called through the door. “’Ang on. Be right there.”
As John squeezed himself under one of the beds he whispered, “Is he the one you sold her to?”
“Yes, ’urry it.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
“Ask him. Find out.”
Dirk swung the door open. A robust, bearded soldier with a sword on his belt scowled at the young man.
“What took you so long?”
“I was wankin’ off.”
“Can’t get a woman?”
“Not many in these parts, are there, captain?”
“Surprised you’re not having it off with your brother then. Or a goat.”
The soldier roughly pushed Dirk aside and entered, squinting into the dark recesses.
“Where’s your brother, then?”
“Not ’ere. Speaking of women, ’ow’d you get on with the special one?”
“You got paid. It’s none of your affair beyond that.” The soldier picked up one of the mugs. “Anyone else here?”
“That’s Duck’s.”
“Left without finishing his beer?”
“We had a fight. I gave ’im a good ’un and ’e stormed off.”
“That so?”
“It’s wot ’appened.”
The soldier began looking around suspiciously. From under the bed John could see dirty knee-high boots thudding on creaking boards. The boots stopped moving beside the bed and John heard sniffing.
“What’s that?” the soldier asked.
Dirk replied, “I don’t smell nothing.”
“I do.”
Suddenly the bed was lifted all the way onto its side and John was staring up at a heavy-set man in a belted, leather tunic.
The soldier furiously drew his sword and shouted, “You! Get up!”
John slowly got to his feet. He seemed to surprise the soldier with his height. The man sniffed again.
“Another live one! I’ve been here for nigh on five hundred years and never saw a single one. Now I’ve seen two. What’s your name?”
“John Camp. What’s yours?”
“You can bloody well call me your lord and master.”
He menaced John with his sword. “Come along.”
“Will you take me to the same place you took the woman?” John asked.
“Different buyer, I expect, for the likes of you.”
“Tell me where she is.”
“Rules here are simple. You do as you’re told and you don’t get to ask questions.”
“Then it looks like I’m not going with you.”
“’E’ll run you through,” Dirk warned.
John confused the soldier with a broad smile then lunged with astonishing speed, swatting the man’s sword hand away with his forearm and simultaneously landing a hard, sharp punch to the man’s flat nose. The blow produced a spray of blood and the soldier instinctively raised his free hand to his face. John grabbed his thick wrist, bent it back and wrested the sword away. Once he had the weapon he planted himself and delivered a wheelhouse kick to the chin. The soldier was staggered but he was a tough one, still able to draw a dagger from his belt. With eyes raging he got close enough for John to smell his putrid breath. But John had a good purchase on the sword and the man suddenly groaned and went limp, impaled navel-high on the sharp blade.
The other soldiers, hearing the commotion through the thin walls, were already piling into the house. Though there were four of them they were disadvantaged by the darkness. John had only a second to test the weight of the sword in his right hand. He’d never wielded one in combat but he’d been trained to the hilt in knife fighting. The sword was short, broad, and heavy with a sharp point and a double edge. With a battle yell he launched himself at the first soldier to pass through the door and heard the clang of sword on sword. His escape blocked, Dirk yelped and slithered under the second bed. Accustomed to the darkness, John’s more accurate thrusts forced the advancing soldier back against his comrades. Pinned against his own men, John was able to tie up the soldier’s sword arm and kick him high in the chest. He toppled backwards taking down the man behind him but his place was immediately taken by
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