Tents began to appear, and carts too as the supplies came up, stippling the muddy land behind the lines. The tiny defenders at the walls could do nothing but watch as the Talinese dug in around them, as orderly as the workings of a gigantic clock. Not Cosca's style, of course, even when sober. More engineering than artistry, but one had to admire the discipline.
He spread his arms wide. "Welcome, one and all, to the siege of Visserine!"
The others had all gathered on the roof to watch Ganmark's grip on the city tighten. Monza stood with her left hand on her hip, gloved right slack on the pommel of her sword, black hair stirring around her scowl. Shivers was on Cosca's other side, staring balefully out from under his brows. Friendly sat near the door to the stairs, rolling his dice between his crossed legs. Day and Vitari muttered to each other further along the parapet. Morveer looked even more sour than usual, if that was possible.
"Can no one's sense of humour withstand so small a thing as a siege? Cheer up, my comrades!" Cosca gave Shivers a hearty clap on his broad back. "It isn't every day you get to see so large an army handled so well! We should all congratulate Monza's friend General Ganmark on his exceptional patience and discipline. Perhaps we should pen him a letter."
"My dear General Ganmark." Monza worked her mouth, curled her tongue and blew spit over the battlements. "Yours ever, Monzcarro Murcatto."
"A simple missive," observed Morveer, "but no doubt he will treasure it."
"Lot o' soldiers down there," Shivers grunted.
Friendly's voice drifted gently over. "Thirteen thousand four hundred, or thereabouts."
"Mostly Talinese troops." Cosca waved at them with the eyeglass. "Some regiments from Orso's older allies—flags of Etrisani on the right wing, there, near the water, and some others of Cesale in the centre. All regulars, though. No sign of our old comrades-in-arms, the Thousand Swords. Shame. It would be fine to renew some old friendships, wouldn't it, Monza? Sesaria, Victus, Andiche. Faithful Carpi too, of course." Renew old friendships… and be revenged on old friends.
"The mercenaries will be away to the east." Monza jerked her head across the river. "Holding off Duke Rogont and his Osprians."
"Great fun for all involved, no doubt. But we, at least, are here." Cosca gestured towards the crawling soldiers outside the city. "General Ganmark, one presumes, is there. The plan, to bring us all together in a happy reunion? We presume you have a plan?"
"Ganmark is a cultured man. He has a taste for art."
"And?" demanded Morveer.
"No one has more art than Grand Duke Salier."
"His collection is impressive." Cosca had admired it on several occasions, or at any rate pretended to, while admiring his wine.
"The finest in Styria, they say." Monza strode to the opposite parapet, looking towards Salier's palace on its island in the river. "When the city falls, Ganmark will make straight for the palace, eager to rescue all those priceless works from the chaos."
"To steal them for himself," threw in Vitari.
Monza's jaw was set even harder than usual. "Orso will want to be done with this siege quickly. Leave as much time as possible to put an end to Rogont. Finish the League of Eight for good and claim his crown before winter comes. That means breaches, and assaults, and bodies in the streets."
"Marvellous!" Cosca clapped his hands. "Streets may boast noble trees, and stately buildings, but they never feel complete without a dusting of corpses, do they?"
"We take armour, uniforms, weapons from the dead. When the city falls, which will be soon, we disguise ourselves as Talinese. We find our way into the palace, and while Ganmark is going about the rescue of Salier's collection and his guard is down…"
"Kill the bastard?" offered Shivers.
There was a pause. "I believe I perceive the most minute of flaws in the scheme." Morveer's whining words were like nails driven into the back of Cosca's skull. "Grand Duke Salier's palace will be among the best-guarded locations in Styria at the present moment, and we are not in it. Nor likely to receive an invitation."
"On the contrary, I have one already." Cosca was gratified to find them all staring at him. "Salier and I were quite close some years ago, when he employed me to settle his boundary issues with Puranti. We used to dine together once a week and he assured me I was welcome whenever I found myself in the city."
The poisoner's face was a caricature of contempt. "Would this, by any chance, have been before you became a wine-ravaged sot?"
Cosca waved one careless hand while filing that slight carefully away with the rest. "During my long and most enjoyable transformation into one. Like a caterpillar turning into a beautiful butterfly. In any case, the invitation still stands."
Vitari narrowed her eyes at him. "How the hell do you plan to make use of it?"
"I imagine I will address the guards at the palace gate, and say something along the lines of—‘I am Nicomo Cosca, famed soldier of fortune, and I am here for dinner.' "
There was an uncomfortable silence, quite as if he had contributed a giant turd rather than a winning idea.
"Forgive me," murmured Monza, "but I doubt your name opens doors the way it used to."
"Latrine doors, maybe." Morveer gave a sneering shake of his head. Day chuckled softly into the wind. Even Shivers had a dubious curl to his lip.
"Vitari and Morveer, then," snapped Monza. "That's your job. Watch the palace. Find us a way in." The two of them gave each other an unenthusiastic frown. "Cosca, you know something about uniforms."
He sighed. "Few men more. Every employer wants to give you one of their own. I had one from the Aldermen of Westport cut from cloth of gold, about as comfortable as a lead pipe up the—"
"Something less eye-catching might be better suited to our purpose."
Cosca drew himself up and snapped out a vibrating salute. "General Murcatto, I will do my straining utmost to obey your orders!"
"Don't strain. Man of your age, you might rupture something. Take Friendly with you, once the assaults begin." The convict shrugged, and went back to his dice.
"We will most nobly strip the dead to their naked arses!" Cosca turned towards the stairs, but was brought up short by the sight in the bay. "Ah! Duke Orso's fleet has joined the fun." He could just see ships moving on the horizon, white sails marked with the black cross of Talins.
"More guests for Duke Salier," said Vitari.
"He always was a conscientious host, but I'm not sure even he can be prepared for so many visitors at once. The city is entirely cut off." And Cosca grinned into the wind.
"A prison," said Friendly, and almost with a smile of his own.
"We are helpless as rats in a sack!" snapped Morveer. "You speak quite as if that were a good thing."
"Five times I have been under siege, and always quite relished the experience. It has a wonderful way of limiting the options. Of freeing the mind." Cosca took a long breath in through his nose and blew it happily out. "When life is a cell, there is nothing more liberating than captivity."
The Forlorn Hope
Fire.
Visserine by night had become a place of flame and shadow. An endless maze of broken walls, fallen roofs, jutting rafters. A nightmare of disembodied cries, ghostly shapes flitting through the darkness. Buildings loomed, gutted shells, the eyeless gaps of window and doorway screaming open, fire spurting out, licking through, tickling at the darkness. Charred beams stabbed at the flames and they stabbed back. Showers of white sparks climbed into the black skies, and a black snow of ash fell softly the other way. The city had new towers now, crooked towers of smoke, glowing with the light of the fires that gave them birth, smudging out the stars.