"Here's a pretty mess," said Big Tom, ducking back into the hallway. "There's one more of them than there are of us, and they be so far between that two must surely take alarm as we disable two others."
"To say nothing of that wasteland of lighted floor that we have to cross to get to any of them," Rod added.
"We might creep up through the tables and stools," Tuan suggested, "and he at the foot of the stairs must surely nod himself asleep ere long."
"That takes care of the two on the ground floor," Rod agreed, "but how about the pair on the balcony?"
"To that," said Tuan,' T have some small skill at the shepherd's bow."
He drew out a patch of leather with two rawhide thongs wrapped about it.
"How didst thou leam the craft of that?" Tom growled as Tuan unwound the strings. " Tis a peasant's weapon, not a lordling's toy."
There was a touch of contempt in the glance Tuan threw Tom. "A knight must be schooled in all weapons, Big Tom."
Rod frowned. "I didn't know that was part of the standard code."
"It is not," Tuan admitted. "But 'tis my father's chivalry, and mine, as you shall see. Both yon knaves shall measure their length on cold stone ere they could know what has struck them."
"I don't doubt it," Rod agreed grimly. "Okay, let's go. I'll take the one by the fireplace."
"Thou'lt not," Big Tom corrected him. "Thou'lt take him by the stairway."
"Oh? Any particular reason?"
"Aye." Tom grinned wolfishly. "He in the great chair is the lieutenant that Tuan foresaw—and one among those who ha' jailed me. 'Tis my meat, master."
Rod looked at Tom's eyes and felt an eerie chill wind blow up along his spine.
"All right, butcher," he muttered. "Just remember, the lady's not for carving, yet."
" 'Let each man pile his dead according to his own taste and fashion,' " Tom quoted. "Go tend your corpses, master, and leave me to mine."
They dropped to their bellies and crawled, each to his own opponent.
To Rod, it was an eternity of table-legs and stool-feet, with plenty of dropped food scraps between, and the constant fear that one of the others might reach his station first and get bored.
There was a loud, echoing clunk.
Rod froze. One of the others had missed his footing.
There was a moment's silence; then a voice called, "What was that?" Then, "Eh, you there! Egbert! Rouse yourself, sot, and have a mind for the stairs you're guarding!"
"Eh? Wot? Wozzat?" muttered a bleary, nearer voice; and, "What fashes ye?" grumbled a deeper, petulant voice from the fireplace. "Must ye wake me for trifles?"
There was a pause; then the first voice said, with a note of obsequiousness, " 'Twas a noise, Captain, a sort of a knock 'mongst the tables."
"A knock, he says!" growled the captain. "A rat, mayhap, after the leavings, nowt more! Do ye wake me for that? Do it more, an' thou'lt hear a loud knock indeed, a blow on thy hollow head." Then the voice grumbled to itself, "A knock, i' faith! A damned knock!"
Then there was silence again, then a muted clang as one of the sentries shifted his weight uneasily.
Rod let out a sigh of relief, slow and silent.
He waited for the sentry to start snoring again.
Then he wormed his way forward again, till at last he lay quiet under the table nearest the stairway.
It seemed he lay there for a very long time.
There was a piercing whistle from the fireplace, and a clatter as Big Tom overturned a stool in his charge.
Rod sprang for his man.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tuan leap upright, his sling a blurred arc; then Rod crashed into the sentry, fist slamming at the midriff, left hand squeezing the throat.
The man folded. Rod chopped at the base of the skull lightly, just under the iron cap, and the sentry went limp.
He looked up just in time to see a sentry on the balcony sag to the floor. The other lay writhing on the stones, hands clasped at his throat.
Rod was up the stairs in five leaps. He landed a haymaker on the man's jaw. The man's eyes closed as he went under.
His larynx was pushed out of line. It was not a pretty sight.
But at that, he'd been lucky. If it had been a direct blow, his trachea would have been crushed.
His companion hadn't been so lucky. The pebble had crushed his forehead. Blood welled over his face and puddled to the floor.
"Forgive me, man," whispered Tuan, as he contemplated his handiwork. Rod had never seen the boy's face so grim.
"Fortunes of war, Tuan," he whispered.
"Aye," Tuan agreed, "and had he been my peer, I could dismiss it at that. But a man of my blood is intended to protect the peasants, not slay them."
Rod looked at the boy's brooding face and decided it was men like the Loguires who had given aristocracy what little justification it had had.
Tom had glanced once and turned away to bind the remaining man, his face thunderous.
There had been only the one casualty; the captain and stair-guard lay securely trussed with Tom's black thread.
Tom came up, glowering at Tuan. " 'Twas well done," he growled. "You took two of them out, and were able to spare the one; tha'rt braw fighter. And for the other, do not mourn him: thou couldst scarce take the time for better aim."
Tuan's face was blank in confusion. He couldn't rightly object to Tom's manner; yet it was disquieting to have a peasant offer him fatherly advice, and forgiveness.
Rod gave him an out. "You used to sleep there?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door the sentries had guarded.
He broke through Tuan's abstraction; the youth turned, looked, and nodded.
"Well, that's where the Mocker'll be, then." Rod looked up at Tom. "That captain downstairs was one of the Mocker's cadre?"
"Aye."
"That leaves two lieutenants, then. How's chances for one of them being in each of these rooms next to the Mocker's?" As Tom pulled at his lower lip and nodded , Rod went on: "One for each of us, then. You boys take the lieutenants. I'll take the Mocker."
He turned to the door. Big Tom's meaty hand fell on his shoulder.
"How now?" growled the big peasant. "How is the Mocker your meat, not mine?"
Rod grinned. "I'm the middleman, remember? Besides, what belt do you hold?"
"Brown," Tom admitted.
"And the Mocker?"
"Black," Tom answered reluctantly. "Fifth dan."
Rod nodded. "I'm black, eighth dan. You take the lieutenant."
Tuan frowned. "What is this talk of belts?"
"Just a jurisdictional dispute; don't worry about it." Rod turned to the center door.
Big Tom caught his arm again. "Master," and this time he sounded like he meant it. "When this is done, thou must teach me."
"Yeah, sure, anything. I'll get you a college degree, just let's get this over with, shall we?"
"I thank thee." Tom grinned. "But I've a doctorate already."
Rod did a double take, then stared at him. "In what?"
"Theology."
Rod nodded. "That figures. Say, you haven't come up with any new atheist theories, have you?"
"Master!" Tom protested, wounded. "How can one prove or disprove the existence of a non-material being by material data? 'Tis an innate contradiction of—"
"Gentlemen," said Tuan sarcastically, "I greatly dislike to interrupt so learned a discourse, but the Mocker awaits, and may shortly awake."
"Huh?Oh! Oh, yes!" Rod turned to the door. "See you in a few minutes, Big Tom."
"Aye, we must have further converse." Tom grinned and turned away to the right-hand door.
Rod eased his own door open, hands stiffened.
The door creaked. It groaned. It shrieked. It lodged formal protest.
Rod threw himself forward, having just time to realize that the Mocker had left his hinges carefully unoiled as a primitive but very effective burglar alarm, before the Mocker screamed "Bloody Murder!" and jumped from his bed, hands chopping.
Rod blocked an overhand blow and thrust for the solar plexus. His hand was skillfully rerouted, the Mocker's scream for help dinning in his ears.