A path opened as Spunk limped gamely into the hall, hatless and grinning, looking like he’d survived a war. Everyone mobbed him, the men pounding him on the back, the women cuffing his ears. The tears starting in my eyes caught me by surprise. I’d been more worried about him than I realized.

Rousseau appeared out of nowhere, his smile broad and relieved. He curled an arm around Spunk’s back. “Okay, folks, okay. Let the man breathe.”

Rubio bent to roll up his map, clutching it to his chest. We all backed off a step, expectant and eager, waiting for the boss to supply the traditional den welcome.

Rousseau delivered it like a quiet roll of thunder: “What took you so long?”

Spunk hooted, shoving matted hair off his forehead. He was scabbed and bruised, but the blood crusting his clothes had dried long ago. His left arm hung loose at his side. His pale eyes danced with cheery malice. “Got caught up wit’ soma dem Storm Worshippas.”

Murmurs and shivers all around. A jug was passed through the ranks and shoved into Spunk’s good hand. He drained it, splashing water down his chest. “Got anyt’in’ stronga?”

Rousseau gestured and someone ran for beer. “So how come you’re still walking? They couldn’t get the bonfire started?”

“Oh, dey was gonna crisp me ta holy cindas, alri’. But I tole ’em I wanna join up.” Beer replaced the water and he took a long swig. “Den dey all love me!”

Given my brush with Stormies, I caught Spunk’s implication if no one else did. Did Rousseau, this man who might once have been a priest? His skin was too dark to show a blush, and his laugh boomed as if at a joke.

Recalling that firelit tangle of naked limbs, I knew Spunk’s full account would be hair-raising and raunchy. But we’d have to wait for it. He was burning his last wisp of adrenaline and the beer didn’t help. He sagged against Rousseau’s side.

“Okay, let’s get that arm seen to.” Rousseau signaled two of his lads. “Jorge, Tang, kindly give the man a hand up the stairs.”

As he eased Spunk into their grasp, the scout Magda nosed through the crowd to tap his arm. “Update, Boss.”

“Say it.”

“Tall Tommy lost their lower floor. Gimme Shelter’s barn got flooded out, washed away some of their feed stores, but they’d brought the animals over to Empire before the storm.”

“Good thinking,” nodded Rousseau. Gimme’s cow and goats were our backup source of fresh milk and cheese.

“And Ladysmith’s wondering if they want to stay put with no land access,” the scout finished. “Long and short of it, they’re all talking about searching out new digs.”