A Bounty Uncollected

The heat was the worst of it. This deep into summer, with an overflowing common room, the only thing keeping her at a comfortable temperature was the cold, cracked plaster wall against her back. Stale beer and sweat attacked her nostrils, amplified by the heat and humidity, whilst a cacophony of noise swept across her ears. The headache she could live with, but the heat caused her to bristle.

She kept an eye looking across the crowd in front of her, as serving maids slid between packed tables carrying jugs of ale and plates of bread and cheese. It seemed to her as if half the beer produced in this cursed Kingdom should reside on the floor around her feet, and that the purveyor of this particular establishment would be able to lower his prices considerably if only the majority of his produce didn’t go to waste.

Tensions within the inner Kingdom had forced a host of refugees further out into the borderlands, hoping to leave via the only gateway in the Great Wall, resulting in an eclectic mix of individuals at the tables around her. Raucous laughter came from two tables over, as a group of men slammed their jugs down and slapped each other’s backs as they congratulated themselves over the theft of some poor soul’s only coin. Another group argued over a deck of cards, with one man accused of cheating the others; a sword was being drawn, but it was none of her business. Then there were the obvious refugees, sat sullenly staring into empty pots of ale, not able to afford another or a room for the night. These were the tables she steered clear of, as they attracted attention of the unwanted kind. People looking to score a quick coin, offering promises of safe passage into the deadlands beyond, but it was more common to see the given coin than the person who paid after such an offer was accepted.

People had a habit of disappearing after making it to the borderlands, especially at the gateway. Yet people still came, it was a sign of how bad things had become for ordinary folk in the inner Kingdom. The local militia did little to help, they sat and watched at their own tables as people had what little they possessed taken from them by conmen and thieves. Gold in the pocket and ale in the belly was more important to them than upholding what passed for laws around here.

Her gaze caught the eye of a man sharing a drink with another across the room from her. He sat tall in his chair, an air of self-importance and confidence about him. He drank his ale whilst absent-mindedly listening to his friend, who was gesturing wildly with his arms. Stopping his friend, he said something to him she could not make out before they both rose and strode over to her.

It was as they arrived she noted just how tall the first man was, standing easily over 6 feet. He had the look of a blacksmith about him with thick, broad shoulders hidden beneath a leather coat. His bald, scarred head gave the impression of a man not to be trifled with, and the multiple injuries he owed his scars to told of someone who had been in many scrapes. He wore a grin, although nothing about it seemed to do with mirth. His expression could easily be likened to that of a hungry man eyeing a meal before picking up his fork.

His friend held a similar width, although lacked the height to truly intimidate. A sweat-drenched tunic clung to him, so ill-fitting she had to wonder what poor soul he had stolen it from. Gathered around his waist was a belt, and upon that belt hung a sword.

“Greetings,” said the first man, “my name is Thal. My friend here is Jorr, and he wondered if you might settle a bet for us?”

Eyes had started to be cast in their direction and deliberately averted. By the way the room had split before them as they’d walked over, she assumed that these two brigands were known.

“Good day, what bet might that be?” She replied, as sweetly as she could.

“Jorr believes you to be the person in this picture, but I don’t think anyone with a bounty on their head would be daft enough to sit alone here.” He placed a piece of paper before her holding the drawn image of a woman. It was as if she was looking into a mirror.

Bounty hunters she thought. Whether professional or not, they certainly had aspirations to be bounty collectors tonight.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it appears Jorr owes you some money.” The smile only grew on Thal’s face as she eyed the patrons nearest to her. She was unsurprised to see all the gazes around them being averted. It was dangerous enough around here without entangling yourself in a stranger’s struggles. To hope for aid in this corner of the world was to find yourself disappointed.

“You see, I’d be glad for that, I could do with some extra coin. The issue is: the coin we’ll get from taking you in makes me inclined to think it’s worth a try”. The smile slipped from his face, it was never mirthful, but now he appeared positively sinister.

“Dead or alive?” Jorr asked with an alarming calmness, it was as if they might decide between mutton or beef stew.

“Well you see, here we have another issue. Alive is worth more, but dead is a lot easier. What do you say?” A kindness, almost, to ask her opinion on if she would prefer to live.

“Please good sirs, don’t do this. I assure you: this person, this murderer, is not me.” She pleaded as she started to come to terms with just how desperate the situation was becoming.

Thal took a step closer, bringing with him a pungent scent of sweat and grime that was almost strong enough to mask the stale beer of the common room. He sat down on the chair next to her, reached slowly towards his shoulder and drew a sword from a scabbard on his back that she had not previously seen. Resting it on the table, he kept his hand on the hilt and stared daggers into her eyes.

“Seems worth the risk of being wrong, it is a lot of coin,” he said quietly. “So we’ll ask again: dead, or alive?”

She did not want to engage in a confrontation. She’d arrive in the border town to escape familiarity, to leave behind her past and avoid the fighting. But it would appear as though the Gods had sought different for her.

“I’ll tell you what” Thal declared as he leaned back, still keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword, “we’ll toss a coin. I’d prefer the extra money for alive but, hell, even dead you’re worth a year’s living, so why don’t we let fate decide?” He gestured to Jorr, who pulled a single silver coin out of his pocket. “Heads: you come with us. Tails: well, tails and it’s a body that will be dragged out of here”. The grin had returned, and despite the promise of extra reward, she believed he actually hoped for the coin to fall with its head to the floor.

“Please, I beg you, I am not the person you’re seeking” she pleaded once more “I have money, it’s yours if you leave me here”.

“You don’t have the coin to match this sheet. And were we to kill you, we could just take yours anyway.” A simple point, one that she could not argue. The logic of killing her was unassailable, and the fate of this evening seemed sealed.

Jorr placed the coin on his thumb and forefinger and flicked it high into the air. It shot up, flipping end over end, glinting as it occasionally caught the light.

The coin landed, spinning on its side until finally it settled. Tails side visible.

She shot up. Drawing her knife from the small of her back she brought it down on the hand Thal was using to hold his sword, trapping it to the table. As he screamed, her left hand scooped up his sword and slashed it horizontally below Jorr’s chin causing his eyes to widen and a line of red fluid to bubble across his throat. She pulled her knife free of the table and thrust it into Thal’s right eye, burying it up to the hilt in his skull.

“I guess it’s two bodies to be dragged out then,” she whispered to herself. Picking up the coin, she walked out as the two would-be bounty hunters gurgled their last breaths.

Outside, she pulled her hood up against the wind and rain and stepped down the alleyway.