no matter who speaks it, or how far away they is. He hears and he’ll come and don’t think every gun you got will be enough, because I’m here to tell you it ain’t.”
“What kind of name is that, Mama?” asked Darla. “It’s not Kingdom, that’s for sure.”
Mama fixed her hog eyes on Darla. “He ain’t got sense enough to hear the truth of what I’m saying. I reckon you do. Can you make him promise to listen to me, or do I need to take my leave now?”
Darla squeezed my hand again. “Honey. Please.”
I sighed. “All right. I promise.”
Mama snorted and eyed me warily for a moment.
“I wrote it backwards.” She showed me the paper again. “See it, but don’t say it.”
Vitor Vucik. It wasn’t Rannish, but all the consonants reminded me of many of the Princers I’d met.
“He come from Prince,” said Mama. “They opened up some big prison they had up there after the Corpsemaster knocked half the city over. This here fella was the worst of the worst, they say, and I reckon they might be right.”
“Worst what?”
“Worst everything. He kilt and he raped and he robbed and he kilt some more. I hears the prison was crowded to overflowin’ when they tossed him in it, and damn near empty when they let him out. They say he is half Ogre. Half Ogre and all crazy.”
It was my time to snort in derision. “Mama, you know better than that. Half Ogre, my ass. There’s never been a confirmed instance of interbreeding between humans and Ogres.”
“Well, I reckon you never met no Groats from over Spider way, because they are all eight feet tall and hairy as boars and has them big, flat Ogre teeth, sure as the sun sets,” said Mama. “But here. Half Ogre or just mighty big, this man is a born killer what has spent his whole life killin’ and aims to keep killin’, right here in Rannit.”
Darla was squeezing my hand so tight her nails were digging in. I patted her hand and she rewarded me with a nervous smile.
“Why is this person here?” she asked. “And why can’t we let the Watch find another prison to put him inside?”
“He’s here because Prince is dead,” said Mama. “Most of the folks what used to live there is in Rannit now, setting up shop or settling down. Killing a dead thing like Prince, that ain’t no fun for this man. So he’s here, aiming to turn loose, make everybody he sees pays for them years he spent in that jail. Or leastways that’s as near as I can figure right now.” She waved a bony finger in my face. “There’s something else going on too, boy. Something hid from my Sight. I reckon you thinks you know, what with being so friendly with that wand-waver from the Dark House.”
“All I know is that she doesn’t know,” I lied. “Avalante is worried, though. Because you’re right—this isn’t just about taking over the gangs and the weed trade on the docks. Something else is going on too.”
“Something bad,” added Mama. “Something that smells old. I don’t mean right before your grandpappy’s time old. I mean older than weather, boy. What they calls eldritch.”
I nodded. Telling Mama about Stitches was a stratagem I wasn’t ready to consider, much less employ.
“You was there today,” said Mama. “At that old heap of stones. I knows you was. You got the stink of it all over you.”
Darla lifted an eyebrow at me, a sure sign of spousal disapproval.
“I kept a careful distance,” I admitted. “All I did was watch.”
Mama fell silent. The shock of it tricked me into describing my sighting of the watcher and my surmises as to the tower’s true nature.
“Well, there might be a brain under all that hair after all,” said Mama when I was done. “Makes sense, if you’re a murderin’ bastard aimin’ to keep hid as long as you can.”
“We should tell the Watch,” said Darla. “Let them handle it.”
“Won’t be nothing to handle,” said Mama. “They see the first Watch wagon rolling their way, and they’re out the back
“What kind of name is that, Mama?” asked Darla. “It’s not Kingdom, that’s for sure.”
Mama fixed her hog eyes on Darla. “He ain’t got sense enough to hear the truth of what I’m saying. I reckon you do. Can you make him promise to listen to me, or do I need to take my leave now?”
Darla squeezed my hand again. “Honey. Please.”
I sighed. “All right. I promise.”
Mama snorted and eyed me warily for a moment.
“I wrote it backwards.” She showed me the paper again. “See it, but don’t say it.”
Vitor Vucik. It wasn’t Rannish, but all the consonants reminded me of many of the Princers I’d met.
“He come from Prince,” said Mama. “They opened up some big prison they had up there after the Corpsemaster knocked half the city over. This here fella was the worst of the worst, they say, and I reckon they might be right.”
“Worst what?”
“Worst everything. He kilt and he raped and he robbed and he kilt some more. I hears the prison was crowded to overflowin’ when they tossed him in it, and damn near empty when they let him out. They say he is half Ogre. Half Ogre and all crazy.”
It was my time to snort in derision. “Mama, you know better than that. Half Ogre, my ass. There’s never been a confirmed instance of interbreeding between humans and Ogres.”
“Well, I reckon you never met no Groats from over Spider way, because they are all eight feet tall and hairy as boars and has them big, flat Ogre teeth, sure as the sun sets,” said Mama. “But here. Half Ogre or just mighty big, this man is a born killer what has spent his whole life killin’ and aims to keep killin’, right here in Rannit.”
Darla was squeezing my hand so tight her nails were digging in. I patted her hand and she rewarded me with a nervous smile.
“Why is this person here?” she asked. “And why can’t we let the Watch find another prison to put him inside?”
“He’s here because Prince is dead,” said Mama. “Most of the folks what used to live there is in Rannit now, setting up shop or settling down. Killing a dead thing like Prince, that ain’t no fun for this man. So he’s here, aiming to turn loose, make everybody he sees pays for them years he spent in that jail. Or leastways that’s as near as I can figure right now.” She waved a bony finger in my face. “There’s something else going on too, boy. Something hid from my Sight. I reckon you thinks you know, what with being so friendly with that wand-waver from the Dark House.”
“All I know is that she doesn’t know,” I lied. “Avalante is worried, though. Because you’re right—this isn’t just about taking over the gangs and the weed trade on the docks. Something else is going on too.”
“Something bad,” added Mama. “Something that smells old. I don’t mean right before your grandpappy’s time old. I mean older than weather, boy. What they calls eldritch.”
I nodded. Telling Mama about Stitches was a stratagem I wasn’t ready to consider, much less employ.
“You was there today,” said Mama. “At that old heap of stones. I knows you was. You got the stink of it all over you.”
Darla lifted an eyebrow at me, a sure sign of spousal disapproval.
“I kept a careful distance,” I admitted. “All I did was watch.”
Mama fell silent. The shock of it tricked me into describing my sighting of the watcher and my surmises as to the tower’s true nature.
“Well, there might be a brain under all that hair after all,” said Mama when I was done. “Makes sense, if you’re a murderin’ bastard aimin’ to keep hid as long as you can.”
“We should tell the Watch,” said Darla. “Let them handle it.”
“Won’t be nothing to handle,” said Mama. “They see the first Watch wagon rolling their way, and they’re out the back
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