Chronicles of the Black Company

by Glen Cook

  “How can anybody so young be so heartless?”

  “You don’t prosper in the Buskin if you have a heart, Mr. Shed. We’ll fix a place where the outside cold will keep them till we get a wagonload. We can take them up maybe once a week.”

  “Winter is. …”

  “Is going to be my last season in the Buskin.”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “Yes, you will. Or you’ll hear from Bullock. You don’t have a choice. You have a partner.”

  “God, deliver me from evil.”

  “Are you less evil than me? You killed five people.”

  “Four,” he protested weakly.

  “You think Sue is still alive? You’re splitting hairs. Any way you look at it, you’re guilty of murder. You’re a murderer so dumb about money he doesn’t have a gersh to his name. So stupid he keeps getting tangled with Sues and Gilberts. Mr. Shed, they only execute you once.”

  How to argue with sociopathic reasoning? Lisa was the heart of Lisa’s universe. Other people existed only to be exploited.

  “There are some others we should think about after Gilbert. That man of Krage’s who got away. He knows there was something strange about the bodies not turning up. He hasn’t talked or it would be all over the Buskin. But someday he might. And there’s the man you hired to help you with the blackmailer.”

  She sounded like a general planning a campaign. Planning murder wholesale. How could anybody?…

  “I want no more blood on my hands, Lisa.”

  “How much choice do you have?”

  He could not deny that Gilbert’s death had meaning in the equation of his survival. And after Gilbert, one more. Before she destroyed him. She would let her guard down sometime.

  What about that letter? Damn. Maybe her father had to go first. … The trap was vast and had no apparent exits.

  “This could be my only chance to get out, Mr. Shed. You’d better believe I’m going to grab it.”

  Shed shook his lethargy, leaned forward, stared into the fireplace. His own survival came first. Gilbert had to go. That was definite.

  What about the black castle? Had he told her about the amulet? He could not recall. He had to imply the existence of a special passkey, else she might try to kill and sell him. He would become a danger to her once they implemented her plan. Yes. For sure. She would try to rid herself of him once she made her connection with the things in the castle. So add another to his must-kill list.

  Damn. Raven had done the smart thing, the only thing possible. Had taken the only exit. Leaving Juniper was the only way out.

  “Going to have to follow him,” he muttered. “There isn’t any choice.”

  “What?”

  “Just muttering, girl. You win. Let’s get to work on Gilbert.”

  “Good. Stay sober and get up early tomorrow. You’ll need to watch the Lily while I check something out.”

  “All right.”

  “Time you pulled your own weight again, anyway.”

  “Probably so.”

  Lisa eyed him suspiciously. “Good night, Mr. Shed.”

  Lisa told Shed: “It’s set up. He’ll meet me at my place tonight. Alone. You bring your wagon. I’ll make sure my dad isn’t around.”

  “I hear Gilbert won’t go anywhere without a bodyguard now.”

  “He will tonight. He’s supposed to pay me ten leva to help get control of the Lily. I let him think he’s going to get something else, too.”

  Shed’s stomach growled. “What if he catches on?”

  “There’s two of us and one of him. How did such a chicken-shit manage everything you have?”

  He had dealt with the lesser fear. But he kept that thought to himself. There was no point giving Lisa more handles than she had. It was time to find handles on her. “Aren’t you scared of anything, child?”

  “Poverty. Especially of being old and poor. I get the grey shakes whenever I see the Custodians haul some poor old stiff out of an alley.”

  “Yeah. That I can understand.” Shed smiled thinly. That was a beginning.

  Shed stopped the wagon, glanced at the window of a downstairs rear apartment. No candle burning there. Lisa hadn’t yet arrived. He snapped the traces, rolled on. Gilbert might have scouts out. He was not stupid.

  Shed pulled around a kink in the alleyway, strolled back pretending to be a drunk. Before long someone lighted a candle in the apartment. Heart hammering, Shed slunk to the rear door.

  It was unlocked. As promised. Maybe Gilbert was stupid. Gently, he eased inside. His stomach was a mess of knots. His hands shook. A scream lay coiled in his throat.

  This was not the Marron Shed who had fought Krage and his troops. That Shed had been trapped and fighting for his life. He had had no time to think himself into a panic. This Shed did. He was convinced he would foul up.

  The apartment consisted of two tiny rooms. The first, behind the door, was dark and empty. Shed moved through carefully, eased to a ragged curtain. A man murmured beyond the doorway. Shed peeked.

  Gilbert had disrobed and was resting a knee on a bedraggled excuse of a bed. Lisa was in it, covers pulled to her neck, pretending second thoughts. Gilbert’s withered, wrinkled, blue-veined old body contrasted bizarrely with her youth.

  Gilbert was angry.

  Shed cursed mutely. He wished Lisa would stop playing games. Always she had to do more than go directly to her goal. SJie had to manipulate along the way, just to satisfy something within herself.

  He wanted to get it over.

  Lisa pretended surrender, made room for Gilbert beside her.

  The plan was for Shed to strike once Lisa enwrapped Gilbert in arms and legs. He decided to play a game of his own. He let it wait. He stood there grinning while her face betrayed her thoughts, while Gilbert sated himself upon her.

  Finally, Shed moved in.

  Three quick, quiet steps. He looped a garotte around Gilbert’s skinny neck, leaned back. Lisa tightened her grip. How small and mortal the moneylender appeared. How unlike a man feared by half the Buskin.

  Gilbert struggled, but could not escape.

  Shed thought it would never end. He hadn’t realized it took so long to strangle a man. Finally, he stepped back. His shakes threatened to overcome him.

  “Get him off!” Lisa squealed.

  Shed rolled the corpse aside. “Get dressed. Come on. Let’s get out of here. He might have some men hanging around. I’ll get the wagon.” He swept to the door, peeped into the alleyway. Nobody around. He recovered the wagon fast.

  “Come on!” he snapped when he returned and found Lisa still undressed. “Let’s get him out of here.”

  She could not tear herself away.

  Shed shoved clothing into her arms, slapped her bare behind. “Get moving, damn it.”

  She dressed slowly. Shed fluttered to the door, checked the alley. Still no one around. He scooted back to the body, hustled it to the wagon and covered it with a tarp. Funny how they seemed lighter when they were dead.

  Back inside: “Will you come on? I’ll drag you out the way you are.”

  The threat had no effect. Shed grabbed her hand, dragged her out the door. “Up.” He hoisted her onto the seat, jumped up himself.

  He flicked the traces. The mules plodded forward. Once he crossed the Port River bridge, they knew where they were headed and needed little guidance. Idly, he wondered how many times they had made the journey.

  The wagon was halfway up the hill before he calmed down enough to study Lisa. She seemed to be in shock. Suddenly, murder was not just talk. She had helped kill. Her neck was in a noose. “Not as easy as you thought, eh?”

  “I didn’t know it would be like that. I was holding him. I felt the life go out.It It wasn’t what I expected.”

  “And you want to make a career of it. I’ll tell you something. I’m not killing my customers. You want it done that way, you do it yourself.”

  She tried a feeble threat.

  “You don’t have any power over me
anymore. Go to the Inquisitors. They’ll take you to a truth-sayer. Partner.”

  Lisa shivered. Shed held his tongue till they neared the black castle. “Let’s not play games anymore.” He was considering selling her along with Gilbert, but decided he could not muster the hatred, anger or downright meanness to do it.

  He stopped the mules. “You stay here. Don’t get off the wagon no matter what. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Lisa’s voice was small and distant. Terrified, he thought.

  He knocked on the black gate. It swung inward. He resumed his seat and drove inside, stepped down, swung Gilbert onto a stone slab. The tall creature came forth, examined the body, looked at Lisa.

  “Not this one,” Shed said. “She’s a new partner.”

  The creature nodded. “Thirty.”

  “Done.”

  “We need more bodies, Marron Shed. Many bodies. Our work is nearing completion. We grow eager to finish.”

  Shed shuddered at its tone. “There’ll be more soon.”

  “Good. Very good. You shall be rewarded richly.”

  Shed shuddered again, looked around. The thing asked, “You seek the woman? She has not yet become one with the portal.” It snapped long, yellow fingers.

  Feet scuffed in the darkness. Shadows came forth. They held the arms of a naked Sue. Shed swallowed hard. She had been used badly. She had lost weight, and her skin was colorless where not marked with bruises or abrasions. One of the creatures raised her chin, made her look at Shed. Her eyes were hollow and vacant. “The walking dead,” he whispered.

  “Is the revenge sweet enough?” the tall creature asked.

  “Take her away! I don’t want to see her.”

  The tall being snapped its fingers. Its compatriots retreated into the shadows.

  “My money!” Shed snarled.

  Chuckling, the being counted coins at Gilbert’s feet. Shed scooped them into his pocket. The being said, “Bring us more live ones, Marron Shed. We have many uses for live ones.”

  A scream echoed from the darkness. Shed thought he heard his name called.

  “She recognized you, friend.”

  A whimper crawled out of Shed’s throat. He vaulted onto the wagon seat, snarled at his mules.

  The tall creature eyed Lisa with unmistakable meaning. Lisa read it. “Let’s get out of here, Mr. Shed. Please?”

  “Git up, mules.” The wagon creaked and groaned and seemed to take forever getting through the gate. Screams continued echoing from somewhere deep inside the castle.

  Outside, Lisa looked at Shed with a decidedly odd expression. Shed thought he detected relief, fear, and a little loathing. Relief seemed foremost. She sensed how vulnerable she had been. Shed smiled enigmatically, nodded, and said nothing. Like Raven, he recalled.

  He grinned. Like Raven.

  Let her think. Let her worry.

  The mules halted. “Eh?”

  Men materialized out of the darkness. They held naked weapons. Military-type weapons.

  A voice said, “I’ll be damned. It’s the innkeeper.”

  Juniper: More Trouble

  Otto rolled in out of the night. “Hey! Croaker! We got a customer.” I folded my hand but did not throw the cards in. “You sure?” I was damned tired of false alarms.

  Otto looked sheepish. “Yeah. For sure.”

  Something was wrong here. “Where is he? Let’s have all of it.”

  “They’re going to make it inside.”

  “They?”

  “Man and a woman. We didn’t think they were anything to worry about till they were past the last house and still headed uphill. It was too late to stop them then.”

  I slapped my hand down. I was pissed. There would be hell to pay in the morning. Whisper had had it up to her chin with me already. This might be her excuse to park me in the Catacombs. Permanently. The Taken are not patient.

  “Let’s go,“ I said in as calm a voice as I could manage, while glaring a hole through Otto. He made sure he stayed out of reach. He knew I was not pleased. Knew I was in a tight place with the Taken. He did not want to give me any excuse to wrap my hands around his neck. “I’m going to cut some throats if this gets screwed up again.” We all grabbed weapons and rushed into the night.

  We had our place picked, in brush two hundred yards below the castle gate. I got the men into position just as somebody started screaming inside.

  “Sounds bad,” one of the men said.

  “Keep it down,” I snapped. Cold crept my spine. It did sound bad.

  It went on and on and on. Then I heard the muted jangle of harness and the creak of wheels improperly greased. Then the voices of people talking softly.

  We jumped out of the brush. One of the men opened the eye of a lantern. “I’ll be damned!” I said. “It’s the innkeeper.”

  The man sagged. The woman stared at us, eyes widening. Then she sprang off the wagon and ran.

  “Get her, Otto. And heaven help you if you don’t. Crake, drag this bastard down. Walleye, take the wagon around to the house. The rest of us will cut across.”

  The man Shed did not struggle, so I detailed another two men to help Otto. He and the woman were crashing through the brush. She was headed toward a small precipice. She should corner herself there.

  We led Shed to the old house. Once in the light, he became more deflated, more resigned. He said nothing. Most captives resist detention somehow, if only by denying that there is any reason to detain them. Shed looked like a man who thought he was overdue for the worst.

  “Sit,” I said, and indicated a chair at the table where we had played cards. I took another, turned it, parked myself with forearms atop its back and chin upon my forearms. “We’ve got you dead, Shed.”

  He just stared at the tabletop, a man without hope.

  “Anything to say?”

  “There’s nothing to be said, is there?”

  “Oh, I think there’s a whole lot. You’ve got your ass in a sling for sure, but you’re not dead yet. You maybe could talk your way out of this.”

  His eyes widened slightly, then emptied again. He did not believe me.

  “I’m not an Inquisitor, Shed.”

  His eyes flickered with momentary life.

  “It’s true. I followed Bullock around because he knew the Buskin. My job had very little to do with his. I couldn’t care less about the Catacombs raid. I do care about the black castle, because it’s a disaster in the making, but not as much as I care about you. Because of a man named Raven.”

  “One of your men called you Croaker. Raven was scared to death of somebody named Croaker that he saw one night when the Duke’s men grabbed some of his friends.”

  So. He’d witnessed our raid. Damn, but I had cut it close to the wind that time.

  “I’m that Croaker. And I want to know everything you know about Raven and Darling. And everything about anybody else who knows anything.”

  The slightest hint of defiance crossed his face.

  “A lot of folks are looking for you, Shed. Bullock isn’t the only one. My boss wants you, too. And she’s worse trouble than he is. You wouldn’t like her at all. And she’ll get you if you don’t do this right.”

  I would rather have given him to Bullock. Bullock wasn’t interested in our problems with the Taken. But Bullock was out of town.

  “There’s Asa, too. I want to know everything you haven’t told me about him.” I heard the woman cursing in the distance, carrying on like Otto and the guys were trying to rape her. I knew better. They hadn’t the nerve after having screwed up once already tonight. “Who’s the slot?”

  “My barmaid. She.…” And his story boiled out. Once he started, there was no stopping him.

  I had a notion how to wriggle out of a potentially embarrassing situation. “Shut him up.” One of the men clamped a hand over Shed’s mouth. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Shed. Assuming you want out of this alive.”

  He waited.

  “The people I work for will know a bo
dy was delivered tonight. They’ll expect me to catch whoever did it. I’ll have to give them someone. That could be you, the girl, or both of you. You know some things I don’t want the Taken to find out. One way I can avoid handing you over is having you turn up dead. I can make that real if I have to. Or you can fake it for me. Let the slot see you looking like you’ve been wrecked. You follow?”

  Shaking, he replied, “I think so.”

  “I want to know everything.”

  “The girl.…”

  I held up a hand, listened. The uproar was close. “She won’t come back from her meeting with the Taken. There’s no reason we couldn’t turn you loose once we’re done doing what we have to do.”

  He did not believe me. He had committed crimes he believed deserved the harshest punishment, and he expected it.

  “We’re the Black Company, Shed. Juniper is going to get to know that real well soon. Including the fact that we keep our promises. But that’s not important to you. Right now you want to stay alive long enough to get a break. That means you’d damned well better fake being dead, and do it better than any stiff you ever hauled up the hill.”

  “All right.”

  “Take him over by the fire and make him look like he’s had it rough.”

  The men knew what to do. They sort of scattered Shed around without actually hurting him. I tossed a few things around to make it look like there had been a fight, and finished just in time.

  The girl came sailing through the doorway, propelled by Otto’s fist. She looked the worse for wear. So did Otto and the men I’d sent to help. “Wildcat, eh?”

  Otto tried to grin. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t the half of it, Croaker.” He kicked the girl’s feet from under her. “What happened to the guy?”

  “Got a little feisty. I stuck a knife in him.”

  “I see.”

  We stared at the girl. She stared back, the fire gone. Each few seconds she glanced at Shed, looked back more subdued.

  “Yep. You’re in a heap of trouble, sweetheart.”

  She gave us the song-and-dance I’d expected from Shed. We ignored it, knowing it was bullshit. Otto cleaned up, then bound her hands and ankles. He parked her in a chair. I made sure it faced away from Shed. The poor bastard had to breathe.