Chapter 20

We got a late start. If there hadn’t been so much loot at the stables ... and not enough pack saddles ... we could have left immediately. Sorting took time. Timm kept moving things from the leave it pile to the going with pile, finally I just told her to have at it.

It meant we had enough shit that I was sure we’d attract petty thieves. Our two horses, their three horses, and six from the stables meant eleven going ... and we ought to have at least one extra for the damsel ... you remember ... I was here for the green folder rescue just the other side of Bridgetown. Timm ... no ... don’t tell me ... was a bonus.

Bridgetown was too small for a bank.

According to the folder, Bridgetown was named aft a man called Bridge. There wasn’t a bridge at Bridgetown. The Inn was Bridge’s Inn ... Bridgetown.

Just like the town with the bank ... Pain’s wick. Named after a lamp that burned its igniter. Painswick. Remember ... these towns and villages were kidnapped from dark to middle-ages England. The names don’t have to mean anything.

A few miles down the road ... trail ... path ... we came to a clearing. It was idyllic ... even the fire pit was stocked with wood. The spring that bubbled at the base of the rock cliff smelled great and the stream had an inviting pool ... just large enough for bathing. The tall grass surrounding the spring and stream was perfect forage for the horses. A short walk along the stream found that it ended at a waterfall with a beautiful view of a valley below. Guaranteed to suit the purposes of a bandit gang.

Too pretty to pass up.

I strung a rope between two trees, secured the horses, made up two very convincing pallets on either side of the fire and moved us to the woods.

“How do you plan on taking intruders?” Timm asked.

“Dead,” I said. “We’ll give ‘em first strike and take ‘em.”

“We have several bows,” she said. “I took them out of the discard pile.”

“I’m not so pretty awful good with a bow.”

“I figured. Leave ‘em to me.”

“What ever happened to the innocent damsel in distress?”

“Seven years ... that’s what happened. Seven years without a bath unless I got pushed in a river. Seven years of terror ... afraid I’d get caught. Seven years of wishing I’d stayed home,” she shivered. “Twice heroes tried to rescue me ... something always happened.”

We sat at the fire, watching the sun go down ... at last light we made a production of going to sleep. Then it was off to the woods to lurk.

“I wish the boss would get back. I never planned a raid before.”

“You’re doing fine.”

And a lot more just like it ... first mission jitters.

“Well ... get on with it. Just like we planned.”

We were far enough away from camp to hear the whispers of the comers. And come they did. Back lit from the camp fire. Four of ‘em. Made enough rattle to wake the dead, they did. Timm had three of the four down with those damn poisoned arrows ... why didn’t Val tell me about that? I’d be sure to ask when I got back. The three made less sound dying than they did sneaking. The forth one got scared and ran into me as he was fleeing. Same result. Dead.

Four more horses. The tracks led us to a farmhouse on the other side of the valley.