Chapter 12: Liberated

Tybalt pulled a chair from the table. Sitting on it, he looked to the other three men sitting with him in the cramped corners. The room had been too short for Njall to stand with his full height, so he took a seat before the other men had. Sten, still rattled from the death of Arne, sat quietly. His fingers traced the warped wood of the table in front of him. Erik, on the other hand, took the head of the table. He looked at the men had at his disposal.

“We should be safe for now,” Erik said.

“For now,” Njall muttered. He had pulled out a knife and was cleaning beneath his fingernails with it.

“Okay, look, I get it. None of this is ideal, but we’re inside Carrion Hill. At least, into the first district.”

“But the city guards are looking for us,” Sten reminded him. “For anyone with a Corvus patch.”

“Tybalt should be clean though,” Njall said, looking up from his fingernails. “He doesn’t need to hide the patch.”

“No one is hiding their patch,” Erik said. He slammed the table with his fist. “We can get this sorted out. People know we are here.”

“For murder and theft!” Sten said aggressively.

“Regardless,” Erik waved his hand, “Zoltan will know that his calls have been answered.”

“Like he would want the assistance of thefts and murderers for his campaign.” Njall said coldly. His voice shifted into a mocking tone: “Forget about the thefts and murders, vote Zoltan!”

Erik scoffed with distain. He felt as though he was losing his grip.

“What about you?” he asked Tybalt.

Tybalt stopped leaning in his chair. The front two feet of the chair struck the wooden floor hard.

“Honestly, I’m grateful for all of you. I wouldn’t have been able to make it into the city without you.”

Tension filled the air. No one said anything.

“And, I have my own mission and goals.”

“After everything we’ve been through you’re just going to leave us?” Erik sounded surprised.

“I haven’t said that,” Tybalt said rapidly.

“It’s strongly implied.” Erik pushed his fingers along the cropped sides of his blonde hair. It had been a few days since his last shave and hair cut. Stubbed began to form a light beard around his chin.

Tybalt said nothing. He needed to be tactical. If the situation had been a little better, if Arne had been sitting at this table, if Odvar didn’t need to be killed, it would have been easier for him to get away.

“What is your mission?” Njall asked. He had stopped cleaning his nails, although the knife remained firmly in his grip.

Tybalt looked into the faces of the men around him:

Erik had become more and more undone by the events of his adventure. Fear glazed his eyes.

Njall remained equanimous, although the stress and pressure of the last few days could be seen in the way he held his body. He had his own worries.

Sten lost the lustre of the previous days. The death of Arne had affected him far more greatly than the others thought it would have. He clearly wanted to go back to their settlement, with Arnes body, perhaps with Odvar’s body, and give them both a proper send into the afterlife.

As it was, the bodies were lain in a shallow grave near the road Tybalt had entered into the outskirts. Odvar had been buried unceremoniously. Arne in better stead. The young man had been allowed to keep his kutte, for he wore it well, alongside his sidearm.

Tybalt cleared his throat. “Well, based on the little I’ve listen to, I figured you guys are more or less on the same side as I am. I’m looking for Mercury Transport.”

“Mercury Transport?” Both Erik and Njall repeated the words at the same time.

“What do you want with them?” Erik asked.

“This is not yours to know.”

“Not mine to know!” Erik shot to his feet. The chair flung from beneath his feet. He slammed both of his palms on the table. “I was the one who allowed you by our campfire. I was the one who vouched for you. I was the one who got your cast. I was the one who got you into this city. It is mine to know. You owe me! You owe me!”

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Tybalt could not suppress his grin. He wanted to shrug and tell him that life is never clean. Instead, he spoke through his smile. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You ungrateful…” Erik rushed over to Tybalt, laying his hands on the seated man’s shoulders. Tybalt grabbed Erik’s wrist and pushed himself to his feet. With the nociceptive cast supporting his left leg, he had no problem resisting Erik’s downward force.

Without warning, one of Erik’s fist struck Tybalt in the face. Tybalt tried to return the blow, but Njall stepped between them and pushed them apart.

“Enough!” he boomed.

Erik looked at the large man from the floor.

“Behave in the manner befitting a konungur,” he commanded to Erik. “It is your duty.”

Njall turned to Tybalt.

“And, you. You should have more respect for what we have given you.”

Tybalt lifted himself from the floor.

“You took me on to kill one of your own. You had me lure a caravan into an ambush. These acts merit far more than a mere ticket into Carrion Hill.”

Njall chuckled and shook his head.

“How little you know of things,” he said. “If you feel this way, then go.” Njall lifted his large arm and pointed toward the door. “The exit remains for you.”

Tybalt wiped his face with the back of his hand, as he considered the offer. He could be free of all obligation. He could simply rid himself of these men and focus on his own goals. These men had their own hunger, their own story to write.

“Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen.” Tybalt bowed slightly. He walked toward the door, but Njall’s heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.

“If you leave, you are not welcome back into our fold.”

“So it be.” Tybalt shrugged free of his hand and pushed out of the room and into the corridor. He walked down the stairs, across the main room of the dormitory, and into the city streets. Corvus had holed themselves in a seedy temporary residence, waiting for the heat of their pursuit to subside.

Tybalt had no fear of being found. He had no association with the men. If asked, he would deny it. He would lie to people and say that he had been hired. Contracts, people would understand, need to be fulfilled. Some times, these contracts omit the exact means and methods of his obligation. They had hired him to get ware to enter into the merchant district. At least, this is what he would say to others.

He filled his lungs with the air of freedom. While he lacked funds, he had access to the loot the gang had brought into the city. The ox had been tied to the back of the dormitory and its ware had been unloaded into a storage locker a few buildings down this alley. While the Erik and his men cowered in their room, he would lift a few of their items. They had no need of them beyond entering the city

Tybalt moved easily in the streets. He felt lighter. Every breath seemed to invigorate him with a joy for life. He was on his own.

He reached the storage locker facility and entered. From the front desk, a thin man looked up from his paper.

“354,” Tybalt said to him.

“Voucher?” the man said colourlessly.

Tybalt made a show of checking his pockets.

“Ah, shoot!” he said to himself. “I thought I had it with me. Do you mind just opening the locker? I can tell you everything that’s in it and where it is.”

The man behind the locker simply looked back down to his paper. He continued to read the local newsprint.

Tybalt moved closer.

“I’m not asking,” he said menacingly.

The thin man raised his eyes from his newspaper. He wiggled his nose while he considered the threat. He returned to his paper.

Tybalt placed his hands on the front desk.

The thin man gave a small cough, a quick motion that allowed him enough time to whip out a revolver and point it at Tybalt’s chest.

“I cannot allow you in without a voucher,” the thin man said. “Please don’t make me call the clean-up crew. It’s just a hassle. Lots of paperwork.” He sniffed blankly.

Tybalt loosened his stance. With a quick movement of his hand, he pried the revolver out of the thin man’s hand and pointed it at him.

“How about this,” Tybalt spat, “you let me into the locker and I’ll let you into a little secret.”

The thin man blinked.

Tybalt struck the man in the face with the revolver. “Now!”

The thin man pulled out his giant keyring and unlocked the door into the locker corridor. He moved slowly, glancing behind him frequently, trying to find a chance to reverse his fortunes. The two men reached Locker 354.

“Unlock it.” Tybalt gesticulated with the barrel of the revolver.

The thin man did as he was told.

“Thank you,” Tybalt said. “As promised, I shall give you my secret. The guards of Carrion Hill are looking for members of the Corvus Motorcycle Gang. They are hiding in that garbage excuse for a dormitory. I’m certain the city authorities would reward someone with this bit of information. Why don’t you go tell them, while I take a few items from these outlaws. Consider it reappropriation. These men stole from others and now I steal from them.”

The thin man glanced behind himself. He looked back to Tybalt, who, at this point, had lowered the gun. Seeing his opportunity, the thin man ran down the hallway and through the front door.

Needing to act quickly, Tybalt thrust the revolver behind his back and started to rummage in the locker. He pulled out a larger and thicker bag than the one he had stolen from the homestead. He started to fill it with as many small items as possible. The merchant’s they had rob had been transporting all manners of electronic devices and hardware. Tybalt couldn’t make sense of most of them, nor their approximate value. Instead, he loaded his bag with as many medical supplies as he could. The merchants had a nice box of pharmaceuticals that could be readily resold. Then, he started to take the bricks of shredded tobacco. These would also sell fairly easily. The only thing remaining was to find the saddlebag which the men had aggregated all the ammunition they couldn’t carry on their person.

This would need to be enough.

Tybalt grabbed the top of the storage locker and rolled the gate shut. He snapped the lock back onto the door buckle and ran from the storage building.

With the thin man missing and the men of motorcycle gang betrayed, Tybalt had to become extra alert in his surroundings. He needed to find a place to rest for the evening, although he could probably tough out one night. Only in the morning would he able to find a merchant to sell his goods. In the meantime, he had enough ammunition to keep himself fed, drunk, and safe.