Bastards of Liberty by Matthew Zorich

Author:Matthew Zorich [Zorich, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Raccoon County Press
Published: 2023-02-19T22:00:00+00:00

23. The Bastards Assemble

“Give me my money back!” said Runt at the front of the alley, silhouetted against the light, long, wooden stave in his hand.

“You want your money back?” Stitch said as he rolled and hopped up, limping visibly. He was pale and sneering from the pain shooting through his leg. “Come and get it.” And he grabbed for his stilettos. “Cordial, what happened to the twins? Cordial!”

“Found them, Stitch,” Cordial said. He had indeed found Stitch’s favorite weapons. One was pointed right at Cordial’s throat; the other, Maynard pointed up under Cordial’s armpits. Each dagger was eleven inches long. Seven of those inches were the blades, each double-sided. The stilettos bore ringed grips used by mariners in Great Brightland. Stitch cherished them, making sure they were sharp and oiled so no rust would tarnish their surface. The stilettos were meant for stabbing or puncturing light armor yet remained edged enough to cut if needed.

“You, the skinny one, give my friend his money back and kneel on the ground,” said Maynard, who shifted behind Stitch and Cordial.

“Sure thing, kid, sure thing,” said Stitch. He looked at Maynard and back at Runt. “Here you go, kid. Here you go. Fair and square is what I always say, fair and square.”

Stitch looked at Maynard, knowing he was the bigger problem, not the snot-nosed kid with the big stick in his hand. He reached for the knife hidden in the sleeve of his coat. There was a quick movement from where Runt stood, and then blinding raw pain radiated from Stitch’s crotch.

“Ahh, my nuts—the kid hit me in the nuts!” Stitch fell back down.

“You aren’t ever going to try to take anything from me or anyone else again,” said Runt as fury blossomed in his chest. He swung his stick down on Stitch’s head.

“Excuse me,” said a female voice from behind.

Runt stopped his swing and looked back to see a woman standing, dressed chiefly in men’s clothes: tight black leather armor strapped together with belts and buckles, faded black leather coat, and tighter aged leather and cloth pants. Her belt held two savage-looking tomahawks and a hunting knife. She carried a long dagger in her hand, bladed on one side and serrated on the other. She stood, foot up on a turned-over barrel, wearing a leather archer’s hat over her murky hair. Runt looked on, unsure of what to expect from a person dressed like a landlocked pirate.

“Yes, yes—I mean, what?” Runt said, confused, his voice dropping.

“My two friends seem to have made an unfortunate mistake. If you would be so kind as to ease up on them, I’m sure a proper apology could be made, and all pieces of merchandise returned.” She smiled for a moment. “Ain’t that right, Cord?”

“Hi, Sorella. Yes, of course. I was telling this young man behind me the same thing,” he said with a smile. It was the best he could do with a knife to his throat.

“See now, lads, it looks like you showed them up.

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