“Means they don't like violence.”
Betrim had to think about that, working through what Anders had said. “So they tend towards the hurtin' of folk then?”
“Exactly. I'll have your vocabulary spruced up in no time,” Anders said with a worried smile.
“Would you jus' stop usin' big fuckin' words.”
“Sorry, boss.”
Betrim was about to tell Anders to stop calling him
boss
when the ageing man on the balcony spotted them and seemed to take an unhealthy interest followed by a worrying amount of pointing. “Selvin, have those two men brought up 'ere immediately.”
The man who seemed to be Selvin, a tall man with more muscle than the average bear looked a little confused. “These two?” he said in a brutish voice, also pointing at Betrim and Anders.
“Yes,” said the man from the balcony in a tone lacking patience. “Right away. Now!”
Selvin grunted and started towards them. Betrim's eyes in the back of his head told him there were also more than a few armed folk behind him.
“Think ya might a' been right,” Betrim said to Anders. “'Bout this bein' a bad idea.”
Anders unscrewed the top of his hip-flask and took a nervous swig. “Kind of you to agree, boss. A little late though.”
The inside of the building was as crowded as the outside. Folk of all types, rich and poor, male and female, blooded and common all crowded together placing bets with the clerks or playing cards and dice against each other or against the house. Folk bought drinks and other folk served those drinks and all of it was overseen by the Long Tooth company mercs. Betrim stopped counting once he hit ten and decided the number of armed guards stood at well over two which put him and Anders at a severe numbers disadvantage should violence ensue.
They were led up a twisting staircase that snaked back on itself again and again until they reached the fourth floor. From there they were ushered down a short corridor, with closed doors either side of them, and through the door waiting ajar at the end. Inside was a room lavishly decorated in finery. A large hearth with a crackling fire to drive off the seeping cold. A bookshelf full of papers that no doubt said something about something. Betrim had never bothered to take the time to read; struck him anything of importance could be said to his face. A giant rug coated the floor and looked to belong to the skin of some great, furry animal with black stripes on yellow. At the far end of the rug stood a large wooden desk and behind that desk sat the ageing man from the balcony. The tall, thin man with the warrior's tail was standing not far to the left of the desk. Two chairs were set out in front of the desk and the ageing man gestured to them with one hand.
Betrim and Anders exchanged a wary glance then sat. It did not go unnoticed to Betrim that there were four armed men standing just behind him.
“You look like a man in need of something to do,” the ageing man addressed Anders.
For a moment the drunkard’s mouth dropped but he regained his posture. “Ah... this is embarrassing. You want to be talking to him,” he pointed at Betrim. “He's the boss.”
“I'm not a boss,” Betrim complained.
“Right. But you are in charge, B.T.”
Betrim had to think about that. “I guess so. Yeah.”
“See,” Anders said with a nervous smile. “I just work for him. Or with him. He's in charge.”
“I see.” The ageing man did not look impressed.
“Reckon you must be Calston?” Betrim guessed.
“Reckon I must,” Carlston took a few quick drags on his pipe and then puffed out the smoke across the desk and into Betrim face.
Truth was the Black Thorn hated smoke. It made clothes stink, made eyes water and sting, got in the nose and made a man sneeze and tasted foul in the mouth. He'd never been able to figure out why folk took to it as they did but some men, those like Carlston who believed they were more important than they were, felt it necessary not only to smoke but also to inflict it upon others. Still, the Black Thorn weren't the type to show discomfort; even if the other folk in the room didn't know he was the Black Thorn.
“Some say ya a fixer,” Betrim rasped out into the cloud of smoke. “I happen ta be lookin' fer work. Not many of us, just a few but we got experience. Can do... all manner o' things.”
Carlston just watched for a while. He had a look about him that said he was capable of murder and worse. It was a look Betrim was well used to. Anders, on the other hand, did not look quite so used to it. He was sipping at his hip-flask at a rate that would empty it somewhere short of soon.
“You look familiar,” Carlston said after a long time.
“I get that a lot. Reckon it's the nose,” Betrim responded quickly.
“You know,” Anders began. “I once knew a man...”
Carlston interrupted. “In fact you bear a remarkable resemblance to a dead man I hear stepped off a boat just yesterday.”
“That so?” Betrim sniffed, almost spat but decided to practice some restraint. “Far as I know dead men don't walk around much... well, 'cept in the Five Kingdoms.”
“Fifty thousand gold bits,” Carlston said. He didn't blink, just stared the Black Thorn dead in the eye.
“Sounds a lot of money,” Betrim said, staring right back.
“Pfft,” the noise came from Anders but both he and Carlston ignored the drunkard.
“Fifty thousand bits all the way in Chade. Do you know what Chade is to me?” Carlston asked.
“Very far away?” Betrim asked.
“Aye, it is that. Also a right shit-hole.”
Betrim almost laughed. “Solantis is a paradise is it?
“Careful, Thorn. Solantis is my home.”
“I've been to Chade,” Anders announced despite not being asked. “Was there not more than a year ago, in fact. A very pretty lady threw me out of a window can you believe?”
“Yes,” said Carlston with a severe look at the drunkard. “Reckon I'm close to following her example.”
“Fact that you ain't killed me, packed my head in salt an' shipped it off ta Chade tells me ya got a job fer me,” Betrim interrupted. “Somethin' ya pet mercs can't do. Also tells me it's worth a few bits, enough ta make not killin' me worthwhile. So hows 'bout we start with how much it pays?”
Carlston smiled, cruel and wide and shook his head. “Pays nothing. You do this job for me and you get to keep on living.”
Betrim grunted. “Ain't much of an incentive ta do the job though is it. Reckon after I leave here I might jus' disappear. Reckon ya never see me again.”
Carlston smiled and waved a hand in Anders direction. “We'll be keeping your man. Sort of collateral as it were.”
The Black Thorn rasped out a laugh. “Keep him. Only met him yesterday an' don't much like him anyways.”
Anders looked up at that, his face caught somewhere between fear and hurt. “What do you mean you don't like me?”
Carlston sat back in his chair and stared at the Black Thorn with a curled lip. Men who thought they were important never liked to deal with folk below them. Betrim leaned forward, staring right back. “Hows 'bout we start again but with you tellin' me how much this job pays?”
Anders
“You accepted this job?” Henry asked her voice hard and flat.
“Already got paid fifty gold bits. 'Nother hundred an' fifty on completion,” Thorn responded. Both of them were staring at the Coliseum and neither of them looked happy or confident.
“That's a fair amount,” Henry opined with a whistle.
“Weren't sure,” Thorn said. “Dunno how much we used ta get paid fer jobs back in the crew. The Boss dealt with all o' that. Knew my cut was rarely more than a few bits.”
“The Boss was screwin' us all.”
“Thought that were jus' you.” Thorn grinned at Henry and gave her a little shove, Henry grinned back. Anders stood behind them, watching. He sensed there was some history between the two but he hadn't quite figured out what it was. They seemed to trust each other, at least as much as anybody trusted anybody else in the wilds, but Anders thought he detected a hint of tension. He unscrewed the top of his hip-flask and took a long swig. Liquid fire poured down his throat and into his stomach. He leaned back against the wall with a happy sigh and continued watching the two in front of him as they debated.
“He underpaid us. All o' us,” Henry spat into the street. “Remember all those stash houses he had? One in each town only he never told any o' us where they were. They weren't jus' fer folk ta drop off messages fer him. He took the majority o' what we got paid an' hid it. Had a small fortune in each place we ever visited, I reckon.”
“An' now he's dead no-one knows where all these bits are stashed, not even you.”
“Aye,” Henry agreed. “Not even me.”
“Shit.”
“Still not sure ya should have taken this job.”
“Didn't really have much of a choice,” Thorn said. “Was lucky ta get out of there with some pay an' Anders' head still attached.”
“It was threatened there for a while,” Anders said with a smile as Henry turned to look at him. “Though I was very stoic and faced my fate with grim determination.”
“Aye,” Thorn said without looking. “You was a real picture of manliness.”
“You look positively fetching today, my lady,” Anders said to Henry when she kept staring at him. “The very image of a Goddess.”
She smiled at him then, or maybe sneered at him, he couldn't be sure but for a moment she almost looked like a proper lady. Then she turned and continued watching the Coliseum. It was the hat that made her look proper, Anders decided; a wide-brimmed, dark-blue cavalier hat with a large grey feather decorated with streaks of black. The hat had the effect of drawing attention but obscuring the face in shadow underneath.
“Hear that, Thorn? I look like a Goddess,” Henry said. It sounded like she was still smiling but from behind Anders couldn't be certain. He decided it wouldn't be inappropriate to stare at her arse.
Thorn didn't respond right away, looked like he was thinking of something, scratching at his chin with his three-fingered hand.
“Why aren't you dead?” he asked. “Ya said this Carlston wants you in the grave on account o' stabbin' his nephew. Well I jus' so happen ta know first-hand he has a small army. Seems ta me he could have you killed any time he wants.”
“My tavern ain't in Long Tooth territory. The whole area belongs ta the Broken Blade mercs an' they ain't 'bout ta give me up seein' as how their captain, Kain, is desperate ta put his cock in me. If any o' the Long Tooths is seen in Broken Blade territory it would likely lead ta a fight an' that'd lead ta a turf war. Ain't no one wants that. Means so long as I ain't recognised anywhere 'round here, I'm good as untouchable. 'Cept fer the odd man he sends ta kill me but I ain't exactly some helpless little lady.”
Thorn grunted. “Explains the hat, I guess. We in Long Tooth territory now then?
Henry's hat shook. “Pits an' everythin' ‘round it is owned by the Brekovichs. Blooded family that own the province. Fer the most part they're happy ta let the mercs run this shit-hole, long as they get paid the taxes, but the pits bring in money, big money. Have ta be a fool ta walk away from that many bits, I reckon.”
“Some of the wisest men are often considered fools,” Anders said from the floor, not that he could remember sitting down, and he was sure his words sort of tumbled together in a slurred mess. “Can we go back to the tavern now?”
Both Henry and Thorn turned, looked at him for a moment then went back to considering the Coliseum. Anders sighed.
“So what's the plan?” Henry asked.
“Five days’ time there's ta be a match between two big names in the pit fightin' crowd. Only one of 'em; a black-skinned southerner goes by the name of Oren, is pretty much a sure thing. Carlston said he likes sure things, makes people bet a lot. Likes 'em even better when they lose, makes people lose a lot. So in four nights’ time we sneak in an' drug this Oren with this powder Carlston gave me. He reckons it'll slow the bastard down, give the other fella an advantage.”
Anders looked around the open, market-filled courtyard that surrounded the pits, squinting to make his eyes focus. Long Tooth mercs, Bloody Hands mercs, Rising Sun mercs, Broken Blade mercs, Snake-Eye mercs, and many more. Anders stopped counting how many mercenary companies had a presence around the pits; it was neutral ground, anyone could come here and everyone did. It was a veritable simmering pot of potential violence and that summed up the wilds almost perfectly in Anders’ professional opinion.
“That's the job. What's the plan?” Henry said her voice sharp and low.
“Uhh...” Thorn didn't look comfortable, he scratched at his cheek, fidgeted from foot to foot, sniffed, spat and backed up to lean against the wall next to Anders. “How many guards ya reckon they got?”
“Too many fer us ta jus' start a ruckus. Too many ta do it quiet,” Henry replied, not joining the others by the wall. Anders decided to go back to staring at her arse. It was a good arse, firm and perky and as small as the rest of her. Couldn't see it very well through her trousers but it was always possible he might get a better look at it later. After a few drinks would be best.
“What 'bout jus' sneakin' in with the rest of the folk then hidin' till it's all closed down fer the night?”
“Pointless, B.T.” Anders said from the floor, happy to join the planning side of the job if only for a moment. “The... um... contestants or fighters are cordoned off; kept away from the general public in a separate part of the pits. Very near the slave pens, I believe.”
Thorn nodded with a grim look on his face. “An' where there is slaves there is guards. Good thing we got four days ta come up with a plan, I reckon.”
Anders stopped listening to the planning and went back to considering his own situation. He'd never been part of a crew before; he wouldn't be part of one now except that Henry had agreed to keep him pretty lubricated as long as he kept her... pretty lubricated. That and he felt the need to make amends. Wasn't fair what he'd done and to get away scot-free while another man took the blame. Anders had been brought up better than that, not much better but a little bit better. If he couldn't own up to the crime and take the blame himself, and he was most certainly not about to do that, then he would just find another way to make amends. Besides, Henry and Thorn didn't seem like bad sorts; they both had a predilection towards violence but then most people in the wilds did. They also both had something else going for them; they were still alive despite all that had happened to them and, if even half the stories about the Black Thorn were true, a lot had happened to them. Anders reckoned he could use friends that had a habit of surviving these days, might be some of it could rub off on him.
