“I’m heading for Manse to join with Prince Gwaynn,” Lacombe said to the man leading Sunwind from the belly of the trireme. “Is there a contact in Heron?”
The man shrugged and turned away. Lacombe fought down the urge to kill him for such insolence.
“Essain…he’s a dock rat and a gambler,” the man spoke without turning around. “You’ll find him at the Suckling Pig. He should know.”
Lacombe frowned. “The Suckling Pig?”
The man stopped at the very top of the gangway, half turned and pointed to the south. “Tavern, just up the dock a ways.”
The man did not wait but continued up onto the boat, but it was just as well, Lacombe would not have thanked him in any case.
The Executioner climbed up on Sunwind and made his way quickly in the direction indicated. He found the Suckling Pig with little difficulty, and from the smell, the tavern was aptly named.
As a stranger and a lone traveler, Lacombe garnered a few lengthy stares as he entered and made his way up to the bar. Surprisingly, the place was noisy and crowded. The Executioner cringed at the mixture of offensive smells, the strongest of which were currently battling for supremacy. When Lacombe found an opening at the bar he was still debating if the victor was the fetid smell of unwashed bodies or the pungent odor of frying fish. An enormous barmaid with a pair of tits each the size of her head leaned over and smiled a welcome at him. Lacombe decided then and there that the smell of unwashed bodies was champion.
“What kin’ I do ya for?” the woman asked, her breasts nearly falling from the top of her bodice and her sour breath added to the aroma of unpleasantness.
“I’m looking for Essain,” Lacombe said, very careful not to touch her or the bar with his bare hands.
The woman’s eyes darted over his left shoulder and then back. “Care for a room?” She asked still smiling, “and maybe a bit of exercise?”
Lacombe’s right hand twitched toward his kali, but he fought off the desire. “Just Essain for now, but if my luck holds…who knows.”
The woman smiled wider, showing a mouthful of yellowing teeth. “He’s in the far corner…games already started.”
Lacombe nodded and began to move away but stopped as the woman reached out and grabbed his left forearm. The Executioner turned back quickly and the smiling woman saw something lethal in his eyes. She jerked her hand back as if scalded. Lacombe fixed his gaze on her for another moment, holding her captive with fear, before turning away again. He moved through the crowded bar without hurry, though he wanted nothing more than to be done with his time here.
The game was loud and crowded with shouting men and squealing whores.
‘The Suckling Pig indeed,’ Lacombe thought as he forced his way to the front.
“Essain,” he said loudly and a slim man with long dark hair and a sharp dark beard looked up and met his eyes.
The crowd was involved in some kind of dice game and seemed annoyed at the interruption.
“A word,” Lacombe requested then held up a few gold pieces between his thumb and forefinger. At the sight of real coin, the frown fell from Essain’s face. He motioned to a few of his comrades, one of which slid neatly into his place as the gambler rose.
“Come,” Essain, said smiling. “We will talk in the back…it’s more private,” he added and led the way passed the bar; missing the wary look the barmaid was sporting. Lacombe followed, as did two of Essain’s larger associates. The group moved through the kitchen which was also full of offensive smells and into a large private room which was furnished well and surprisingly spotless. Essain moved quickly behind a large oak desk and sat in an expensive looking plush chair. He motioned for Lacombe to be seated but the Executioner merely stood and tossed the gold pieces to the gambler, who snatched both pieces deftly out of the air with one hand and then seemed very pleased with the accomplishment.
“I’m heading to Manse to join with Prince Gwaynn. I thought perhaps you might know of others traveling in the direction,” Lacombe said. He was aware of the two large men who stood at his back, directly inside the door to the room, but he felt no real apprehension.
Essain eyed the stranger before him quietly for a moment. The man was armed with kali and had the look of a fighting soldier, but that was of little concern to Essain. He’d prospered under Deutzani rule and his strength and power were continuing to build under the lawless rule of…Prince Gwaynn.
“You mean King Gwaynn,” Essain said finally speaking, wondering if the man before him was a gifted warrior or just another fool in the search of glory.
Lacombe smiled for a brief instant. “King Gwaynn…I’d not heard.”
Essain shrugged. “It’s what the rabble call him. Are you good with those?” He asked nodding toward the swords that hung at the waist of the Executioner.
Lacombe smiled once more. “Adequate,” he answered.
“I’m always looking for good men,” Essain said then frowned as Lacombe immediately shook his head.
“Sorry,” he answered, though he was not.
“Well then,” Essain answered suddenly angry and Lacombe felt the men at his back tense, though he remained quietly relaxed. “Paulo is the man you need to see. Paulo Carnnetti, merchant in the Garden district. Personal friend of the King, so I’m told.”
Lacombe nodded ever so slightly and turned to go.
“Your purse,” Essain said lightly. “If you’re going to war you’ll not be needin’ it.”
Without turning back Lacombe drew his kali so swiftly that the two men at the door barely had time to lay a hand on their own weapons and they lost their heads in unison, their blood spraying about the lavishly furnished room. Lacombe spun again and was once more facing Essain before the two bodyguards even realized they were dead. The dead men fell into one another, did a slow pirouette like a pair of drunken dancers, and then dropped to the floor with a single thud.
The gambler’s eyes were wide with fear and surprise, but he was quick and managed to throw the knife he kept hidden in his waistcoat and though Essain was very good with his knives, he rushed his throw a bit in his panic. The man before him did not move or even flinch as the knife flew past his left ear and buried itself in the doorframe beyond.
Lacombe smiled. “Chance is a dangerous, fickle partner,” he whispered drawing closer, watching intently for any overt move the man before him might try.
“You, being what you are, should know that better than anyone. For years good fortune may walk hand in hand beside you, docile and submissive, like a sweet young lover, but then one day, without word or warning, you‘re abandoned and all alone, naked and without a friend…such is chance.”
“He…here,” Essain said trying to sink further back into his chair while holding out the two gold coins and wondering if his luck had truly run out.
Lacombe smiled and shook his head. “Keep them,” he answered, “but I will take your right hand in exchange.”
“Wha…what?”
“Your right hand or your life,” Lacombe said and slashed a kali through the air close enough that Essain felt it’s passing on his cheek.
The gambler thought about crying out, but knew the shout would be lost in the noise of the tavern. He doubted anyone could reach him in time at any rate. “I have money.”