by Alex Bledsoe
I started to indicate all the other things he’d missed, but didn’t; he’d discerned the most important fact, and that was enough. “Right. So that’s one worry we don’t have.” Clancy looked over the destruction and let out a long whistle. “The monster beat up a bear?”
“Looks like it,” I said.
“I’d purely love to have seen that fight.”
We let our horses rest and drink for a while, then continued on, following the trail of a monster and a girl who’d been saved from a bear for the second time in her life.
The terrain grew rougher for the horses, which slowed us down. As the sun set, we were still half a day from the Mahnoman border, and probably wouldn’t reach Acheron before nightfall the next evening. There was nothing for it but to find an open spot and pitch camp.
“We could keep going,” Jack said. “It’d be slow, but we could do it.”
“Do you want to be exhausted and sleep-deprived when we finally catch up to Tatterhead?” I pointed out.
“I’m already exhausted,” he said, “and I doubt I’ll be sleeping much to night.” But in fact he was out ten minutes after wrapping up in his blanket on the ground.
Liz and I sat beside the fire, Beatrice and Harry across from us. Ajax stood guard, watching the trail ahead in case Tatterhead saw our fire and doubled back. Ellis sat beside his son, watching the boy sleep. Glendower, having cooked us dinner, washed his utensils in the nearby stream. Clancy was also asleep, snoring so loudly that occasionally Beatrice poked him with a stick to make him change positions.
Billy Cudgel sat with his hands tied behind his back, around a tree. Well, the rope went around the tree, although his hands didn’t. So far as I knew, he’d said nothing since we left Mummerset. To anyone, even the inquisitive Harry Lockett. I worried that he’d died a couple of times, but I could see his breath in the chill night air. He stared down at the dirt, his thoughts apparently far away. He shook his head when he was offered food, a sure sign that something fundamental was wrong with him. Still, I wasn’t about to take pity on him.
The wood crackled and smoked. Liz said to Beatrice, “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess,” she said.
“I’m sorry if I seemed callous back at your home,” Harry said. “My job requires me to keep a distance, you know? It doesn’t give me an excuse to be rude, though.”
“Thank you,” Beatrice said. “You never think your own family will make the news, I guess.”
Ajax suddenly strode into the clearing, holding someone by the collar. This newcomer kicked and punched, but might as well have been smacking a tree for all the effect it had. “Look what I found sniffing around,” he said gruffly.
“Let me go!” the newcomer said.
He tossed the boy into the dirt. The kid got up, arranged his clothes, and said, “That’s a mark against you in my book, mate.” He wrapped his arms around his spindly body and shivered. “When you get ready to settle accounts, make an appointment,” Ajax shot back. “I found this little gopher trying to sneak up on the camp.”
“I just wanted to see if—” He stopped, reconsidered, and said, “I mean, ‘Fuck you.’ ”
The words were so ludicrous coming from such a youngster— he couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven—that I laughed. I said, “Son, you’re starting off on the wrong foot here. Come up to the fire and get warm.”
Liz whispered to me, “That’s a girl.”
I looked more closely. “Really?”
“Yes. That disguise wouldn’t fool anybody.”
“I’m not a stupid girl,” the newcomer said. “I’m a boy, a son, I’m strong and I’m tough!”
“The toughest people I know are women,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Uhm . . . Pat. Yeah, that’s it. Pat.”
“Okay, Patricia—”
“Patrick!”
“Okay, Patrick. Why are you sneaking up on us?”
“To see if you were another monster. I saw one today, but nobody believed me.”
“What sort of monster?” Harry asked, pen and vellum ready.
“He was huge! Twice, no three times as tall as me. He smelled like dead fish. And he was carrying a girl on his shoulder.”
“Was she hurt?” Beatrice asked.
“I don’t think so. She looked like she was asleep.”
“Where were they going?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Pat said. “Toward the Mahnoman border, that’s all I could tell.”
“Are you hungry?” Liz asked. “We have a few leftover biscuits.”
“I wouldn’t spit at ’em,” Pat said.
“But you have to be honest,” Liz said as she put the bread on a plate. “What’s your real name? Patricia?”
After a long moment, she said petulantly, “Viola.”
“And why are you disguised as a boy?” Harry asked.
“I’m running away. My father wants me to marry some old guy. He’s nearly thirty.”
I managed a smile, since I was a few years past that age myself. But I didn’t approve of forced marriages, so I said, “Are you telling us the truth, Viola? Because you haven’t got a lot of credibility at this point.”
“Credi-what?”
“It means you’ve lied to us already,” Liz paraphrased.
“Why would I lie about this?”
“To get away from home,” I said. “I don’t have a problem letting you come with us, but I need to know you’re not yanking my chain.”
She looked me up and down. “I don’t see a chain. Are you a slave?”
“I can’t wait to hear her talk to Clancy,” Liz said softly.
“It’s an expression, Viola. It means you’re telling us lies to get us to do what you want.”
She turned her back to me and raised her tunic. Her skin was crisscrossed with welts, some recent, some old enough to become scars. Her feminine form was also more obvious without the baggy clothes to hide it. It confirmed that wherever she came from, it was no place for a child to return to. She said, “If I drop my pants, you can see more.”
“That’s plenty,” I said gently.
Beatrice said, “I’ve got some ointment in my bag that might help.” She took the girl by the hand and led her off into the dark.
Liz turned to me. “Thirty,” she said, in the exact same tone of voice. We both laughed.
Later, Ajax returned to camp and filled his canteen from the stream. I was the only one still awake, and he sat down across the fire from me. At last I said, “Do you and I have a problem?”
“We’re on the same side,” he said flatly.
“Yeah, but that whole head-butt thing back in Mummerset—”
“Forget it. You were drunk.”
He was right, and even though the words “but it wasn’t my fault” desperately wanted to come out, I choked them down. There was no way to say that without it sounding like a whine. Instead I said, “There’s some bread. You hungry?”
He shook his head, then indicated my sword. “Is that a real Cillian Skirmisher?”
“The hilt is,” I said, and slowly drew it. “The blade’s from a Kingkiller Mark Four.”
“Really? I’ve never seen one, only the Mark Three. Even a king’s bodyguard can’t afford the Mark Four.”
I handed it to him across the fire, hilt first. “See what you think.”
Ajax took it and felt the balance. “Nice. But why’d you combine them? If I had a Mark Four, I’d be showing it off.”
“What’s the worst thing about a Skirmisher?”
“The way the blade snaps if it’s parried by anything heavier.” Then he grinned. “And when they see that hilt—.”
“Makes people overconfident,” I said. “I like it when my opponents are that way.”
He handed back the sword. “There’s only one thing more beautiful than a good sword: a bottle of Teska or a woman from anywhere.” He winked at me. “You ever had a good . . . bottle of Teska?”
I laug
hed. Despite our matching forehead bruises, I was glad we’d found something mutual to ease the tension.
By noon the next day, the trail merged with another road. It was a real one, as the deep wagon ruts made plain.
“We’re across the border in Mahnoma,” Jack said.
“How do you know?” Liz asked.
“We don’t do our roads this way, with the ditch on either side. We have a ditch down the middle.”
I said, “Okay, that means our quarry took the road the rest of the way. Remember, we’re essentially enemy troops in a foreign country, and we have a king with us. So let’s try not to draw any more attention than we have to. And for god’s sake, don’t pick any fights.”
I turned to Jack. “You have a special job. Watch him.” I indicated Billy Cudgel.
“But you need me up front,” Jack protested.
“No. I’ll take the point. Whatever we do now, we need experience and stealth more than your stout heart and sword arm.”
Jack started to protest.
“Look, you know Cudgel better than any of us,” I said. “You know what he’s capable of, and how good he is at getting other people to do his dirty work. Don’t let him talk to anyone, don’t let him out of your sight, and there’s no one here who will mourn him if you feel the need to lop off his head.” I glared at Cudgel. “Are we clear on that?”
“I assure you, I have no plans to attempt anything,” Cudgel said.
“Which means he’s got half a dozen, and he’s trying to decide which one to use,” Jack said.
“Sir, you dishonor me and yourself with your suspicions.”
“I can live with that,” he said. “I trusted you. I wanted your help, preparing to be a better king.”
“The throne’s not empty yet,” Ellis said dryly from behind us. “You have plenty of time. But we’ll talk about it later. Perhaps I’ve been too hasty in accepting the general opinion of your conduct.”
That made me smile. A man who could acknowledge his own errors, whether as king or father, was a good man. Perhaps all Ellis and Jack needed all along was a common cause.
The day was sunny, with a nice breeze rattling the leaves around us. Here and there, Tatterhead’s foot had left its broad mark on the hard- packed road. It confirmed we were still on his trail.
“Fuck me,” Viola said when she saw them. She rode doubled up with Beatrice, her arms around the woman’s waist. “He really is a monster. I thought I’d just fucking imagined how fucking big he was.”
Liz said, “You’re new to cursing, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been practicing,” she said, missing the irony. In daylight, she looked just a little younger than Isadora. But where Isadora had already bloomed into womanhood, Viola was still half-child.
Suddenly Viola pointed. “There’s a town ahead. Illyria. We take produce there to sell sometimes.”
“Friendly place?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a shrug.
The road curved wide to the right and when we came around it, we saw a tiny village, one even smaller than Mummerset. It had a tavern and a blacksmith shop on one side of the road, and a covered shed on the other, with tables where produce would be sold at harvest time. The tavern, named the Three Tunns, looked deserted.
Three men quit whatever they were doing in the farrier’s shop and watched us.
I stopped, and everyone behind me did as well. All the mental alarms that I’d honed in battle were going off, despite the outward peacefulness. “Hi,” I said. “Good morning.”
“It’s morning,” one of the men agreed. “Where you headed?”
“Acheron,” I said. “Visiting some friends.”
“Looks like you got plenty of friends with you,” the blacksmith said, and made an odd motion with his eyes toward the tavern.
I shifted in my saddle and made sure my sword hand was near my weapon’s hilt. “It’s always a party with me,” I said. “Any chance for a drink at the bar?”
“Not open,” the blacksmith said too quickly. “If I was you, I’d just keep riding.” I noticed sweat that had nothing to do with the fire under his forge.
One of the other men shot the blacksmith a deep-eyed, hateful look. I got it then: Two of them were not natives, and they were forcing the blacksmith to go along with something. The most likely thing was, of course, a trap for us.
“No, the tavern’s open,” the third man said. “Nothing like a full tankard to start the day, right?”
“I’m more of a tea-drinker in the mornings myself,” I said. I couldn’t risk looking around to see if anyone else had spotted the danger. If they hadn’t, I could only hope they’d go along with whatever I did.
“Hey, Mr. Klinger,” Viola said to the blacksmith, “where’s Ken?”
“He’s upstairs, sick,” Klinger said. He laughed, nervous and choked. “Lucky bastard, huh? Missing out on the work. I’ll tell him you asked about him.”
“I could use a drink,” one of the other men said. “And I’ve just come into some gold, so the first round’s on me. Come on, everyone.”
He crossed the street, stopped at the tavern door, and looked back at us. None of us had moved to dismount.
He laughed. “Come on, I know it’s early, but you can’t turn down free ale, can you?” He nodded at Billy Cudgel. “That man sure looks thirsty. And hungry.”
A familiar rank smell reached us, faint but definite. Ajax, who hadn’t yet encountered Tatterhead, looked accusingly at Billy Cudgel. “Come on, man, really.”
“I assure you, you canker blossom, it’s not me,” Cudgel said with outraged dignity.
“He who denied it, supplied it,” Viola said. Then, her lips barely moving, she said quietly to me, “Something’s weird. I don’t know those two guys, and I know everyone in Illyria.”
“We’ll be on our way,” I said evenly.
“Yeah, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” the blacksmith said before I’d hardly finished speaking. “Go back the way you—”
Tatterhead burst from the tavern. And I mean burst, taking out both the front door and most of the wall around it. The man at the door was crushed under it, his last cry a wetsounding “Ugh!” I wondered how the monster had ever gotten in there. But I didn’t wonder long, because there he was right in front of me, as tall as I was in my saddle. I drew my sword, but it looked like a sewing needle next to this creature.
“The monster!” Viola shrieked, pointing from behind Beatrice. “The fucking monster!”
Chapter
TWENTY-TWO
My horse reared in surprise and I let her, hoping the slicing hooves might do some damage. With an impatient grunt, Tatterhead slapped both me and the horse aside. I released my sword as I flew from the saddle, not wanting to impale myself on it. I hit the ground and managed to roll with the impact, so I wasn’t hurt.
Then Ajax strode through the chaos, sword in hand, eyes fixed on Tatterhead. He saw this as a personal challenge, and despite what he’d seen done to the trees and the bear, he was going to take it on.
“Ajax!” I yelled as I got to my feet. “Don’t be an idiot!”
He pointed his sword at Tatterhead. “Release those civilians, you overgrown two-legged warthog! A warrior calls you out.”
Tatterhead turned, frowned in puzzlement, and flicked one prodigious hand at Ajax. The bodyguard barely dodged it, swung back hard at the monster, but his blow glanced off the metal manacle on Tatterhead’s wrist.
I looked around for my sword, but didn’t see it, and had no time to search. Tatterhead knocked Ajax aside with the same ease, then grabbed Prince Jack in one hand around the boy’s waist. His other fist struck indiscriminately at the rest of our band. Liz ducked one blow and tried to turn her horse, but the animal was too panicked and confused. The next backhand caught her and knocked her aside.
With almost its whole front torn away, the tavern building looked like one of those open- front dollhouses. What must have been Illyria’s enti
re population cowered in a back corner. One man guarded them, sword drawn, although he, like them, watched the conflict openmouthed.
I ran and jumped as high as I could onto Tatterhead’s back. The dead-fish smell was nauseating. I climbed up his greasy tunic and put my arms around his neck, intending to bend back his head and maybe snap his spine. I was not up to the task; it was like trying to twist a chimney.
“Everyone get back!” I yelled. “I mean it!” Ajax was about to charge forward, but Ellis, ever sensible, put a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Tatterhead said, annoyed. This close, in physical contact with him, his voice was so deep, it made my whole body vibrate. He tossed Jack aside like a doll. “Get off me.”
He reached back and grabbed a handful of my clothes, just as I got the knife from my boot. As he started to pull, I slipped the knife in one of his nostrils, and when he yanked me free, the blade slashed through it.
He dropped me and yelled, “Ow!” He put his hand to his nose, and when he saw the smear of blood on his palm, rumbled, “That really hurt. You did that on purpose.”
A rope dropped around his massive shoulders and yanked tight when it got to his forearms, pinning them to his sides. It came from Beatrice, who quickly tied it to her saddle. Viola, still riding behind her, held on for wide-eyed dear life. Liz, back on her horse and apparently uninjured, caught a rope thrown by Clancy. They lashed it to their saddles so that it stretched horizontally, then ran their horses forward and clothes-lined the monster across the chest. This caught him off balance, so he went down on his back with a thud that I felt through the ground. I swear the leaves rattled around us.
I jumped on his chest and raised my knife overhead, ready to drive it into his chest. Both colossal hands were pressed to his bleeding nose; he looked at me over fingertips as big as my elbows. He had the largest face I’d ever seen; this close, his eyes were too far apart for me to hold the gaze of both at the same time. He couldn’t possibly be human, yet he could think, talk, and appreciate humor. What was he?
