That I could answer without hesitation. "Drake Crest. Colonel Lot. Second Battalion." I was here, after all.

"Yes. The Roses mercenary brigade. What was the Colonel's favorite drink?"

Oh, boy. "I was a pikeman, Colonel. I didn't drink with the brigadier."

"Right." He paced. I could not tell if that answer worked or not. Drake Crest hadn't been a flashy, storied outfit like the Black Company. Who the hell would remember anything about them? After a time. "You must understand my position. With that thing buried out there paranoia becomes an occupational hazard." He pointed in the direction the Great Barrow must lie. Then he stalked off.

"What the hell was all that?" Goblin asked.

"I don't know. And I'm not sure I want to find out. Somehow, we got ourselves into big trouble." That for the benefit of eavesdroppers.

Goblin accepted his cue. "Damnit, Candle, I told you we shouldn't come up here. I told you the Oar people would have an arrangement with the Guard."

One-Eye jumped in then. They really ragged me. Meantime, we talked it over with the finger speech, decided to wait the Colonel out.

Not much choice anyway, without tipping our hands.

Chapter Thirty-Two:
IMPRISONED IN THE BARROWLAND

It was bad. Far worse than we suspected. Those Guard guys were paranoid plus. I mean, they didn't have an inkling who we were. But they did not let that slow them.

Half a platoon showed up suddenly. Rattle and clang at the door. No talk. Grim faces. We had trouble.

"I don't think they're going to turn us loose," Goblin said.

"Out," a sergeant told us.

We went out. All but Tracker. Tracker just sat there. I tried a funny. "He misses his dog."

Nobody laughed.

One of the Guards punched Tracker's arm. Tracker took a long time turning, looking at the man, his face an emotional blank.

"You shouldn't ought to have done that." I said.

"Shut up," the sergeant snapped. "Get him moving."

The man who had punched Tracker went to hit him again.

It might have been a love tap in slowed motion. Tracker reached around the moving fist, caught the advancing wrist, broke it. The Guardsman shrieked. Tracker tossed him aside. His face remained a blank. His gaze followed the man belatedly. He seemed to begin wondering what was happening.

The other Guards gaped. Then a couple jumped in with bared weapons.

"Hey! Take it easy!" I yelled. "Tracker…"

Still in that sort of mental nowhere, Tracker took their weapons away, tossed them into a comer, and beat the crap out of both men. The sergeant was torn between awe and outrage.

I tried to mollify him. "He's not very bright. You can't come at him like that. You have to explain things slow like, two or three times."

"I'll explain!" He started to send the rest of his men into the cell.