“He’s alone?”
“No, there’s about thirty or forty of us, depending.”
“I mean, no other Lakewalkers with him?” Dag clarified.
“Oh. Yeah. Alone like that, I guess.”
“Where is he right now, do you know?” Nowhere within a mile, but a mile seemed suddenly much too short a distance between this madness and Spark.
Skink shook his head. “Cave, last I seen.” Alder seemed to cringe inward. Dag looked up and eyed him in cold speculation.
Berry swallowed and said to Dag, “Ask him if they took…saw the Tripoint Steel.”
“Them struttin’ keelers?” Skink snorted. “They was through here last week. Crane, he said to lie low and just let them fools float on by. Which they did.”
Dag met Berry’s eyes and read the message: No help there. But it set his mind to spinning. The Fetch’s complement was outnumbered by at least two to one, but other boats came behind in a steady stream. Clever of the bandits to take only the richest and let most pass unmolested, but even so their crimes could not go unmarked much longer. How much time did the Fetch have to prepare? Prepare what?
Some of the Raintree flatties had taken over the oars, or the Fetch would have drifted into a sand bar. They were much closer now to that feeder creek with the good lookout just above it. Dag motioned to Chicory and Bearbait. “Did you ever have the hunting of bandits up in Raintree?”
“Once,” Chicory admitted, scratching his head. “It was only a couple, not thirty or forty. Brought them in alive to be tried before the village clerk, but we didn’t have to stay for the hangings. Not my favorite sort of hunting, but it needed doin’.”
Dag said, “It seems to need doing again. I’ve helped take out bandit gangs a couple of times, plus the big one that plagued Glassforge. First trick is, you make sure you outnumber the targets. The Snapping Turtle is not too far behind us, and there may be other boats following soon. If we can get enough help by nightfall, are you fellows in?”
Chicory glanced at Bearbait, who nodded. “Might as well be.”
“If I could, I’d prefer to leave the farmers to the farmers. And the Lakewalker to the Lakewalkers,” said Dag. Barr and Remo both flinched at the word of their new task, but returned his nod. “This Crane is likely to be dangerous in ways you can’t fight.”
“That would suit me,” said Chicory slowly. “As long as they’re all brought to the same justice after.” His gaze at Dag was hard and questioning.
“If he’s guilty of half the horrors Skink suggests, that won’t be a problem. Three’s been a quorum for field justice before this.”
Chicory gave this a very provisional nod. “Well, if you want to make a rabbit stew, first you catch your rabbit.”
“Aye,” said Dag.
After the Fetch tied up at the mouth of the feeder creek, Fawn watched anxiously as Dag and most of the rest of the men took their prisoners ashore for further questioning. They all returned in about three-quarters of an hour, looking even grimmer, although neither Alder nor his shattered partner showed signs of much new roughing-up. Bo closely supervised the chaining of Alder’s hands behind him, around one of the sturdy posts holding up the Fetch’s roof between the kitchen space and the stores. He advised Dag, “I’d put a gag in his rotten mouth, too.”
Dag just shook his head, but he told Berry and Fawn, “Don’t let those chains loose for any reason. If he has to piss, turn your backs and have Hod hold a bucket.” He held Berry’s eyes as he said this; she nodded shortly. Then they all settled down to wait for reinforcements.
Whit signaled from the bluff fairly soon; he and Bo went out in the bandits’ skiff to explain matters to a down-bound flatboat, which then rowed in to tie alongside the Fetch. Its nine able-bodied flatties were shocked at the news, not to mention at their own narrow escape, and readily volunteered for the attempt to burn out the river robbers.
The Snapping Turtle came into sight around noon, and Fawn saw Dag start to breathe a little easier. Its raucous crew pronounced themselves all in for the dirty job. The serious planning began then amongst the cadre of leaders and bosses gathered on the shore: Wain and Saddler, Chicory and Bearbait, the new flattie boss, and Dag. Wain, claiming to be the best brawler on the river bar none, was inclined to assume leadership. He called for a roundabout river attack, although it was plain Dag preferred Chicory to lead a land strike up over the neck. When the blustering threatened to grow loud and prolonged, Dag took Wain aside for a brief word. Fawn, watching from the Fetch’s bow, was not at all sure it had been words alone that persuaded Wain to settle down, and she nibbled on her knuckles in worry as Dag looked darker than ever. But the land ploy was finally agreed upon.
The men spent the afternoon assembling or devising weapons. All had knives, and cudgels were readily fashioned, but there were fewer spears and bows amongst them than Dag plainly would have preferred. He set Whit with the bowmen.
“Does Whit have to go?” Fawn murmured to Dag in a rare private moment snatched out on the Fetch’s back deck.
“He volunteered. It would be an insult to leave him with the boats. And I’m short on archers.” He pushed a curl of hair back from her brow. “At least bow-shot puts him farther from the rough and tumble.”
“There’s a point,” she conceded.
“And…I’d rather not leave him with Alder.”
Her gaze flew up. “Dag! No matter how heartbroke he is for Berry, Whit’s not an assassin!”
“No, but Alder has as twisted a tongue as I’ve ever encountered. If he talks Berry into…anything, there’s as much danger of Whit being persuaded to some foolishness out of misplaced nobility as there is of his going to the other extreme. I’m as happy to remove him from the dilemma altogether.” He hesitated. “We’re all going to have to turn hangmen come morning, you know, if this goes as it should. Berry’ll need all the support you can give her through that.”
“Does Alder have to hang? I mean, he was beguiled by this Lakewalker Crane, wasn’t he? Is he guilty, if he did what he did under compulsion? Is Skink? Isn’t that going to be a real problem to figure out, come…come morning?”
Dag was silent for a long time, staring out across the river. “I’m not planning to bring it up if the others don’t. Please don’t you, either. They’re all guilty enough.”
“Dag…” she said reproachfully.
“I know! I know.” He sighed. “No matter what, first we have to capture the bandits. We need to get through that with a single mind. Argue after, when it’s safe to.”
Her lips twisted in doubt.
He held her, bent his face to her hair, and murmured into it, “I thought when I quit the patrol this sort of work would all be behind me, and I could turn my whole heart and ground to fixing folks instead of killing them.” And even lower-voiced: “And once I’d fixed as many as I’d ever killed, I’d be square. And then start to get ahead.”
“Does it work like that?”
“I don’t know, Spark. I’m just hoping.”
She gave him a hug for support and turned her face up. “Can’t you at least unbeguile Alder, before you boys go off tonight? It’ll be horrible for Berry to watch him fall to pieces like that Skink fellow, but at least he mightn’t be so dangerous.”
“I can’t unbeguile Alder.”
“Why not? You did the other. It’s not like ground-gifting, is it, where you can only give so much before you collapse yourself? Or is it like that piece of pie, too much at once?”
“No,” he said in slow reluctance. “I can’t unbeguile Alder because he’s not beguiled in the first place.”
A silence. “Oh,” said Fawn at last. Oh, gods. Poor Berry… “Just when were you planning to mention this to her?”