Ghostwalker (Book 1) (8 page)

“The paper? Why?”

“It holds the bullet in place, so it doesn’t fall out.” Kendril’s voice was still in a low whisper, so that Jade had to lean forward to catch his words. “Feel under the barrel of the gun. There should be a small ramrod.”

Jade found it. “Okay.”

“You pull that out, then stick it down the barrel a couple of times to jam the bullet and the gunpowder all the way down. Two or three sharp, hard motions. Understand?”

She felt the metal ramrod. “Understand. Then what?”

“Replace the ramrod. If you don’t put it back, you could lose it, or worse, leave it in the barrel when the gun is fired. After that, thumb back the flintlock, and it’s ready to fire.” He was silent a minute, listening to the tapping of the rain on the windows. “All right. Can you repeat it all back to me?”

Jade felt her stomach tighten, but grasped the cartridge tightly in her hand. “I bite off the end of the cartridge, pour the gunpowder in the barrel, then the bullet—” she hesitated.

“And the paper.”

“And the paper. Then I pull out the ramrod, jam it down, replace the ramrod, and click back the lock.” Finished, she lifted the gun in her left hand. It felt remarkably heavy. “It doesn’t sound that difficult,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“It’s not,” said Kendril quietly. “Problem is, it’s easy to get flustered when a lot is going on. There’ll be other people shooting, shouting, and swinging swords. You have to focus on what you’re doing, and ignore whatever’s happening on the other side of this bar. Here’s two more. Keep them safe.” He dropped the cartridges into her hands.

Jade felt her hands begin to tremble. She closed her hand tightly around the cartridges, trying desperately to steady herself. “I’ll try.”

His hand reached over and gently took back the pistol. Jade heard him cock it with a sharp
snick-click
. She clasped her hands together. They were shaking pretty badly.

“Kendril?”

“Yes?”

She heard the fireplace give a loud crack. “I’m not sure how much good I’ll be to you. I’m—“ she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been before.” She gave a sudden soft laugh. “That I can remember, anyway.”

Kendril’s voice softened slightly. “You’ll do fine.”

She was quiet for a minute. Jade glanced over through the shadows at the man next to her.

“Are
you
afraid?”

For a moment there was silence. Finally Kendril’s voice broke through the darkness between them. “Many things frighten me, Jade,” he said in a low voice. “But not death.”

“Now,” said Montrose, snapping his pocket watch shut.

The five men moved to the door and out onto the porch.

Sir Reginald retreated into the corner, glancing anxiously out the window.

Montrose got up from his rocking chair, hefting his crossbow easily in one hand. Ignoring the nobleman, he stepped out onto the porch behind his men.

The street was deserted. There was little light at all, and the shape of
The Laughing Dragon
could be seen like a towering shadow before them. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle. Somewhere amongst the rag-tag buildings of the Outpost a dog barked.

The men moved into the dark street, fanning out as they crossed the muddy ground. Montrose walked slowly behind them, his crossbow in his hands and his eye watching the buildings around them carefully. His mace dangled by the leather strap that held it to his belt.

The first two men moved quietly up the stone steps, and flattened themselves on either side of the front door to the inn. One of them drew a long, gleaming knife, smiling cruelly. The other already had a long sword in his hand. He looked around cautiously.

A third man vaulted up the steps, and bent down by the door. A pair of lock-picking tools were in his hands.

The last two thugs stayed near the bottom of the steps, their backs turned to the inn and their eyes carefully scanning the empty street.

Montrose remained standing a few feet away, his crossbow now slung across his shoulder.

“Be quick about it,” he hissed.

With a nod, the man by the door began to fiddle with his tools.

Jade was almost drifting to sleep herself when a sudden creak from behind the front door of the tavern jolted her back to reality. She froze, not even daring to breathe. Another creak followed, then what sounded like a shuffling of footsteps outside. She glanced over at Kendril, who hadn’t moved.

“Kendril…” she whispered, her heart leaping up into her throat.

He nodded slightly in the darkness, but said nothing.

There was a sudden click and a rattling from the front door. Jade felt her heart stop.

They were coming.

“It’s a shame, really,” whispered the thug with the sword, looking down curiously at his comrade picking the lock. “Killing people in their beds and all, I mean. Not much of a challenge.”

“Shut up, Queltin.” The man trying to pick the lock shifted, trying to see better what he was doing. “And keep your voice down. If Montrose hears it he’ll belt ya.”

Queltin mumbled something incomprehensible.

The man with the long knife sniffed loudly. “Ain’t ya got that lock open yet, Harold? C’mon, let’s move!”

“Maybe if you’d shut up for a minute, Danforth, I could get this thing open—“ there were a couple more moments of silence, and then a loud click. The thug by the door stood with a smile. “There,” he said triumphantly. “We’re in.”

With a loud creak, the front door swung open.

Jade glanced over at Kendril, her heart racing. He continued to sit silently, his back against the bar.

There was the heavy tromp of a boot, and then another.

Jade’s whole body felt paralyzed with fear. She held her breath, watching Kendril desperately.

“Cover your ears,” he whispered.

In one horribly quick motion he stood and whipped out two pistols, both pointed in the direction of the front door.

Before Jade could even move a muscle one of the pistols fired, belching out a combination of flame and smoke in the direction of the front door.

Harold was two steps inside the door and Danforth was right behind him when the gun went off.

Harold’s head jerked back, and Danforth felt something warm and wet strike his own face as the body of his companion slammed back into him, knocking them both out onto the porch.

Queltin leapt away from the door as a second shot tore through the wooden frame, showering splinters in all directions.

With a bellowed curse Montrose brought his crossbow up, crouching for cover by the steps. He struck the nearest thug on the arm. “The back! Move!”

The two henchmen at the bottom of the steps leapt into action, racing through the puddles towards the side of the inn.

Danforth struggled to his feet, spitting and swearing. He searched the porch desperately for his knife.

With a snarl, Queltin moved back to the door, his sword held at the ready. With a yell he kicked the door in, then charged into the inn.

Kendril had no sooner finished firing his second pistol then he dropped both of the smoking firearms next to Jade. He vaulted over the bar. “Reload,” he ordered, then whirled to face the door across the dark, table-strewn room. Reaching within the folds of his cloak, he drew two short swords, holding one in each hand.

Jade, her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, reached for the pistols.

The first gun report made Maklavir instantly crane his neck to the open door behind him. He was just in time to see the flash and hear the roar of the second gun, then remembered what Kendril had told him about the back door. With a muttered expletive, he turned back, lifting the heavy blunderbuss. It felt awkward in his hands. He didn’t think he had ever shot a firearm in his whole life.

Gritting his teeth, he brought the weapon up to his shoulder.

One thing was for sure. He had to make the first shot count.

Queltin kicked a chair out of his way, then pushed over a table as he moved across the crowded common room.

A shadowy figure, dressed in some kind of dark cloak and holding two short swords, stood between him and the bar.

Queltin spat onto the ground, then launched into the attack, his sword sweeping in a tight arc towards his foe.

To his surprise, the man deflected the blow, and Queltin himself had to dodge out of the way from the counter attack.

With sheer animal ferocity the black-cloaked man attacked and forced Queltin back under a hail of blows.

The henchman tripped on a chair, crashing into the mantle of the fireplace and barely ducking out of the way before one of the short swords cut a swathe where his head had been moments before.

From the shadows Danforth suddenly appeared, his long knife aimed at the man’s back.

Queltin allowed himself a smile, waiting for the unexpected thrust to end the fight permanently.

At the last moment, the man twisted out of the way and Danforth’s blow met empty space instead of his opponent’s ribcage.

With supernatural quickness, the black-cloaked man slashed one of his blades across the length of Danforth’s outstretched arm.

The thug screamed, grabbing his torn arm. He lurched forward into a table.

Queltin dodged back and kicked a stool out of his way.

Montrose had been wrong. There was no way this was some mere trapper or hunter. Trappers and hunters didn’t fight like
this.

For the first time in a long while, Queltin felt a sudden stab of fear.

Jade struggled to find the cartridge, then realized it was on the floor next to her, right where she had placed it before.

She fumbled with it in her hand, and brought it to her mouth amidst the ringing sounds of blade upon blade and tables being overturned from the other side of the bar. Gripping the cartridge between her teeth, she tore open what she thought was the top, but quickly realized that she had pulled
too
hard.

The paper came away easily and gunpowder flew out, filling her mouth with its acrid taste and scattering all over the floor.

Jade spat in disgust, more gunpowder spilling from the open cartridge. A scream sounded from the other side of the bar.

Panicked, she poured what was left of the gunpowder into the barrel of the pistol, but then somehow lost hold of the paper, which fluttered down somewhere to the dark floorboards. Kneeling, she swept the ground with her free hand in a vain attempt to locate it.

She couldn’t find it anywhere.

Montrose glanced hurriedly up and down the street. No one had emerged yet, but they would. The commotion in the inn would get someone’s attention eventually.

Not that it really mattered anymore.

Holding the crossbow steady in his left hand, he reached for his mace with his right, then raced up the stone steps of the inn. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Derik, who he had posted at the western gate, as he came running over.

With a snarl, Montrose waved him away. “Back to the gate!” he shouted. “Don’t let anyone leave!”

Leaping over the mangled body of Harold, Montrose barged through the door.

The back door to the kitchen cracked from the first kick, then burst wide open from the second. Two men staggered in, their weapons prepared to strike.

Maklavir took a deep breath, then thrust the heavy blunderbuss forward.

“Gentlemen,” he called out in a merry tone, “you are outnumbered and outgunned. I suggest you beat a hasty retreat, or I may have to inflict unnecessary injury upon you.” He lifted the blunderbuss towards a collection of pots and pans hanging near the startled henchman, and fired.

The blast filled the small room with a deafening roar. Pots and pans clattered wildly in all directions.

“Company!” Maklavir cried as he dropped the firearm and drew his sword. “Prepare to fire!”

With a terrified motion the two henchmen scrambled back through the door, flying as if a pack of wolves were at their heels.

Maklavir smiled as he tried to re-scabbard his sword in the darkness. “Sergeant,” he said jovially, “have the men stand down.”

Jade rose to her feet, struggling to cock back the flintlock on the pistol. She tried to keep the barrel of the pistol elevated, so the ball wouldn’t roll out. She was about to yell out to Kendril when she realized she had forgotten to use the ramrod. Was there even any point without the paper?

Swallowing a curse, she uncocked the gun, then reached for the ramrod underneath. At that exact moment, she looked up at the scene before her.

Even in the dim light of the inn, she could see the overturned tables and chairs. Several figures were moving through the darkness, jerking to some strange dance as the sharp sounds of steel on steel bounced off the walls. Entranced, she stared at the fight, the ramrod and pistol momentarily forgotten.

A shadowy shape she recognized as Kendril was fighting with a sword in each hand, viciously fighting with another man armed with a sword. A second man had picked up some weapon from off the floor, a dagger of some kind, and was cradling his arm as if he had been badly hurt.

Jade watched in fascination as Kendril parried a sword thrust from the first man, then an instant later dodged a slash from the knife by the second man.

The Ghostwalker kicked the man with the knife in the mid-section, hurling him back into the coat racks against the wall, then spun and blocked two quick blows from the swordsman.

Jade had just remembered the ramrod again when another figure came through the front door, holding some kind of weapon in one hand and what looked like a crossbow in the other. Jade gasped as he lifted the crossbow, preparing to fire.

“Kendril!” she screamed, her voice almost drowned out by the metallic blows of the sword fight.

With a sharp
thrump
the crossbow fired.

Kendril instinctively whirled to one side. The crossbow bolt thumped into the wall and missed him by inches.

The crossbow man’s head jerked in Jade’s direction, and he took a step forward. For one brief, terrifying moment, Jade could make out a shadowy face under the broad-brimmed hat. The man was wearing an eye patch. She wilted back against the liquor cabinets, dropping the pistol with a clatter to the floor.