“Aye,” muttered Fielder. “A very ‘pointed’ sense of humor, generally applied to family feuds. Heir today, gone tomorrow.”
Then they heard someone outside the entrance to the inn. It had been braced shut behind them after they entered it. “Madam!” shouted a voice. “Is everything all right? Do you need us?”
Madelia screamed, “Yes you idiots, come in and kill them!”
“Okay,” Melville continued quickly. “We’re going across this room, into the dining room, across the table, and out the back door. Broadax and Hayl go low, we’ll go high.” Glancing down at the reproachful eyes of the dead customer, and then at his still-writhing associate, Melville added, “Shoot to kill as we go. It’s only fair.”
Hayl nodded. Broadax growled, hand-ax held ready in one hand and shotgun in the other. Fielder pulled a two-shot derringer from an ankle holster and said with a nod, holding a weapon in each hand, “Here’s another reason why a handgun is better than a woman. Your primary handgun doesn’t mind if you have a backup.”
With a flurry of accurate .45 rounds Melville led, “_____!-_____!-_____!-_____!,” followed a split second later by Fielder’s deadly pistol fire, “_____!-_____!-_____!” and the “_____!!-_____!!” of Broadax’s blind, double-barreled fusillade of double-ought buckshot. The Sylvans responded with a satisfying spray of blood and groans, and a feeble rattle of return fire punctuated by Aunt Madelia’s curses. Fielder took several shots at her, but she was retreating quickly up the stairs and her vitals were above the field of view and unavailable. As she turned to the left at the top of the landing, Fielder got a side view of her most massy visible target centered in his front sight and pressed off a round. He got a brief and very satisfying glimpse of the bullet creasing both cheeks as she screamed and ran out of view with a bloody line etched across her hams.
The four officers raced across the room, their monkeys again blocking bullets with a feeble, futile, half-hearted “eek,” of protest. Then they moved into the long, narrow banquet hall, dominated by the fully laden banquet table, whose occupants were arching their necks to observe the dinner show next door.
“Where are we running to?” asked young Hayl.
“Where isn’t important,” answered Fielder, “from is what matters.”
They entered the dining room just as the inn’s entrance door opened up and Aunt Madelia’s reinforcements finally arrived.
Their monkeys sat backwards on their shoulders, ready to block incoming fire. Fielder and Melville jumped onto the table and ran along it, stepping on hands and plates, and trailing apologies and a few cautionary gunshots to their rear, “_____!-_____!” Broadax and Hayl ran straight underneath the table, barely ducking as Broadax’s monkey dismounted and scampered along beside her, stepping on toes and not bothering at all to apologize. The captain and his first mate jumped down at the other end, joined by their midshipman, marine officer, and her monkey. They raced through the kitchen and out into the alley.
“Now there’s something I thought I’d never see,” said one old retired Westerness navy officer, putting down his silverware and turning to his dinner companion as Fielder and Melville thundered past.
“Wot’s ‘at?” replied his friend, a crusty old retired marine NCO, as he set his tipped wine glass back up and reached for the bottle.
“Those new .45 autos. I thought they’d never get them into service,” the old navy officer replied, handing his wine glass over to be filled. “I’m happy to see that they seem to be working well.”
As they raced down the alley Fielder asked, “Anyone know where this alley goes?”
“It goes away from all them people wats chasin’ us!” answered Broadax. “An’ away from yer crazy gurlfriend!”
“Good, good! In that case, I like this alley.”
They cut around a corner, and ducked into the alley’s alley. Then they froze, motionless and panting. Their wool dress uniform jackets looked good, but that was about all you could say for them on a warm night like this. After all the excitement and exertion they were now wearing several pints of cold, clammy water. Hayl felt an additional discomfort and humiliation as the contents of his bowel and bladder sloshed around in his boots.
“Oh man. Ohmanohman,” gasped Fielder, starting to slide into a funk now that the impetus of danger was over. Glossing over the fact that it was his ex-girlfriend who had tried to kill them, he began to vent. “He takes us halfway across the galaxy, desperate battles at every turn, then, when we are finally safe, he gets us into one more battle, with our allies!”
“Yeah!” whispered Broadax, with fond admiration. “Excitin’ stuff does happen around our cap’n, eh?”
“One of my favorite writers put it something like this,” Fielder muttered in reply. ” ‘If complete and utter chaos were lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting “All gods are bastards.’ ” Find anything to eat?”
“Aye, I grabbed a nice bit o’ meat, ripe off the bone, wot seemed ta dropped down inta a feller’s lap,” she said, holding out her hand-ax with a large chunk of ham firmly impaled on it. “And ye?”
“Leg of . . . beef I think. The owner seemed to have lost his appetite. Bit heavy-handed on the sauce though.”
“Mmeephk,” contributed Broadax’s monkey, holding sausages in its mouth and three hands, and a bullet-riddled belaying pin in another, as it used its four remaining legs to scamper back up on Broadax’s back. Once there, it kindly handed a sausage over to the bewildered, reeking Hayl.
Young Hayl looked at them in wonder. He didn’t think it was natural to worry about food when you’re being shot at. Certainly his reaction, and the response of many individuals in similar circumstances, took place at the other end of the digestive tract. But these were veterans of many battles. They were warriors who could take a larger view of things. He even understood that they were doing these things to impress each other. Certainly he was impressed. The one acted like he was timid, but it was timid like a timber wolf. The other tried to make people think she was crazy, but it was crazy like a fox. And the captain tried to be calm, but he was calm like the sea.
“Here,” said Melville absently, handing a lit cigar to Broadax, “only slightly used I think.”
“Hot damn!” she said, taking the pilfered stogie lovingly.
“Daniel,” said Melville, “I fired most of one full magazine in the initial barrage, another in the retreat. I’m pretty much down to one mag. How about you?”
“Yesh shir,” Fielder replied through a mouthful of beef, “shame here, and my back-up gun is empty. Damn,” he added, swallowing his mouthful and continuing in a reflective, muttered monologue, “I knew two extra mags wasn’t enough. If you carry a gun, people call you paranoid. That’s ridiculous. If I have a gun, what in the hell do I have to be paranoid about? If I carry more than two extra magazines, now then you know I’m worried. Grandma BenGurata always told me, ‘There are three things in life you can never have too much of. Money, good looks, and ammunition.’ But then, that’s another reason why a handgun is better than a woman. Your handgun will stick with you, even if you’re out of ammo.”
Melville turned to Broadax and commented, “Speaking of someone sticking with you, nice job tonight. I didn’t even know you had that little ax.”
“It’s like Mr. Fielder an’ ‘is handguns, sir,” she replied with a smile and a blissful puff of cigar smoke. “A girl can’t have too much cutlery.”
They jumped as two figures silently materialized from the darkness beside them. “It’s Westminster and Valandil,” came a low voice. A voice they were very happy to hear.
“Lady Elphinstone sent us,” continued Valandil quietly. “She said it looked as though a run-in with thy future in-laws was in the offing.”
“In-laws? Dear Lord, that’s right. If I were to marry Princess Glaive, those two demented aunts would be my in-laws! After tonight I’m having second thoughts about having anything to do with that crazy family.”
“Aye,” said Fielder quietly, “well said, sir. The better part of valor and all that. Stick with your pistol. After all, a handgun will function normally every day of the month.”
“Aye,” said Melville as they began to move quietly down the alley and away from the recent battle. “Perhaps it’s all for the best. Damn I’m tired.” It had truly been a roller coaster of a day.
“Yes, sir,” drawled Westminster with a flash of white teeth. “Ah must agree completely with Mister Fielder. Women are far more trouble than they’re worth, and your handgun won’t mind if you go right to sleep after you’ve used it.”
* * *
As they approached the Ship—their only real refuge, if even that was truly safe—Fielder conducted a quiet monologue. “In truth, we’re all a little bit ‘Hoka.’ That’s the genius of that genre. In our own minds, we are all playing little roles based on our favorite mythos, with ourselves as the heroes. You guys are trying to convince yourselves that you’re living in the Tolkien mythos, but after tonight I’m not sure that’s the right one.”