Neighbourhood Watch, pt1

Rúna heard Hoxley’s voice and looked up from her table. The ‘Drunk Frog’ was still gathering it’s patrons this early in the afternoon, only a third of the seat occupied. The other patrons were a mix of races, the tawny Akerosi, a scattering of pale Skovlan, and a couple of dark Iruvians. She and Khara had come in early at Hoxley’s request. Rúna spotted Hoxley warning a stranger, a lean and nervous looking man. Rúna raised he r hand and waved the two over to her table. The stranger took his time, looking at the other patrons around him before coming closer. 

“Hey, glad you finally made it Hox. Who’s your friend?” Rúna asked.

He nodded in greeting. “This is an old friend, Candros. We go way back. He’s struck some difficulties and I thought of you two.”

“Is he in need of some hard to procure goods?” Khara asked.

Candros leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. “Not at all. Was thinking of someone to watch my back, and maybe earn a little on the side?” He looked each of the women in the eyes, trying to take the measure their will. Khara smiled and fluttered her fan. Rúna narrowed her eyes.

“I know you.” She leaned back and pulled her collar aside revealing a scarred lump under her collarbone. “You gave me this little gift back in Lockport. Were you trying to kill me?”

Candros shrugged. “Veleris said to shoot. He didn’t specify if he wanted you dead.”

Clevin cracked his knuckled. The others watched as the tension grew. 

“Ha!” Rúna slammed palm against the table. “I take it dear Captain Veleris is causing trouble for you , if you were talking to us.”

“It’s because of him I spent the last few years as a guest of His majesty in Ironhook prison. Framed me for murdering civilians.”

Khara looked intently at Candros. “Did you?

“Yes. But Veleris gave the orders.”

Rúna kicked a chair which skidded across the wooden floor to stop in front of Candros. “Take a seat.”

Huxley visibly relaxed as everyone took their places and ordered drinks from the barmaid. Once all were served and conversation started again, Hoxley leaned in close to Rúna. “Speaking of Veleris, he’s poking around again.”

“Wait, he’s not over in Skovlan anymore?”

Hoxley shook his head, jowls shaking. “Got reassigned. He’s been asking questions about the army supplies. He asked me about the guns directly.”

Rúna put her drink down and turned to face Hoxley fully. “What did you say?”

“Nothing to be worried about. I’ve got Veleris swimming in paperwork now. It has all the right stamps and signatures. He’s not a clue about what really happened. I can handle any official requests, we’re still in business for the moment.” He tried to give a reassuring smile.

Rúna cocked her head to the side, considering the information. “Well, it seems we still have cause to celebrate.” She turned to the barmaid and shouted across the bar, “send a bottle over if you please.”

The girl had just about reached their table when the bottle dropped from her shaking hands. The smashing glass ripped Rúna’s attention away from people at the table and towards the door. Six men had entered, well dressed but with scarves covering the lower halves of their faces. They had grabbed a couple of patrons and were threatening with knives and clubs. Nearly everyone in the room started to scramble away from the confrontation.

A piercing whistle filled the room. As the sound faded away all motion had stopped while everyone looked towards the source. Rúna took her hand away from her mouth and adjusted her beaten-up hat. Once she was sure she had everyone’s attention she leaned back in her chair. “Oi. You lot.” She gestured towards the intruders with a half-full shot glass. One of them, with piercing blue eyes, pulled back his jacket to reveal a hip-holstered flintlock pistol. Rúna raised an eyebrow and continued. “It seems you must have made a mistake. Me and mine were just having a friendly drink here. I don’t think you meant to interrupt?” She opened her own jacket wide to reveal a bandolier of throwing knives and a pistol of her own. “I expect you meant to go somewhere else? Yes?”

Blue-eyes continued to stare at Rúna. The other intruders nervously looked between Rúna and Blue-eyes. The silence stretched on until he jerked a thumb towards the door. All the intruders let go of their victims and slowly backed towards the door, eyes never leaving Rúna or her companions. At the bar, Clevin was slowly standing up. Blue-eyes was the last to leave, and threw a dark look back into the room at Rúna. The message was clear: this wasn’t over.

Once the intruders had passed out of sight, the room erupted into motion once more. Some patrons checked on their roughed up friends, while others relieved stress with boasts and taunts at the now departed men. Cheers, questions, congratulations all flew through the air. The barmaid came and stood by the table. She looked at them all and came to a decision. “Drinks on the house for you lot. Those bastards had it coming.”

* * *

The Charhollow markets were a bustle of activity. The central square had been filled with cluttered stalls for as long as anyone could remember, a maze alleys that shifted over time as new merchants came to trade, and old ones left. Children scuttled between the adults as they crowded through the colourful lanes of fabric, foods, handicrafts, and other assorted wares. Touters yelled their special offers, and customers argued over quality. Rúna hated the confusion. People brushing against her from every side, threatening movements wherever she looked. Every hand ready to take her purse or stab a knife into her side. But no-one was able to give any solid information about the thugs from the Drunk Frog, and everyone had said to come speak to Briggs.

Briggs called himself a broker, but Rúna preferred the term gossip. Only Briggs expected to be paid for his whispered lies. He owned a ramshackle building in the centre of the market, and there he sat like a spider in his web. The structure looked drunk, leaning on the neighbouring stalls for support and Rúna expected it to collapse at any moment. There was a small iron stove smoking in one corner with a tray of dried out pies sitting on top. A round face emerged, red and shiny with sweat. He looked more like a pig fattened for a celebration dinner. A pig with a silly little round hat and too small suit. “Hello ladies. Can I interest you in a pie? Fresh today.” Briggs beamed at the two women. Rúna closer at the pies. Perhaps freshly reheated today, but there was nothing about them that spoke to freshness, unless he meant freshly died. 

Khara smiled and gave a little bow to the puffing man. “It is known that all who seek sustenance for the mind find satisfaction with your repast.”

Brigg’s smile grew even wider, but his piggish eyes remained cold. “Oh you do flatter m’lady. But I am always happy when my whispers are of value.”

Khara glanced over at Rúna, who nodded. Khara continued, “We do have an interest in certain whispers, especially if those whispers tell of angry men who have been assaulting our neighbours in Charhollow,” she pointed at Rúna’s red hair, “especially of the more northern persuasion.”

Briggs took off his spectacles and tried to polish them with his waistcoat, but only managed to spread the streaks further across the glass. He paused for effect before settling them back upon his nose. “I think I know who you are after. That little band of troublemakers who spout such witticisms as “Skov go home” while waving sharp implements?” Both ladies nodded. “Yes. They sometimes wander these very streets, side by side with upstanding local workers. Can you imagine they once tried to smash this very construction you stand within? Just because I served one large Skovlan gentleman. Pfah, ignorant brutes.”

Rúna leaned in close. “Can you tell us who these brutes are?”

Briggs held out his hand, palm up, and rubbed his fingers together. Where is the coin?

Both the women had hoped to avoid this. Khara nudged Rúna to speak up. “Would you take trade?”

“Ohh, interesting. I am always open to trade, if the information is good.” He wiped his hands on his apron and sat down, inviting the others to sit with him. 

Khara took a proffered seat and smoothed out her dress. She leaned on his arm and whispered into his ear. “There is a rumour going about a group of concerned locals who brought some percussive justice to those very ignorant brutes you talked about”

Briggs leaned back in surprise. He glanced between the two women. “You?”

“And some friends. We are just as concerned as you are about opportunities for honest merchants threatened by these thugs.” Khara opened her fan and tried to disperse the smell of the pies. 

Briggs gave a gap-toothed smile. “In that case, a little whisper won’t hurt. The thugs you are interested in are not just random troublemakers. Yes, they pop up at various places and scare people into handing over money or moving away. But the more interesting fact is that the vacated premises are rapidly bought. By a number of mercantile interests. But all those interests belong to Lord Templeton.” He winked at Khara and stood. “I think you can work with that.” 

As they walked back through the crowded marketplace, the women tried to work out their next moves. “I feel I know the perfect person to ask about Templeton. Lady Anya Hartigan. She is the most delicious gossip. Married to some government cog in Charterhall and positively starving for good conversation. I will pay her a visit, no?”

Rúna grunted. “Sounds great. I’ll find the others and set them hunting our new friends.”