Frank Tuttle - The Broken Bell

I seated Darla at a table next to a trio of smiling young lieutenants and then I shouldered my way into the coffee shop.

Pratt himself was seated at a table in the back. He wasn’t alone. I didn’t know the man seated across from him, but at a word from Pratt the big-boned stranger stood and offered me his seat and then vanished into the crowd.

I sat.

Pratt looked bad. His right eye was concealed with a bandage. His lips were swollen and split. An ugly purple bruise peeked out from under the bandage wrapped around his forehead, and I realized he wasn’t wearing a hat to hide the damage because the swelling left him with nothing that fit.

When he grinned, he revealed a couple of missing teeth. But he grinned anyway, and stuck out his hand, and I took it and shook it.

“Glad to see you made it.”

“Likewise.”

“You don’t have a scratch on you, you lucky bastard.”

I shrugged. “I broke a nail, though. Nasty business.”

“I guess you heard Lethway took it worse than either of us.” Pratt shifted in his seat and grunted in pain. “Had a stroke while his doctor was patching him up. Word is he won’t live through the night.”

“What a pity. How’s the missus?”

“She’s fine. I did it, Markhat. Took her out of there. Got a house on Verdant. You should come around sometime.”

“Heard from Carris?”

Pratt shook his head. “Not a word. But I know he got out, Markhat. Saw him leave. So maybe I should be asking you where he is.”

“Wish I knew.” I told Pratt about Carris and his visit to the Fields house. Then I described trying to catch him at the docks and watching the last boat leave instead.

I didn’t tell Pratt about the wedding, or Tamar, or the Church.

Shame on me.

“So the kid made it, wounded and feverish, all the way uptown.” Pratt beamed. “He’s a damned tough kid.”

“Somebody taught him that.” I eyed the crowd. “You know, a boat out of town might not be a bad idea.”

“She can’t travel just yet.” He didn’t look up. “No, we’re staying put. You?”

“I hate boats.”

“I had some men check the bodies,” said Pratt. “Japeth Stricken wasn’t there.”

“Damn.”

“Damn is right. He’ll be apt to look you up, Markhat. Once he’s done with Lethway.”

“The thought crossed my mind. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Pratt nodded and grimaced at the effort.

“But I guess anybody that can kill wand-wavers and walk away looking fresh and rested isn’t much worried about the likes of Stricken, are they now?”

“He slipped. I got in a lucky stab. Nothing miraculous about it.”

“Slipped. Sure he did. Just like the pair you dropped in front of me. They found the wand-waver’s body, you know. Burned to a crisp. Still, you could see he had a big hole all the way through him. That’s one Hell of a stab you landed.”

“Guess it was.”

He gave me a wary look. A look that said he once had me figured out, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I wouldn’t have gotten out of the Timbers if not for you. So I owe you one. Just wanted to make that known.”

I rose. “Thanks. One day soon we need to have a beer.”

“That we do.” He grunted and struggled to his feet. The effort left him pale and shaking.

“You take care, Markhat.”

“Always do.”

I fought my way back through the mob of lazy soldiers and found Darla. Then we elbowed our way through the crowd. The mare looked winded and thirsty, so we ate a pair of apples and had some water ourselves while a stable boy gave our mount a meal and a brushing.

Then we hit the road again. Word among the soldiers was that the mobs had been broken and a rough sort of order once again ruled the streets. I pulled a couple of bright-eyed lads from their nice comfy chairs and ordered them to saddle up.

Time to check in with Evis and see just how bad things were likely to get.

As it turned out, I didn’t need the pair of bodyguards at all.

The fires burned out. Already, crews were pulling down burnt walls and loading debris onto wagons. Many of those doing the pulling and the loading were the looters who’d set the blazes, now working happily to restore the grandeur of Rannit under the watchful eyes of Army bowmen.

Here and there, the corpses of those who had shown reluctance to display such commendable civic-mindedness swung slowly back and forth in the wind. Each bore a sign around their neck, describing their crimes. Most read simply LOOTER. A few bore the title ARSONIST. One hapless fellow was described simply as a MAN OF LOW MORALS.

“Since when did that become a capital offense?”

Darla squeezed me hard and fast, and buried her face in my back as we passed beneath the corpse.

We were challenged, now and then, but with decorum and calm. My name got us through every time. I had mixed emotions about becoming well known as a soldier in Hisvin’s secret army.

Traffic across the Brown River Bridge was packed and slow. The bridge clowns didn’t dance. They huddled together in what looked like prayer.

The Brown below us was empty. Not a single barge, not a lone rowboat, dotted the faraway water.

“I’ve never been up the Hill,” she said, shouting.

“Time you see how rich folks live.”

I felt her shiver.

“They’re just people, like you and me,” I yelled. “Well, except for being dead. But Evis is my friend, and you’re my wife-to-be, so that means you’re perfectly safe.”

“Wife-to-be. Ha. Where’s my ring, then?”

“A good point.” I would need a ring, even for a false wedding. “I might have a few in a drawer somewhere. Trophies of my mis-spent youth. How big are your fingers?”

That earned me a punch in the small of the back.

I saw an opening in the near-motionless line of cabs and gave the mare a gentle nudge. She leaped into it, sidestepped a sleek black carriage, and within moments we were scattering angry clowns and making good time toward the Hill.

Once off the bridge, we were confronted by another barricade, this one erected by a throng of House soldiers, each with the insignia of their House sewn over their hearts. They were polite and efficient and the sight of so many silver-tipped arrows peeking over the ranks of their shields left no one in a mood to bluster.

My turn came and went without incident. A man bearing the Avalante crest took our names and waved us through, and we were let through the line and onto the Hill proper.

The Hill bristled. Each and every House was transformed overnight into its own elegant fortress. Catapults lurked in every ornate rose garden. The oaks sported archers. Lawns were thick with lancers and infantry.

Everywhere, slack-jawed groundskeepers wrung their hands and wept.

If war did indeed come to Rannit, the invaders were going to face a bloodbath, at least on the Hill.

I doubted that the invaders had a foot campaign in mind. If I were in command of a flotilla armed with cannon, I’d simply float a barge down the Brown and bombard the Hill at my leisure, smashing the Houses to bits from a safe distance and trapping the populace between the Brown and the walls.

I shuddered at the thought. Avalante might have cannon of its own, but the pair I’d seen on the lawn would prove no match for a couple of barges bristling with the things.

We rode, challenged but never detained for long. Even houses with no love for Avalante proved cooperative.

Seeing the Houses holding hands and cooing was almost as disturbing as the thought of the cannon.

What was usually a twenty-minute ride took an hour. At last we reached the familiar face of Avalante, and we dismounted while a pair of stable boys led the mare off to Avalante’s stables.