by Frank Tuttle
“How much, you reckon?”
“Depends. They’ve either got more rope or they don’t. If they do, another five or six hours. If they don’t, another day, maybe two.”
Mama put her face to the window and snuffed.
“I bets they do, boy. But that ain’t gonna matter neither. Guess where your vampire friends is, right now?”
“Playing pinochle in the basement?”
Mama laughed. “I reckon they’s on the roof. Watch this, boy. You’re gonna like it.”
I watched. Nothing happened for a moment, until a black-clad wand-waver rode up next to a catapult and started yelling at the crew.
Something arced down from above and struck the siege engine right on the throwing arm and burst with a tinkling of glass. Flames splashed, spreading over the timbers and scattering the crew.
Men shouted. Archers whirled and let loose on the House. I pulled Mama away from the window and dodged away myself as the sounds of bolts and arrows splintering on the walls outside the room.
More shouts from below. I dared not look, but I hoped the other two catapults were in flames as well.
“That boy can throw as good as he said.”
“That something you and Evis cooked up?”
“Like I said, the boy has his talents.” Mama waggled her owl at the window. “All they’ll do when they start dowsing it with water is make it spread.”
I dared a quick glance. The catapult frame was engulfed in oily black flames. But the timbers were massive, and the iron bolts huge. I knew in my heart we’d inconvenienced the crews, but we’d hardly damaged the actual machines.
“Don’t look so glum, boy. Bet they wasn’t expectin’ wand-wavers and halfdead. At least we’re makin’ ’em work for it. Now are you going to see Darla or not?”
“I’m going. Keep your head out of the window. Lots of archers down there. A few of them might be that good.”
Mama cackled. “I didn’t get this old by acting the fool, boy. And today ain’t the day I die, neither, so don’t you be worried about me.”
I made for the door. When I left, Mama was shaking her owl at the yard and muttering hexes under her breath.
I was halfway down the last flight of stairs when Evis caught up with me. He was wrapped in black, against the sun, and he smelled of lamp oil and soot.
“Having fun?”
“Just getting a bit of exercise,” he replied. “They won’t be using their siege engines for a while.”
I grunted, not quite ready to start sounding any victory trumpeting just yet.
“Saw something strange in the woods. Not sure what it was. Come nightfall, Victor is going to slip out and see.”
I slowed a bit. “Strange how?”
Evis glanced around. “Not the time or the place. But if I’m right, the catapults are the least of our problems.”
I stopped and turned to face him and kept my voice at a whisper. “Worse than catapults? What the Hell is worse than catapults from forty feet?”
Evis put his finger to his lips. “You don’t want to know, and you’ll just have to trust me on that. I will say this much-if I’m right, and if I give the word, you’ll want to grab Darla and Mama and Gertriss and get to the tunnels. There won’t be time to haul every soul down there, and you won’t be able to stop this and you won’t be able to save them.”
Hell. Evis was scared.
“I’m serious, Markhat.”
“About what?”
“Remember the worst thing you saw used during the War. This makes that look like a snowball fight.” Footsteps and voices sounded, coming up the stairs toward us.
Evis put his hand on my shoulder. “Trust me. If I give the word, you grab your women and you run for the tunnels. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Evis removed his hand. There’d be a bruise on my shoulder that would linger for weeks. I doubt he ever realized how hard he’d gripped me.
A bevy of grim-faced carpenters came stomping up toward us. The carpenters put their backs to the wall as they sidled around Evis. One made some sort of holy sign with his hands as he passed.
“I’m having them make a couple of new openings in the attic,” said Evis. We started back downstairs. “Our friends on the ground know about the existing bolt hole, and are watching it now. But with any luck, we can open a new one in secret. Victor and Sara have expressed a desire to take a stroll around the property in the moonlight.”
I grinned, sure they’d find numerous ways to amuse themselves, each at our attackers’ expense.
I found Darla and Gertriss in the hall, right beyond the gallery doors. Buttercup was between them, prancing around in a pair of slippers twice the size of her feet.
“Mama said you were looking for me.”
“I was. Gertriss? A moment?”
Gertriss nodded and caught Buttercup up by her waist and spun her around. The banshee clapped and squealed. Gertriss dropped to one knee a few paces away and began a game of hidey-face with the giggling banshee.
Darla took my elbow.
“Someone around here listens at doors,” she whispered. “Gertriss and I both heard some of the staff talking about daggers and how no one here need die just to protect some half-Elf wild thing you dragged in from the woods.”
I cussed. Darla pretended she didn’t hear.
“It’s just talk right now, my intended. But let things go a little longer, or get a little worse, and it might turn out to be more than idle conversation.”
I made sure no one was idling nearby, and then I bent, pulled the dagger from my boot, and handed it hilt-first to Darla.
“I can’t be forced to give it to anyone if I don’t have it. Get it to Evis if things get complicated. Like to see one of these bumpkins take on three halfdead.”
Darla frowned, but took the thing. She withdrew a prim but freshly sharpened dagger from her own right boot, slipped the Corpsemaster’s dagger in its place, and then gave hers to me.
“Give them this one, if they insist,” she said. “They might be inclined to be civil if they think they’re getting what they want.”
“Not a bad idea.” I put Darla’s dagger away. Gertriss danced with Buttercup, who was having trouble keeping her feet in her too-large shoes.
The House shook. Dust and bits of plaster fell from the walls and ceilings. Shouts rose all around.
Buttercup shrieked. Gertriss wrapped her arms around Buttercup and put her back to the wall.
“Markhat. Come quick.”
“Stay with Gertriss.” I gave Darla a quick kiss on the cheek. “Keep the tip of your blade level with your waist. They’ll likely come in overhand. Sidestep and stab. Works every time.”
I ran. The shouting continued. I burst into the front room and was met by a mob of panicked household staff, with Marlo at the fore.
“They’ve done something to the sky.”
I frowned. But the room was dark, and getting darker by the second.
Evis darted down the stairs, pausing halfway to the landing to motion me up.
“He’s right,” he said. “The wand-wavers are busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Come and see.”
“Keep this lot right where they are,” I snapped, when feet began to shuffle my way. “Wash some dishes. Mop some floors. Just keep your fool heads away from the windows, got it?”
I dashed up after Evis.
I was panting by the time we reached the attic. Victor and Sara were already there, as were the carpenters, who had dropped their tools in favor of huddling in a corner and engaging in silent prayers.
I put myself by the opening Serris had nearly leaped from, opened it quickly and glanced up.
Then I slammed the makeshift door shut and held it closed as a trio of arrows broke against it.
The sky above was gone. Just gone. Instead, and impossibly, it appeared as though a vast flat mirror hung just above Werewilk’s peaks. I’d even seen my own frightened face reflected back at me,
seen the upraised faces of the men on the ground, the tops of the roofs, the ravaged, burned yard.
The carpenters paused and looked my way. “Pray harder,” I said.
Evis snorted. “Ever seen anything like that?”
“I’ve never had that much to drink. You?”
“Never saw it. May have heard of it, used at a place called String during the War. If that’s what it is, it’ll drop slowly lower and lower. Anybody it touches gets pulled into it. They still move, still try to talk-but they never come out. When it hits the ground, it breaks up and melts like ice.”
“Marvelous. Wonderful. Any defense against it?”
Evis shook his head no. “The wand-waver that cast it was called Three Eyes. Heard of him?”
“Maybe. Didn’t hear much if I did. Died during the war.”
“Didn’t die. Just didn’t resettle in Rannit. Went into hiding in what was left of Prince. Fits with what else I saw out there.”
“This day gets better and better, doesn’t it?”
“Seems that way. Look. If you have any more chats with a certain mutual acquaintance of ours, she needs to know all this. Make sure you tell them, or that I’m there to tell it myself.”
“I’ll have the invitations printed right away. What about this lot? Any point in keeping them working?”
Evis sighed. “No. We’re going to lose the attic soon to that.” He hooked a thumb up toward the missing sky.
“You lot. Beat it. Change of plans.”
They scurried off, leaving their tools behind.
Evis lit a candle and handed it to me. “We’d better get downstairs. The Lady. She out of the picture, as far as wand-waving goes?”
“Looks like. That one trick with the ropes laid her out.”
Evis’ face didn’t change.
“Hisvin is still in the mix. If I know what’s up there, there’s a good chance she does too. Maybe she knows a way to turn it all into a flock of geese or something.”
“You trying to make me feel better?”
We headed down. Evis grinned.
“You’re on your own, pal. I’m trying to talk myself into feeling lucky right now.”
A flood of shouted questions met us on the stairs. I lifted my hands and yelled for silence and made reassuring noises that sounded pretty strained even to me.
The House was engulfed in darkness now. People were carrying candles or lighting lamps. A clock didn’t help morale by striking out noon in a lull amid the grumbling.
I was glad Darla and Gertriss were keeping Buttercup out of sight. I was also acutely aware of how few places they’d have to hide her, should the mood in the House turn ugly.
I looked at the faces glaring up at me and amended that. The mood was already ugly. The sudden descent into midnight dark at noon had just completed the transformation.
Evis moved first, simply marching down into the mob. I’m not sure they’d have parted for me, but Evis sent them tripping in their haste to give him room.
I followed in his wake. Marlo came thundering down the stairs and fell in behind me with a curse and a piercing glare. The crowd broke up. This time.
“What have they done to the sky?” Marlo had the good sense to whisper.
“No idea. But it isn’t an immediate danger.” I explained that it would lower itself very slowly. Marlo took little comfort from that.
“Looks like they’re planning on just squeezing us out.”
“They don’t want to hurt the banshee. They can’t bring down the House without risking that.”
Marlo snorted, obviously unconvinced. I changed the subject.
“How’s the Lady?”
“Resting. Took a lot out of her. And no, she ain’t up to another hex, and ain’t gonna be for a while.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Right. But that’s your answer anyway. Reckon that man in the cornfield is brewin’ up something for us about now?”
“Bet on that.”
“Reckon he’d better be quick about it.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Darla and Gertriss came darting out of the gallery hall, Buttercup dangling between them. The banshee was giggling and swinging, one hand clutched on Darla’s shoulder, the other on Gertriss.
“You two. Upstairs. Find Mama. Stay with her.”
Gertriss nodded, all business. Darla gave me a weak smile and hurried off up the stairs.
Marlo glanced around before he spoke. “Just so you know, Finder. There’s been talk about that there banshee of yours, and how it ought to be gutted and thrown out the door.”
“Thanks for the warning, Mr. Marlo. And just so you know, the first one to try it will likely experience some gutting themselves.”
“Just watch your self, that’s all I’m saying. People are scared. You know what happens when people get scared.” He looked suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe I ought to show them a room with a good strong door. Might be best to get them out of sight.”
I just nodded, and was suddenly glad that Mama and her cleaver were handy.
Chapter Nineteen
The catapults didn’t burn.
I hadn’t really thought they would. The timbers were too green, and the crews managed to get the fires out far quicker than we’d hoped. Worse, the ropes Lady Werewilk had ruined with her sorcery were being replaced on two of the engines as we watched, which meant they’d be ready to start tearing down our walls by sunset. Two catapults would wreck the House just as effectively as three.
All our efforts might have bought us another few hours of safety. No more.
I hoped Hisvin’s bag of tricks was deep and potent.
Evis dared the top floors long enough to measure the reflective spell’s descent, and placed it at about a foot an hour. That gave us maybe forty hours before we’d be forced into the tunnels. It also meant the army outside would need to pull back. We couldn’t see the edges of the spell, so we had no idea how far it extended, or if even the deep woods tunnel would carry us beyond it.
We could hear the soldiers outside, winding the catapults again, using a team of Lady Werewilk’s plowing oxen to speed the process. The soldiers in the yard ambled freely about now, sometimes shouting at us, or hurling debris at the door amid hoots of laughter. All the outbuildings were burned or aflame, and I could hear half a dozen women sobbing as they realized the smoke they smelled was the smoke from their burning homes.
Aside from Marlo and Evis, no one spoke to me. Oh, they glared and they whispered, doubtlessly laying the blame for their current ills at my feet, but they dared not call me out directly. I kept Toadsticker in plain view just in case someone got brave.
An hour passed. Outside, ropes were wound, wagons were parked, men idled or ate or sharpened their blades.
Somewhere a clock was striking off the third hour when they finally approached Lady Werewilk’s door and the moment I’d been dreading arrived.
“In the house,” called a man. He had a faint accent I couldn’t place. “You’ve got something we want.”
The Lady was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Marlo. I ignored the glares of the household staff and shoved my way close to the heap of furniture stacked in front of the door.
“We’re all out of turnips,” I shouted. “But if it’s onions you want, you can have all you can carry.”
“I’m not going to ask more than once.”
“Ask for what? You haven’t been very clear about what it is you’re after. We simple country folk simply don’t understand your subtle big-city ways.”
Something struck the door. I guessed it was an axe. Behind me, the gardeners and cooks and carpenters were beginning to hiss and mutter.
I turned to face them, whipped Toadsticker out of my belt, and grinned.
“Anybody else wants to take over, step right up. Otherwise shut it. What’ll it be?”
They inched back. I heard feet on the stairs, heading for the Lady’s room, but that was just fine by me.
“Give us the b
anshee.”
“The what?”
“The banshee. Give it to us, and you live. Make us come and get it, and everybody dies.”
“So you have no interest at all in onions?”
“You’re dead,” said the man outside. “How long do you think those walls will stand? My engineers tell me three throws from each ought to open you right up.” He raised his voice, making sure everyone around could hear. “Why die for the banshee? It’s not even human. Give it to us. Or die. Your choice.”
The muttering behind me got suddenly louder. Words emerged.
“Why not?” said someone.
“Ain’t ready to die,” said another.
“We can take him,” said a third.
I put my back to the nearest clear patch of wall.
They rushed me. Two carpenters. Two gardeners. A stable boy. A woodsman. Two had swords, the rest held makeshift clubs.
Had they been soldiers, I’d have died there, right by the Lady’s big red doors. But they came in a bunch, elbows touching, feet nearly tangled, eyes mad with more fear than fury.
I sidestepped, brought Toadsticker up horizontally, deflected a pair of clumsy overhand blows, landed a solid kick on one knee and a nice hard punch in a beer-reddened face. Bodies collided, one fell, another went down with him in a sudden tangle of limbs. I thumped the woodsman on his cheek with the flat of Toadsticker’s blade and gave a carpenter a long shallow cut across his forehead and the stable boy dropped his club and ran and it was over as suddenly as it had begun.
They scrambled away. The man outside shouted again.
“Give us the banshee.” He struck the door again. “Last chance.”
“Tell him to go to Hell.”
The Lady’s hirelings whirled to find her leaning wearily on the stair. Marlo was at her side, holding her upright.
“This House has stood for three hundred and seventy years,” she said. “Stood through Elves and Trolls and fires and storms. How dare any of you decide this is the day we turn into a House of cowards.”
The Lady’s eyes flashed. “Tell him,” she said, to me.
“Nothing doing,” I shouted, at the door. “No banshees for you today. I’m also told you can go to Hell. Furthermore, a suggestion was made that your mother was a donkey. I myself dispute that last part, because-”
