Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [161]
“Dag, you better come over here.”
Another man gravely hurt? Dag let himself be dragged down the slope, stones turning under his boots. “Why haven’t they hanged those fellows yet? I confess, I was hoping that part would all be over by the time we got here.”
“Well, there’s a problem with that,” said Barr.
“Not enough rope? Not enough trees?” Berry had rope in her stores, he thought. Although if they had to lend it to hang Alder, it might be best not to tell her.
“No, there’s—just listen.”
“I always listen.”
A circle of men sat on logs and stumps at the edge of the scree, near the line of moored boats. Wain was there, and Bearbait, and the other three boat bosses: Greenup from the big Oleana flatboat, who looked not much older than Remo; Slate from the Silver Shoals keel, a muscular man of an age with Wain; and the one named Fallowfield, the fatherly flattie from south Raintree. They seemed variously confused, worried, or angry, but all looked mortally tired after being up all night for the brutal fight. Followed by the uncovering of the cave’s full history of horrors in whatever confessions they’d collected from the bandits, possibly in even more gruesome detail than what Dag had obtained from Skink, Alder, and Crane. Crane himself now lay in his blankets over on the opposite side of the scree, shadowed by the leafless scrub, walked wide around by the nervous boatmen. Whatever the debate was, it had apparently been going on for a while.
“There he is,” said Slate.
An unsettling greeting. Dag nodded around the circle. “Fellows.” He didn’t add anything hazardously polite like What can I do for you? He squatted to avoid looming, and after an uncertain glance at each other, Barr and Remo copied him.
Wain, never loath to take the lead, spoke first. “There’s a problem come up with the bandits and this Lakewalker of theirs.”
Dag said cautiously, “We agreed that the farmers would look to the farmers, and the Lakewalkers to the Lakewalker. Luckily, we caught Crane early this morning while he was trying to get to Alder on the Fetch.”
Gesturing at Barr, Bearbait said, “Yeah, your boy here told us that tale. I hear you got Big and Little Drum, too. Good so far, aye.”
“Thing is,” Wain continued, “some of these here bandits are claiming they shouldn’t ought to be hanged, because they couldn’t help what they did. That they were forced to it by Crane’s sorcery.”
Boss Fallowfield put in, “Yeah, and once one of ’em claimed it, they all took up that chorus.”
“What a surprise,” muttered Barr.
Dag ran his hand through his hair. “And you entertained that argument for more ’n five seconds?”
Bearbait frowned. “Are you saying they aren’t none of ’em beguiled and mind-fogged? Because some of ’em seem more than a bit that way to me.”
And Bearbait would have seen the real thing, in the Raintree malice war last summer. Dag bit his lip. “Some are, some aren’t. Skink was beguiled, as you know.” Nods from all who had helped interrogate Skink when they’d been planning the attack yesterday, which was everyone but the late arrival Slate. Dag added, “Have you all heard anything yet about that cruel recruiting game of Brewer’s and Crane’s?”
“Oh, aye,” said Wain. Troubled nods all around seconded this, although some didn’t seem as troubled as others. It occurred to Dag that the game was a bit like the rougher keeler tavern duels, in a way. And yet…not.
“I don’t believe there was any of what you call sorcery involved with that—it worked for Brewer just the same,