Glen Cook - The Silver Spike

There wasn’t no doubt who was senior to who down there. The twins did everything but get down on their bellies. A back and forth went on for maybe ten minutes. Then the twins started sending their people scurrying off.

“What now?” Raven muttered. Next thing the peacock did was set up housekeeping in the only undamaged building in the neighborhood. The temple. Downstairs. We was stuck.

People started coming to see the new nabob. Brigadier Wildbrand was one of the first. The Nightstalkers had not been involved in any of the fighting so far.

The chaos died away for a few hours while the madmen of Oar digested the news about the new boy in town. Then it blazed up, white-hot.

But it died out, spent, before sundown.

We got the word well after dark, knew why it had gotten quiet.

The Limper was headed for Oar, bent on grabbing the silver spike.

Oar was not going to let him have it. According to Exile, the new man from the Tower.

“Shit,” I muttered. “That Limper has more lives than a cat.”

“I knew we should have made sure of him,” Raven growled. He glared at Darling. Her fault. She had been so sure she had seen no need to argue with the tree god.

Exile had orders to hold Oar and destroy the Limper. Our spies said he meant to do that if it cost every life in the city.

Shit. The Tower would have to send some guy who took his job serious.

Smeds woke first. Before he had his wits in hand he knew there was something wrong.

Tully was gone.

Maybe he had to go take a leak.

Smeds scrambled out into the unexpected brightness of morning. No sign of Tully. But the nearby street, unused in recent times, was choked with traffic. Every vehicle carried corpses.

Smeds gaped. Then he ducked back down into the ruined cellar and found Fish, shook him till he growled, “What the hell is the matter?”

“Tully’s gone. And you got to see what’s outside to believe it.”

“That idiot.” Fish was wide-awake now. “All right. Get your shit. We got to move just so he don’t know where to find us.”

“Hunh?”

“I’ve run out of trust for Cousin Tully, Smeds. I want to know where he is, not the other way around. A man who can lose a fortune the way he did? That’s stupid to the point of being suicidal. A man who gets over a fit of common sense as fast as he did and goes sneaking off with this city the way it is? I’m pretty close to the end of my patience. Every stunt he pulls puts us all at risk. If he’s screwed up... I don’t know.”

“Go look outside.”

Fish went. “Damn!” He came back. “We have to find out what’s happening.”

“That’s obvious. They’re using that landfill to dump bodies from the riots.”

“You missed the point. Who thought that up and got all those people to work on it? When we crawled in here they were frying to rip each other’s throats out.”

They soon discovered that the chaos had not so much died as gone into momentary remission. And not universally. There were hot spots, most surrounding wizards reluctant to embrace a new order that had come in overnight

The twins from Charm were out and somebody called Exile was in. And Oar was supposed to be girding for another visit from the Limper.

“Things are getting crazy,” Smeds said as they approached the Skull and Crossbones.

“There’s an understatement if ever I heard one.”

Their landlord seemed disappointed that they hadn’t been killed in the riots. No. He hadn’t seen Tully since he’d wanted breakfast and had stormed out because he couldn’t get credit. Wasn’t anything to fix, anyway.

“You got nothing?” Smeds asked.

“I got a dried-out third of a loaf I’m gonna soak in water and have for supper. You want to dig around in the cellar you might find a couple of rats. I’ll roast them up for you.”

Smeds believed him. “Tully didn’t happen to say where he was headed, did he?”

“No. He turned right when he left out.”

“Thanks,” Fish said. He started toward the street.

The landlord asked, “You heard about the re-ward?”

“What reward?” Smeds asked.

“For that silver spike thing all the commotion’s supposed to be about. The new guy says he’ll give a hundred thousand obols, no questions asked, no tricks, no risks. Just take it in and get the money.”

“Damn-O!” Fish said. “A guy could live pretty good, couldn’t he? Wish to hell I had it.”

Smeds grumbled, “You was to ask me, there ain’t no such thing. All them witches and wizards would have found it if there was. Come on, Fish. I got to find that shithead cousin of mine.”

Outside, Fish asked, “You think he’d try something?”

“Yeah, if he heard. He’d figure we deserve to get screwed on account of we been treating him so bad. Only he don’t know where it’s at. So he’ll have to make up his mind if he can sell me to the torturers.”

“I think he can. Without remorse. There isn’t really anyone in this world who really matters except Tully Stahl. He probably started out just figuring to use us, then get rid of us one by one. Only things didn’t go as simple as he thought they would.”

“You’re maybe right,” Smeds admitted. “Guess we got to assume he’s going to sell us out, don’t we?”

“We’d be fools to give him the benefit of the doubt. You know his habits and hangouts. Look for him. I’ll find out where Exile holes up and wait for him to show up there.”

“What if he’s already...?”

“Then we’re screwed. Aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Hey. What about we sell this guy the spike? A hundred thousand ain’t bad. I can’t even count that high.”

“It’s good. But if the situation is what they say-the Limper coming back-they’ll go way higher. Let’s let it ride a couple days.”

Smeds did not argue but thought they ought to get what they could while they could get it. “I’ll catch up if I can’t find him.”

Fish grunted and walked off.

Smeds began his rounds. He crossed Tully’s trail several times. The spike was all the talk everywhere he went. Tully had to know about the reward. He wasn’t running to Exile. That was a good sign. Except...

Except that a dozen independents had let out that they would go higher than Exile. A witch named Teebank had offered a hundred fifty thousand.

Smeds believed none of them except Exile. He had seen them when the hunt had been a race between thieves. They wouldn’t change. They would talk mountains of obols but the payoff, when it came, would be death.

But Tully had that knack for deceiving himself. He might decide they were legitimately offering. Or he might fool himself into thinking he could outwit them. He had an inflated opinion of his own guile.

Smeds soon concluded that the pattern of Tully’s movements indicated he was looking for someone.

Likely one of those fabulous purses.

He had no regard left for his cousin.

The evidence suggested Tully was gaining no ground on his quarry. Smeds was, though. He wondered if Tully was getting nervous, knowing they would be after him as soon as they knew he was gone.

Probably.

Smeds caught up but the situation was not suited to the confrontation he had been rehearsing for hours.

He was moving along a street unnaturally quiet even for after the riots, getting nervous about that, when Tully came flying out a doorway a hundred feet ahead and across the way. He hadn’t yet gotten stable on his hands and knees when soldiers in black surrounded him. They bound his hands behind him, put a choke cord on him, and led him off toward the center of town.

There were six of those soldiers. Smeds stared numbly, seeing the end of his days. What the hell could he do? Get Fish? But what could Fish do? No two men were going to ambush six soldiers in broad daylight.