King Hunters

 

1

 

The optimistic side of Muse’s brain was struggling.

Being held upside down didn’t help.

Being held upside down in an alley at knifepoint was even less help, but there was sure to be a way out if he thought hard enough; these thieving types weren’t all that bright. He might not even have to think hard at all.

He moved his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the midday sun. At least up here I can’t smell the urine on the floor.

“Why’s he smiling like that?” asked Bruiser, the large thug holding Muse several feet off the ground by the ankle – A feat easily performed since Muse was a halfling and reached only three feet high when the correct way up.

“I don’t know,” answered the smaller man.

Muse hadn’t met this second thug before, but if he’d had to guess, he’d have said his name was Mouse. Back-alley thugs weren’t very imaginative and tended to give each other names based on appearance and from a very small selection of known and accepted ones. They were probably reused.      

“It’s weird. People don’t normally smile,” said Bruiser. He lifted Muse higher and stared at him., his round, gorilla-like face filling Muse’s field of view. “Usually, they cry or beg or…”

“Fellas, I’m sure if you put me down, we can come to an accord,” said Muse. He tugged his scarlet tunic down – or was it up? –  to cover his belly, but it was difficult with a leather duster coat tangled over his shoulders and caught around his arms.

“I don’t want none of your instruments, bard,” snapped Bruiser.

“No, not an accordion, an– never mind. Put me down and we’ll–”

“Hear this, Weasel? He thinks he can talk his way out,” laughed Bruiser. He lowered Muse so the skinny thug could look him in the face.

Weasel laughed. It sounded like someone dragging a sack across gravel. “Yeah? What could you say to stop us gutting you right here?” He moved his knife to Muse’s stomach and pressed the cold metal against his exposed navel. “I could just put a little pressure here and spill your halfling insides all over the cobbles of this alley.”

“And you’d go back to the Havershams unpaid. I doubt they’d be happy about that,” said Muse.

“Happy? No,” said Weasel. “Satisfied you couldn’t trick them out of more coin? Probably. You can’t cheat men like them. They’ve got an image to uphold.”

Weasel’s upside-down face swayed in Muse’s vision. He really did look like a rodent. Pointed nose, ears one size too large for his head, and tiny sunken eyes. He even had the hint of an overbite. Clearly, they hadn’t picked his name out of a hat.

Muse sighed, and his head swayed. It really was quite difficult to form any kind of coherent plan when your brain was about to pop. That, and his bare foot felt like it’d been dipped in ice water. He wiggled his toes to get the circulation going again.

If he could just get his lute... It lay on a crate near Weasel, inches out of reach.

“You ain’t getting that back,” snapped Weasel, catching Muse’s gaze. “That’ll go some way to paying off what you stole.”

“Yeah. Nice bit of craftsmanship,” said Bruiser. “Shame none of the crew can play.”

“I could play you a few notes if you like,” offered Muse.

“We wasn’t born yesterday,” sneered Bruiser.

Weasel snatched up the lute and gave it a strum. The discordant sound made Muse wince.

“I reckon I could learn. Can’t be too hard if Muse here can do it,” said Weasel.

“Oh, carry on. I’ll give you a few pointers as you go,” said Muse.

Weasel chuckled and strummed the lute as if scratching at a particularly urgent itch. His fingers caught in the strings on both downwards and upwards strums, pulling them in all kinds of angles they weren’t meant to be pulled at.

I’m going to have to tune it again after this.

Weasel held the instrument aloft and spun it over his head, catching the back of the bowl against the corner of a building, then tossed it into the air.

He dropped it.

Bruiser laughed, and his body’s joyful convulsions shook Muse up and down. It was like being the bottle of sauce someone was trying to get the last morsel out of.

Now’s my chance.

Muse reached up to his ankle and unholstered the piccolo usually concealed beneath his trousers. Before either thug could react, he blew several crisp notes, and they froze in place – Weasel midway through a flourishing spin on one foot, and Bruiser with his free hand clapped over one ear.

“Put me down,” commanded Muse.

Bruiser turned him the right way up and placed him on the ground.

Muse blew another few notes. “Give me my lute.”

Weasel handed him the instrument.

“Wonderful. Now… go away.”

The thugs turned and wandered into the shadows. Once the echoes of their passage had faded, Muse sagged against the wall and brushed his brown hair out of his face. His ponytail had come loose at some point during the action and his shoulder-length hair was getting in his eyes.

As much as he hated to admit it, those two brutes were right; you couldn’t steal that much money from the Haversham brothers and expect a clean getaway. Though this had been a lot murkier than expected.

It was that dwarf, Berc. The one the brothers referred to as ‘their associate’. He was the brains of the outfit and had seen Muse coming a mile away. Had his thugs waiting outside the inn…

“No use fretting about it now,” he muttered, and gathered his hair in his hands, slicking it back before tying it into a short ponytail with a spare ribbon he kept in his pocket.

Once his hair was dealt with, he checked his lute for damage. Thankfully, there wasn’t a scratch on it despite the attempted vandalism. Everyone knew Sylvan Wood was hard, but to resist all that Weasel just threw at it was astounding. The elves knew their craft.

He laid the instrument in its case, closed the lid, then slung it over his back, tightening the strap to make sure it didn’t move around too much. When he was happy it was secure, he brushed down his coat before picking up his wide-brimmed hat that had fallen off in the scuffle and stuffed it on his head.

Can’t hang about. Once the charm wears off, those two will be back and they’ll be… well, ‘mad’ is the polite word for it.

Time to find a horse.