by Ben Cassidy
“Hey,” Hansel said as he checked the chamber on the pistol, “the Emperor of Merewith himself’s got a pair just like these, you know. Top of the line. Seven shots without reloading.”
“If they don’t blow up in your hand, little brother,” Janis said sourly. He pulled out one of his own long-barreled wheelock pistols. He glanced at the dark opening of the manor’s back door. “They inside?”
Mkante plucked one of the long grass blades and stuck it in his mouth. “That is where the tracks lead.”
“Good,” Janis said. “This’ll be easy.” He smacked Hansel on the shoulder. “I’ll go first. Hansel, you cover me. Mkante, watch the back and make sure no one sneaks out.” He wound up the mechanism on his pistol, then primed the firing pan with a touch of gunpowder. “Let’s not take too long. I want a piece of that pretty thing back at the mill before Belvedere offs her.”
Mkante chewed on the blade of grass, but said nothing.
Janis lowered his pistol and stepped forward.
“I don’t understand, Mr. Kendril.” Marley held the musket in his hands as though it were a poisonous snake. “You’re making a fire?”
Kendril shattered another door off a toppled cabinet, then threw it into the fireplace. He reached for some flint and tinder. “Yes. Now keep watch on that blasted door.”
Marley rubbed his nose, then turned back to face the back door of the manor house.
Kendril leaned down and lit the wood.
After a few seconds a soft curl of flame appeared.
Marley risked a glanced back over his shoulder. “That wood’s wet and old, sir. It won’t do much more than make a lot of smoke, it won’t.”
Kendril grunted with satisfaction, then threw another damp board on the growing fire.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Marley said hesitantly, “but you’ve got the flue closed.”
“I know, Marley,” Kendril snapped. He whipped out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his face. “Better cover yours, too. Going to get smoky in here fast.” He glanced down at the smoke that was puttering out of the fireplace. “Well, maybe gradually.”
Marley put down his old musket and searched his pockets frantically. “But why—?”
“Get out into the main hall, by the dining room. When you see someone come inside, fire and retreat back in here.” Kendril jerked a thumb back towards the door of the massive drawing room they were in.
Marley finished tying the handkerchief around his face, and nodded soberly. “Aye, sir. Old Marley will watch your back.” He grabbed the musket up and disappeared out the doorway.
Kendril gave a heavy sigh and moved quickly down the length of the drawing room. It looked ominous and huge now with most of the furniture missing.
The first floor of the manor consisted of the wide drawing room, an enormous library with dust-covered alcoves, the dining room that was now missing its table and chairs, and the various servant quarters in the east wing. The massive staircase that led to the other two floors was centrally located in a wide hall between the other rooms. Standing at the bottom one could see up to the very top floor of the house.
Kendril reached the far end of the drawing room. There was a pile of miscellaneous items stacked here. Old boards, a worn-out saddle, faded folded carpets…and a large coil of gray rope.
Kendril snatched up the rope, frowning as he ran it through his hands. It looked long enough, but it was also old, very old. He just hoped it wasn’t too old.
The smoke from the fireplace was beginning to choke the front half of the drawing room, covering it in a bluish-gray haze.
Kendril allowed himself a grim smile. He looped the rope over his arm, then headed back for the stairs.
Janis swore as he beat away a sticker-covered vine. He pushed his way through the grass, his trousers already wet up to his knees from the long grass.
Hansel followed behind him, one of the revolving-chamber pistols in each of his hands.
Mkante followed last, flitting through the undergrowth like a red shadow and making as much noise as a cat. The blade of grass was still in his mouth.
Janis emerged from the overgrown garden, and looked hard at the kicked-in door of the manor. He waved behind him to the other two men.
Hansel grinned, and moved into the clear space beside his brother.
Janis readied his pistol, then started forward.
A sudden dark hand caught his arm.
Surprised, Janis glanced back at Mkante.
The southlander released Janis’ arm. “Do you smell that?”
Janis frowned. “Smell what?”
Mkante looked at the manor house. “Smoke.”
Marley wiped tears away from his eyes. The smoke was beginning to pile up quickly from Kendril’s fire, and it was crawling out into the main hall with surprising rapidity.
He glanced upwards, but could see nothing in the dark shadows of the stairway above him. Kendril had disappeared up there just a few minutes ago. Marley didn’t know where he was going or what he intended to do.
His throat itched, but Marley determined not to cough. He leaned against the doorframe of the dining room, trying to ignore the blackness of the yawning room behind him and all the ghosts that this house no doubt contained. He instead kept his musket pointed down the passage towards the back door.
The smoke was already blocking the view, however, and making it hard to see.
Marley only hoped that Kendril knew what the blazes he was doing.
Janis moved up to the door, his pistol down and ready to fire. He kept his shoulder facing the opening, giving only a side profile. Each soft footfall he made was deliberate and almost silent on the wet grass.
Behind him came Hansel. Mkante was out of sight.
Janis stepped up to the threshold of the door. His nose twitched at the smell of smoke. Mkante had been right. Was this guy trying to burn the whole house down?
Swiftly and silently, Janis moved into the manor itself. He dodged off to one side of the doorway almost immediately.
A thunderous bang and flash came from further down the corridor.
A dirty window next to the broken back door shattered outwards, spraying pieces of glass all over the tangled lawn.
Janis smiled. “Got you,” he said under his breath. He swung his pistol down and charged down the corridor.
Marley lowered his musket with shaking hands.
Had he hit? Had he missed? He couldn’t tell, not with the darkness, the brooding cloud of gun smoke from his own weapon, and the white smoke that was drifting out of the drawing room.
Then he heard it. Fast steps, moving down the length of the hall right towards him.
Missed. Definitely missed.
Panic gripped Marley’s heart. He remembered what Kendril had said. Run to the drawing room, run to the drawing room, run—
Marley got up and ran.
Janis came down the corridor just in time to see the shadowy shape of a man disappear through the smoky haze to the left.
Janis cursed, emerging out into a broader hall. A stairway rose to his right. The smoke in here was enough to sting the eyes and burn the throat, and it wasn’t all the smoke from the shot, either. Mkante had been right…there was a fire in here somewhere.
He swung to the left, keeping close to the wall and keeping his pistol at the ready. He didn’t bother shooting. The effective range of a blackpowder pistol was disturbingly short, and Janis had come to realize over time that the best way to hit with a firearm was to be right on top of a man before discharging it. A good, clean head shot about three paces or less was what he wanted, something to bring this coward down.
Janis moved quickly along the wall, passing under the railed landing a floor above him. He neared the doorway of the drawing room, and lowered his pistol with a smile.
His foot suddenly crunched on something sharp and brittle. Surprised, he looked down.
Glass. There was broken glass here on the floor, like someone had broken a bottl—
&nb
sp; Before Janis’ mind could connect what was happening, a shape appeared out of nowhere to his right and slammed into him.
As soon as Kendril heard the crunch of glass below, he leapt over the banister.
Trying to judge the distance from the railing to the floor of the house in the dark would have been difficult at best. But Kendril had been in the manor house so many times before that he could have done it blindfolded.
That, and when he had been a child he had pulled this trick more than once. Of course, that had been about one hundred-twenty pounds and two decades ago.
His only fear was that the old and rotted banister would not hold his weight. He had looped the end of the rope in and out of the slats in the railing in an attempt to secure it as well as he could, but there was no way to tell for sure until he tested it.
So it was with a sense of severe trepidation that Kendril felt the rope jolt and catch in his gloved hands.
He twisted in space, swinging down and under the overhanging landing. His pushed his booted feet out in front of him like a battering ram.
It was too dark to see if the man that Kendril crashed into was surprised or not. But Kendril liked to think that he was.
With the speed of the swinging rope propelling him, Kendril punched into the mercenary with both feet and banged him against the solid wall of the hall.
Janis crashed to the ground. His pistol went scattering to one side.
Kendril released the rope and landed practically on top of the man. He slammed his fist hard against Janis’ face, cracking the poor man’s head against the wall again. Then Kendril rolled off to one side, through the pall of smoke that was fast settling over the floor of the main hall.
Another mercenary whirled around the corner, an odd-looking pistol in each hand.
Kendril tumbled to his feet by the main corridor that led to the library. He lifted a loaded flintlock pistol in each hand.
Then the world exploded in gunfire.
Belvedere threw the ropes to one side, then grabbed Bronwyn by the arm and threw her onto the floor.
She landed in a heap, right next to Tomas.
The two mercenaries by the door gave satisfied snickers. The Baderan knight kept oiling his sword indifferently.
“So what’s it to be, gorgeous?” Belvedere leaned down, a cruel smile on his face. The knife in his hand flashed in the lamplight. “Shall I kill the Ghostwalker here first, or make him watch?”
Tomas glanced over at the dark-haired woman. His hands were still tied behind his back.
Bronwyn licked her lips. “Wait for it,” she said.
Belvedere gave a bemused look. “Wait for what?”
Bronwyn tossed back her head. “Any second now.”
The Colonel growled. He brought the huge knife close to Bronwyn’s face. “You trying to pay mind games with me, little minx? You’re not—”
The distant sound of a gunshot cracked out.
Belvedere lifted his head and gave a satisfied grin. “There, now. Looks like my boys have bagged the second man.”
Bronwyn giggled.
Belvedere looked at her sharply.
The witch shook her head with a smile. “You really are completely clueless, aren’t you?”
Belvedere opened his mouth to respond.
A flurry of gunshots echoed out in the night, distant and muted. They were so close together that they sounded like a string of pops.
The Baderan put his sword down and lifted his head with a frown.
The two mercenaries by the door sobered up quickly. One moved to the window to look out.
Belvedere glanced up, the slightest look of concern on his face.
“There he is,” sighed Bronwyn. “Isn’t he incredible?”
Belvedere looked down at her. “Who?”
Bronwyn gave an innocent look. “Why, Kendril, of course.”
“Bronwyn,” Tomas hissed.
The Colonel looked down at Tomas for a moment. “Whoever he is, he’s dead,” he said flatly.
Another spurt of gunfire sounded.
“You really are stupid,” said Bronwyn lightly. “He’s going to come and kill all of you. Just wait.”
“Shut up,” Belvedere snarled. He gestured with his knife to the mercenaries at the door. “Thorn, Warwick, get outside and secure the perimeter.”
The two men stared at the Colonel for a moment.
“Now,” Belvedere snapped.
Reluctantly, the two men disappeared out the front door.
Two more shots sounded off.
The Baderan knight rose to his feet, lifting his greatsword. The blade shone like fire in the lamplight.
Colonel Belvedere sheathed his knife. He reached for a flintlock musket that was leaning against a stack of crates. “There are eight of us,” he said.
“Trust me,” said Bronwyn with a sweet smile. “That won’t be enough.”
Kendril ran, crouched down low.
Another opening to the drawing room yawned to his left, the one further down the front hallway.
He flung himself towards the dark opening.
Behind him came two sharp bangs.
Two pistol balls slapped into the doorframe, gouging out large chunks of wood and plaster.
Kendril hit the floor of the drawing room with his shoulder. He rolled through the smoke and scrambled behind a pile of empty barrels stacked near the western wall.
There was a snickering laugh from the main corridor. “What’s wrong, Ghostwalker? Weren’t expecting this, were you?”
Kendril ducked further behind one of the barrels, struggling not to cough in the smoke-filled room. He holstered one of his spent pistols, then began reloading the second one.
“We call this a wunderwaffe back in Merewith,” came the mercenary’s voice again. “It costs a fortune, but it sure is useful. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Two shots blasted through the northern wall of the room, one after the other.
Kendril winced as the pistol balls whined over his head. They tore into the opposite wall.
“There’s plenty more shots where those came from,” came the echoing voice again.
Kendril gritted his teeth. Truth be told, he hadn’t been expecting this kind of weapon. And he desperately wished he had one of his own.
Kendril scurried out from behind the barrels and rolled behind an old covered couch. The smoke in the room was thick and hazy. Despite the handkerchief over his face and his desperate attempts not to, Kendril’s burning throat exploded in a short cough.
“I hear you,” Hansel said merrily.
Kendril sprawled out flat behind the couch. He glanced cautiously around the edge.
Hansel swung around the second doorway into the drawing room, both pistols in his hand. Smoke drifted from the barrels and breeches of both weapons.
Kendril bit his lip and pulled his head back. He continued to walk through the painfully slow steps of reloading his pistol.
“I know you’re in here,” Hansel said.
Kendril did his best to stay silent. The soft clinking of the pistol’s ramrod made him wince as he loaded.
A pistol blast sounded, rolling off the walls of the drawing room like thunder.
Kendril snapped back the lock on his pistol.
Another shot sounded.
A fist-sized hole in the back of the couch exploded in a blizzard of wood and fabric.
Kendril instinctively ducked his head down almost to the floorboards. He tried to ignore the aching pain in his right arm.
“What’s the matter?” Hansel taunted. “Afraid to show yourself, Ghostwalker?”
“How about me, you preening peacock?” came a shout from further down the room.
Kendril turned his head in surprise.
Marley was leaning over a pile of empty crates at the far end of the room, musket in hand. The barrel was shaking as he steadied it.
A second later the weapon kicked and roared.
There was a second of silence. Kendril primed the pan of hi
s pistol with a pinch of gunpowder. He hoped beyond reason that maybe, just maybe Marley had managed to—
“Is that the best you got, old man?” came Hansel’s voice.
Kendril scowled. Apparently not.
“Here,” said Hansel. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
Marley’s musket clattered to the floor. The old sailor dove behind the flimsy crates next to the smoking fireplace.
Hansel laughed. “Are you hiding now?” The floorboards creaked as he walked towards Marley’s hiding place. “You think those crates will actually—?”
Kendril stood and aimed his pistol with deliberate calmness at the mercenary’s head. “You talk too much,” he said quietly.
Hansel snapped his head around. He swung both his pistols toward Kendril.
Kendril fired.
The bullet caught the mercenary directly in the forehead. With a heavy thump his body crashed against the wall and slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Kendril came out from behind the couch, letting out a torrent of coughs he had been holding in. The whole room was in a dreary cloud of smoke that burned and itched with each breath. He found himself limping as he walked. The scything pain in his knee was back, the same one that he’d twisted on the breakwater in New Marlin. He must have wrenched it again during the shoot-out.
Marley came out from behind the crates and ran over to him. “Are you all right, Mr. Kendril?”
“Fine.” Kendril glanced down at the body of the mercenary, satisfied that he was dead. “Where’s Simon?”
Marley stopped, confused. “The mule, sir?”
Kendril instinctively began reloading his pistol again. “Yes, the mule. He’s got the packs with the weapons. My rifle, the whale gun. Where is he?”
“Well,” said Marley with a thought, “I left him in the woods on this side of the river, just out of sight of the mill. He was chewing on some clover when last I saw him.”
Kendril gave a short nod. “That sounds like Simon.” He looked up at Marley. “All right, listen up. I need you to—”
Marley shoved Kendril hard and without warning.
Surprised, Kendril tripped backwards and fell against the wall.
