I return to the gaolhouse beneath grey morning light. The heavy oak door groans on its hinges as I push it open, stepping into the fetid dungeon. The gaoler sits behind his splintered desk, nursing a mug of something steaming.

  He grimaces when he sees me, but makes no comment. We've grown accustomed to one another by this point.

  “From the mayor.” I say, drawing the folded parchment from my cloak, sealed with Edwin’s crest.

  He eyes it with suspicion, then snatches it from my hand and breaks the seal. His eyes scan the page, jaw working as he reads. After a moment, he grunts and rises, fetching a ring of keys from the wall.

  Together, we descend the stone steps. The air grows colder and wetter as we go, the familiar stench of piss, shit, and mildew thickening to an almost unbearable degree.

  Fuck. I swear this place smells worse every time I come.

  Hamza and William lie on the straw-covered floor of their cells, filth clinging to their clothes and skin despite their best efforts. Their heads are bowed, but Hamza glances up at the sound of keys and footsteps. His eyes narrow at the sight of the gaoler, then widen slightly when he sees me.

  The other cells are not empty. Several new prisoners moan or twitch behind the iron bars, brigands, no doubt, or what remains of them. Some are missing fingers, others ears or teeth. Tortured for every bit of information they possess.

  Hamza rises slowly. "Back again, Seven?"

  William wakes at the sound of my name, scrambling upright with a grin plastered across his dirt-smudged face. "Seven! Gods above, tell me you've brought somethin’ to chew on, yeah?"

  I shake my head. "Not this time."

  He deflates instantly, shoulders slumping as he groans. "Damn... reckon my stomach just tried to eat my liver outta spite."

  The gaoler, less irritated than I expected, grumbles something under his breath and moves to unlock the cell doors, keys jangling as he works the locks.

  William looks up, confused. "Wait... what’re you doing?"

  Hamza stands rigid, eyes narrowing. "Is he...."

  I step forward. "Not food this time. Something better."

  The gaoler swings the first door open with a heavy clank.

  "Freedom."

  Hamza’s jaw tightens as if he didn’t hear right. William stares at me like I’ve grown another head.

  "You're... serious?" William asks, voice hoarse.

  I nod.

  The second door groans as it opens. Hamza doesn’t move at first, staring at the threshold.

  The gaoler waves them out with a grunt. "Out, the both of you. You've overstayed your welcome, thieves."

  He steps back, crossing his arms as they shuffle from their cells. "Got real scum in here now." He shoots a glare at the brigands in the yonder cells, his lip curling with contempt.

  William stares a moment longer, eyes wide, then suddenly his face crumples. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes, carving tracks through the grime on his cheeks.

  "Seven... fuck, I really thought I was gonna rot here. Thought this was it. Gods, I-"

  He chokes on the words and rushes forward, arms flung wide as he crashes into me in a tight, desperate hug.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Ain’t sure how you pulled it off, mate, but I owe you my life."

  The man sobs into my shoulder, I recoil, the moment my nose gets a whiff of him.

  "Oi! Fuck- get off me, you fucking reek."

  I wrench him off and fling him toward Hamza, who catches the man with a grunt. His own eyes are glistening now, though he says nothing, just nods once, slowly, holding William by the shoulders.

  William sniffles, still clinging to him. "Sorry 'bout that."

  Hamza sets William aside, steadying him with a firm grip before turning to me, his brow furrowed. "How in the hells did you manage this, Seven?"

  Before I can answer, the gaoler cuts in with a scoff. "As of today, you two sorry shits are conscripts of Ravencroft. You’ll answer to him now." He jerks his thumb toward me.

  Hamza’s eyes widen. "Conscripted...?"

  I meet his gaze. "We’ll be hunting brigands."

  A grim smile tugs at the edge of Hamza’s lips. His eyes darken. "Gladly."

  We emerge from the gaolhouse into the pale light of morning, the door slamming shut behind us. The air outside is sharp and crisp, heavy with the scent of frost and chimney smoke, but to William and Hamza it might as well be the smell of freedom itself.

  William takes in a deep breath, coughing a little as the cold hits his lungs, but grinning all the same. "Hells... I forgot air could smell so good."

  Hamza closes his eyes for a moment, wearing a faint smile. "It is good."

  They both stand for a moment in silence, faces tilted toward the rising sun, filth still clinging to them, but with something lighter in their posture.

  I watch them both, hands tucked into my cloak, then gesture with a nod toward the road ahead. "Come on. We’ve got work to do, and only a few days to prepare."

  We don’t linger. After a brief stop, I pay for time at the bathhouse. The keeper wrinkles her nose the moment she sees William and Hamza and promptly insists I rent a private tub. I don't bother arguing.

  Once scrubbed clean and at least somewhat human again, the three of us make our way to the inn. We push open the door and step into the warmth of the great hearth and the smell of spiced stew.

  Inside, Elsie is working the bar in place of her father, wiping down the counter. William spots her and immediately rushes up, sliding onto a stool with a wide grin.

  "Elsie! Gods, it's good to see a familiar face!"

  She freezes, eyes wide until she finally recognizes who she's looking at. "William...?"

  He beams at her. Hamza and I follow shortly after, sitting beside him. She nods to Hamza, then turns her smile to me.

  "Seven," she says warmly, "Good to see you."

  I give her a nod. "How's your father? Still resting?"

  Her smile falters, shoulders sinking a little. "He's better, but not well enough to work. Not yet, anyway. Mistress Zaenith says he needs more time."

  William’s smile fades, concern creeping into his voice. "Wait, something happen to old man Osric?"

  I nod. "He got hurt pretty bad during the brigand raid. Took a nasty blow."

  Elsie’s expression softens, and she speaks with quiet conviction. "We’d both be dead if it weren’t for Seven." Her eyes find mine, radiant with gratitude.

  But then sadness creeps into her expression. "And for Philip and Dale..."

  William’s face falls. "They passed?"

  I nod. "Killed by brigands."

  His fist clenches, jaw tight. "Bastards... Knew those two since I was a boy. They'll pay."

  I meet his eyes. "I already killed them."

  Elsie nods firmly, her voice proud. "He killed all five. Defended us to the last!"

  Yes... defended you. That's right... that's what I did.

  Hamza nods with respect. "This part you did not mention when speaking of the raid. More brigands dead by your blade.”

  I shrug, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mmm, well... I don't like to boast. Besides, I told you I fought."

  Turning to Elsie, I raise a hand. "Three bowls of stew, some bread, and ale too."

  She nods and moves to fill the order. We carry our food to a table tucked in the corner, away from the rest. The tavern’s gentle murmur covers our voices well.

  I take look around us, no one’s paying us any attention.

  "Alright," I say, voice low. "Time to get down to business. As the gaoler said, I convinced the mayor to conscript you to fight the brigands, since the town is so shorthanded. And we've been given a specific task. If it's completed, the mayor promised you'd both be free men."

  Both William and Hamza listen intently, though they continue to shovel food into their mouths.

  "So," I ask, keeping my voice low, "that acceptable to you both?"

  They nod in unison, their full mouths making their serious expressions look somewhat comical.

  I press on. "Our task is to infiltrate their gang, the Bleeding Knives. Act like one of them. Get close. Then pass everything we learn back to the mayor."

  Hamza’s jaw clenches as if he didn’t hear right. "You mean to tell us we're to become brigands?"

  I nod. "And as brigands, we'll lead the Bleeding Knives straight to their deaths."

  He exhales slowly, then gives a single, resolute nod.

  "We’ll have another man with us," I add. "You’ll meet him soon."

  I glance between them. "Do either of you have weapons?"

  William rubs his jaw. "Should do. Assuming my place hasn’t been stripped bare. Got my pa’s old hunting bow and carving knife."

  Hamza grunts. "My father’s axe. Still sharp, last I laid eyes on it."

  I nod. "Good. Fetch your weapons, gather anything else you need. You’ve two days to prepare. Then we begin."

  William’s smile falters as his thoughts turn inward. "I... I better bury Ma. She’s probably still home... waiting for me."

  Hamza places a firm hand on his shoulder. "We’ll do it together."

  He turns to me. "Thank you, Seven. Truly."

  They rise, and we part ways. For now.