The naked man was no more than three feet tall. His head and torso were of normal size, and that’s all he was: a head with short black hair and a muscular, tanned torso. His hands stuck out directly from his shoulders, the right one up and the left horizontal. His feet dangled from his hips, the left one quite a bit lower than the right. His genitalia, at this distance, appeared normal.
Canino lowered him to the patio. He moved with an understandably odd, jerky grace to the table and retrieved a bright red towel. Somehow he tied it around his chest, and it still dragged on the ground.
“I’m going to get dressed,” the Dwarf said. “I’ll look over the ledgers and get back to you with any other problems.”
Something nearby moved at the periphery of my vision, and I froze. There was no breeze, and I had not changed position. Anything that moved had to be alive.
Close to my hand I both felt and saw motion on the branch. Curled up atop the wood, barely visible in the darkness, was a small furry shape. It could not be a squirrel, because they weren’t nocturnal, and it was too small for either a possum or a raccoon.
Now that I’d noticed one, I suddenly realized the tree was full of these same creatures. It was a miracle I hadn’t grabbed one as I climbed. They were tiny, no bigger than my two fists put together. I felt a serious case of the creeps rising as I tried to figure out what the hell they were, until one suddenly rolled over, stretched and yawned. Both relieved and excited, I recognized it as a tiny monkey. They weren’t native to Cape Querna, yet a monkey had been essential to framing Rhiannon, and its presence on the Dwarf’s estate was at least a minor confirmation.
As the Dwarf waddled toward the house, the door opened again and a girl walked out. She wore a skimpy top and a low, long sheer skirt. Her face was hidden behind what I thought at first was a white mask. She stood aside and held the door open.
“Hey, Gretchen,” the Dwarf said with malicious cheerfulness. “You look thirsty; would you like a jug of water?”
His laugh echoed in the dark house. Gretchen walked heavily over to stand next to Canino by the moat. He did not look at her as he said, “Care for a swim?”
She shook her head. Her voice had none of its former cockiness. “The doctor said I shouldn’t get my bandages wet.”
Canino smiled but still didn’t look at her. “You’d swim if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded, thoroughly defeated. “Of course.”
He handed her his drink. “That’s okay. I’d rather see you dance.”
He picked up a lap drum and settled himself in a chair, the drum between his knees. Gretchen put his drink on the table next to him.
“Please don’t make me dance,” she said in a voice so small I barely heard it. She pointed to her bandaged face. “It hurts when I move, even a little. The cuts start bleeding again.”
Canino said nothing, and began tapping out a slow rhythm.
“Why do you enjoy hurting me?” Gretchen choked out, sounding like a little girl. “All I ever did to you was like you.”
Canino remained silent and motionless except for his hands on the drum.
Gretchen slid her feet back and forth, her slippers skitching against the stone patio. She began to sway to the beat, although I heard her sniffle and choke as she did so.
I’d never get a better chance, and carefully plotted my descent. I’d scaled the tree in blissful ignorance, but now I climbed down as a nervous wreck. If I disturbed one sleeping monkey, they’d all go off in a screeching, leaping cacophony. I timed my movements to the rhythm of Canino’s drum, and when my feet finally touched the ground, I almost wanted to cheer.
If she’d glanced up at the wrong moment Gretchen might have seen me, but it was dark and I was good at stealth. I used the perimeter of the hedge maze to hide as I scuttled around the yard, until I crouched out of sight fifteen feet behind Canino in the shadow of a silver maple.
I pulled a miniature crossbow with only a foot-wide prod span from a holster strapped to my lower leg. The weapon folded down to a slender tube no bigger around than my thumb. I snapped the prods out and wound the cranequin as tight as it would go.
Gretchen had shed her top and was now dancing in only the sheer skirt. Her bandaged face showed wet stains from both tears and blood. She moved like a doll dangling from a string.
I loaded a short, razor-sharp bolt into the crossbow. I’d get one shot if I was lucky. If this whole dance routine hadn’t been some ruse to lure me out. I felt no particular sympathy for Gretchen beyond what I would for any victim of cruelty; after all, she’d slipped me the sleepy-time and helped Canino torture me. But Canino might not comprehend that, and assume I’d react the way most men would at the sight of a half-naked damsel in distress and come to her rescue. If this was a trap.
It was time to stop thinking. I stood, leveled the crossbow and shot Canino through the back of his neck.
I don’t know what sort of reaction I expected, really. But I was surprised when he did nothing at all except stop drumming. Gretchen froze in mid-spin, eyes wide inside the holes cut in her bandages, then quickly crossed her arms to cover her bare breasts. Given our previous encounter, I thought her modesty misplaced.
I waited, but Canino still didn’t move. Had I gotten lucky and sliced his spinal cord? I wondered if I dared take my eyes off him long enough to recock and reload the crossbow. I decided that would be foolish, so I dropped the weapon and drew my sword. I really didn’t want to get within blade-range, but I also couldn’t just stand there and wait for something to happen.
I took a step forward, and Canino stood up and turned to face me. The movement was so quick and graceful I barely held back a yell.
The bolt tip protruded from the front of his neck, to one side of his Adam’s apple. Blood stained the collar of his pink shirt, but not as much as I expected, because the bolt itself blocked the bleeding. He breathed with difficulty, but his demeanor was so calm it was terrifying.
“Now this is ironic,” he said with a smile. His voice was suddenly rough and husky, with a raggedness identical to Spike’s.
I didn’t say anything.
His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the chair for support. “You didn’t even give me a chance,” he rasped.
“Had a feeling you were too good to give a chance to,” I replied.
Suddenly Gretchen stepped forward and yanked the bolt from the back of his neck. It popped free with a wet smacking sound. He spun to face her as blood gushed from both holes. She stood with the bolt in her hand, fresh tears soaking the bandage around her blazing eyes.
Canino lunged toward her and she made no move to evade him. I never saw him draw the knife, but he drove it into her belly and then ripped it upward with all his fading strength until the bone of her sternum blocked it. He pulled her close and worked the blade deep into her, probing for her heart. He found it.
They stayed motionless for a long moment, two lifeless bodies propped together like tent poles. Their mingled blood pooled at their feet. At last they collapsed, smacking into the wet patio stone beneath them. Droplets of red splashed into the moat and vanished into the night-black water.
This whole lethal encounter had taken less than three minutes, and occurred in almost total silence. I sheathed my sword, slipped the crossbow back in its tube and quietly stepped into the shadows. The door through which the Dwarf had entered the house remained open, and no light showed anywhere inside. I listened intently, unable to believe the little freak was really alone inside the huge dark house. Where were the other guards, or the additional strong-arm thugs like Canino? Did he really feel so secure?
I wouldn’t learn anything standing on the patio like some kid selling cookies. No one appeared to check on Canino, and no one moved about inside. I slipped through the open door into the main room, and waited until my eyes adjusted enough so that I wouldn’t trip over the furniture. The light from the patio torches reflected from an enormous chandelier over a long, elegant dinner table that ran lengthwise toward the door. Along the walls were overstuffed sofas, and beside each a little footstool to allow the Dwarf access.
Huge paintings covered the walls, all with an identical motif: horses in agony. Some were drowning, some being burned alive, some simply ridden to the point of exhaustion. The styles were as varied as the subjects were
