~Crow
I strolled through the dank tavern, amused by the frightened looks I waded through on my way to my table. The hot, stale air brought with it the odour of spilt alcohol and unwashed bodies, a combination I found somewhat comforting. There wasn’t any blood splashing against my boots, or heads impaled on spikes above the doorway. Drunken men looked for escape from their wives within the bottom of their tankards, and bar girls willing to hike a skirt up for the right price. Human misery in all its forms. I could work with misery. Misery was something you could combat with the right drink, the right woman. It didn’t give you nightmares or cause your body to freeze. It didn’t stab you in the gut to rip your insides out.
I nodded to the serving girl as she placed food on the table in front of me, winking to make her giggle. We began the dance of lust; I smiled as she trailed her hand across the table and then up my arm as she left, hips swinging. To any outsider, this was the promise of the tango – for me, it was one of my birds telling me nothing to report. I was funny that way. Clean as a dirty man’s untouched bathtub.
I was young, some said too young to be an officer. But with my skills they could hardly stop my promotion to higher ranks. Who am I? I was “known” as William Rimmon, court official and ear of the King by title. However I had a deeper purpose than a lapdog unknown to most, I was the Mind’s Eye of the Court, the Black Crow, Redback’s lover, Traitor Snatcher…there are many names. I was the dark secret, the villain hired by the good guys. Some say the Black Crow practised in the dark arts – only adding to the alluring power of one condemned to kill with the king’s approval. I created webs of communication between all levels of the kingdom, my ‘birds’ ranging from the humble beggar to head scribe all over the kingdom.
Was I proud of that?
Very.
All knew that when you harmed Rimmon you risked death, I was a close friend of the surreptitious Black Crow and held conferences with the ear of the king. Powerful. These mind games amused me. Fear was easy to manipulate, hope the instrument to answers.
I mulled over recent events as I sipped the ale placed in front of me. War. Trading disagreements always ended in punch-ups between us and Aseaviel. They were famous for the “supernatural,” the unexplainable. It was said the very air was filled with magic, the earth was fed from rivers of the purest water. I blew air out of my nose in amusement, if they didn’t produce the best wool, silk and medicine in the known world I would laugh them out of the harbour.
Turns out one idiot did, declaring war with every chuckle.
I stared moodily beyond my table, watching an arm wrestle opposite me. We could apologise for the captain’s manner, I thought as the beefy man watched dumbstruck as the girl’s hand inched away from the wood of the table. It was only one man, the Lord from the accursed country was trigger happy, surely their king will see sense. The girl laughed with delight as sweat beaded across the man’s forehead, her hand swallowed up by his meaty grip. It is said this “Dead King” isn’t the most just of rulers, I wonder why they felt the need to name their King that. Who would choose such a title? The girl laughed and slapped his hand against the wood, her hand deftly curling to her side. I stopped my musings as the man pushed back his chair, anger flickering in his eyes.
‘You cheated!’ he snarled, ‘There is no way you could win against me!’
The girl shrugged, confidence written all over her face. She wore breaches the colour of mustard, a black jacket thrown over her shoulders reaching below her knees - a mans' jacket. Something about her delicate features sparked recognition, her blue eyes promising mischief.
‘Are you backing down from the bet?’ She challenged, ‘Are you such a coward?’ He growled and she deftly moved, a mere step before his dagger shot out in the space she had been standing. She grinned, eyes alive with impish glee.
‘Gentlemen,’ She declared, ‘This man is a bet whore who cannot pay his rent! Heed my warnings! He has half the brains of a monkey and the wit of ale dregs!’ He lunged for her and she jumped, landing on the table as his punch hit air and he fell forward. She laughed, jumping tables as though she were playing hopscotch.
She met my eyes as she jumped to my table, her fear buried under adrenaline. Swiftly I stood, offering my hand with a flourish. She hesitated a second before taking my hand, descending the table by my chair as though disembarking a carriage. I admired her wit, her excitement, her mischief. I wanted to protect her. She stood beside me, dimpling charmingly when I glanced at her. The bear she had arm-wrestled stopped charging through the tables, coming up short as I glared at him.
‘You are a dishonourable man.’ I intoned, the tavern quieting and giving me the stage. I was least comfortable in these situations. I was used to stalking shadows of the castle, not berating a man in a silent tavern. I leaned against my table comfortably, studying the man.
'Do you know my name?’
‘Aye Sir.’
‘I am at a disadvantage, who are you?’ I asked smoothly.
‘Chip Pippin Sir, a lumberjack Sir.’
An unfortunate name, I thought, ‘Very good, did you arm-wrestle this woman?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘How ill-fated Chip, do you owe her winnings?’
‘Not just me Sir!’
I spread my hands, showing the two gold rings on my fingers, ‘Well then.’ I met his eyes unblinking, waiting for him to turn away. He quickly became interested in my tankard, so I flicked my eyes to the closest man, then another. All the men around me suddenly found something intriguing in the floorboards, refusing to meet my unwavering stare.
I pulled Chip forward by his arm, ignoring the sound startled from his lips. With the cuff of his sleeve I mopped up the dregs left inside my tankard. I let his jacket go, watching amused as he stumbled back.
Crossing my arms I waited, waited 'til someone rolled their shoulders uncomfortably, others glancing up uncertainly to pick a new object to investigate when I glanced at them curiously.
‘Pay up!’ I barked, placing my tankard on the edge of my table. Chip Pippin patted down his pockets revealing two silver coins, dropping them in the cup before hurriedly making his way to the door. A bar girl picked up the tankard and walked around the tables, pushing it towards drinkers so they could clumsily dump a couple coins in it.
The turning of the tables – quite literally as drinkers fixed their tables from the bear thundering through – seemed to energise the girl beside me, turning to grin in my direction.
‘Thanks Will....’ She gasped and blushed, trying to cover the flush by turning.
‘You’re no ratbag on the city streets,’ I said, my eyebrows quirking upwards, ‘Who are you?’
The barmaid bustled forward, her girth squeezing past men as she placed the tankard on the table. The coins jingled invitingly and the girl pounced, scooping the cup and its contents into her hands to dump in her pocket.
She winked at me and bounced away, dancing between tables to the door as she threw a hood over her head.
I considered following her as I watched her go, crossing my arms. Who was that?! However, I knew I wouldn't find her this late on a new moon night. I grunted, pushing my curiosity to the back of my mind for another day, sliding back into my seat.
Cheers went up as the customers spotted a man clutching a mandolin making his way to a slightly raised area at one end of the tavern. I hailed another drink and sighed, attempting to ignore the girl's face flashing in my mind.
I had more important things to think about.
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