by JF Smith
He replaced the coins in the bag and made sure it was secure in one of his pockets. Only then did he look up, and his shoulders sagged at what his eyes landed upon.
The first thing he saw was the vivid violet of the tabard with the panny-colored design of the Trine Range constellation — the livery of the Kingdom Guard. His brow furrowed and he said aloud to the lieutenant of the Guard leaning on the corner of the only exit from the otherwise pleasant alleyway, “Oh, now I truly am being hounded beyond reason!”
The lieutenant said, “You’ve cornered yourself, Gully Snipe. Honestly, I expected more from you than this.”
The lieutenant’s casual attitude irritated Bayle. He had been in a tight spot or two with this one before, and this guard was too big to stand against or fight directly. The lieutenant may have had only a half finger-length in height over him, but he was substantially broader, and knew how to use his weight advantage well. The swordsman eyeing him warily was still fresh-eared in the Guard, but advanced enough to already be a lieutenant.
The lieutenant’s hand went to the sword at his hip and he commanded, “Yield, Snipe! Your luck has ended! You have nowhere to run this time, and my squad is right behind me!”
The two of them stared at each other for a moment, each judging the situation. In the tension of the pause between them, Bayle scratched absent-mindedly at his left palm, which had chosen the moment to begin itching.
Bayle finally bent down and picked up a small pebble and threw it at the guard. It bounced off the thick breastplate of the guard’s cuirass and tabard harmlessly.
The Snipe said triumphantly, “Take that!”
The lieutenant’s shoulders squared even more, but his face seemed disappointed. “We’ll see who thinks this is a merry joke!”
The Gully Snipe abandoned his ready stance and frowned at the guard instead. He pointed at him and began, “Your...”
The lieutenant waited, then prompted, “What?”
“Your tabard has come disoriented, goodsir!”
As soon as the lieutenant glanced down, Bayle darted as fast as he could. He didn’t run for the alley exit, though, because that would have meant instant capture. Instead he ran for a cart that had been left untended near a courtyard wall between two townhouses. He ran and leaped up from the edge of the little cart, narrowly grabbing and catching a rope hanging down from a hoist beam at the top of the townhouse’s gable. His momentum swung him up to where his leg could grab the top of the courtyard wall and he climbed up on it.
The lieutenant realized his split-second mistake and was after the thief instantly. He climbed on the cart, but the Snipe threw the rope onto the roof of the building where the guard couldn’t get to it.
The Snipe ran along the wall even as the lieutenant was attempting to grab the top of it to lift himself up, but was unable to do so. The Snipe called in amusement as he ran to the far end of the wall, “For shame! Have you become that easily distracted?! Have you become this fat and lazy since joining the Guard of the Iisendom that it takes no more than this to get past you?”
The lieutenant made a few more futile jumps, trying to grab the top of the wall but still always a few fingertips short, while he cursed at the Gully Snipe the entire time.
Before he clambered onto the clay tiles of the roof at the end of the wall, Bayle turned and bowed politely to the swordsman below him. And in a flash after that, the Gully Snipe disappeared across the roofs to any part of the city that was without pesky guards who would recognize him.
Chapter 2 — More Piss Than Vinegar
Roald rose up from his knees, trying to not disturb the other supplicants and peniters pressed up against him at the top of the oratory tower. Prayer was one of the times he actually appreciated the greaves he wore as part of his uniform as they made the kneeling easier on his shins. The land may have been closely swaddled in night, but the sky was clear and the stars dazzling, even if a large portion in the west was obscured by Pelaysha, the trickster moon; her fat, dark disk was almost more a spot devoid of stars than an object in the sky of its own right. Pelaysha may have obscured a great many ancestors in the sky with her dark silhouette, but there was still a crowd gathered upon the tower for the other stars in the rest of the sky.
Roald, his own prayers complete, carefully threaded his way through the quiet throng to make his exit from the open top of the tower, making sure the sword at his hip did not strike or disturb the others kneeling all around him. He had spent fifteen minutes or so praying to the small patch of sky where the stars of his own mother and father now resided, visible in the sky along the silhouetted edge of Thayhold.
As always, he had spent his entire time in prayer asking his parents for forgiveness and understanding since they could see his whole life laid bare, having taken their leave of the world below and now watching him from above. He even ventured to ask for some support if they would see fit to send it to him. Mostly he asked this on behalf of his brother, but sometimes, like this night, he asked for a little for himself as well.
It was good to ask, even if he knew he’d likely never have their forgiveness or understanding, much less their support. But he was sincere in asking for it, and it always felt good to be near both of them again for a few minutes.
He made his way down the winding wooden steps of the stone tower, passing others on their way up for their own time at prayer. At the bottom, he nodded at the robed elocutor priest waiting to assist the faithful and making sure they contributed as well. Roald placed a belder coin in the collection box at the entrance to the tower for the church, earning a kindly smile from the elocutor, and then he emerged out onto the road. His duties complete for the day, both to the crown that employed him and to his faith, he was free to go home for a much needed long sleep.
He walked casually along the streets, emptier now since it was well after midnight, as he made his way deeper into the modest neighborhood where his home and bed waited. Most of the wooden and plaster apartments and homes were dark this time of night, but the occasional public torch along the street provided some illumination for those still out.
Roald sighed heavily and looked forward to taking the heavy cuirass off when he got home. The day had been very long, and because of the trickster moon’s position in the sky, it had been an exhausting one. It would still be hours yet before the brilliant light of Vasahle, the laughing moon, would rise rapidly over Kitemount for the second time that day, finally dampening the mischief and nonsense that the disruptive trickster moon invariably brought out in the people. If the laughing moon had only risen hours earlier, while he was still on duty, he would have had a much easier day of it.
There had been three different drunken fights in three different meadhouses that he had to help break up, one of which seemed to involve all ten people in the meadhouse at the time. His whole squad had had to step in to quell that one. He had also chased and run down a pickpocket that had been causing trouble along one of the busier streets near the Chalk Market. Then there was the servant girl that had been beaten by her employer, a well-to-do merchant, over a carelessly broken dinner plate. Finally, there was a dispute between two sellers in the Chalk Market, one a peddler of dubious looking salt meat and the other a poulterer. The two had been arguing over the location of the chalk line dividing their modest “stalls.” It had come to blows and the seller of salt meat began trying to free the chickens and geese that the poulterer was selling. By the time Roald had arrived to settle the tempers and haul off anyone who had gone too far, several other vendors and peddlers had been dragged into the increasingly violent argument.
And none of this took into account his run-in with the Gully Snipe in the alleyway earlier. Roald was still very frustrated by that encounter.
His occupied mind and tired body stopped in the street in front of his own apartment before he even realized he had arrived. He trudged up the narrow staircase between his apartment and the building next to it and entered the small space that was now his after his mother’s d
eath.
Roald was so tired that it took a moment to realize he didn’t need to light a candle. There was already a small fire burning in the sooty fireplace at the far end, and the room had been tidied up since he had left to go on duty. He had dared not hope to have the company, but was pleased and energized to know he wasn’t alone tonight in spite of all. The sight of the body asleep in his bed made him feel better and his heart give a small leap of joy.
He very quietly removed his belt and sword, then sat down in the simple wooden chair, hoping it wouldn’t creak in protest. He continued removing his violet tabard and the thick leather cuirass, his boots and greaves, and finally his tunic and breeches, until he was stripped down to nothing but the barecloths around his waist. Already he felt a hundred pounds lighter from the weight of the day and duty.
He crossed to the table and poured some water into a glass bowl the color of pale lavender. The bowl would normally be too extravagant for someone like him to own were it not for the fact that his father had made it in his glasswork below the apartment. That was back when his father was alive and before the glasswork had been rented out to an iron monger instead. He took a scrap of cloth, wet it in the bowl and wiped himself down, then dried his back, chest and legs with his own breeches before laying them over the chair to dry again. He dampened his mahogany-colored hair with water from the bowl and then combed it back out with his fingers, feeling more refreshed than he had all day.
Roald stared at the hair, the color of a young fawn, sticking up from under the rough sheet as he cleaned himself, the firelight dancing across the unmoving form in the bed. He warmed and dried himself by the fire for a moment more, then crossed to the bed, lifted the sheet, and climbed into it carefully.
The bed wasn’t large, and even if he tried to keep a modest distance, the two occupants would still have touched, not that this displeased Roald at all. He had spent most of his life sharing this bed with the person already in it, although it was far less frequently lately. Roald lay on his back and relished the simple pleasure of the touch that the warm body next to him generated. The ardor he felt for his unexpected bedmate sent a warm shiver down his spine.
The head of flaxen hair stirred slightly at the intrusion in the bed, and shifted to make room, and then grunted through a stifled yawn, “Mrmphf... once again... I find myself... hounded beyond reason.”
On a different day, Roald would have found the comment amusing, but he started to fret over something else instead. “So,” he asked, “do you really think I’ve become fat and lazy?”
The young man next to him rolled in the bed to fix his dark hazel eyes on him. His bedmate laughed and said, “No. I speak truthfully, Roald, when I say I have to be keener of mind and swifter of body when you give me chase than any of the other guards. You should be more than just a lieutenant.”
Despite his promotions and the lauds of his fellow guards, how Roald’s brother saw him far outweighed any other opinions of his strength and prowess he had heard, and the comment in their earlier encounter had prickled at his skin all day. The reassurance felt good to him and he was able to relax more now.
“You were careless today, Bayle. I spied you and followed you with no effort. And my squad was not far behind me, as I said in the alleyway. No matter how much I hate the idea, if I catch you, I will haul you in and throw you in the gaol. Our agreement still stands,” said Roald, shifting the smallest bit closer to him in the bed, hoping for their bodies to touch a little more.
“I would expect nothing else of you. But... you still have to catch me first, and you see how much sleep I lose worrying about that!” said Bayle, yawning again. Roald felt the breath on his shoulder as Bayle spoke and it sent fresh quivers through him. He sorely missed the young man next to him when he vanished on his frequent wanderings, and his presence again made him as lightheaded as a strong wine. “And call me Gully, please,” Bayle added, almost sadly. “I am what I am, Roald.”
Roald turned onto his side so he could see his brother better. He said, “You were hard on the guards, too, Gully. You mustn’t be so rough with them.”
Bayle’s eyes flashed and he said more sternly, “That one punched me hard! I lost a tooth today and my jaw is still aching! Yet you chide me for how I treat them?!”
“You hurt Ebenhen today! He had to go home to rest for the remainder of his watch.”
“Who’s Ebenhen?” asked Bayle.
“The guard you threw overhead when you slid to the ground! I know you don’t intend to and it’s naught but a game to you, as it often is to me, too, to be honest. But my fellow swordsmen are fiercely determined to catch you, and they fear you at the same time, which makes them dangerous to you,” insisted Roald. “When they do catch you, it’s going to go very bad for you and I may not be there to help you. Go easy on them, Gully, for me and for yourself.”
“I didn’t want to use that move, but they have all learnt nothing from one another. If they still fall for it despite all the other times I’ve used it, it is not my fault!”
“Just try not to hurt them, please,” begged Roald. He paused a moment, then mentioned, “I prayed to the stars tonight that I could one day get you to join with the Kingdom Guard.”
Gully dismissed the idea with an impatient “pssht.”
“I’m serious, Gully. The Guard could use someone with the talents and skills you have. Let the Snipe disappear for a year; you’re good at that already! Go to stay in Kindern or up north in Coldstone where no one knows you, or even back in the bogs for that matter. Then come back and join up after everyone has forgotten all about you. You could stop all this pointless wandering and searching. Make a real life for yourself!”
Roald stopped, fearing he had said words that would sting his brother. He knew that Gully’s searching and wandering was far from pointless, at least to him. He didn’t want to press too hard, either, for fear of insulting him or hurting his brother’s feelings.
Gully, or Bayle, lay quietly, staring up at the roof overhead. Roald felt sure that his words had caused pain now, something that he would never intentionally do. Not to the man next to him. Never.
“I’m sorry, Gully. I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” said Roald.
“He’s my father, Roald,” said Gully. “It’s not pointless, you know.”
Roald watched Gully’s hand reach unconsciously to his throat, which it often did at the mention of his father. He was relieved to hear that Gully’s voice didn’t sound hurt like he thought it would. He was unsure of doing so, but he reached up from under the sheet and used a finger to run the hair from Gully’s forehead, touching him gently. He expected Gully to pull away, but he didn’t. Roald savored the privilege of the touch as he watched the green and brown play in Gully’s eyes and the pink in his brother’s fair-skinned cheek. Roald said, “I know you miss him, but it’s been ten years now.”
“I can’t give up on him, even this late,” said Gully. “You can’t know what it’s like to have your father just disappear one day. Having your father die after the accident in his glassworks was, I’m sure, painful for you. But it’s a kindness compared to having him simply not come home one day. He was the only person in the world that I had, and he vanished! I must find him!” Gully sighed and conceded, “Or... at least... find out what happened to him.”
Roald knew that Gully was right; it was hard for him to fathom what Gully had gone through with his father.
Gully added, “Besides, you just want me near so you can keep trying to turn me knockered, climb into bed with me, and have me play the fairer for you!”
The spark was back in his brother’s voice now and Roald was glad the room was dark and the firelight hid the blush from Gully’s mention of his secret shame. But his brother was only teasing him. Gully may have kept him at arm’s length for ten years on, but it was never because of Roald’s unnatural attractions. His brother never once made him feel bad or less because of it. It was a secret his brother would never betray, no matter the cost. It
made him love the man next to him all the more, even if that love could never be returned the way Roald wished for every day. The longing permeated every bit of him as he lay there.
“Listen to you...” said Roald, trying to lighten the mood as his brother Bayle had, “always full of piss and vinegar... far more piss than vinegar, as usual. And who says we can’t take turns playing the fairer? Hmm? There’s a variety for you that you’ll never get from the girls you spy upon from a distance and sigh at, to be sure!”
Gully nodded and grinned, “Aye... aye, I suppose you speak true!”
They rested in an easy silence before Gully spoke again. “Do you ever see old Almonee?”
“On some occasions, I do,” said Roald.
“I saw her today, near the Bonedown. She looked thin to me. I gave her a few coins. Your mother would want you to give her some, too.”
“You did? Stolen ones?” asked Roald.
“Of course. Do I have any other kind?” chuckled Gully. “And my income’s provenance has certainly never stopped you before when I’ve brought food or ale back.”
This got to the heart of why Roald didn’t hold Bayle’s criminal vocation against him. His brother stole little to begin with, even though his skill would allow him to steal much larger amounts if he wanted to. And what he did steal, he shared the majority of with those around him, especially those in need of a little help. And the largest bulk of his brother’s time, when he was out wandering and searching, he fended for himself in the woods and bogs, and no one was better at it. Nevertheless, Bayle’s crimes, if even half were discovered, would still be enough for him to hang by a coarse rope noose, but hardly any of the stolen money or goods were missed to begin with. It seemed to Roald that the punishment, if ever administered, would be out of balance with the crimes committed. But even then, his brother never tried to justify what he did, nor did he seek to shirk the label of his choice of careers.