A gunshot rang out, closer and clearer than the cacophony from Mauer’s camp.

  You. Right. I gestured.

  But Jamie was heading right before I even started indicating it.

  Another gunshot. Unaware, the group of seven fired back in our general direction. They thought the gunshots were meant for them.

  It would be so very fitting if I died after getting shot by a friendly bullet.

  The twins would be coming, probably at a brisk run.

  No time. Jamie continued moving to the shooter’s right, I moved to the shooter’s left. I could tell where the shooter was firing from, now. He’d chosen a point lower to the ground, a store front with a great glass window that had broken earlier in the night.

  The muzzle flashed. I could see the oblong nature of the flash, and knew the man was firing at Jamie, not me. One shot. Then another. Jamie was stuck, and I couldn’t approach without it being a very direct, obvious approach.