Book 2 - Shadows Linger Read Free Page A

the
man’s wake. The locals watched, wondering.
    Pawnbroker used signs to ask, “What now?”
    “We wait,” Candy said aloud, and with signs added,
“Do what we were sent to do.”
    “Not much fun, being live bait,” Pawnbroker signed
back. He studied the stair nervously. “Set Otto up with a
hand,” he suggested.
    I looked at Candy. He nodded. “Why not? Give him about
seventeen.” Otto would go down first time around every time
if he had less than twenty. It was a good percentage bet.
    I quick figured the cards in my head, and grinned. I could give
him seventeen and have enough low cards left to give each of us a
hand that would burn him. “Give me those cards.”
    I hurried through the deck, building hands. “There.”
Nobody had higher than a five. But Otto’s hand had higher
cards than the others.
    Candy grinned. “Yeah.”
    Otto did not come back. Pawnbroker said, “I’m going
up to check.”
    “All right,” Candy replied. He went and got himself
a beer. I eyed the locals. They were getting ideas. I stared at one
and shook my head.
    Pawnbroker and Otto returned a minute later, preceded by the
dark man, who returned to his shadow. Pawnbroker and Otto looked
relieved. They settled down to play.
    Otto asked, “Who dealt?”
    “Candy did,” I said. “Your go.”
    He went down. “Seventeen.”
    “Heh-heh-heh,” I replied. “Burned you.
Fifteen.”
    And Pawnbroker said, “Got you both. Fourteen.”
    And Candy, “Fourteen. You’re hurting,
Otto.”
    He just sat there, numbed, for several seconds. Then he caught
on. “You bastards! You stacked it! You don’t think
I’m going to pay off . . . ”
    “Settle down. Joke, son,” Candy said.
    “Joke. It was your deal anyhow.”
    The cards went around and the darkness came. No more insurgents
appeared. The locals grew ever more restless. Some worried about
their families, about being late. As everywhere else, most
Tallylanders are concerned only with their own lives. They
don’t care whether the White Rose or the Lady is
ascendant.
    The minority of Rebel sympathizers worried about when the blow
might fall. They were afraid of getting caught in the
crossfire.
    We pretended ignorance of the situation.
    Candy signed, “Which ones are dangerous?”
    We conferred, selected three men who might become trouble. Candy
had Otto bind them to their chairs. It dawned on the locals that we
knew what to expect, that we were prepared. Not looking forward,
but prepared. The raiders waited till midnight. They were more
cautious than the Rebel we encountered ordinarily. Maybe our
reputation was too strong . . . 
    They burst in in a rush. We discharged our spring tubes and
began swinging swords, retreating to a corner away from the
fireplace. The tall man watched indifferently.
    There were a lot of Rebels. Far more than we had expected. They
kept storming inside, crowding up, getting into one another’s
ways, climbing over the corpses of their comrades. “Some
trap,” I gasped. “Must be a hundred of them.”
    “Yeah,” Candy said. “It don’t look
good.” He kicked at a man’s groin, cut him when he
covered up.
    The place was wall-to-wall insurgents, and from the noise there
were a hell of a lot more outside. Somebody didn’t want us
getting away.
    Well, that was the plan.
    My nostrils flared. There was an odor in the air, just the
faintest off-key touch, subtle under the stink of fear and sweat.
“Cover up!” I yelled, and whipped a wad of damp wool
from my belt pouch. It stunk worse than a squashed skunk. My
companions followed suit.
    Somewhere a man screamed. Then another. Voices rose in a hellish
chorus. Our enemies surged around, baffled, panicky. Faces twisted
in agony. Men fell down in writhing heaps, clawing their noses and
throats. I was careful to keep my face in the wool.
    The tall, thin man came out of his shadows. Calmly, he began
despatching guerrillas with a fourteen-inch, silvery blade. He
spared those customers we had not bound