‘There’s no need for that, honestly,’ Lothar said, trying not to let fear make him stutter the words. ‘Look, my name’s Lothar. Friends call me Stiff. I admit, I got a little carried away after so many days at sea. Got a little over excited. But now I know how things stand, I’ll exit The Anchor immediately and not return. I have no wish to interfere with your family’s business.’

The woman studied him for a few agonising moments. At last, she sighed. ‘I don’t take pleasure from hurting greybeards. Just break a finger.’ The man with the knife wasted no time in pocketing it away and then grabbing Lothar’s ring and little fingers. With a vicious pull, and an audible crack, he snapped the bones.

Lothar swallowed the pain, not wishing to humiliate himself any further.

‘You’re lucky it was me heard about you, and not one of my brothers. Ain’t he?’

‘If it were Rylan,’ said the man who had just broken Lothar’s fingers—affably enough—‘he’d be fish food by now.’

‘That’s the truth,’ the woman said. ‘Now then Lothar, known as Stiff to his friends. Be on your way and learn your lesson.’

***

The Rose Tavern was poorly named. It stank of piss, as if the wooden floorboards and walls had been treated by a tanner. The beer tasted of piss, served in chipped clay pots. It was dark inside at all times of the day.

‘Looks like I’m starting at the bottom,’ Lothar muttered. Why had I thought it would go any other way? he asked himself. What got into me?

Still, not so much harm done. His fingers were bound tight and would heal. He’d suffered far worse.

He drummed the fingers of his other hand on the rancid table top. For the fifth time, he made to reach for his drink then thought better of it.

Usa and Izil were lost to him. All the members of The Order of the Golden Blades were forbidden fruit. He would be plucking the most rancid of local crops for his basket.

He allowed himself a bitter smile. Have I arrived on a name for my company? The Order of the Rotten Apples?

The door of The Rose swung inwards. His first potential recruits shambled inside.

SELECT MISSION

RESCUE LIVESTOCK, £1

PROTECT FROM BRIGANDS, £2

STEAL RELIQUARY, 4 shillings

RECOVER FAMILY HEIRLOOM, 5 shillings

When Lothar was done, he had eight individuals on his books. Half of them he hoped he would never have to use. The best only had an Experience Level of 3.

Once upon a time, he had led a professional outfit. Here in Gal’azu, he would have to start from the bottom and work his way up. So be it. No point in whining about the situation.

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He studied the four missions available to him. The first two, he discounted immediately. They involved going out beyond the city of Avolo, into the untamed lands. Here, the bravest of folks had claimed their own patch of land, creating farmsteads or other industries, selling their produce back to the city. They had to struggle against the elements, monsters, and each other. There was no law or order once one left the relative safety of the city.

No. I simply don’t have the muscle to take on such a mission. Most of my line up are rogues–at home on the city streets, but useless out in the wild.

Any half decent fighter had signed up with The Order of the Golden Blades. After his encounter in The Anchor, Lothar had made sure to learn about his rival’s business. They provided hired muscle to the merchants operating along the coast, inside the city, or up the River Auster. They had every lucrative angle sewn up. Lothar was left with the jobs they didn’t want.

Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t want any more broken digits. Or whatever punishment they mete out if broken fingers don't work.

That narrowed things down to two options. Steal, or recover. All things being equal, Stiff would rather recover an item than steal from someone. And the recovery job actually paid a little more.

That’s decided then.

Lothar left The Rose and made his way to the east side of Avolo, a district he had not visited before. A feature of the city was that migrants from different realms tended to congregate together. It provided that extra level of security in a strange new world. In the east side, Lothar could hear primarily Livanian accents; and it was a Livanian household he visited.

Their house was nothing out of the ordinary. Much nicer than the slum dwellings in the centre of the city, or by the docks, and care had been taken in its construction. It was wood built, the cheapest material available. He was still a little surprised to find the owners had staff.

A woman answered the door and led him to a reception room, where he was deposited into a comfortable chair by the fire, and told to wait for the ‘master’ and ‘mistress’.

When the couple arrived, Lothar reckoned the husband was a little older than himself. He had a full head of grey hair, pushed back. His wife, a brunette, was considerably younger. Lothar stood, unsure if a handshake was in order.

But the gentleman directed him back into his chair. The man saw his wife seated first, then joined them. ‘My name is Marek Bartol. This is my wife, Julia.’

‘Lothar Sauer.’

‘Mr Sauer. We have not been lonk in this city. My wife went out with her handmaiden. They were attacked, and her brooch was ripped from her cloak. I won’t make the mistake of letting her go out without protection again. There seems to be no lawmen we can turn to. A very disappointink experience,’ he added, as if it was somehow Lothar’s fault.

‘It is very important to me, Mr Sauer,’ his wife said. ‘It’s not the value of it. If it was just a matter of money, I would have solt it to pay for our resettlement here. It has been in my family for generations.’

There was clearly a story here, of a once relatively well to do family, forced to leave their home. But then, Lothar told himself, everyone who has come to Gal’azu has a story. That is none of my business.

‘What does it look like?’

‘It is tear shaped,’ Julia said. ‘Silver gilt. There are two pink garnets at the top and bottom, and pearls all around it. Quite distinctive.’

‘And you’re offering five shillings for its recovery?’

‘Yes,’ said Marek. ‘Five shillings is all we can afford. I just want our property returned.’

‘Five shillings is a fair price. I can have my people search for it. But I’m paying their wages. If they don’t find it, I still have to pay them. If you catch my drift.’

‘You want some payment up front?’ Julia asked him. ‘That is reasonable. How about two shillings now, and three upon its return.’

‘Julia—’ her husband remonstrated.

‘What? Either we trust the man, or we don’t. If we don’t, let’s speak with someone else.’

‘One shilling will be fine,’ Lothar offered. ‘That’ll cover my initial expenses. I am setting up a new service for the people of Avolo. I intend to prove my organisation is trustworthy. If this brooch is in Avolo, we’ll get it for you.’

Back at The Rose, Lothar looked through his merc files, trying to decide who to pick for his first mission.

I really need my first job to be a success. One thing I’ve learned the hard way, is not to cut corners. Better to employ the best available, even if it costs more. Going cheap is just asking for trouble.

With that in mind, two of his rogues stood out. They were the kind of people who were connected enough to know where a stolen brooch might have ended up.