“Well—I can try, but—” said Smith, awkwardly juggling utensils and thinking that the stranger was yelling louder than the baby.
“Wait a minute. I know you from somewhere,” announced the stranger, raising his voice even more as he approached. “You’re that thief they were looking for in Karkateen this summer!”
“What?” Smith gaped at the stranger, who had come up on him so rapidly they were now face-to-face. “No. You’re mistaken. I’ve never been in Karkateen—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” shouted the stranger. His arm flashed out, and Smith’s trencher went flying as he tried to fend him off, but there was no weapon in the stranger’s hand. Instead there was a small bag of purple-dyed leather palmed there, and the stranger made a snatching motion at Smith’s belt and held up the bag as though he’d just pulled it loose. “This is mine! Damn you, here’s my mark on it!”
But he played the game a second too long, holding up the bag in righteous indignation for all to behold, because Smith saw him going for his knife with his other hand. That gave Smith time to drive his fork into the stranger’s leg and roll forward out of his chair, under the stranger’s guard. He came up behind him as the stranger was turning, and hip-checked him so he fell forward across Smith’s empty chair with a crash.
“I’m not a thief, I’m not from Karkateen, and I didn’t take that pouch from you because you had it in your hand the whole time,” Smith babbled, drawing both his pistolbows and stepping back. “What the hell’s going on?”
But even as the stranger turned, yanking the fork from his leg with a murderous glare, Smith knew what was going on. Burnbright, over in the sleeping area, screamed as four shadowy figures leaped to their feet and came forward. Surprisingly for men who had retired to their blankets, each was fully clothed and armed with a cocked pistolbow.
Smith gulped and retreated a pace farther, as the foremost stranger drew his knife and hurled it at him. Smith dodged the blade and fired both bolts straight into the stranger’s chest, and couldn’t imagine why the man looked as surprised as he did when he fell.
Then there were bolts whistling through the air toward him. Smith threw himself flat behind a table and chairs, heard the bolts plunking home into wood and into plaster, and heard more screams and inarticulate shouting, the loudest of which was the Housekeeper calling for his watchmen.
Reloading, Smith peered through table and chair legs and saw that Lord Ermenwyr had sensibly thrown a table down and got behind it on his hands and knees. Balnshik was in the act of flying to him, bounding over the scattered furniture. Smith leaned up to see where his assailants were and beheld to his astonishment that one was down, tackled from behind by Mrs. Smith and Burnbright, who were shrieking like mismatched furies and clubbing him on the head with trenchers. The keymen had as one risen to their feet, grabbed a wide settle, and made a shield of it as they blocked two of the other attackers.
The fourth man came on, however, reloading as he ran, evading the keymen and actually vaulting across the fire pit to get to Smith. Smith jumped up, kicking a stool toward the man to foul his legs as he landed, and the stranger managed to avoid the stool but stumbled on his fallen companion. Smith fired at him, one bolt skittering off into the debris and one smacking home into the man’s side.
His assailant cursed, but lurched to his feet anyway and drew a short sword. He stood swaying, waving it at Smith, though his face was ashen. Smith grabbed up the stool and swung it at the man, knocking the sword out of his fingers. Another blow with the stool, and the man collapsed backward, bleeding from his mouth.
Smith backed away, hearing a commotion behind him that was perhaps the arrival of the Red House watchmen. He looked up and was amazed to see that the two remaining strangers had turned from the keymen and were engaging Balnshik, attempting to pinion her. They weren’t succeeding very well; in fact, Smith heard the distinctive sound of snapping bone and a gibbering scream from one of the men; but they had successfully drawn her attention.
Behind her, Flowering Reed was moving quietly along the wall. His face looked odd. Was that something in his mouth? And what