Swords & Dark Magic by Jonathan Strahan; Lou Anders Page B

glared at me. Otto said, “Croaker, you jinx it, I’ll personally hold you down while somebody whittles on your favorite toy.”
    Goblin said, “He’s right. We’ve been here three months. The only trouble we’ve seen is guys getting drunk and starting fights.”
    With 640 men, you know the Company has a few shitheads whose idea of a good time is to drink too much, then get in an ass-kicking contest.
    One-Eye opined, “What it is is, the Lady’s still got a boner for Croaker. So she stashed him someplace safe. The rest of us just live in his shadow. Watch the sky. Some night there’ll be a carpet up there, Herself coming out to knock boots with her special guy.”
    “What’s her hairstyle like, Croaker?”
    Special treatment? Sure. We spent a year following Whisper from one blistering trouble spot to the next, fighting damned near every day.
    Special treatment? Yeah. The kind you get for being competent. Whatever your racket, you do a good job, the bosses pile more work on.
    “You’ll be the first to know when I get a good look, Otto.” I did not plow on into the kind of crudities the others found entertaining. Which they took as confirming my unabated interest in the wickedest woman in the world.
    A kid named Corey said, “Speaking of hairstyles, there’s one I wouldn’t mind checking out.”
    Everybody turned to admire the young woman passing on the far side of the street. Pawnbroker congratulated Corey on his excellent taste.
    She was sneaking up on twenty. She had pale red hair cut shorter than any I’d yet seen around Aloe. It fell only to her collar in back and not that far angling up the sides. She had bangs in front. I did not notice what she wore. Nothing unusual. She radiated such an intense sensuality that nothing else mattered.
    Our sudden attention, heads turning like birds in a wheeling flock, startled her. She stared back for a second, trying for haughty. She failed to stick it. She took off speed-walking.
    One-Eye picked up his cards. “That one is bald everywhere that matters.”
    Corey asked, “You know her?” Like he had found new meaning to life. He had hope. He had a mission.
    “Not specifically. She’s a temple girl.”
    The cult of Occupoa engages in holy prostitution. I hear Occupoa has some dedicated and talented daughters.
    Goblin wanted to know how One-Eye could tell.
    “That’s the official hairstyle over there, runt.” From a guy smaller than Goblin.
    “And you know that because?”
    “Because I’ve decided to enjoy the best of everything during my last few months.”
    We all stared. One-Eye is a notorious skinflint. And never has any money, anyway, because he is such a lousy tonk player. Not to mention that he is the next thing to immortal, having been with the Company well over a hundred years.
    “What?” he demanded. “So maybe I poor-mouth more than what’s the actual case. That a crime?”
    No. We all do that. It is a preemptive stroke against all those good buddies who are dry and want to mooch instead of dealing with Pawn.
    Somebody observed, “A lot of guys were flush when we got here. We never got no chance to get rid of our spare change before.”
    True. The Black Company has been good for Aloe’s economy. Maybe that was why nobody was trying to kill us.
    Elmo said, “I’d better round up Kingpin before the Lieutenant puts my name on the shit list, too. Silent? You want my seat? Shit! Where the hell did he go?”
    I had not noticed our third minor wizard leaving. Silent is spookier than ever, these days. He is practically a ghost.

    You are with the Company long enough you develop extra senses. Like for danger. Somehow, you read cues unconsciously and, suddenly, you are alert and ready. We call that smelling danger. Then there is precognition having to do with something stirring at the command level. That one warns you that your ass is about to get dumped into the shit.
    Seemed like it took about fourteen electric seconds for all six hundred and some