“I’m sure that with your audacity and my skills we could,” Pantros agreed. “But, I still have family here. Tara spent the last ten years building The Hedgehog to her perfect vision of an inn. I can’t just abandon my sister the way my parents did.”
Bryan’s head nodded, bouncing slightly from side to side. Recognizing the signs that his friend contemplated something deeper than usual, Pantros cringed. The giant said, “I guess I can’t really see you and Tara separating. She raised you since you were what, seven?”
“About that, yeah,” Pantros said. In an effort to placate his friend’s wanderlust, he added, “Maybe someday I’ll want to see the world but, since my parents disappeared at sea, I just don’t have any desire to set foot on ship. C’mon let’s figure out something before it gets late.”
“We don’t expect our nightly dose of trouble to just bump into us,” Bryan said. “I was just hoping for a better class of trouble tonight. If all else fails we can crash The Mate’s Club. Those officers have more coin than the common sailor. We might even find a gold coin or ten.” Bryan stopped and looked down a side street. “Hey, we’re not far from The Clean Cut. I hear Curt got some new swords in. Wanna check ‘em out?”
“Okay,” Pantros agreed since he couldn’t think of anything better to do.
The sign over the door had a pair of cutlasses standing parallel, one upright, and the other inverted. There were no words, many sailors never bothered to learn how to read. The door stood open and a burly man in a chain hauberk guarded it. He had a heavily nicked sword leaning against his chest, the point dug casually into a block of wood which Pantros guessed the guard had placed just to give his point something softer than the stone of the street to rest on. Several circular ruts had been dug into the wood and the guard appeared to be absent mindedly working on another.
Inside, there were a couple dozen swords hanging on the wall behind a raised counter. Most customers would need to ask for Curt to hand them a weapon if they wanted a closer look. When the boys walked in, Curt stepped away from a polishing wheel, carefully hanging a brass hilted cutlass on the wall. Clearly in his late fifties if not older, Curt had been a sea mercenary in his younger years, working often with Bryan’s father. He now moved with care that betrayed the arthritic pain in his knees. His grey hair was cut short as if he had shaved his scalp a few weeks earlier and hadn’t gotten around to shaving it again. The beard on his face appeared to be on the same schedule. His eyes lost a little of their smile when he recognized the boys.
“Just looking again today, boys?” Curt asked.
“I’m still looking for the right sword,” Bryan replied. “When I find it, I’ll buy it.”
“If you could tell me what it was you wanted, I could request it of my supplier.” Curt offered, as he usually did.
“If I knew what the right sword would be, I would tell you. I just know I don’t want a cutlass.” Bryan sighed.
“Well, I got all of four swords in the shop that aren’t cutlasses,” Curt mentioned. “But two of them are the gladius and the Abvi small sword you already looked at last week.”
“So, what do you have that is new?” Bryan asked, looking at the large two handed sword hanging behind the proprietor.
“You see it already, do you?” Curt said. “It’s a nice weapon. It was made by the Abvi four hundred years ago for some human prince who has long since died and faded from history.”
“You get your swords from the winning captains of sea battles,” Pantros imposed into the conversation. “How do you know the weapon’s history?”
“Smart lad,” Curt said with a chuckle. “This one is inscribed. Here let me show you.” Curt slowly pulled the large blade from the wall and handed it to Bryan. “There along the blade.”
“It’s in one of the Abvi scripts,” Bryan said. “I can’t read that.”
“Me either,” Curt admitted. “But I know someone who can and they told me it mentions a date, the name of Prince Desthayan of Relarch and offers best wishes.”
“It has a nice balance.” Bryan spoke with awe. “This is the kind of sword I want! Maybe a little longer. I think something closer to my size would be best.” Bryan held the sword in front of him with the point resting on the floor. The pommel didn’t even reach up to his collar. “I’m a head taller than this sword.”
“Maybe if you were a normal sized person, I’d have an easier time getting what you want. That’s the only greatsword I have had in my shop, ever,” Curt said. “I doubt I will see another. They don’t use these things at sea.”
“Good point, they’re too big for close quarters.” Bryan gave in. “How much for it?”
“Normally I would sell an Abvi made antique greatsword like that for twenty five gold,” Curt noted, but quickly amended, “but, for you, just fifteen.”
“Gold?” Bryan asked incredulously.
“We’ll take it for twelve and a half,” Pantros offered. “Just give us twenty minutes to fetch the coin.”
“Deal,” Curt smiled, his brown eyes glistened.
“Pan!” Bryan shouted, shaking the small store.
“What?” Pantros asked, only slightly intimidated.
“I don’t have that kind of gold,” Bryan whispered. “I don’t think all the gold you and I have gotten in the last three years would add up to that much.”
“What do you spend your split on?” Pantros asked. “My half has been twice that over the past year.”
“I guess I do throw a bunch of coin around on Jacobs street,” Bryan shrugged. “If I had realized how much, I would probably actually try to meet a girl rather than pay for three or four a night.”
“Sheesh!” Pantros shook his head, not believing anyone could spend so much money on nothing tangible. “I’ll cover the sword, but you are on half cuts of the loot for a season.”
“Let go get it,” Bryan said, setting the blade carefully on the counter. He gestured for Pantros to lead, then followed him out the door.
As they rounded the corner to head south back towards The Hedgehog, they bumped into two strangely dressed men. The fatter of the two almost managed to apologize when Bryan's elbow caught him in the chest. Pantros had slipped his foot behind the ankle of the man he had bumped into and shouldered the man's chest, knocking him to the ground. Had neither of the strangely dressed men reacted at that point, it would have ended there. Pantros and Bryan would have said, “Oops, reflexes, sorry mate!” and been on their way.
The obese stranger then made a critical mistake: He swung back at Bryan. Though he may have weighed the same as Bryan, the heavyset man was over a head shorter and he owed most of his weight to blubber. The punch never landed. Bryan edged it aside with his forearm as he stepped close to the man and grabbed his shoulders. With a grunt, Bryan slammed his forehead into the bridge of the fat stranger's nose. Bryan's opponent fell to the ground.
The smaller of the two strangers, the one Pantros had taken down, scurried over near the black stone wall of the nearest building. “Stay away from me!”
“Hey,” Bryan defended. “I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Your friend swung at me. That elbow thing was just a reflex from being surprised when you bumped into me.”
“Same with the trip,” Pantros told the thinner stranger. “Say, what's with the costumes?”
“So, you don't want my money?” The man asked glancing fervently at Bryan then back at his unconscious friend.
“I dunno. Do we want his money?” Bryan nudged Pantros.
“No,” Pantros smiled. “They can't even afford real clothes.” The two men dressed in a gaudy patchwork and had masks hanging around their necks.
“Me and Yarel are clowns,” The man said, suddenly. His voice trembled with anger or fear; Pantros couldn’t decide which. “We were on our way to a job. People pay us to act stupid and silly; dressing silly helps. I guess we won't be making that poor girl's birthday party tonight. I think you killed Yarel.” He reached towards his friend but seemed reluctant to actually touch him.
Yarel had a four-pointed hat with bells on each point. The bells were not jingling, though the fat clown was clearly breathing.
“Nah,” Bryan chuckled. “I didn't even break his nose. He will have a headache when he wakes up, but will be fine after a day or two.”
“Could you take a message to the manor district for me?” The skinny man asked. “Could you tell Lord Dane
