Shadows Linger

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 ru

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 sca

“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 cha

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 co

Safe, he thought, elated. That lasted till he began to wonder where he was bound and what he would do once he got there.

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?

Chapter Thirty-Five

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.

Once the body was loaded, she told the Lieutenant, “Begin your preliminary siegework immediately. A cir-cumvallation. Limper will support you. It’s likely the Dominator’s creatures will try to break out or take prisoners, or both. Don’t permit it. A dozen captives would allow them to open the pathway. You would find yourself facing the Dominator. He would not be kind.”

“No shit.” The Lieutenant is a tough guy’s tough guy when it suits him. In those moments not even the Lady could intimidate him. “Why don’t you clear out? Tend to your job and let me tend to mine.”

His remarks didn’t fit the moment, but he was fed up with Taken in general. He had been on the march with the Limper for months, and the Limper fancied himself a commander. He gave the Lieutenant and Captain both a bellyful. And maybe that was the source of the friction between the Company and Taken. The Captain had his limits, too, though he was more diplomatic than the Lieutenant. He would ignore orders that did not suit him.

I went out to watch the circumvallation of the black castle. Drafts of laborers arrived from the Buskin, shovels over their shoulders and terror in their eyes. Our men put down their tools and assumed guardianship and supervisory roles. Occasionally the black castle sputtered, making a feeble attempt to interfere, like a volcano muttering to itself after its energy has been spent. The locals sometimes scattered and had to be rounded up. We lost a lot of good will won earlier.