by John Daulton
The major’s eyes narrowed, and there was no way that the old man didn’t notice. Card-playing sports made their living watching people’s eyes. Still, Major Cavendis leaned back and waved his hand in the air, a “go on, then” gesture of acquiescence. He even smiled. “By all means, bring the lady in that I might win her over with my honest eyes.”
The men at the table laughed a little at that, as if they’d been crossing a deep ravine on a rickety bridge and finally made it to the other side. The old man waved to the barkeep, who came around from behind the bar and left through the tavern’s front door. The gaps in the plank walls were wide enough that Ilbei could see the man passing along the front and side, and for a long time after he’d gone out of sight, they all sat in silence, a nervous pall settling on the room like mist in a hollow.
That’s when Major Cavendis saw Ilbei sitting there. They locked gazes for a moment, and then the major’s sweep of the room passed on. The awkwardness that followed lingered for two full swigs of his ale before Ilbei turned back to his two companions and resumed his questions, pressing them for more information about Ergo the Skewer and his activities on Deer Trail Road.
“There was three muggins a month or so back,” a rugged fellow in his middle years went on. He scratched at a week’s worth of stubble growing dark like coal dust along his jaw. “We wasn’t there fer none of it, mind, but heard the stories enough times to know. First time caught us all off guard, what with the killins. But they just been mean since. Was eight of em jumped out of the woods and took aim on old Mitty and his boy Juke. Told him hand over all his dust and any nuggets that he got. Juke tried to tell em there weren’t no gold around here, that we dig copper and lead mostly, but they wasn’t havin it, so they bust poor Juke in the head. A big feller done it to him, near nineteen hands, tall as a tree and arms like anvils. Well, he bust Juke between the eyes with the arse end of a crossbow and down he went, and his old daddy to his knees beside him, snivelin ladylike and beggin they let em alone.
“The feller what struck him turned the crossbow round and pushed the bolt agin’ Juke’s eye and told Mitty he had count of three before Juke was done fer. So Mitty dumped out his wallet and sure enough gave em twice an ounce. Juke had nothin after Mitty turned his pockets out, so they clubbed old Mitty like they did his boy, and then all of em went off.
“That was the worst of it, but fer that first time. Word went round after, and when them villains showed up again a week or so later and waylaid Corbin Daiker and his brother Toes, well, they got to handin over what they had quick as wyvern strikes. Same for Zoe Spotrotter and his partner five or so weeks back. That was the last we seen of em round Cedar Wood.” He finished his narrative and turned back to his companion to confirm what he had said.
The younger man nodded. “Yep. That’s how it happened as I heard it too. Word is they went upstream and hassled the boys at Fall Pools fer a week or so, then headed over and set in on Camp Chaparral. I haven’t heard anythin since, so it’s been maybe a month since we got news.”
Ilbei pulled out a pipe and set himself to tamping in a bit of tobacco as he thought about their report. When he got the pipe lit, he drew on it for a moment, preparing to ask his next question. The door swung open and in came the tavern keeper again. Padding along behind him was a lanky hound dog with ears dangling down the sides of its head like long brown tongues. It was a lean creature but well fed, its coat dusty but otherwise clean. Ilbei knew a well-kept creature when he saw one.
The tavern keeper walked across the room, threading between the few shabby tables until he stood beside Major Cavendis. He looked nervous standing within reach of the young lord and all his gleaming weaponry. He glanced across the table to the old man in the corner, who nodded.
“That there is Abigail,” the old man said. “If it pleases Your Lordship, give her leave to sniff one of your hands, so we can be on with it, on with lightening you of that there gold crown and what others might be rattling in your pockets besides.” He made a point of pushing as much levity into the remark as possible, but the miners found themselves once more upon that rickety bridge, swinging in the winds above the gorge of noble privilege.
Cavendis, however, let go a great laugh, one from the chest, and Ilbei knew instinctively that the officer was genuinely amused. “By my sword, she is a dog, then? And here I’d prepared my most charming set of lines.” He pulled off his glove and reached out a hand to the dog, who raised her head and gave his outstretched fingers a sniff. She leaned forward a moment after, tilting her head a little so that her left ear swung pendulously, clearly in hopes of a friendly scratch, which she got. The major gave her skull a vigorous rubbing and the velvet of her ears a good-natured fluff. “Sweet thing,” he said. “A fine specimen, and well maintained. You people must do fairly enough if you can pamper a creature so much as this.”
Once more the miners were on sturdy ground, the gorge now well behind them, and all the smiles were genuine. “She’s a peach,” the old man said. “Can track raccoons in a rainstorm, and even led us straight to Doonger Wagonright’s boy after he turned werewolf a half year back. Found him curled up naked as a harpy, lying in the bone pile of the lamb he ate. Was a sore thing having to do him like we did, but least we got him before he got somebody other’n a lamb. Abigail is a blessing from Mercy round here.”
“Well, on the subject of harpies,” Major Cavendis said, “how about we deal some around and get this game aloft, now that I have met with the approval of your good Abigail here.”
“Fair enough,” the old man agreed. “Coppers only to start, no limit, and for the first hand, the harpy’s wild. Just the lady, of course.”
“A wild card? Are we children?” the major said. For the first time since Cavendis had come in, Ilbei saw a flash of the man he’d come to know these last three days.
“Round here folks start the first hand with the lady bird wild. You’ll find it the same any game in the camps. It’s for … well …,” he paused and glanced up at the tavern keeper, whose gaze dropped to the floor. No help there. “Well, it’s on account of staving off bad luck is all. Harpy ghosts and that sort of rot.”
“And I suppose next we’ll have our nannies trimming our bread crusts? Maybe stir some honey into our Goblin Tea?”
“Miners is superstitious folks, Milord, and in these parts, it’s only prudent. There’s been deaths, you know. And it is but one hand. Only the first.”
“Well, get on with it, then. I didn’t come all this way for children’s games.” He tossed a lone copper into the pot. “You can be sure that’s the last of mine this hand.”
Ilbei cringed inwardly, though there was little he could do for it. The major could afford to insult those men, for, as a nobleman, he had no care for their opinions anyway. Ilbei, on the other hand, needed to be polite. Beyond it being his nature to be so, he also needed to learn everything he could, which the major’s behavior could put in jeopardy if Ilbei didn’t get on with it straight away. So, hiding his irritation, he turned his attention fully back to the men he was talking to and got back to work.
By the time he’d learned everything he could from the two miners he was speaking to, from the tavern keeper, and from another man who entered as Ilbei was about to leave, Ilbei had a general notion of what they were up against in terms of the highway robberies. A quick glance to the ruffs table as he was leaving, however, showed that those poor miners hadn’t had a clue what they were up against playing with the young nobleman. Rich as he was, polished as he was, decked in the finest clothing and weaponry as he was, there the man sat anyway, raking in and heaping the grubby copper coins of the men before him, hand after hand and grinning all the while like some petty miser selling candies to kiddies at a carnival. It was one of the most curious sights Ilbei had ever seen.
Chapter 6
The following morning, shortly after the golden sun began backlighting the treetops to the east, Ilbei went to the major’s tent. He was intent on procuring permission to take som
e men to the other two mining camps, Fall Pools and Camp Chaparral, and he was careful to conceal his irritation at having to seek that permission as he called through the canvas flap. “Major, sar. May I have a word, sar?”
“If you must, Sergeant,” came the reply. “Enter.”
Ilbei stooped and went in, and didn’t quite check the rise of his bushy gray brows upon observing the musical Decia, sleeping soundly in the major’s bed. Her sandy brown tresses webbed his pillow, and her face was turned away, pressed awkwardly against the tent, though she remained oblivious. The canvas glowed like an old lampshade as sunlight filtered through, casting her features in soft light. Ilbei witnessed her lying there, one bare arm flung out as if she’d been reaching for the major as he rose. Ilbei noted it silently, then glanced back to wait for the major to finish pulling his trousers on.
The major saw his expression and seemed amused. “It’s been awhile then, Sergeant?”
Ilbei spent a moment catching his meaning, then shook his head. “No, sar. It hasn’t. Though I make a point of not engagin with the troops. Her Majesty’s strict policies and all.” He made a point of keeping his tone level as he said it.
“Well, I trust a man of your experience has long since learned how that all plays out in a vertical structure such as we have in the Queen’s army.” There was no malice in the man’s voice, but there was a threat in it all the same.
“Yes, sar.” Ilbei turned so that only the major was in his field of view, out of respect for the young soldier still lying there in her indispose.
“So get on with it then, Spadebreaker. What is it that brings you in before breakfast?”
“Breakfast is bein kept warm fer ya, sar,” he said. “But I come to request yer nod fer me and a few of the men to check the other two camps fer news of Ergo the Skewer, sar. Wouldn’t have bothered ya fer such a thing, but with yer bein here, seems proper I clear it afore I get to the work the general hisself gave us to do.”
“Are you a gambler, Sergeant?”
Something of a mudslide began upon Ilbei’s brow. “Sar?”
“With cards. Have you any experience at cards?”
“I reckon I can hold my own against most, sar. Cards and dice the same. Can’t hardly go ninety-some years in Her Majesty’s army without pickin up a thing or two, much less an upbringin in lands not so different as all of this.” He tilted his head toward the tent wall to indicate where they were upon the world.
“Yes, I’d heard that about you. They went to a good deal of trouble to gather you and that emaciated excuse for a magician you have.”
Ilbei was enough of a card player to keep his expression blank. He waited for the major to make whatever his point would be.
“I’d like to get a game going with the boys when you get back.”
“A game, sar?”
“Of course a game. You’ve been standing here for the last fifteen seconds, surely you aren’t so old that you can’t remember what we are talking about.”
Ilbei cocked an eyebrow at the remark, but kept his mouth shut.
“Can you get to both camps and be back by nightfall?”
“I don’t expect so, sar. If’n ya check the maps, you’ll see Camp Chaparral is near eight measures as the ravens fly, west-northwest, back down into the foothills some. Fall Pools is closer, only four measures upriver, but steep the last to make it slow.”
“Then I’ll go to Fall Pools myself. I’ll take Decia and her sister with me. You can take whom you will so long as you leave enough behind to secure the camp.”
“Sar, all due respect, word last night says there’s eight men at least what’s jumped the roads. Might be best if’n ya take a few more along. Corporal Trapfast is a fine sword and a keen shot, and we got more than a few sharp archers like him in the company. There’s plenty to guard the camp and make a decent company fer yerself goin up Softwater.”
“I appreciate your concern, Sergeant,” the major said as he buttoned up his coat. “But what I can’t parlay out of, I can whip handily enough. And ….” He paused and looked down at the woman lying beneath his blankets. He grinned. “I happen to know she can handle herself perfectly well in a fight, if the vigor of her affection is any evidence. So she with her sister, both hearty farm girls as I understand, ought to be enough force to handle business in the company of my sword.”
“Well, I’m sure they are, sar, but fer the sake of showin more force than ya need, perhaps consider takin the corporal at least. If’n ya got some beef with him, then take one of my regulars, Meggins or that big feller Kaige.”
“Spadebreaker, that’s enough. If I need more of your opinion, I’ll whistle for it. We’ve had this conversation before. So get your people going. You’ve got a long march through rough territory, and I want you back within an hour after sunset.”
“Yes, sar.”
“And your man, Meggins. He’s got a touch of the weasel in him. I can see it in his eyes. Does he, by any chance, possess any spirit for sport?”
“Aye, sar. Meggins can hold his own at cards, so long as he goes easy on the wine. Learned that fact just two nights back.”
“Good. Inform him that he is also invited to our game.”
Ilbei’s lips squirmed like hostages caught in the trap of his tatty gray mustache. He knew he ought to stay still, but what he had to say needed an escape, so he set the words free. “Sar, it ain’t right to take their pay at cards. The men, I mean. Fine enough if’n I play with ya, but the boys, well, they ain’t got their minds trained up the way high folks such as yerself do. And even them what Mercy gave the gift of natural wit is inclined to mistakes when come to sittin across from a nobleman. It’s bad fer morale, sar.”
“You act as if they are incapable of beating me. And besides, I’m more than fair about that sort of thing. You were there last night.”
“Aye, sar. I seen ya there. But, if’n I may inquire, so which of them fellers took that gold crown home with him?”
“I did.” He said it simply and matter of fact, as if it were obvious and quite out of keeping with the point he’d been trying to make. Ilbei, of course, noticed and commented in kind.
“Right, sar. That’s the nugget I’m tryin to dig out, sar.”
The major turned away and began combing his hair, using a silver comb produced from a pocket inside his coat. “Bring Meggers to the game, Spadebreaker. And don’t be late.”
“It’s Meggins, sar.”
“Meggins, then. Off with you now. I need to prepare for my trip up the hill.”
Ilbei started to say something but realized he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it, so he shut his mouth again. He glanced down at Decia and prevented himself from shaking his head. It wasn’t right for a major to bed down with enlisted folk, much less game with them at cards, taking the pittance they earned for the hardships they endured. He didn’t expect the major brought the lass in here with an eye for making her the lady of the manor one day—and quite despite whatever enthusiasm she might have had for the roll. Ilbei realized he was lingering, so he left.
Not long after, he was leading his men through the narrow trails, up and down hills that were steep and arduous. While the journey was only a matter of eight measures, and technically downhill, it was rough going all the way. By the time they were within a measure of Camp Chaparral, they knew precisely how the camp had gotten its name, and Ilbei’s voice was hoarse for the steady stream of profanity that had poured from his mouth like summer snowmelt. Some of the oaths he swore were so colorful they set Kaige and Meggins into fits of laughter, which in turn brought forth more profanity.
Adding to the wear and tear of the journey, Ilbei found that by the last measure of it, his shoulder had grown sore. It was worn from swinging a shortsword into the dense, woody brush, hacking out space through the endless scrub that clogged the winding deer trail the miners ironically called a road. Ilbei could certainly understand why the locals got so little news from the other camps if this wa
s how traveling had to go, squeezing through, under and between manzanita limbs as thick as Ilbei’s wrists while dodging poison oak tangles and barbed berry brambles at every turn. The only redeeming features of the torturous terrain were the occasional wild apple trees, whose large, sour fruit had provided them with the occasional treat and, when squeezed, with liquid that hadn’t gone completely hot in the heat of the day. But even the lukewarm juice of a few sour apples was hardly enough to sustain him past noon, so when Meggins suggested Kaige “lend the old man a breather,” Ilbei was more than happy to oblige.
They stopped long enough for Ilbei to gulp down half a jug of water, hot as it was, and he dumped the other half over his head. “Forge of Anvilwrath, but it’s shapin up a hot one,” he said. “Heat’s drippin out of the desert like acid off a dragon’s jaw.” He picked up his kettle helm from the ground where he’d set it, touching its wide metal brim gingerly. It would have raised a blister had he left his finger on it. “No use fer heat like this,” he grumbled. “None at all.”
“It will be better when we get to …,” Meggins rolled out the map he carried for them and glanced at it briefly before finishing, “… Harpy Creek. Shouldn’t be a whole lot more.”
Kaige’s eyes went wide at that, and he tilted his face upward and scanned the skies through the gaps in the trees, of which there were plenty, being that they had come down nearly a thousand feet as they traveled. Most of the pines had given way to scraggly oaks that were half-strangled by the heat of the sun most of the year, living mainly on the memory of sparse winter and springtime rains and gleaning whatever moisture was squeezed up from the depths by the weight of the mountains sitting so heavily upon the land higher up. Kaige’s head moved back and forth as he warily tried to sight through and around the sporadic growth.
“Why do you suppose they named it that?” Jasper asked.