The Intimate Draught

Light. No - not light. Just movement. Shadows danced like nymphs in the night, casting shapes in stuttering shimmers. There were sounds too but they were under water, moaning at me in a drone of slowed booms. The dancers slowed to a halt, their shimmering tails resolving into clouds in a black sky. I tried to wipe my eyes but realised I couldn't move my hands. Both were held tightly in place - as indeed were my legs.

This wasn't good.

The noises were less foggy now, resolving themselves into voices too slurred for understanding against the backdrop of screaming agony throbbing in the back of my skull. I tried to move again and succeeded only in breaking a clammy sweat. My eyelids felt like they could almost move but when they started to open, light poured in like acid.

"Roz? Roz? Ach, lass, ye had us worried!"

I shook away some of the clouds. "Mmmimak sensss?"

"Hmm? I heard ye whimper."

"Not whimper."

A different voice sounded. "Is she awake?"

"Aye, lad. She just whimpered."

"Didn't whimper."

"She back wiv us? Thought I 'eard a whimper."

I shifted angrily. "Dirt's knackers, I didn't bloody whimper, okay? I don't do whimpering." My voice sounded strange and it took me a few moments to realise it was down to the missing teeth at the front of my mouth.

"Oh yes - she's back, alright," said Lindon - yes, Lindon. Things were coming into focus. I risked opening my eyes again and just dealt with the pain as light overtook my reality.

"Good to see you came back to life, boss," rumbled the unmistakable tones of Terence.

Harry let out one of his trademark in-accent chuckles. "Aye, tha meat mountain believes ye dead if ye canne speak, lass."

"Well, I'm alive again now, even if my head feels as sore as a rabbit on wedding night." I tried to mop my brow but still couldn't move my hands. "Okay, so why can't I move? Either I caught a permanent kind of injury, in which case you shouldn't have woken me up, or you have me restrained ... And if that's the case, I'll be inflicting one punch for every heartbeat it takes you to untie me."

I heard Lindon mumble something and a pressure release across my prone form. I briefly considered serving him for dinner but settled for the kind of glare that curdles milk in the udder.
He promptly tried to hide behind Terence.

"We 'ad to," piped up Smiff. "You was right arsy while you were out. Kept grabbing folks' twig n berries. Don't blame the Elf - we made 'im do it."

Images of the alley fight flashed into my head, served with a heavy side of panic. I drew in a sharp breath, trying to quell the fluttering in my chest. My elbow throbbed hard but I could move it, which meant it was fixed - mechanically, at least.

"What happened?" I coughed and pulled myself to a sitting position. I had on the flimsiest gown imaginable, made from the kind of cloth posh folk use to wipe their arses. It was rougher than a sand shower and about as comfortable as a cactus armchair. "Last thing I remember is sending Terence to help you lot, a dirty magic finger, and getting into a fight I wasn't sure I could get out of. Remind me not to do that last bit again."

"Well," said Lindon's voice from behind Terence's torso. "Turns out, I hadn't turned off the connection I made to you properly. That's what I get for trying out new magic. Anyway, you sent out some thoughts so powerful and violent, they damned near scrambled my brains. I figured you must be in trouble." A slender hand appeared, just about visible over Terence's shoulder, patting. "Our barbarian here came back for you. Unfortunately, between what you did to one guy and what he did to the other one, they weren't really in a position to answer questions." He paused for a moment. "I, err, I'm not sure about the finger thing you mentioned. Are you sure it wasn't a fever dream?"

"It was real, alright," I said blearily, casting a gaze around the room. "Real and nasty. That wasn't magic like you do, Lindon. It was ... sick, somehow. It wasn't the usual stuff - not dragons, demons or sorcerers. This was someone - or something - deeply troubled and powerful." Harry was looking at me, worried - he's a sweetie, really. Lindon was peeking under a barbarian's armpit, still nervous, and the barbarian himself stood with hands on hips, apparently happy I'd returned from the dead. By one foot was a large burlap sack. To the side, Smiff was twitching nervously.

I sniffed. "I only ever felt something that ... dirty once before." A realisation bloomed in my thoughts. "When I was burgling a certain house owned by a certain crime family. I remember, because it was too much for Elljay."

"Huh," said Lindon, shrugging. "Yeah, but a mild curry was too much for Elljay."

"True." I grinned. "But this was bad - even for me. We never did find out who was behind that."

Harry spat on the floor. "Dirty buggers mess with tha fabric o' things. It'll nee end well."

"A powerful bastard explains the barny we got in down Belly Row," said Smiff. "I ain't seen spellin' like that ever. Like the ground itself wanted to muck us up." He sniffed. "I don't trust nothin' I can't cut with a sword."

"Aye," said Harry, nodding. "Tha poor folk turned on us wi' tools and stones, eyes breet red. They didne know ther strength." His voice dropped to a sinister croak. "We had te put 'em doon."

Lindon shifted like he had gnomes in his pants. "I tried to shield us, Roz. I really did. In the end, all I managed was to cover a retreat. Belly Row's in a state, and we lost some town staff. Whoever was behind that magic, it felt..." He shrugged. "It felt indiscriminate, like they just wanted everyone dead."

"Some duffer," said Smiff quietly, "is coverin' some tracks."

I looked around, absorbing what they were saying. The room around me was unfamiliar, replete with six beds and various timber frames holding an array of outlandish equipment. I was the only occupant, which may or may not be a good thing. "Okay - next question. Where am I? And
Lindon, if you grin and say 'here' I'll make ribbons from your guts."

"The Watch barracks," said the Elf, wisely avoiding sarcasm or existential witticisms. "Mastik seemed ready to argue, but Terence just ignored him. This is their hospital. Their medic says you might see strange things and feel sudden mood changes for a few days."

I snorted. "Is that meant to sound different from usual life with you lot in tow?"

"She's definitely better, lads."

"Aye, fer certain."

"I know."

"Sorted." Smiff looked around the room. "Anyfing you need doin' boss? I feel like a fiff cartwheel at the moment."

I threw him a brief look, wondering why he was in such a rush. My head was throbbing so hard, my vision was fading and pulsing in time to it. "Yeah. You can tell me what's in that big sack nobody's thought to mention yet."

"It's a gift," said Lindon, finally emerging from behind Terence. "We haven't opened it yet, since the very scary delivery demon said it was for you. And I'm really hoping you have an Uncle Donald somewhere in your family, because otherwise you've been talking to somebody seriously dangerous."

"Oh, he wouldn't hurt me," I smiled. "We go back, me and Uncle Don." Air whistled between my teeth. "Tell me I won't be gumming my food like a retired tortoise boxer for the rest of my life."
London smiled nervously. "I tried something. They should grow back. Never tried anything like it before, but I had strong motivation." Okay, so I forgive him.

I gestured at the sack. "He works fast, I'll give him that. This will be the assassin who shot at me outside my home." Images rushed through my head. "Seems like a long time ago now. Terence, be a darling and unwrap my gift for me, will you? Let's see what he has to say."

The barbarian picked up the bag and Smiff headed for the door. "I got to report in and stuff."

We all exchanged looks as he left the room.

"Alright," I said. "Who's upset Smiff?"

I got shrugs from three different heights and a thud as one vaguely conscious assassin hit the floor from an upended sack. He was wearing all-black tight fitting leather and dark stain on his face and bald pate which rather complimented some significant bruising. Blue eyes that might have been piercing instead conveyed an air of defeat.

"I confess," he mumbled. "I'll tell you everything."

Without a word, Terence picked him up by an ankle and punched him in the stomach, heading to the nearest wooden bed frame to hang him upside down.

"I was hired," he wheezed, "to shoot at you."

"Confess," said Terence, grabbing the guy by one wrist and using it to hit him in the face with his own hand. "Confess, or keep hitting yourself."

"I am confessing, you great lumbering arse! I said I'd tell you everything!"

Another punch. "Confess."

"I confess - I did it. I shot at the lady over there. I got paid to take the shot."

"Confess." This time, the guy's fist hit hard enough to draw blood.

"Dirt's balls, you really are an idiot aren't you?"

"Confess." Smack.

"It was me, boss, I did it all, I'll name everyone!"

Thunk. "Confess."

"Fine," said the assassin, desperation in his voice. "No way, man, I ain't telling you anything. You can beat me all you want, I won't say a thing. I'll die before I talk."

Terence nodded and turned to me, his face the picture of earnest intent. "He's ready to talk now."

I tried to ignore Harry's shaking shoulders and Lindon wheezing with laughter. "Thank you."

Bracing myself, I slid from the cot onto the floor, doing my best to hide how wobbly my legs felt. Heading across the room, I crouched in front of our captive and turned my head to look into his upside down eyes. With the darkening face paint, mingled with bruises, blood and a rough stubble, he looked like a demonic creature ... or a dead cactus.

"Speak the name," I said quietly, pleased at the dry scratch in my throat - it made me feel threatening. "I already know who commissioned you, but confirm it for me."

He blinked. "I only dealt with a go-between. Swarthy bloke with a rough-and-tumble accent."

Something flickered in my thoughts but I stowed it for later. "Speak the name." I put a bit more insistence in my voice.

"If I do, I'm a dead man."

"Not if I kill every person associated with your answer." I grinned in his face. "And if I tell Terence here you're not cooperating, how long do you think you'll last?"

I watched the last resistance drain from his expression. "Fine," he said, sighing. "Bass. It was Bass."

"Of course it was. No other family would have the balls to mess so openly with me and this town.
Which brother did you deal with?"

"You can tell the difference?" He shrugged, which looked very odd on somebody hanging by a foot.

I conceded his point mentally but got distracted by what I can only classify as an intimate draught. All at once, I was reminded of the flimsy gown I had on.

I turned my head to one side. "Hang on ... my arse is on show, isn't it?"

"Let's put it this way," said Lindon in a tight voice. "The dwarf is standing with his back turned, and he's redder than a she-devil after a good spanking."

I turned back to see the assassin craning his neck, trying to see round me. "Don't push your luck." I stood up straight and backed away until the cot edge protected my modesty. "Put him back in the bag, Terence, and don't worry about doing it neatly. Harry, you can turn around again now."

I folded my arms and looked around The Companions. "I have to check something with Mastik, but I have a feeling we've got a security issue. Clearing that up is first order of business."

"Aye," said Harry. "And then what?"

"Easy." I mimed slicing my throat. "Then we go fishing."