Book 02 - Bitter Gold Hearts by Glen Cook

found out Domina had
ransomed me, I had my mind made up that some of Mother’s
political enemies had grabbed me so they could twist her
arm.”
    “Tell me about that window. That sounds like a big lapse
on their part.”
    “Not really. It was closed with a shutter and the shutter
was nailed from outside. But the place was old and there was a
crack in the shutter big enough to see through. As it turned out,
my seeing what was outside didn’t matter.”
    “How so?”
    “The way they let me go. They just walked off and left me
there. I figured it out when they stopped feeding me.”
    “Did you ever see any of them?”
    “No.”
    “How did they get food to you, then?”
    “They made me stand facing the wall when they brought the
food in and took the old platter out.”
    “Then they talked to you?”
    “One did. But only from outside the door and then all he
ever said was that it was time to get against the wall. But
sometimes I could hear them talking. Not very often. They
didn’t have much to say to each other.”
    “Not even about how they were going to spend their shares
of the money?”
    “I never heard any mention of money at all. That was one
of the reasons I decided the whole thing was political. That and
the fact that, after the strangling, they treated me pretty gently.
That isn’t what I would have expected of kidnappers for
profit.”
    “It isn’t customary.”
    He had his eyes closed and his mind on the past. I don’t
think he heard me. “The only thing I ever heard that might
have had anything to do with the situation was the last afternoon.
Before they vanished. Someone came running into the place and
yelled, ‘Hey, Skredli, it’s coming through
tonight.’ I never heard what, though.”
    “Skredli? You’re sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “You think it was a name?”
    “It sounded like one. You think it might have been?”
I knew damned well it was. Skred is the ogre equivalent of Smith,
only it is twice as common. Skredli compares with Smitty. Half the
ogres in the world are called Skredli, it seems like. So much for
the lucky break.
    We let it sit that way for a minute while we split the remaining
contents of the pitcher. It was a good brew. I wish its like befell
me more often. But I usually can’t afford the price of a
sniff on my own hooks.
    “So. We’re almost to the end. What happened after
Skredli got yelled at?”
    “Basically nothing. As far as I know, for those guys that
was the end of it.”
    I waited for him to expand upon that. “They didn’t
bring me any supper. By midnight I was hungry enough to bang on the
door and complain. That didn’t do any good. I tried to sleep.
I did a little, then when breakfast didn’t come, I got up and
pitched a real fit. I pounded the door so hard I broke it open.
Then I got so scared they would beat me that I hid in my blankets.
But nothing happened. Eventually I worked up enough nerve to go
look out the door, then to slip out and explore.”
    “They were gone?”
    “Long gone. The ashes in the kitchen weren’t even
warm. I ate some scraps they left behind. After those hit bottom I
felt braver and decided to do some exploring.”
    Karl paused to look into his mug and curse because he could see
the bottom and there were no reserves to rush into the fray.
    I waited.
    Karl told me, “That’s why I know all about the
farmhouse. A pretty substantial place before it was
abandoned.” He gave me an exhaustive description, not a
peasant hovel but not a manor house either. “After I’d
looked around awhile I finally got up enough nerve to follow the
coach tracks through the woods. After a mile or so I came to a
road. A passing tinker told me it was the Vorkuta-Lichfield road, a
little over three miles west of the battlefield.”
    Amazing. Karl had been sequestered within two miles of the place
where Amiranda had bought hers and Saucerhead almost took a slice
too many. I was so astonished I may have blinked. “So you
just walked on