“Hold that mirror steady, would you? I can’t get enough light with you shaking it back and forth!” Dellromoz scolded as he squinted through the lens that was held in front of his face by a brass apparatus that sat on his shoulders.

“I can’t help it, blood makes me queasy,” Burdock replied, doing his best not to look at what Dell was working on. “Ohhh, I can still smell it!” He turned his long nose away, and breathed deeply through his mouth, scrunching his eyes shut, grimacing.

“Fine, you can trade off with Annie,” said Dell, “just hurry up. And didn’t you threaten to slit my throat yesterday? How did you ever decide to make a career out of armed robbery if you can’t look at blood?”

Burdock’s green skin was covered in sweat as he stepped away and turned his back to Dell. He hunched over, put his hands on his knees, and breathed deeply as he tried to calm his riotous stomach. “Most folk just give up when you get the drop on ‘em. We can’t carry off a full barge worth of goods anyway, we just take what we can carry easy and leave them with the rest. It ain’t worth fightin’ us over,” he uttered between breaths. He finished collecting himself and traded the mirror to Sharp Annie for her crossbow. She took her place next to Fletcher, who was sitting with his back to a crate on the floor of their barge. Dellromoz was seated on the crate, looking at a cut on the back of Fletcher’s head.

“I just shine it like this?” she asked, using the mirror to direct the sunlight directly into the cut.

“That’s perfect, I need enough light to see any glass that’s still stuck in the wound,” the gnome muttered as he adjusted the lens and picked up a fork and a set of angled tweezers.

A few minutes later, there were two small, bloody glass shards sitting on the crate beside Dell, and he was finishing stitching the wound shut. Sharp Annie looked his work, then at the seam of her sleeve. “Good needlework there, darling,” she remarked, “better than mine, even. I might have you patch my dress later!”

Dellromoz stuck out his chin, his nose slightly in the air. “I practice surgical medicine, not dress-mending.” He tapped Fletcher on the shoulder. “This is going to sting,” he informed the bandit. The man nodded, and Dell tipped a small glass of cheap liquor over the stitches. His patient leaned forward slightly with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and pounded his fist against the floor of the boat.

“That’s about it. Wash it only with boiled water, and keep it clean, maybe put a little honey on it if you can get any; you should be just fine,” Dell began wiping down his instruments, but then a thought occurred to him. “Let the water cool before you pour it on there. Do you understand that last part?” He hopped down and looked Fletcher directly in the face. “Tell me that you heard and understand that last part.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t scald my head,” Fletcher grumbled, “I sobered up hours ago.”

“Assuming a reasonable standard of judgment when you work with the the public can only come back to bite you,” Dellromoz said, “It’s really nothing personal, it’s just a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.”

“So you really are a proper physicker then,” Sharp Annie acknowledged as she reclaimed her crossbow. “I was convinced it was it a load of horseshit, but Burdock said you wouldn’t be bothering to carry the tackle otherwise. He got me this time, I’m not too proud to admit it.”

“I had those books and journals too,” the diminutive surgeon pointed out.

“That’s just a stack of fancy crapping paper to us, love. We can’t read."

Dell stared at her incredulously. “If you didn’t believe me, why did you let me work on Fletcher?”

“That’s hardly the first time Fletcher’s been hit over the head with a glass bottle, and he’s held up just fine so far, so what could it hurt? None of us thought you could cause too much trouble with that little knife and a supper fork, but if you got any unfortunate ideas,” she held up the crossbow, “I was sure you could be talked out of them.”

The gnome shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, then sighed and shook his head.

“So, probably not allowed back at Hollis’s place then?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Huh, why not?” Fletcher looked at him quizzically.

“You were in that big brawl? Annie said he’s the one that hit you over the head with the bottle! Don’t you remember?!” exclaimed Dellromoz.

“Yeah, I remember. It was a slow night, everybody was bored, so I started a nice little scrap,” the bandit recounted, “I could have waited for somebody else to do it, but Burdock was waiting for us outside.”

“I do appreciate the consideration,” said Burdock.

Fletcher gave him a mocking approximation of the sort of elaborate bows paid to high-ranking nobles, a toothy grin showing through his unkempt beard. “I’m a right gentleman that way,” he boasted.

“Speaking of being a gentleman,” Dell gave them his best pleading look, gazing up at the two humans with his eyes wide, and just a hint of tears at their corners, “what do you say to letting me go, as a gesture of gratitude and goodwill?”

“Oh, like a little puppy you are!” cooed Annie, “but I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“I’d be happy to look at any other ailments you might have beforehand, of course! Any treatment would be on the house!” insisted the gnome, hoping he could still make a deal. “You could keep my things! I’ll mend that dress too, and any other stitching you might need!”

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Annie patted him on the shoulder while Burdock snickered. “What you need to understand darling, is that, like you said a moment ago, none of this is personal. We’re in a particular line of work, and what’s more, we’re members in good standing of a particular community. Now Mr. Goswin has made it clear he intends to acquire you, one way or another. I happen to think you’re a useful lad to have around, and precious as a kitten besides, but we aren’t a lot of dukes with golden handkerchiefs, we’re working folk and we can’t be turning down work just because we don’t really care for it. Elsewise, nobody would do any work at all! Additionally, we have to live up to our obligations to the community. Why, if word got around that we thought we were too good to help out Mr. Goswin, folk might begin to wonder who else we think we’re better than, and if we might go gossiping about their business? Before long, our neighbors would stop being so neighborly, and there might be any number of unfortunate misunderstandings; like daggers getting misplaced in our backs, or Mr. Goswin giving us the delightful hospitality I’m sure he has planned for you.”

“I see your point,” Dell muttered dejectedly as he sat back down.

“There’s a dear, now why don’t we keep things professional-like and knock off all this talk about leaving? Then Fletcher won’t have to beat it out of you, and your time with us won’t be any more unpleasant than it has to be.” She gave him a gentle pat on the cheek. “But since you did us a good turn, we won’t stuff you back in that crate, unless you misbehave. Doesn’t that sound nice, poppet?” Dell nodded, and she gave him a saccharine smile, then moved to the front of the barge to keep watch, while Fletcher took up his usual place at the back and began poling them through the murky water.

They reached the crew’s hideout around midafternoon, an island in the swamplands that was concealed by the surrounding aspens, swamp oaks, and green ash. At its highest point, a hovel had been assembled out of stacked stones and rough-hewn logs. A few had been nailed to a “Z”-shaped frame and hung on wrought iron hinges to form a sturdy door. Apart from the structure, there was nothing on the little strip of land besides a couple of trees, some stones. and a smattering of ferns and shrubs.

The three bandits unloaded anything they wanted to hang onto and moved it into the shelter, pressing Dell into service, despite his limited carrying capacity. When they had finished, Fletcher took Dellromoz back down to the barge.

“Let’s get this out of the way right now, yeah?” he said plainly, as he reached into the barge and picked the pole up off its battered floor.

“What?” Dell asked apprehensively.

“Your escape attempt,” he replied, as he bent over and shoved the pole into Dell’s chest. “Take it,” he ordered him. Dell’s eyes widened in surprise. Fletcher released his grip on the piece of ashwood, and Dell staggered slightly, leaning back and bending his knees to retain his balance.

“That barge is the only boat here. It takes a pole about that long to consistently reach the bottom, and about that thick to be strong enough to move the barge instead of just bendin’. If you know how to get there, the closest way out of the swamp is miles away, further than I can swim, and I’m a fair swimmer. The water ain’t warm, and there’s not many places you could stop to build a fire, even if you find wood dry enough to burn. Even if you can swim the distance, you’ll have to avoid being eaten by bull pike, log salamanders, and those big damn eels, I forget what they’re called.”

“Lake eels,” Burdock called helpfully.

“Yeah, lake eels. They hunt in packs, like wolves. If you don’t run into any of those, it’s probably because the hodag is around, and that thing would make a meal of me, you’d be barely a mouthful.

“Anyway, we’re wastin’ time, get to it.” He gestured at Dellromoz to take the barge. Dell looked around in confusion, then fearfully over at Sharp Annie. The gray-haired bandit grinned and set her crossbow down, leaning it against the side of the structure. She held up both her hands to show that she was unarmed and wouldn’t interfere.

“This one’s free, love,” she called, “make the most of it!”

Burdock was watching the proceedings while seated on a rock, stuffing smokeleaf into a pipe bowl. He lit the dried herb with a match, then put a foot over his knee and gave the confused gnome an encouraging gesture.

“You’re telling me to escape?” Dellromoz asked suspiciously.

“I’m telling you to try,” Fletcher replied.

Dell frowned but did as he was told, walking to the side of the barge and struggling to put the pole back in it. The gunwale was at his chin, but after lifting one side of the pole over his head with both hands, he was able to slide it back into the barge. He was reasonably confident he could scramble up the side, all that remained was to shove off. He walked back to the bow of the barge where Fletcher had drug it up on the muddy shore, put this shoulder against the stempost, and pushed.

Nothing happened.

“You’re wastin’ daylight, doc.” Dell looked over at the imposing figure of a man, with his thick forearms folded across his chest.

Dellromoz leaned against the barge again and pushed with all his might. He feet slid backwards in the mud and he nearly fell, but the barge remained where it was.

“I don’t suppose...” he began, but Fletcher just shook his head.

“If you’re gonna push it all the way across the the swamplands with that stick, you should be able to get it launched off the shore here. Sure, it’s lighter in the water, but it’s not a short trip.” the man remarked calmly.

Dellromoz stood up. “I can’t leave without your help,” he admitted.

“Shitter’s around back,” Fletcher said, “make yourself at home. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” He turned and walked into the makeshift cabin.

Dinner was surprisingly good. The crew had robbed a barge moving winter squash a couple of months previous, and had kept the haul rather than seeing what it could be fenced for. Fletcher said something about how it took less time to just steal food than steal things to sell and buy food. Dell didn’t catch his exact words, he hadn’t eaten since the previous day and was shoving soup into his mouth with abandon. It was squash soup with potatoes, beans, carrots, and sailor bread. Burdock had managed to catch a fish that afternoon, and it went over the cookfire with the soup pot. Dell had some experience with captivity by this point, and would have given the little gang top marks if not for the fact that they were going to turn him over to someone who had previously attempted to kill him. It was still much better than being locked in a basement.

After dinner they sat around the fire and told stories. Sharp Annie produced a bottle from somewhere, and they passed it around. After the alcohol loosened his tongue a bit, Dell told them about how he got caught at the gate in Stanhope with the wrong papers. Burdock pulled a muscle from laughing.

“Stick to stitching up cuts, pet,” Annie told the gnome, “you’ve no talent for lawlessness.”

The stories ran dry a little while after the bottle did. Burdock struck a match as the night darkened and the fire burned down, and the glow of the embers in the ring was echoed by the glow in his pipe bowl. They spoke little, alone with their thoughts, together.

Finally, Fletcher got up and hung three hammocks from the roof beams. Dell got the cot by the wall, since he was a prisoner and the cot was lumpy and less comfortable than the hammocks. He covered himself up with a spare coat, chose not to think about the future, and fell asleep.