A Stainless Steel Rat Is Born

He was lean to the point of being hollow-stomached. He either had circulation trouble or was naturally blue of skin. His little red eyes peered out of hollow blue sockets, while he fingered his blue jaw with azure fingers. He looked around suspiciously, then spoke: for all of his leanness his voice had a deep strength to it.

"My men, I have good news for you. Prepare yourselves and your weapons for we march at midnight. This will be a forced march to enable us to reach Pinetta Woods before dawn. Fighting men only-and we travel light. Your knaves will stay here to look after your goods. We will lay up there during the day, then leave at dusk tomorrow. We will meet our allies during Uie night and join forces for an assault on the enemy at dawn. " "A question, Capo," one of the men called out. He was grizzled and scarred, obviously a veteran of many conflicts. "Against whom do we march?" "You will be told before the attack. We will gain victory only by surprise. " There were murmurs on all sides as the veteran called out again.

"Our enemy a mystery-at least tell us then who are our allies." Capo Dimonte was not pleased with the question. He scratched his chin and fiddled with the hilt of his sword while his audience waited. He obviously needed our voluntary assistance, so in the end he spoke.

"You will all be pleased to hear that we have allies of great strength and will. They also have war machines to batter the stoutest wall. With their assistance we can take any keep, defeat any army. We are lucky to serve at their side." He pressed his lips together, reluctant to go on but still knowing that he must.

"Our victory is assured since our allies are none other than... the order of the Black Monks. " There -was a long moment of shocked silence-followed instantly by shouts of anger. The significance of all this escaped me-other than the fact that it did not sound good at all.

Chapter 24

As soon as he had spoken, Capo Dimonte made his exit and the door slammed shufbehind him. There were shouts and cries of anger from all sides-but there was one man who bellowed louder than all the others. It was the scarred veteran. He climbed onto a table and shouted them all into silence.

"Everyone here knows me, knows old Tusker. I was cutting off heads when most of you weren't even potty trained. So I'm going to talk and you are going to listen and then you will get a chance to talk too. Anyone here don't like that idea?" He closed one immense fist and held it out, then turned in a circle, scowling fiercely. There were some angry mutters, but none loud enough to imply disagreement.

"Good. Then listen. I know those black-frocked buggers from a long way back and I don't trust them. All they think of is their own hides. If they want us to fight for them that's only because there is big trouble ahead and they would like to see us killed rather than them. I don't like it." "I don't like it either," another man called out. "But what kind of a choice do we have?" "None," Tusker growled angrily. "And that's what I was going to say next. I think we have been grabbed by the short and curlies." He drew his sword and shook it at them. "Every weapon we have, outside of them new guns, comes firom the Black Monks. Without their supplies we have nothing to fight with, and without nothing to fight with we have nothing to do and we can starve or go back 169 to the farm. And that's not for me. And it better not be for any of you either. Because we are all in this together. We all fight-or none fight. And if we fight and any of you try to sneak out of here before the action starts, then he is going to find my sword stuck all the way through his liver." He shook the shining blade at them while they glared in silence.

"A solid argument," The Bishop whispered," the logic impeccable. Too bad that it is wasted on this ignoble cause. You and your comrades have no choice but to agree. " The Bishop was right. There was more shouting and argument, but in the end they had to go along with the plans. They would march at the side of the Black Monks. None of them, myself included, were very happy about the idea. They could stay up and argue until midnight but I was tired and could use the few hours sleep. The Bishop wandered out in search of information and I rolled up on the bunk and slipped into a restless slumber.

The shouted orders woke me, feeling more tired than when I had gone to sleep. No one seemed happy about the midnight march-or our battle companions-and there were dark looks and much cursing. There were even some oaths I hadn't heard before, real nice ones, that I filed away for future use. I went out to the primitive lavabo and threw cold water on my face . which seemed to help. When I returned. The Bishop was sitting on the bunk. He rose and extended his large hand.