Again, it had been agreed upon that we should assume the least threatening disguises imaginable to encourage our mark to attack us, thereby negatin' the necessity of havin' to find him. To this end, Pookie had gone to work with her disguise spell.

When she was done, we was all not only wearin' army-type uniforms, we was all males. This was decided on in case word was out that there was a team of hunters out lookin' for outlaws consistin' of two females and a male. The problems began when Pookie insisted, just to be sure we drew an attack, that we should be kinda scrawny, puny-lookin' males. After havin' suffered through the embarrassment of such a disguise back at Sherwood Arms, Spyder and I took the position that if we had to look wimpy, then it was only fair that Pookie herself should also adopt a similar appearance. I feel that the duration and bitterness of the ensuin' argument before Pookie agreed only showed that, as competent a pro as she was, she was still vulnerable to a woman's vanity.

Our plan was as simple in its conception as it was borin' in its execution. Basically we was to re-trace the path of the tax collectin' team what had been ambushed by this joker, actin' like we was a different unit what got separated and was tryin' to re-group with the others. Logically, by revisitin' the same locales, this should draw the same attack as the army types had suffered, except we'd be ready for it. In actuality, this meant walkin' a long way and stoppin' in a lot of communities where army types are not really welcome, and doubly so since one tax team had already been through. The ladies was sure that the garbage, both verbal and literal, which was hurled at us as we passed through was on account of our less-than-heroic disguises. I, on the other hand, felt that it was aimed at army types in general regardless of the details of their appearance.

Of course, I kept this opinion mostly to myself. The only thing worse than arguin' with a woman when she's upset is arguin' with two women when they're upset... unless, perhaps, it's winnin' that selfsame argument.

"I still don't see why we have to keep wearing these stupid disguises when we're out of town and in the country," Spyder sez for maybe the twentieth time. "It's not like anyone can see us."

For some reason, this time her complaint draws an answer out of me . .. probably because I am already irritated myself. Maybe it's because it is the twentieth time she's made the same complaint. Then, too, maybe it is because I have been stuck pushin' the wheelbarrow that is part of our disguises as tax collectors. While said wheelbarrow speaks highly of the completeness of our disguises, the fact that I always seem to be the one pushin' it is a commentary on the lack of sexual equality within our group.

"We wear the disguises in town so that whoever is passin' the word to our target will see us as easy marks," I sez, flatlike. "The reason we wear them in the country is that when somebody does see us, specifically that same target, that we will look like the same easy marks what was spotted in town."

"Is something bothering you, Guido?" Pookie sez, cockin' her head at me. "You've been acting kind of tense and irritable lately."

"Maybe it's because, for all our disguises and round about walkin'," I sez, "I get the feelin' that we're not takin' this guy nearly seriously enough."

"Oh, c'mon, Guido," Spyder sez. "A clown running around in a costume complete with a mask and cape? Against the three of us? What's to worry about other that finding him in the first place?"

"Take it easy, little sister," Pookie sez. "Guido knows his business, and if he's worried I think we should listen. Okay, Guido... Talk to us. What are you seeing that we're missing in all this?"

"Aside from the basic premise that the most dangerous thing you can do is to underestimate your opponent," I sez, "there are the particulars in this situation. For example. Give me a description of the guy we're after."

The two of them look at each other, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Uh-huh," I sez. "He is, and I quote, 'a guy in a black costume with a mask and a cape.' End quote. Beyond that, we don't know anything about his height, build, or age, much less how much education shows in his speech patterns. He could have been sittin' at the next table when we stopped for lunch and we'd never know it."

"I see your point," Pookie sez, thoughtfully.

"It's an old trick," I sez with a shrug. "Wear something noticeable that people will remember when you work, and chances are that's all they'll remember. Take it off, and you fade into the crowd again."

"So you're saying that this guy might be smarter than we've been giving him credit for?" Pookie sez.

"Either that, or he's got someone advisin' him that know what he's doin'," I sez. "And that brings me to another particular. The one I'm watchin' for, the one that has me really worried, is the guy standin' back and cov-erin' him with a crossbow."

"How so?" sez Pookie.

"You might have missed it, but, accordin' to Sergeant Smiley, that individual is packin' a crossbow not unlike my own."

"That's important?"

"Pookie," I sez, "have you taken a look at my crossbow?"

"Not really," she sez. "I mean, I've seen it. But it's just a crossbow."

"I keep forgettin' that you spend most of your time on Perv or Deva or some of those other hi-tech dimensions," I sez.

"Yeah. So?"

"So allow me to advance your education in the area of the low-tech weaponry you seem to eschew."

With that, I remove my mini-crossbow from my belt, remove the quarrel, release the tension on the bow, and toss it to her gently.

She catches it one handed, then turns so that she'll have more light on it as she examines it. Her casual glance turns into a close stare, and her lips purse in a silent whistle.

"This is nice ... very nice work," she sez.

"You don't know the half of it," I sez. "Try a snap shot. Don't aim, just instinct point."

She takes it in her right hand in a shooter's grip, spins, and levels it hip-high, focusin' on an imaginary target.

"Wow!" she sez in an awestruck voice. "That's balanced beautifully."

"Can I hold it?" Spyder sez.

After she gets the nod from me, Pookie passes it to her.

'That's a custom-made crossbow by Iolo," I sez. "It's the best I've seen in any dimension."

"Too bad he doesn't make one with a double bow that can give you two shots," Pookie sez, thoughtfully.

"He can do it," I sez, "but he doesn't like to. Talked me out of it when I asked."

"Really?"

"I don't know all the technicals," I sez with a shrug, "but it has something to do with a weakness in design when you go to a double bow. You don't get as accurate a delivery with either shot as you do with the single shot-model. I figure when you go to an expert, you should listen to what they have to say."

"Interesting," Pookie sez, retrievin' the weapon from Spyder and starin' at it anew.

"The point is that a bow like that costs roughly a year's wages for an average person in this dimension," I sez. "To own one, one either has to be very rich or very serious about one's weaponry. Since the guy in the opposition is currently in the highway-robbery business, I'm assumin' that he isn't rich. That makes him a serious armsman."

"Like you," Pookie sez, handing the beauty back to me.

"Uh-huh," I sez, reloadin' the weapon. "The fact is, I may even know him. The only ones I know who carry weapons from Iolo work for the Mob... or used to. Somehow I don't see this as their kind of action. Besides, Don Bruce, that's the guy who runs the Mob in these parts, has a deal goin' with the Boss to lay off the kingdom."

"Nonetheless," Pookie sez, "I see what you mean about taking these guys seriously."