by Peter David
Thorpe stood over him, and said, “I don’t mind if people think that I’m stupid, Warlord. I do mind it, however, when they treat me as if I’m stupid.” Then he called loudly, “Lord Mayor! I’d like you to meet our former employer. The one who so generously paid us nonexistent wages and treated us as if we were dirt upon his feet.”
Droogan looked up, blinking owlishly, as Russell strolled over and stared down at him with a lopsided grin. “Hi.” He waggled his fingers at him. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. Oh,” he said as if it were an afterthought, “have you met my deputy mayor?”
Droogan, who had managed to sit up by that point, turned and looked where Russell was pointing. He blanched. “You!” he said.
“Me,” I readily agreed.
“Wh-what did you do to my men!?”
“It’s a strange thing, Warlord,” I said in so conversational a tone that you might have thought we were seated in a tavern tossing back drinks and discussing matters in the abstract. “When you’ve faced death as equals alongside people, it’s not always easy to go back to treating them like they’re—”
“Shite on your boots?” suggested Russell.
“I was going to say ‘commodities,’ but your turn of phrase works, too, I suppose.”
“Captain Thorpe!” Russell called. Thorpe immediately strode forward and snapped off a most impressive salute. “Take the prisoner under arrest so that he can be tried for his crimes.”
“Yes, Lord Mayor.”
Thorpe bowed slightly, and there was a wicked smile on his face.
The warlord, now on his feet, made as if to go for a weapon.
Immediately, Thorpe, Baron, and Trevor all had their guns in their hands as if the things had flown into them. “Try it, please,” said Captain Thorpe. “I’m begging you.”
“Maybe I should at that,” Droogan said with a snarl. “A trial? Seriously? You expect me to believe—”
“I don’t care what you believe,” Russell said with the calm of one who has all the cards in his hand. “All you’re being told is how we do things in Blackholm. We don’t treat people like . . . commodities. Everyone has rights. Everyone is treated fairly. That’s how it works in a civilized society.”
The warlord’s mouth twisted into a derisive sneer. Then he spread wide his hands, and said, “As you say, Lord Mayor. A civilized society.”
Thorpe promptly moved in and relieved the warlord of his weapons. Then he was led away and, as that happened, both citizens and soldiers—no, I take that back, the populace—slowly applauded.
I turned to Russell. “A trial, eh?”
“Yes.” He paused, then added, “Oh, he’ll be found guilty, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And sentenced to die horribly.”
“As well he should be,” I said, wanting to sound diplomatic.
“But still, we should go through the motions, what with being a civilized society and all.”
“I have to think your father would have approved of that. And of you.”
“You know,” he said, “you really are welcome to stay here if you wish. I know you consider the title of deputy mayor strictly honorary, but I’d be pleased if you wished to keep it permanently.”
“Thank you . . . but I think I’d best be moving on. Page and I—”
“Page and you?” He regarded me strangely as if I had said something utterly perplexing.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Well, because she left this morning, that’s why. I saw her leave. Wished her well.”
“She left?”
I was utterly flummoxed. Admittedly, Page and I hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few days. There had been a great deal involved in putting Blackholm back together. The meetings that had melded the two groups—citizens and soldiers—into a single people resolved to protect their mutual home—had been held with a certain degree of trepidation at first. That was understandable. But they had come to an accord fairly quickly. I think, when all is said and done, people generally would prefer to get along with each other than to be enemies. It’s less aggravation.
Then there had been the work on rebuilding, on finding quarters, burying the dead, so on and so on.
So the fact was that Page and I really hadn’t had much opportunity to discuss future plans. For that matter, there was no reason to think that there were going to be any future plans. Page was who she was, and I was who I was.
But still, the notion that she would just up and leave without saying anything at all . . .
Without another word to Russell, I hastened back to where she had been quartered. Sure enough, there was no sign of her. She’d set out walking, of course. No animals for her. That meant that, if I were of a mind to, I could overtake her on Clash easily enough, presuming I knew where she was going. The logical assumption was that she was returning to Bowerstone, but I couldn’t simply make that assumption. Besides, what interest did I have in returning to Bowerstone? None.
I returned to my quarters to give myself a chance to think, and there, sitting on my bunk, was a piece of paper folded widthwise. My name had been written on the outside in a cursive scrawl I recognized immediately as Page’s.
I went to reach for it, then jumped several feet in the air as a sharp voice said from directly above me, “What do you think it says?”
“Damnation!” I clutched at my chest and glared up at the gnome, perched in the rafters. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”
“You survive everything you’ve been through, and that’s what’s going to finish you?” The gnome chortled over that and dropped to the floor.
“I hadn’t seen you all week. I thought maybe you’d left. Or been killed. I should have known I couldn’t be that lucky.” Shaking my head at him in annoyance, I sat on the edge of the bed. I didn’t open the note, though. Instead, I said, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you tell my brother about the plan? Because you were hoping to make sure it didn’t work? Or because you were hoping that there was still enough of William in there that he’d do exactly what he did?”
The gnome simply stared at me. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll believe what you want to believe. So are you going to read the stupid note or not?”
I flipped it open. Each line was written with perfect precision, just the way she typically did. My handwriting tended to wander all over a letter like a drunken blind man, but Page wrote as if she had a ruler underneath each line:
I have set off for Bo werstone. The warlord may face justice in Blackholm, but we both know that the true criminal here, Reaver, remains untouched and untouchable. But although his manor may be his stronghold, his center of power remains Bowerstone. It is there that I can undermine his financial stability. It is there I can gain the allies I need, and it is there that I can muster the resources to bring him down once and for all. Do I do this for your brother? Not particularly. I didn’t know him. I do it for the countless victims of Reaver’s schemes. And here’s what’s more, Finn: I will do it without you. You lied to me, endangered me, and proved beyond any question that I cannot trust you. Your help is neither needed nor wanted. Granted, we had some “moments” between us, but they are over. You are to come nowhere near me, and nowhere near Bowerstone. I hope I have made myself clear. Oh . . . and during the cleanup, I found the enclosed. I thought you should have it. Now stay away.
—P.
The “enclosed” was the signet ring that my brother had worn. Obviously, it had survived the explosion. It was darkened and singed but intact.
Slowly, I slid it onto the corresponding finger on my opposite hand. Then I read the note twice more, and a cold fury started to build in me. “That bitch!” I said.
“Such language!” the gnome chided me.
“Where does she get off, trying to tell me to stay out of Bowerstone? I can go to Bowerstone if I want to! It’s a free country, at least until the Pages of the world get their hooks in i
t! I can travel to whatever city I like! And I’m not to come near her? What’s she going to do if I do come near her? Shoot me?”
“She might.”
“And where does she get off saying that I’d be of no help to her in bringing down Reaver? I have skills. I know people.” I was hurriedly packing my gear even as I spoke. “This is so typical for her. Trying to run everything herself and push me aside. Well, I’ll show her. I’ll show her who she can order out of Bowerstone. I’ll show her just how ‘little’ help I can be.” I held up the note and waved it at the gnome. “I was going to just toss this, but I have a better idea! I am going to make her eat these words! Literally ! When the two of us bring down Reaver, I am going to hold this up in front of her and read them out loud to the entire rebellion that we’ve assembled, and say, ‘Eat these if you have a shred of honor!’ That’s what I’m going to do!” I shoved the note into my bag. “Just see if I don’t!”
“Whatever you say,” said the gnome.
I headed for the door, had my hand on the knob, then stopped.
The gnome sounded disappointed. “What? Aren’t you going? You had such a nice head of steam.”
Slowly, I lowered my hand and stared at the gnome. “You little bastard,” I said. “You told her what to write.”
“What?” The gnome looked aghast.
“You did.” I dropped my sack and moved toward him. “You told her what to write!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking ab—”
“It’s the same approach you used to get her to come with me! Telling her not to so that she would! The exact same! Admit it!”
“Of course I did!” said the gnome. “She wanted you to come with her, she wasn’t sure how to get you to do it, and I told her that I knew just what she should write because I know how women like you think.”
“I’m not a woman!”
“Yeah? Then how come you acted exactly the way I said ya would, ya big girl?”
I stood there, frozen, pointing my finger at him as if I were in the midst of some great pronouncement.
And then I started to laugh.
I laughed, and I kept laughing. The gnome didn’t laugh, but he did sit there with a pleased smirk upon his face, and, when I finally managed to pull myself together, I gestured helplessly and said between gasps of breath, “Fine. You win. I’m a woman.”
“A big girl,” he corrected me. “I used to think you’d grown up to a woman, but I demoted you.”
“I’ll tell you this,” I said. “If she went to this much trouble to get me to go to her, I might as well accommodate her. You coming?”
“Maybe eventually. But I got somewhere else I’d rather go right now.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“I thought I’d go visit with Reaver for a while.”
“‘Visit’? You mean you’re going to hang around Reaver’s mansion and hurl insults at him?”
“Him. Visitors. Anyone who gets within earshot.”
“It’s going to drive him insane!”
“That’s the general idea.”
“He might try to shoot you,” I said. “Plus, remember, they caught you once.”
“Acchh,” he said dismissively. “They never could’ve caught me that time if I hadn’t let ’em. I was getting bored. Don’t worry about me.” Then he cocked his head like an interested puppy. “Were you worried about me? I could see a girl like you getting all concerned . . .”
“No, I’m not worried.”
I stuck out a hand. He looked at it curiously. Then, very slowly, he reached out and took it. We shook hands as gravely as two individuals could.
“You know,” I said as I picked up my bag and prepared to head out, “you’ll probably just insult me again, but I have to take one final shot at finding out.”
“Finding out what?”
“What’s your name?”
The gnome gave me a long look, then said, “Ginjer. With a ‘j’ in the middle, not a ‘g.’”
“Ginjer?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . that’s a girl’s name.”
“Right. All gnomes are female.”
“What?”
“Of course. How do you think I knew every step of the way exactly how to manipulate women? Why else was Page the only one of you lot that I could tolerate? Why else would I think that all men are idiots?”
“Wait a minute! Women don’t think all men are idiots!”
“Now you’re trying to tell me how women think?” said the gnome. “Considering you’re standing here wasting time, arguing with me, while you’re letting the best thing that ever happened to you get away? Not only do you not know how women think, but you don’t even know your own mind or what’s good for you.”
I stared at the creature in front of me and shook my head. “You know what? I think you’re having me off. I don’t buy what you’re saying for a moment. You just enjoy lying to me.”
“Don’t believe me. Suit yourself,” said the gnome.
I walked out into a bright new day and realized that I would have to leave Clash behind. Clash, who had been such a marvelous and strong companion, left here in this nowhere town, back to being in the care of Trevor, who wasn’t a particularly good horseman since he only had the one arm. Plus he was a bit of an ass.
Of course, I could offer to buy the horse from him.
Or I could just steal Clash out from under Trevor’s nose.
Not a really tough choice when you’re Ben Finn.
******
