“Seven hells!
What’s happening here?” Maren roared.
Arthur gasped for breath.
His hands trembled.
His face was spattered with blood.
The stone slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor.
Luka dragged himself over, supporting his weight with his remaining hand.
His eyes moved from the motionless Dothraki, whose face had become an unrecognizable ruin of blood and broken flesh, to Arthur.
“Mother have mercy…” he whispered, tracing the sign of the Seven across his chest.
“Lad, are you all right?”
Arthur nodded.
His entire body shook.
Tears filled his eyes.
“He…
he wanted to…” His words caught in his throat as he pointed toward the corpse.
Luka exchanged a glance with Maren.
The dockworker muttered a curse, walked over, and kicked the body.
The Dothraki merely rolled limply onto his side.
His head lolled bonelessly against the stone floor.
“Well, that’s a bloody mess,” Maren muttered.
“That bastard tried to force himself on you, didn’t he?”
Arthur nodded frantically, burying his face in trembling hands.
Luka knelt beside him and wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders.
“Easy now, lad.
It’s over.”
His voice was soft.
“You did what you had to do.
None of this is your fault.”
“But…
I killed him,” Arthur sobbed.
His eyes were hollow with shock.
“You defended yourself,” Luka said firmly.
“No one can fault you for fighting for your life.”
Maren let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.
“All right then.
What happens now?”
He looked toward the old man.
“The body isn’t going anywhere.
The guards will see it in the morning.”
Luka sat in silence for several moments before speaking.
“We tell the truth.”
His expression darkened.
“That bastard was about to…” He stopped before finishing the sentence.
“The boy defended himself.
That’s the truth.
Let them decide what comes of it.”
Maren grunted.
“They’ll believe the baker’s an honest man before they’ll believe a pair of dungeon rats like us.
But we’ll try.”
Arthur stared silently at the Dothraki’s corpse.
Fear still coiled within him.
Yet alongside it was something new.
Something harder.
A stubborn determination.
He had survived the previous night.
He had survived this one.
Against all odds, he was still alive.
*
Humphrey Waters, Lieutenant of the City Watch
After delivering the boy who was supposedly “not a thief” into the custody of the castle guards, Humphrey headed toward the square where the baker should have been.
At present, there was little he could do for the lad besides requesting a separate cell.
A night in a common dungeon among hardened criminals was no place for an orphan.
Intent on understanding the matter, he crossed the square.
The baker was nowhere to be found.
His stall stood empty, and Humphrey had no idea where the man lived.
After making inquiries, he learned the baker kept a house beneath the city walls.
Humphrey immediately cursed his own sense of duty.
Venturing there after dark was not especially wise for a lone guardsman.
Still, the remnants of honor, mixed with genuine curiosity, compelled him forward.
Behind him, two subordinates silently ground their teeth at their commander’s foolishness, which was depriving them of a perfectly good evening’s rest.
“We caught the thief, tossed him in a cell.
What more is there?” muttered the taller of the two guardsmen trailing behind.
The young man had been the first to chase Arthur, though he had failed to catch him.
The boy had been surprisingly quick.
“Exactly,” agreed Godwin.
“As though nobody’s waiting for him at home…”
“Something bothering you?” Humphrey asked, turning to fix them with a stern look.
Godwin and Daik were recruits who had served barely more than a year.
Humphrey treated his men fairly, but he did not tolerate disobedience.
He knew every petty vice within his squad.
Though he often ignored certain unofficial methods of supplementing one’s wages, in all other matters he kept them firmly under control.
“No, ser.
Nothing.”
Both men quickly looked away.
They knew very well when it was safe to argue and when it was wiser to hold their tongues.
“Just getting late, that’s all…”
“We’re nearly there,” Humphrey said with a snort.
“We’ll speak with the baker, and then you’ll be free to go.
Probably.”
“City Watch!
Open up!”
Humphrey pounded several times upon the flimsy door.
Out of long habit, one hand rested on the hilt of his sword while he stepped slightly to the side.
Years of service had taught him caution.
He still remembered his former partner Greg, who had ignored such unwritten rules during a routine inspection and taken an arrow through the belly the instant a door opened.
Fortunately, there was no danger of that tonight.
This was not a smugglers’ den.
Merely the home of a baker.
“It’s you?” The man who opened the door appeared nervous.
Whether because the City Watch stood on his doorstep or for some other reason, Humphrey could not yet tell.
“Have you found the thief already?”
“But I have a few more questions.
The boy claims he took only a loaf and not your purse.”
“Of course he’d say that!” the fat man exclaimed, flushing red.
“They’re all liars.
Little vermin.
Every copper I had was in that purse!”
“And how much money was that?” asked a bored Godwin from behind Humphrey.
“Enough!” the baker snapped.
“Oh, certainly…”
Godwin was about to continue when Humphrey silenced him with a glance.
“So you actually saw the boy steal your purse?” Humphrey asked thoughtfully.
“Yes.
The little bastard cut it from my belt when I looked away.”
The answer came a touch too quickly.
“I see…” said Humphrey.
He did not believe the man for a moment.
Reading people was perhaps the most important skill a city guardsman could possess.
“What did the purse look like?”
“The boy?”
“The purse,” Humphrey corrected.
“Any distinctive stitching?
Markings?”
“Leather.
Drawstrings.
An ordinary purse,” the baker grumbled.
“We’re poor folk, ser.
Nothing special about it.
How am I supposed to feed my family now?”
He wrung his hands dramatically.
If anything, the performance only deepened Humphrey’s suspicions.
“I understand.”
Humphrey reached inside his cloak.
“Though the boy denied the charge, we found your purse on him.
Here it is.”
He produced an utterly ordinary leather purse that jingled with coins.
“Is this yours?”
“Ahem…
yes.
Of course.”
The baker’s eyes gleamed greedily.
His hand was already reaching for the money.
“That’s mine.
Thank you, ser…”
“I see.”
Humphrey pulled the purse back.
Now everything was clear.
He turned to the two gold cloaks behind him.
“Arrest him.”
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)