Four ruffians. Less vocabulary. Ambitious encouragement. Mention of the Butter King. A former Dark Lord very displeased.

The hot afternoon sun beat down on Sal and the four men, and while there were some people on the street, they hurried away. They knew a prey and predator situation when they saw it.

While Sal had his reflexes, he didn’t have his spells, and besides, did inflicting violence on someone count as murdering their sense of physical security? Probably not. However, Sal knew that defending oneself might have unintended consequences.

He could run. Animals that were prey ran, and if they were quick, they got away. The problem was that predators instinctively chased prey.

Sal turned on the four men. They were lined up biggest and ugly to littlest and ugliest. They wore long thigh length tunics of muted reds and faded blacks. Short pants went to their knees. Black leather belts held broad-bladed daggers while very complicated sandals covered their feet. There were a great many straps and buckles, and Sal had the thought it must’ve taken them a very long time to get dressed.

The minute he stopped, the largest and least homely charged forward to grab him.

Sal danced away, spun, and found himself at the mouth of an alley. It would be short work to push him in there and then do terrible things. Was he supposed to just let them? That didn’t seem fair.

Sal held up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“Why should we wait?” Big and not too ugly growled.

“Because while I am beguiled by your sandals, I could not help but notice the daggers in your belts. While they are too fat to be knives, they are too short to be swords. For example, I have this sword right here.”

The little, way too ugly man laughed. “And what are you going to do with that sword? There are four of us and one of you.”

“Mathematics would not be in my favor. However, I was just vising with Ponti Fabrizio, and I am in a very charitable mood. Have you had the rye bread? With butter, it is delicious. Regardless, I have a proposition for you fine gentleman.”

“What proposition?” the big one asked.

“A trade. I believe you were about to attempt to loot my pockets, but alas, my pockets are empty. Distressingly so.” He then pulled out his pockets. “Perhaps I was in error in my assumptions. Perhaps you simply wanted to chat about the current state of affairs in your city.”

The four men seemed baffled.

The littlest and ugliest one frowned. “What?”

Sal was using too many multisyllable words. There was such malice in their eyes, and Sal wondered if this wasn’t justice. How often had his Gorbin armies raided towns for weapons and food. It was stealing on a grander scale. How many times had townspeople either begged for their lives or tried to talk his dark army out of trying to rob them?

The Dark Lord tried to use simpler language. “A trade. Not one of you has a sword, and I do not believe I shall be using my own sword any time soon. What say I give you my weapon?”

He expected them to laugh, but there was very little laughter.

They were several exchanges of mystified glances.

The big one spoke. “If we take your sword, how are you going to defend yourself?”

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“Verily, it is a fair question,” Sal said. “But I think you are on this road often, and if you are, you can use the sword to defend me. Of course, the sword will not be my only means of payment.”

“What other payment?”

“Do you remember when I mentioned the rye bread before? Rye bread and butter, quite good, and I can provide you such fare tonight at the Mind & Body Tables, just east of the Chapel down the way. The Chapel of the Book. Mention my name to the Ponti, and he will attend to you.”

The little one eyed him. “The food can’t be good. It’s free!”

“That sounds like contempt prior to investigation, my friend. Have you ever tried it?”

The four shook their heads.

Sal took out the sword, which had them drawing their daggers, but Sal took care of that. He carefully held it by the blade and offered it to the large man. “This one is for you. Who knows? I might have more swords, maybe some armor, that I could bring you. But not for banditry, you four are far too honorable for that. Perhaps you could try your hand with the Tower. I think you four might do well as Climbers.”

“You do?” one of the middle big, middle ugly men said. “I’ve thought about it. If we found the Deux Coin, well, the sky would be the limit.”

“Yes,” Sal agreed. “The Deux Coin would give you immortality, powers beyond your wildest dreams, and some would say, the favor of the gods, Alikor most of all.”

“I like Alikor,” the big one said agreeably. “He understands what it’s like to be given the dirty end of a poo broom.”

Sal wasn’t going to ask about the idiom. Things were going too swimmingly for unnecessary questions. Was he really going to be able to talk himself out of the situation with a sword and some banter?

He pressed his luck. “I’m Sal Fang, new in town, and possibly opening a café, if my luck doesn’t improve. May I know your names?”

The little guy shook his head. “No, you might get the governor’s men on us.”

“Or tell the Butter King,” the other middling man said with a dopey look on his face. “Butter King would kill us for, uh, doing this.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” the big man said quickly. “We’re just talking…not doing no thieving. Just talking. We knew you were new in town. And we don’t know the Butter King.”

Which of course meant that the four knew the Butter King well.

Sal shrugged and stepped back. “Well, now, I don’t blame you for maintaining your anonymity. Telling strangers your name is probably not a good idea, though I am rather proud of mine.” That was no lie. He was getting quite used to the idea of being the non-famous Sal Fang.

The four fell silent, clearly confounded.

Sal threw them a very informal salute. “If we are done here, I will be on my way. Are we done?”

“You gonna to that Mind & Body Tables thing tonight?” the big one asked.

Sal had been planning on it, but now, he figured he’d tighten his belt, drink a great deal of water, and make the trek tomorrow. “I’m afraid I have other plans for this evening. I shall make my way there eventually, however. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

A large contingent of people, horses, and carts clattered up, heading toward the governor’s mansion and Destiny Square. Sal stepped away from the ruffians, still smiling, and threaded his way through some birdheaded Eagalis merchants in sky blue robes, who were talking about something, though they were speaking in a mix of tweets, squawks, and Yeshin, the common language of most of the people of Allbreath.

Yeshin, named after Yeshu, who had not only written the first book but also came up with the idea of language in the first place.

As Sal walked in the crowd, he got a message:

<<<>>>

You avoided a fight! Karmic Gauge increased by 2%. That was some quick thinking, and here is your reward for coming up with a peaceful solution.

Current Karmic Gauge: 3% (Still dark red, and only a little bit of flashing, which is good. Let’s keep it that way.)

<<<>>>

Betty wiggled up out of his pocket. “I can’t believe that worked! You bartered away that useless sword to save your life.”

“I did at that,” Sal said, though he found himself displeased.

He’d been a grinning, chattering fool, and that encounter might’ve gone either way. To think he’d once conquered continents, and now, he was basically begging for food out of poverty and desperation. And when confronted with bullies, he’d not reduced them to bloody splotches on the pavement with his Black Blast but gave them a weapon which they’d undoubtedly use to engage in more robbery.

This was his life now, and when he entered Destiny Square, and smelled the meat roasting for the dinner rush, he couldn’t enjoy the fragrance. He was hungry again, and he was worried that his hunger would become his constant companion.

At least he had something to read before the sunset. He didn’t have the candle length to read for very long after it got dark.

And his café was still very, very cursed.