Ghostwalker (Book 1)

by Ben Cassidy

  The innkeeper seemed surprised by the question. “Uh…around eleven thirty, I guess.”

  Kendril scowled as he looked at the clock resting on the fireplace mantle. “Right.” He turned back to the innkeeper and tavern maid. “You have a cellar or basement?”

  The bartender nodded his head towards the door set against the right wall. “Just the pantry, but—“

  “Good.” Kendril gestured towards the door. “Both of you get in there, and keep your heads down. No matter what you hear, don’t come out if you want to live.”

  The two nodded their understanding, then quickly scrambled for the pantry door. It clicked shut behind them.

  Maklavir got up from his chair, glancing at the clock himself. “For pity’s sake, try to think this through logically, Kendril.”

  “I have.” The Ghostwalker picked up the blunderbuss. “Are you in or out?”

  The diplomat blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Kendril held the blunderbuss out to him. “In or out? It’s this or the pantry. Your choice.”

  Maklavir looked with vague disgust at the weapon. He swallowed, thinking quickly. “We could try to parley,” he said with the first note of desperation in his voice.

  Kendril shook his head. “We have nothing to bargain with. Unless you want to give them Jade. Besides, I don’t think these guys are interested in talking.”

  Maklavir took a step back. “We still might be acting prematurely. They might be after someone or something else entirely. It may not be us—”

  “They’re watching the inn right now. We’re the only ones here. They’re coming tonight, Maklavir.”

  “You don’t know that for sure—“

  “Wake up, Maklavir!” Kendril snapped. “They’ve already killed two guards. Why in the Halls of Pelos would they wait?”

  Maklavir played his last card. “We could try to get help,” he said. “There are others here in town. Perhaps—”

  “We can’t get out of this inn without being seen. And even if we could, no one here would help us. They’re all just drifters, mostly hunters and trappers. They’ll lie low and save their own skins.” He thrust the gun forward once again. “You said before you wouldn’t give Jade up without a fight. So here we are. What are you going to do, Maklavir?”

  The diplomat hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixated on the blunderbuss. Then, very slowly, he reached out and took the weapon.

  “I’m in.”

  Kendril nodded. “Good man. There are two entrances to this place, one in the front and one in the back. I think I can cover things out here, but I need you to guard the rear.”

  Maklavir nodded slowly. “Tell me what to do.”

  Kendril vaulted over the counter, flinging open the door to the kitchen. “Keep this door open, and watch the back door, through there.” He pointed at it through the rows of pots and pans. He looked Maklavir in the eyes. “Whatever happens, and no matter what you hear out here, don’t take your eyes off that door for even a second, understand?”

  The diplomat nodded silently. “I understand. What then?”

  “If anyone comes through, shoot them. Don’t wait to see who it is, and don’t hesitate. Just fire.”

  “I see,” said the diplomat nervously. “I should warn you, I’m not much of a marksman.”

  “You don’t have to be. This blunderbuss will hit anything standing in front of you. Don’t worry about aiming. And don’t even think of shooting into the front room. You’ll hit me along with anyone else.”

  Maklavir peered nervously into the darkened kitchen. “And what happens if the first shot doesn’t stop them?”

  Kendril sighed. “Then use that sword you’ve got attached to your belt.”

  “Ah, yes.” Maklavir tugged at his goatee nervously. “About that. To be honest, I’m afraid that I’m really not much of a swordsman. Actually, the weapon is largely decorative.”

  Kendril’s eyes narrowed. “All right, then make sure you don’t miss with the blunderbuss.” He glanced into the dark kitchen. “I suggest hiding behind that cabinet, there. Probably your best cover.”

  “And where should I be?” Jade’s voice came suddenly from the stairway landing. Both Kendril and Maklavir glanced up.

  The green dress was gone. In its place she was wearing a pair of worn trousers, a blue shirt, and a large vest. On her head was a broad-brimmed black hat, with a yellow feather sticking jauntily from the top. A pair of well-traveled boots was on her feet.

  She smiled, giving a mock pose. “I found these in the closet upstairs. So what do you think?”

  Maklavir smiled. “Not bad. New look, I take it?”

  “Tuck your hair in,” said Kendril, “and try to keep the hat pulled down low.”

  Jade came carefully down the stairs. “Do you really think this will fool anyone?”

  Kendril walked quickly around the edge of the bar. “Probably not. But in the dark, it might be enough to confuse them, especially if they’re looking for a woman in a dress.”

  The young woman walked over to one of the tables. “So where should I be?”

  Kendril blew out one of the candles, giving the clock on the mantle another glance. “The pantry. That door, over there.”

  “Absolutely not.” Jade walked over and blew out two more candles. The room grew dark, lit only slightly by the dying glows of the fire.

  “This isn’t a debate,” said Kendril roughly. “Get into the pantry, and stay there until I tell you things are safe.”

  “I’m not going to hide out while you two risk your lives up here.” Jade took off her hat, pushing her hair up into a bundle and then putting it carefully back on again. “I’m staying whether you like it or not.” She glared at Kendril defiantly. “Now where do you want me to be?”

  Maklavir leaned in through the open kitchen door. “Best to just give in, Kendril. I’ve found that arguing with a woman is a rather pointless endeavor.”

  Kendril frowned. “All right. Get behind the bar.”

  Jade crossed her arms. “I told you I wasn’t going to hide—”

  The Ghostwalker moved swiftly to the bar himself. “If you want to stand out in the middle of the room and make yourself a better target, go right ahead. As for me, I’m getting behind the bar.” He dropped behind the counter, resting his back against a large barrel.

  For a moment Jade looked indecisive, then she walked around the counter, and plopped down beside Kendril.

  “So,” said Maklavir’s whispered voice from the darkness of the kitchen. “What do we do now?”

  Kendril closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bar. “We wait.”

  Chapter 6

  The inn was deathly silent, save for the light patter of rain on the windows and the last few spits and crackles from the fireplace. Jade closed her eyes, listening to the dull sounds. Even the thunder had vanished, and the storm seemed to have lost most of its fury. With each passing minute, fear seemed to envelope her more and more. The darkness of the common room certainly didn’t help. She glanced over to her right, seeing Kendril’s dark shape just a few feet away. The Ghostwalker had not moved since he had sat down. For a terrifying moment, she wondered if he had fallen asleep.

  “Jade?” his whispered voice came out of the darkness, dispelling her fears.

  She nodded, then realized it was too dark too really see. “Yes?”

  Kendril shifted slightly, and Jade could feel his face turning towards her. “Do you know how to reload a pistol?”

  The question took her slightly by surprise. “Uh…I don’t—no.”

  There was a rustling of fabric, then she felt a cold wooden and metal object being thrust into her hands. “Time to learn. I won’t have time to reload during a fight, so I’ll need you to do it for me. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, feeling the awkward shape of the gun. “Yes, I think I can. What do I do?”

  “The gun’s already loaded, but I’ll walk you through the motions.” Kendril reach
ed out a hand, and Jade felt a small, heavy paper tube pressed into her palm. “This is a pistol cartridge. It’s filled with gunpowder with a bullet at one end. It’s made out of stiff paper, and tied at the top. Pinch the end. You can feel the bullet.”

  Jade did, and felt the hard lump. “Yeah, I feel it.”

  “Good. When you reload the pistol, you have to bite off the end of the cartridge, pour the gunpowder into the barrel, then the bullet, and then the paper cartridge itself.”

  “The paper? Why?”

  “It holds the bullet in place, so it doesn’t fall out.” Kendril’s voice was still in a low whisper, so that Jade had to lean forward to catch his words. “Feel under the barrel of the gun. There should be a small ramrod.”

  Jade found it. “Okay.”

  “You pull that out, then stick it down the barrel a couple of times to jam the bullet and the gunpowder all the way down. Two or three sharp, hard motions. Understand?”

  She felt the metal ramrod. “Understand. Then what?”

  “Replace the ramrod. If you don’t put it back, you could lose it, or worse, leave it in the barrel when the gun is fired. After that, thumb back the flintlock, and it’s ready to fire.” He was silent a minute, listening to the tapping of the rain on the windows. “All right. Can you repeat it all back to me?”

  Jade felt her stomach tighten, but grasped the cartridge tightly in her hand. “I bite off the end of the cartridge, pour the gunpowder in the barrel, then the bullet—” she hesitated.

  “And the paper.”

  “And the paper. Then I pull out the ramrod, jam it down, replace the ramrod, and click back the lock.” Finished, she lifted the gun in her left hand. It felt remarkably heavy. “It doesn’t sound that difficult,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  “It’s not,” said Kendril quietly. “Problem is, it’s easy to get flustered when a lot is going on. There’ll be other people shooting, shouting, and swinging swords. You have to focus on what you’re doing, and ignore whatever’s happening on the other side of this bar. Here’s two more. Keep them safe.” He dropped the cartridges into her hands.

  Jade felt her hands begin to tremble. She closed her hand tightly around the cartridges, trying desperately to steady herself. “I’ll try.”

  His hand reached over and gently took back the pistol. Jade heard him cock it with a sharp snick-click. She clasped her hands together. They were shaking pretty badly.

  “Kendril?”

  “Yes?”

  She heard the fireplace give a loud crack. “I’m not sure how much good I’ll be to you. I’m—“ she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been before.” She gave a sudden soft laugh. “That I can remember, anyway.”

  Kendril’s voice softened slightly. “You’ll do fine.”

  She was quiet for a minute. Jade glanced over through the shadows at the man next to her.

  “Are you afraid?”

  For a moment there was silence. Finally Kendril’s voice broke through the darkness between them. “Many things frighten me, Jade,” he said in a low voice. “But not death.”

  “Now,” said Montrose, snapping his pocket watch shut.

  The five men moved to the door and out onto the porch.

  Sir Reginald retreated into the corner, glancing anxiously out the window.

  Montrose got up from his rocking chair, hefting his crossbow easily in one hand. Ignoring the nobleman, he stepped out onto the porch behind his men.

  The street was deserted. There was little light at all, and the shape of The Laughing Dragon could be seen like a towering shadow before them. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle. Somewhere amongst the rag-tag buildings of the Outpost a dog barked.

  The men moved into the dark street, fanning out as they crossed the muddy ground. Montrose walked slowly behind them, his crossbow in his hands and his eye watching the buildings around them carefully. His mace dangled by the leather strap that held it to his belt.

  The first two men moved quietly up the stone steps, and flattened themselves on either side of the front door to the inn. One of them drew a long, gleaming knife, smiling cruelly. The other already had a long sword in his hand. He looked around cautiously.

  A third man vaulted up the steps, and bent down by the door. A pair of lock-picking tools were in his hands.

  The last two thugs stayed near the bottom of the steps, their backs turned to the inn and their eyes carefully scanning the empty street.

  Montrose remained standing a few feet away, his crossbow now slung across his shoulder.

  “Be quick about it,” he hissed.

  With a nod, the man by the door began to fiddle with his tools.

  Jade was almost drifting to sleep herself when a sudden creak from behind the front door of the tavern jolted her back to reality. She froze, not even daring to breathe. Another creak followed, then what sounded like a shuffling of footsteps outside. She glanced over at Kendril, who hadn’t moved.

  “Kendril…” she whispered, her heart leaping up into her throat.

  He nodded slightly in the darkness, but said nothing.

  There was a sudden click and a rattling from the front door. Jade felt her heart stop.

  They were coming.

  “It’s a shame, really,” whispered the thug with the sword, looking down curiously at his comrade picking the lock. “Killing people in their beds and all, I mean. Not much of a challenge.”

  “Shut up, Queltin.” The man trying to pick the lock shifted, trying to see better what he was doing. “And keep your voice down. If Montrose hears it he’ll belt ya.”

  Queltin mumbled something incomprehensible.

  The man with the long knife sniffed loudly. “Ain’t ya got that lock open yet, Harold? C’mon, let’s move!”

  “Maybe if you’d shut up for a minute, Danforth, I could get this thing open—“ there were a couple more moments of silence, and then a loud click. The thug by the door stood with a smile. “There,” he said triumphantly. “We’re in.”

  With a loud creak, the front door swung open.

  Jade glanced over at Kendril, her heart racing. He continued to sit silently, his back against the bar.

  There was the heavy tromp of a boot, and then another.

  Jade’s whole body felt paralyzed with fear. She held her breath, watching Kendril desperately.

  “Cover your ears,” he whispered.

  In one horribly quick motion he stood and whipped out two pistols, both pointed in the direction of the front door.

  Before Jade could even move a muscle one of the pistols fired, belching out a combination of flame and smoke in the direction of the front door.

  Harold was two steps inside the door and Danforth was right behind him when the gun went off.

  Harold’s head jerked back, and Danforth felt something warm and wet strike his own face as the body of his companion slammed back into him, knocking them both out onto the porch.

  Queltin leapt away from the door as a second shot tore through the wooden frame, showering splinters in all directions.

  With a bellowed curse Montrose brought his crossbow up, crouching for cover by the steps. He struck the nearest thug on the arm. “The back! Move!”

  The two henchmen at the bottom of the steps leapt into action, racing through the puddles towards the side of the inn.

  Danforth struggled to his feet, spitting and swearing. He searched the porch desperately for his knife.

  With a snarl, Queltin moved back to the door, his sword held at the ready. With a yell he kicked the door in, then charged into the inn.

  Kendril had no sooner finished firing his second pistol then he dropped both of the smoking firearms next to Jade. He vaulted over the bar. “Reload,” he ordered, then whirled to face the door across the dark, table-strewn room. Reaching within the folds of his cloak, he drew two short swords, holding one in each hand.

  Jade, her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, reached for the pis
tols.

  The first gun report made Maklavir instantly crane his neck to the open door behind him. He was just in time to see the flash and hear the roar of the second gun, then remembered what Kendril had told him about the back door. With a muttered expletive, he turned back, lifting the heavy blunderbuss. It felt awkward in his hands. He didn’t think he had ever shot a firearm in his whole life.

  Gritting his teeth, he brought the weapon up to his shoulder.

  One thing was for sure. He had to make the first shot count.

  Queltin kicked a chair out of his way, then pushed over a table as he moved across the crowded common room.

  A shadowy figure, dressed in some kind of dark cloak and holding two short swords, stood between him and the bar.

  Queltin spat onto the ground, then launched into the attack, his sword sweeping in a tight arc towards his foe.

  To his surprise, the man deflected the blow, and Queltin himself had to dodge out of the way from the counter attack.

  With sheer animal ferocity the black-cloaked man attacked and forced Queltin back under a hail of blows.

  The henchman tripped on a chair, crashing into the mantle of the fireplace and barely ducking out of the way before one of the short swords cut a swathe where his head had been moments before.

  From the shadows Danforth suddenly appeared, his long knife aimed at the man’s back.

  Queltin allowed himself a smile, waiting for the unexpected thrust to end the fight permanently.

  At the last moment, the man twisted out of the way and Danforth’s blow met empty space instead of his opponent’s ribcage.

  With supernatural quickness, the black-cloaked man slashed one of his blades across the length of Danforth’s outstretched arm.

  The thug screamed, grabbing his torn arm. He lurched forward into a table.

  Queltin dodged back and kicked a stool out of his way.

  Montrose had been wrong. There was no way this was some mere trapper or hunter. Trappers and hunters didn’t fight like this.