Hood

by Laurence Dahners

  Ms. Womble’s eyes rolled to follow her husband’s collapse. “What’s happened to him?” she asked apprehensively.

  Tarc knelt again, taking her husband’s wrist and feeling for a pulse, “He’s just passed out,” Tarc said, “he’ll come around in a moment.” When Ms. Womble started to lift her head in order to see her husband, he spoke with authority. “Lay back down and relax. Lifting your head pulls on your wound. You’ll need to stay in bed without lifting your head for a couple of weeks while that wound heals.

  A couple of young men Gloria recognized as the Womble’s sons came running up. This time Gloria explained what’d happened. By the time she was done, Mr. Womble was waking up

  With all of them listening, Tarc told them they needed to fashion a stretcher and return her to their house, keeping her on bed rest as he’d already explained to her. When he finished, Ms. Womble said, “I’ve been stabbed in the gut, right? Aren’t I going to die no matter what we do?”

  Tarc shook his head, “No,” he said, speaking as if he were absolutely certain—which Gloria realized he was, even though he couldn’t explain why. “You were stabbed in the liver. That kills a lot of people because it bleeds a lot, but your bleeding’s stopped. If you stay still so nothing tears loose and starts bleeding again, you’ll probably live.” He turned to the three Womble men. “I’ve got to go now. Care for her very gently and she should make it. If you need me, I’m staying at the Blacksmith’s home.”

  The men displayed a mixture of expressions ranging from doubt to awe. The elder son asked, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Call me… ‘Tharn,’” Tarc said. He picked up a rolled bundle and walked away after the departing crowd.

  Gloria scrambled to her feet and trotted after him. “Tharn?” she asked when she caught up.

  He shrugged, “Don’t want people recognizing me as Tarc Hyllis. Your mother convinced me I shouldn’t use ‘Hood.’”

  “Why not…” Gloria searched for a moment, “something like Tom?”

  “I don’t like ordinary names.”

  For a moment Gloria wondered whether she’d mind having kids with weird names, then thought sternly, Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?

  ***

  Farley’d been trying to analyze his accounts, but couldn’t make himself concentrate. He’d been frightened when that freaky voice woke him last night. Frightened him enough, coming out of midair like that, he’d actually told the voice how much money’d been recovered from Krait. When he’d gotten his wits about him and realized it was probably some kind of speaking tube or ventriloquism trick, he’d made a concerted effort to confuse the issue by throwing out a variety of conflicting numbers. By the time the son of a bitch had gotten around to making threats about how he was going to be sorry, Farley’d almost wanted to laugh.

  But then this morning he’d heard about the stories from the visiting Norton caravan. Rumors from Realth, claiming that King Uray’d been killed and one of his officers put in his place. Not that Farley cared one whit about Uray, the chilling news was that Uray’d also received messages spoken from midair. Messages telling him to stop doing things—in Uray’s case, to stop raping young women. Then Uray’d been killed by an arrow that came out of nowhere, like the one that’d killed Krait.

  Most frightening of all, that the person speaking from midair had called himself “Hood.”

  Just like the voice last night.

  Farley just couldn’t figure it. Why would this Hood come to Farleysville when he’d presumably already set himself up as master of Realth? What would he think he could get here that he couldn’t get in the bigger, wealthier city? Could he actually be a do-gooder as he’d apparently claimed? Maybe he’s thinking he can take over a number of cities. He’ll demand tribute from all of them and eventually he thinks he’ll become some kind of emperor? Farley snorted, Hood has no idea how hard it is to manage one city. There’s no way he’ll be able to boss around several. The ancients might’ve been able to do it with their instantaneous communications, but it can’t possibly be done anymore.

  Farley shook his head in frustration, trying to get his mind back on his accounts. He wanted to know how much he could spare to buy off this Hood son of a bitch. Buy him off out of current income without admitting how many golds he had stashed away. And, if the guy did turn out to just be some kind of do-gooder, how much he could magnanimously tell the banks to give back to the people. That’d put Hood off for a bit. During that time I could hire an assassin to get rid of Hood while planning potential ways to flee with my own share of the money…

  Farley’s thoughts broke off as he heard a repetitive noise in the distance. It sounded as if it were coming closer. What the hell? he thought, walking to his window. A few moments later people started marching around the corner and onto the street next to Farley’s mansion. They were followed by more and more rabble. The noise he heard was some kind of chant. “Sgt. Brown!” he shouted.

  Brown opened the door to Farley’s study and stepped inside. He was followed by Waygin Lee’s lieutenant. For a moment Farley was blocked on the lieutenant’s name, then he remembered. “Lt. Borski, what the hell’s going on outside?”

  Borski looked shaken. “It’s that protest the Womble woman organized. They’ve marched down here.”

  “I told Waygin to take some men down there and put the fear of God in those people!”

  “Yes, sir. But when we—”

  Farley interrupted impatiently, “Where the hell’s Waygin?!”

  “Dead, sir.”

  “What?! These people don’t even have weapons! How in the hell could that happen?”

  “Somebody shot him with an arrow, sir.” Borski shook his head, “We don’t know who. No one saw an archer. I’ve got to tell you sir, a lot of people are comparing it to what happened to Krait…” Borski’s voice dropped a little and Farley had to lean forward to hear. He said, “The arrow hit Capt. Lee in the left eye… went right through his head.”

  Farley felt a cramp in his rectum, but said, “Come on! It was just a lucky shot!”

  Borski shook his head, “No, sir. One of the sergeants slashed at the people in the crowd, trying to get them in control. An arrow went through his head too sir.”

  Farley really wanted to go visit his chamber pot but this wasn’t the time. “But not through his eye, right? This guy’s a good shot but no magician, right?

  Borski shook his head, “No, sir, that arrow went through the sergeant’s eye just like the one that took down Lee. Whoever shot those arrows is a damned magician.” He shrugged, “There was a voice, coming from the air above my men. It said we shouldn’t hurt the protesters and if we did, it said, ‘You’re gonna die, with a hole in your eye.’ Which was exactly what happened.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, then said, “They say a voice said the same thing when Krait was killed.”

  “So what’d you do?” Farley asked, dreading the answer.

  Borski shook his head, “We can’t fight magic. Some of the men deserted and the others were on the edge so I brought them to order and marched them back here.”

  Trying to evidence some rage, Farley said, “So you’re telling me one archer was all it took to make your men turn tail and run?!”

  Borski eyed Farley for a moment, then said, “Go ahead and visit the chamber pot, sir.”

  Farley blinked. “What?!” he asked indignantly.

  “Sir, I’ve been soldiering for years now. I know the look of a man whose bowels have turned to water. You’re not going to be any good until you shit that soup you’re dancing around.”

  Farley took a breath for an angry retort but couldn’t think of one. Trying to retain some dignity, he stepped to the window and looked out. The streets were filled with people as far as he could see. They were chanting something that included “… give us our money…” though he couldn’t really understand the rest of it.

  Farley’s ass spasmed. He turned to Borski and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. You work
up a plan for how to deal with this fiasco, or find me someone who can.” He headed for the closet containing his chamber pot, trying not to waddle.

  When Farley came back out of the closet he could see the two men were trying to pretend they hadn’t heard the sounds his bowels had made blowing themselves out. Farley said, “Well Lieutenant?”

  Borski opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice from midair.

  Farley had another colonic spasm.

  It was the same voice as the night before. The one that called itself Hood. It said, “Well, Sheriff Farley. Have you come up with a plan for returning the money Krait stole? That’s the main thing the crowd outside wants to know.”

  Farley gave Borski a desperate look, then whispered, “Have you got a plan?!”

  Borski was starting to shake his head when Hood’s voice said, “I can hear your whispers just fine. I hope that plan wasn’t something about how you were going to try to keep from giving the people back their money?”

  Farley closed his eyes, “I think what’s happened is that the banks didn’t give the money I gave them to the people it belonged to. I’ll tell them to pass it on, but I must point out I’ve already told them that. You may have to speak to them directly.”

  “Oh, Mr. Farley,” Hood’s voice said, sounding terribly disappointed. “I was afraid you’d try to weasel out of the obligations I set you last night.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I guess I’ll just have to return the people’s money myself.”

  Silence reigned for a few moments. Farley was still trying to figure out what Hood meant. Presumably, he decided, Hood was going to force the owners of each of the banks to return all the money they’d been holding back. Fortunately, Hood didn’t seem to know Farley held a huge chunk himself.

  Then Hood said, “Lt. Borski?”

  “Yes, sir?” Borski said, irritating Farley by using the honorific “sir” with a common criminal like Hood.

  Ice ran through Farley’s veins as Hood said, “You and your men are going to find that Mr. Farley’s no longer able to pay your salaries. While I can’t be sure that the town’ll keep you on as deputies, I’ll pay you for guard duties for the next few days. I’m sure that if the town does hire some of your men, those who fulfill those duties to the best of their ability are the ones most likely to be chosen.”

  Farley saw Borski and Brown looking at one another. He said, “Don’t listen to him! I can pay you and your men!”

  Hood’s voice said, “Lt. Borski, I’d ask to see the color of Farley’s money. You’ll want to see whether he actually has enough to cover your current payroll.”

  Borski turned to Farley and lifted an eyebrow.

  Farley rolled his eyes, “Just a minute.” He left his study and went to the safe hidden in the alcove off the hallway to his bedroom.

  It wasn’t empty. It had papers, coppers, and a few silvers. But all the gold was gone. His gut cramping, Farley check both of his other strong boxes. Despite the fact that they were hidden and no one was supposed to know where they were, they were in the same condition. Heart hammering, he checked the purse he kept with him. It still had its fifty golds.

  Farley’s purse would be able to meet that payroll Hood had mentioned. It’d be able to meet payroll for a while. But if it was all he had, he didn’t want to spend it.

  He slid down the wall to the floor, sobbing.

  He didn’t notice when Borski and Brown left.

  ***

  As Gloria and Tarc started after the crowd that was heading for Sheriff Farley’s mansion, Tarc asked, “Where were you during the protest?”

  Gloria waved at a side street. “In there. Just far enough that my mother wouldn’t be able to see me watching.” She eyed the bundle Tarc was carrying. “Is there a bow and quiver rolled up in those blankets?”

  Tarc looked down at it. “Is it obvious?”

  “No, but when you’re busy wondering who shot Waygin Lee, any bundle that size is pretty suspicious.”

  “Um, would you carry it for me?”

  She laughed, “Are you wanting everyone to think I’m the one who killed Lee?”

  “Um, no, I was thinking you were above suspicion. Whereas,” he indicated himself, “a big stranger’s what they’d be looking for.”

  She laughed again and took the bundle, moving it to her left arm since Tarc was on her right. Quietly, she said, “You guided the arrow with your talent?”

  He shrugged, “Yeah.”

  “Where’d you shoot from? No one saw you.”

  “From a window near the back corner of the square.”

  “Holy crap!” Gloria said, “That’s a long shot!”

  Tarc only shrugged, “I was losing control. It barely hit the eye.”

  Gloria snorted, “Most archers would be happy to hit the body at that distance.”

  The street in front of them got crowded and a couple of minutes later people stopped moving forward. Tarc took them back around to another street but it was crowded as well. He said, “Let’s go over to the next street. It’ll come out right in front of Farley’s place.”

  They did, but that street was so crowded they were stopped more than a block away. Tarc stood silently for a moment, then started across the street through the back fringes of the crowd. When Gloria caught up, he murmured, “We’ll be able to see out over the street from the upper floor of that building.”

  How does he know that? Gloria wondered, then kicked herself, He used his ghirit to survey the buildings nearby.

  The door was locked, but Tarc bent down near the bolt and it opened almost immediately. He and Gloria slipped inside.

  Upstairs, they walked down a long hall to the front of the building, Gloria worrying at every moment that someone was going to pop out of a room and accost them. Then she remembered to use her ghirit. She scanned the building and found only one person, that one in the back corner. They must’ve all gone to the protest, she thought.

  Tarc stepped into a corner office that proved to be right across from the entrance to Farley’s massive home. When he stepped up to the window, Gloria feared for a moment he intended to open it, thus possibly drawing the attention of the building’s owner who was probably on the street below. Instead, Tarc just stood at the window and gazed out over the crowd. They were chanting something about how they wanted their money back.

  Gloria thought it was sad they were so focused on their money and not on other injustices—such as the way Farley’s deputies behaved. She turned to Tarc to make a comment and realized he was standing with his eyes closed, as if in thought. “What’re you thinking?” she asked.

  He held up a finger asking her to wait.

  She frowned. What’s he doing? she wondered. Probably something with his ghirit. She couldn’t think what it might be.

  Then she remembered standing outside Farley’s place the night before. Tarc had talked to Farley and taught her how to listen in. She sent her ghirit across the street. There were quite a few people scattered around inside the mansion. I’m going to have to listen to a lot of rooms before I figure out which one Farley’s in, she thought. But when she started with the room closest to the street, she immediately heard Farley’s voice. Of course, he’s in the room next to the street, she thought. He needs to see what’s going on. Farley was speaking to the two other men in the room with him. He said, “I can pay you and your men!”

  Gloria heard Tarc’s voice tell a Lt. Borski they should ask to see Farley’s money. Farley left the room. Gloria followed him with her ghirit. He went to several locations in the mansion where there were strong boxes. To Gloria’s ghirit they seemed empty though they were cold and far enough away it was hard for her to be sure.

  When Farley sank to the floor sobbing she decided she was probably right.

  She turned to Tarc. To her own surprise, she found herself whispering. “Did you take his money?”

  Tarc nodded.

  “When?!”

  “Last night.”

  “You d
id not! I was with you!”

  Tarc shrugged, “I went back after you were asleep.”

  Feeling a little indignant he did something that important without her, she said, “Why didn’t you do it when I was there?”

  “I wanted them to be deeply asleep. Besides, I needed a wagon.”

  “A wagon!” She stared at him, “How much did you take?!”

  “I didn’t count it. I do need some sleep.”

  “Still, there couldn’t have been enough to fill a wagon!”

  “Ah, it’s not the volume, it’s the weight. Remember at Harrington’s bank I thought there were more than twenty thousand golds in the safe behind the picture?”

  Gloria nodded.

  “At five grams each, twenty thousand would weigh a hundred kilos (220 lbs.). They only take about 6.5 liters of volume (~1.5 gallons) so the wagon didn’t look full, but...” He shrugged, “Farley had a lot more than twenty thousand golds, so it would’ve been a little heavy to carry around town.”

  “Wait a minute,” Gloria said. “A gold’s one mm thick and 18mm in diameter. Twenty thousand of them would have a volume of 5.2 liters, not 6.5.”

  Tarc raised his eyebrows, “You are good at math, aren’t you? I had to sit down with paper and pencil to work it out.”

  Gloria raised her nose haughtily, “You should’ve done it in your head. You got it wrong on paper.”

  “Ah,” he said. “But I think you’ve forgotten you can’t pack round coins together without wasted space. If you figure their volume as eighteen by eighteen by one mm cuboids I think you’ll come out with 6.5 liters.”

  Gloria squinched her eyes shut in frustration. “You’re right,” she sighed, feeling unreasonably irritated.

  When she opened her eyes she found him looking back out into the street. The crowd was getting angry that no one from Farley’s house was responding. Tarc said, “I think I’d better make an announcement to the protesters before they start breaking things.”

  Somehow, despite the fact that she felt she should be getting used to what Tarc’s talent could do, Gloria still expected him to throw open the window and shout down at the crowd.