“You mean Buttercup? You can’t enter him in a race. He’s a war-unicorn.”
“I know. Think about it.”
Chapter Twenty:
“Figure the last thing you would expect the enemy to do, then count on him doing precisely that!”
– RICHEUEU
THE Mob did not try another gambit right after their disastrous attempt to move in on Deva’s bookies. In fact, for some time afterward, things were quiet… too quiet, as Aahz put it.
“I don’t like it,” he declared, staring out the front window of the Yellow Crescent Inn. “They’re up to something. I can feel it.”
“Fats says they haven’t been around for nearly a week,” I supplied. “Maybe they’ve given up.”
“Not a chance. There’s got to be at least one more try, if for nothing else than to save face. And instead of getting ready, we’re sitting around on our butts.”
He was right. For days now, the team’s main activity had been hanging around Gus’s place waiting for some bit of information to turn up. Our scouting missions had yielded nothing, so we were pretty much reduced to relying on the normal Bazaar gossip network to alert us to any new Mob activity.
“Be reasonable, Aahz.” Chumly protested. “We can’t plan or prepare without any data to work with. You’ve said yourself that action in an absence of information is wasted effort, eh what? Makes the troops edgy.”
Aahz stalked over to where the troll was sprawled.
“Don’t start quoting me at me! You’re the one who usually argues with everything I say. If everybody starts agreeing with me, we aren’t using all the mental resources we can.”