The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,85

now and patted the side of his cannon as a sane man might pat a horse’s cheek. “Ol’ Phin gave him the cognomenclature The Compelling Argument.”

Gunner stood, and kicked a lever, then rode the cannon as it slid slowly back on a track. When it stopped, Orholam grunted, jarred against the muzzle pressed into his belly.

Gavin grinned. “He’s, uh, he’s beautiful. And it’s a very fitting name.”

“Captain, may I—” Orholam interjected timidly.

“You a slow learner, boy?” Gunner blazed, spittle flying.

Orholam swallowed.

“You’ll get your chance to proffer a defiance.” Gunner’s eyes flicked upward. He tugged his beard. “Defense. ‘Defiance’ is good, though, eh, Gapin’ Guile?”

Gavin nodded. “It works. It defiantly works.”

Gunner missed it. That intense focus on one thing at a time that served him so well elsewhere meant the man often missed everything else.

“Shaped shells, you ever heard a such a thing?” Gunner asked. “Fer a cannon. And old Phin left forms so’s I can make more. They gives me an extra two hunnerd paces, ackerate! BUT! I can use regular old round shot, too. And looksie this.”

Gunner showed Gavin a set of levers that popped out near the muzzle. Gavin couldn’t even pretend to understand.

“Puts spin on a ball, if you use a ball. Don’t work for the shaped shells, unmoors the putty,” Gunner said. More’s the pity? “Costs yer some distance, but I can curve a cannonball. Up, down, or t’either side. Not much, mind you, and not sure what good it be—drop a ball tight o’er a wall, maybe? Phin was prollaby havin’ fun. Showin’ off like he do. You wanna see?”

“Love to!” Gavin said. There wasn’t much entertainment out here, and Gunner treated him nearly like an equal, as long as Gavin played along with his whims. “But . . . um . . .”

Gavin motioned to the old man strapped over the muzzle.

“Oh, I hadn’t forgot!” Gunner said. “You think I can curve it ’round him?”

Orholam’s body was entirely blocking the muzzle.

“If it were possible, you’d be the one to do it,” Gavin said. “But . . . I’m afraid he’d just foul the spin and mess it all up.”

Gunner scowled. Orholam was nodding emphatically.

“Eh, still worth a shot!” Gunner said. He began checking the cannon with the unhurried efficiency of an old minstrel tuning her lute. Then he examined the harness that strapped the old prophet to the muzzle, arms and legs bound down the wide barrel, his belly and chest positioned to be turned into mist.

“It’s going to make such a mess,” Gavin said.

“Ol’ Phin knew I love shit like this,” Gunner said as if he hadn’t spoken. “Curving cannonballs. That oughta be my new curse. Quite the gift. Almost makes me wish I hadn’t played Hide the Musket in his old lady’s skirts. Thet’s on him, though. Man worked too much, he did. A woman’s like a cannon herself. Keep her well lubricated, and she’ll not just stand hard use but shine with it. But you cain’t just empty your powder horn in her, then drop her back on the rack to rust! Phin shoulda knowed better. He’s got three daughters.”

Gunner blinked.

“I mean, not that he should’ ve—been emptying anything . . . in his daughters. I mean, he shoulda knowed better than to marry a woman with appetites nearly as wide as her vengeful streak. By Ceres’s swingin’ saggies, I think she wanted us to get caught that last time. Had to be quick on the trigger with the old man stomping around downstairs, and her none too quiet. Then I had to climb on the roof and wait till nightfall to get away. Still. She shouldn’ta did that to Ol’ Phin.”

“It’s all on her, huh?” Gavin asked.

Gunner looked at him like he was talking crazy. “Can’t blame a sailor on shore leave for havin’ an overcharged musket. I gone gambling, so I had no coin for whores. And I did try his daughters first! But . . . my luck was no better with them than it had been gambling.”

You tried to woo his daughters first, and then their mother. Charming.

“But!” Gunner ejaculated. “I’ll make it up to him by using this cannon as he intended.”

“Eviscerating a man with his cannon will surely soothe any resentment he might have harbored for you swiving his wife.”

“Agreed! Now, port or starbeard? I mean, I could go up or down, but it just look like I shot short or long to an ignorant layman like yerself.”

“I don’t know, Captain. Like you said, I’m