Chapter Text
Zizka should have known better when everything hadn't gone to shit right away.
Kathrine had sent word of rumblings, murmurs of a shipment. Supplies; arms and armor for Sigismund's forces. One of the wagons had been delayed for some reason, a small detail would be guarding it on its journey. Someone in charge had decided not to delay the entire supply line, so it'd be on its own besides the guards.
In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't be much. They didn't have the men to take on and disrupt the entire supply delivery, but every little bit counted. One wagon meant less for Sigismund, wasted silver, it'd spread them just a little bit thin without being a large enough heist to draw too much attention.
They didn't have long to plan. The delay would start the cart a half day behind, meaning they'd be stuck either camping on the road or traveling in the night, neither was ideal for the men transporting the goods. But it would work in the Pack's favor.
The plan was simple and effective, which meant it would go to shit. The Devil hated simple, which meant he'd try to act out and make a show of things. The others in the Pack were more like cats acting on their whims at a given moment. It was uncharitable to think of them as such, they got the jobs done and he'd trust them all in a fight when it came down to it.
So it was a surprise when the plan played out exactly how they hoped.
For the most part.
The cart made camp along the merchant's road just as the sun was beginning to set. The soldiers made their supper, talked, and laughed unaware that danger lurked so close to them. They set up a watch rotation, someone always by the cart and another keeping an eye on the road and the tree line.
As darkness deepened they crept closer, most of their usual armor spared for something more subtle and silent. Zizka felt naked and if their sleath didn't work then the melee would be all the more dangerous. But they took out the guards without a hitch and work through the camp like the practiced murderers they were. Nary a peep was uttered by their prey and soon enough the band was making the mistake of letting their own guard down.
They didn't know about the man in the cart. Not until the commotion started and Adder yelled loud enough to wake the dead.
It was too late by the time they made it, weapons drawn and ready to fight.
Adder was perched on the attacker, his eyes wide and wild, fists clenched around the man's neck.
A torch waved closer and Adder blinked, flinching away. Blood splattered his face and a pool was spreading from the dead man's head. A string of words flowed into the night air, a whisper that no one understood besides the name Janosh.
Adder scrambled to his feet, voice growing louder and more desperate as he approached a fallen body. The light revealed a familiar green coat and Zizka’s stomach dropped at the possibility.
Adder pawed at Janosh's back until he heard a groan and the faintest twitch of movement under him. Tension cut from his shoulders.
Then he turned and barked at them, gestured like mad enough so that they knew what he was saying, they were dense but not stupid. It spurred them into action and they helped turn him around.
“What happened?” Zizka demanded.
Adder launched into a performance, motioning to the cart, the man, and Janosh, mimicked a man with a dagger pouncing from the cart. Then he spat on the ground, rounded his fist into his hand grumbling something. His eyes darted to Janosh as Kubyenka and Henry turned him over.
Janosh was alive but his eyes were glassy and skin unnaturally pale. His movements were listless, like he was not fully present in his own body.
“He's been poisoned,” Henry announced after a brief look over.
Adder threw his hands up, clasped them on his head, and started pacing. Muttered curses and Janosh’s name. He passed the dead man and gave him a kick in the ribs as if he could still feel or as if it mattered.
“Did no one check the cart?” Zizka's words cast a stillness on the group. “Did no one check the fucking cart?” He repeated, louder. Firmer.
The job had been the pair's duty once the camp had been taken care of. Clearly they hadn't done that. What the fuck had they been doing?
Across from him, Adder's heavy brow furrowed, the familiar creases of anger scrunching across his face, defiant eyes glinting in the torchlight. Like a wild dog poised to snap and bark. That's what Adder would usually do, he'd claw and bite his way through verbal confrontations just the same as a physical fight, and Zizka was sure that was true regardless of the language barrier.
But instead, Adder's eyes wavered and flicked to the ground, lips curled back in a sneer. As much an admission of guilt as anything. And, again, Zizka wondered what they'd been doing that they had shirked this one small duty.
Before any answers or thoughts could be spared, Adder sprung once more into a flurry of action. He jumped into the cart, arousing a cacophony as metal shifted against wood and crashed together. He emerged Just as Henry finished pouring a phial of something down Janosh's throat.
“I've given him an antidote, but-”
Boots hit the ground and Adder marched up to where Janosh was lying and promptly began to scoop him up.
Janosh groaned, head lolling to rest against Adder as he was lifted. Henry protested. Adder spat a pile of words out at the boy. The back and forth was dulled by Dry Devil skulking behind the small circle of men, eyes cast to the horizon before darting to Zizka. Alerting.
Torch lights dotted the road in the distance, still just small specks, but they were growing steadily.
“We need to move.” The group all paused the bickering and shuffling. “Now.”
Henry helped Adder carry Janosh the rest of the way into the cart. They would hole up there for the journey, keeping an eye on Janosh. Zizka didn't have the energy to try to command Adder otherwise even if they could use another pair of eyes. Kubyenka would guard the rear, Dry Devil and Zizka at the front. The orders were dished out quickly, efficiently and no one complained.
Zizka rounded the front of the cart to catch Dry Devil's expectant gaze, brows raised with a wry grin. It ground on his nerves after everything tonight.
“What?” It was flat, unamused. He knew Hynek would press it. Use his voice to needle between the gaps in Zizka's armor, like he was so very skilled at doing after all this time.
“Janosh is down,” Hynek drawled. “You know what that means.”
No Janosh meant no one to speak for Adder. No Janosh meant attempting to grind orders through Adder's thick skull.
It meant dealing with a deeply frustrated Adder.
Zizka sighed, leaning his head back to stare up at the night sky.
“Christ above, help us all.”