A
rough calloused hand missed Bellany’s bottom by an inch. The hand
belonged to a Minotaur who, despite appearing to have recently gained
lucrative employment, proved to be a poor tipper. An inch would be as
close as he came, though she enjoyed teasing him with missed
opportunities. Amateurs could display graceful movement, but it took a true
professional to control their every motion while seeming to lack grace.
Life was a dance, and dancers were ever aware of inches. Inches were
vital, inches were life. Inches were death.
The
painful cost of imprecision was written in Bellany’s memories, if
not her flesh. The lessons served her well: she had once dodged a
mage’s bolt of lightning by an inch before opening his throat with
an inch of steel. She had avoided her death by poisoned arrow, naked
steel, claws, and magic by minding every inch. Her devotion to
the inches made her a favorite tool for her sometimes lover and guild
master Jax.
Tonight
she was just a “little birdie,” waiting tables with her eyes and
ears open to tonight’s dance. Later she’d sing what she had
learned to Jax. She already had tidbits for his ear and they were
just appetizers for the main course. Soon the Chaos Man would arrive,
the meeting would begin and secrets would become hers to trade.
The
bar was overfull of sweaty workers, practically buzzing with
emotional energy. Someone stirred up the beehive tonight and the
honey would be sweet to opportunists. Shenanigans would soon be afoot
and Jax would be pleased at the news. Bellany could always count on a
lot of work when Shenanigans was called, a corpse or two in the chaos
was hardly remarkable. She’d feel the exhilaration of dancing with
death once more.
Another
useful tidbit she’d already gathered was that there appeared to be
a new employer in the Workmen’sGuild. Roughly a dozen carpenters
of various trade levels were carrying blue hand axes in the employer
loop. Must have been a rich one too; from the looks of those
hatchets, they were all masterwork quality. The men hired all had a
desperate air to them. Each was mindful to protect their food and
drinks and all shared that hard look.
Bellany
swayed in graceful inches toward her next customer. The
bad-blood Orc Caravaneer was a bit of a disappointment thus far. His
tips were generous and he was pleasant to look at, but he seemed
immune to Bellany’s flirtations, which was just plain insulting. He
was clearly distracted by his thoughts and frustrated with the
predictable tardiness of the Chaos Man. He’d be easy to kill if she
desired, though his bodyguard would likely be trouble. The lizardman
had the aura of menace that comes when a man has befriended Daras.
His deadly confidence was practically palpable and his predatory gaze
constantly swept the room for threats. Not a simple bodyguard but a
Sunder then, a true pro. Bellany left him a drink, a smile, and
moved on.
As
Bellany moved on to her next customer, her thoughts linger a moment
longer about the bad blood. Caravaneer Malleck’s attempt to blend
in was comical, for starters his workbelt was out of date. Having an
out of date belt meant you were either a fraud or you weren’t up on
your guild dues. Whoever set him up with that belt from the merchant
guild was either incompetent or spiteful. While lacking ornamentation
typical to high ranking merchants, his clothing was unmistakably
fine, which marked him as a phony to anyone who bothered to pay
attention. Wearing that he was in the very least asking for a bar
fight, and with tonight’s charged climate it could easily escalate
to something much worse.
To her eyes every inch of him displayed a man accustomed to wealth and power. Those with money never understood. There is an assortment of little habits and assumptions made by the rich, behaviors painfully obvious to the poor. He was drinking the bar’s best beer while everyone else was drinking the cheapest, he tipped casually and often while everyone else tipped once and usually minimally, and his posture was too straight, a dead giveaway. Those who labored hard for a living didn’t have great posture. When your shift is over you relax and lean into your chair, and if you have to stand, you slouch. If Malleck was badly beaten and mugged no one in this bar would intervene. Heck, with the energy in the air tonight the workman would probably care less if an outsider was killed.
The
thought hit her like a cudgel to the face, it’s
not a coincidence.
To many elements were awry, the belt being wrong, the Blacksmith
bodyguard on a night where the buzz was on a rumored price increase,
and the blue hatchets. A group of apprentices wearing the hatchets
kept glancing at Malleck, she knew that he was a target. They must
have wanted the Chaos Man too, or they’d simply act.
Wasn’t
much of a logistical leap for Bellany to realize her presence in such
a potentially hazardous environment was unlikely a coincidence. Jax
lingered after their last dalliance, he left allot of pregnant pauses
as though he held great news or expected some. Sending her into a
deathtrap as a way to break up would not be out of her lover and
guild master’s character. If he had someone tail her to the herb
woman last week he might have cause.
Life
was lived an inch a time, so she timed her “clumsy spill” in a
way that doused one of the hatchet men in whiskey, and threw her into
the arms of another. He wouldn't notice the prick or the
poison until he took a few more steps, nor would his companion. She
dealt with three of five, the sunder had to handle the rest.
The
ring of a crossbow bolt striking drawn steel chimed a perfect
beautiful note before someone yelled “Shenanigans!” and the bar
erupted in chaos.
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