A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [129]
“And just why are you bastards all laughing?”
Silence fell, except for the sound of Crindd getting up and messing with something at the hearth. At great length, he struck a spark into tinder and lit a candle. Everyone else sat up and arranged innocent smiles while he stalked over to examine his bunk.
“There’s somewhat in my bed!”
“Fleas?” Maer said. “Lice? Bedbugs?”
“Oh, hold your pus-boil tongue, you whoreson bastard!”
“Nasty, isn’t he?” Cadmyn remarked.
Crindd shoved the candle into a wax-crusted holder and began hauling the sheet off.
“Dried peas!”
“And how did they get in there?” Cadmyn said.
“Must be the Wildfolk,” Maer answered.
The moment Maer said the name he regretted it, because they came at the sound, or so he assumed, not knowing that the Wildfolk love a good prank, the meaner the better. Although it was hard to be certain in the flickering candlelight, Maer thought he saw them as little shapes of shadow, thicker than smoke but just as unstable. When Crindd began gathering the pulse and throwing it impartially at every man within range, the Wildfolk helped the warband catch what they could and throw it back. Maer, however, sat stone-still on his bunk and merely stared, wondering if Nevyn could make a potion that would bring him back to normal. At last Garoic rushed in, wearing a nightshirt over his brigga and swearing at the lot of them to restore order.
The prank brought Maer so much glory that of course he wasn’t going to stop there, Wildfolk or no Wildfolk. On the morrow he filled a bucket with water, threw in a handful of mucky straw from the stable, and balanced it on top of the half-open door of the tack room. When young Werryc maneuvered Crindd into going to fetch something from this room, Crindd flung the door open and dumped the foul and by then chilly water all over himself. For the rest of the day, he strode around in a humor as foul as his bath, and his mood wasn’t sweetened any when Maer barred the privy door from the outside and trapped him in it. He must have banged and yelled for a good hour before Adraegyn heard him and let him out. Crindd grabbed a rake from the nearby dungheap and came charging for the barracks; he might well have killed someone if Garoic hadn’t calmed him down.
Although Crindd had no idea who was persecuting him, Garoic wasn’t so dense. That very evening, he caught Maer as he was leaving the great hall and haded him off for a private word.
“Listen, silver dagger, a jest’s a jest, and I have to admit that I’ve had some good laughs out of all this, but enough’s enough.”
“But, Captain, sir, what makes you think I’ve got anything to do with it?”
“My eyes and ears. A warning, silver dagger: the long road might be calling you soon.”
Since being kicked out of the warband would mean disaster, what with winter coming on, Maer swore that the pranks would end. Unfortunately, Cadmyn came up with an idea that was too good to resist, and he also offered to take the blame for it if worse came to worst. Crindd had a pair of new riding boots, worked in two colors of leather, which had cost him all his winnings from a particularly lucky dice game. Maer and Cadmyn went down to a pond not far from the dun and found the two last frogs who hadn’t dug themselves under the mud for the winter. One fit neatly into each boot. Although Maer and Cadmyn were outside when Crindd went to put on his new boots, they could hear his shriek quite clearly. They were laughing themselves sick when Crindd found them.
“You foul bastards! I can see the mud on your brigga.”
From inside his shirt the frogs croaked.
“You’ve got a pair of pets, have you?” Maer said. “Well, flowers to the fair, and frogs to the warty.”
Crindd hauled back and hit him in the face. With a yell, Maer swung back, but he