Juniper: Flight

The Lily shuddered several times.

Shed was doing mugs and wondering which of his customers were Black Company. The shaking made him nervous. Then a shriek flashed overhead, rising, then falling as it whipped away north. A moment later the earth shivered again, strong enough to rattle crockery. He rushed into the street. One small, cunning part of him kept watching his customers, trying to determine who was watching him. His chance of escape had lessened drastically with the advent of the Company. He no longer knew who was who. They all knew him.

He hit the street as a second shriek came from the direction of the Enclosure. He followed pointing hands. A pair of balls joined by a cord whipped away to the north. Seconds later all Juniper was illuminated by a particolored glare.

“The black castle!” people said. “They hit the black castle.”

Shed could see it from his street. It had vanished behind a curtain of color. Terror gripped his heart. He could not understand it. He was safe down here. Wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he? The Company had great wizards supporting it. They would not let the castle do anything.… A mighty hammer blow threw stuff around the north slope. He could not see what was happening, but instantly sensed that the castle had struck at someone. Possibly that Croaker, who was up there keeping the place isolated. Maybe the castle was trying to open the road.

Crowd yammer directed his attention to two dots dropping from the blue. Fire enveloped the castle. Obsidian shifted form, writhing, then found its normal shape again. The flying attackers soared, turned. Another pair of balls hurtled in, apparently thrown from Duretile. And down came the carpet riders.

Shed knew who they were and what was happening, and he was terrified. Around him, the Buskin, taken unawares, went berserk.

He retained the presence of mind to consider his own position. Here, there, members of the Black Company were running for battle stations. Squads formed up, hurried off. Pairs of soldiers took stations apparently assigned against times when rioting and looting looked possible. Nowhere did Shed see anyone identifiable as his babysitter.

He slipped back inside the Lily, upstairs, into his room, dug into his secret place. He stuffed gold and silver into his pockets, dithered over his amulet, then hung it around his neck, under his clothing. He scanned the room once, saw nothing else he wanted to take, hurried back downstairs. There was no one in the common room but Sal, who stood at the door watching the display on the north slope. He’d never seen her more homebody and calm.

“Sal.”

“Marron? Is it time?”

“Yes. I’m leaving twenty leva in the box. You’ll do fine as long as the soldiers keep coming in.”

“Is that up there what’s been going on?”

“That’s where it’s been headed. It’ll probably get worse. They’re here to destroy the castle. If they can.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” He honestly did not. “Wouldn’t tell you if I did. They would find out from you.”

“When will you be back?”

“Maybe never. Certainly not before they pull out.” He doubted the Company ever would. Or, if it did, it would be replaced. Its Lady seemed the type not to turn loose of anything.

He gave Sal a peck on the cheek. “Take care. And don’t short yourself or the kids. If Lisa turns up, tell her she’s fired. If Wally does, tell him I forgive him.”

He headed for the back door. The flash and roar on the slope continued. At one point there was a howling which fluttered toward Duretile, but it broke up somewhere over the Enclosure. He put his head down and his collar up and followed alleyways toward the waterfront.

Only twice did he encounter patrols. Neither boasted a man who knew him. The first ignored him. The corporal commanding the second told him to get his ass off the street and went on.

From Wharf Street he could see the black castle once more, through the masts and stays of countless ships. It seemed to have gotten the worst of the exchange, which had died away. Thick, black smoke boiled out of the fortress, an oily column leaning a few degrees and rising thousands of feet, then spreading in a dark haze. On the slopes below the castle there was a twinkling and seething, an anthill-like suggestion of movement. He supposed the Company was hurrying into action.

The waterfront was in a frenzy. The channel boasted a dozen vessels heading out. Every other foreign ship was preparing to sail. The river itself seemed strangely disturbed and choppy.

Shed tried three ships before he found one where money talked loudly enough to be heard. He paid ten leva to a piratical purser and found himself a spot where he would not be seen from shore.

Nevertheless, as the crew were casting off, the man called Pawnbroker came racing along the pier with a squad of soldiers, shouting at the ship’s master to hold fast.

The ship’s master made an obscene gesture, told them where they could go, and began drifting with the current. There were too few tugs for the number of ships moving out.

For his defiance the skipper got an arrow through the throat. Astonished sailors and officers stood frozen, aghast. Arrows stormed aboard, killed more than a dozen men, including the mate and boatswain. Shed cowered in his hiding place, gripped by a terror deeper than any he had known before.

He had known they were hard men, men who did not play games. He had not realized just how hard they were, how savage they could be. The Duke’s men would have thrown up their hands in despair and wandered away cursing. They would not have massacred anyone.

The arrows kept coming, in a light patter, till the vessel was out of range.

Only then did Shed peep out and watch the city dwindle slowly. Oh, slowly, did it drift away.

To his surprise none of the sailors were angry with him. They were angry, true, but had not made a connection between the attack and their last-minute passenger.

Safe, he thought, elated. That lasted till he began to wonder where he was bound and what he would do once he got there.

A sailor called, “Sir, they’re coming after us in a launch.” Shed’s heart dropped to his ankles. He looked and saw a small ship pulling out, trying to put on sail. Men in Black Company uniform abused the crew, hurrying them.

He got back into hiding. After the mauling these men had taken, there was no doubt they would surrender him rather than suffer more. If they realized he was what Pawnbroker wanted.

How had the man picked up his trail?

Sorcery. Of course. Had to be.

Did that mean they could find him anywhere?