Chapter 7: The Night

That evening, we camp next to the cannon. We cook up a big feast of a bunch of food taken from the carriage, along with the stewed carcass of that dog. Having our bellies full helps lift our spirits a bit, but not by much.

Entire raid's been a disaster. We outnumbered them three to one and had a cannon at our back, and what happens? An absolute fuckin' embarrassment is what. In exchange for three of them – four counting the mutt – we lose five killed outright, including Jean and Florent. Another guy outta Clairwil's crew never came back from the Weald, so he's probably a goner too. On top of that, almost everyone who wasn't hanging back with Clairwil or the cannon was wounded – one man, Philippe, was mauled by the dog so bad we've been taking bets on whether or not he'll last till morning. We did get a whole lot of bandages and healing herbs off the carriage that we used to patch him up, so I put my money on him making it through.

Still. Food and medicine is always needed, sure, but they weren't worth the price we paid for it. We went in this for gold, and we got squat. Everyone's pissed, and that goes double for Rodin and Clairwil. The two of them went at each other's throats pretty quick once Guy and the last of the boys who went into the woods get back empty-handed, blaming one another for the colossal fuckup.

"Don't you dare lecture me!" yells Rodin. "I'm not the one that hung back by the cannon where it was safe, doing nothing, while my boys and I were getting killed. You're nothing but a damn coward!"

"Oh yeah?" snarls Clairwil. "Well, I'm not the one who sent everyone charging blindly into the fucking woods! We got three dead and one missing that could all still be here if you'd let that bitch with the axe run off instead of going after her. And I'm not the one who lost all the cannonballs either."

"You pull the cannon next time then! And you're the one who said someone took what we were looking for outta the carriage, smart-mouth. Obviously it was her! Or maybe her friend in the blue coat. We had to go after them: they must've taken the goods!"

He hurls his plate of food into the fire.

"That fucking cunt! I get my hands on her, she's dead!"

I manage to stop myself from pointing out that the fucking cunt in question was the one killed three of the five that are dead, and it's unlikely Rodin would fare any better. Best not to provoke him right now.

Clairwil just sneers. "Big talk from someone couldn't even beat her in a fight. Besides, how do you even know there were any valuables? Your 'inside man'? You got the wool pulled over your eyes, you idiot. Face it: we're fucked, and it's your fault."

"My fault?!"

Rodin swings at Clairwil and belts him in the face. Clairwil responds by tackling Rodin, and within seconds the two of them are wrestling on the ground. Me and Guy and a couple of others quickly step in and pull them off one another before they can roll into the campfire.

"There's enough dead," Guy says curtly. He looks disgusted with the two of them, and I can't blame him.

"Room for one more!" spits Rodin.

"Fuck's sake," I say 'fore I can stop myself, "Look at you. Fighting in the dirt like a couple of kids. Some bosses you are."

I shoulda kept my mouth shut, because Rodin uses the excuse to turn on me.

"You shut your fucking mouth," he says, "before I shut it for you. You got no right to talk down to me, asshole. You came back from the Weald alone, and you're the only one seen Jean and Florent dead. Why is that? Was it 'cause you left 'em to die? Maybe you saw 'em get killed and chickened out. Maybe you're a coward too."

He's hit pretty close to the mark and I ain't proud, but unless I say something quick he'll realize he was right. And if he does, I'm dead. No place for a coward in a business like this. I think fast.

"Ain't gonna apologize for not getting killed," I say, firm as I can. "Besides, I'm not the one sitting here pointing fingers 'stead of comin' up with a solution."

"A solution?" mocks Clairwil. "And what might a 'solution' be for us getting fucked this hard?"

"Well some ointment to start with," says I. A couple of the guys laugh – including Clairwil, who snorts despite himself. "And use your heads. They couldn't've gotten far before nightfall, yeah? And we know they'll be going for the hamlet the second the sun's up – if they last the night. They got no food. They got no more than one or two torches, tops. They got no bandages or nothin'. Just the treasure they stole."

"If there was any," says Clairwil.

"My man in town don't make mistakes like that," says Rodin sullenly. "There was something good in that carriage, I'm telling you."

"All right, well, if they're still alive they'll be hungry, tired, and cold," I continue. "And we know where they're headed. So we have a hope of catching them. All we need is a couple of boys, at least one good at tracking, to run 'em down, cut 'em down, and take what's ours."

"And how do we know they're still alive?" asks Rodin. "Lotta ways to die out here. The fungus-men. The spiders. Those death-cult fuckers. Or maybe the witch-woman put 'em in her pot."

"If they're dead, they're dead, and we're outta luck," Guy cuts in before I can reply. "But if your man in town's good as you say, Rodin, what they're carrying could be worth it to try."

If Guy's decided to say something, it must mean my big words sold near everyone. Hell, even Clairwil's lookin' at me with grudging respect. Only Rodin's still glaring at me.

"All right," nods Clairwil after a couple of seconds, "I like your style. So who's gonna go?"

Rodin suddenly grins wickedly, and slaps me on the shoulder.

"I think we got our first volunteer right here."

"Ah, fuck."

"I'll even do you a favour. I'll let you pick who's coming with you: any two men you want."

This ain't actually a favour, and Rodin knows it. He's mad I showed him up by thinking of a plan, and this is how he's paying me back: everyone probably likes the idea of getting the treasure back, but no one wants to get up at the crack of dawn and go into the Weald with only two men at their back. Whoever I pick's gonna be pissed at me. Still, I don't really have much of a choice.

"Well," I say after a moment to think, "I want Guy as the first man. That axe-bitch is a stone killer and I want someone good in a scrap."

"I'm into it," says Guy, who thankfully doesn't seem too mad I picked him. "Better than sitting here."

"Who's your second?" asks Rodin.

"Someone good at tracking, and preferably a decent shot with a gun. Clairwil, you got any suggestions?"

"I got just the one," he says. "Ho, Bressac! You're going on a trip."

While Guy was more or less okay with being picked, Bressac makes no effort to hide his disgust. He spits into the fire and spends about a minute cursing while Clairwil listens indulgently. As I'm sitting back down to try and finish my food, Rodin comes and sits down beside me.

"Don't think this is over," he says in a low voice. "Talking like that to me in front of the boys? You better fucking put some money where your mouth is. I promise you: come back empty-handed, and I'll have your guts for garters."

"You don't wear garters," says I.

"Keep tempting me, and I might just start," he snaps. "Oh, and by the way – Philippe just bled to death. You lost your bet. Pay up."

"Damn it," I say, and disgustedly pass him some coins.