by Troy Reaves
Suddenly the cozy warmth of his room felt odd. His simple pallet and the close furniture within the room that Mama Bear had furnished for his studies and comfort felt unsafe for the first time. Boremac opened his ears before his eyes, wondering if someone had been in his room, or worse, still was there.
Boremac felt a weight pressing his shoulders into the bed. “Seems like someone is feeling a bit...” his words were cut off abruptly by two small hands choking him. Whoever was doing the choking was not his previous night’s companion. She was too small for one thing, and too strong for another. The hands encircling his neck were barely able to reach around it, but this did not prevent his attacker from cutting off his ability to breathe. He assumed he was not meant to die just yet. The individual kneeling on his shoulders and choking him into silence could have much more easily slit his throat. He decided that cautiously waving his hands and hoping they would stop before they accidentally killed him might be the best course at this point. Perhaps, he thought, I should not open my eyes just yet.
The small young woman on the rogue’s chest noted his waving hands and tightened her grip. She then shifted one hand to allow some him some air before thumping him soundly on the forehead with the other. “Good to see you are awake.” She brought her free hand back to his throat before continuing. “Cheap companion. I wonder if she cost more to get into the bed or out of it.” Bringing one knee from his shoulder, she fluidly swept her leg back to plant the tip of her boot next to his family jewels. Boremac’s eyes sprang open as if pleading for mercy. “Good. I have your attention. I must admit I was hoping for more resistance, considering our last meeting.”
Boremac choked a single word past her grip. “Free...” He did not struggle and the word he spoke had the desired effect even if the meaning was not entirely understood. The encroacher loosened her grip a bit and he took the chance to fill his lungs. The young woman’s appearance surprised him. Her round face was framed in long, dark ringlets of thick brown hair. She had a pleasing button nose, slightly upturned, and dark brown eyes specked with gold. The size of her hips and bosom were well proportioned despite the lass’s obvious youth, early signs of womanhood. He had to mentally cut away her hair and focus on her eyes before he recognized her. When they had first met, this token lass must have been the one that had retrieved his blades after his capture at the hands of the urchins. So now he knew who she was but still had no idea what she wanted. He would find out soon enough, he was certain. Boremac was also certain he wanted to be able to walk straight after this encounter.
“Free you? Not quite yet, Boremac. First, I will choke the life out of you if you so much as flinch the wrong way. Second, keep your eyes with mine or your jewels will become crushed stones under my boot. Third, and most important, our leader is coming to you, and you will not harm him despite your words to us all a year ago. He isn’t coming after you. The idiot thinks he needs you. You have made quite a reputation for yourself, though I cannot reason why. We clear so far?” Boremac nodded slightly in answer. “Good.” She released her grip on his throat while settling her weight more evenly on his chest to pin him. “Do you know who he is?”, she said. Boremac shook his head slightly. “I will allow him the introduction when the time comes. He does not know I have been watching you for a while, looking for just this opportunity.” She smiled now. A smile that swept away the innocence of her features. It was a wicked thing that made Boremac frown openly in answer. “Funny that you haven’t noticed me but then again you to tend toward the taller women, not to mention older than me. Good to know you have at least that much character, though from what I have seen, little else to redeem you in your dealings with women.”
Boremac had had enough of her. He flexed himself just enough to flip her unceremoniously to the floor, narrowly catching her head before it smacked the wooden side of the bed. The sound of her buttocks hitting the floor would probably be ignored, he reasoned, but having to carry her out over his shoulder would be problematic. A certain unspoken etiquette needed to be observed to avoid having your throat cut, or worse. This particular inn had standards, as did the patrons. He flipped himself into a seated position using a sheet for modesty’s sake and plopped the young woman alongside him. “So, let’s you and I start over and talk like civilized people. I know it is an effort, but work with me here. Who the hell are you anyway?” The light chiding in his tone was not reflected in his eyes. There, darkness held sway, indicating that his grace at keeping her from impacting her head would not stop him from hurting her if she proved difficult. A small throwing dagger appeared in the floor, this one had come from beneath his pillow and he had spares in other places as well, near her dangling feet as if to reinforce the seriousness of her situation.
“Sgiana.” The single word seemed to satisfy his question. He tapped her abruptly on her knee as if calling for silence, treating her like an unruly child that had displeased him.
“Okay, good. Now I will share what I know of you and your man’s gang and you will fill in the gaps in my information. The more you tell me, the less chance you are found mysteriously bled out in someone else’s room. I don’t need the trouble of you being here at all. Do you understand?” He continued after her expected affirmation and almost smiled at the terrified look in her eyes. “The gang has been held together after our previous meeting by the sheer force of will of your leader. He wears the scar I gave him as a badge of honor. He had quieted things down a bit after our encounter, and his momentary loss of face among the urchins, but of late he has been doing more aggressive acts of thievery. These include, but are not limited to, breaking into some of the better off homes and businesses, shadowy acts of assault on little known individuals, and carving the scar I gave him in prominent places. I should have killed him for the last act alone, but his targets interested me. All this leads me to believe he could have some use. Someone is protecting him, that much is obvious. So, let us start with you telling me who he is and, more importantly who is protecting all of you and why.”
“He is the son the leader of Alchendia’s Path. That should answer two of your questions. His name is not important to you now. It is actually safer if you do not know it. He will give it to you when he is ready. Disarm and shame him if you must but do not harm anything but his pride. Truth of the matter is that his father is holding him back to protect him. The tighter the reins become, the more he struggles against them. He thinks the mark can serve him in two ways. Turn the blame toward you, if anyone looks for the responsible party after the way you were so publicly marked, and show his father what he is capable of with the little resources the gang can scrounge.”
Boremac frowned as she finished speaking. He did not like this new development at all. He had had brushes with the guild, like all independents, and had come out of them mostly whole, with a lighter purse being the greater loss most often. This could lead to a different level of pain he did not wish to experience. Boremac glanced at the table near his bed, thinking of the coin in the small hidden panel he had carved underneath it long ago. “What could this fool possibly need with me? He appears to be making enough trouble for himself without dragging me into it. The guild is not my problem and I have no desire to make it one. Your gang leader’s posturing is a perfect example of why I have not joined them yet. Too much maneuvering which accomplishes too little overall. The percentages taken are too high for the minimal protection they provide members foolish enough to be caught.” Boremac spat the last few words in disgust.
“He cares for me.” The woman child whispered so softly Boremac almost could not hear her. “That is why I am here. You will help him take his rightful place so that I can have mine.” The raw naiveté in her words forced a hard tone from him.
He put a hand under her chin, gripping a bit more tightly than needed, as he centered her eyes with his own. “You are his toy, little more. I doubt he even hangs up his trousers when you are with him. He will grow weary of you and leave you with nothing. Less than nothing because the pain th
at he causes you will keep you company for a very long time. I hope the hate that burns in your belly when the time comes will keep you warm.”
“I will make a gelding of him first! He has shown me secrets and claimed me as his own. This makes us...” She stopped as if suddenly remembering many small things, and finally understanding them, as she put them together. Boremac was at least glad she was not as blind as she first appeared. “I see, but this changes nothing. I will have him. If need be, I will own him. No one knows what I am capable of when misused. Be ready when he comes to you, thief. Take him from this town and teach him what he wants to know. Teach him what I need him to want. Make him understand only you and I are to be trusted. Your slippery mind should enjoy the challenge and you might even learn some things from that ‘boy’.” It was her turn to spit into the dust at their feet.
16
Royal Flush
A couple of years after Boremac and Sgiana had been informally introduced, he had to move his gambling and drinking out of the Thieves’ Quarter. Fist fights seemed to steadily increase, and his pockets were getting picked more than what seemed regular in and around his preferred haunts. Luckily for him, there was a fool born every minute and the farmers that were gathering in taverns closer to the gates of the city were fat with profit from sale of their goods and, well, somewhat dumb.
“Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, I feel I should bestow a bit of wisdom upon you for the coin you have lost. They say ‘lucky at love, unlucky at cards’ and from what I can see you all do well with the fairer sex.” There was some grumbling equally mixed with an undercurrent of laughter, so Boremac continued. “Women we all hold so dear, well most men anyway,” with this he gave a meaningful wink at one of the better dressed dandies at the table, bringing laughter from all, “are blessed by the Goddess with three traits we should keep in mind. They never forget anything for one. Where we are blessed with memories easily erased by drink, all sins are catalogued forever in female minds.” The men, almost as one, nodded vigorously. The rogue knew he had them now and pressed on. “Most of you older gentlemen know that the women are blessed with the uncanny ability to do several things at once. Think of your dear wife or mother, able to carry and suckle a baby all the while pacing the floor, waiting for you to return from this game for instance. She does not miss a beat in her duties to the infant as she picks up whatever is handy to sling unerringly at your already pounding head.” Several of the older men slapped the younger ones near them on the back, knowing that they would soon discover this truth first hand. “Which of course brings me to the last blessing gifted to all women at birth. Their accuracy with the bow and sling rivals that of trained men, and that without one lesson. This is essential for keeping men and children alike in line when we both run around like animals. Please, if you will, allow me to demonstrate.” Boremac smiled wolfishly as eyebrows cocked around the table. Three words set two items in motion. “Wench! Ale! Now!” The simple clay mug that flew toward his head surprised him no more than the fancy throwing dagger flipping through the air aimed at his shoulder. Boremac handily caught the mug in his left hand, setting it on the table before him. The throwing dagger was turned away by his right hand, landing within inches of the barkeep’s favorite ornament above the bar.
“ ‘Ave at you, I will!” The shout came from the barkeep and owner of the inn, a mountain man short for even his people, who had jumped up on the bar with practiced skill. A large hammer was in each of his hands and anger in his eyes. “I done told ya often ‘nuff afor! No weapon bearin’ in me in or out ya go! You specially, rogue! Ya cause me no end o’ trouble wit’ me servin’ lasses as it be!” The bellowing was accompanied by dancing from one foot to another. “Come an’ gather ya blade out me wall so I can clobber you while ya try!” The rogue knew better than to rise to the challenge. This was the innkeeper’s stomping ground, literally, and he knew he would be stabbed in the back several times before making the bar.
Boremac just smiled at him and kicked the chair out from under one of the young men at the table who was a new father. “You should be going home to that bride and baby you have been bragging about all night. I need the chair for a more fitting gambler. One with coin to lose.” The rogue then addressed the barkeep, ignoring the hard look of the man he had sent sprawling. The dismissal seemed to inspire a bit of good sense in him as he dusted himself off and picked up his worn jacket, making for the door. “It was not my blade, you old codger, so calm yourself. Shifty thieves cannot afford such finely balanced throwing weapons and you know I never was much for tossing away blades when I could avoid it. I believe someone was just looking for an invite to the game.” He now shouted into the tavern for all ears. “Let the one with such fine blades, and coin to match I hope, come and join us. There is an empty chair and an empty mug waiting. Would one of the fine ladies of this establishment please be so kind to bring a pitcher of ale for the table as well? My treat, with a healthy tip to come once it arrives.” Boremac thought there was no better way to introduce the heir to the throne of Alechendia than to do something he was known for not doing. Buy the group a pitcher of ale.
The pitcher arrived quicker than the owner of the blade. The serving girl was one of his favorites, mostly because she was one of the few that had not poured a drink on him. The young man who had shown his dexterity by tossing the blade took his time sauntering over, ignoring the barkeep’s curses. Boremac took him in, wishing he would turn down the theatrics a bit. He now had golden hair framing pale aquamarine eyes, and lips that would make any woman swoon. He knew it too, walking toward the table like he owned the place.
“Sit and ante up. I assume you have the hundred coin for the table judging by the balance of the dagger you winged at me. No introduction is needed. We prefer not to share more than ale and cards.” Boremac waited for the newcomer to take his place before continuing. “The game is straight two card ‘Dead Man’s Hand’. I assume you are familiar with the rules. Cards are three of the ones numbered one through nine. There are three Pages, two Queens and two Kings with the standard single Death’s Head card. The cards are dealt one down for the first bet and one up for the second around the table. You have three chances to win. Closest to twenty points, with faces being worth ten each, gets the pot. If two players have twenty with faces, highest faces ranked win. Most important, Death’s Head card always takes the pot because we all know no one escapes Death. Got it kid?” This brought a round of chuckles from the table at the newcomer’s expense who did not appear to like it one bit.
“Suits me. Since it is simple enough for these farmers, I should be able to manage. Any problem with me dealing the new hand since I am coming in blind to the shuffle?” Boremac slid the deck over in reply. The newcomer shuffled the cards at a slow pace at first, carefully watching the table. His pace quickened as his hands tossed the cards into one another without bending an edge. His expertise stunned the other players. Boremac tapped on the table, “Let me make a suggestion. I do not plan to be here long or leave this table empty handed so if you don’t have the coins to donate, you should take your free mug elsewhere to drink.” A few of the players left the table making their own excuses, leaving only two beside Boremac and the arrogant dealer. “Now we can see what the best of this tavern has to offer,” said Boremac’s accomplice. Four quick flips and the cards were spread face down before the players. Before anyone could check their card, twenty-five gold coins had made it to the pot, pushed forward by Boremac.
“Let’s make this quick, mister,” said Boremac. “I have no interest in your attitude, but I am happy to take your wealth, such as it is. You may want to check your card before you ante up.” The rogue took a healthy draught of his ale and sat back to watch the table. The newcomer wanted to see what Boremac was made of, and he was all too glad to educate the whelp. The dealer did check his card, as did the rest, before committing to the initial bet, but there was no other hesitation in matching Boremac’s ante. One dropped out at the high stakes but the thir
d, who was either desperate or far too trusting, pushed a matching pile into the stakes. “This should be interesting. Flip the up card, dealer.”
The dealer tossed a Queen to himself, a Page to the odd man left, and Boremac received a King. It appeared that Boremac’s partner had more respect for the rogue than he had demonstrated at first. He had set the cards well, but he didn’t control the deck as well as Boremac assumed he might. Boremac pushed his remaining coin into the pot and waited. The dealer matched the bet almost too quickly and spooked the other remaining player who flipped his up card over and took a deep slug from his mug as if to slake a dusty throat. “Looks like it is just you and me. Are you sure enough to match one more raise?” The dealer tossed a good size ruby on the table with the question, daring Boremac to stay in. It was his last mistake in underestimating the rogue. Boremac tossed a glimmering, finely cut emerald alongside the other gem.