Chicks Kick Butt

“There’s always a crowd of them in here, drinking themselves stupid and harassing my girls.”

“One more chance,” Red said softly, holding his gaze with hers. “How many?”

The man didn’t blink. “Eight—”

Red shoved the dagger up through his throat, then yanked it free as he gurgled out his last. She cleaned it quickly on his clothes, sheathed it, and then dragged his body to a dark corner.

It took but a moment to set the table aright and get the other body slumped in a chair. With all but one lamp extinguished, the darkness helped conceal the details. She placed the dice on the table, rather pleased with that touch, then unlatched the door she’d entered through. Just in case. So far, so good.

She knelt next to the dice player, still wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his eyes wide.

“How many?” She asked.

“Who … who are you?” he croaked in a whisper, darting a glance at the bodies.

“A mercenary in the service of Lord Josiah, High Baron of Athelbryght.” Red drew her dagger again, and tapped the tip of the blade on his cheek.

The man was trembling. Red was certain it was half pain, half fear. “Now,” she said, pulling her dagger. “How many?”

“Guards, there’s ten not counting us.” He flinched back as Red shifted her dagger. “But there’s a special shipment came in today with five guards. Their wagons are in the courtyard.”

Muck. Red kept her face still, and her dagger point close to the man’s face. “Servants?”

“None that sleep here.” The man gasped for breath, staring at the tip of her blade. “Master uses slaves and they’re chained at night. Even the ones in his bed.”

Red tightened her grip on the dagger.

“Try not to kill them all. Most are just men, working for coin.” The High Baron’s voice echoed in her thoughts.

“On your belly,” Red ordered with a sigh.

He swallowed hard and rolled over, his face making it clear he thought she’d cut his throat. She should. It’d be safer. More expedient.

Muck.

She trussed the fool up fast and gagged him with a rag, then stuffed him back into the shadows and threw a cloak over him. She leaned over him and placed the edge of her dagger against his neck. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, or I will return and gut you slow.”

He quivered, but made no noise.

She eased open the door to the courtyard and slid through, closing it softly behind her. The cool air was a gift, the heavy mist falling on her skin. There was no sign of disturbance, no alarm yet. She pressed herself into the deep shadows by the wall.

Fifteen guards. Red considered that. She wasn’t in so deep yet that she couldn’t retreat at this point. Wait until the Royal Guard of Palins came through with fancy uniforms and more blades. They’d see to these pigs. But that would be months from now, what with the Queen fresh on her throne. That did nothing for the poor, miserable ones chained within. And a special shipment could be anything … including children.

Anger rose in her throat like bile, and her gloved hand tightened on her dagger.

“Rescue, yes, but not at the cost of your own life,” The High Baron had said.

Eh. Fifteen. Easy enough, if they were of the same quality. It was worth a try. If the alarm was raised too soon, well, she’d get out and return later. But for now, she had the night. Besides, it wouldn’t do for any to think that she’d gone soft, working for the High Baron, now would it?

Red grinned as she moved down the wall, staying in the shadows. Those men had been settling in for their watch, from the looks of things. So with any luck, there would be some asleep and some on watch and drowsy.

“They claimed the Mayor’s manor house, lady. He’d a walled-in courtyard, and fine stables, and a deep cellar for wine. We was a prosperous town, once. Before…” The innkeeper had stopped, his voice breaking.

“Enough.” The High Baron’s voice had been gentle. “Tell her what she needs to know.”

“I can draw it out for ya. The stables, the wine cellar. There’s the main house.…”

Two torches burned at the main doors of the house. The stable was across the yard, and two wagons along the side. Prison wagons, with solid wood walls and the smallest of barred windows at the top.

Red wrapped her cloak around her, lifting it to hide her breath in the cold night air. She stayed in the shadows and watched and waited.

Patience was not one of her best skills, but time had taught her the need. She waited until she was sure, then waited a few moments longer. Better to be sure than—

There. By the wagons, in the deep shadows. One man stamping his feet and swinging his arms as if to warm himself.

Odd, that. Why guard the wagons?

Red kept still, watching. And was rewarded when the wagon guard went to the stable door and pounded on it. “Hern, give a man some kav, eh?”

The stable door opened, and light and noise spilled into the yard. “Gar, you’ve only been on watch for—”

“The damp goes clear to the bone,” Gar replied. “Hand out some kav, or some of the damn gutrot you’re drinkin’.”

Laughter came from inside, and Red saw something handed out to the man. The door closed with a bang. Muck, from the sound there had to be at least a handful of them in there, all awake, damn them.

Still …

Nothing by the main gate. If there was a guard up at the house, it was inside and not out. So take out these six, and there’d be, what, maybe only nine left, and some of those had to be sleeping.

Oh, aye, and tomorrow would be paradise, with scarlets singing in the birches.

Gar had his bottle now, and he was walking around wagons, taking swigs, his back toward her.

Red grinned, and darted across the courtyard.

She ran right up to the front of the wagon and ducked down, crouching on the wet flagstones. Gar’s feet paused for a moment, then continued on. She could hear him grumbling under his breath. There were other sounds too, quiet breathing and soft …

Muck. There was something in the wagons.

Red froze, but there were only seconds to decide. Gar was circling around. Attack? Run?

“Damn cold,” Gar muttered. “Damn dice. Last time I dice for watch. Last time I—”

Her dagger was up before she drew another breath. She launched herself at him, aiming for the throat.

Her blade caught him in midswig, head back. The damn bottle fell and rolled away, but the man slid down, silent but for the gurgle of his dying.

Red dragged him over to the wagon and stuffed him under it. She crouched there, bloody dagger in hand, trying to listen over the beat of her heart. The bottle rolled to a stop in the center of the courtyard.

Silence.

There was a whine from within, questioning, and a snuffling noise as claws dug at the wooden walls of the wagon. Red’s throat closed, expecting a baying at any moment. Dogs, it had to be, and slaver dogs would take a scent and run their prey to ground.…

Still, only silence.

Red dared to breathe, taking in cold air tainted with the strong smell of piss and wet fur. Whatever was in the wagon had not been cared for, that was sure. She ran her hands over the dead man’s body, more from habit than anything else. Never knew what you might find—

Her fingers brushed over two keys on his belt. She held them tight so they didn’t jangle, and cut them loose, tucking them into the top of her glove.

Then the faintest of whispers from the wagon. “Who’s there?”

Slaves in with dogs? If there was a slave dog-handler in there … Red could not believe her luck would run