Pack leapt out of his chair at the lowing of the carnyx. “What’s going on?” he asked.
The mercenary dumped the rest of his soup into the fire, dousing the embers. He drew both of his revolvers and ordered Pack into the tent, where he crouched by the tent opening. The boy clawed handfuls of laundry out of the trunk at the back and climbed inside, pulling the lid down over his head.
He pulled out his father’s gun and folded himself up in the cramped box, trembling in fear, peering out through a thin slit.
“It’s Wilders,” said the mercenary. Pack heard gunfire crackling out there, and a strange and horrifying hooting and snarling. “Stay quiet. We’ll get through this.”
With that, the man ran outside into the chaos. Pack never saw him again.
—The Fiddle and the Fire, vol 2 “The Cape and the Castle”
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