Out of the Darkness

Bembo’s jaw dropped. “Sergeant Pesaro? Powers above! If this isn’t old home week, I don’t know what. But you were in Gromheort. How did you get out alive?”

Pesaro shrugged. “I hadn’t quite starved to death when the Unkerlanters took the place-advantage to being fat, you know-and the fellow I surrendered to let me do it instead of blazing me. I got lucky there, I know. They didn’t feed me much in the captives’ camp, but they finally let most of us go-easier than hanging on to us, I expect. I’ve walked across most of Algarve to get here, on account of an awful lot of the ley lines still aren’t working the way they’re supposed to.”

“You were lucky,” Bembo said.

“If you want to call it that,” Pesaro answered. “How about you? You were in Eoforwic when the Unkerlanters took it, so I didn’t think I’d ever see your ugly mug again.”

“I got wounded-broken leg-when the Unkerlanter attack opened up,” Bembo said. “We still had a line of retreat open from the town, so they shipped me out. I don’t think Oraste got away.”

“Well, he always was a tough bastard,” Pesaro said. “If Swemmel’s men caught him, he’ll have the chance to prove it. And if they didn’t catch him, he’s bound to be dead.”

Bembo climbed the stairs and held the door open. “Come on, Sergeant. Show ‘em you still know what’s what.”

“All I know is, I’m cursed glad I’m still breathing,” Pesaro said as he wearily joined Bembo at the top of the stairs. “There were plenty of times when I didn’t think I would be.”

“Who you jawing with, Bembo?” the desk sergeant asked. “You arrest somebody?”

“No, Sergeant,” Bembo answered. “Look, here’s Sergeant Pesaro, back from the west. If he can make it back, maybe more people will.”

“Sergeant Pesaro?” The desk sergeant sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He got up and stared at Pesaro. “Why, by the powers above, it is. Welcome home, Sergeant. Always good news when another one comes back.” He glanced over at Bembo. “Well, almost always.”

“And I love you, too, Sergeant,” Bembo said sweetly.

Hearing Pesaro’s name brought constables and clerks out from the back rooms of the constabulary station. They pounded the newcomer’s back, clasped his wrist, and congratulated him on coming home again. They never paid that much attention to me, Bembo thought resentfully. But then he smiled to himself. Let them fuss as much as they want. I’ve got Saffa warming my bed, and Pesaro won’t be able to match that-or he’d better not, anyhow.

Even Captain Sasso, who was in early, came down from his lofty office to greet Pesaro. “Good to see you, too, Captain,” Pesaro said. “I wondered if I ever would, after you sent me west.”

That brought a moment of silence. Bembo hadn’t dared say any such thing to Sasso. The constabulary captain licked his lips. Everyone waited to hear how he would answer. At last, he said, “Well, Sergeant, back then none of us thought things would turn out the way they did.”

Now it was Pesaro’s turn to think things over. Grudgingly, he nodded. “All right, Captain, that’s fair enough, I guess.”

When Bembo went back to his flat, he found Saffa getting ready to go in to work. She burst into tears when he told her Pesaro had come back to Tricarico. She seemed so delighted, Bembo wondered if she had slept with the sergeant before he went west. But then Saffa said, “If he can come home. .” She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. If he can come home, my little bastard’s daddy can come home, too, and then the powers below eat you, Bembo. That was what she meant, that or something enough like it not to matter.

Bembo almost said something sharp in return, but at the last minute he decided to keep his mouth shut-something that came close to constituting an unnatural act for an Algarvian. He kissed her, patted her on the backside, yawned, and headed for the bedroom. He was tired. Saffa, he thought, gave him a grateful look for not picking a fight. Just before he fell asleep, he heard the door close as she went off to the constabulary station.

He got a rather different welcome when he came back to his flat a couple of mornings later. Saffa stood just inside the doorway. “You son of a whore!” she shouted, and slapped him in the face hard enough to rock him back on his heels. “You stick it into that cheap slut, and then you want to touch me? Not futtering likely!” She belted him again, backhand this time.

Though his ears rang, he did ask the right question: “What in blazes are you talking about?” He’d nearly said, How did you know? That would have lost the game before it even started.