A World Without Heroes
Page 46
The corners of the barmaid’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “Sure.”
The woman walked off, then returned with drinks. Ferrin, Rachel, and Jason sipped and talked softly while they waited. The woman eventually brought out plates of roast duck, heavily seasoned and marinated in oily gravy, with vegetables and hot bread on the side.
“Good bird,” Ferrin commented around a bite.
Jason nodded, blotting up some gravy with a piece of bread.
“Lots of bones,” Rachel said, picking at the meat tentatively.
“How’s the milk?” Jason asked.
“Good. Creamy. A little warm.”
Ferrin finished first. “Pardon me, but I need to find the outhouse.”
Jason stripped the last of the meat from the bones, then downed the last of his water. He sighed after emptying his glass.
“It’s nice traveling with Ferrin,” Jason said to Rachel.
“He’s the most likeable person we’ve met since the Blind King.”
Jason nodded. In spite of the detachable body parts, Ferrin seemed like the sort of person he might have become friends with under any circumstances.
A man came up beside Jason from behind. A sharp point pricked Jason’s side. Another man walked up on the opposite side. “Don’t move or make a sound,” said the man with the knife.
Jason gave a start. It was the short, one-armed rescuer from the river. Except he now had both arms. Was that possible? Could this be his twin? Jason noticed that one of his eyes was brown and the other was blue, a detail he had missed when they first met.
The man on the other side was the lean man who had wielded the bow. He held a new bow, very fine-looking.
“He remembers us,” said the lean man, as if the fact were endearing.
“Is there a problem?” Rachel asked the lean man. She had not yet noticed the knife.
“Clear out of here,” the lean man threatened her.
“You might want to listen to them,” Jason suggested.
Rachel backed away a couple of steps, one hand disappearing under her cloak. Jason hoped she wouldn’t pull out the orantium. Hand grenades were not intended for close quarters.
“You played nasty with the wrong men,” the shorter guy told Jason, relishing the moment. “We don’t want a scene. Take a walk with us.” He kept his cloak draped over the knife.
“Why should I?” Jason asked, not wanting to end up alone with these two.
“If you don’t, I’ll stick you right here and now. Then we’ll stick your friend. You don’t have to die today. Choice is yours.”
Jason was pretty sure he recognized the voice. “Was it you two who broke into my room near the Tavern-Go-Round?”
The shorter man grinned. “You knew about that, did you? Don’t know how you slipped by us. Good job there. Why don’t you come along?”
“Are these friends of yours?” Ferrin asked politely from behind the trio.
The knifepoint poked persuasively into Jason’s side. “Sure,” he said without turning around. “What were your names again?”
“Tad,” said the shorter one.
“Kale,” said the lean one.
“Do you mind if I maim your friends?” Ferrin asked calmly.
Jason felt the point in his side waver.
“Why not?” Jason said.
Jason had his back to Ferrin, so from the corner of his eye he barely saw the walking stick swinging before it thumped Tad on the head, sending him sprawling. Kale dropped his bow and pushed back his robe to grab the hilt of a short sword. From his seat on the stool Jason kicked Kale in the hip as the man drew his weapon, knocking him sideways and inadvertently causing a stroke from Ferrin’s walking stick to glance off Kale’s shoulder rather than land on his skull.
The overzealous swing left Ferrin momentarily unprotected. Kale slashed fiercely, severing Ferrin’s arm just above the elbow. Wielding the stick with his remaining arm, Ferrin deflected a thrust aimed at his chest. Rachel shoved Kale from behind, and as he stumbled forward, Ferrin clubbed him in the throat.
Kale crumpled to the floor, clutching his crushed larynx, legs jerking.
“What’s going on here?” boomed a deep voice.
An overweight man wearing an embroidered bandoleer entered the room, flanked by a pair of men with less fancy bandoleers, each holding a crossbow. Ferrin picked up his dismembered arm and reattached it.
Tad got up, eyes wide, hand over a bleeding gash near the crown of his head. “This displacer attacked me and my friend! We were just trying to enjoy a drink.”
Kale continued to thrash on the ground, one hand on his throat, the other grasping helplessly, eyes rolling back.
“Not true,” Jason blurted. “These men were trying to abduct me at knifepoint. My friend stepped in to help me.”
“Lies!” shrieked Tad with surprising sincerity.
“The limb dropper struck first,” said a bald man across the room. “I saw it plain enough, constable. He hit the little one over the head, then smashed his friend in the throat when he came to help.”
“And the girl?” the constable asked.
“She entered the brawl,” the bald man reported. “She helped the limb dropper take down the fellow on the floor.”
The constable shook his head. “Sure as storm clouds bring rain, drifters bring trouble. You four will have to spend some time in the lockup, until we get this sorted out.”
“Four!” Tad yelled. “I’m the victim! My best friend is dying!”
Kale’s struggles were subsiding into random flinches and spasms.
“Then why aren’t you trying to help him?” the constable asked. “You’re protesting too loudly, friend. Harlin, did the little guy pull a knife on the young man?”
“He may have had a knife out when the limb dropper struck,” the bald man said without much conviction. “Same knife you can see on the floor near his feet.”
“Burn the limb dropper and call it even,” a harsh female voice cried.
A few others muttered agreement.
The constable held up a hand. “I administer the emperor’s justice. Under our laws even limb droppers get a trial. Patience. We’ll make examples of these troublemakers, all in due time. Silas, how fares the man on the floor?”
A gray-haired man had crouched over Kale. “Not conscious. Still alive, for the moment.”
Tad, Jason, Rachel, and Ferrin were led away.
The constable and his men took them to a low stone building, one of the only structures in town not made of wood. Three cells, with stone partitions between them, occupied the rear wall of a spacious room. The heavy bars of the cells were set close together. A bearded man sat in one cell, staring into a corner with his arms folded.
The woman walked off, then returned with drinks. Ferrin, Rachel, and Jason sipped and talked softly while they waited. The woman eventually brought out plates of roast duck, heavily seasoned and marinated in oily gravy, with vegetables and hot bread on the side.
“Good bird,” Ferrin commented around a bite.
Jason nodded, blotting up some gravy with a piece of bread.
“Lots of bones,” Rachel said, picking at the meat tentatively.
“How’s the milk?” Jason asked.
“Good. Creamy. A little warm.”
Ferrin finished first. “Pardon me, but I need to find the outhouse.”
Jason stripped the last of the meat from the bones, then downed the last of his water. He sighed after emptying his glass.
“It’s nice traveling with Ferrin,” Jason said to Rachel.
“He’s the most likeable person we’ve met since the Blind King.”
Jason nodded. In spite of the detachable body parts, Ferrin seemed like the sort of person he might have become friends with under any circumstances.
A man came up beside Jason from behind. A sharp point pricked Jason’s side. Another man walked up on the opposite side. “Don’t move or make a sound,” said the man with the knife.
Jason gave a start. It was the short, one-armed rescuer from the river. Except he now had both arms. Was that possible? Could this be his twin? Jason noticed that one of his eyes was brown and the other was blue, a detail he had missed when they first met.
The man on the other side was the lean man who had wielded the bow. He held a new bow, very fine-looking.
“He remembers us,” said the lean man, as if the fact were endearing.
“Is there a problem?” Rachel asked the lean man. She had not yet noticed the knife.
“Clear out of here,” the lean man threatened her.
“You might want to listen to them,” Jason suggested.
Rachel backed away a couple of steps, one hand disappearing under her cloak. Jason hoped she wouldn’t pull out the orantium. Hand grenades were not intended for close quarters.
“You played nasty with the wrong men,” the shorter guy told Jason, relishing the moment. “We don’t want a scene. Take a walk with us.” He kept his cloak draped over the knife.
“Why should I?” Jason asked, not wanting to end up alone with these two.
“If you don’t, I’ll stick you right here and now. Then we’ll stick your friend. You don’t have to die today. Choice is yours.”
Jason was pretty sure he recognized the voice. “Was it you two who broke into my room near the Tavern-Go-Round?”
The shorter man grinned. “You knew about that, did you? Don’t know how you slipped by us. Good job there. Why don’t you come along?”
“Are these friends of yours?” Ferrin asked politely from behind the trio.
The knifepoint poked persuasively into Jason’s side. “Sure,” he said without turning around. “What were your names again?”
“Tad,” said the shorter one.
“Kale,” said the lean one.
“Do you mind if I maim your friends?” Ferrin asked calmly.
Jason felt the point in his side waver.
“Why not?” Jason said.
Jason had his back to Ferrin, so from the corner of his eye he barely saw the walking stick swinging before it thumped Tad on the head, sending him sprawling. Kale dropped his bow and pushed back his robe to grab the hilt of a short sword. From his seat on the stool Jason kicked Kale in the hip as the man drew his weapon, knocking him sideways and inadvertently causing a stroke from Ferrin’s walking stick to glance off Kale’s shoulder rather than land on his skull.
The overzealous swing left Ferrin momentarily unprotected. Kale slashed fiercely, severing Ferrin’s arm just above the elbow. Wielding the stick with his remaining arm, Ferrin deflected a thrust aimed at his chest. Rachel shoved Kale from behind, and as he stumbled forward, Ferrin clubbed him in the throat.
Kale crumpled to the floor, clutching his crushed larynx, legs jerking.
“What’s going on here?” boomed a deep voice.
An overweight man wearing an embroidered bandoleer entered the room, flanked by a pair of men with less fancy bandoleers, each holding a crossbow. Ferrin picked up his dismembered arm and reattached it.
Tad got up, eyes wide, hand over a bleeding gash near the crown of his head. “This displacer attacked me and my friend! We were just trying to enjoy a drink.”
Kale continued to thrash on the ground, one hand on his throat, the other grasping helplessly, eyes rolling back.
“Not true,” Jason blurted. “These men were trying to abduct me at knifepoint. My friend stepped in to help me.”
“Lies!” shrieked Tad with surprising sincerity.
“The limb dropper struck first,” said a bald man across the room. “I saw it plain enough, constable. He hit the little one over the head, then smashed his friend in the throat when he came to help.”
“And the girl?” the constable asked.
“She entered the brawl,” the bald man reported. “She helped the limb dropper take down the fellow on the floor.”
The constable shook his head. “Sure as storm clouds bring rain, drifters bring trouble. You four will have to spend some time in the lockup, until we get this sorted out.”
“Four!” Tad yelled. “I’m the victim! My best friend is dying!”
Kale’s struggles were subsiding into random flinches and spasms.
“Then why aren’t you trying to help him?” the constable asked. “You’re protesting too loudly, friend. Harlin, did the little guy pull a knife on the young man?”
“He may have had a knife out when the limb dropper struck,” the bald man said without much conviction. “Same knife you can see on the floor near his feet.”
“Burn the limb dropper and call it even,” a harsh female voice cried.
A few others muttered agreement.
The constable held up a hand. “I administer the emperor’s justice. Under our laws even limb droppers get a trial. Patience. We’ll make examples of these troublemakers, all in due time. Silas, how fares the man on the floor?”
A gray-haired man had crouched over Kale. “Not conscious. Still alive, for the moment.”
Tad, Jason, Rachel, and Ferrin were led away.
The constable and his men took them to a low stone building, one of the only structures in town not made of wood. Three cells, with stone partitions between them, occupied the rear wall of a spacious room. The heavy bars of the cells were set close together. A bearded man sat in one cell, staring into a corner with his arms folded.
