The Black Company: The First Novel of 'The Chronicles of The Black Company' by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

it.”
    I turned slowly, studied the legate. He laughed again, looking our way.
    One-Eye never figured it out. And I never told him. We have troubles enough.

Chapter Two: RAVEN
    “The crossing from Beryl proves my point,” One-Eye growled over a pewter tankard. “The Black Company doesn’t belong on water. Wench! More ale!” He waved his tankard. The girl could not understand him otherwise. He refused to learn the languages of the north.
    “You’re drunk,” I observed.
    “How perceptive. Will you take note, gentlemen? The Croaker, our esteemed master of the arts cleric and medical, has had the perspicacity to discover that I am drunk.” He punctuated his speech with belches and mispronunciations. He surveyed his audience with that look of sublime solemnity only a drunk can muster.
    The girl brought another pitcher, and a bottle for Silent. He, too, was ready for more of his particular poison. He was drinking a sour Beryl wine perfectly suited to his personality. Money changed hands.
    There were seven of us altogether. We were keeping our heads down. The place was full of sailors. We were outsiders, outlanders, the sort picked for pounding when the brawling started. With the exception of One-Eye, we prefer saving our fight for when we are getting paid.
    Pawnbroker stuck his ugly face in through the street doorway. His beady little eyes tightened into a squint. He spotted us.
    Pawnbroker. He got that name because he loansharks the Company. He doesn’t like it, but says anything is better than the monniker hung on him by his peasant parents: Sugar Beet.
    “Hey! It’s the Sweet Beet!” One-Eye roared. “Come on over, Sugar Baby. Drinks on One-Eye. He’s too drunk to know any better.” He was. Sober, One-Eye is tighter than a collar of day-old rawhide.
    Pawnbroker winced, looked around furtively. He has that manner. “The Captain wants you guys.”
    We exchanged glances. One-Eye settled down. We had not seen much of the Captain lately. He was all the time hanging around with bigwigs from the Imperial Army.
    Elmo and the Lieutenant got up. I did too, and started toward Pawnbroker.
    The barkeeper bellowed. A serving wench darted to the doorway, blocked it. A huge, dull bull of a man lumbered out of a back room. He carried a prodigious gnarly club in each hogshead hand. He looked confused.
    One-Eye snarled. The rest of our crowd rose, ready for anything.
    The sailors, smelling a riot, started choosing sides. Mostly against us.
    “What the hell is going on?” I shouted.
    “Please, sir,” said the girl at the door. “Your friends haven’t paid for their last round.” She sped the barkeeper a vicious look.
    “The hell they didn’t.” House policy was payment on delivery. I looked at the Lieutenant. He agreed. I glanced at the barkeep, sensed his greed. He thought we were drunk enough to pay twice.
    Elmo said, “One-Eye, you picked this thieves’ den. You straighten them out.”
    No sooner said than done. One-Eye squealed like a hog meeting the butcher.…
    A chimp-sized, four-armed bundle of ugly exploded from beneath our table. It charged the girl at the door, left fang-marks on her thigh. Then it climbed all over the club-wielding mountain of muscle. The man was bleeding in a dozen places before he knew what was happening.
    A fruit bowl on a table at the room’s center vanished in a black fog. It reappeared a second later—with venomous snakes boiling over its rim.
    The barkeep’s jaw dropped. And scarab beetles poured out of his mouth.
    We made our exit during the excitement. One-Eye howled and giggled for blocks.
    *   *   *
    The Captain stared at us. We leaned on one another before his table. One-Eye still suffered the occasional spate of giggles. Even the Lieutenant could not keep a straight face. “They’re drunk,” the Captain told him.
    “We’re drunk,” One-Eye agreed. “We’re palpably, plausibly, pukingly drunk.”
    The Lieutenant jabbed him in the kidney.
    “Sit down, men. Try