"Nay," an older corporal growled. "Where's yer mind? We've been through that, and through! We wants dead murderers, not live suspects!"
"I'm not talking about them—just me!"
"What should you have a trial for?" Thaler snarled. "You're trying to help them get away, and that'll bring a war on us!" He shouted out to the rest of the soldiers, "He's a traitor! A traitor to the colony, and all of us!"
"Aye!" The soldiers began crowding around. "What do you want, all of us dead?"
"Never seen the color of blood, have yuh?"
"Aye! Let's show him his own!"
"Who's got a rope here?"
"Whup! Hold it! I give!" Yorick waved both hands as though he were erasing a blackboard. "I admit it! I'm guilty!
Just back off, boys!" He heaved a sigh. "You caught me. All right. Anything except the rope and the knife. I'll show you where they really are."
Outside, Rod and Gwen exchanged appalled glances. Then they dove for the empty barrels again.
"This way!" Yorick bellowed, charging toward the door. The soldiers parted and let him through, taken by surprise.
He leaped out the tavern door, bellowing, "Right on the first try this time! Come on! Catch the witches!"
The mob roared out behind him, baying at full voice. Footsteps thundered right past the two barrels, then faded into the distance.
The barrels glided up. Rod and Gwen uncoiled, and Rod shook his head. "I've got to see this. I've just got to."
"Aye." Glints danced in Gwen's eyes. "How will he turn them this time?"
"I dunno, but he'll find a way." Rod caught her hand. "He's a man of amazing resources. He may not be able to manipulate symbols—but people are another matter entirely. Come on, they're getting away!"
Feather-footed and silent, they fled through the night.
They sighted the mob just as it came into a large, open plaza. Beyond it, the Wall bulked large against the stars.
Yorick plowed to a stop and held up a hand. "Quiet!" he bellowed at the top of his voice. "I hear them coming! Ambush stations, quick!"
All the soldiers froze for an instant, startled. Then they melted away, as sudden as a cloudburst and as silent as the night, disappearing among the low plasticrete buildings around the plaza.
Rod felt a chill spread outward from his spine. These guys are good! he thought at Gwen. We'd better be, too! After all, we wouldn't want them to really find us, would we?
Nay, certes! Gwen melted into the shadows. From the darkness that had swallowed her came a thought: My lord? Wilt thou come?
Just a minute. Rod held up a hand. Why waste the chance? Come on—home in on Sergeant Thaler's thoughts for me!
Gwen smiled slowly, then beckoned.
They tiptoed away behind the huts and houses, drifting silently as ghosts behind soldiers whose attention was riveted to the main pathway, with the Wall at its end.
They drifted around to the side, then back in, coming up behind the leaders. Rod hefted his knife, pommel first, but Gwen held up a hand to stop him. She scowled, glaring at Sergeant Thaler. The man suddenly jerked stiff, eyes bulging out, throat swelling. Then his eyes rolled up, and he fell back—but he didn't make any noise, because he didn't hit the dirt. Rod caught him, heaved him up over a shoulder, and turned to tiptoe away.
Gwen tapped Yorick on the shoulder. He looked up at her, startled, then grinned. She beckoned, and he drifted out behind her.
The plaza lay still in the moonlight.
After a while, somebody muttered something. Somebody else muttered an answer. Then another muttered, and another, and another. The voices grew louder. Then, one by one, the soldiers began to drift out into the plaza. They looked about them, baffled and angry.
"Where be they?" a corporal growled.
"Another wild goose." A superannuated private turned his head and spat.
"He's had us again," another snarled. Then he called out, "Sergeant! Sergeant Thaler! Sap the bastard!"
They stilled, waiting for the sound of the blow, for Thaler's angry oath—but silence filled the spaces of the night.
"Where's the sergeant?" a private asked.
"I saw him hide over there." A corporal pointed toward the shadow of a low, one-storied building.
They started toward the spot, walking faster and faster.
The back of the building was bare, the space around it empty.
"Not a sign of him!"
"Y' don't mean Thaler would've run out on us!"
"That's right, I don't mean that." A staff sergeant pointed at the dirt. "Look at that sign. There's been a scuffle here, there has."
"He did for him!" the private cried. "That lousy grinning blockhead did for the sergeant!"
"Stove in his skull, likely." The corporal's eyes turned very pale, very hard. "Let's find him."
"Aye! The bloody, grinning ape!"
"Spread out, lads!" the sergeant roared. "Find the bastard, and string him up!"
"What good'll that do?" A private scratched his head.
"A world of good, for my soul," the sergeant snapped. Then a cunning gleam came into his eye, and he grinned. "Besides, one dead body's as good as another, ain't it? We'll just tell the Wolmen they was wrong; we did some clever detectin', and found out he killed their bloomin' warrior!"
The private grinned slowly, his eyes lighting with devilish glee.
"There's a sergeant'll get another stripe for brains," called another soldier.
The sergeant grinned wider.
"Y' oughta be a lieutenant, Sergeant!" called a young corporal.
The sergeant shrugged, embarrassed. "Don't make it more than it is, lads." Then he roared, "Let's go find the blighter!"
The soldiers howled and surged after the sergeant as he strode away between two buildings, following a trail that he thought he saw.
"Welcome to the wanted list." Rod slapped Yorick on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Major." Yorick heaved a sigh. "Shame to disappoint those eager beavers out there, though."
Rod nodded, commiserating. "It's hard to find a trail, when your quarry has flown—literally."
"Yeah." Yorick turned to Gwen. "Thanks for the lift, milady."
"'Twas naught." Gwen gave him a warm smile. "Ever shall my broomstick be at thy bidding."
"Uh, thanks, but I don't think I could last through enough flight hours to qualify." Yorick's grin turned a little queasy. "Definitely a vivid experience, though."
"And we're in the one place where they'd really never think to look for us." Rod glanced up as footsteps crossed above his head.
Yorick leaned back against the wall, blowing out a stream of cigar smoke. "Gotta hand it to you, Major. When you go to ground, you do a real job of it."
Rod shrugged. "Comes of long practice." He nudged the unconscious body that lay between them. "What do you think we ought to do with him, Cholly?"
"Be gentle," the tavernkeeper advised."Fact is, if you've any bloody intentions, you can take 'em right out into the night with yer. I'm keepin' yer down here just 'cause I don't like to see innocent blood shed."
"Thaler is innocent?" Yorick asked, wide-eyed.
"As much as yerself." Cholly eyed him warily.
"I protest." Yorick laid a hand on his breast. "I am innocent! I am pure! I am…"
"… full of it," Cholly finished. "And I've got to be up there behind the bar when that merry mob you've been leading comes in from this latest snipe hunt." He turned to Rod. "How'd ye work that one?"
"I didn't. Ask him." He nodded toward Yorick.
Cholly's gaze swiveled toward the Neanderthal. The caveman spread his hands. "Just gave 'em what they wanted, mine host. After all, isn't that what you do?"