Ilbei turned back to his two companions and resumed his questions, pressing them for more information about Ergo the Skewer and his activities on Deer Trail Road.
“There was three muggins a month or so back,” a rugged fellow in his middle years went on. He scratched at a week’s worth of stubble growing dark like coal dust along his jaw. “We wasn’t there fer none of it, mind, but heard the stories enough times to know. First time caught us all off guard, what with the killins. But they just been mean since. Was eight of em jumped out of the woods and took aim on old Mitty and his boy Juke. Told him hand over all his dust and any nuggets that he got. Juke tried to tell em there weren’t no gold around here, that we dig copper and lead mostly, but they wasn’t havin it, so they bust poor Juke in the head. A big feller done it to him, near nineteen hands, tall as a tree and arms like anvils. Well, he bust Juke between the eyes with the arse end of a crossbow and down he went, and his old daddy to his knees beside him, snivelin ladylike and beggin they let em alone.
“The feller what struck him turned the crossbow round and pushed the bolt agin’ Juke’s eye and told Mitty he had count of three before Juke was done fer. So Mitty dumped out his wallet and sure enough gave em twice an ounce. Juke had nothin after Mitty turned his pockets out, so they clubbed old Mitty like they did his boy, and then all of em went off.
“That was the worst of it, but fer that first time. Word went round after, and when them villains showed up again a week or so later and waylaid Corbin Daiker and his brother Toes, well, they got to handin over what they had quick as wyvern strikes. Same for Zoe Spotrotter and his partner five or so weeks back. That was the last we seen of em round Cedar Wood.” He finished his narrative and turned back to his companion to confirm what he had said.
The younger man nodded. “Yep. That’s how it happened as I heard it too. Word is they went upstream and hassled the boys at Fall Pools fer a week or so, then headed over and set in on Camp Chaparral. I haven’t heard anythin since, so it’s been maybe a month since we got news.”
Ilbei pulled out a pipe and set himself to tamping in a bit of tobacco as he thought about their report. When he got the pipe lit, he drew on it for a moment, preparing to ask his next question. The door swung open and in came the tavern keeper again. Padding along behind him was a lanky hound dog with ears dangling down the sides of its head like long brown tongues. It was a lean creature but well fed, its coat dusty but otherwise clean. Ilbei knew a well-kept creature when he saw one.
The tavern keeper walked across the room, threading between the few shabby tables until he stood beside Major Cavendis. He looked nervous standing within reach of the young lord and all his gleaming weaponry. He glanced across the table to the old man in the corner, who nodded.
“That there is Abigail,” the old man said. “If it pleases Your Lordship, give her leave to sniff one of your hands, so we can be on with it, on with lightening you of that there gold crown and what others might be rattling in your pockets besides.” He made a point of pushing as much levity into the remark as possible, but the miners found themselves once more upon that rickety bridge, swinging in the winds above the gorge of noble privilege.
Cavendis, however, let go a great laugh, one from the chest, and Ilbei knew instinctively that the officer was genuinely amused. “By my sword, she is a dog, then? And here I’d prepared my most charming set of lines.” He pulled off his glove and reached out a hand to the dog, who raised her head and gave his outstretched fingers a sniff. She leaned forward a moment after, tilting her head a little so that her left ear swung pendulously, clearly in hopes of a friendly scratch, which she got. The major gave her skull a vigorous rubbing and the velvet of her ears a
“There was three muggins a month or so back,” a rugged fellow in his middle years went on. He scratched at a week’s worth of stubble growing dark like coal dust along his jaw. “We wasn’t there fer none of it, mind, but heard the stories enough times to know. First time caught us all off guard, what with the killins. But they just been mean since. Was eight of em jumped out of the woods and took aim on old Mitty and his boy Juke. Told him hand over all his dust and any nuggets that he got. Juke tried to tell em there weren’t no gold around here, that we dig copper and lead mostly, but they wasn’t havin it, so they bust poor Juke in the head. A big feller done it to him, near nineteen hands, tall as a tree and arms like anvils. Well, he bust Juke between the eyes with the arse end of a crossbow and down he went, and his old daddy to his knees beside him, snivelin ladylike and beggin they let em alone.
“The feller what struck him turned the crossbow round and pushed the bolt agin’ Juke’s eye and told Mitty he had count of three before Juke was done fer. So Mitty dumped out his wallet and sure enough gave em twice an ounce. Juke had nothin after Mitty turned his pockets out, so they clubbed old Mitty like they did his boy, and then all of em went off.
“That was the worst of it, but fer that first time. Word went round after, and when them villains showed up again a week or so later and waylaid Corbin Daiker and his brother Toes, well, they got to handin over what they had quick as wyvern strikes. Same for Zoe Spotrotter and his partner five or so weeks back. That was the last we seen of em round Cedar Wood.” He finished his narrative and turned back to his companion to confirm what he had said.
The younger man nodded. “Yep. That’s how it happened as I heard it too. Word is they went upstream and hassled the boys at Fall Pools fer a week or so, then headed over and set in on Camp Chaparral. I haven’t heard anythin since, so it’s been maybe a month since we got news.”
Ilbei pulled out a pipe and set himself to tamping in a bit of tobacco as he thought about their report. When he got the pipe lit, he drew on it for a moment, preparing to ask his next question. The door swung open and in came the tavern keeper again. Padding along behind him was a lanky hound dog with ears dangling down the sides of its head like long brown tongues. It was a lean creature but well fed, its coat dusty but otherwise clean. Ilbei knew a well-kept creature when he saw one.
The tavern keeper walked across the room, threading between the few shabby tables until he stood beside Major Cavendis. He looked nervous standing within reach of the young lord and all his gleaming weaponry. He glanced across the table to the old man in the corner, who nodded.
“That there is Abigail,” the old man said. “If it pleases Your Lordship, give her leave to sniff one of your hands, so we can be on with it, on with lightening you of that there gold crown and what others might be rattling in your pockets besides.” He made a point of pushing as much levity into the remark as possible, but the miners found themselves once more upon that rickety bridge, swinging in the winds above the gorge of noble privilege.
Cavendis, however, let go a great laugh, one from the chest, and Ilbei knew instinctively that the officer was genuinely amused. “By my sword, she is a dog, then? And here I’d prepared my most charming set of lines.” He pulled off his glove and reached out a hand to the dog, who raised her head and gave his outstretched fingers a sniff. She leaned forward a moment after, tilting her head a little so that her left ear swung pendulously, clearly in hopes of a friendly scratch, which she got. The major gave her skull a vigorous rubbing and the velvet of her ears a
Similar Books
