The Merchant’s War

"Too early to say." Huw sat down on the bedroll, cradling the phone. "I'm on hold-oh. Yes, sir, I am. We're all there. I have an urgent report-what? Yes. Um. Um. Can you repeat that, please? Yes. Okay, I guess. Transfer me."

He clamped his free hand over the mouthpiece and grimaced horribly at Yul. "Shit. We've been nobbled."

"What- " Yul began, but Huw's face turned to an attentive mask before he could continue.

"Yes? My lady? Yes, I remember. What's going on? It's about- oh, yes, indeed. You want-you want us to meet you where! -When?-Tomorrow? But that's more than a thousand miles! We could fly-oh. Are you sure?" He rolled his eyes. "Yes, my lady. Um. We'll have to get moving right away. Okay. You have my number? We'll be there."

He hung up then put the phone down deceptively gently, as if he'd rather have thrown it out the window. "What was that about?"

Huw looked up at his brother. "We'd better roust Elena out of her bath. Shit." He shook his head. "Bro?"

"That was my lady d'Ost-one of his grace's agents. I got through to the duke's office but he's busy right now. Carlos passed on orders to submit a written report: meanwhile we're to get moving at once. We've got to drive all the way to the west coast and back on some fucking stupid errand. We're to take our guns, and we've got to be in Las Vegas by noon tomorrow, so we're going to be moving out right now. There's a private plane waiting for us near Richmond but we've got to get there first and it's going to take eight hours to get where we're going once we're airborne. Some kind of shit has hit the fan and they've got my name down as one of the trustees to deal with it!" He trailed off plaintively. "What's going on?"

Hulius grunted. "Two and a half thousand miles, bro. They must really want you there badly."

"Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of. Hmm, Lady d'Ost. I wonder what she does for the duke?"

* * *

Otto stared at the buzzing gnat in the distance, and swore.

"Gregor, my compliments to SirGeraunt and I request the pleasure of his company in the grand hall as a matter of urgency."

The hand- man dashed off without saluting, catching the edge in his voice. The faint hum of the dot in the sky, receding like a bad dream of witchcraft, put Otto in mind of an angry yellowjacket. He could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears; the morning smelled of brimstone and gunsmokc. Too early, he thought. He'd barely taken the inner keep an hour ago: he'd counted on having at least a day to arrange things to his advantage. "Heidlor," he called.

"Sir?" Heidlor had been saying something to one of the gunners, who was now hastily swabbing out the barrel of his weapon.

"Gel the fishermen into the grand hall and have them set their nets up between ankle and knee level, leaving areas free as I discussed. Once they've done the hall they're to do the barracks room, the duke's chambers, the kitchen, and the residences, in that order. The carpenters are to start on the runways in the grand hall as soon as the fishermen are finished, and to move on in the same order. This is of the utmost urgency, we can expect visitors at any time. Should any of the craftsmen perform poorly, make an example of them-nail their tools to their hands or something."

"Yes, sir." Heidlor paused. "Anything else?"

Otto swallowed his first impulse to snap at the man for hanging around: he had a point. "Find Anders and Zom-hau. Their lances are to go on duty as soon as they are able. Station the men with the fishers and carpenters, one guard for each craftsman, with drawn steel. In the grand hall, place one man every ten feet, and a pistoleer in each corner. For the cleared spaces, position two guards atop a chair or table or something. Warn them to expect witches to manifest out of thin air at any moment. Rotate every hour." He paused for a moment. "That's all."

"Sir!" This time Heidlor didn't dally.

Otto turned on his heel and marched back towards the steps leading down from the battlements. He didn't need to look to know that his bodyguard-Frantz and four hand-picked pistoleers, equally good with witch gun or wheel lock, and armed with cavalry swords besides- were falling into line behind him. The way the witches fought, by stealth and treachery, his own life was as much under threat as that of any of his soldiers, if not more so.