Lake Merrin

by Samuel Colbran

  “Look what we have here, boys.”

  Malik, that son of a motherless goat! Even with his steel-grey hair and stubbled face, he is still a young-looking man. Plenty of healthy muscle on his big frame, and thick-knuckled fists he loves to use.

  “Where you be going, boy? Don’t you owe my boys some money and interest to boot? Jimmy, how many slips does this fine gentleman owe us?”

  Jimmy is Malik’s second, and as black-hearted as his rotting teeth. I am not sure what sewage pipe he spawned from, but he smells like he looks. Jimmy starts to speak, and I am nearly knocked out by his putrid breath.

  “Boss-man, this white-bred owes you thirty-eight slips, and fifty copper bits, plus forty percent,” he says, smiling at Malik.

  Damn, damn, damn! That’s everything I have on me. Most of it was going to pay for my registration in the Hall today.

  “Come on, boy, cough up now or ... well, I don’t need to tell you what will happen.”

  Surrounded by these grinning fools, my stomach rebels at the rancid smell of their tightly packed bodies. I just need some more breathing room, to keep him talking while I figure a way out. Wish I was a more quick-witted person.

  “Do you really want to do this on the street, Malik? An honourable Charter might come along, or a patrol. What if they help me?”

  Jimmy laughs at that. “You hear that, boss? He thinks ‘heroes’ will save him! A bit of gutter white-bred trash like him.”

  Edging a little more away, I see Malik waggle his finger at Jimmy.

  “That isn’t nice, Jimmy. We have Truth-spawn in our gang too,” Malik says.

  “Sorry, Boss, just a slip of the tongue.”

  “Where are you going, boy?” Malik notices me backing up. “We haven’t finished our chat.”

  “I am off to find a permanent job, Malik. Next week you will have everything plus another forty percent.”

  Malik scoffs at my request. “Jimmy.”

  Jimmy walks up and smiles, then punches me in the gut. I drop, trying to catch my breath. My hand instinctively heads to my boot knife, but this is not the time to lose control.

  As I look up, everyone in the street is acting like this is not happening. Every time I look at a stranger, they avoid eye contact. Jimmy and another two thugs pick me up and plant me back on my feet, with Jimmy and another goon still gripping my arms.

  Malik comes over and brushes off the dirt. “See, if I let you go, boy, then some other poor sod who owes me money will want a break too.”

  Why today of all days? I look Malik dead in the eye. “I think I know why you have to bring most of your boys with you. A bit scared of me, Malik, eh?”

  All the Dock Boys hold their collective breath. Malik looks a little shocked. Even Jimmy loosens his grip on my arm. This is my chance! Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the half-breed brute and Ratface coming out of the alley where I left them. Time to move.

  I catch a glimpse of a watch patrol walking towards me. Oh, what luck! The Trinity smiles upon me today!

  Yanking my arm out of Jimmy’s grip, I quickly step back, scooping my arm under the other thug’s. I knock him off balance with a quick kick to the back of the knee and throw him into Jimmy. As they fall, I jump over them and shoulder past another two goons.

  Having some free space, I do what army men call a ‘tactical retreat’, which in layman’s terms means running the Abyssus away.

  The closer I am to the patrol, the sooner Malik is not a problem. I run faster, then stop in fear. Only now do I understand why I could see the patrol through the crowd; they are pushing the citizens around, and the large woman leading them looks familiar. Oh no, it is Zlata Madyson! Such a corrupt bitch! That lady’s stare could make a bull stop charging. She will pin me down, allowing the Dock Boys to kick me to within an inch of my life, then throw me in jail and call me a public nuisance.

  She must be so angry because she is a half-breed, like me. I can understand what it feels like to be hated by elven and non-elven parents alike. I must have only known my elf mum for a moment before she dumped my sister and me at some half-breed orphanage.

  Zlata is a half-breed I do not readily recognise; wish my pedigree was not so slutty. She is broad, as tall as I am, with a nose that some would say is cute and upturned, but makes me think of wild boars. A trail of pale yellow hair hangs from her head past her shoulders like straw slopping up last night’s vomit. I hope she won’t take her aggression out on me all the time—we are both elf bloodline!

  Time for plan B, into the back ways to the Market. Moving away from both groups, I hear behind me, “We’ll get him, boss!”

  Looking back quickly, it is those two that I accosted in the alleyway and Ratface with them.

  Do not think about it, just run!

  With the crowd at my back, I have a little breathing space. Guessing plan B is in order—the back streets of the craftsmen’s district. A place so thick with shops and work areas that walls close in; a great place to get lost in. Saying a quick prayer to the Trinity, I push through the throng.

  I run down Route, dodging where I can, barrelling through where I cannot until I make it into the maze of streets. Turn left, jump a fence, run down an alley, turn right and cross another street into—damn it—a dead end. By Mela’s grace, why a dead end?

  When will it be my lucky day?

  Hefty feet pound the paving stones behind me. The three Dock Boys are close on my tail. They are like a dog with a bone, I just cannot shake them, but at least I left an impression on two of them. Ha, quite an impact! I kneed one and sucker punched the other.

  They run down the street, cutting off any retreat, and corner me. The grinning, half-breed brute in the middle is first to speak.

  “It seems you took a wrong turn! Gonna pay you back fer that cheap shot from before. Lucky us, you got nowhere to run.” This gets a laugh out of the other two.

  “Come on, dung-head, give us your money, and we’ll let you off with just a beating!”

  A sudden chill calms me. I look coldly at them. “And if I don’t?” I leave the question hanging.

  Ratface responds, with a high squeaky voice to match his pinched rat-like face.

  “See, we will kill ya, a little bit.” Now I remember him. I stole that bar wench from under his nose just last week.

  Another laugh. Help me, Trinity, these thugs are street jesters.

  “So, if I give you money, I get a beating. If I do not, you are going to kill me a little bit. I know this is a stupid question, but how do you kill someone a bit?”

  The half-dwarf with the swelling cheek looks at me and draws his knife. Lucky me, the brute will just go ahead and show me. Such a fortuitous day!

  “Okay, okay, let's slow this down. You don’t need to demonstrate what being killed a little bit looks like,” I laugh nervously. “I have some of the money. I’m heading off—”

  The last thug interrupts. He is about as beautiful as my morning movement.

  “Well, dung-head, I don’t think Malik would be happy with a part payment. We will have to bring him your ear, nose, and … say, one of your hands as well. How does that sound? It might pay me back for the pain you caused.”

  Yes, now they have all spoken. I wonder if I win a prize … I hope it’s not a stabbing.

  Okay, I kicked you in the hammers, but really? With the other two drawing knives, I think to myself; I am such a dead man! This blind alley may well be my end.

  A glint of metal—I sense it more than see it. Throwing myself out of the way, the brute still manages to stab me! Not feeling the trickle of blood, I realise it must have been blocked by the Jack of Plate—my incredible armour!

  The half-dwarf boasts with his ridiculous-looking beard, “See, boys, he’s quaking in his boots! Dung-head, you got lucky that time—”

  Seeing an opening, I lunge, smashing the side of his head with a hammer-like strike. He falls to the ground in a stunned heap. I growl at the other two, hoping to scare them off. They counter my growl with intimid
ating noises, akin to alley cats fighting over a five-day-old fish.

  “You fell for another sucker punch?” I gloat over that white-back.

  They are not impressed by that line. Drawing my knife… no time to think. Attack. Ratface jumps over his comrade at me! Foolish. Something the sergeant taught me flashes through my mind: ‘Always have your feet on the ground.’

  Moving forward, I take his attack on my forearm and return a straight stab to his gut. That’s right piggy, squeal! If it were not for Ratface, I would not have wasted an ale.

  One dead at my feet, the other slumped against the wall; looking down the alley at Mr Third. I point my knife at last. Heart racing, but my knife hand is steady. I show no weakness. I ask him, “So, are you going to use that knife or just stand there pissing yourself? Or have your hammers dropped again?” His face turns bright red, and a vein pops out on his forehead. I do not care if he calls my bluff!

  Backing off, he spits at me. “Okay, dung-head, you win this one. But next time I won’t go easy on you!” He turns and dashes away.

  Well, that was simple enough. Then again, it was too close. Is this what luck feels like? I assess the cut on my forearm. Needs patching up, but it is not too deep—that’s good. I will find a piece of cloth to tie it off.

  Looking at the two on the ground, I wonder what they have on their persons. Rubbing my hands together, I sift through pockets and moneybags. Spoils of war and all; two good knives and ten slips. Not enough to pay off Malik or any more little more to get another room somewhere. Just have to figure out a way to pay Malik without being killed in the process.

  A sudden smell burns my nostrils. Nothing quite compares to the smell of a blacksmith’s shop. An unmistakable odour that hangs thick in the air, singeing my nostrils with the distinctly industrial stench of coal dust and molten iron.

  Need to move quickly; the longer I stand here, the likelier it is that Morning-Movement will be back with more Boys.

  Chapter Three

  Journal Entry One continued…

  Another violent encounter. I always thought leaving the army meant I would not have to do any more murdering. Ratface, (wish I knew his real name), was the first life I had taken since leaving the military. I should have known becoming an Adventurer does not stop you being a killer.

  Just another fight in a long line of being stabbed, beaten up, or straight-up nearly murdered. Some days I think I need a better day job. Still, I committed another heinous act to protect my life. How will the Trinity see me when I leave this plane? Will I be one with It or will I be grabbed by Amordous of Abyssus? I might find out soon.

  Enough of that depressing vein of thought. This was the day I became an Adventurer ...

  One good thing about Lake Merrin—it is not hard to find your way around. I look down at the dead Dock Boy at my feet and the unconscious brute with his head up against the wall.

  “You know, Ratface; you do bleed a lot.” Spying a water barrel, I wash off the worst of the blood. “If you had just ignored me in the bar, you would still be kicking.”

  Once clean, I look at the unconscious half-breed. I pull my knife out; my hand is shaking. I haven’t committed blatant murder since the army. I did hate being a scout; taking out unsuspecting sentries was no fun.

  Sheathing my knife, I tell the brute, “You are lucky today. I’ll not ruin my morning with an honourless murder.”

  Following the smell of the smithy, I think that one jump of the fence will take me to the Craftsmen’s District and beyond that to the Bazaar. Then one little hop and I am at the Hall.

  Looking back at my two fallen foes, I give them a salute. Stupid but brave, they were.

  As I launch myself over the fence and head back towards the sounds of the crowd, I marvel at the industrious craftsmen. Workshops whirl and buzz with the sounds of different contraptions, with men and women perfecting their skills. If I had followed a different path in my youth, I might have become an Engineer, perhaps working with intricate clockworks or making new alloys, clockwork word-writers, picture-takers, calculations machines and much more.

  Still, I would have to get used to the smell. Walking past a fabric factory, I can hear the clickety-clack of the loom inside or the hissing of molten metal in a local blacksmith for a new house frame. An apprentice-powered buzz saw; look at that seat with wooden pedals! It makes you think; there are not many carpenters around, but they do make a lot of money, with wood being so rare.

  Not many traders in here at all, as most use this area to create and then take their wares to the shops in the Great Bazaar. Strolling through the district, passing shop after shop, the noise is soothing. Looking forward, I have reached the main Bazaar. Time to move to this place to the corner of Market and Coin.

  The hustle and bustle of the late market day envelop me. The smells of baked goods, the fishmongers yelling out their wares and no Malik or Dock Boys. This is not their territory, it is for the Wilted Flower Gang, and they have a subtler approach to thievery. Pickpocketing and the like.

  I love seeing their teams in action. Four approach, then bump. Those pickpocketers always walk away with some poor sod’s wallet. Been on the end of that a couple of times, until I made them realise why I should not be messed with. Ratface and Dwarf-spawn found out the hard way.

  What a beautiful day, looking up at the cloudless sky, the warmth of the afternoon sun and the slight breeze from the lake. Still, I don’t understand why the lake is named Lake Merrin as well. Was the town named after the lake or was the lake named after the city?

  Besides that, living through that encounter with death, appreciating life, I’m now off to the Hall!

  Is that a pie cart I spy? And it sells beer too! My luck continues. Lukewarm beer, a questionable meat pie, and if I can join a Charter today as well, it will be the most perfect day ever.

  Looking over to the other side of the main Bazaar, I can see the substantial, browned-clay, bricked building that looks like a tiny fortress in the middle of the city, catching the afternoon sun: the Hall. That is where I will make my name, and I will not just be white-bred or a bastard. I will be an Adventurer.

  For one of the smallest buildings in Lake Merrin, it reeks of history. This is where the first goblinoid ear was handed in! Where Saint Jara lived for ten years, protecting us from the monsters of the Wild Lands.

  I should know about those lands, with their endless forests of trees. As a half-elf, they are part of my heritage. Yet having all those trees in one place just seems unnatural. Give me a little park or a plantation; clean, organised and safe.

  Walking into the Hall on the corner of Market and Coin, I feel goosebumps prickle across my skin. It is the feeling of history seeping into me. The great heroes made their names here, and their money. Just being inside makes me think I could be one of them.

  There is always a sight to see at the Hall: ancient banners, relics thought lost to time and bountiful chilled ale. A bare-chested man with a bald head and a massive beard and an armoured fighter with a long, flowing moustache are facing off against each other in the duelling pit. I like the look of the armoured one. His moves are crisp and precise, far more skilled than his opponent.

  Maybe a bet is in order? But wait! Is that? No, the armoured fighter could not be of the Order of the Shield? The armour is a dead giveaway though, as is the way he moves around that fellow with the hammer—he has trained in their techniques. Why would a member of the Order stoop so low? I have only ever seen them on the battlefield. Once a prat, always a prat! Still ordering us mere soldiers around like we were nothing. Strange that he is here. When you join, it is for life.

  Half-breeds and other scum like me never had that level of training. We were wall-fodder. As long as we could swing a sword and not die, commanders like Shield-Boy left us to it. But being a halfy gave me more opportunities than others. I know this now.

  Nevertheless, I would still put some slips on him, no matter how much the Shields are up themselves. Their skill with a sword is alwa
ys top-notch.

  Now, a travelling Halfling Bard has arrived to share his talent—got to love free music!

  At the Hall, the best day of the week is the sixth one. Buy two cups of ale for the price of one! Such a bargain. It might even be cheaper once I am registered. I am so looking forward to that sixth day now! I do love me some beer or an excellent ale, as long as it is cheap or free.

  In the wink of an eye, the fight is over, or was I thinking too long about beer? I am too late to put any money down on the match. If I had, I would have won. The Shield mopped the floor with his opponent. Oh well, off to register.

  As I head for the administrator, the big hammer fellow is getting dragged past me by two people, a tough-looking guy, and… hold the presses! It’s Lana from the Travellers. Her picture from the bit novels does not do her justice. Wow, I have only read stories about them. Are there any other members of that Charter here? Cannot wait to see all of them.

  Oh my Trinity, there is a bloody line-up. Now I have to play the waiting game. I played that game a lot in the army. We waited here; then we waited over there. As long as you looked busy, the Captain did not care, but you had to be busy when the Sarge was around. If you were wasting time, she would find something for you to do. Sarge busted me slacking off all the time! The number of latrine holes she made me dig; marching drills for hours on end—that wasn’t fun—and I never saw her have a drop of grog ever, not even once!

  Even if she was weird, I did learn a lot from her. Would not be here today if she had not saved me from the wrong end of a sword. From that day, I always have one silent toast in her honour.

  After a stroll down memory lane, I can only think of free beer and the sixth day. Oh, I’m just standing here; there is no one in front! Thank you, tired brain, for making the queue go away.

  I walk up to the administrator, Royce. He looks at me with bloodshot green eyes that look like they are cresting the dark bags beneath them. Coughing up phlegm, he rasps, “Come on, lad. Been watching you stand there doing nothing for five minutes now. What do you want?”