Read Online Foreign Devils by John Hornor Jacobs - Free Book Online
Authors: John Hornor Jacobs
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horses, grab supplies from the quartermaster, and then light out early for Passasuego in the morning.’
The spymaster nodded once, abruptly, as if he expected the rebuff. ‘Of course. I’ll have the list of Beleth’s possible aliases delivered to you there by one of my agents.’
‘How will we know him?’
He smiled, and this time it was genuine. ‘You won’t. But the list will be delivered all the same.’
‘Many thanks,’ Fisk said.
‘I’ll have Stefan lead you out,’ he said.
‘Much obliged.’
When we’d emerged from the praetorium centre, blinking in the light of the afternoon sun, I said, ‘What fascinates me is how we got out of there without you killing that man.’
‘You’d never want to visit Novorum or Felix Sulla, Shoe. Every person you meet is just like him.’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then spat into the dust. ‘He takes his orders directly from Tamberlaine. I’m very lucky I was able to leave at all.’
He turned and walked off, his hand resting lightly on his six-gun.
SIX
5 Ides, Quintilius, 2653 ex Ruma Immortalis
‘We’ll take a boat upriver to Bear Leg,’ Fisk said that night, after we’d found lodging in a dingy hotel with livery near the docks. He’d removed the legate insignia pin soon after leaving Andrae.
After a dinner of greasy soup and stale bread in the common room, we bunked down in the stable – as is our wont on the trail. Bales of hay might be prickly and uncomfortable, but they’re an honest sort of bunk and not prone to bedbugs or the peculiar sort of human stain that often goes with rented rooms. ‘Give the horses a rest. From there we’ll see what we can see. Beleth might’ve passed through.’
‘Sad the Cornelian won’t still be there?’
‘Sad?’ Fisk said. ‘I guess so. There’s good memories, and bad, tied up with that boat.’
‘True.’
In the morning, we found the only barge going up river with room for our mounts that didn’t look as if she’d sink the first league away from the wharf. Her name was the Quiberon and she was a daemon- less slave-driven paddle-barge. Slow, ugly, and low-slung. She carried livestock and casks of salt-pork and piled sacks of hominy and was home to a large glaring of semi-wild cats and captained by a brusque woman, quite young and of a matter-of-fact demeanour, named Maskelyne. There were also a couple of other paying passengers, who looked a bit put out when we clambered aboard. Especially at me.
Maskelyne bit our coins when we gave them over, and looked us up and down. ‘You two should be good in a pinch if them stretchers come a’leapin. Clear?’
‘I imagine we’ll hold our own, ma’am,’ Fisk said.
‘Don’t ma’am me, braw, I was shitting me diapers when you were full grown,’ she said. But she handed back a couple of coins. ‘You’ll use them little devils in the Quibby ’s defence else there’ll be a reckoning come Bear Leg.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘How long is the journey?’
She was an intense-looking woman, bright blue eyes, and a compact muscular form. She wore simple garb, dungarees and a fitted shirt with numerous pockets brimming with styluses and a Hellfire pistol on her waist. ‘Water’s high and the paddle-teams are rested, braw. Shouldn’t be more than five days, barring stretchers or shoal beastie,’ she said.
‘Much troubles with the vaettir lately?’
‘Not too much since winter. Very quiet, really, braw, but better safe than slitted or scalped, me mam always said.’ She laughed, showing a mouthful of white, snaggly teeth. ‘Anywho, if you two gents would be so kind as to get your arses out of the way of my slaves, there you go—’ she said as we clambered onto the barge’s roof – an area that served as a wide, open-aired berth – away from the workers and livestock. Maskelyne then bellowed at the slaves in the river patois called Craulia by the speakers of it but Brawley by those who were not. A mixture of Medieran, Gallish,
The spymaster nodded once, abruptly, as if he expected the rebuff. ‘Of course. I’ll have the list of Beleth’s possible aliases delivered to you there by one of my agents.’
‘How will we know him?’
He smiled, and this time it was genuine. ‘You won’t. But the list will be delivered all the same.’
‘Many thanks,’ Fisk said.
‘I’ll have Stefan lead you out,’ he said.
‘Much obliged.’
When we’d emerged from the praetorium centre, blinking in the light of the afternoon sun, I said, ‘What fascinates me is how we got out of there without you killing that man.’
‘You’d never want to visit Novorum or Felix Sulla, Shoe. Every person you meet is just like him.’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then spat into the dust. ‘He takes his orders directly from Tamberlaine. I’m very lucky I was able to leave at all.’
He turned and walked off, his hand resting lightly on his six-gun.
SIX
5 Ides, Quintilius, 2653 ex Ruma Immortalis
‘We’ll take a boat upriver to Bear Leg,’ Fisk said that night, after we’d found lodging in a dingy hotel with livery near the docks. He’d removed the legate insignia pin soon after leaving Andrae.
After a dinner of greasy soup and stale bread in the common room, we bunked down in the stable – as is our wont on the trail. Bales of hay might be prickly and uncomfortable, but they’re an honest sort of bunk and not prone to bedbugs or the peculiar sort of human stain that often goes with rented rooms. ‘Give the horses a rest. From there we’ll see what we can see. Beleth might’ve passed through.’
‘Sad the Cornelian won’t still be there?’
‘Sad?’ Fisk said. ‘I guess so. There’s good memories, and bad, tied up with that boat.’
‘True.’
In the morning, we found the only barge going up river with room for our mounts that didn’t look as if she’d sink the first league away from the wharf. Her name was the Quiberon and she was a daemon- less slave-driven paddle-barge. Slow, ugly, and low-slung. She carried livestock and casks of salt-pork and piled sacks of hominy and was home to a large glaring of semi-wild cats and captained by a brusque woman, quite young and of a matter-of-fact demeanour, named Maskelyne. There were also a couple of other paying passengers, who looked a bit put out when we clambered aboard. Especially at me.
Maskelyne bit our coins when we gave them over, and looked us up and down. ‘You two should be good in a pinch if them stretchers come a’leapin. Clear?’
‘I imagine we’ll hold our own, ma’am,’ Fisk said.
‘Don’t ma’am me, braw, I was shitting me diapers when you were full grown,’ she said. But she handed back a couple of coins. ‘You’ll use them little devils in the Quibby ’s defence else there’ll be a reckoning come Bear Leg.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘How long is the journey?’
She was an intense-looking woman, bright blue eyes, and a compact muscular form. She wore simple garb, dungarees and a fitted shirt with numerous pockets brimming with styluses and a Hellfire pistol on her waist. ‘Water’s high and the paddle-teams are rested, braw. Shouldn’t be more than five days, barring stretchers or shoal beastie,’ she said.
‘Much troubles with the vaettir lately?’
‘Not too much since winter. Very quiet, really, braw, but better safe than slitted or scalped, me mam always said.’ She laughed, showing a mouthful of white, snaggly teeth. ‘Anywho, if you two gents would be so kind as to get your arses out of the way of my slaves, there you go—’ she said as we clambered onto the barge’s roof – an area that served as a wide, open-aired berth – away from the workers and livestock. Maskelyne then bellowed at the slaves in the river patois called Craulia by the speakers of it but Brawley by those who were not. A mixture of Medieran, Gallish,
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