on either side of a doubly crooked nose, and lines of corded black hair that fell upon his shoulders like the tails of a whip. He studied Hasp for a long time, then looked at Rachel.
“Why doesn't the arconite attack?” he said.
“Menoa doesn't control him.”
The woodsman raised a hand and shouted out above the din to the men attacking Dill, “Hold off! Ricks, Nine- inch, Pace, just stop your fucking racket so I can speak.”
The sound of clashing weapons subsided as the woodsmen ceased their attack and gathered around the Rusty Saw.
The man with the scar said, “My name is Oran, and this caravan is under my protection. Who the fuck are you people?”
The woodsmen had come from a bustling town called Ferris, four leagues to the south, Oran explained. Earlier today they had passed through Westroad, the very settlement from where Dill had plucked the Rusty Saw. Now his men were much amused to find themselves in the same damn tavern once more.
“We thought we'd drunk this place dry,” Oran explained. “And now we find it mysteriously restocked. That bastard Hill was hiding booze somewhere.” He sat at a table opposite Rachel and Mina, staring thoughtfully at his glass while a score of his woodsmen roared and laughed and slammed down drinks over at the bar. Orange light from the stove lit his darkly stubbled face and scarred forehead.
“What
Oran glanced at his men, then back at Rachel. “How much are you prepared to pay?”
“Enough to keep your people from starving,” Rachel replied, “and to keep you on the right side of the war. The human side, I mean. Menoa might offer you more gold, but he'll expect your souls in return.”
His brow creased as he mulled this over, his scar forming new contours. “Two hundred and sixty men won't be enough to keep those things off your back,” he said. “I doubt ten thousand men could do it. Nobody has ever killed an arconite.”
She nodded.
“Then we're of no use to you.”
“We'll pay you anyway. Better to have allies against the unforeseen than to suffer enemies we needn't have.”
He continued to frown. “Two hundred and sixty men won't be enough to keep those things off your back,” he said again. “I doubt ten thousand men…”
Rachel felt an odd prickling sensation at the back of her neck, as if an unseen hand had brushed her.
“… ever killed an arconite,” Oran finished.
Rachel bit her lip, and stared at him for a moment. Was he just drunk, or being deliberately difficult? “You just repeated yourself, Oran.”
His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I said we'll pay you anyway. Everyone needs to eat.”
He shrugged. “Your charity does us an injustice,” he said, “but I won't refuse it.” He reached a hand across the table.
Rachel hesitated. Was she reading too much into his apparent repetition? After a moment, she sighed, and leant forward to accept his hand.
As their palms clasped, the woodsman added, “We also require payment for our horses and mules. The animals won't follow this monster, nor any creature that stinks of the Maze. They'll need to be turned loose or taken to the stockyards at Himmish to await our return.”
“Or butchered?”
“My men will resist that. The mules… that's fine, but not the horses.”
She nodded. “We'll buy the horses from you. Do with them what you wish.”
“And the wagons?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don't push me, Oran.”
“These wagons are all some of us have left. You can't expect families to abandon them without some recompense.”
“Those who wish to stay with their wagons are welcome to do so if they think Menoa's arconites might offer them a better deal. The rest will come with us to the foot of the Temple Mountains.”
Oran looked doubtful. “We're Rys's men,” he said. “And Sabor will not look kindly upon us crossing the border into Herica. These two gods have respected each other's sovereignty for hundreds of years. Sabor might regard an intrusion now as an act of war. After all, you are luring Menoa's Twelve into his realm.”
“The Twelve would get to Herica eventually,” Rachel said. “We're going there to beg for Sabor's help while we still have a chance to achieve something. The god of clocks has been Rys's ally against the Mesmerist incursion. If he still lives, I don't believe he will view our presence in Herica in such an”-she chose her words carefully so as not to offend the woodsmen leader-“inflexible manner.”
Oran did not seem to be entirely convinced. Nevertheless, he accepted her proposal.
“We can't delay here any longer,” Rachel said. “Get everyone, and everything you can carry, into this inn.” She turned to the thaumaturge. “How much time do we have?”
Mina closed her eyes and inhaled. She frowned, exhaled, and then took another breath, her eyes moving rapidly under their lids like those of someone dreaming. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Get the people aboard now. Leave everything else behind except the weapons.” Her eyes snapped open. “One of the Twelve has picked up our trail.”
With the women and children taken into account, the refugees numbered almost four hundred. Despite Oran's shouted orders, they were not prepared to leave their possessions behind in the wagons. Men grabbed up tents and bundles of clothes or coils of rope and crates of woodcutter's equipment: axes, saws, and chisels. Young boys unhobbled the mounts and smacked their rumps and yelled at them to scram, while old women shouldered past with sacks of flour and meal, barrels and baskets full of salted meat or vegetables. A group of younger women stood out by virtue of their frilled lace frocks, rouged cheeks, and powdered faces, and by their apparent disdain for lifting anything heavier than makeup and jewellery boxes.
“Whores?” Rachel said.
Mina followed the assassin's gaze. “Pandemerian whores. They came here with the railroad to service the workers in Rys's logging camps.”
“Don't the woodsmen's wives object?”
“Rys sent those wives to brothels in Coreollis and Cog. That way the Pandemerian Railroad made twice the profit on their services.”
Rachel was aghast. “These men
Mina shrugged. “Men follow gods as blindly as dogs follow men. The god of flowers and knives drowned this entire land once, and they didn't object. Hasp ranted for a full hour about the situation while you were unconscious. I don't think he approves.”
The older women carried hides, water skins, and pots and pans, loading them all onto the ring of open ground around the Rusty Saw, before heading down to the road for more. The whores clambered up onto the earthen island, stumbling and shrieking and chatting amongst themselves. All of the children were already inside the building and most of these were howling in distress.
“How long now, Mina?”
“Minutes only.”
Rachel grabbed Oran's arm. “We're leaving now, with or without your people.”
The big woodsman leapt down the bank of earth and then stepped from the arconite's hand onto the forest track below it. He grabbed an old woman who was heading away from the inn, swung her round, and yelled at her to go back the way she had come. He then shouted, “Everyone who wants to live, get into that fucking inn. We're going
