by Glen Cook
“Not much. He’s only been there at night, in a court behind the gate.”
“Uhm. The Taken have a girl up at Duretile, too. I talked to her. She couldn’t tell me nothing. Only in there once, and was too scared to look around.”
“She’s still alive?”
“Yeah. That’s the one you caught? Yeah. She’s alive. Lady’s orders, apparently. Nasty little witch. Let’s hike around it.”
We got onto the far slope, where the going was rough, to the accompaniment of constant crabbing by One-Eye. The Lieutenant stated the obvious. “No getting at it from here. Not without help from the Taken.”
“Going to take a big lot of help to get at it from any direction.”
He looked me a question.
I told him about Feather’s troubles the night we took Shed and his barmaid.
“Anything since?”
“Nope. Not before, either. My man who’s been inside never saw anything extraordinary, either. But, dammit, the thing connects with the Barrowland. It’s got the Dominator behind it. You know it’s not going to be a pushover. They know there’s trouble out here.”
One-Eye made a squeaking sound. “What?” the Lieutenant snapped.
One-Eye pointed. We all looked up the wall, which loomed a good sixty feet above us. I did not see anything. Neither did the Lieutenant. “What?” he asked again.
“Something was watching us. Nasty-looking critter.”
“I saw it too,” Elmo volunteered. “Long, skinny, yellowish guy with eyes like a snake.”
I considered the wall. “How could you tell from here?”
Elmo shivered and shrugged. “I could. And I didn’t like it. Looked like he wanted to bite me.” We dragged on through brush and over boulders, keeping one eye on the castle, the other on the down slope. Elmo muttered, “Hungry eyes. That’s what they were.”
We reached the ridgeline west of the castle. The Lieutenant paused. “How close can you get?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t had the balls to find out.”
The Lieutenant moved here, there, as if sighting on something. “Let’s bring up some prisoners and find out.”
I sucked spittle between my teeth, then said, “You won’t get the locals anywhere near the place.”
“Think not? How about in exchange for a pardon? Candy’s rounded up half the villains in the Buskin. Got a regular anti-crime crusade going. He gets three complaints about somebody, he nabs them.”
“Sounds a little simple,” I said. We were moving around for a look at the castle gate. By simple I meant simplistic, not easy.
The Lieutenant chuckled. Months of hardship had not sapped his bizarre sense of humor. “Simple minds respond to simple answers. A few months of Candy’s reforms and the Duke will be a hero.”
I understood the reasoning. Juniper was a lawless city, ruled by regional strongmen. There were hordes of Sheds who lived in terror, continuously victimized. Anyone who lessened the terror would win their affection. Adequately developed, that affection would survive later excesses.
I wondered, though, if the support of weaklings was worth much. Or if, should we successfully infect them with courage, we might not be creating trouble for ourselves later. Take away daily domestic oppression and they might imagine oppression on our part.
I have seen it before. Little people have to hate, have to blame someone for their own inadequacies.
But that was not the problem of the moment. The moment demanded immediate, vigorous, violent attention.
The castle gate popped open as we came in line. A half-dozen wild beings in black rushed us. A fog of lethargy settled upon me, and I found fear fading the moment it sparked into existence. By the time they were halfway to us, all I wanted was to lie down.
Pain filled my limbs. My head ached. Cramps knotted my stomach. The lethargy vanished.
One-Eye was doing strange things, dancing, yelping like a wolf pup, throwing his hands around like wounded birds. His big, weird hat flew off and tumbled with the breeze, downhill, till it became tangled in the brush. Between yelps he snapped, “Do something, you idiots! I can’t hold them forever.”
Shang! Elmo’s sword cleared its scabbard. The Lieutenant’s did the same. I was carrying nothing but a long dagger. I whipped it out and joined the rush. The castle creatures stood frozen, surprise in their ophidian eyes. The Lieutenant reached them first, stopped, wound up, took a mighty two-handed swing.
He lugs a hanger that is damned near an executioner’s sword. A blow like that would have severed the necks of three men. It did not remove the head of his victim, though it did bite deep. Blood sprayed the three of us.
Elmo went with a thrust, as did I. His sword drove a foot into his victim. My dagger felt like it had hit soft wood. It sank but three inches into my victim. Probably not deeply enough to reach anything vital.
I yanked my blade free, poked around in my medical knowledge for a better killing point. Elmo kicked his victim in the chest to get his weapon free.
The Lieutenant had the best weapon and approach. He hacked another neck while we diddled around.
Then One-Eye lost it. The eyes of the castle creatures came alive. Pure fiery venom burned there. I feared the two not yet harmed would swarm all over us. But the Lieutenant threw a wild stroke and they retreated. The one I had wounded staggered after them. He fell before he reached the gate. He kept crawling. The gate closed in his face.
“So,” the Lieutenant said. “There’s a few lads we don’t have to face later. My commendation, One-Eye.” He spoke calmly enough, but his voice was up in the squeak range. His hands shook. It had been close. We would not have survived had One-Eye not come along. “I think I’ve seen enough for today. Let’s hike.”
Ninety percent of me wanted to run as fast as I could. Ten percent stuck to business. “Let’s drag one of these bastards along,” it croaked out of a mouth dry with fear.
“What the hell for?” Elmo demanded.
“So I can carve it up and see what it is.”
“Yeah.” The Lieutenant squatted and grabbed a body under the arms. It struggled feebly. Shuddering, I took hold of booted feet and hoisted. The creature folded in the middle.
“Hell with that,” the Lieutenant said. He dropped his end, joined me. “You pull that leg. I’ll pull this one.”
We pulled. The body slid sideways. We started bickering about who should do what.
“You guys want to stop crapping around?” One-Eye snarled. He stabbed a wrinkled black finger. I looked back. Creatures had appeared on the battlements. I felt an increase in the dread the castle inspired.
“Something’s happening,” I said, and headed downhill, never letting go of the body. The Lieutenant came along. Our burden took a beating going through the rock and brush.
Wham! Something hit the slope like the stamp of a giant’s foot. I felt like a roach fleeing a man who hated cockroaches and had his stomping boots on. There was another stamp, more earth-shaking.
“Oh, shit,” Elmo said. He came past me, arms and legs pumping. One-Eye was right behind him, flying low, gaining ground. Neither offered to help.
A third thump, and a fourth, about equally spaced in time, each closer than the last. The last sent chunks of stone and dead brush arcing overhead.
Fifty yards down-slope One-Eye halted, whirled, did one of his magic things. A chunk of pale blue fire exploded in his upraised hands, went roaring up the hill, moaning past me less than a foot away. The Lieutenant and I passed One-Eye. A fifth giant stomp spattered our backs with shards of rock and brush.
One-Eye let out a mad howl and ran again. He yelled, “That was my best shot. Better dump that clown and scatter.” He pulled away, bounding like a hare fleeing hounds.
A scream filled the valley of the Port. A pair of dots came hurtling over from the southern slope, almost too fast for the eye to follow. They passed over with a hollow, deep roar, and boomed like a god’s drum behind us. I was not sure, but it seemed the dots were connected.
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br /> Another pair appeared, revolving about a common center. I got a better look. Yes, they were connected. They roared. They boomed. I glanced back. The face of the black castle had vanished behind a wall of color like paint thrown against, then running down, a pane of glass to which it would not adhere.
“Taken are on the job,” the Lieutenant panted. His eyes were wild, but he clung to his side of our burden.
The damned creature got hung up. Panicky, we hacked its clothing free from a thorn bush. I kept looking up, expecting something to come down and smash us all over the slope.
Another pair of balls arrived, spraying color. They did no obvious harm, but kept the castle occupied.
We freed our booty, hurried on.
A different sort of dot pair came, dropping from high above. I pointed. “Feather and Whisper.” The Taken plunged toward the black castle, preceded by a high-pitched shriek. Fire enveloped the castle wall. Obsidian seemed to melt and run like candle wax, shifting the already grotesque decorations into forms even more bizarre. The Taken pulled out, gained altitude, came around for another pass. In the interim another pair of dots screamed across the Port valley and painted the planes of the air. It would have been a great show if I had not been so damned busy getting away.
The slope resounded to the stamp of an invisible giant. A circle fifteen feet across and five deep appeared above us. Sticks and stones flew. It missed by only a dozen feet. The impact knocked us down. A line of like imprints marched back up the slope.
Mighty though that blow was, it was less forceful than its predecessors.
Feather and Whisper swooped again, and again the face of the black castle melted, ran, shifted form. Then thunder racked the air. Bam-bam! Both Taken vanished in clouds of smoke. They wobbled out, fighting for control of their carpets. Both smouldered the way Feather had the night we captured Shed. They fought for altitude.
The castle turned its entire attention to them. The Lieutenant and I made our escape.
Juniper: Flight
The Lily shuddered several times.
Shed was doing mugs and wondering which of his customers were Black Company. The shaking made him nervous. Then a shriek flashed overhead, rising, then falling as it whipped away north. A moment later the earth shivered again, strong enough to rattle crockery. He rushed into the street. One small, cunning part of him kept watching his customers, trying to determine who was watching him. His chance of escape had lessened drastically with the advent of the Company. He no longer knew who was who. They all knew him.
He hit the street as a second shriek came from the direction of the Enclosure. He followed pointing hands. A pair of balls joined by a cord whipped away to the north. Seconds later all Juniper was illuminated by a particolored glare.
“The black castle!” people said. “They hit the black castle.”
Shed could see it from his street. It had vanished behind a curtain of color. Terror gripped his heart. He could not understand it. He was safe down here. Wasn’t he?
Wasn’t he? The Company had great wizards supporting it. They would not let the castle do anything.… A mighty hammer blow threw stuff around the north slope. He could not see what was happening, but instantly sensed that the castle had struck at someone. Possibly that Croaker, who was up there keeping the place isolated. Maybe the castle was trying to open the road.
Crowd yammer directed his attention to two dots dropping from the blue. Fire enveloped the castle. Obsidian shifted form, writhing, then found its normal shape again. The flying attackers soared, turned. Another pair of balls hurtled in, apparently thrown from Duretile. And down came the carpet riders.
Shed knew who they were and what was happening, and he was terrified. Around him, the Buskin, taken unawares, went berserk.
He retained the presence of mind to consider his own position. Here, there, members of the Black Company were running for battle stations. Squads formed up, hurried off. Pairs of soldiers took stations apparently assigned against times when rioting and looting looked possible. Nowhere did Shed see anyone identifiable as his babysitter.
He slipped back inside the Lily, upstairs, into his room, dug into his secret place. He stuffed gold and silver into his pockets, dithered over his amulet, then hung it around his neck, under his clothing. He scanned the room once, saw nothing else he wanted to take, hurried back downstairs. There was no one in the common room but Sal, who stood at the door watching the display on the north slope. He’d never seen her more homebody and calm.
“Sal.”
“Marron? Is it time?”
“Yes. I’m leaving twenty leva in the box. You’ll do fine as long as the soldiers keep coming in.”
“Is that up there what’s been going on?”
“That’s where it’s been headed. It’ll probably get worse. They’re here to destroy the castle. If they can.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” He honestly did not. “Wouldn’t tell you if I did. They would find out from you.”
“When will you be back?”
“Maybe never. Certainly not before they pull out.” He doubted the Company ever would. Or, if it did, it would be replaced. Its Lady seemed the type not to turn loose of anything.
He gave Sal a peck on the cheek. “Take care. And don’t short yourself or the kids. If Lisa turns up, tell her she’s fired. If Wally does, tell him I forgive him.”
He headed for the back door. The flash and roar on the slope continued. At one point there was a howling which fluttered toward Duretile, but it broke up somewhere over the Enclosure. He put his head down and his collar up and followed alleyways toward the waterfront.
Only twice did he encounter patrols. Neither boasted a man who knew him. The first ignored him. The corporal commanding the second told him to get his ass off the street and went on.
From Wharf Street he could see the black castle once more, through the masts and stays of countless ships. It seemed to have gotten the worst of the exchange, which had died away. Thick, black smoke boiled out of the fortress, an oily column leaning a few degrees and rising thousands of feet, then spreading in a dark haze. On the slopes below the castle there was a twinkling and seething, an anthill-like suggestion of movement. He supposed the Company was hurrying into action.
The waterfront was in a frenzy. The channel boasted a dozen vessels heading out. Every other foreign ship was preparing to sail. The river itself seemed strangely disturbed and choppy.
Shed tried three ships before he found one where money talked loudly enough to be heard. He paid ten leva to a piratical purser and found himself a spot where he would not be seen from shore.
Nevertheless, as the crew were casting off, the man called Pawnbroker came racing along the pier with a squad of soldiers, shouting at the ship’s master to hold fast.
The ship’s master made an obscene gesture, told them where they could go, and began drifting with the current. There were too few tugs for the number of ships moving out.
For his defiance the skipper got an arrow through the throat. Astonished sailors and officers stood frozen, aghast. Arrows stormed aboard, killed more than a dozen men, including the mate and boatswain. Shed cowered in his hiding place, gripped by a terror deeper than any he had known before.
He had known they were hard men, men who did not play games. He had not realized just how hard they were, how savage they could be. The Duke’s men would have thrown up their hands in despair and wandered away cursing. They would not have massacred anyone.
The arrows kept coming, in a light patter, till the vessel was out of range.
Only then did Shed peep out and watch the city dwindle slowly. Oh, slowly, did it drift away.
To his surprise none of the sailors were angry with him. They were angry, true, but had not made a connection between the attack and their last-minute passenger.
Safe, he thought, elated. That lasted till he began to wonder where he was bound and what he would do once he got there.
&nb
sp; A sailor called, “Sir, they’re coming after us in a launch.” Shed’s heart dropped to his ankles. He looked and saw a small ship pulling out, trying to put on sail. Men in Black Company uniform abused the crew, hurrying them.
He got back into hiding. After the mauling these men had taken, there was no doubt they would surrender him rather than suffer more. If they realized he was what Pawnbroker wanted.
How had the man picked up his trail?
Sorcery. Of course. Had to be.
Did that mean they could find him anywhere?
Juniper: Bad News
The fuss was over. It had been a dramatic display while it lasted, though not as impressive as some I’ve seen. The battle on the Stair of Tear. The fighting around Charm. This was all flash and show, more rattling to Juniper’s people than to us or the denizens of the black castle. They did us no harm. The worst they suffered was the direct deaths outside their gate. The fire inside did no real harm. Or so the Taken reported.
Grimy, Whisper grounded her carpet outside my headquarters, trundled inside looking the worse for wear but unharmed. “What started it?” she asked.
The Lieutenant explained.
“They’re getting frightened,” she said. “Maybe desperate. Were they trying to scare you off or take you prisoner?”
“Definitely prisoner,” I said. “They hit us with some kind of sleepy spell before they came after us.” One-Eye supported me with a nod.
“Why were they unsuccessful?”
“One-Eye broke the spell. Turned it around on them. We killed three.”
“Ah! No wonder they were upset. You brought one down with you?”
“I thought we could understand them better if I cut one up to see how he was made.”
Whisper did one of her mental fades, communing with the mistress of us all. She returned. “A good idea. But Feather and I will do the cutting. Where is the corpse? I’ll take it to Duretile now.”
I indicated the body. It was in plain sight. She had two men carry it to her carpet. I muttered, “Don’t damn trust us to do anything anymore.” Whisper heard me. She did not comment.