even Tully found any reason to complain
about his divvying.
Fish said, “There’s bound to be more over there. Not
to mention a lot of steel that could be cleaned up and wholesaled
if we brought a wagon up and carried it back.”
After they squirreled their shares, Tully and Old Man Fish
headed back to town. Smeds didn’t want to go anywhere near
the place but figured he had to go along to keep Tully honest.
Timmy wouldn’t go at all. He was happy building up the
woodpile.
Looting the town made for a ten-day full-time job, what with
having to clean up all the weapons and some other large items of
value and then bundling them protectively and hiding them for later
recovery. They came up with enough money and jewelry and small
whatnots to make a heavy load for each of them.
Even Tully seemed pleased and content. For the moment.
One night, though, he said, “You know what bugs me? How
come nobody else in the whole damned city of Oar ever got the same
idea I did? I’d have bet my balls that after this long
we’d be up to our asses in guys trying to glom on to that
spike.”
Old Man Fish grunted. “I’ve been wondering why no
one’s come to see what happened to the garrison.”
Nobody had any ideas. The questions just sort of lay there like
dead fish too ripe to be ignored and too big to shove out of the
way.
Fish said, “I reckon it’s time we torched her and
seen if she’s going to do it or not. That woodpile gets any
bigger Timmy ain’t going to be able to throw them that
high.”
Smeds realized he was reluctant to take the next step. Tully
didn’t seem too anxious, either. But Timmy had a grin on ear
to ear. He was raring to go.
Tully leaned over and told Smeds, “Little dip did some
torch work back in town. Likes to see things burn.”
“We got a good day for it here,” Fish said. “A
nice breeze to whip up the fire. A hot, sunshiny day, which is when
we know it’s asleep the deepest. All we have to do is look in
our pants and see if we got some balls, then go do it.”
They looked at each other awhile. Finally, Smeds said,
“All right,” and got up. He collected the bundle of
brush that would be his to throw. Fish and Timmy got theirs. Tully
had to go along.
They lit the bundles off down in the bottom of the hole the
monster dug, then jumped out and charged the mountain of sticks
from the windward side. They heaved their bundles. Tully’s,
thrown too far away, fell short, but that did not matter.
They ran like hell, Smeds, Timmy, and Fish in straight lines,
Tully zigging and zagging. The tree did not wake up before
they’d all made the cover of the woods.
The fire had reached inferno proportions by then.
Random bolts of blue lightning flailed around. They did not come
for long, though.
Smeds could feel the heat from where he crouched, watching. That
was one bitch of a bonfire. But he was not impressed. What he was,
mainly, was sad.
The fire burned the rest of the day. At midnight Timmy went to
check it out and came back to say there was still a lot of live
coals under the ash and he hadn’t been able to get near
it.
Next morning they all went to look. Smeds was astounded. The
tree still stood. Its trunk was charred and its leaves were gone,
but it still stood, the silver spike glittering wickedly at eye
level. And it did not protest their presence, no matter how close
they got.
That was not close enough. There was a lot of heat in the ash
still. They hauled water from the river and splashed down a path.
Timmy Locan volunteered to take the pry bar and go pull the
spike.
“I can’t believe it,” Tully said as Timmy
leaned on the bar and the tree didn’t do anything about it.
“I can’t goddamned believe it! We’re actually
going to do it!”
Timmy grunted and strained and cussed and nothing happened.
“This son of a bitch ain’t going to come!
Oh!”
It popped loose. Timmy grabbed at it as it sailed past, grabbing
it left-handed for a second.
Then he screamed and dropped
about his divvying.
Fish said, “There’s bound to be more over there. Not
to mention a lot of steel that could be cleaned up and wholesaled
if we brought a wagon up and carried it back.”
After they squirreled their shares, Tully and Old Man Fish
headed back to town. Smeds didn’t want to go anywhere near
the place but figured he had to go along to keep Tully honest.
Timmy wouldn’t go at all. He was happy building up the
woodpile.
Looting the town made for a ten-day full-time job, what with
having to clean up all the weapons and some other large items of
value and then bundling them protectively and hiding them for later
recovery. They came up with enough money and jewelry and small
whatnots to make a heavy load for each of them.
Even Tully seemed pleased and content. For the moment.
One night, though, he said, “You know what bugs me? How
come nobody else in the whole damned city of Oar ever got the same
idea I did? I’d have bet my balls that after this long
we’d be up to our asses in guys trying to glom on to that
spike.”
Old Man Fish grunted. “I’ve been wondering why no
one’s come to see what happened to the garrison.”
Nobody had any ideas. The questions just sort of lay there like
dead fish too ripe to be ignored and too big to shove out of the
way.
Fish said, “I reckon it’s time we torched her and
seen if she’s going to do it or not. That woodpile gets any
bigger Timmy ain’t going to be able to throw them that
high.”
Smeds realized he was reluctant to take the next step. Tully
didn’t seem too anxious, either. But Timmy had a grin on ear
to ear. He was raring to go.
Tully leaned over and told Smeds, “Little dip did some
torch work back in town. Likes to see things burn.”
“We got a good day for it here,” Fish said. “A
nice breeze to whip up the fire. A hot, sunshiny day, which is when
we know it’s asleep the deepest. All we have to do is look in
our pants and see if we got some balls, then go do it.”
They looked at each other awhile. Finally, Smeds said,
“All right,” and got up. He collected the bundle of
brush that would be his to throw. Fish and Timmy got theirs. Tully
had to go along.
They lit the bundles off down in the bottom of the hole the
monster dug, then jumped out and charged the mountain of sticks
from the windward side. They heaved their bundles. Tully’s,
thrown too far away, fell short, but that did not matter.
They ran like hell, Smeds, Timmy, and Fish in straight lines,
Tully zigging and zagging. The tree did not wake up before
they’d all made the cover of the woods.
The fire had reached inferno proportions by then.
Random bolts of blue lightning flailed around. They did not come
for long, though.
Smeds could feel the heat from where he crouched, watching. That
was one bitch of a bonfire. But he was not impressed. What he was,
mainly, was sad.
The fire burned the rest of the day. At midnight Timmy went to
check it out and came back to say there was still a lot of live
coals under the ash and he hadn’t been able to get near
it.
Next morning they all went to look. Smeds was astounded. The
tree still stood. Its trunk was charred and its leaves were gone,
but it still stood, the silver spike glittering wickedly at eye
level. And it did not protest their presence, no matter how close
they got.
That was not close enough. There was a lot of heat in the ash
still. They hauled water from the river and splashed down a path.
Timmy Locan volunteered to take the pry bar and go pull the
spike.
“I can’t believe it,” Tully said as Timmy
leaned on the bar and the tree didn’t do anything about it.
“I can’t goddamned believe it! We’re actually
going to do it!”
Timmy grunted and strained and cussed and nothing happened.
“This son of a bitch ain’t going to come!
Oh!”
It popped loose. Timmy grabbed at it as it sailed past, grabbing
it left-handed for a second.
Then he screamed and dropped
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