The Warlock Wandering (13 page)

Gwen tapped Yorick on the shoulder. He looked up at her, startled, then grinned. She beckoned, and he drifted out behind her.

The plaza lay still in the moonlight.

After a while, somebody muttered something. Somebody else muttered an answer. Then another muttered, and another, and another. The voices grew louder. Then, one by one, the soldiers began to drift out into the plaza. They looked about them, baffled and angry.

"Where be they?" a corporal growled.

"Another wild goose." A superannuated private turned his head and spat.

"He's had us again," another snarled. Then he called out,

"Sergeant! Sergeant Thaler! Sap the bastard!" They stilled, waiting for the sound of the blow, for Thaler's angry oath—but silence filled the spaces of the night.

"Where's the sergeant?" a private asked.

"I saw him hide over there." A corporal pointed toward the shadow of a low, one-storied building.

They started toward the spot, walking faster and faster. The back of the building was bare, the space around it empty.

"Not a sign of him!"

"Y' don't mean Thaler would've run out on us!"

"That's right, I don't mean that." A staff sergeant pointed at the dirt. "Look at that sign. There's been a scuffle here, there has."

"He did for him!" the private cried. "That lousy grinning blockhead did for the sergeant!"

"Stove in his skull, likely." The corporal's eyes turned very pale, very hard. "Let's find him."

"Aye! The bloody, grinning ape!"

"Spread out, lads!" the sergeant roared. "Find the bastard, and string him up!"

"What good'll that do?" A private scratched his head.

"A world of good, for my soul," the sergeant snapped. Then a cunning gleam came into his eye, and he grinned.

"Besides, one dead body's as good as another, ain't it? We'll just tell the Wolmen they was wrong; we did some clever detectin', and found out he killed their bloomin' warrior!" The private grinned slowly, his eyes lighting with devilish glee.

"There's a sergeant'll get another stripe for brains," called another soldier.

The sergeant grinned wider.

"Y' oughta be a lieutenant. Sergeant!" called a young corporal.

The sergeant shrugged, embarrassed. "Don't make it more than it is, lads." Then he roared, "Let's go find the blighter!" The soldiers howled and surged after the sergeant as he strode away between two buildings, following a trail that he thought he saw.

"Welcome to the wanted list." Rod slapped Yorick on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Major." Yorick heaved a sigh. "Shame to disappoint those eager beavers out there, though." Rod nodded, commiserating. "It's hard to find a trail, when your quarry has flown—literally."

98

Christopher Stasheff

99

"Yeah." Yorick turned to Gwen. "Thanks for the lift, milady."

"'Twas naught." Gwen gave him a warm smile. "Ever shall my broomstick be at thy bidding."

"Uh, thanks, but I don't think I could last through enough flight hours to qualify." Yorick's grin turned a little queasy.

"Definitely a vivid experience, though."

"And we're in the one place where they'd really never think to look for us." Rod glanced up as footsteps crossed above his head.

Yorick leaned back against the wall, blowing out a stream of cigar smoke. "Gotta hand it to you. Major. When you go to ground, you do a real job of it."

Rod shrugged. "Comes of long practice." He nudged the unconscious body that lay between them. "What do you think we ought to do with him, Cholly?"

"Be gentle," the tavemkeeper advised."Fact is, if you've any bloody intentions, you can take 'em right out into the night with yer. I'm keepin' yer down here just 'cause I don't like to see innocent blood shed."

"Thaler is innocent?" Yorick asked, wide-eyed.

"As much as yerself." Cholly eyed him warily.

"I protest." Yorick laid a hand on his breast. "I am innocent! I am pure! I am..."

"... full of it," Cholly finished. "And I've got to be up there behind the bar when that merry mob you've been leading comes in from this latest snipe hunt." He turned to Rod. "How'd ye work that one?"

"I didn't. Ask him." He nodded toward Yorick. Cholly's gaze swiveled toward the Neanderthal. The caveman spread his hands. "Just gave 'em what they wanted, mine host. After all, isn't that what you do?"

"Aye, along with a measure of what they never thought of." He wagged a forefinger. "That's my calling in life, mind—and I've had all the disruption of it I can take for one night. You lie low, and keep quiet, now. If they hear yer down here, there'll be naught I can do to aid yer."

"Oh, we'll be mice," Rod promised.

"With the cat in sight," Yorick agreed.

"Thou'lt hear not so much as a scratch in the baseboard," Gwen reassured him.

Cholly turned to go up the stairs, but stopped to cast a worried glance at Thaler.

"He won't make any noise, either." Rod's smile hardened. "I mean, we wouldn't be so stupid as to take that kind of chance, would we?"

True," Cholly admitted. "What ever ye aren't, y're canny enough. And try to catch some sleep, for I doubt not ye'11

need it."

He shouldn't have said that. As he turned and went up the stairs. Rod felt the sleepies coming on. He yawned, then shook his head and blinked. "Oh, we'll manage somehow. Right?"

"Aye, my lord. Shall I give to thee..."

"... a mild stimulant?" Yorick fished in his pocket and held out a pillbox. "Go ahead. Major. Nothing lethal or addictive, I assure you."

Rod gave the pillbox a jaundiced glance, then sighed, reached out, and popped one into his mouth. "Why not?

You could have bumped us off at least four times today—

and without laying a hand on either of us, too." Gwen stared at the caveman, startled.

Yorick shrugged. "I'm on your side, remember? What do I have to do to prove it—give you a deadly illness, so I can nurse you through it?"

"Nay." Gwen smiled, and Rod said, "Not that we mistrust your ministrations, understand—we'd just rather not need them."

Gwen glanced at Thaler. "Yet I beg of thee, do not give this one any lasting malady." "'

"Oh, of course not!" Rod said, shocked.

"Nothing lasting," Yorick agreed. He reached out a boot 700

Christopher Stasheff

101

toe to prod the unconscious sergeant. "Come on, soldier, up and at 'em. Reveille's about to blow—and so are you." He hefted and shoved, and the sergeant flopped over, limp as a leaky rainsack.

Rod sighed, and looked up at his wife. "When you do it to 'em, honey, you really do it right. Wake him up, will you?"

Gwen's brow furrowed as she gazed at Thaler. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. He looked about him, frowning and blinking, then rolled up onto one elbow, rubbing the back of a hand across his eyes. "How ... where..."

"I called 'ambush stations,'" Yorick reminded him. "I didn't say who was going to be ambushed."

Thaler's head snapped up. He glared at the caveman.

"You are in cahoots with them!"

"No, just a cellar. And so're you."

"Yeah," Rod said, with a wolfish grin. "You're in this, too, you know."

Thaler darted glances from Rod to Gwen and back.

"What're you talking about? How the hell could I be mixed up in this? This is your..."

His voice trailed off as he saw the look in Rod's eyes. In spite of himself, he inched away—and ran into Yorick's toe. His head snapped up with a wild look, which met Yorick's flinty gaze. The caveman grinned. He had a lot of teeth. "Don't mean to inconvenience you. Sergeant. It's just that you were talking about altering my collar size, and I thought you might appreciate my returning the favor."

"You bastards'." Thaler growled, but his face paled. There was a slam overhead, and a thundering of feet. Rod scowled up at the ceiling.

"Squire Mob," Gwen informed him. She turned to Thaler.

"Thy followers return."

Thaler's face brightened. He took a deep breath—then swallowed hard as he froze, eyes rolling down to look at Yorick's blade, its point resting against his Adam's apple.

"Softly, softly," the Neanderthal crooned. "You wouldn't want your buddies to know you'd been caught like the greenest new chum, would you? Especially caught by the very people you were hunting! Can you imagine the lowliest private being willing to take orders from such a klutz of a sergeant?"

Thaler's eyes turned calculating. He closed his mouth.

"Having second thoughts?" Yorick nodded. "Wise. I always knew you were the prudent sort."

"Always an eye for the main chance, anyway," Rod agreed.

"That's a nice Sergeant." The dagger backed away a little—but only a little. "Now—the Major, here, says he'd like to get to know you better."

"Yes, indeed." Rod stepped a little closer. "It's been very instructive meeting you. Sergeant, but I'd like it a little longer on the information, and shorter on the rhetoric."

"He means he'd like you to answer a few questions," Yorick explained.

"See? He understands." Rod nodded at Yorick. "Now—

what were you doing at the Sun-Greeting Place yesterday morning?"

"I wouldn't tell you the time of day," Thaler spat, but Rod felt the answer leap into the sergeant's mind. He couldn't spare time for the details, especially since Gwen's gaze was riveted to Thaler, all her attention focused on his thoughts. Yorick snatched Thaler's wrist, whipped his arm through a half turn, and wrenched it up behind his back. Thaler exploded into mad thrashing, but he couldn't budge the Neanderthal's grip.

"Manners, manners!" Yorick chided. "We must be polite, now. Tell the nice major what he wants to know." Thaler's eyes bulged, but he clamped his jaw shut, exuding a whining sound. '"'

"Yeah. Let's just be friendly about it all." Rod gazed up at the ceiling, lips pursed. "Now... just what were you 102

Christopher Stasheff

103

doing outside the Wall yesterday morning, anyway?"

"Stuff it, sniffer," Thaler growled through clenched teeth. Rod frowned. Sniffer? Odd term. He'd have to find out what it meant in local slang. "Well, you do kind of wonder, when a sergeant takes off in the middle of the night. I mean, without any sign or explanation, he just trots past the sentry, and heads for the high hills. You can't help wondering: where was he going to? What for? Who told him to?" Yorick twisted the wrist a little harder, and Thaler's jaw gaped open. But he groaned and panted, "No... way... tell..."

But the answers were there, popping into his mind, one after another, as Rod called for them.

"Yes, I suppose there is no way to tell," Rod mused,

"but you can't help wondering what the whole reason was. Why, in the middle of the night? Why not just wait until morning?"

Yorick dangled the knife point in front of Thaler's eyes, letting it swing back and forth. The light glinted off the edge. Thaler gazed at it, fascinated, but he still muttered,

"Go peddle your product in Hell."

"I don't think it'd keep too well," Rod sighed. "Uh... what say, dear?"

Gwen was tugging on his shoulder, thinking, / have learned all he knows. Aloud, she said, "There is no point in tormenting him further, my lord."

"You call that torment?" Rod scoffed, and his mind added, That was just a little stage dressing, dear, to convince him we meant business. Of course, we weren't planning on completing the transaction. If we had...

Spare me, Gwen thought quickly. But bind him, my lord.

"Ah, well," Rod sighed, "why waste time on a knownothing? Roll over and play dead. Sergeant, so we don't have to make it real. Okay?"

Yorick let go of Thaler's arm and began to rub his shoulder solicitously. Thaler knocked his hand away and growled, eyes full of apprehension.

"Don't worry, we're just going to tie you up," Rod explained. "We can do it with you awake, or out cold, it's completely up to you. Come on, now, don't be difficult—

roll over on your stomach, there's a good fellow. Hands behind your back..."

Thaler glared at him.

Then, suddenly, he surged to his feet, fist cutting up at Rod, who leaned back at the last second, but not far enough. The punch clipped his cheekbone, and he staggered back, hands snapping up to guard automatically. Fury flamed, white-hot, but he managed to direct it toward Thaler, blocking his next punch, leaning aside from the kick, then whirling back like a spring unwinding. Thaler blocked and countered, but Rod had spun inside his guard, slamming a fist into his belly. Thaler bent forward, eyes bulging again, the whining coming out of his nose. Yorick flipped him over and let him fall, face down in the dirt, dropping down with him and pinning a knee across his back, pressing his wrists together and holding them while Rod whipped a rope around them. "Gently, Sergeant," he soothed. "We could have done this the nice way, you know."

"On the other hand," Yorick pointed out, "we could have been much rougher about it, too. I didn't get my licks in, Major."

Rod cut another length of rope from the coil on the shelf.

"You'd think Cholly would keep some tape around here."

"What for?" Yorick shrugged. "This isn't his ordinary line of work, you know."

"Yeah, you've got a point." Rod reached down for Thaler's ankle. The sergeant slashed a kick at him, but Rod was expecting it now. He leaped aside, caught the ankle as it passed, and bent it on up toward Thaler's buttocks. "Come, come, now! Do you really think I'm such an innocent? Haul a little on that other rope, will you, Yorick?" The Neanderthal yanked Thaler's wrists up toward his 104 Christopher Stasheff

shoulder blades. The sergeant made a whinnying sound, and his legs relaxed. Rod whipped them together with the rope, then ran a length from ankles to wrists, pulled so that Thaler's legs were bent. "Now for those nifty new knots I've been practicing!"

"Change! Innovation! Always gotta go for the new stuff," Yorick grumbled. "You Sapiens are all the same! I'll stick to the good old tried-and-true ones, thank you." Rod sneaked a peek. "If that's your idea of an old knot..."