"Done, then."
Five. He'd killed five of them. Three of 'em children. Killed them with a bag o' coin and a mouthful o' words. His knives had only sealed whatever blood pact he had goin' with Thal. Thal, and Rhalgr.
His stomach was still churning when he finally sat down to the table farthest from the bar. He kicked his legs up and onto the tabletop, pushing back in his chair 'til he was leaning so far that the seat was balanced, poised, on its two hind legs. The Wench wasn't particularly busy tonight, and that might've been why the short-haired brunette at the counter spotted him so quickly.
The Miqo'te lad had been bad enough; jumped on the way to Yayabuko, and he'd been obliged to slit the kit's throat and give the body to the Navigator's waters. The Lalafell lass would've been the worst, though... had it not been for the Hyur lad.
Thomys. That could've been Thomys.
His eyes fixed on Corinna as the serving girl made her way over.
Murderer. You're a murderer. I'm a murderer. Gods, why did I ever let you outta the brig? Why'd I bring you topside? Shoulda left you in the bilge to rot.
The boy in his head scowled as he shoved Osric aside. Weren't any time for this self-pityin' gobshite. He dropped his eyes as the girl came up to him, pad 'n' quill in hand, ready to take his order.
"What are you doin' here," she hissed at him through a forced smile full of clenched teeth.
"Cori," he said in a whisper, "shut up and listen to me. Take the rest of the night off. The next three nights. Tell'm ye'll be over at the Bismarck, for extra lessons. Get word home t'Ma. Keep Tom off the streets. And ask ol' Baddy if I can have twenty-three at the 'mast. I'm going to need it."
"Ossy..."
He didn't look up at her; he didn't care to see the concern in her eyes. Bad enough that he could hear it catching in her throat.
"Ossy, are you working again?"
He grit his teeth. 'Course he was working again. Why else would he be here, when she'd told him outright, four years ago, told him - near spat in his face, really - to never, ever visit the Wench during her shift?
"Piss 'n' blood, Cori, move your ass. I've got a problem. Don't make it worse."
A moment's harsh silence... and then came the scribble and scratch of quill on paper.
"Yessir, that'll be one glass, comin' right up. Thank you."
She bowed, arms folded over her pad, then stormed off. A single glass of pineapple juice arrived not a minute later; he looked up, and caught Tenfinger's eye. The man at the bar nodded. The boy drained the glass in one long pull, slammed it back onto the table, slipped out of his chair, and made his way over to the Mizzenmast.
Two flights of stairs, a door, and one dead would-be assassin later, and he was in twenty-three.
Dirk Problemsolver was back in town, and gods damn did he have a problem.
Five. He'd killed five of them. Three of 'em children. Killed them with a bag o' coin and a mouthful o' words. His knives had only sealed whatever blood pact he had goin' with Thal. Thal, and Rhalgr.
His stomach was still churning when he finally sat down to the table farthest from the bar. He kicked his legs up and onto the tabletop, pushing back in his chair 'til he was leaning so far that the seat was balanced, poised, on its two hind legs. The Wench wasn't particularly busy tonight, and that might've been why the short-haired brunette at the counter spotted him so quickly.
The Miqo'te lad had been bad enough; jumped on the way to Yayabuko, and he'd been obliged to slit the kit's throat and give the body to the Navigator's waters. The Lalafell lass would've been the worst, though... had it not been for the Hyur lad.
Thomys. That could've been Thomys.
His eyes fixed on Corinna as the serving girl made her way over.
Murderer. You're a murderer. I'm a murderer. Gods, why did I ever let you outta the brig? Why'd I bring you topside? Shoulda left you in the bilge to rot.
The boy in his head scowled as he shoved Osric aside. Weren't any time for this self-pityin' gobshite. He dropped his eyes as the girl came up to him, pad 'n' quill in hand, ready to take his order.
"What are you doin' here," she hissed at him through a forced smile full of clenched teeth.
"Cori," he said in a whisper, "shut up and listen to me. Take the rest of the night off. The next three nights. Tell'm ye'll be over at the Bismarck, for extra lessons. Get word home t'Ma. Keep Tom off the streets. And ask ol' Baddy if I can have twenty-three at the 'mast. I'm going to need it."
"Ossy..."
He didn't look up at her; he didn't care to see the concern in her eyes. Bad enough that he could hear it catching in her throat.
"Ossy, are you working again?"
He grit his teeth. 'Course he was working again. Why else would he be here, when she'd told him outright, four years ago, told him - near spat in his face, really - to never, ever visit the Wench during her shift?
"Piss 'n' blood, Cori, move your ass. I've got a problem. Don't make it worse."
A moment's harsh silence... and then came the scribble and scratch of quill on paper.
"Yessir, that'll be one glass, comin' right up. Thank you."
She bowed, arms folded over her pad, then stormed off. A single glass of pineapple juice arrived not a minute later; he looked up, and caught Tenfinger's eye. The man at the bar nodded. The boy drained the glass in one long pull, slammed it back onto the table, slipped out of his chair, and made his way over to the Mizzenmast.
Two flights of stairs, a door, and one dead would-be assassin later, and he was in twenty-three.
Dirk Problemsolver was back in town, and gods damn did he have a problem.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
