Best Served Cold

A good few chuckles at that. Shivers wasn’t sure what he meant about her brother, but it didn’t matter none. He’d already undone the bandages, and now he dragged the lot off in one go, turned his face towards the lamplight. Such laughter as there was mostly sputtered out. He had the kind of face now put a sharp end to mirth. “Here’s what she’s cost me so far. For a handful of silver? Shit on that, I ain’t half the fool she takes me for, and I’ve got my pride, still. I’m done with the bitch.”

Faithful Carpi was frowning at him. “Describe her.”

“Tall, lean, black hair, blue eyes, frowns a lot. Sharp tongue on her.”

Victus waved one jewel-crusted hand at him. “Common knowledge!”

“She’s got a broken right hand, and marks all over. From falling down a mountain, she says.” Shivers pushed his finger into his stomach, keeping his eyes on Faithful. “Got a scar just here, and one matching in her back. Says a friend of hers gave it to her. Stabbed her through with her own dagger.”

Carpi’s face had turned grim as a gravedigger’s. “You know where she is?”

“Hold up just a trice, there.” Victus looked even less happy than his chief. “You saying Murcatto’s alive?”

“I’d heard a rumour,” said Faithful.

A huge black-skinned man with long ropes of iron-grey hair stood up sharp from the table. “I’d heard all kinds of rumours,” voice slow and deep as the sea. “Rumours and facts are two different things. When were you planning to fucking tell us?”

“When you fucking needed to know, Sesaria. Where is she?”

“At a farm,” said Shivers. “Maybe an hour’s hard ride distant.”

“How many does she have with her?”

“Just four. A whining poisoner and his apprentice, hardly more’n a girl. A red-haired woman name of Vitari and some brown bitch.”

“Where exactly?”

Shivers grinned. “Well, that’s why I’m here, ain’t it? To sell you the where exactly.”

“I don’t like the smell of this shit,” snarled Victus. “If you’re asking me-”

“I’m not,” growled Faithful, without looking round. “What’s your price for it?”

“A tenth part of what Duke Orso’s offering on the head o’ Prince Ario’s killer.”

“Just a tenth?”

“I reckon a tenth is plenty more’n I’ll get from her, but not enough to get me killed by you. I want no more’n I can carry away alive.”

“Wise man,” said Faithful. “Nothing we hate more than greed, is there, boys?” A couple of chuckles, but most were still looking far from happy at their old general’s sudden return from the land of the dead. “Alright, then, a tenth part is fair. You’ve a deal.” And Faithful stepped forwards and slapped his hand into Shivers’, looking him right in the face. “If we get Murcatto.”

“You need her dead or alive?”

“Sorry to say, I’d prefer dead myself.”

“Good, so would I. Last thing I want is a running score with that crazy bitch. She don’t forget.”

Faithful nodded. “So it seems. I reckon we can do business, you and me. Swolle?”

“General?” A man with a heavy beard stepped up.

“Get three-score horsemen ready to ride, and quick, those with the fastest-”

“Might be best to keep it to fewer,” said Shivers.

“That so? And how would fewer men be better?”

“The way she tells it, she’s got friends here still.” Shivers let his eye wander round the hard faces in the tent. “The way she tells it, there’s plenty o’ men in this camp wouldn’t say no to having her back in charge. The way she tells it, they won victories to be proud of with her, and with you they skulk around and scout, while Orso’s men get all the prizes.” Faithful’s eyes darted sideways, then back. Enough to let Shivers know he’d touched a wound. There’s no chief in the world so sure of himself he don’t worry some. No chief of men like these, leastways. “Best keep it to a few, and them ones you’re sure of. I’ve no problem stabbing Murcatto in the back, I reckon she’s got it coming. Getting stabbed by one o’ these is another matter.”

“Five all told, and four of ’em women?” Swolle grinned. “A dozen should do it.”

Faithful kept his eyes on Shivers. “Still. Make it three score, like I said, just in case there’s more at the party than we’re expecting. I’d be all embarrassed to arrive at a job short-handed.”

“Sir.” And Swolle shouldered his way out through the tent flap.

Shivers shrugged. “Have it your way.”

“Why, that I will. You can depend on it.” Faithful turned to his frowning captains. “Any of you old bastards want to come out on the hunt?”

Sesaria shook his big head, long hair swaying. “This is your mess, Faithful. You can swing the broom.”

“I’ve foraged enough for one night.” Andiche was already pushing out through the flap, a few others following in a muttering crowd, some looking suspicious, some looking careless, some looking drunk.

“I too must take my leave, General Carpi.” The speaker stood out among all these rough, scarred, dirty men, if only ’cause nothing much about him stood out. He had a curly head of hair, no weapon Shivers could see, no scar, no sneer, no fighter’s air of menace in the least. But Faithful still chuckled up to him like he was a man needed respect.