Dread Brass Shadows

"I ain't going." Sullenly.

The philosopher chuckled. How could a guy with his realist's outlook stay in the niche he'd chosen? He said, "Least we know he ain't dead yet. I never saw a stiff puke. I was worried Chodo'd have a litter if we delivered a deader."

"Why? He's go

"We don't know that. He didn't say that."

"Shit."

"All right. There ain't much doubt. But Chodo wants to talk to him first. To apologize, maybe. They used to be buddies or something."

Or something. I'd never counted on Chodo's gratitude being bottomless. I wondered if there was a co

"Shit. He's crazy," the complainer said.

"Sure. And he's the kingpin, too."

Grumble grumble. Lots of use of that favorite four-letter word. I wondered if they knew I was awake. I wondered if I was being snookered.

The philosopher began rhapsodizing on the passing scenery. A nature lover. Some city boys get that way in the country. A plain old willow is a cause for wonder. His observations suggested we were on the road to Chodo's place already. We were in some wooded hills. That meant we weren't more than a mile or two from the place I was supposed to meet Crask and Sadler later. The woods would give way to vineyards on the north slopes, though there would still be patches of trees alongside the road. If I wanted to stay healthy, I ought to do something before we reached the vineyards. There wasn't cover enough to make an escape over there.

Only my body didn't feel like doing anything. Maybe next week. Maybe after the swelling went down.

It's real hard to find much ambition after you've had your noggin used for a drum.

The way the horses were straining I guessed we were climbing Hornet Nest Hill, a long steep climb. Near the top the road makes a backward S-curve, climbing what amounts to a bluff, before it leaps the ridge and heads for the end of the woods. Perfect. I could dive out the door and over the side, roll down the hill, and disappear before these thugs could get their mouths closed. I told my body to get ready.

My body said go to hell. It wasn't moving. Moving hurt.

The carriage stopped.

The complainer opened a door, asked, "What's up?"

"I don't know," the driver told him. "The horses don't want to go any farther

Say what? Me and horses don't get along. If there's any way for them to mess me around, they will. I couldn't picture them not galloping all the way to carry me to my execution. Unless they wanted to mess with me some themselves before letting Chodo have me... Hell. I couldn't keep that game going. I felt too lousy.

The philosopher edged the complainer out of the doorway. "Hang on, Mace. Don't push them. Maybe they know something." He got out of the coach. His buddy followed him. "Could be that shoemaker's bunch. Was I to set an ambush, I'd put it right up there, just before the top. Where the cut is, with the drop on the right. Leaves you nowhere to duck."

They debated. The sullen one tossed in two sceats worth of let's get rolling, there ain't no damned ambush. The philosopher suggested, "Why don't you go up and look?"

They argued. The complainer sneered. "Candyass! I'll show you." I heard his feet crunch the road surface. He sent opinions back meant to keep the curl in the philosopher's hair.

Come on, Garrett! This is it. They've handed it to you. All you have to do is fall through a door and roll down a hill. Or the other way around. You have the necessary skills.

My body told me, all right, I'll let you open one eye.

I did. I couldn't see squat because I wasn't facing the door.

The driver observed, "Something's up. He's slowing down "Like maybe the philosopher had bad eyes.

The philosopher called, "What is it, Winsome?"

I wished I had the energy to laugh. Winsome? Was that a nickname?

Did I have a death wish? The philosopher was talking from near the head of the team. They were handing me it on a platter and all I could do was turn my head enough to look outside and see that we were exactly where I'd guessed

Come on, Garrett!

I reached back for the old reserves and found I had enough to lever myself up enough to see that they hadn't dressed me up in ropes or shackles. I could leap up and dash away after leaving my dreaded mark slashed into the property of the evildoers.

Winsome yelled something about a bad smell.

I heard a footstep. Cu

He pulled an illegal sword from beneath his seat, told the driver, "Don't move," and went stomping up the road.

The driver cussed the horses. The animals were getting restless.

My body began to yield to my will. I got onto my knees slowly so as not to rock the coach and alert the driver. I looked out the open door at the woods. I don't usually have much use for the country, but from where I knelt at that moment ticks and chiggers and poison ivy didn't sound bad at all. I eased forward, poked my head out far enough to look uphill.

One guy was almost to the top. He seemed uncomfortable. Only his brags were keeping him up there. The other was striding toward him, sword in hand.

One quick dive over the edge, Garrett. Your best chance.

Ha! said my body. No you don't.

I was recovering. And they were giving me time I could use to recover some more, talking up there. I wondered what was going on. I wondered even more about that reference to a shoemaker.

Maybe if I lived, I'd figure it out.

38

If I didn't get off my ass soon, I was going to lose a lot of respect for me. Not to mention aforesaid ass. I'd regret it the rest of my life. So I did something, on the old Corps theory that doing anything is better than doing nothing at all.

I swung my feet over the side and settled them on the road. That took most of my energy. Unfortunately, it also wakened the driver. I'd hoped to have another minute before I went down the hill. But the guy up top yelled.

Winsome spotted me. He roared. The philosopher yelled. You'd have thought we'd won the war. They started ru

The driver hollered again, but he wasn't worried about me now.

I heaved myself upright and tottered forward. I didn't look where I was going. I was too busy gawking at the scaly green barrel of a head, sleepy-eyed, that had risen above the ridge line. The monster made a puzzled whuffing noise, then gri

The bottom went out from under me as the horses began a brief debate about the quickest way to get the hell out of there.

The slope was steeper than I'd remembered it. I couldn't control my descent. I went down ass over appetite, sliding, rolling, ricocheting off trees, bouncing through underbrush. Every stick and stone autographed my body. I ended up spread-eagle in a patch of last year's thistles. I wondered if it was worth it.

Up top, the horses had found a way to turn around and were headed south. The driver cracked his whip like maybe they needed encouragement. The philosopher and Winsome were fifty feet behind hollering for the driver to wait up. Big Ugly had gotten all of himself upright and over the ridge and was fixing to put on a burst of speed.

The whole thing would have been amusing had I not been part of it, down there in the ravine trying to blend into the landscape so I wouldn't look killable or edible either one.

No team and no men are going to outrun a critter that makes its living chasing things and has legs fifteen feet long. On the other hand, no critter thirty feet tall will have a lot of luck sprinting down a twisty road less than eight feet wide in the turns. The thunder-lizard over hauled Winsome as the man headed into a sharp turn with a cut on one side and a forty-foot drop on the other. The critter smacked into the hillside, rebounded, and off the road he went. He cussed in thunder-lizard all the way to the bottom.