Day 15 – The Fighter
Cutter burst through the doors of Spinners. The room was the usual din. Fighters roared and laughed, fueled by strong ale. Lithe females, mostly elves, writhed against armored bodies, male and female, fueled by the need for coin. Spinner sat at the centre, the spider in his web, profiting from intoxication and exploitation. Cutter was struck, just for a moment, by how sinister the spider creature seemed. All his arms working, pouring drinks and cleaning glasses. Spinner was the beating heart at the centre of this organism. And for just a moment Cutter could see how sick the organism was.
He shook himself free of the thought and surged forward, leaping onto a table.
“HEY! HEY!”
His shout was nothing in the din. He wasn’t even the loudest voice roaring as a Bufo fighter with an eye patch howled encouragement to two elven prostitutes locked in a passionate embrace. The Bufo tossed quarters of coins at the two as they writhed before him on his table.
“God damn it! HEY! SHIT HEAPS! I GOT COIN ON OFFER!”
A couple of heads turned towards him but in the majority the party continued, the hum and buzz of the place drowning him out.
Lita was at his heel. “Bruh, this isn’t working. They’re not hearing you dude.”
Cutter glanced down, “Dammit, I can see that.”
He leapt down from the table and stormed across the room. He jostled patrons as he went, not caring. Faces surged towards him in anger but they were clay banded one and all and the sight of the iron that clasped his wrist silenced their objections.
He reached the bar. “Spinner! Hey Spinner!”
The many-eyed head turned towards him. “Yeah? Whazzit?”
Cutter leaned in, shouting to be heard. “Got an emergency! Need to hire some swords! Got coin!”
Spinner leaned in. “Alright then. Give us the contract and I’ll get you swords.”
Cutter shook his head, “This is one of those do or die kind of things! We need to get rollin, and we need to do it yesterday! I need a posse!”
Spinner’s many eyes blinked, inspecting him. Cutter wondered what the spider creature was thinking. Was it wondering how it would get a cut from Cutter gathering a posse? Was it wondering what this brash action would cost him in terms of clientele?
Spinner blinked again. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”
The arms spread wide and Spinner shouted, “LISTEN UP!”
His voice had been no louder than Cutter’s. If anything it failed to reach the volume he had achieved. But the effect was instant and pronounced. A silence fell over most of the bar. Some voices, at the periphery, continued oblivious. Cutter heard the eye-patched Bufo roaring at his prostitutes, “YEAH! GET IN THERE! RIGHT IN THERE!”
Spinner roared a second time. This was the voice of the one who poured the beer. The voice of the one who managed the girls. The voice of the one who could banish any of them from this hellish paradise of sin. They heard him and silence truly fell.
Spinner nodded to Cutter, “All yours, mate.”
Cutter bowed his head in thanks and climbed onto the bar. He could feel the weight of every eye on him.
“Got a job, fellas. It’s going to sound mad at first, but you need to let me finish. Want to get a crew together to kill an Iron.”
Immediately he was bombarded by scorn. The voices rose up and washed over him.
“Oh yeah? Fuck, but I wasn’t planning on being a corpse tonight!”
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“Take ten of the best of us! Fuck off, you don’t have the coin for that!”
“I’ve just paid for this chick, you can piss off!”
Cutter glanced to Spinner. The spider arms flexed and the room fell silent again.
Cutter swallowed. “I said let me finish. It’s not so bad as it sounds. Iron in question is a Finality soldier and he’s wounded. He’s after abducting a… well, I guess a friend of mine. I’ve got six hundred bucks here and I’ll give a hundred coin to anyone willing to join me. I’ve already got me and two other stones, including Norris the assassin, signed up.”
Norris’s inclusion seemed to sway some heads. He saw some faces become a little more interested, some nodding and swaying with consideration.
Cutter said, “That means with six more we’d have nine stones. Against one wounded Iron? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me? Yeah?”
There was no assent. The eyes stayed on him, interested, but there was no agreement and not one volunteer.
A tug at his pants and he looked down to the Huntress looking up at him. She curled a finger at him, gesturing him closer.
Cutter crouched down. “Hey, I’m kind of in the middle of something…”
Her voice was low, echoing and distorted from the confines of her helmet, “It’s going to take more than that. They’re interested. Who wouldn’t be interested in making a hundred coins for a few hours work. But an Iron, Cutter? That means easy death. You’ve got a good proposition. But the risk to reward is too far off.”
He paused. Then, “What about you? You going to sign up?”
She laughed. “I like you Cutter, but I’m not going to die to an Iron just because I like you, and not for a hundred coins.”
He sagged. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
She said, “Sweeten the offer.”
He looked around the room. It was true, he had their attention. Every face was looking at him. Every face seemed to be doing mental maths. She was right though, he could see that the interest was insufficient to the danger.
“What the hell can I do then? Ask for fewer and offer them a bigger portion of the six hundred bucks?”
She said, “Must be a hell of a friend if you’re willing to spend that kind of coin to save him.”
He said, “That’s not an answer. And it’s… well, let’s just say it’s complicated.”
She laughed again. “Seems you like complicated.”
He said, “Seems I’m not getting anywhere and you know how to get me some traction.”
She glanced back at the horde of hired killers, then back to Cutter. “You know what would tempt me?”
Cutter said, “What?”
She said, “A share of the loot.”
“What?”
“An Iron banded fighter might drop a blaze sigil. Depending on the sigil that might be worth ten grand. I know, there’s a plenty decent chance he drops nothing, but if I was playing the odds then I’d be willing to call that fifty-fifty and say on average there’s going to be five grand to be divided up. Add that to the definite hundred coins no matter what happens and I think I’d be in.”
The carefully laid out logic tugged at him. It reminded him of his wife. The thought made him think about his delusion that this was all a dream—
“It is a fucking dream.”
The thought made him think about his… certainty that this was all a dream. It made him think of her, the voice of reason when he was being carried off by a flight of fancy. The way she could make him see sense when he was blind to it. It made him briefly sad. But he didn’t have time for sadness. He stood back up.
“OKAY! You want a little extra? Even shares of the loot from the Iron? How’s that sound?”
A murmur. Interest. No commitments.
“Come on you shitheads! That’s ten grand!”
Voices rang out. “Mightn’t drop nothing!” “A share of nothing is still nothing.”
Then a voice, the eye-patched Bufo, “Alright! I’m in!”
Cutter glanced at him and saw a stone band at his wrist. The majority of the throng were clay, as with any population. “ALRIGHT! That’s one! Who else! I’m only offering dosh like this to Stone bands!”
An ogre with an axe on his back and a nearly nude elf on his lap shouted, “Fuck it! Alright, I’m in!”
Cutter looked around. He could see they were interested. He could see temptation warring with self-preservation on so many faces. He glanced down at Huntress. She returned his gaze and shrugged.
Spinner sighed behind him. He tapped Cutter’s leg, gesturing for him to step aside. Cutter took the step. Spinner did not climb onto the counter, but all eyes went to him.
Spinner spoke, loudly, but not shouting. “Alright then lads. Almost got ye. Two in and he wants four more. How’s this sound then? Right? If six of you layabouts sign up then the cash and the loot get divided with the survivors. Come on lads, it’s an Iron band. Right enough, the bastard is wounded, so a crew like this can get the job done? But with none of you dying? I fucking doubt it!”
Cutter hissed, “I don’t know if you’re really selling it Spinner…”
But the heads were leaning closer now, eyes wider, calculating, more interested.
Spinner chuckled. “Only thing this lot is more interested in than surviving is gambling.”
Spinner turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. “You lot can do the math! Say six of you go in and three of you make it out? That’s two hundred coins for a few hours work and, if the fucker drops a good sigil, more than three grand each!”
Silence for just a moment.
Then an avalanche of voices, roaring, scrambling over each other for a chance to make the party.
Cutter stood, tension fleeing his body. “Well, thank god for that.”
Then he looked down to Huntress. She was still looking up at him. From this angle, looking down at her, the low light of the bar painting her skin and cleavage in soft hues he thought she looked like a vision from a dream.
He crouched down again and spoke to her.
“So what about you, babe? You in?”
