Chronicles of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  It was a good act. Shed pulled it off.

  “You want to register a formal complaint?”

  Shed played reluctant. “He’s family. My cousin.”

  “I’d break my own father’s back if he did that to me.”

  “Yeah. All right. I’ll register it. But don’t go hanging him right away. Maybe he can work it out or something. Hell, maybe he’s still got some he can pay back. He could have lied about losing it all. He lied about a lot of things.” Shed shook his head. “He worked for us on-and-off since my father ran this place. I never thought he’d do anything like that.”

  “You know how it is. You get too far into debt and the vultures start closing in, you’ll do anything to save your ass. You don’t worry about tomorrow. We see it all the time.”

  Shed nodded. He knew how it was.

  After the Magistrate’s man departed, Shed told Lisa: “I’m going out.” He wanted one last fling before he settled in to the dreary business of managing the Lily.

  He bought the most skilled, most beautiful woman he could find. She cost, but she was worth every copper. He returned to the Lily wishing he could live that way all the time. He dreamed about the woman that night.

  Lisa wakened him early. “There’s a man here who wants to see you.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Cursing, Shed rolled out. He did nothing to hide his nakedness. More than once he had hinted that Lisa should include more than barmaid’s chores in her duties. She was not cooperating. He had to find a handle. … He’d better look out. He was getting obsessed with sex. That could give somebody a handle.

  He descended to the common room. Lisa indicated a man. He was no one Shed knew. “You wanted to see me?”

  “You got someplace private?”

  A hard case. Now what? He did not owe anyone. He did not have any enemies. “What’s your business?”

  “Let’s talk about your cousin. The one who didn’t disappear the way people think.”

  Shed’s stomach knotted. He concealed his distress. “I don’t understand.”

  “Suppose somebody saw what happened?”

  “Come into the kitchen.”

  Shed’s visitor peeped back through the kitchen door. “Thought the split-tail might try to listen in.” Then he gave Shed an accurate account of Wally’s death.

  “Where did you get that fairy tale?”

  “I saw it.”

  “In a pipe dream, maybe.”

  “You’re cooler than I heard. Here’s the way it goes, friend. I have a trick memory. Sometimes I forget. Depends on how I’m treated.”

  “Ah. I begin to see the light. This is about hush money.”

  “There you go.”

  Shed’s thoughts scurried like frightened mice. He couldn’t afford hush money. He had to find another way out. But he couldn’t do anything right now. He was too confused. He needed time to get himself together. “How much?”

  “A leva a week would buy a first-class case of amnesia.”

  Shed goggled. He sputtered. He choked back his protest.

  The extortionist made a what-can-I-do? gesture. “I have problems too. I got expenses. A leva a week. Or take your chances.”

  The black castle flickered through Shed’s thoughts. Low cunning grabbed it, turned it over, looked at the possibilities. Murder did not bother him anymore.

  But not now. Not here. “How do I pay you?”

  The man grinned. “Just hand me a leva.”

  Shed brought his coin box into the kitchen. “You’ll have to take copper. I don’t have any silver.”

  The man’s smile grew broader. He was pleased. Why?

  The man left. Shed said, “Lisa, I have a job for you. Worth a bonus. Follow that man. Find out where he goes.” He gave her five gersh. “Another five when you get back, if it’s worth it.”

  Lisa zipped out in a whirl of skirts.

  He wandered around a lot,” Lisa reported. “Like he was killing time. Then he headed down by the Sailmakers’. To see that one-eyed moneylender.”

  “Gilbert?”

  “Yeah. Gilbert.”

  “Thank you,” Shed said thoughtfully. “Thanks a bunch. That casts light on the problem.”

  “Five gersh worth?”

  “Sure. You’re a good girl.” He made a suggestive offer as he counted.

  “I don’t need money that bad, Mr. Shed.”

  He retreated to his kitchen, began preparing supper. So Gilbert was behind the extortionist. Did Gilbert want him financially pressed? Why?

  The Lily. Why else? The renovations made the place that much more attractive a steal.

  So. Assume Gilbert was opening a campaign to snatch the Lily. He had to fight. But this time nobody could help him. He was on his own.

  Three days later Shed visited an acquaintance who operated on the nether edge of the Buskin. For a consideration he received a name. He visited the man attached, and left him with two pieces of silver.

  Back at the Lily, he asked Lisa to tell her favorite customers that Gilbert was trying to force them out by spreading lies and making threats. He wanted the Magistrate suspicious of accusations leveled against him later.

  The morning of the next payoff, Shed told Lisa, “I’ll be gone all day. Anybody comes looking for me, tell them to come back after supper.”

  “The man I followed?”

  “Him especially.”

  At first Shed just roamed, killing time. His nerve worsened with time. Something would go wrong. Gilbert would come back rough . … But he wouldn’t dare, would he? That would tarnish his reputation. Shed’s rumors had him on the defensive now. People would make their loans elsewhere if he pressed.

  Shed found himself a woman. She cost too much, but she made him forget. For a while. He returned to the Lily at sunset. “He came by?” he asked Lisa.

  “Be back, too. He looked put out. I don’t think he’s going to be nice, Mr. Shed.”

  “That’s the way it goes. I’ll be out back working on the woodpile.” Shed glanced at a customer he’d never before seen. The man nodded, departed through the front door.

  Shed chopped wood by lanternlight. Now and again he searched the shadows, saw nothing. He prayed nothing would go wrong.

  The extortionist stormed out the kitchen doorway. “You trying to duck me, Shed? You know what happens if you mess with me?”

  “Duck you? What do you mean? I’m right here.”

  “You weren’t this afternoon. Now that girl of yours gives me a hard way to go, trying to steer me away. I like to had to pound her before she’d tell me where you were.”

  Very creative. Shed wondered how much Lisa suspected. “Save the dramatics. You want your money. I want your ugly face away from my place. Let’s get on with it.”

  The extortionist looked puzzled. “You talking tough? They told me you were the biggest coward in the Buskin.”

  “Who told you? You working for somebody? This not a freelance play?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as he realized his mistake.

  Shed produced a handful of copper. He counted, counted, counted again, put a few coins away. “Hold out your hands.”

  The extortionist extended cupped hands.

  Shed had not expected it to be this easy. He dumped the coins, grabbed the man’s wrists.

  “Hey! What the hell?”

  A hand clamped over the man’s mouth. A face appeared over his shoulder, mouth stretched in a grimace of effort. The extortionist rose to his toes, arching backward. His eyes widened in fear and pain, then rolled up. He slumped forward.

  “All right. Perfect. Get out of here,” Shed said.

  Hastening footsteps faded quickly.

  Shed dragged the body into shadow, quickly covered it with wood scraps, then dropped to hands and knees and began collecting coins. He found all but two.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Shed?”

  He jumped. “What’re you doing?”

  “I came to se
e if you were all right.”

  “I’m fine. We had an argument. He knocked some coins out of my hand. I can’t find them all.”

  “Need help?”

  “Mind the counter, girl. Or they’ll steal us blind.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She ducked back inside.

  Shed gave it up a few minutes later. He would search again tomorrow.

  He got antsy waiting for closing time. Lisa was too curious. He was afraid she would look for the missing coins and find the body. He did not want her disappearance on his conscience, too.

  Two minutes after he closed, he was out his back door and heading for his wagon and team.

  The tall being was back on duty. He paid Shed thirty pieces of silver. As he was maneuvering to leave, though, the thing demanded, “Why do you come so seldom?”

  “I’m not as skilled as my partner.”

  “What has become of him? We have missed him.”

  “He’s out of town.”

  Shed could have sworn he heard the thing chuckle as he went out the gate.

  Juniper: Running Scared

  Along time had passed and nothing had happened. The Taken were not pleased. Neither was Elmo. He dragged me into his quarters. “Where the hell did Raven go, Croaker?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. As if he were the only one disturbed. I was scared and getting more so by the day.

  “I want to know. Soon.”

  “Look, man. Goblin’s done everything but torture people trying to pick up his trail. He flat vanished. He got wind of us somehow.”

  “How? Will you tell me how? We’ve been here half our lives, it seems like. And nobody else down there has noticed. Why should Raven be any different?”

  “Because we were around looking for him. He must have spotted one of us.”

  “If he did, I want to know that. You hike on down there and light a fire under Goblin’s ass. Hear?”

  “Right. Whatever you say, boss.” Though he commanded the advance party, technically I outranked Elmo. But I was not about to press for prerogatives at the moment. There was too much tension in the air.

  There was stress throughout Duretile, and I did not understand most of it. I remained on the periphery of the Taken’s study of the black castle. Just another messenger boy, a foot-slogger bringing in data from the city. I hadn’t the slightest notion what they had discovered by direct examination. Or even if they were studying the castle directly. They could be lying back, afraid they would alert the Dominator to their presence.

  One of the men located me in Elmo’s quarters. “Whisper wants you, Croaker.”

  I jumped a foot. Guilty conscience. “What for?” I had not seen her for weeks.

  “You’ll have to go see. She didn’t say.” He sneered, hoping he would see an officer in the soup. He figured I was in trouble.

  He figured that; so did 1.1 dawdled as much as I dared, but eventually had to present myself. Whisper glared at me as I entered. “You people haven’t found a damned thing down there. What are you doing? Dogging it? Taking a vacation? Well, say something.”

  “I. …”

  “Do you know the black castle stopped growing after our raid on the Crater group? No? Why not? You’re supposed to be finding out these things.”

  “None of the prisoners accounted for the. …”

  “I know that. I know none of them knew who the main body supplier was. But that supplier must have known them. He packed up. There have been just two bodies delivered since. The latest just last night. Why didn’t you know that? Why have you got people in the Buskin? They seem incapable of learning anything.”

  Oh, she was in a mood. I said, “Is the deadline close or something? The way I understood it, we wouldn’t be in trouble if only a few bodies were delivered.”

  “True. As far as it goes. But we’ve reached a point where a handful might make all the difference.”

  I bit my lower lip, tried to look properly chastised, and waited.

  She told me: “The Lady is pressing. She’s very nervous. She wants something to happen up here.”

  So. As always, the shit rolls downhill. The normal course would be for me to go out and tromp on somebody below me.

  “Half the problem is, we don’t know what’s going on. If you claim you know what the castle is, how it’s growing and so forth, how come you don’t go over and kick it down? Or turn it into grape preserves or something?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  It never is. I tend to overlook political ramifications. I am not politically minded.

  “Maybe once the rest of your company gets here. The city will have to be controlled. The Duke and his incompetents couldn’t manage that.”

  I stood there looking expectant. Sometimes that will con people into telling you more than they plan.

  “The city will go up in flames if it’s not buttoned up tight when the truth comes out. Why do you think the Custodians are so determined to keep the Catacombs thing hushed? Several thousand citizens have relatives who went into that monstrosity. That’s a lot of people who’ll get very irate about the souls of loved ones being lost.”

  “I see.” I did a little. It took a certain willing suspension of reason, though.

  “We’re going at this from a different angle,” she told me. “I’m taking charge of your investigations. Report to me daily. I’ll decide what you’re going to do, and how. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Only too well. It was going to get that much more difficult to keep her and Raven apart.

  “The first thing you’ll do is set a watch on the castle. And if that doesn’t shake something loose, I’ll send Feather down there. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Again, only too well.

  I wondered if Whisper suspected we were working at cross-purposes.

  “You can leave. I’ll expect you back tomorrow. With something to report.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I went straight back to Elmo, fuming. He should have faced her, not me. Just because I’d sort of taken over. …

  I was with Elmo barely long enough to tell him what had happened when a messenger came from Bullock. He wanted to see me right away.

  Bullock was another problem. I’d become convinced he was smarter than he put on, and was almost as sure that he suspected we were up to more than we admitted.

  I eased into his cubicle in the secret police headquarters. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve made a little headway on the Catacombs raid. Result of pure stubborn footwork.”

  “Well?” I felt pretty curt about then, and he raised an eyebrow. “Just had a face-to-face with my boss,” I told him, which was as near an apology as I cared to come. “What have you got?”

  “A name.”

  I waited. Like Elmo, Bullock liked to be coaxed. I was in no mood to play that game.

  “I followed up your notion about rented wagons. Turned up the name Asa. A wood-gatherer named Asa was, probably, working through the hole I showed you. A man named Asa spent a number of old coins, but before the raid on the Catacombs. A man named Asa worked for Krage before he and his men disappeared. Everywhere I go, it’s Asa-this or Asa-that.”

  “Anything to connect him with the black castle?”

  “No. I don’t think he’s a principal in anything. But he must know something.”

  I thought back. Bullock had mentioned this name once before, referring to a man who hung around the same place as Raven. Maybe there was a connection. Maybe I ought to find this Asa before anybody else did.

  “I’m headed down to the Buskin,” I said. “Direct orders from her holiness. I’ll have Goblin round the guy up.”

  Bullock scowled. There had been some ill will when he found out that we had put men into the Buskin without consulting him. “All right. But don’t play any more fast shuffle with me, eh? Your people and mine aren’t after the same things, but that’s no reason to undermine each other, eh?”

  “You’re right. We’re just used to doing
things different. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” He eyed me in a way that said he did not trust me anymore. If ever he had. I left thinking the Company and I were into it deep. Trouble on every hand. Juggling with too many balls in the air. Only we were juggling knives with poisoned edges.

  I hustled on down and looked up Goblin, told him about our escalating troubles. He was no happier than Elmo or I.

  Juniper: Interrogation

  Shed had no more trouble with extortionists. Somebody did tell the Magistrate that he had killed Wally. The Magistrate did not believe it, or did not care.

  Then Bullock’s sidekick turned up. Shed nearly dropped a valuable piece of crockery. He had felt safe from that. The only people who knew anything were far away. He clamped down on his nerves and guilt, went to the man’s table. “How may we serve you, Reverend Sir?”

  “Bring me a meal and your best wine, landlord.”

  Shed lifted an eyebrow. “Sir?”

  “I’ll pay. Nobody in the Buskin can afford to give away meals.”

  “Ain’t it the truth, sir. Ain’t it the truth.”

  When Shed returned with the wine, the Inquisitor observed, “You seem to be doing well, landlord.”

  Shed snorted. “We live on the edge, Reverend Sir. On the ragged edge. One bad week would destroy me. I spend every winter borrowing from one moneylender to pay another. This summer was good, though. I found a partner. I was able to fix a few things. That made the place more attractive. Probably my last dying gasp before it gets away.” He donned his sourest face.

  The Inquisitor nodded. “Leave the bottle. Let the Brotherhood contribute to your prosperity.”

  “I’ll ask no profit, Reverend Sir.”

  “Why be foolish? Charge me the same as anyone else.”

  Shed mentally upped the tab twenty percent over normal. He was glad to be rid of the bottle. Raven had left him stuck with several.

  When Shed delivered the meal, the Inquisitor suggested, “Bring a mug and join me.”

  Shed’s nerves twisted as tight as a bowstring. Something was wrong. They had caught on. “As you wish, Reverend Sir.” He dragged over and collected his own mug. It was dusty. He had not done much drinking lately, afraid his tongue would wag.