Twilight of the Dragons (10 page)

Narnok scrabbled to his feet, and moved forward. “Listen, lad,” he said, and belched. “Don't pay much attention to Dek, he's a fucking horse dick on occasion, and if I didn't love him like a brother, I would have chopped him from crown to bloody bollocks with yonder axe.” He nodded in a vague direction of his ill-abused weapon. “Look, lad, sit down, tell us your problem, we'll help you if we can.” He forced a smile, and patted Kareem on the shoulder.

Slowly, Kareem sat. He frowned a little, and glanced at Dek.

“It's all right,” said Dek, scowling at Narnok, “Narn is right. We'll help if we can.”

Kareem took a deep breath. “I have a problem. And it's not your normal kind of problem that can be sorted by cracking a few skulls.”

“Well, you look handy enough for that, lad,” said Narnok.

Mola snored in the corner, head now back against the stone wall, dead to the world. Or as close to death as alcohol would allow.

“Go on.”

“Well, it concerns the Red Thumb Gang.”

“Ahh,” said Narnok.

“Ahh,” said Dek.

“We know those bastards pretty well,” smiled Trista, sipping daintily at a goblet of wine. As a rule she did not drink, she could not stand to lose control, and recognised inherently that to be a warrior, one had to retain one's senses at all times. Not that it stopped Narnok and Dek. But then, that's why they had considerably fewer teeth than Trista.

“I hate those bastards,” muttered Narnok. “You know why they're called the Red Thumb Gang?” Kareem nodded, but Narnok, fuelled by pride and ale, continued anyway. “When they murder some poor, unfortunate bastard, they leave a bloody thumb print in the middle of his – or her – forehead.”

“I am aware of this,” said Kareem gently, looking to Trista, who shrugged, as if to say,
he's going to say what he's going to say, there's no stopping the drunk old bastard when he's on a roll. Better just let him get it out of his system, like piss into a piss trough. When he needs to go, he needs to go.

“Red Thumbs. Bah! Think they rule every criminal activity in every city from here to the other pissing side of Vagandrak. Think they control the Honey-leaf in Drakerath, the whores in Zaret, illegal sorcery in Katarok… but we showed them, didn't we Mola? Eh? Eh, Mola? Remember that thing with the Elf-rats?”

Mola continued to snore.

“Anyway,” interjected Trista, “please, Kareem, tell us your problem. Something to do with money, I presume? It would appear it's very easy to get into financial… difficulties with the Red Thumb Gang. And once you're in their pocket, you fucking
stay
in their pocket, if you know what I mean.”

“Money?” Kareem gave a small laugh. “If only it were that simple.”

“Go on,” said Narnok.

“I fell in love,” said Kareem, looking down at the rough-sawn wooden planks of the drinking bench. “I said it would never happen. I always said I was a military man, fighting was in my blood, I'd never succumb to a bloody woman's magical charms… that's what I always swore. But I did. I fell. And I fell hard.”

“How's that a problem?” rumbled Dek.

“Well,” said Kareem, scratching his whiskers, “have you heard of Debanezeer Salt?”

“Red Thumb overlord,” growled Dek. “Got his name because he'd decapitate his enemies, cut their heads right off, scoop out their brains, and fill their empty heads with salt. He'd have them, upside down, lining the drive to his big house on the outskirts of Vagan. I knocked some of his teeth out, once.” Dek grinned. “Nearly started a fucking war.”

“And you're
still alive
?”

Dek winked. “I don't kill easy, son. And luckily, he was drunk. Too drunk to remember my ugly mug, so he must have been pissed! Anyways. What did you do? Shag his wife?”

Narnok reddened, and scowled at Dek. “You just can't let that sort of thing lie, can you?” he snapped.

“No, no,” said Dek, “I didn't mean anything like that, didn't mean nothing by it. I was making an observation, is all.”

“Yeah, but you couldn't say it different, could you? Had to say
shag his wife.
Just like you shagged mine.”

“Don't fucking start again, Narn.”

“Guys, guys,” said Trista. “Focus? Kareem? Problem? Red Thumb Gang?
Remember
?”

Grumbling, the two Iron Wolves subsided, and Kareem continued. “Debanezeer Salt. Scum of the earth. Human offal waiting to shuffle off this mortal coil. Well. He has a few sons. And he has a daughter.”

“Ah,” said Trista, nodding in understanding.

“Met her at a dance. Beautiful, charming, funny, we laughed all night. What a woman. Said I'd never fall in love. Well, I did. We ran like idiots through the city, drinking, laughing, loving. For weeks. Ignored the world. I've never had so much fun in my entire life. I've never been so happy. Then one night, I'm relaxing by my fire, I love a good fire, a big fired stacked up with logs I've chopped with my own hands, like, and there's a knock at the door. I'm a bit mellow. Been on the old spirits, my brother imports them from the east; so I'm pretty oiled, and I open the door and these three big bruisers bustle in. Now, I'm not a man to start trouble, but three big fuckers coming into
my
comfy living space. So I broke a few jaws, sent them running. An hour later, ten of the cunts turn up. So we have a bit of a scuffle, but some bastard hits me from behind with a helve. Down I go. Wake up hanging from Suicide Bridge in the Scourge, watching the dark waters toiling underneath me, black like ink. I'm groggy from the pick-axe handle, but I'm switched on enough to make out Debanezeer Salt. Big, big, ponderous fat lump of horse shit. Waddles over, leers down at me, gives me some fucking lecture about befouling his pure daughter and all that shite. Then they hoist me up, slap me around a bit, break both my thumbs, and tell me if I ever go near her again I'll be dead Kareem.”

He sat back, frowning.

“So… you love this woman?” said Narnok.

“With all my heart.”

“No chance of you, you know, finding another fish in the fish pond, like?”

Kareem stared hard at Narnok. “I don't think so,” he said.

“So you need to convince this Salt guy that you're a good man, somebody worthy to take his daughter's hand in marriage. Am I right?”

“Yes,” said Kareem.

“But he's a murderous psychopath who scoops out brains and fills hollow heads with salt? And uses them as lawn decoration?”

“That'd be it,” said Kareem.

Dek thought about this. “I think you're pretty fucked, lad,” he said.

Mola continued to snore, a rumbling backdrop like that of a gentle earthquake.

“You know what I suggest?” said Narnok.

“What?”

“Marry her in secret. And run away together. If she loves you as much as you think she does, then fuck everybody else. Fuck them all. You go for it, bloody kidnap her, fast horses, dead of night and all that. Dead romantic. I'll come give you some backup, if you like.”

“I was hoping for a more diplomatic solution,” said Kareem. “One that meant I could still live in Vagan, with my true love. Live a normal life. Have fun, raise children, watch them grow into men. You know. A
normal life.
Not on the run like some criminal, hunted by criminals. Always watching my back. That's no life, Narnok.”

“Hmm,” said Narnok.

“Trista?” Kareem's eyes were pleading.

“Don't ask her,” rumbled Dek. “She's a psycho when it comes to weddings. She has a certain… history… with brides and grooms.”

“
Dek
!” snapped Trista, eyes wide, face flushing red. Fury was suddenly her mistress and they all realised she'd palmed a blade. It gleamed by the light of the fire in the hearth, and the candles that circulated the room on silver candelabra, flames flickering like serpent fangs. “
I cannot fucking believe you just said that
!” Her knuckles were white around the shaft. The tip of the steel trembled, just a little.

“Sorry, Trista,” mumbled Dek. “I wasn't thinking proper.”

“Yeah, well, you never do,” said Narnok with a thunderous scowl. “That's why you upset Trista here, and I think you deserve that blade in your belly, by the way. And that's why you did what you did.”

“Did what I did?” Dek's voice was murderously low.

“That thing you did. With my wife.”

“I don't know what you mean, Narnok. Better spell it out, letter by fucking letter.”

“That
sexual act
you did.”

“You mean, when I, like, fucked your wife?”

“That's right, when you fucked my wife.”

“Well, she fucking enjoyed it!”

“Not as much as I'm going to enjoy
this
!”

“What?”

Narnok slammed a sudden left hook at Dek, who swayed back, years in the Fighting Pits kicking in and fuelling his instincts by a will to survive… and win money. Lots of money. Narnok howled and leapt forward, crashing into Dek and they both tumbled backwards, taking the table and all the drinks with them. Kareem and Trista leapt away from the upended table and flowing ale and wine, whilst Mola continued to snore in the corner, oblivious to the mayhem kicking off.

Dek grabbed Narnok in a head-lock, but Narnok was big, and mightily strong, and he threw off Dek's warrior embrace and swung another punch, but Dek was moving, clawing his way to his feet to stand, swaying, the worse for wear for so much ale and wine.

“Don't do this, Narn!” he roared.

“Not in here!” screeched the landlady, running forward and placing herself between the two large men. “You fuckers are not breaking up my bar
again.
Now my husband might be a spineless wheelbarrow of horse shit, and yes, I know you're hiding behind the bar you useless sack of turds, but
you two fuckers
are going to take this outside or by all the gods and the Seven Sisters and by all the fucking demons in the Chaos Halls, I'm going to call the City Watch and have you locked up for a fucking week.
Then
I'll pay a goodly sum to bribe the Watch to make sure the Thumbs look after you during your stay. I am
so sick of your fighting and damaging my premises. Now get the fuck out
!”

It was quite an outburst from such a little woman. But it worked. Especially on Dek.

Dek had possessed an inordinate amount of respect for his mum, and so he could not help but obey the majority of women he met. He simply
could not help himself.
Women, to Dek, were on a plinth beside the gods. They were to be trusted and respected and honoured. Woe betide any man Dek caught laying a finger on a woman. Dek would break that finger. Then hand, arm, shoulder and neck.

“Come on,” he rumbled. “I'm going out for a piss.”

“Not with me, you're not,” growled Narnok.

“Well, use the fucking ladies' then. You've certainly grown a pussy these last few months.”

Dek stumbled towards the Fighting Cocks' exit. Everybody moved out of his way.
Everybody
. You did not fuck with Dek the Pit Fighter unless you wanted a broken jaw. And a few broken ribs. Maybe a broken leg.

But before he reached the exit, the heavy oak-plank door was flung open, and six large, armed men squeezed through the portal. Muscles bulged, faces gleamed with sweat, eyes were narrowed. They were an ugly bunch, and even an idiot could see they meant trouble; they oozed fight from every stinking pore.

Dek halted, sobering fast, and checked out these newcomers. Behind him, he heard a hissed intake of breath. Narnok, who'd been about to follow Dek out, reached for his axe, sat on a creaking stool, and gently laid the weapon across his knees.

“A ripe bunch,” muttered Trista.

Narnok nodded. “Wake Mola.”

“I know these fuckers,” said Kareem, and his hands curled into fists. “They're Red Thumb. Work down the docks for Salt.” And even as Kareem finished the sentence a ponderous man squeezed through the doorway. Has was a fat man, but tall, maybe six feet and five, and one could see why some might underestimate him. His belly flopped into rolls, his thighs were like tree trunks, and a great udder hung under his chin, wobbling with every movement, every gesture, like some kind of distended chicken giblet. But Narnok, Dek, even Trista, could see
beyond
the excesses of pork pie and fried potatoes, rich cream and sugared fancies; they could see the
strength
which formed the trunk of the man. Yes, he was fat. But he was a solid motherfucker, if ever they'd seen one.

Salt surveyed the inner workings of The Fighting Cocks as one might survey something nasty they'd trod in down in the Scregs. He was dressed in bright fabrics, a mixture of tweeds, with ruffs and scarves, with colours and country greens; it was a random mishmash that only the crazy or the heavily protected could have pulled off in Vagan. Most men would have been laughed out of the room. But one sight of this massive gentlemen with his odd dress sense and six heavies caused the feisty landlady to head behind the bar, joining her cowering husband and putting any future breakages down to experience.

“Ahem,” said Salt, dramatically, looking straight through Dek as if the pit fighter was a simple
inconsequence,
and settling his small black eyes on a face as ripe as any ham joint, on Kareem.

Kareem went pale, face tightening, lips pursing, head dropping a little as if to say,
oh shit, oh no, why me, why now?
“There's always somebody wants to stick their nose into your life,” he muttered, “always somebody wants to stab you in the back.” He stood, fists clenching and unclenching.

Debanezeer Salt sauntered across the tavern's main room as if he owned it, brushing past Dek like a petal on the wind brushes against a tree. Only, as Salt passed, in happy fat ignorance, so Dek reached out behind himself, scowling, grabbed Salt's ridiculous jacket, and tugged.