The Silver spike (32 page)

He had one scare shortly before the Rebels reached their
hideout.

A big bird dropped out of nowhere and landed on the shoulder of
one of the horsemen. The rider cursed and swatted at it. It laughed
and started talking about how Exile was in a tizzy because he
couldn’t find some of his guards.

Fish recalled that the White Rose called the Plain of Fear home
and talking creatures supposedly infested the place.

His luck was with him still. He had to consider the bird’s
advent a good omen.

Not so the man it had selected as its perch. He wanted the bird
gone. The bird did not want to go. “I’m riding from
here,” it said. “I can’t see diddle-shit in the
dark.”

Fish recalled the zoo they had been carrying the day he had seen
them outside the Skull and Crossbones. There would be that to
consider, too.

After they went into the stableyard Fish circled the place once,
carefully. He did not spot any sentries but that didn’t mean
they weren’t there, hidden from the cold.

It was getting chillier faster. And if that overcast was what he
thought, it would snow before morning. A snow cover would make
getting around unnoticed a real pain in the ass.

He faded into the shadows and went looking for a crawl-in
entrance that used to be around back, where a lean-to junk shed had
had the fence as its rear wall.

It was there, still, after all those years, and looked like it
hadn’t been used since the olden days. He opened it very
carefully. It did not make half the noise he feared but what it did
make sent chills scampering along his spine. He went in smoothly as
a stalking snake.

Something cat size, that was not, started awake. He reacted
first, his hand closing around its throat.

There was another thing, like a mouse or chipmunk, that he
stomped as he was stealing toward the main stable, where a ladder
nailed outside led to the hayloft. It died without a sound. He went
up the ladder like a syrupy shadow.

The loft doors were secured only by a latch inside. He slipped a
knife between, lifted it, eased inside. He dropped the latch into
place.

There was a little light from below. There were voices down
there, too.

And not ten feet from him were a man and woman, bound and
gagged. The woman was looking his way but not at him. He eased
closer . . . 

By the gods! These people had their brass! That was Brigadier
Wildbrand herself. And that corporal from the Skull and Crossbones.
It fell into place. The imperials and these people knew the names
but not the faces. That corporal would be about the best witness
available.

Down below, somebody started yelling at Smeds. Smeds
didn’t say anything back. Somebody else said keep it down or
the neighbors would think there was cholera here.

Fish eased forward some more. “Corporal,” he
breathed, staying behind a bale. The soldier jumped, then grunted.
Wildbrand looked for the source of the whisper. He might have been
a ghost for all the luck she had. “You want to get out of
here?”

Another grunt, affirmative.

“They’re going to ask you to look at a man and tell
them who he is. Tell them his name is Ken something. You stick to
that, when they bring you back up here you’re out of this.
You don’t stick to it, it’s good-bye,
Brigadier.”

The man glanced at his commander. She nodded, do it.

Fish wormed his way into loose straw, out of the way, to wait.
He had it all scoped out now.

Raven and Bomanz ragged my old tentmate Ken and each other. He
sat in a chair—the only one we had—and didn’t say
nothing. He was totally pissed off, but in a way so stubborn I
don’t think they could have got a squeak out of him with a
hot poker. He just looked at them like he figured on cutting their
throats in about one minute. He even refused a meal.

I didn’t. I stood around stuffing food in my face and
wondering what the hell was going on since nobody bothered
explaining anything to me.

Darling stomped, got everybody’s attention, signed,
“Get the soldier.”

Now what?

Raven and Silent went climbing into the hayloft. In a minute
they came back with a Nightstalker who was gagged and, from the way
he chafed his wrists, had been tied. They brought him over. He
glanced indifferently at Ken. Ken didn’t react at all.

Silent took the gag off. Raven asked, “Do you know the man
in the chair?”

“Yeah,” the Nightstalker croaked. He worked some
spit back into his throat. “Yeah. Name’s Ken something.
He used to come around the place I was billeted sometimes, drink a
few beers with us.”

Silent and Raven looked at each other and had a frowning
contest. Raven asked, “You sure his name isn’t Smeds
Stahl?”

“Nah . . . ”

Silent corked him one up side the head and knocked him down.
Raven asked, “You sure? This man here and the woman over
there were at Queen’s Bridge. They still have
grudges.”

The Nightstalker looked up at him and said, “Man,
I’ll call him Tommy Tucker, King Thrushbeard, or Smeds Stahl
if that’s going to make you happy. But that ain’t going
to turn him into Smeds Stahl.”

“He fits the description.”

The soldier looked at Ken. “Maybe. A little. But Smeds
Stahl has got to be at least ten years older than this
guy.”

Raven said, “Shit!” I don’t think I ever heard
him use the word before.

It was not the right time but I couldn’t help it.
“There we was, headed into the last turn in the inside lane,
leading by a neck as we headed toward the stretch. And the damned
horse pulled up lame.”

They appreciated it. For a second I thought Silent might
actually say something. Probably something I didn’t want to
hear.

Darling stomped, asked what was going on. She read lips some but
could not keep up with all that.

Raven and Silent signed like hell. She made a gesture she
hadn’t taught me, probably cussing, then told them to put the
Nightstalker back in the loft. Raven and Silent dragged him off
like it was his fault things didn’t work out the way they
wanted. Darling signed at anybody who would pay attention that it
was all her fault for jumping to conclusions about some guys she
saw on a porch one day. I didn’t know what the hell she was
going on about. When Silent and Raven came back we had us a big
woe-is-me session. Bomanz’s buzzard pal damned near got
strangled by everybody.

A banging up in the loft broke that up. Everybody went charging
up to see what the racket was.

The loft doors, where they hoisted the hay bales up and brought
them inside, were banging in the wind. The Nightstalker and
Brigadier Wildbrand, that they hadn’t told me about before,
were gone. Silent and Raven looked at the discarded ropes and gags
and got into it over whose fault it was the Nightstalker
didn’t get tied up tight enough.

I dropped back down and told Darling. She had me yell at them to
knock off the crap and get out there and catch them. They came,
still bickering. She started giving orders aimed at stopping the
Nightstalkers before they could get back to their own.
“Paddlefoot stays here. He is in no shape.” The Torque
was crapped out in one of the horse stalls and had been since
I’d come in. “Case. You stay and keep track of our
guest.”

That went over big. Raven and Silent gave me their famous deadly
looks, like maybe I’d arranged the whole damned thing just so
I could get her alone. Hell. After three days in that camp I
didn’t feel like doing anything anyway.

We were in a spot. From what Darling signed I gathered we was
out of places to run. We couldn’t even go back to the temple
because Wildbrand and the corporal probably heard them talk about
how we hid out right in Exile’s pocket.

Even that buzzard got out to do some aerial scouting. I was
glad. He hadn’t started in on me yet but I was up to my ears
with him nagging Bomanz. The old boy was all right.

I never saw Darling rattled before. She paced and stomped and
made incomplete gestures and signed at me without ever finishing a
thought. She wasn’t afraid, just worried about what would
become of the rest of us and the movement if the guys didn’t
catch the Nightstalkers in time.

I don’t know what I thought we might get up to but at the
time it seemed a good idea to tie old Ken up. Then I stood behind
his chair, conversing with Darling, like I suddenly needed
something to hide behind.

I don’t know how much later it was, probably only a couple
minutes, when I saw somebody move behind Darling and thought it was
Paddlefoot Torque finally waking up. I went to work on me for being
too damned chicken-shit to have grabbed an opportunity when it was
there . . . 

That wasn’t Torque! That was somebody
else . . . 

The second I realized that, before I could give her any warning,
the guy laid a knife across her throat. “Turn him
loose,” he told me. And when I just stood there gawking he
drew a little blood. “Do it!”

I started fumbling with knots.

Torque did decide to wake up then.

I don’t think the poor silly sack ever knew what was going
on. He stumbled out rubbing his eyes and mumbling. The guy holding
Darling turned around and stuck him with a knife he had in his left
hand, came back and got Darling in the side with the same knife as
she was turning toward him, and in almost the same motion threw the
knife with which he had threatened her.

It hit me in the hip. I felt it go deep and hit bone. Then the
grungy stable floor opened its arms and jumped up to meet me. The
guy yanked his knife out of Darling and bounced over to cut our
guest loose. Then he got set to cut my throat.

“Hey!” our guest yelled. “Knock it off! They
weren’t going to croak me.”

“This is the second time they shoved their faces in our
business. They want to clean us out. I warned them last
time . . . ”

“Let’s just find my pack and get the hell out before
the rest of them come back.”

I could have kissed him if I could have done anything at all. I
wasn’t too spry right then.

The other one looked down at me. “You tell the bitch this
was her last free chance. Next time, skitch!” He flashed his
bloody knife past his throat. Then Ken found the pack I’d
found in that alley. He put it on and they went away.

When the stable door closed behind them I ground my teeth and
yanked the damned knife out of me. I didn’t bleed to death on
the spot, so I knew it didn’t get any big veins. I crawled
over to Darling. She was pale and she was hurting but she wanted me
to check on Torque first.

He was still alive but I didn’t think there was a whole
lot that could be done to keep him that way. I told Darling. She
signed we had to do something.

Of course we did. But I didn’t know the hell what.

Raven busted in. “We caught them! We’re safe
for . . .  What the hell happened,
Case?”

By then they were all inside, recaptured prisoners included. I
told it. While I was, one of our little spies came in from the
temple to report that Exile had ordered an all-out search for
Brigadier Wildbrand and persons unknown masquerading as his
guards.

Bomanz and Silent did what they could for us casualties, then
everybody that could hit the street again. It was starting to snow
out there.

“Some fun, eh?” I asked the Nightstalkers. They
didn’t see the humor.

Frankly, neither did I.

“What the shit are we going to do?” Smeds growled at
Fish when they stopped running to catch their breaths. “There
ain’t no safe places left.”

Fish said, “I don’t know. I used up all my ideas
just getting you out.”

“They know our names, Fish. And that bunch knows our
faces.”

“You’re the one wouldn’t let me take them out.
You end up paying for that, don’t whine at me.”

“There’s been enough killing and hurting. All I want
is out.” He tried to get his pack settled more comfortably.
“I don’t even give a damn about selling the spike
anymore. I just want to wake up from the nightmare.”

Snowflakes had begun to swirl around them. Fish grumbled about
leaving tracks, then asked, “You know of anywhere to lay up
even for a little while? Twelve hours would do. Twenty-four would
be better. The Limper would be here and there wouldn’t be any
more ducking and slinking because the soldiers would be
busy.”

The only thing Smeds could think of was a drainage system that
had been built when he was a kid, to carry water away from the
neighborhood when it rained. Before the system there’d always
been little local floods when it stormed. Some of the ditching was
covered over. They had played and hidden out in there. But he
hadn’t paid any attention in ten years. Public works which
did not serve the rich and powerful had a way of dying of
neglect.

It was no place he wanted to spend any time. It would be cold
and damp and infested with rats and, these days, probably, human
vermin. But he could think of nowhere else to get out of sight,
even for an hour.

“When I was a kid we used to—”

“Don’t tell me. If I don’t know I can’t
tell anybody. Just tell me where’s a good place for you to
see me without me or anybody watching me seeing you.”

Smeds thought about it and mentioned a place he did know was
there because his labor battalion had passed that way every morning
and evening when he was doing time. He described it, asked,
“What are we up to?”

“I’m going to see if Exile will talk
deal.”

“Oh, shit, man! He’ll take you apart.”

“He might,” Fish admitted. “But we know
somebody’s going to do that real soon anyway. He’s the
only one who’s offered any serious deal.”

“I think if I had my druthers I’d rather the Rebels
got the damned thing. The imperials are nasty enough without
it.”

Fish grunted. “Maybe. But they don’t want to pay for
it. They want you to do it for love. I’m a whore too old and
set in her ways not to want to get paid for my trouble.”