“I’m far from royalty,” Astrid challenged, her voice low and cold. “I don’t know what your problem with me is, but you’d be better off keeping a civil tongue in your head.”
“I’ll tell you what his problem is.” A booming voice filled the bar.
“And here we go,” Gormer announced, stepping away from the table. He rounded on the man whose head nearly scraped against the exposed and dusty rafters. “Mortsen! Good to see you, my old friend.”
The big man pushed Gormer aside and stumbled to the table, reeking of liquor. He never took his eyes off Astrid, who calmly watched the mammoth like an incoming tide.
Mortsen picked up one of the mugs and drained it in six gulps. With a gurgling belch, he tried to set the mug back down but missed. The ceramic shattered on the floor.
With lips pulled back from rows of gold teeth, Mortsen pointed his finger at Astrid. “You’re the one who messed up my entire business model. No more bandits to work with because they’re all honest now—working on farms or part of your stinkin’ army. The assholes I used to rob aren’t assholes anymore, and nobody wants to rob them because they’re suddenly all nice to the people they used to hate. Everybody’s making money but us. Smuggling used to get people what they needed. Now, you made the system all fair, and nobody needs a good criminal anymore.
“Worse still, the shit sockets I loved to rob and kill on occasion got chased away by your do-gooder, holier-than-thou bullshit! You tell me why I shouldn’t thrash you right now and kick you out of my bar?”
“Your bar? This is my—” the bartender objected. Mortsen winged a full mug at him without looking. The aim was fair. The bartender ducked.
“That was my ale…” Gormer muttered.
“Pay your loan back!” Mortsen shouted to the barkeep while still staring Astrid down. “Until then, stop crying!”
Astrid nodded her head with a mild smile of amusement. “Quite an entrance. Excellent show,” she said, giving some mock applause. She never took her eyes of Mortsen as she gulped her ale and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Listening to your bullshit is thirsty work. If you’re quite done, why don’t you sit down, and we can talk about maybe giving you some business.”
“Well that’s the problem now, isn’t it? You want to give me the business? I ran the underworld in this town before you got here.”
Someone in a dark corner scoffed and muttered, “Bullshit.” Another scratchy voice clearly mumbled, “Full of yourself…”
That set Mortsen off. Even drunk, he was lightning-fast. He threw the table aside in a single motion and lunged at Astrid. Moxy and Tracker jumped away like startled cats, claws extended. The bar patrons—even used to violence, scrambled at the sudden explosion.
Astrid had been in more fights than she could count by the age of fifteen. A lifetime of martial arts training turned Mortsen’s powerful attack against him. She stood and in a fluid motion, flipped him over her shoulder.
The impact of his body on the stone floor shook the entire building. Dust rained down from the rafters and into the ale. She hyperextended his arm and bent his wrist back painfully.
Mortsen laid on the ground and gave a strained, phlegmy laugh. “Well, maybe we should discuss this in the bedroom if you want to play like that.”
Astrid applied pressure to the wrist, taking it almost to the breaking point. She thought she hid her discomfort well when Mortsen barely flinched.
She looked at Gormer for help, “This is your guy? Really? He’s as batty as a temple attic.”
“Bats do not behave like this,” Tracker observed.
“Hey, I’m down here,” Mortsen said. “You made your point. You let me up, and maybe we can talk.”
“Maybe nothing,” Astrid ground out. “I’m letting you up, and we’re leaving. Trifle with me again, and you’ll never be the same.”
“Let me talk to him, Astrid,” Gormer asked. Something in his eyes told her to agree.
Astrid released him. The big man had a few inches on her, which was a rare thing for Astrid. He flashed his gold teeth again. “Come to my office. I’ll give you five minutes.”
He turned and walked past the bar with Astrid and the rest following.
“My office,” the bartender objected meekly.
Mortsen slapped a bottle of liquor off the shelf without looking. “Pay your debts,” he growled.
The bartender frowned at the shattered bottle of top-shelf liquor and wrung the filthy rag in his hands.
The surly giant pushed open a heavy wooden door and led them into a surprisingly clean office. The stone walls were whitewashed, and there were several padded chairs in proximity to a polished wooden table.
“This is the only room that fuck bucket keeps clean,” Mortsen grumbled. “Find a seat. Let’s talk.”
His tone had changed. He still didn’t sound friendly, but he was not overtly hostile either. Mortsen walked behind the desk and sat in a chair that did not seem happy to have him by the way the wood creaked.
“But first,” Mortsen cautioned, pointing a gray, calloused finger at Gormer, “is anyone listening?”
Gormer’s eyes glowed white again, and he cocked his head left, then right as he probed minds. “No. Lots of random thoughts and... wow, they’re really unhappy with you…”
“Yeah,” Mortsen acknowledged. “That’s why I put on the show. It needed to look like I’m getting over on you or you’ll probably not walk out of here without the whole quarter trying to take everything you got.”
Astrid finally relaxed and shook her head. “You had me fooled.”
“That’s because it wasn’t all a show. They’re unhappy with me because the jobs have dried up. They’re unhappier with you. Whose colossally stupid idea was it for you to come here, anyway?”
Gormer gave Astrid a “told-you-so” grin. Mortsen shook his head. “The game has changed, Protector. You gotta think like a head of state now. You can’t just walk around like one of us.”
She was humble enough to accept the truth, but not humble enough for it to piss her off. “I can’t argue with you there, Mortsen. But this is important. We need your help.”
“Well, of course, you do.” The gold teeth flashed again. “But you still owe me.” Astrid arched her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Yeah. I was there when Lungu tried to stretch that gorgeous neck of yours. I was the one who gave Gormer cover in my hideouts and funded his little spy operation.”
“Oh, shit,” Gormer said. Blood drained from his face. “With everything going on, I forgot…I told you I’d take care of you...”
Astrid registered confusion. It took a moment or two before she realized what was going on. “I had no idea,” she said. “I do owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“No,” Mortsen said. “You owe me a debt of debt. And I’ll take that in hard, cold coin, with interest. You’re lucky I have a soft spot for this crazy, skinny billy goat.” He nodded at Gormer, who visibly relaxed in his chair. “But that only goes so far. I have standards to uphold as a respectable outlaw.”
He leaned back further in the chair, and it creaked ominously under the stress.
“I’ll put you in touch with my treasurer,” Astrid said. Mortsen snorted.
“OK,” Mortsen replied. “Now that’s out of the way let’s move on to this new thing you want my help with. And I’ll start by pointing out, you weasel cock.” He casually gestured to Gormer. “That you didn’t remember you owed me, but you remembered who to come to when you needed something.”
“We’ll make it right,” Gormer claimed. “But now we need information. What do you know about Compliance Officer Jank’s mercenary crews?”
“I know most of them are dead along with Jank himself.” Mortsen gave a terrifying grin at the statement. “Thank you, by the way, Astrid. I killed a lot of them myself, but they were like cockroaches. You’ll need to be more specific about what you want to know.”
“We think they did a job last fall,” Gormer explained. “
Where they were hired on a side job to capture Charlie.”
“Your giant?” Mortsen asked, genuinely interested. “That makes sense. I heard rumors for years about hunters and trappers coming back with stories about big, four-toed footprints seen in the wild mountains way down south. I always thought it was a brown bear. Those fuckers can get big.”
Mortsen thought for a moment. “What makes you say it was a side job?”
“Because when we found the compliance team, they were torturing Charlie. We couldn’t figure out why they had him. There were more than twenty mercs and just two wagons. That’s way more labor than you’d need to take punishment taxes from villages.”
“Could be,” Mortsen hedged. “I may have some leads for you.”
Astrid waited. Mortsen added nothing more. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen the inside of the fortress. I think it would be nice to visit directly to collect my coin. I hear the food is good, too.”
“Is that what it will take to find out what you know?” Astrid asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“It’s a start,” Mortsen replied, pinching his chin with thumb and forefinger. “If you’re dealing with mercs, you might need some more intensive consulting.”
Chapter Seven
Back to the Fortress
They slipped out the back door after Mortsen made a show of smashing all the chairs in the room. Astrid and Gormer got into it too, shouting random insults and throwing broken pieces of wood against the door. Mortsen left the desk alone.
“It’s a good piece of furniture,” he explained. “Don’t want to sacrifice it for theatrics.”
The stables were located down the alley behind the tavern. They found the old man grooming Gormer’s old mare. The straw was fresh and the water for the horses clear.
“Good job, Nick,” Mortsen said. He flipped the oldster a coin that was snatched from the air with surprising agility.
The stable operator bit it with his molars. “A double-full coin,” he cackled. “I’ll drink well tonight!”
“Yeah,” Mortsen said. “Stay out of that shit bucket.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tavern they’d just left. “You can afford to drink away from the Quarter tonight. If you play your cards right, I’ll have more work for you soon.”
Two other horses were there, but Mortsen didn’t collect either as the others mounted theirs.
“Where is your horse?” Astrid asked.
Mortsen put both pinkies in his mouth and whistled. “He’ll be along shortly.” Mortsen walked as the others rode up the narrow lane.
Less than a minute later, the sounds of galloping hooves echoed down the street.
A large, chocolate stallion with a pale, white triangle between his eyes came around a corner and made a beeline for Mortsen. The horse nuzzled his face and nearly pushed him against the wall as he clattered his hooves on the cobblestone.
“That horse loves you,” Moxy said with a bright smile.
“He ought to,” Mortsen replied as he stroked the horse’s neck. “I stole him from Lungu’s stables three years ago. That swine cock didn’t even notice—handsome animal like this. He collected horses for show but didn’t care about their lives.”
He hauled himself up and was careful not to plant his heavy frame too hard in the saddle. He smoothed the mane while the horse adjusted his posture to take the weight.
“Let’s go, Boy,” Mortsen said. The horse took the lead proudly, shouldering the other horses aside.
“He’s got some ego on him,” Gormer observed. “Kinda like you.”
“Keep talkin’, dog-tit sucker,” Mortsen rumbled. “The more shit you throw at me, the more I add to your bill.”
“You just let him wander around the quarter?” Astrid asked, changing the subject. “Aren’t you worried about someone stealing him?”
Mortsen gave one of his scary smiles. “The last person who tried has a dent in his skull, slurs his speech and walks with a limp.” He chuckled ominously and praised his mount. “That’s my Boy. Won’t let anyone else ride him.”
“What’s his name?” Gormer asked.
“Weren’t you listening? It’s Boy.”
“Oh,” Gormer replied. His face tightened as he fought some biting comment. Astrid didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand.
She shot him a warning look.
They rode out of the quarter in silence. Astrid had her hood up again, but the increased traffic showed no reaction—if they even noticed her. They were more concerned with the rough-looking, very large man who smiled at them from a mouth full of gold teeth.
“You wanted people to see you riding to the fortress,” she accused.
“What, me?” Mortsen feigned innocence. “Why would I want that?”
“I don’t know,” Astrid confessed. “I don’t have time to figure you out. Frankly, if you’re not out to harm the people I’m sworn to protect, I really don’t care.”
“You need to relax more,” Mortsen replied. “Get out and see the world.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” Moxy responded. “Gormer didn’t want us to come along.”
“Well, he was right on that count,” Mortsen reasoned. “But I’m glad he brought not one, but two pixies. I heard you were around, but I haven’t seen any of your people for a long time.”
Mortsen made a series of what sounded like bird calls, clicks, and high-pitched squeaking. The sounds rose and fell in a wavy rhythm. Astrid was struck by how similar it was to the sounds Charlie made.
Moxy gasped, and Tracker sat tall in his saddle and took down his hood.
“You speak our language?” Tracker nearly shouted his half-question, half-statement.
“I’ve spent time with some of your people in a land far north of here.” Mortsen’s voice grew softer, and he stared at a distant point up the mountain.
“How far north?” Moxy asked with rapt expectation. “Our people range very far in small groups. My cousin and I are from one of the larger communities to the southwest of here.”
“I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember the language. That beautiful sound…” Mortsen snapped out of his reverie. “But it was long ago. The pixies are good people. Too good for me, though.”
“You may not know us as well as you think,” Tracker said. “We are not so much concerned with good and bad as doing right by nature.”
The Mortsen Astrid had met earlier came back stronger. “I am unnatural,” he muttered, staring straight ahead with burning eyes.
Gormer rolled his eyes and shook his head when Astrid looked his way.
They rode the rest of the way to the fortress grounds in silence. As they neared the stables, the stable master accosted them.
“Where did you get this horse?” the lean, sinewy man demanded. He carried a horseshoe and tack hammer in his hands.
“Bought it at auction,” Mortsen said coolly. He dismounted and towered over the man who refused to back down.
“I know those markings and—”
“Dunn. It’s OK,” Astrid said. “This horse is well cared for. It’s in the past.”
Dunn gripped his hammer until his knuckles went white. He looked from Mortsen to Boy and back again. The horse seemed indifferent. When Mortsen let him go, he ambled right over to the water trough and politely drank with the other horses.
“He doesn’t like to be tied to a post,” Mortsen warned.
“He never did,” Dunn said, cracking a smile. “You better take care of him. He was one of my favorites.” He punctuated the statement with the point of his hammer, then went back to the stables.
“Good man,” Mortsen said. “Kinda stupid though. Had a mind to pound on him for talking to me like that.” He looked around. “Where is this giant of yours?”
“Why do you want to see Charlie?” Gormer asked. “We’re here so you can tell us where to find the mercs that captured him.”
“Where is your hospitality?” Mortsen f
eigned offense. “Am I not a guest here of the High and Mighty Gormer, once a criminal and now the right hand of the new Protector?”
Astrid took a deep breath and stepped between Gormer and Mortsen. “You are straining my patience. So far, I’ve indulged your act, though I really don’t have time for it. Let me explain something to you. I’m trying to find a creature from another world who seems bent on destroying Irth. It has something to do with Charlie, so I need to know who wanted him so I can find them and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mortsen interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Save Irth because of blah-blah-blah. Look, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn to take these threats to Irth in stride. It’s always about to end. Besides, don’t be so vain to think you’re the only one saving Irth. Enjoy yourself. Savor the danger by taking your time. If the evil could have killed you already, it would have. So, we have time. I can tell you everything you need to know over ale, or maybe something stronger. And food.”
“It’s not even noon yet.” Astrid shook her head and couldn’t help but be slightly amused by the strange, bulky brute of a man. He had her off balance, and she didn’t found she didn’t care.
“Let’s go,” Astrid ordered. She turned toward the kitchen buildings, which were more stacked against the inner fortress wall than built.
She pushed open a heavy door and led the small parade past the entry room where domestic workers exchanged their outer garments for aprons or smocks and into the kitchen.
“It smells great in here!” Mortsen announced. His smile terrified a young kitchen assistant who nearly tripped over his own feet as he carried a tray of unbaked bread loaves.
“Sometimes there’s a free table off the main kitchen,” Astrid said.
“So, you eat with the servants?” Mortsen asked in approving tones.
Astrid smiled. “They invite me sometimes, yes. Word got around I don’t like formal settings.”
“Astrid!” a voice called from across the busy kitchen floor.
Vinnie rushed toward them wearing what had to be a custom apron since the cloth covered his tremendous belly. Flour nearly obscured the embroidered picture of a mountain peak.
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