1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [105]
Sharon's dad snorted. "Why, you, you . . . bluenose. Melissa Mailey, if I didn't know you better I'd swear that those were the words of a gen-you-wine conservative."
"Well, Tom Stone's a good man, but hardly what you'd call—"
"A good role model? Caring? Someone who'd put a roof over their heads and food on their table? Reckon I probably know Stoner a sight better than you do, Melissa. I figure those boys have had their fill of commune life, but I'm not even a little bit surprised they turned out to be decent young men. Now, me being such a pillar of the community, given where I grew up, that's a surprise."
"Well. Um. What I meant—"
"Leave it, Melissa," her dad said. "There's a difference between the wrong side of the tracks and wrong side of the law."
"It seems the young señor has marshaled his forces," Ruy said. "I have to agree here with Signor Nichols. There is a young man with a head on his shoulders."
The crowd Frank was leading had spread out to cover the street, and was walking slowly forward. The group at the front of the embassy hadn't noticed yet, being still too intent on their catcalls and jeering. Plus, Frank's people had been out of their sight from ground level, what with there still being a fair amount of traffic in the early evening. It was starting to clear, and carriage drivers and pedestrians and riders could see what was about to happen and turned down sidestreets and alleys and got into doorways.
"He's got them moving kind of slow," Rita remarked.
"Keeping them fresh if there is a fight," Ruy said.
"Or giving the other guys time to run away without one," Dr. Nichols said. "Given how Frank was raised, I'd put my money on that. And he'll not have guys with knives or swords in front, either. It'll be sticks and clubs."
Ruy nodded. "Also sensible decisions. Well, perhaps not the clubs. I might have counseled the use of blades, the better to encourage the enemy to run."
James Nichols shook his head. "I don't think Frank thinks that way. He might not object to handing out a few lumps, but he's going to draw the line at killing."
Sharon couldn't tell who was right from the second floor, with the dusk gathering, but the folks out front were starting to spot the oncoming crowd. And the ones who saw what was coming were peeling off from the bunch they were with and getting away. None too slowly, either. In fact, as Frank's impromptu army got closer, the rest realized they were outnumbered and began to run. Some of the front rank from Frank's people dashed after them, but Sharon suspected they wouldn't chase far. Down in the street, lit by the light from the embassy's windows, Frank waved up at what, to him, must have been just silhouettes. Everyone else with him had stopped to shout insults and jeers after the running rent-a-crowd.
When Sharon went down, followed by Tom, Rita, Ruy and her dad, Frank was grinning. "Not bad, for my first night as a rabble-rouser," he said, once greetings had gone around. "Problem taken care of, and nobody hurt."
"You've come a long way since last we met," Dr. Nichols said. "You were having a beer in the Gardens, as I recall. What happened to that soldier you were with?"
"Aidan? He made sergeant, he's still posted in Venice, I think," Frank said.
Sharon remembered the serious-faced Englishman. He'd joined the USE forces after being taken captive at the Wartburg, learned to read and joined the Marines. Since the Venice embassy was on pretty much friendly territory now, the guard there had been reduced and Sergeant Aidan Southworth was second-in-command after Lieutenant Trumble. Which was, unless Sharon missed her guess, doing a world of good for his career.
"So you're doing what Cardinal Barberini wants?" Sharon asked.
"Not from my point of view, no," Frank said, shaking his head. "Although I guess you could argue the matter either way. Somebody tried to organize a massacre at my place last