One of Stilp’s duties as a client was to make a monthly remittance to Lord Belgad in the form of twenty gold. Some months Stilp was short, but as long as he was close to the twenty gold little was said, at least as long as he could make up the loss in a week or two. In the rare month Stilp was far short of the twenty gold, he took on additional tasks for Belgad, which was how he came to be a fixer, a lobbyist who dealt with lesser government officials and the various workers’ guilds.
To raise the twenty gold he needed, Stilp had a string of businesses throughout the city that supplied him a monthly stipend of varying amounts depending on the type of business and how profitable things had been of late. In return for the monthly payments, these businesses received insurance. When they paid, their employees and customers went unaccosted and their buildings and goods went untouched; when they didn’t pay, employees would receive a thumping during a late shift, customers would be threatened, goods were damaged or stolen and warehouses were broken into or set ablaze. The culprits behind these acts always remained a mystery. Stilp swore he had no part in the deeds, and that the monthly payment would allow Stilp, through Lord Belgad’s resources, to protect the businesses. The city guard rarely intervened, mostly because they were more a military presence within Bond than a policing force.
As Stilp cruised down an alley in the middle of the night, his money belt beneath his tunic weighted down with ten silver and four gold, he had few worries. He had feared he would not be able to make his rounds because of his limp, but it had been nearly a week since he had been wounded and the healers at the Swamp’s tower had done a good job treating him.
Despite his lack of worries, Stilp occasionally glanced at the rooftops while his short sword remained on his left hip. Until the incident with Darkbow, he had not worn a sword on his rounds, but now he felt safer having the weapon available. Overall, he felt fairly secure. Only bad luck would have Stilp fall into Darkbow’s hands again.
A swishing noise from behind made Stilp look back.
A nightmare of black dove at him from the night’s sky.
Stilp took off at a run. He didn’t know what was after him, but he wasn’t going to let it catch him to find out.
“Good evening, master Stilp.” The speech was hauntingly familiar.
The dark form engulfed Stilp, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him off the ground.
Stilp screamed, hollering for Ashal or any other god to save him.
“Quiet,” the dark thing said as they swung through the air.
They came to a stop on a roof and Stilp went stumbling, rolling to the edge of the building and almost going over before a black glove caught him by the collar.
Stilp looked up to see a dark hood with grinning teeth beneath.
It was Kron Darkbow. “We meet again.”
Stilp shivered, speechless.
Kron released the man and began to roll up the silk rope attached to his grappling hook.
Stilp put his face in his hands. “I thought you were some night terror come to suck all the blood from my body.”
“Who says I won’t.” Kron returned the hook and rope to their hiding spot in his cloak. He pointed at the sword on Stilp’s belt. “Why do you carry that thing if you’re not going to use it?”
Stilp glanced down at the sword. “I figured you would kill me if I touched it.”
“I might kill you anyway.”
Stilp looked up at the black figure. “I know you don’t like me, but your fight is with Belgad. I’m nothing to you.”
“But you are something to me. You can provide information.”
Stilp saw a glimpse of hope in what he had thought was a bleak and short future. He wouldn’t knowingly betray Belgad, unless it was maybe at the point of that big sword Darkbow had on his back, but he had no qualms about providing a little information if it meant he wouldn’t have another arrow in his leg.
The night’s wind twirled the black cloak around Kron’s stout figure as he stood tall. “I’ve already learned much just by watching you tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been on you since you left that little hole you call a home in the Swamps It’s a nice racket you have going. I’ve counted six places you’ve stopped. You must have a goodly amount of coin on you.”
Stilp winced. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“In fact,” Kron said, nodding to the belt around the other man’s waist that had been revealed when Stilp’s tunic was yanked up during his tumble, “I am in need of coin at the moment.”
Stilp pulled down his tunic to hide the belt once more. “Belgad will have me flayed.” His words were shaky.
“Not likely. He knows your worth, and he knows you’ll find another way to pay your debt.”
“Please, don’t take it all.” Stilp sounded like a mouse squeaking.
Darkbow’s grin grew wider. “That’s what I like to hear.” He held out a hand.
Stilp hesitated, noticed Darkbow’s grin was fading, and reached inside his tunic and pulled out several coins. He dropped them into Darkbow’s hand.
Kron counted. “Four gold and six silver,” he said, pocketing the coins. “You have had a good night.”
“You could make more if you worked for Belgad.”
The punch seemed to come out of nowhere, out of the very night itself. It landed across Stilp’s face, sending him sprawling to the edge of the building once more. A gloved hand saved him again and shoved him down to the roof’s top.
“Get this through your head,” Kron said, towering over his prey. “I will never work for your lord. I don’t enjoy taking your money, but my war is expensive.”
Stilp wiped blood from beneath his nose. “You could have just told me. I think you’ve broken my nose.”
Kron glanced at the man’s face. “It’s not broken, but it’ll be swollen a day or two. If I had wanted to break it, it would be broken. Count your luck I didn’t toss you over the edge.”
Stilp looked over the side of the building. It was only two stories, not far to fall, but he didn’t look forward to broken bones. “Can I go now?”
“Not yet,. I’ve heard Belgad is throwing a ball in a few days. Is this true?”
Stilp nodded. “It’s a party for his new economic agenda at the Docks. After what you did, he’s planning to expand.”
“More ships?”
“More ships and more control of the Docks.”
Kron pulled back a fist ready to hit the man again, then lowered his hand. There was no reason to hit Stilp for what he said. The little man was merely passing along information.
“Tell Belgad he had better watch what he does to the Docks,” Kron said. “If he wants more river ships to go up in flames, I’m more than willing to do it for him.”
“He won’t take kindly to hearing that.” Stilp wiped away more blood with a sleeve.
Darkbow’s grin returned. “No, I suppose he won’t. Also tell him I won’t disappoint by not showing for his party.”
For the first time that night, Stilp grinned. “That he’ll like to hear.”
“I’m sure he will, but you can warn him I won’t walk through the front door and announce myself. Whatever happens that night, let it be on his head.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Good. Now goodbye.”
The man in black disappeared over the edge of the roof.
Stilp barely had time to see Darkbow land in a crouch, roll to his feet and trot off down the alley.
“Don’t you worry,” Stilp said barely above a whisper, still nursing his busted nose. “I’ll tell him.”