Farmer, Philip Jose – Riverworld 06 – ( Shorts) Tales of Riverworld

His men dispersed, melting into the dark streets and alleyways like a fine mist.

Dawn brought a cool gray sky, with a brisk wind that held the promise of rain. Robin, Little John, and five others sprawled on the roof of a building that overlooked the central plaza. Their bows were strung; arrows lay close at hand.

“He’ll come from the central doorway,” Robin was saying. He passed the little periscope Verne had made to each man in turn; they looked over the roofs peak with it, down into the plaza. “He’ll have at least four others with him, possibly more. The best time to strike is when they’re in the center of the plaza. I’ll give the signal. Agreed?”

“I’m not sure assassination is the answer,” Little John said.

Robin turned to look at his friend. “Abe, he’s a criminal and a murderer.”

Lincoln bit his lip.

“If I thought we could safely take him prisoner,” Robin went on, “I’d try it. You know I don’t want Capone free to raise another criminal empire somewhere else along the River. But I also have to balance our possible losses against his. This is the best way.”

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John Gregory Betancourt

Little John shook his head sadly. “Perhaps you are right. Even so, I find the idea of assassinating him distasteful.”

“It’s not murder,” Mutch pointed out. “He won’t die.”

“But he’ll feel it nevertheless.”

“True,” Robin said. He retrieved the periscope from Mutch and took up watch. A second later, the palace’s main doors opened.

Robin let his voice drop to a whisper. “Get ready. They’re coming out!” He selected his arrow and prepared to stand and fire. Around him, his men did the same.

“On the count of three,” he said. “Everyone aim for Capone. He’s the short, round-faced man in the center. One…two. ..three!”

And on three, all seven rose and fired.

Either the whistle of arrows in flight or the sudden movement on the rooftop gave Capone the warning he needed. The gangster jerked one of his men around, and that man rather than Capone took two arrows in the chest and one in the leg. It was Eichmann, Robin saw. The German staggered, a startled look on his face, then collapsed.

“Guards!” Capone was shouting. He grabbed another man as a shield. “Bring out da guards! Archers on da roofs! Guards!”

Robin fired a second time, just missing Capone’s head by a hand’s breadth. The gangster continued his retreat, still bellowing for help.

Meantime, Robin’s men had killed the rest of Capone’s lieutenants. Their bodies lay in the plaza, surrounded by growing pools of blood, arrows protruding at odd angles from their bodies.

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Robin calmly nocked a third arrow, took careful aim, and let it fly. This time he hit the lieutenant Capone was using as a shield, killing him instantly. The gangster continued to drag the corpse in front of him, though, and made it up the palace steps and through the doors unscathed.

“Get down!” Robin said. His men crouched out of sight once more. “Damn, damn, damn,” he said, pounding his leg with his fist. “I should have had him!”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Little John said.

Robin grimaced. “We’ll take him later, if we can,” he said. “It’s time to start the second phase of our attack. Mutch?”

Mutch produced flint and steel. Robin pulled an arrow with an oil-soaked rag bound tightly around its shaft. Mutch struck sparks until the rag caught fire, then Robin rose and fired. It arched across the sky, bright as a flare, a clear signal for everyone else involved in the plan.

“Let’s hope the others succeed in their tasks better than we did,” he said grimly. “I’ll lead the guards away. Little John, you stay here and keep watch, in case Capone comes back out. The rest of you, scatter and keep an eye out for danger. If you can, rally the people to our cause.”

With a cry of, “God save the king!” Robin rose and ran across the top of the roof. With an Indian war-whoop, he leaped to the next building’s roof. Shouts came from below as the guards spotted him and gave chase.