Chapter fourteenNath the Ron slid down from the line of bushes cresting the bank. After a last searching look along the road, I followed him.
“Well?”
“The fish convoy,” he said, and his monkey-like face wrinkled up in anticipation.
“There were twelve carts, mostly pulled by mytzers or Quoffas. I counted thirty-three guards—”
“I made it thirty. That seems a more rounded number.”
“There were three at the tail end, archers, hidden by the last cart who came into view after you slid down the bank.”
“Ah!” He shook his head. “Truly, this banditry is a business a fellow must learn as he learns his rote lessons at school.”
I didn’t mention that a mistake at school might mean a flogging; a mistake at banditry could result in you being shorter by a head or dancing on air.
Away to our left pas
