a hint of moneyed education about them, expressed varying amounts of surprise or drunken annoyance. Vocho heard a faint, “I say! That was bit harsh. Need to discipline your driver, Eggy old lad, I almost spilt my wine.”
Kacha might have been wearing a mask, but her brother could see the flinch around her eyes at the name. Good and not so good. Ex-Lord Petri Egimont, ex-noble who liked to let everyone know it, first-rate duellist, currently a lowly clerk in the prelate’s office, a pet, a symbol of the revolution the prelate liked to parade in front of his admirers more than anything, and yet of more than solvent means. He also knew both Vocho and Kacha, very well indeed in Kacha’s case. Their little spy at the inn on the edge of the woods had neglected to mention who the owner of the carriage was, instead telling them how the man thought tales of highwaymen lately come to the woods were a crock of bollocks and how he was determined to reach his destination by morning. Not to mention how he didn’t bother with many bodyguards, thinking he was above being robbed, or if he was, could beat them in a fair fight.
Sounded just like the pompous Eggy. More fool him.
A pale-haired head poked out of the carriage window. Not Egimont, but certainly once aristocratic if the quality of the chin, or lack thereof, was anything to go by. “Driver? Driver!” His voice was strident and slurred. “What the blazes do you think you’re—”
Kacha shoved the barrel of the gun into the side of his nose. She made her voice a couple of octaves lower than it already was and slipped into a guttersnipe accent to avoid giving herself away to Eggy in the coach. “Good evening. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to divest you of all your valuables, trinkets and trifles. Money or a hole in the head. I like to do things properly.”
“We’d prefer the money,” Vocho added from his end, affecting a noble accent. “But sometimes a hole in the head is so satisfying, don’t you think? And we haven’t shot anyone for days.”
A click as Kacha did something menacing with the gun. A whispered conversation inside the carriage. Vocho caught sight of the driver, who waggled his eyebrows as though trying to say something. Sadly, Vocho didn’t speak eyebrow.
“Oh,” said the pale-haired man, going cross-eyed as he tried to look at the barrel of the gun while not moving his head. “Well. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Perhaps twenty bulls? I’m sure I’ve got enough change. That would seem fair… Oh.”
Kacha had nudged her horse up parallel to the carriage, and the evil-minded beast knew exactly what was wanted. It grabbed the pale man’s hat off his head with a great show of teeth and for good measure at a signal from Kacha kicked hard enough to hole the carriage. That horse was more a highwayman than Vocho was, and made him mourn once again the loss of his old horse with its one ear. This new one was dancing under him like a ballerina.
“I think…” Kacha said with an air of contemplation. If she hadn’t been wearing her mask, Vocho knew he’d see that lopsided grin again. “I think everything you have would be fair. Those are our usual terms. I wouldn’t like it said that we had favourites. As it’s cold, I’ll let you keep your underwear. Can’t say fairer than that, can we?”
Just to underline her words, the horse snapped its teeth a hair’s breadth from the pale man’s nose. Between that and the gun barrel, it was looking like he’d have no nose left come sunup.
“Um, well yes, you have a point.” The pale man retreated into the carriage to a hurried and whispered conversation. Vocho caught, “Damned cheek of it!” “They’ve got a gun,” “So have I, somewhere…” “You can’t even see straight, never mind shoot straight,” “Being robbed by highwaymen is an extra, my lord” in a woman’s voice and “God’s cogs, I was just starting to enjoy myself,” followed by a boozy-sounding burp.
Another head poked out. Dark rather than fair this time, long hair done in the latest foppish style, bound at the base of the neck so that it curled across one shoulder. The face less vacuous, with more of a chin. A trim little beard, a long haughty nose, sharp dark eyes and apparently at least slightly less drunk