Book 2 - Shadows Linger Read Free

Though there
was no obvious connection, Raven protected the girl as though she
were his virgin daughter. What the hell was a tavern slut for,
anyway? Shed shuddered, pushed it out of mind. He needed Raven.
Needed every paying guest he could get. He was surviving on
prayers.
    He delivered the wine. Raven dropped three coins into his palm.
One was a silver leva. “Sir?”
    “Get some decent firewood in here, Shed. If I wanted to
freeze, I’d stay outside.”
    “Yes, sir!” Shed went to the door, peeked into the
street. Latham’s wood yard was just a block away.
    The drizzle had become an icy rain. The mucky lane was crusting.
“Going to snow before dark,” he informed no one in
particular.
    “In or out,” Raven growled. “Don’t waste
what warmth there is.”
    Shed slid outside. He hoped he could reach Latham’s before
the cold began to ache.
    Shapes loomed out of the icefall. One was a giant. Both hunched
forward, rags around their necks to prevent ice from sliding down
their backs.
    Shed charged back into the Lily. “I’ll go out the
back way.” He signed, “Darling, I’m going out.
You haven’t seen me since this morning.”
    “Krage?” the girl signed.
    “Krage,” Shed admitted. He dashed into the kitchen,
snagged his ragged coat off its hook, wriggled into it. He fumbled
the door latch twice before he got it loose. An evil grin with
three teeth absent greeted him as he leaned into the cold. Foul
breath assaulted his nostrils. A filthy finger gouged his chest.
“Going somewhere, Shed?”
    “Hi, Red. Just going to see Latham about
firewood.”
    “No, you’re not.” The finger pushed. Shed fell
back till he was in the common room.
    Sweating, he asked, “Cup of wine?”
    “That’s neighborly of you, Shed. Make it
three.”
    “Three?” Shed’s voice squeaked.
    “Don’t tell me you didn’t know Krage is on his
way.”
    “I didn’t,” Shed lied.
    Red’s snaggle-toothed smirk said he knew Shed was
lying.
     
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Chapter Six:
TALLY MIX-UP
    You try your damnedest, but something always goes wrong.
That’s life. If you’re smart, you plan for it.
    Somehow, somebody got away from Madle’s, along about the
twenty-fifth Rebel who stumbled into our web, when it really looked
like Neat had done us a big favor, summoning the local hierarchy to
a conference. Looking backward, it is hard to fix blame. We all did
our jobs. But there are limits to how alert you stay under extended
stress. The man who disappeared probably spent hours plotting his
break. We did not notice his absence for a long time.
    Candy figured it out. He threw his cards in at the tail of a
hand, said, “We’re minus a body, troops. One of those
pig farmers. The little guy who looked like a pig.”
    I could see the table from the corner of my eye. I grunted.
“You’re right. Damn. Should have taken a head count
after each trip to the well.”
    The table was behind Pawnbroker. He did not turn around. He
waited a hand, then ambled to Madle’s counter and bought a
crock of beer. While his rambling distracted the locals, I made
rapid signs with my fingers, in deaf-speech. “Better be ready
for a raid. They know who we are. I shot my mouth off.”
    The Rebel would want us bad. The Black Company has earned a
widespread reputation as a successful eradicator of the Rebel
pestilence, wherever it appears. Though we are not as vicious as
reputed, news of our coming strikes terror wherever we go. The
Rebel often goes to ground, abandoning his operations, where we
appear.
    Yet here were four of us, separated from our companions,
evidently unaware that we were at risk. They would try. The
question at hand was how hard.
    We did have cards up our sleeves. We never play fair if we can
avoid it. The Company philosophy is to maximize effectiveness while
minimizing risk.
    The tall, dark man rose, left his shadow, stalked toward the
stair to the sleeping rooms. Candy snapped, “Watch him,
Otto.” Otto hurried after him, looking feeble in