by Adam Carter
Boris spoke little, but always delighted in the misfortune of others, so long as it was the fault of that other. Today it was pride and egotism which were causing him amusement.
“Youngsters,” he repeated, chuckling once more.
“We were young once, Boris.”
“A long time ago, yes.”
“We were probably just as foolish.”
“And there would have been people laughing at us. Now it is our time to laugh. Look at that one.”
A lad was carrying three sacks and was already wobbling all over the place.
“Four steps,” Boris said.
“Three.”
After two steps, the lad fell over and both men groaned at their lost wager.
Someone approached the lad and helped him to his feet. Boris was still chuckling away, although Crenshaw’s good humour vanished. The stranger was dressed in a broad hat and long coat, which was unusual in the sea port, where the sun beat down horrendously. Crenshaw knew coats served many purposes, the most insidious of which was to conceal weapons.
“Who’s this joker?” Boris asked.
“I don’t know.” Bounty hunter, was what Crenshaw was actually thinking.
Whatever the lad said, it caused the stranger to look up, directly at Crenshaw. He smiled, tipped his hat, and wandered back into town.
“Strange fellow,” Boris said. “Do you think he was flirting with us?”
“I think I need to get home.”
Crenshaw ran. The stranger had a head start, for Crenshaw had to work his way around the barrels and the piers before he could make it back to dry land. Wasting no time, Crenshaw ran on the most direct route which would lead him home. He had no doubt the bounty hunter would by this point be running, but Crenshaw knew the town and should in theory get to Moya first.
He tore through the streets, almost colliding with a fruit vendor, before throwing himself down an alleyway. It was here he knew he would be able to gain some ground, for there would be no obstacles in his way.
Running like he had never run before, Crenshaw turned and twisted down the alleyways until he broke back out into the street and ran straight into a man’s fist.
Crenshaw went down hard, rolled several metres and stumbled back to his feet as he saw the stranger straightening his hat.
“Howdy,” the man said, drawing two knives from concealment. “You’d be Jobek Crenshaw?”
“You’d be a bounty hunter,” Crenshaw said, noticing a crowd was gathering.
“I would. And the baroness will pay mightily for you alive. A little less dead, but I’m willing to take the drop in pay. All depends on how much trouble you intend on giving me, sir.”
Well, Crenshaw thought as he looked about for a weapon, at least the bounty hunter was a gentleman.
“I am obliged, sir,” the hunter said, “to introduce myself and to inform you as to the nature of my business with you. My name is Johan Ferrick, and there is a bounty on your head, placed by your lady and mistress, the Baroness Thade. The bounty has been posted for the crime, some seven months past, of assaulting her castle and murdering most of her soldiers. You – together with sorceress Karina Moya and bounty hunter Asperathes – committed vile crimes against the baroness before being chased away. I am here to collect said bounty.”
“You’re here to talk, by the sounds of it.”
Ferrick smiled, bowed, and lunged.
Crenshaw had not expected so speedy an attack and parried with his palm, slapping away first one blade and then the other. He hardly had the time to think before Ferrick’s foot connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling.
Having struck the first blow, Ferrick spread his arms, bowed and waited.
His chest heaving, Crenshaw got back to his feet. Murmurs surged through the crowd. They had all heard the bounty hunter’s words and Crenshaw had never known the people of the port to be so animated. Some were shaking their heads, but for the most part they were excited, with several even cheering him on.
He glanced to the side and saw his home. Moya appeared on the street at the exact moment he looked. She was confused, although absorbed the situation in moments. Her resolve hardened, and while he could see the concern to her eyes he could also see the power. Karina Moya was not someone to annoy. In all their time living at the sea port she had never released her anger, and Crenshaw had terrible memories of the town she had annihilated with a single scream.
Ferrick noticed the glance and said, “I should advise at this moment that …”
Crenshaw’s shoulder slammed him in the belly and the two went tumbling. The crowd roared approval and one of Ferrick’s knives flew away. Crenshaw grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting and slamming it into the flagstones until the other fell also. Abandoning his weapons, Ferrick jabbed two fingers into Crenshaw’s side and rolled away, returning nimbly to a crouch.
“I can see, sir, how you managed what you did at the castle.”
Crenshaw cast his gaze about for the knives, but they were gone, so he faced his opponent unarmed.
Ferrick reached back into his coat and pulled out a spiked mace. He swung with such ferocity that had Crenshaw not ducked through sheer instinct his head would have been split open. An ‘Ooh’ went through the crowd even as the mace struck the wall, sending a shower of brick dust into Crenshaw’s face. Ferrick swung again, not allowing his foe a moment to recover, and this time Crenshaw watched the attack come. Jerking backwards, he allowed the mace to pass him, then grabbed out, enclosing his powerful hand about the spiked wood and yanking it from Ferrick’s grip. The sheer force of the pull sent it flying away, so again was Crenshaw unarmed. But now so too was Ferrick.
Reaching into his coat, Ferrick pulled out a polearm.
“Where are you keeping all these things?” Crenshaw asked in exasperation.
With a cry, Ferrick lunged, holding the polearm with both hands, slashing the bladed end at his foe. Crenshaw ducked, coming up so quickly his shoulder struck the polearm, his entire body squeezing between the weapon and its owner. Ferrick stared at him in awe and in that single moment Crenshaw cracked his head forward, smashing the bounty hunter’s nose. Ferrick stumbled backwards, trod on his long coat, and fell hard upon his back. Snatching the polearm out of the air, Crenshaw turned it on its master and pressed the blade to his throat.
Ferrick’s instant fear abated and he smiled. “Good show, sir. I yield.”
Breathing haggardly, sweat stinging his eyes, Crenshaw paused, momentarily confused. What did he care that the man was surrendering? Ferrick had just tried to kill him and if he thought he would be spared just because …
“Ha ha!” Boris enthused, slapping Crenshaw so heartily on the back the blade almost passed through the hunter’s throat. “I knew there was more to you than you were telling, Jobek. A hero, eh? One of those who attacked the castle seven months ago? Aye, we all know about that day, let me tell you. Don’t we?”
The crowd burst into applause and Crenshaw was dumbfounded. Upon the faces about him he could see exhilaration, love, even hope. Their applause, their cheering, their frantic shouts – all were sincere. Crenshaw could not believe what he was seeing. He and Moya had been so careful in hiding who they were, and in one moment he had become a celebrity.
A hand touched his and he felt the polearm being removed from his grip. Moya smiled at him, overjoyed to see him alive, and clearly understanding the truth of the situation just as well as he.
“And you, Miss Moya,” Boris said, realising something. “You’re the sorceress, aren’t you? Ah, hiding in your shop selling poultices and herbal cures when in reality you’re Crenshaw’s little wizard.”
“I’m not his little wizard,” she replied good-naturedly.
“Well,” Crenshaw said, “maybe just a little.”
She hit him and they both laughed. He did not believe he had seen her look so happy and the sight warmed his heart.
“Go on, then,” Boris said. “Kiss the lass.”
“Kiss her?”
Crenshaw laughed, although even as he spoke the words he did not find them funny. Looking at Karina Moya, all he could see was the truth which had been staring him in the face for so many months.
Moya bowed her head slightly, a throwaway embarrassment reminding Crenshaw of when they had first met. Then she raised her eyes defiantly and threw her arms about his shoulders. Her lips were warm, moist, supple. It had been a long, long time since Crenshaw had kissed a woman and for a moment the thought frightened him. Then, amidst the roaring of the crowd, he decided to hell with it and surrendered to the moment.
She pulled away, grinning, and Crenshaw held her at arm’s length, trying to understand how it had taken him so long to realise he was in love with her.
Before he could say anything, Boris had placed a meaty hand upon each of their shoulders and said, “Plans, people. You tried to take down that witch before – no offence, miss – so when’s the rematch?”
“Rematch?” Crenshaw asked. “We’re not going back to …”
“It’s secret,” Moya cut in. “We’ve always been planning, Boris, but to tell everyone everything now … well, that would be rather silly.”
“Ha, quite so. Well, you two go celebrate. Leave this bounty hunter to me.”
Ferrick lost all colour to his face as townsfolk hauled him to his feet. “Now, now, sir,” he said. “There’s no call to kill me.”
“Kill you?” Boris asked. “I’m going to tie you to a barrel and put you on the next ship leaving port. If memory serves, its destination is, oh, three oceans away. Now, in miles that would be about …”
Crenshaw listened to his voice trail off and could not help but be relieved Boris had found a peaceful solution to their problem. After so long at war, Crenshaw welcomed anyone who sued for peace.
“Let’s get you back inside,” Moya said. “Get you cleaned up.”
“I’m fine,” Crenshaw said, and it was true. It had been a long time since he felt as alive as he did in that moment.
“Well, we’ll find something else to do, I’m sure.”
Crenshaw could tell by her face what she had in mind but he did not know whether he was ready for that. He had spent so many years pining for Maria, it was difficult to even think about being with another woman. The street was no place to have such a debate, however, and he allowed Moya to lead him back to their home. Some of the crowd began shouting obscene things they likely thought sounded endearing, and Crenshaw ignored them. As they closed the door on the crowd, his shoulders sagged and he felt he could at last allow himself to become Jobek Crenshaw.
Moya slipped her arms about his throat once more and smiled up into his eyes. She smelled intoxicating and Crenshaw was having a difficult time enforcing his resistance. He knew she sensed his misgivings because her eyes lit up with a playful teasing.
“This is the part,” she said, “where you take the beautiful maiden in your arms and celebrate your victory over the cruel bounty hunter.”
“Karina, I know what you’re doing, but I just … I can’t do this.”
“Because of Maria?”
“That’s one reason. I’m older than I thought, remember. I don’t actually know how old I am, but I’m probably old enough to be your father.”
“You’re as old as you feel, Joe. Not too long ago you thought you were twenty years younger.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not.”
“Then corrupt me, Joe. Right now I’m game for pretty much anything.”
He tried to refuse her, wanted to remove her arms from about him, but he did not. There were other things he wanted to do instead, and they were firing through his body far more fiercely than his desire to turn this woman away.
He kissed her, gently at first, but as she responded to his passion he lost himself in the moment. Her lips were as soft as before, although more welcoming now they were alone. When she had kissed him earlier, it had been a show for their audience, but here her affections were for him and him alone.
They moved away from the door, into the living room, laughing, giggling like teenagers. Moya took a step back from him, her smile sweet and promising as she tugged up her blouse with both hands. Crenshaw saw her soft, white belly revealed and his eyes moved up to follow the passage of the garment.
She stopped just as the blouse reached the under-curve of her breasts, and shrieked.
Crenshaw wheeled about, snatching the first thing which came to hand, and faced whatever threat was behind him.
Asperathes was lounging on the living room floor, picking dirt from beneath his fingernails.
“What?” Crenshaw gasped, his adrenalin pumping. “Asp, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, my hands have to be busy with something. Bad habits.”
“What are you doing here? In our house?”
Moya had dropped her blouse back over her belly and sat with a mixture of emotions ranging from embarrassment to fury. Crenshaw could not say he disagreed with her.
“I was passing through,” Asperathes said airily, “and thought I’d look in on a couple of old friends.”
“This is our house, Asp,” Crenshaw said angrily. “You can’t just let yourself in here and …”
“Oh, of course not, no. Absolutely right, old friend. Wouldn’t dream of doing it. Not normally anyway.”
“Why is this not normal?” Crenshaw asked, knowing he was going to regret it.
“Well, I – and think about the massive favour I just did you. I can guess which room you were headed to, so imagine your surprise when you would have got there.”
Crenshaw looked over to Moya, who rose and slipped out of the room, heading for Crenshaw’s bedroom. She returned with a stern expression. “There’s a corpse in your bed,” she said.
Crenshaw turned back to Asp. “Well?”
“Found that fellow sneaking in through a window,” Asperathes said. “I knew he was out to murder the two of you. The bounty’s slightly less with you dead, but it’s safer.”
“It was a woman,” Moya said. “Not a fellow.”
“Really? I never can tell with you humans.”
“A bounty hunter was here trying to kill us,” Crenshaw said, “and you killed her first?”
“No applause, please.”
“How did you know which bedroom we were headed for?”
“Pardon?”
“Which bedroom?” Crenshaw repeated. “We could have been headed towards Karina’s.”
Asperathes shrugged, but there was something in his eyes Crenshaw did not like. He looked back to Moya, who again walked silently from the room. She returned a moment later. “Another one.”
“Ah,” said Asperathes, “that was the man, yes? I knew there was a man.”
“So there were three people in the gang,” Crenshaw said.
“Nope,” Asperathes said. “Three separate hunters. Four, including me.”
“You?”
“I’m a bounty hunter, yes? It’s how I heard about the reward. I’m on the poster, though, so I’d have to hand myself in for the torture. Been there with the baroness, not inclined to go through that again.”
“All right, cut it out,” Crenshaw said, holding up his hands, his mood entirely soured now. “So you’re telling us, in your roundabout way, that we’re wanted by the baroness and our normal life is over.”
“Pretty much.”
“And you have a suggestion?”
“We kill her. We do what the people we’ve been mistaken to be failed in doing, and we kill her.”
“We wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Then I’m open to alternatives.”
“We lie,” Moya said.
“Lie?” Crenshaw asked.
“We become the people we pretended to be. The real attackers are long gone, probably halfway across the world by now or else trembling in their tankards. We become who everyone thinks we are.”
“And that saves us how?” Crenshaw asked.
“You saw the people out there, how they reacted.
They love us, almost as much as they hate the baroness. We go on the run, hiding ourselves from everyone, our lives are over. Remember what it was like in that first town, right after we escaped. You loved the attention, Joe. We could have that again. The people would protect us. We could move from town to town, village to village, port to port. We’d have allies at every turn and enemies always on our heels. We’ll be heroes of the people and we’d still have our freedom.”
Asperathes made a noise only an apepkith can make, which Crenshaw had always taken to mean the man was thinking. “She raises a good point. I still have my fancy silk attire, although admittedly it’s a little fancier now.”
“We’re not heroes,” Crenshaw pointed out.
“And does anyone need to know that aside from us?” Asperathes asked.
“Besides,” Moya said, “you’re still my hero, Joe.”
Asperathes rolled his eyes. “So glad now I filled the beds with corpses.”
Crenshaw was still uncertain. He had not seen Asperathes for so many months, and now he just dropped back into their lives and was about to uproot everything. Then he remembered why his friend had left them and asked, “What did you discover?”
“About?”
“You know what about.”
Asperathes glanced at Moya, but shrugged. “Nothing. Her story checked out. Her father was killed, there was a guy named Drake, and it all happened the way she said it did.”
“And?” Crenshaw asked.
“And nothing,” Asperathes said with a disappointed sigh. “I couldn’t find any discrepancy at all.”
“So we trust one another now?” Crenshaw asked. “If we’re going into this together, we have to start trusting one another.”
“I trust her,” Asperathes said.
Moya merely huffed. “Give me a reason to trust you,” she said.
“All right. You’re afraid you’re going to explode and kill someone should you ever run into that Drake fellow? Well, you won’t. He’s dead. Finished digesting him last month.”
Moya recoiled, but once she overcame her disgust she actually looked a little relieved. “I’m not going to thank you for that.”