by Glen Cook
“That’s forty-five miles. You wouldn’t make it. They’d kill you and take what you had. The only reason they don’t bother the Guard and the road is that those have the Lady’s protection. If this coming winter is as bad as the last few, that won’t stop them, either.”
“Uhm. Well, it was an idea. You the one called Case?”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Heard you been taking care of some guy. …” I let it drop. His reaction was not what I expected. “Well, that’s what they’re saying around town. Thanks for the advice.” I got out. But I feared I had goofed.
I soon knew I had goofed.
A squad commanded by a major showed up at the inn only minutes after my return. They had the bunch of us under arrest before we knew what was happening. Goblin and One-Eye barely had time to cast spells of concealment on their gear.
We played ignorant. We cursed and grumbled and whined. It did us no good. Our captors knew less about why we were being grabbed than we did. Just following orders.
The landlord had a look which made me certain he had reported us as suspicious. I expect Case said something about my visit that tipped a balance somewhere. Whatever, we were on our way to cells.
Ten minutes after the door clanged shut, the very commander of the Eternal Guard turned up. I sighed in relief. He hadn’t been here before. At least he was no one we knew. He shouldn’t know us.
We had had time to rehearse using the deaf speech. All but Tracker. But Tracker seemed lost within himself. They had not allowed his mutt to accompany him. He had been angry about that. Scared the crap out of the guys who arrested us. For a minute they thought they would have to fight him.
The commander studied us, then introduced himself. “I’m Colonel Sweet. I command the Eternal Guard.” Case hovered behind him, anxious. “I asked you men here because aspects of your behavior have been unusual.”
“Have we unwittingly broken a rule not publicly posted?” I asked.
“Not at all. Not at all. The matter is entirely circumstantial. What you might call a question of undeclared intent.”
“You’ve lost me, sir.”
He began pacing up and down the passageway outside our cell. Up and down. “There is the old saw about actions speaking louder than words. I’ve had reports on you from several sources. About your excessive curiosity about matters not connected with your business.”
I did my best to appear baffled. “What’s unusual about asking questions in new country? My associates haven’t been here before. It’s been years since I was. Things have changed. Anyway, this is one of the most interesting places in the empire.”
“Also one of the most dangerous, trader. Candle, is it? Mr. Candle, you were stationed here in service. What unit?”
That I could answer without hesitation. “Drake Crest. Colonel Lot. Second Battalion.” I was here, after all.
“Yes. The Roses mercenary brigade. What was the Colonel’s favorite drink?”
Oh, boy. “I was a pikeman, Colonel. I didn’t drink with the brigadier,”
“Right.” He paced. I could not tell if that answer worked or not. Drake Crest hadn’t been a flashy, storied outfit like the Black Company. Who the hell would remember anything about them? After a time. “You must understand my position. With that thing buried out there paranoia becomes an occupational hazard.” He pointed in the direction the Great Barrow must He. Then he stalked off.
“What the hell was all that?” Goblin asked.
“I don’t know. And I’m not sure I want to find out. Somehow, we got ourselves into big trouble.” That for the benefit of eavesdroppers.
Goblin accepted his cue. “Damnit, Candle, I told you we shouldn’t come up here. I told you the Oar people would have an arrangement with the Guard.”
One-Eye jumped in then. They really ragged me. Meantime, we talked it over with the finger speech, decided to wait the Colonel out.
Not much choice anyway, without tipping our hands.
Imprisoned in the Barrowland
It was bad. Far worse than we suspected. Those Guard guys were paranoid plus. I mean, they didn’t have an inkling who we were. But they did not let that slow them.
Half a platoon showed up suddenly. Rattle and clang at the door. No talk. Grim faces. We had trouble.
“I don’t think they’re going to turn us loose,” Goblin said.
“Out,” a sergeant told us.
We went out. All but Tracker. Tracker just sat there. I tried a funny. “He misses his dog.”
Nobody laughed.
One of the Guards punched Tracker’s arm. Tracker took a long time turning, looking at the man, his face an emotional blank.
“You shouldn’t ought to have done that,” I said.
“Shut up,” the sergeant snapped. “Gel him moving.”
The man who had punched Tracker went to hit him again.
It might have been a love tap in slowed motion. Tracker reached around the moving fist, caught the advancing wrist, broke it. The Guardsman shrieked. Tracker tossed him aside. His face remained a blank. His gaze followed the man belatedly. He seemed to begin wondering what was happening.
The other Guards gaped. Then a couple jumped in with bared weapons.
“Hey! Take it easy!” I yelled. “Tracker. …”
Still in that sort of mental nowhere, Tracker took their weapons away, tossed them into a corner, and beat the crap out of both men. The sergeant was torn between awe and outrage.
I tried to mollify him. “He’s not very bright. You can’t come at him like that. You have to explain things slow like, two or three times.”
“I’ll explain!” He started to send the rest of his men into the cell.
“You get him mad, you’re going to get somebody killed.” I talked fast, and wondered what the hell it was with Tracker and his damned pooch. That mutt went away, Tracker became a moron. With homicidal tendencies.
The sergeant let sense override anger. “You get him under control.”
I worked on it. I knew the immediate future boded no good from the attitude of the soldiers, but was not overly worried. Goblin and One-Eye could handle whatever trouble developed. The thing to do now was keep our heads and lives.
I wanted to tend the three injured soldiers, but dared not. Just looking at One-Eye and Goblin would give clues enough for the other side to figure out, eventually, who we were. No sense giving them more. I concentrated on Tracker. Once I got him to focus on me it was no great task to get through, to calm him down, to explain that we were going somewhere with the soldiers.
He said, “They shouldn’t ought to do me like that, Croaker,” He sounded like a child whose feelings had been hurt. I grimaced. But the Guards did not react to the name.
They surrounded us, all with hands upon weapons, except those trying to get their injured companions to the horse doctor who served as the Guard’s physician. Some of them were itching to get even. I worked hard to keep Tracker calm.
The place they took us did not encourage me. It was a sodden cellar beneath the headquarters. It looked like a caricature of a torture chamber. I suspect it was meant to intimidate. Having seen real torture and real torture implements, I recognized half the equipment as prop or unusually antiquated. But there were some serviceable implements, too. I exchanged glances with Goblin and One-Eye.
Tracker said, “I don’t like it here. I want to go outside. I want to see Toad-killer Dog.”
“Stand easy. We’ll be out in a little while.”
Goblin grinned his famous grin, though it was a little lopsided. Yes. We would be out soon. Maybe feet first, but out.
Colonel Sweet was there. He did not seem pleased by our reaction to his stage. He said, “I want to talk to you men. You didn’t seem eager to chat earlier. Are these surroundings more amenable?”
“Not exactly. They make one wonder, though. Is this the penalty for stepping on the heels of the gentlemen traders of Oar? I didn’t realize they had the blessing of th
e Guard in their monopoly.”
“Games. No games, Mr. Candle. Straight answers. Now. Or my men will make your next few hours extremely unpleasant.”
“Ask. But I have a bad feeling I don’t have the answers you want to hear.”
“Then that will be your misfortune.”
I glanced at Goblin. He had gone into a sort of trance.
The Colonel said, “I do not believe you when you say you’re just traders. The pattern of your questions indicate an inordinate interest in a man named Corbie and his house. Corbie, let it be noted, is suspected of being either a Rebel agent or Resurrectionist. Tell me about him.”
I did, almost completely, and truthfully: “I never heard of him before we got here.”
I think he believed me. But he shook his head slowly.
“You see. You won’t believe me even when you know I’m telling the truth.”
“But how much are you telling? That is the question. The White Rose compartments its organization. You could have had no idea who Corbie was and still have come looking for him. Has he been out of touch for a while?”
This sucker was sharp.
My face must have been too studiedly blank. He nodded to himself, scanned the four of us, zeroed in on One-Eye. “The black man. Pretty old, isn’t he?”
I was surprised he did not make more of One-Eye’s skin color. Black men are extremely rare north of the Sea of Torments. Chances are the Colonel had not seen one before. That a black man, very old, is one of the cornerstones of the Black Company is not exactly a secret.
I did not answer.
“We’ll start with him. He looks least likely to stand up.”
Tracker asked, “You want me to kill them, Croaker?”
“I want you to keep your mouth shut and stand still, that’s what I want.” Damn. But Sweet missed the name. Either that or I was less famous than I thought and overdue for ego deflation.
Sweet did seem amazed that Tracker was so confident.
“Take him to the rack.” He indicated One-Eye.
One-Eye chuckled and extended his hands to the men who approached him. Goblin snickered. Their amusement disturbed everyone. Me not least, for I knew their senses of humor.
Sweet looked me in the eye. “They find this amusing? Why?”
“If you don’t indulge a sudden whim of civilized behavior, you’re going to find out.”
He was tempted to back down, but decided we were running some colossal bluff.
They took One-Eye to the rack. He grinned and climbed up himself. Goblin squeaked, “I been waiting to see you on one of those things for thirty years. Damn my luck if somebody else doesn’t get to turn the crank when the chance finally comes.”
“We’ll see who turns that crank on who, horse apple,” One-Eye replied.
They bantered back and forth. Tracker and I stood like posts. The imperials became ever more disturbed. Sweet, obviously, wondered if he shouldn’t take One-Eye down and work on me.
They strapped One-Eye down. Goblin cackled, danced a little jig. “Stretch him till he’s ten feet tall, guys,” he said. “You’ll still have a mental midget.”
Somebody swung a backhand Goblin’s way. He leaned only slightly. When the man pulled his hand back, having missed entirely and been only lightly brushed by a warding hand, he looked at his own paw in astonishment.
Ten thousand pinpricks of blood had appeared. They formed a pattern. Almost a tattoo. And that tattoo showed two serpents intertwined, each with its fangs buried in the other’s neck. If necks are what snakes have behind their heads.
A distraction. I recognized it, of course. After the first moment, I concentrated on One-Eye. He just grinned.
The men who were to stretch him turned back after a moment, whipped by their Colonel’s snarl. Sweet was damned uncomfortable now. He had a suspicion he faced something extraordinary, but he refused to be intimidated.
As the torturers stepped up to One-Eye his naked belly heaved. And a big, nasty spider crawled out of his navel. It came out in a ball, dragging itself with two legs, then unwrapped the others from around a body half the size of my thumb. It stepped aside and another crawled forth. The first ambled down One-Eye’s leg, toward the man who held the crank to which One-Eye’s ankles were strapped. The fellow’s eyes just kept getting bigger. He turned to his commanding officer.
Absolute silence filled the cellar. I don’t think the imperials even remembered to breathe.
Another spider crawled out of One-Eye’s heaving belly. And another. And he seemed diminished just a bit more each time. His faced changed, slowly shifting toward what a spider’s face looks like if you look real close. Most people do not have the nerve.
Goblin giggled.
“Turn the crank!” Sweet roared.
The man at One-Eye’s feet tried. The first spider scuttled up the lever onto his hand. He shrieked, flung his hand around, hurled the arachnid into the shadows.
“Colonel,” I said in as businesslike a voice as I could muster, “this has gone far enough. Let’s not get someone hurt.”
There was a whole mob of them and four of us and Sweet wanted badly to rely on that. But already several men were edging toward the exit. Most were edging away from us. Everyone stared at Sweet.
Damned Goblin. Had to let his enthusiasm get away. He squeaked, “Hold on, Croaker, This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Let them stretch One-Eye a little.”
I saw the light dawn behind Sweet’s eyes, though he tried to conceal it. “Damn you, Goblin. Now you’ve done it. We’re going to have a talk after this is over. Colonel. What will it be? I have the edge here. As you now know.”
He elected for the better part of valor. “Release him,” he told the man nearest One-Eye.
There were spiders all over One-Eye. He had them popping out of his mouth and ears now. Getting enthusiastic, he had them turning up as gaudy as you can imagine, hunters, web-spinners, jumpers. All big and revolting. Sweet’s men refused to go near him,
I told Tracker, “Go stand in the doorway. Don’t let anybody out.” He had no trouble understanding that. I released One-Eye. I had to keep reminding myself the arachnids were illusions.
Some illusions. I felt the little creepies. … Belatedly, I realized One-Eye’s legions were marching on Goblin. “Damn it, One-Eye! Grow up!” The son-of-a-bitch wasn’t satisfied to bluff the imperials. He had to play games with Goblin, too. I wheeled on Goblin. “If you do one damned thing to get involved in this, I’ll see you never leave the Hole again. Colonel Sweet. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed your hospitality. If you and your men will come over here? We’ll just be on our way.”
Reluctantly, Sweet gestured. Half of his men refused to move toward the spiders. “One-Eye. Game time is over. It’s get-out-alive time. Would you mind?”
One-Eye gestured. His eight-legged troops rushed into the shadows behind the rack, where they vanished into that mad oblivion from which such things spring. One-Eye strutted over to stand by Tracker. He was cocky now. For weeks we would hear about how he had saved us. If we lived to get away tonight.
I shooed Goblin over, then joined them myself. I told Goblin and One-Eye, “I want no sound to escape this room. And I want that door sealed like it was part of the wall. Then I want to know where we find this character Corbie.”
“You got it,” One-Eye said. Eye twinkling, he added, “So long, Colonel. It was fun.”
Sweet forebore making threats. Sensible man.
Fixing the room took the wizards ten minutes, which I found inordinately long. I became mildly suspicious, but forgot that notion when they said they were done and that the man we wanted was in another building nearby.
I should have harkened to my suspicions.
Five minutes later we stood in the doorway of the building where Corbie was supposed to be. We had encountered no difficulty getting there. “One second, Croaker,” One-Eye said. He faced the building we had vacated, snapped his fingers.
The whole damned place fell in.
“Now there’s nobody who knows who we are.”
“Whose fault was it they did know?”
“Chopped off the head of the snake, too. Be so much confusion we could walk off with the Lady’s jewelry if we wanted.”
“Yeah?” There would be those who knew we were brought in. They would wonder some if they saw us wandering around. “Tell me, 0 genius. Did you locate the documents I want before you tumbled the place down? If they’re in there, you’re the gent who’s going to dig them out.”
His face dropped.
Yes. I expected that. Because that is my kind of luck. And that is the way One-Eye is. He never thinks things through.
“We’ll worry about Corbie first” I said. “Inside.”
As we pushed through the door we encountered Case coming to investigate the uproar.
Missing Man
Hi, fellow,” One-Eye said, punching a finger into the soldier’s chest, pushing him back. “Yeah. It’s your old pals.”
Behind me, Tracker stared across the compound. The collapse of the headquarters building was complete. Fire snapped and crackled inside. Toadkiller Dog loped around the end of the ruin.
“Look at that.” I punched Goblin’s arm. “He’s running.” I faced Case. “Show us your friend Corbie.”
He did not want to do that.
“You don’t want to argue. We’re not in the mood. Move it or we walk over you.”
The compound had begun to fill with yammering soldiers. None noticed us. Toadkiller Dog loped up, sniffed Tracker’s calves, made a sound deep in his throat. Tracker’s face gleamed.
We pushed in behind Case. “To Corbie,” I reminded him.
He led us to a room where a single oil lamp illuminated a man on a bed, neatly blanketed. Case turned the lamp up.
“Oh, holy shit,” I murmured. I plopped my butt on the edge of the bed. “It ain’t possible. One-Eye?” But One-Eye was in another universe. He just stood there with his mouth open. Like Goblin.
Finally, Goblin squeaked, “But he’s dead. He died six years ago.”
Corbie was the Raven who played such a grand part in the Company past. The Raven who had set Darling on her present course.