>>
|
9fcd43.jpg
Chanting Pouncer
9fcd43
Most of the sellswords I saw in the streets looked little better than the cutpurses and thugs I occasionally glimpsed lurking in alleys. Sour-faced, bearing rusted weapons, missing limbs or shaking with disease, they looked as though they would fall prey to the first monster that so much as glanced our way - or worse, as though they would throw me to the beast to ensure their own escape. Those that looked more competent and well-equipped advertised prices that I might be able to scrape together, if I were willing to cut my voyage down to about a week long.
I had almost made up my mind to look elsewhere for companionship when I passed into a large tiled courtyard, the smell of fish and brine advertising its proximity to the docks. My attention was immediately caught by one of the salvage divers set up against the back wall of a nearby shop, with her daily finds displayed on a ratty blanket in front of her. I believed her to be a Sponte, as I couldn’t place her greyish skin and the seaweed-like hair that covered her face completely, but that wasn’t what arrested my gaze. There was a thick iron shackle around her leg, attached by a hefty, rusted chain to an ancient ship’s anchor larger than she was. I barely had time to process this and feel pity for the woman, however, when she finished what seemed to be her last transaction of the day. She bent forward from her sullen slouch, wrapped the rest of her goods in the cloth, then, to my astonishment, climbed to her feet, reached out, and lifted the anchor onto her shoulder as though it weighed nothing.
Idly, I felt my hand going to where I had left my purse as I pondered the sight. Panic spiked in my breast as I found what I had believed to be such a clever hiding place, perhaps somewhat predictably, empty of any hint of it. It was at that moment that I felt a tap on my shoulder, and jerked around nervously.
A small Nebul with tattered, untidy bandages stood behind me, dressed in a comically oversized coat. They winked - at least, I believe it was a wink, for only one of their visible eyes closed - and removed one hand from behind their back, producing the embroidered pouch I had received from Master Theodolite that morning.
“Lose something, did you?” they whispered, grinning teeth flashing in a gap at their neck. To my astonishment, they hefted the purse and tossed it back to me; I nearly fumbled it in my surprise. “Saw an urchin lift it off you back at Inky Cross. Saw the royal seal on it and figured the brat was in for more trouble than it was worth.”
Mumbling my profuse thanks, I opened the bag to inspect the contents, and was again doubly surprised to see that the entire sum appeared to be present. The figure waved off my effusive and somewhat incoherent gratitude, touching a finger to their brow.
“Careful out there,” they simply said. “Need someone to watch your back, you do.”
|