ready
for anything.
Horses. They are one of the little unpleasantnesses to be
endured during any lengthy journey. Unless you want to walk. Morley
Dotes had high praise for that sort of exercise, which meant it
hurt. Personally, I have very little interest in voluntarily
inflicting pain or discomfort upon myself.
I went to an outfitter I knew, a black giant they called
Playmate. He was human, but must have had a little mixed blood
somewhere. He stood nine feet tall. The color-impregnated clan
scars on his cheeks gave him a ferocious look, but he was a
sweetheart, as gentle as a human being could be.
Those gruesome features brightened when he spotted me crossing
the yard of his place. He came at me with arms spread wide,
grinning like I was going to rig out a battalion. I ducked his hug.
He could crush you in his enthusiasm. Had he possessed the killer
instinct, he would have made one hell of a professional
wrestler.
I had done him some good on a skip trace awhile back. My getting
the guy to pay up saved Playmate from bankruptcy. So he owed some
good fortune to me, but this greeting was not that much more warm
than what he gave strangers who wandered in off the street.
“What can we do for you, Garrett? Name it and it’s
yours. On me. Long as you need it.”
“I need a couple of horses and camping gear for five for
three or four months.”
“You got it. Going out to try your hand at trapping?
Business that bad?”
“I have a job. It’s taking me out of
town.”
“Three, four months is a far piece out and back. Where you
going?” He was headed for his stable, where a whole clan of
four-legged assassins awaited my advent with malice bubbling in
their blood.
“The Cantard.”
Horses and I do not get along. I can ride, but just barely, when
I have to. I’m a city boy and never saw much need to hang
around with beasts that have it in for me.
Playmate slowed down. He gave me one of those looks you save for
your crazy cousin when he says something totally stupid. “The
Cantard? Garrett, you’re a great man, and I have complete
faith in you. If any civilian could get into and out of the Cantard
alive, it would be you. But I’m not so confident of my
animals.”
“I don’t want you to give me anything, Playmate.
I’ll buy what I need. No risk to you.”
“Don’t give me that tone of voice,
Garrett.”
What tone? I didn’t intend the guy any grief.
We entered the digs of their satanic majesties the horses.
Twenty pairs of big brown evil eyes turned my way. I could almost
hear them sizing me up in their secret language, plotting
misery.
“This is Thunderbolt,” Playmate said, indicating a
big black stallion with wicked teeth. “A spirited animal.
Partly battle-trained.”
“No.”
Playmate shrugged, moved on to a roan. “How about
Hurricane, here? Fast and smart and a little unpredictable. Like
you. You should get along great. Complementary
personalities.”
“No. And no Storm, no Fury, no nothing with a
fire-breathing name to live up to. I want an old mare on her last
legs with a name like Daffodil and a temperament to
match.”
“That’s disgusting, Garrett. Are you a man or a
mouse?”
“Squeak. Me and horses don’t get along. The last
time I rode one he tricked me by turning around while I was getting
on. Then he stood there laughing at me behind my back.”
“Horses don’t laugh, Garrett. They’re very
serious creatures.”
“You hang around me, you’ll see them
laugh.”
“If you have a problem with animals, why make the trip
overland? Catch a river barge down to Leifmold, then take a coaster
south. It would save you six hundred hard miles.”
Why not? It never occurred to me, that’s why not.
Sometimes you stumble into a rut so deep you can’t see over
the edges. I didn’t want to go to the Cantard, really, so
I’d developed the habit of thinking about getting in and out
fast. The quickest way from one place to another is usually the
shortest. The shortest haul
for anything.
Horses. They are one of the little unpleasantnesses to be
endured during any lengthy journey. Unless you want to walk. Morley
Dotes had high praise for that sort of exercise, which meant it
hurt. Personally, I have very little interest in voluntarily
inflicting pain or discomfort upon myself.
I went to an outfitter I knew, a black giant they called
Playmate. He was human, but must have had a little mixed blood
somewhere. He stood nine feet tall. The color-impregnated clan
scars on his cheeks gave him a ferocious look, but he was a
sweetheart, as gentle as a human being could be.
Those gruesome features brightened when he spotted me crossing
the yard of his place. He came at me with arms spread wide,
grinning like I was going to rig out a battalion. I ducked his hug.
He could crush you in his enthusiasm. Had he possessed the killer
instinct, he would have made one hell of a professional
wrestler.
I had done him some good on a skip trace awhile back. My getting
the guy to pay up saved Playmate from bankruptcy. So he owed some
good fortune to me, but this greeting was not that much more warm
than what he gave strangers who wandered in off the street.
“What can we do for you, Garrett? Name it and it’s
yours. On me. Long as you need it.”
“I need a couple of horses and camping gear for five for
three or four months.”
“You got it. Going out to try your hand at trapping?
Business that bad?”
“I have a job. It’s taking me out of
town.”
“Three, four months is a far piece out and back. Where you
going?” He was headed for his stable, where a whole clan of
four-legged assassins awaited my advent with malice bubbling in
their blood.
“The Cantard.”
Horses and I do not get along. I can ride, but just barely, when
I have to. I’m a city boy and never saw much need to hang
around with beasts that have it in for me.
Playmate slowed down. He gave me one of those looks you save for
your crazy cousin when he says something totally stupid. “The
Cantard? Garrett, you’re a great man, and I have complete
faith in you. If any civilian could get into and out of the Cantard
alive, it would be you. But I’m not so confident of my
animals.”
“I don’t want you to give me anything, Playmate.
I’ll buy what I need. No risk to you.”
“Don’t give me that tone of voice,
Garrett.”
What tone? I didn’t intend the guy any grief.
We entered the digs of their satanic majesties the horses.
Twenty pairs of big brown evil eyes turned my way. I could almost
hear them sizing me up in their secret language, plotting
misery.
“This is Thunderbolt,” Playmate said, indicating a
big black stallion with wicked teeth. “A spirited animal.
Partly battle-trained.”
“No.”
Playmate shrugged, moved on to a roan. “How about
Hurricane, here? Fast and smart and a little unpredictable. Like
you. You should get along great. Complementary
personalities.”
“No. And no Storm, no Fury, no nothing with a
fire-breathing name to live up to. I want an old mare on her last
legs with a name like Daffodil and a temperament to
match.”
“That’s disgusting, Garrett. Are you a man or a
mouse?”
“Squeak. Me and horses don’t get along. The last
time I rode one he tricked me by turning around while I was getting
on. Then he stood there laughing at me behind my back.”
“Horses don’t laugh, Garrett. They’re very
serious creatures.”
“You hang around me, you’ll see them
laugh.”
“If you have a problem with animals, why make the trip
overland? Catch a river barge down to Leifmold, then take a coaster
south. It would save you six hundred hard miles.”
Why not? It never occurred to me, that’s why not.
Sometimes you stumble into a rut so deep you can’t see over
the edges. I didn’t want to go to the Cantard, really, so
I’d developed the habit of thinking about getting in and out
fast. The quickest way from one place to another is usually the
shortest. The shortest haul
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