“How many does she have with her?”
“Just four. A whining poisoner and his apprentice, hardly more’n a girl. A red-haired woman name of Vitari and some brown bitch.”
“Where exactly?”
Shivers grinned. “Well, that’s why I’m here, ain’t it? To sell you the where exactly.”
“I don’t like the smell of this shit,” snarled Victus. “If you’re asking me-”
“I’m not,” growled Faithful, without looking round. “What’s your price for it?”
“A tenth part of what Duke Orso’s offering on the head o’ Prince Ario’s killer.”
“Just a tenth?”
“I reckon a tenth is plenty more’n I’ll get from her, but not enough to get me killed by you. I want no more’n I can carry away alive.”
“Wise man,” said Faithful. “Nothing we hate more than greed, is there, boys?” A couple of chuckles, but most were still looking far from happy at their old general’s sudden return from the land of the dead. “Alright, then, a tenth part is fair. You’ve a deal.” And Faithful stepped forwards and slapped his hand into Shivers’, looking him right in the face. “If we get Murcatto.”
“You need her dead or alive?”
“Sorry to say, I’d prefer dead myself.”
“Good, so would I. Last thing I want is a running score with that crazy bitch. She don’t forget.”
Faithful nodded. “So it seems. I reckon we can do business, you and me. Swolle?”
“General?” A man with a heavy beard stepped up.
“Get three-score horsemen ready to ride, and quick, those with the fastest-”
“Might be best to keep it to fewer,” said Shivers.
“That so? And how would fewer men be better?”
“The way she tells it, she’s got friends here still.” Shivers let his eye wander round the hard faces in the tent. “The way she tells it, there’s plenty o’ men in this camp wouldn’t say no to having her back in charge. The way she tells it, they won victories to be proud of with her, and with you they skulk around and scout, while Orso’s men get all the prizes.” Faithful’s eyes darted sideways, then back. Enough to let Shivers know he’d touched a wound. There’s no chief in the world so sure of himself he don’t worry some. No chief of men like these, leastways. “Best keep it to a few, and them ones you’re sure of. I’ve no problem stabbing Murcatto in the back, I reckon she’s got it coming. Getting stabbed by one o’ these is another matter.”
“Five all told, and four of ’em women?” Swolle grinned. “A dozen should do it.”
Faithful kept his eyes on Shivers. “Still. Make it three score, like I said, just in case there’s more at the party than we’re expecting. I’d be all embarrassed to arrive at a job short-handed.”
“Sir.” And Swolle shouldered his way out through the tent flap.
Shivers shrugged. “Have it your way.”
“Why, that I will. You can depend on it.” Faithful turned to his frowning captains. “Any of you old bastards want to come out on the hunt?”
Sesaria shook his big head, long hair swaying. “This is your mess, Faithful. You can swing the broom.”
“I’ve foraged enough for one night.” Andiche was already pushing out through the flap, a few others following in a muttering crowd, some looking suspicious, some looking careless, some looking drunk.
“I too must take my leave, General Carpi.” The speaker stood out among all these rough, scarred, dirty men, if only ’cause nothing much about him stood out. He had a curly head of hair, no weapon Shivers could see, no scar, no sneer, no fighter’s air of menace in the least. But Faithful still chuckled up to him like he was a man needed respect.
“Master Sulfur!” Folding his hand in both of his big paws and giving it a squeeze. “My thanks for stopping by. You’re always welcome here.”
“Oh, I am loved wherever I go. Easy to remain on good terms with the man who brings the money.”
“Tell Duke Orso, and your people at the bank, they’ve nothing to worry on here. It’ll all be taken care of, like we discussed. Just as soon as I’ve dealt with this little problem.”
“Life does love to throw up problems, doesn’t it?” Sulfur gave Shivers a splinter of a smile. He had odd- coloured eyes, one blue, one green. “Happy hunting, then.” And he ambled out into the dawn.
Faithful was back in Shivers’ face right away. “An hour’s ride, you said?”
“If you move quick for your age.”
“Huh. How do you know she won’t have missed you by then, slipped away?”
“She’s asleep. Husk sleep. She smokes more o’ that shit every day. Half her time drooling with it, the rest drooling for it. She won’t be waking any time soon.”
“Best to waste no time, though. That woman can cause unpleasant surprises.”
“That’s a fact. And she’s expecting help. Two-score men from Rogont, coming by tomorrow afternoon. They’re planning to shadow you, lay an ambush as you turn south.”
“No better feeling than flipping a surprise around, eh?” Faithful grinned. “And you’ll be riding at the front.”
“For a tenth part o’ the take I’ll ride at the front side-saddle.”
“Just in front will do. Right next to me and you can point out the ground. We honest men need to stick together.”
“That we do,” said Shivers. “No doubt.”
“Alright.” Faithful clapped his big hands and rubbed them together. “A piss, then I’m getting my armour on.”
King of Poisons
“Boss?” came Day’s high voice. “You awake?”
Morveer exhaled a racking sigh. “Merciful slumber has indeed released me from her soft bosom… and back into the frigid embrace of an uncaring world.”
“What?”
He waved it bitterly away. “Never mind. My words fall like seeds… on stony ground.”
“You said to wake you at dawn.”
“Dawn? Oh, harsh mistress!” He threw back his one thin blanket and struggled up from the prickling straw, truly a humble repose for a man of his matchless talents, stretched his aching back and clambered stiffly down the ladder to the floor of the barn. He was forced to concede that he had long been too advanced in years, not to mention too refined in tastes, for haylofts.
Day had assembled the apparatus during the hours of darkness and now, as the first anaemic flicker of dawn niggled at the narrow windows, the burners were alight. Reagents happily simmered, steam carelessly condensed, distillations merrily dripped into the collecting flasks. Morveer processed around the makeshift table, rapping his knuckles against the wood as he passed, making the glassware clink and tinkle. Everything appeared to be entirely in order. Day had learned her business from a master, after all, perhaps the greatest poisoner in all the wide Circle of the World, who would say nay? But even the sight of the good work well done could not coax Morveer from his maudlin mood.
He puffed out his cheeks and gave vent to a weary sigh. “No one understands me. I am doomed to be misunderstood.”
“You’re a complex person,” said Day.
“Exactly! Exactly so! You see it!” Perhaps she alone appreciated that beneath his stern and masterful exterior there were reservoirs of feeling deep as mountain lakes.
“I’ve made tea.” She held a battered metal mug out to him, steam curling from within. His stomach grumbled unpleasantly.
“No. I am grateful for your kind attentions, of course, but no. My digestion is unsettled this morning, terribly unsettled.”
“Our Gurkish visitor making you nervous?”
