Free Swords & Dark Magic by Jonathan Strahan; Lou Anders Page A

self-righteous asshole into this place.” Playing to the practical-joke angle.
    Puzzled, Zhorab folded the copy and went off to bite his coins.
    Elmo wondered, “Think he had more than one copy made?”
    I said, “I’m counting on it. The more there are the better. Now let’s get to the forgetting.”

    I said, “I don’t know. I forget. It must not have been important. Look. I need you guys to help me dig for info on Tides Elba.”
    Grumble, grumble. Chairs pushed back grudgingly.
    I said, “It has to be done.”
    “Yeah. Yeah.”
    I asked, “Hagop, do you read the local language?”
    He shook his head. Once we were a few steps away, Elmo said, “I’m not sure he can read anything.”
    I grunted. “One last beer.”
    Inside, the Dark Horse was swamped in speculation about what might be afoot. A sizable faction did not believe that Tides Elba existed. Old hands, who had been through the long retreat from Oar to Charm, thought that the Limper had made it all up.
    When asked my opinion, I said I never heard of Tides Elba and we had only Limper’s word that she existed.

    Aloe was a city-state. It was a republic, a formula common in its end of the world. It was prosperous. It had the time and money to maintain civil records, which are useful for levying taxes, calling men to the colors, or imposing a corvée.
    Aloe kept those records in a small, stone-built structure. Our advent spread consternation.
    Surprise arrival was of no value. Nothing jumped out. There were records aplenty, stored according to no obvious system, to keep us busy for days.
    Elmo said, “I’ll put out a call for men who can read this stuff.” He barely managed himself, sounding out the characters.
    Silent walked in. Before I could put him to work, he signed, “Wait!” and did a slow turn to make sure there were no stinky men in brown hiding in the rafters. Then he signed, “I know where to find her.”
    Everybody babbled questions, negating Silent’s caution. He signed, “Shut up! Unless you are hungry for a taste of knuckle. Idiots.”
    He said the smoldering redhead from the other day was our target.
    “How do you know?” I demanded. In sign.
    Silent tapped the side of his head, pointed to his eyes, then his nose. Shorthand sign meaning he paid attention and he used his noggin when he smelled something a little off.
    He had seen something that was not just prime split tail. So he had stalked her. To the Temple of Occupoa. And had been watching ever since.
    “Predictable,” I signed. Rebels everywhere hide stuff under their houses of worship. “Let’s raid the place.” I was unconcerned about the wrath of Occupoa. The gods seldom defend themselves. “Send her off to the Tower.”
    Elmo agreed. “Along with our least favorite Taken.”
    Elmo and I were the responsible, sensible voices. We got shouted down. Goblin jumped up and down. Every fifth sign he deployed was a vertical middle finger.
    One-Eye insisted, “We’ll play a riff on Roses.”
    “Why?”
    “To gouge the Limper. Maybe frame him for something.”
    “Or we can just give him the girl and get him out of town.”
    Their enthusiasm faded as they recalled the truth of that bitter winter operation in Roses. Of circumstances that started the Limper on the road to now, notably unhappy with the Company.
    Silent signed, “Croaker makes a good point. Wimpy, but solid.”
    One-Eye, though, being One-Eye, smelled opportunity. But One-Eye had a hundred-plus-year record of being One-Eye.
    That considered, the level of enthusiasm plummeted.

    I refused to go to the Captain or Limper with their idiot plan. It relied entirely on the near-immortal, almost demigod Limper being too stupid to see through them. I said, “To even start that going we’d need something magically useful from our target. You guys got some of her hair? Nail clippings? Dirty underwear? Didn’t think so. Let’s go dig her out and turn her over.”
    I did, as noted, remain deft enough to avoid being the