Thursday rolls around once more and my favorite role-playing group once more gathers for their weekly session. Bert arrives first, as usual, followed by the rest of the gang.

“So, who’s got a story?” asks Bert.

Julie opens her notebook to a page filled with writing.

“I do,” she says.

***

Skrie crouched on the roof near the chimney, listening to the conversation in the room below.

“What’cher gotta say fer yerself, Squint?”

“I ain’t gotta answer t’ you, Pelt.” A voice snarled back. “I on’y ans…”

The sound of fist against flesh cut short the rest of what Squint had to say. She shut her ears to the rest of the beating. They would drag Squint into the alley, drag him a few blocks closer to the docks, and leave him for the rats. Not that she felt sorry for the bully-boy. He’d tried assaulting her more than once, and she was glad to see the end of him. But Pelt, now there was someone she’d go to great lengths to avoid. He would kill you as soon as look at you, and gods forbid, if he looked up and saw her spying, she would find no safe places in the city. He was just plain mean.

She watched the two men from her rooftop as they carried their unconscious burden toward the tanner’s district east of the rundown tavern. Skrie couldn’t hear their words, so she followed in silence, glad for the moonless night. Her heart pounded and muscles trembled as she crept along the thatched roofs. She knew if Pelt looked up and saw her, her life wouldn’t be worth a bent pin. So, keeping her head down and ears open, she followed the faint sound of the pair moving down the narrow street.

As they approached the quay, they slipped into an alley across from where Skrie lay. She lay still, barely breathing, until she saw them leave, heading back the way they had come. She counted to ten, then counted to ten again before lowering herself onto the dirt at the end of the building she was on. A light fog rolled in from the ocean, misting the streets.

Damn and blast! She thought as the mist swirled around her. It wasn’t heavy enough to shroud her; instead, it was a light fog that left traces of movement in the mist behind. The still air twirled and twined around her, leaving a trace of her path across the lane. She’d noted it when Pelt and his bodyguard left after dumping Squint. Well, there was no help for it.

Squint lay bleeding into the dirt. His labored breathing told her he had broken ribs at the least. She saw his finger bent at odd angles. Well, that would certainly end his pick-pocketing.

“Squint?”

One swollen eye struggled to open and failed. “’Oo ye?” His words slurred as he struggled to talk. They broke his jaw too, it seemed.

“Ne’er mind, what’d they want?”

“Cain’t tell, th’ boss’ll kill me.”

“Pelt done tried,” she said, thinking fast. “’Sides, th’ boss sent me t’ find ye,” she lied.

Squint took several labored breaths before answering.

He finally answered, the words barely intelligible through his shattered mouth. “Bix. Pelt wants Bix.”

***

“Ah. The beginning of the end?”

“I think so. She hasn’t told me more than that, yet.”

“I’m sure she will,” says Chuck. “That’s how it works with me at least.”

“I hope so, she’s an interesting character to get to know.”

“They usually are.”

Bert looks around the table.

“Anyone else?”

(to be continued)