Shadewell Shenanigans (12 page)

“You said it.” Modeset climbed the steps that led to King Phew’s marble throne and took his rest upon it. “Now, let’s assess the situation,” he said. “I’ve inadvertently seized a city—which is good—but I have to keep my presence here a secret—which isn’t. I’ve also got an army—which is good—but I can’t afford to let it out of my sight—which isn’t. Hmm …”

Pegrand waited for his master to form a plan. He was used to the procedure, and counted a full twenty seconds before making a suggestion.

“How about shutting the place up, milord?”

“Mmm?”

“You know, like in a siege but without all the people outside trying to starve you out.”

“Pegrand, please endeavor to make yourself clear.”

“Well, milord, I’m just saying that if you shut all the gates, put guards on the outer walls, and closed the road in, then you could probably sit it out here until the cows come home.”

Modeset appeared to consider this. “What about the other lords?” he questioned.

“I dunno much about that, milord. I mean, how often do they talk to each other in the normal way?”

“Hardly ever. In fact, we had to use each of them as leverage even to get the others to turn up for the Great Assembly in Shadewell. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Pegrand nodded. “Don’t you have to report to them about this Teethgrit plan of yours?”

“No, there’s no need. Nobody expects them to come back! Isn’t it fantastic? I’ve got a hold on the richest city in Illmoor, the other rulers don’t have a clue, and the Teethgrits and Goldeaxe are dead meat! Ha! I can’t lose, Pegrand. I’m finally winning!”

The manservant nodded cheerfully. “Yes, milord,” he agreed. “So shall I tell Crikey to lock all the citizens up?”

Modeset’s face dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, I doubt if they’ll be pleased when they hear that you’ve usurped their king, milord; and if we don’t want them climbing over the walls, I reckon we should probably lock ’em all up.”

“What, in the dungeons?”

Pegrand shrugged. “They’re big enough, aren’t they?”

“But we can’t do that! That’s, that’s tyrannical!”

“Yes, milord, but do you remember what happened in Dullitch, with the riots? If we strike now, street by street, we can probably nip things in the bud, nice and early, before the troublemakers get started.”

Modeset gave a reluctant nod. “Pegrand,” he said. “Once again, you’re absolutely right.”

It was getting dark as Gape and Groan leaped from the boat onto the eastern shore of the Washin, dragging the little vessel along behind them.

Gordo waited until he was sure the boat had firm ground beneath it, then followed. The head of Loogie Lambontroff, which was fastened to the dwarf’s belt via its hair, bounced around in a rather undignified fashion.

“Go slow, can you?” it complained. “I feel like a yo-yo down here.”

“Silence,” Gape commanded, as he and his brother cautiously approached the western fringe of Rintintetly. The wood was practically
on
the river. “At least until we get a little way in.”

The head muttered into the silence, and the group carefully proceeded.

“Wait a minute,” said Gordo. “Shouldn’t we camouflage the boat?”

“Why?”

“In case someone steals it!”

Gape shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, and beckoned for Groan to help him. They flipped the vessel over and covered it with foliage. Then they entered the dark fringe of the wood.

An owl hooted somewhere off to the right, and various tiny creatures could be heard scurrying between the trees.

Gordo’s battle-axe gleamed in the moonlight, and there was a distinct hum from Gape’s enchanted blades. Even Groan’s enormous broadsword seemed unnaturally small in the terrible depths of the wood.

“Which way?” Gordo whispered to the head.

“Er, left, that’s it, no, right. Hang on. Go back a ways, then turn east, no—”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Gape snapped. “You don’t have the slightest clue, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“This way,” Groan thundered, causing both of them to turn toward him (the head didn’t have a choice).

“How do you know?”

Groan shrugged. “Smells o’ death.”

“Sounds promising,” said Gape, creeping after his brother and signaling to Gordo to do the same.

“I can see where he’s going, phlegm-ball; I don’t need hand gestures.”

“Shh!”

“Shh yourself!”

The trees seemed to be drawing together, bending so low that the path ahead was almost totally hidden.

“Ah, this is the way,” the head advised. “I’m sure of it.”

Groan took no notice, carving his way through the undergrowth with reckless abandon. Gape was creeping close behind him, swords drawn at the ready.

“Looks very familiar, this bit,” the head droned on.

Gordo was feeling increasingly nervous. He’d seen something moving between the trees, and he was fairly certain that it wasn’t alone. Still, he didn’t want to mention it to the others until he was one hundred percent sure that the “something” was following them. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait very long to find out. An arrow zipped through the wood and plunged into a tree, three inches from Gape’s right ear.

S
TUMP HAD MADE A
startling discovery about horses. The thing that he’d found out, much to his dismay, was that you could get a horse to gallop with relative ease: it was getting it to
stop
galloping that caused the problem. In fact, the royal mare was going at such a speed that he’d briefly considered severing all links with the coach and letting the cursed thing trundle off to hell on its own. Unfortunately, the tethers were fastened far too well to disengage while the horse was in motion. Stump cursed under his breath, and clung on to the reins for dear life.

To make things worse, there were a couple of soldiers after him. He could hear them thundering along a short distance behind him, and it sounded as though they had stronger horses than the crazy beast he’d stolen. They were definitely gaining on him.

Stump grimaced.

He was over the last of the hills now, and there was a river coming up. It slid along below him like a watery serpent.

“Stop! Stop! Please stop!” he screamed, thrashing the reins with all his might, which only served to make the horse go faster. He dived below the bench and made one final attempt to disconnect the coach, his fumbling fingers straining at a concealed lever beneath the rein hooks. There was a tiny click and, to Stump’s surprise, the horse galloped a little to the right, about-turned, and gently clip-clopped to a halt. Unfortunately, the coach didn’t …

Stump cried out as the severed vehicle careered down the embankment and plunged into the icy waters of the Washin.

A solitary old man watched from the near bank, cackling cruelly when he saw the frantic stranger clambering onto the roof of the coach as it sank into the water. He found the whole scene very entertaining; it was only a pity his
own
boat had gone.

There came the sudden and unmistakable sound of hoofbeats, and two horses exploded down the hill toward the river. They soon slowed, and the soldiers mounted on them dropped to the ground and began to draw crossbows from their saddlebags.

The old man chuckled with delight as they began to fire on the stranger, who, by this time, was quite a way out on the river, balancing precariously on the roof of the half-submerged coach, with both hands covering his head.

The crossbows spewed their bolts at the coach, obliterating various parts of the coach roof but mercilessly missing the man struggling madly for purchase atop it.

“Stolen your coach, has he?” the old man screamed at the soldiers. “Get him; go on! Bloody thieves! They’re all scum!”

Their first rounds spent, the soldiers paused to reload their weapons. When they looked up again, their target had disappeared.

“Down! Down! DOWN!”

Gape threw himself to the floor, and Groan stepped behind a sturdy oak as the arrows flew hard and fast through the trees. Gordo, on the other hand, hefted his battle-axe in both hands and dashed forward, the head bouncing up and down at his waist.

“Get back here, you crazy midget!” Gape yelled, but the dwarf was already accelerating away from the path at top speed.

“I can handle it! I can handle it!” Gordo called back, his battle-axe visible every few seconds in brief flashes.

There was a series of screams, a few low moans, and then the arrows stopped coming.

Groan stepped out from behind his tree, and Gape jumped to his feet.

The forest was completely silent.

Then a scream started up, low at first, but quickly increasing in pitch …

… and Gordo Goldeaxe came rushing back into view, the head a veritable blur on his belt. It was screaming: “He can’t handle it! He can’t handle it!”

A line of figures appeared between the trees. Several were staggering around in the daze of the living dead, while a few leveled long bows from afar. There was a moment of grim realization before the arrows started up again, exploding all over the wood like rogue fireworks.

Groan stepped forward, ducked two arrows, and pitched his sword at the nearest figure. The giant blade arced through the air and sprouted out of the first unfortunate like a third arm. The zombie in question staggered back, then casually removed the sword and tossed it aside like an unwanted Christmas present.

Gape was next to be disappointed. His enchanted swords met their mark, but were soon retrieved and discarded by the dauntless zombies.

Gordo, however, was having more luck. He’d quickly decided that the bowmen were the more immediate threat, and had acted accordingly, putting one down with his belt dagger, beheading the second with his axe, and knocking the third out cold with a well-aimed blow to the head (or rather, a well-aimed blow
with
the head). At least, he reflected as he bent down to retrieve Loogie’s moaning cranium, he’d managed to stop the arrows.

Groan and Gape were physically fighting the first of the zombies to reach them: Gape with a series of kicks and punches, and Groan by using one of the zombies to bowl out the two behind it. However, the sheer weight of numbers prevailed, and the two barbarians were quickly overwhelmed.

Gordo fought on, lopping off arms and legs left, right, and center. Unfortunately, for every limb that he severed, another quickly sprang up to take its place.

“How come you haven’t regenerated so quickly?” he barked at the head of Loogie Lambontroff, stepping back with his axe held aloft as the zombies advanced.

“It’s the twinling thing,” Loogie snapped. “Takes a lot out of me.”

“Typical,” Gordo managed, swinging wide. “I don’t suppose you could make it happen again, could you?”

“Nah, sorry,” the head muttered. “Only happens when I least expect it. Besides, I doubt an evil head would do you much good in these circumstances.”

“Good point.”

“No, I was joking. I don’t reckon my physical state would have any bearing on the
other
me: not if I got
really
mad—”

Gordo took another wild swipe at the zombies, but this time one caught hold of the axe head and wrenched it from the dwarf’s grasp. Another lumbered at Gordo, seizing him around the neck, while a third snatched up his legs. He was carried along the path in this curiously undignified fashion, noticing as he went that the others were being conveyed similarly. A stout zombie with matted black hair was leading the group, while a pale and particularly gaunt one at the back of the group carried their weapons.

“They’re taking us to Wemeru,” the head whispered.

Gordo twisted and turned in the zombies’ grip. “But you’re the nephew of their lord,” he spat. “Can’t you order them to let us go?”

“I’m disgraced,” Loogie explained. “And you can understand them not recognizing me, all things considered.”

Gordo conceded the point. It really was turning out to be one of those days again.

“Does Modeset know you’re doing this?” Susti asked, when Pegrand arrived at her chamber door with two giant platters of food.

The manservant nodded. “Yes, milady. In fact, I’m bringing you these under the duke’s instructions.”

“Ha! Then they’re probably poisoned.”

Pegrand shook his head.

“Oh, no, milady. Duke Modeset would never knowingly do you harm.”

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous; didn’t you hear him threaten me earlier?”

“Oh, well, Duke Modeset threatens
everyone
; he’s just not very good at following things through.”

Susti grimaced. “Well he’s certainly done all right for himself here, hasn’t he?” she snapped.

Pegrand didn’t reply. He simply laid down both platters on the room’s single table and took a step back.

Bronwyn jumped up from the corner of the bed on which she’d been perched, hurried across the room, and began to tuck into the food. She was ravenously hungry.

Susti, it seemed, was in no such hurry.

“Have you worked for him long?” she asked, looking the scruffy manservant up and down with a disdainful glance.

Pegrand shrugged. “Since I was six.”

“And now you’re …?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Really? Have you had a very hard life?”

“Not particularly, milady.”

“Only, you look a lot older.”

“Thank you, milady; very kind of you to say so.”

“Hmm … so you were with him during the rat catastrophe?”

Pegrand nodded. “Yes, milady. I was also with him when he saved the city from a fanatical cult, at no small risk to his own safety.”

Susti took exception to the manservant’s tone, but smiled in spite of herself. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“He’s my master,” said Pegrand. “I have to!”

“No, you don’t,” Susti assured him. “You don’t
have
to like anybody!”

Pegrand shrugged, and turned to watch Bronwyn hungrily devouring the remains of a pork chop. At length, he returned his attention to the young princess.

“How old are you, milady?” he ventured. “If it’s not a rude question.”

“I’m eighteen,” said Susti cautiously. “Why?”

Pegrand smiled. “Well, speaking as someone more than twice your age, I believe that Duke Modeset is a good man. A little unpredictable, maybe, but good nonetheless.”