The Devil's Pay (Dogs of War) - By Dave Gross Page 0,19

only one on Dawson’s hip, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Dawson peeled it off himself.

“Did you hear that?” asked Robinson.

Dawson made himself still. He heard a distant bird call and a few frog-sized splashes in the nearby puddles. Then he heard a faint sound of springs compressing and releasing. There was no accompanying chug and huff of a steam engine, but it was unmistakably a mechanikal motion.

“Should we get a closer look?” Dawson whispered.

“I don’t—” Robinson looked in the direction of the sound. More stagnant runnels and pools stood before them. “No, we’d better report first.”

When they reported what they’d heard to Lister, the big lieutenant squinted down his cigar at Dawson. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” he said. “Some of you pups can’t tell the difference between a frog and a whippoorwill.”

“I heard something similar,” said Harrow, appearing out of nowhere. “And a ratcheting sound, more like a clocktower than a warjack.”

“Did you at least get a look?”

Harrow shook his head.

“More tracks?”

“None that I could see. Whole area’s flooded.”

Lister turned to Sam. “What do you say, Captain?”

“Whatever it is, it’s clever enough to hide its tracks.”

“Seems likely,” Lister agreed.

“I don’t like the idea of taking the big lugs wading. Still…”

She ordered the company to halt. “I want our six biggest men walking a line ahead of Gully and Foyle. Keep two men on rear guard with two more on either side. Keep one squad close at hand.”

“That doesn’t leave many scouts,” said Lister.

“Make do.”

“Yes’m. Sarge, you pick the flower girls.”

“Big ones, huh?” Crawley adjusted his goggles and peered up at Lister.

“All right, all right. Count me in.”

“Listen up, Burns, Smooth, Harrow! You three escort this strapping young groom down the aisle.” He knocked on Gully’s knee. “Fraser, Bowie, you’re walking the bride along with the lieutenant.” He indicated Foyle.

The Devil Dogs took their new positions, leading the ’jacks and wagons through calf-deep water. When Burns and Smooth plunged into a pool up to their hips, Sam halted the ’jacks until they found a shallower path.

“This is stupid.” Burns cut down a long branch and hacked off its twigs. With the stick he probed the ground as the Dogs proceeded. One by one, the others followed his example, except for Harrow, who glided through the scummy water without benefit of a probe, leaving barely a ripple in his wake.

Within minutes of each other, Robinson and McBride returned from scouting to report no unusual sightings. Robinson confirmed that their watery path peeled away from the trail left by the Cryx.

“Whatever was following them came from this direction,” said Crawley. He signaled for the scouts to go back out.

Sam agreed. “We’re moving closer to the Dragon’s Tongue. What do you think? Five, six miles?”

Crawley removed a compass and a map from his pocket. “Let me check the map.”

Without turning, Harrow held up five fingers on one hand, three on the other.

“Eight miles,” said Crawley. He left the map folded and returned the compass to his pocket.

“What would be out here, so close to the river?” Sam said to no one in particular. No one had an answer. They walked on, splashing through the mire.

“Here we go. Look.” Burns pointed with his stick.

He indicated a dark patch of water to the southeast. An iridescent sheen mingled with darker eddies beneath the water’s surface. Beyond the dark core of the stain the water glowed.

“Oil and Cryx venom,” said Lister. “Be careful.”

Feeling with their poles, Lister and Harrow moved forward. Soon they were hip-deep in the mire.

Burns jumped in to join them, but he slipped sideways, splashing under the water. He came up sputtering, “Help! Something’s—” He plunged under again, coming up to add, “Something’s got me!”

Lister and Harrow turned around. Lister aimed his slug gun but thought better of it. Harrow already had his pick-axe in hand. He swung it in an arc to strike near Burns’ foot. The point hit with a dull thunk under the water. Whatever it hit, the blow was enough to free Burns. Lister pulled him up.

Harrow struck again, but the water remained still.

“What is it?” said Lister.

“It grabbed my leg,” said Burns, not quite blubbering in alarm.

Harrow thrust his axe under the water, striking an object under the surface. When there was no reaction from it, he moved the weapon around, feeling the shape of the thing. With the barest shake of his head, he slung the axe back over his shoulder and thrust his hands under the water.

“Be careful, man,” said Burns.