The name, face, and apparently sticky fingers, of Swarley Jones were well known in the area. He tried to break free and run when the guard came, getting a clout to the side of the head for his trouble from the velvet clad merchant who really didn't want him to get away. Almost as if it were personal. The guard, a man of about eighteen was one of the young men that had given them directions a few days before. He shook the boys arm roughly.
“Swarley! How many times… What did he grab this time, a pair of shoes or tub of toothpaste?” the guard glared at the boy menacingly.
Clark answered, subdued and as if he were ashamed of something.
“No Kyle… It's, well… a bit more serious than that this time, I'm afraid.” He honestly sounded worried too.
The story unfolded quickly, and most of the people around him knew it already. Swarley Jones was a local boy who's father died at sea in a squall, which Tor learned meant a sudden storm, and who's mother hadn't lasted a year past that. Dying of grief they said. Swarley allowed that the constant drinking hadn't helped either.
Since then, nearly six months past, the boy had lived how he could, stealing food and sundries, clothes and whatnot, when he couldn't convince some sailor to part with a few coppers for servicing them sexually. Tor almost blanched at that, but the boy was old enough, fourteen, and selling himself was considered honest work here. No one even blinked that he mainly serviced men. That's who the clients were after all.
After about ten minutes of talking about what to do, Kyle the guard, pulled the boy from the shop, less angry now and more sad. Tor followed, which got Petra and Trice to come out behind him while the shop keeps went back to work. They were making a lot suddenly after all and an attempted theft wouldn't keep them from working for long. So was Tor, he realized.
That was good, but this kind of event on their first day didn't bode well. It wasn't his business, except that the boy was probably off to jail for this, or a beating… or worse, depending on what the penalty was for such theft.
That was why Tor could never be a judge he knew, or a guardsman. He'd seen the kid steal with his own eyes, right in front of him, with no hint of doubt or mistake being possible, and still, standing here, he thought the penalties all sounded far too harsh, even when what was stolen took money from his own pocket. What the hell was he supposed to do?
It turned out that he didn't have to do much at all. The four guards stopped outside and started talking about the case amongst themselves. It was clear that they all had a soft spot for the boy, or at least didn't want to see him put to death for grand theft, hanging being the traditional penalty for such. Since it was so local, both the Captain of the guard and the Countess herself would be called upon. Normally that wouldn't happen, but they only had a few capital cases per year, so Holly had taken to reviewing them to assure true justice was done, and that the law didn't become blind.
The stone street looked a little uneven suddenly, dirtier than it had been before, darker in color. Was it just dusk? Or just his own foreboding due to the events? No… Clouds had come in suddenly, almost black and full of rain, off in the darkened sky over the ocean the world suddenly got light for a moment, lighting flashed and people scurried out of the shops to look at the sky. The baker closed his shutter and hurried out fast enough that Tor doubted everything was put away properly, it took time to close a bake shop well.
“Storm coming!” Petra, who was from a similar area, looked at the sky closely. “A big one. We need to get inside… I… You — guards — come with us and bring the boy.” She said suddenly, her voice commanding and firm. The men didn't even argue with her.
Tor nearly laughed, because if he told them he was there to save their lives and they should come along with him, they probably would have hit the strange little man or called him names at the very least.
It didn't hurt that they went right up to the side door of Holly's house, with the two obviously noble women leading. Petra didn't knock, just walked in and started hollering for Holly. The instant the Countess came into view, along with Kolb, fast, like they'd been waiting for them in the other room, the tall girl started saying there was a storm and an “issue”. The storm came first, meaning it was a bigger deal than anything Tor had ever experienced. A little rain, even a hard one, shouldn't get people that worked up. Lightning could mean fire, but a lot of stuff here was made of stone. The real worries seemed to be about flooding from the ocean and wind damage.
“Tor your new house!” Holly said, horrified suddenly. “It's right on the beach, it'll be destroyed or flooded…”
Tor shrugged.
“I'll go take it down then. Not a problem. That's what it's built to do after all. Be right back.”
It took longer than being “right back” but not much and that only because he had to make two trips to carry all his stuff. The stone pots and dishware made the heaviest run. Loaded in his trunk he was able to fly with everything in two small hops though. He was busy dragging everything into the main house for about ten minutes, and it wouldn't have taken half that if he'd had more trunks ready to go. As inappropriate as it was, an idea for floating trunks popped into his head. Ones made of magic, like the houses were. He set it aside thought, not having time at the moment.
Then they all ran room to room closing shutters, this was such a big deal that even the guards helped. Swarley offered, but no one wanted to give him the chance to escape.
Except Tor, but if this storm was that big a deal he didn't want to cast the kid out into it alone either. There were big wooden sheets to go over the outside of the windows too, but Holly feared they didn't have time. The wind was picking up, but they had flying gear to hit the upper levels he reminded her. Shields too, so it was even safe. They didn't need to dig out ladders or anything. It took an hour to get all sixteen of the large second and third level windows covered with the light brown wood, but it was finished just before the hard rain started.
It came down in buckets, the air almost turning a blue-gray as the wet and cold slapped them hard. Not a stinging rain, but not something he'd want to be camping out in either.
Back inside Tor took a clothes drying amulet and had everyone go to what was called the damp room. A drab stone space with a dull black metal drain in the middle of the floor. He crowded them all in and hit the sigil, just holding the device in his hand. In about ten seconds the water splashed from their clothing. Half of it worked into other people, but by moving around carefully they were all dry in six repetitions, which took about a minute. It would have worked better if the space was larger, but this was better than being wet for hours. It wasn't until after they all left the room, the guards, Holly and her servants all amazed, the others less so, that Tor realized he could have sent people in a few at a time and saved a couple of repetitions. Plus it would have looked more effective, each person needing only one cycle to get dry. Well oops.
The wind howled already, but Tor figured that would pass in about an hour, like the storms at home, when they came. Holly grinned at him and winked.
“Hardly. These can last up to ten hours and have winds of over one-eighty. We'll be fine in here, but as soon as it breaks we'll need to get on search and rescue most likely. The alarm didn't sound, but that doesn't mean much I'm afraid, something like this will take a toll no matter the warning level. We're cooking food up ahead of time now and moving everyone into the main dwelling for the night at least. We might as well all get comfortable. Traditionally we sit around and tell stories to ease people’s minds, but I guess we better deal with this little legal situation first… as much as I'd rather avoid it.” Her voice went very sour, making the boy, who was dressed in pretty ragged short pants and a shirt that had once been white or at least light tan but now was closer to gray, cringe away from her as if she was threatening a beating.
Of course a thrashing was the least of his worries.
Tor only spoke once, when asked, since he'd actually witnessed the crime. Mentioning only exactly what he saw. It was enough to have the kid convicted. Normally it wouldn't even be a matter of justice being called into question, everyone agreed. Even Swarley told the Countess, quite politely, as he blushed and looked down that he already knew he was done for.
“It was wrong. I know that. I knew it when I done it, so no use claiming it was a mistake now. I'd call for me head too, fair enough. Still, at least I won't drown out in the storm, which I probably wouldn't have lived through anyway and I won't have to worry about being hungry anymore or wonder if I can convince some sailor that bunging my back hole is just as good as getting a girl whore in town at half the price. Just as well. I'm ready, I guess. Freaking world’s been out to get me for too long, I don't care anymore rightly.” He brushed his over long hair out of the way, a light brown mop that fell past his shoulders in the back.
