Matthis strode through the market square, running a hand through his long, blonde hair. He trailed the fingers of his other hand lazily across the stalls. Stopping at one, he reached for a peach, small and still tinged with green, and bit into it. Juices ran down his chin as he took a second bite. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of the market wash over him. A half dozen different accents, all bartering excitedly. The smells of food and unwashed bodies crowned streets that ran with foulness. Matthis drank it all in. These were his people now. These were his streets.

Opening his eyes, he wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. Something caught his gaze and he turned to follow the brown-haired woman as she drifted through the crowds. Armed retainers kept the commoners away, the tides of people flowing around her like waves around a rock. Grey clothes of the common folk made to look even bleaker against her rich blue. A butterfly, surrounded by moths. That’s good, he thought to himself. Maybe he would tell her that. He made to move towards the woman, when a hand gripped his arm. Fat, dirty fingers that wrapped around his bold green tunic. He swatted at them.

“You gonna trade for that?” came a gravelly voice.

Matthis sighed and turned towards the irritant. A burly market worker stood before him, close enough that Matthis could smell the man’s breakfast. “Broth. How dull.” He wrinkled his nose.

The man blinked, his small eyes momentarily confused. “What?”

“I said broth. How dull. Are you hard of hearing? Apologies if so. Lord knows you’ve already been dealt a tough enough hand with that face. Still, I am, if anything, more benevolent than whichever wicked god chose to inflict such physical deformity upon you. You asked for payment, yes? I have coin.”

The marketer continued to stare, his expression vacant. Matthis flexed his fingers, waiting for the right moment to bury his fists in the man’s unashamedly stupid face. “Coin!” He took the purse from his belt and waved it in front of the man. “You know coin, yes?”

A guttural sound burst from the man’s throat. “Yes, I know coin! What in hell’s name am I going to do with coin? You’re not in Vermasse now. Here in Cova we trade! I want your belt.”

Matthis put a hand on his own slim waist before leaning forward to pat the marketeer’s great, overhanging belly. He let out a burst of laughter. “You see the problem here?”

A crowd had gathered around them now and Matthis found himself beginning to enjoy the little exchange. He would have to inflict pain on the man. He knew that. If he was to make a name for himself in this new place, they needed to fear him. All of them. He squeezed the man’s arm, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “I’m going to have to hurt you. But let us put on a little show, eh?”

“Benji!” A voice from the crowd called out. “Don’t! That’s Matthis Half Mi-”

The sentence went unfinished, but Matthis heard. He raised his head and scanned the crowd. Beside him, the fat man took a step back. “Beggin’ your pardon. I didn’t realise it was you. I swear!”

Matthis ignored him. He swung on the crowd, “Who spoke?” Then louder, “who spoke!”

The crowd shuffled. A few clumsy coughs became caught in heavy silence. Matthis spun back to Benji, but picturing the man’s face as a bloody mess beneath his fists no longer made him feel happy. “Get out of here,” he growled. “And make sure everybody hears of the generosity of Matthis Albion!”

The man stuttered something else, but Matthis had already forgotten about him. He raked the surrounding market again. The crowds were quickly disappearing, and already low voices were starting up. The woman in blue, however, was gone.

He swore, before collecting himself. Dusting off his tunic, he saw he still held the peach in his hand and tossed it angrily away, knowing it would be eaten by some lucky street urchin. He smiled again at his own generosity, his good humour quickly returning. Matthis the Pious, they should call him. He liked that. Maybe he would insist that’s what they call him. His spirits once again lifted, he disappeared into the market crowd, unaware of the three figures shadowing him.

*******************************

Matthis pushed open the door to the Blue Dock tavern and strode inside. The smell of roast meat and stale sweat greeted him. He took a seat at the table he had claimed for himself when he first arrived just days ago, and waited. And waited. He began to tap his fingers on the scarred wood and count in his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched, annoyed to find he had reached seven by the time a portly barkeep hurried over to him. The man placed a clear glass goblet on the table and bowed deeply.

Matthis stared at the drink, a pale-yellow liquid swished gently against the side of the glass. “That was nearly ten, Adford,” he said quietly.

The man bowed again and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a grubby hand. “Sir, I apologise, sir. As you can see—” he waved around the room with a meaty hand “—we are quite busy this afternoon, sir.”

Thick-set, dirt-covered men hunched over the tavern’s many tables. Serving girls rushed from patron to patron carrying trays of brimming mugs. It was busier than normal, Matthis admitted. Miners from the mineral isle, most likely. That was good. It meant the boats were in, and Matthis had always wanted to see a boat.

“You remember what happens if I reach ten, Adford?” Matthis narrowed his eyes.

A lump slid down the tavern owner’s throat. Much like a snake swallowing a hare, Matthis noted with fascination. He wondered idly what that lump would look like if he were to run a knife across the man’s neck and pull it out. He giggled at the idea of holding the lump in his hand, the fat man falling to his knees before him in a squirt of blood. He wondered if the man’s screams would come from his own mouth, or the lump in his hand. Matthis’ grin spread wider.

The tavern owner smiled back weakly, nodding as he did so. “You see sir, I kept your table clear. Like I said I would.”

“I do see. Clean too.” Matthis ran a clean finger across the surface, pleased it came back devoid of dust.

“Of course, sir.” Another weak smile before an awkward step back. “If that would be all, sir?” His voice wavered.

Matthis took a sip of his ale before returning the goblet to the table. He drew out the moment, enjoying the obvious fear in the tavern owner.

“It’ll suffice.” He balled his hand and held it before his mouth, covering a yawn. With the other, he waved Adford away. After the man had moved a few paces, Matthis called, “Oh, Adford.”

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Adford turned, wiping his hands on his apron. “Sir?”

“Don’t forget what happens if I ever reach ten.”

What would happen if he ever reached ten? Truthfully Matthis had forgotten whatever threat he’d originally made. It was probably quite painful though, and would involve a lot of blood. And, after all, as long as he remembered those important elements he could probably make the rest up. He doubted Adford would mind too much about the semantics of the situation if he were to find himself being repeatedly clubbed to death with his own detached arm. Matthis chuckled, which the innkeeper took as his sign to scurry away.

Draining half his ale, Matthis raised the goblet to his face. It was beautifully crafted; the curved patterns intricate and delicate. He caught his own face, reflected back at him a dozen times. The beauty of the piece quickly faded, and he debated crushing it in his hand.

You’ll get blood on your shiny new outfit if you do.

Matthis squeezed the goblet harder.

You’re quite insane.

Matthis ignored the voice in his head.

Ignore me all you want. But you’ll need me soon.

Matthis slammed the goblet on the table. “I’ll never need you!”

A dozen faces turned to him then as silence momentarily conquered the room. Matthis glared back angrily until the other patrons returned to their drinks and dull conversations.

Yes, you will. You’ll see.

Matthis downed the contents of the goblet and called for another. The second was quickly followed by a third. A fourth was brought to him and he made an effort to nurse it slowly. The talk of the room washed over him as he closed his eyes to better hear the words. Something about mines and death. His ears pricked at the last part, hopeful for some fascinating story. But as far as he could understand, it was just another miner lost to a cave-in.

Boring.

He glared at his drink, then at a man sat opposite him. The man raised his bearded head. Matthis hated him for that. “It’s ok to be poor, but to be so unsightly is just offensive,” Matthis slurred. He locked eyes with the man and fingered the large knife at his side. The ugly man quickly looked back down at the table in front of him.

Boring.

This whole town was boring. Nothing but miners and whiners. He giggled again. “Miners and whiners!” he declared loudly.

Again, a few more heads looked up, but quickly turned their gaze away from him. “Miners and whiners! Cowards and… and... cow herds! You’re all a bunch of cow herds!”

You’re drunk.

“I am not drunk!”

Yet more worried eyes aimed in his direction, before disappearing behind heavy mugs.

“Cow herds and—” He took a sip of his ale, downing it quickly. “—whiners!” He finished with a burp.

There aren’t any cows here. Have you ever seen a cow?

“I’m going to find the woman in blue.” Matthis declared, raising a hand above his head and slamming it onto the table.

Nobody responded.

He picked up his goblet and downed its contents before tossing it on the floor. It rolled a few times before a young serving girl bent down and collected it. “Good goblet. Strong,” he told her with his finest wink. “Good… good ale,” he declared to the rest of the room, before pushing towards the tavern door. He was vaguely aware of people moving out of his way, before he fell into the night.

Outside the air was cool and stale with the stench of fish and salt on the breeze. It seemed the dark had crept up on the sky during his drinking session, and Matthis found himself squinting. In the distance a street torch flickered defiantly.

Something felt wrong.

“Bad ale,” he told the night.

Let me walk home. You’re drunk, said the voice in his head.

“If I’m drunk, you’re drunk too.” He burped, pleased at his irrefutable logic. "And I don't want to go home. I want to find the blue lady from the market."

If you say so.

Matthis staggered forward a few steps and felt a brush of movement behind him. A figure stood there, pale and indefinite in the weak light of the moon.

“Blue lady?” Matthis mumbled, taking an uneven step forward.

“Er…” the voice was gruff and deep.

“You’re not the blue lady.”

“Er…”

Another flicker of movement and something hard struck against Matthis’ head. He fell, the knees of his soft leggings landing in something wet and cold. He hoped it was rainwater. Another blow left him face down on the ground.

“I thought they said this guy was tough?” The voice sounded strangely echoey.

Let me take over.

“I can do it!” He pushed himself up, taking a deep mouthful of air in a bid to make the world stop spinning. The aroma of fish made his stomach churn. Three men surrounded him, tapping three cudgels against three legs. Matthis carefully probed at a warm, sticky spot on the back of his head. “Ow.”

Someone sniggered. Something came at his head. He ducked, feeling a rush of air against his hair. Swinging out a leg, he was met with a satisfying oof as he connected with flesh. Something heavy struck the cobbled street but he was already moving as a second figure rushed him. Matthis ran inside the reach of the club, stabbing his fingers into the man’s throat.

The figure fell back, gasping for breath as Matthis delivered another blow to the solar plexus. The man doubled over as Matthis’ knee connected with his face.

“Maybe this town isn’t so boring after all!” He yelled, just before something heavy cracked against his knee. He fell once more, his elbow colliding painfully with the hard ground.

A shadowy figure stood over him, club raised.

“Fine. Just leave one alive,” Matthis whispered to the voice in his head. And, as his mind retreated, he could already feel the other taking control of his body.

*******************************

Awareness came back quickly, the street visible by the light of a fresh torch. Two men lay unconscious - or dead - a third was hunched against a wall, his right arm bent at an impossible angle, his face a bloodied mess.

You left me with a headache, Matthis grumbled silently.

You earned it, replied the voice in his mind.

Where did you find the torches?

From a torch man.

“You’re insufferable.”

The man hunched against the wall jerked his head up at the sound of Matthis’ voice. One eye was swollen, the other was sealed entirely with blood.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know!” The man’s face was wild, his fingers of his good arm scrambled at the cobbles as if he were trying to push himself inside the wall.

Matthis grinned, then winced at the hammer beating away at his skull. “Just tell me who you work for, and I’ll let you live. Don’t tell me, and I’ll…”

“Three Silver! I work for Three Silver!”

You didn't need to ask. That was obvious.

“Shut up!”

“But you told me to tell you…” The man leaned over, coughing up a wad of blood.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Matthis closed his eyes and massaged his temples with bruised fingers. He opened his eyes once more. “Why does Three Silver want me dead?”

Silence. Matthis kicked the injured man with the toe of his boot. “I’m talking to you now, idiot.”

The man gulped, his face contorted as he struggled to open a swollen eye. It was surprisingly blue. He wondered idly if the man had once been considered handsome. “I don’t know! I swear!”

You slept with his sister. And then robbed her.

“I didn’t know it was his sister,” Matthis protested.

“Whose sister?” The injured man coughed.

“Three Silv— it doesn’t matter. Did he send any more groups?” Matthis crouched down, gripping blue-eyes’ shoulder tightly.

“Yes, at least three. Maybe more,” said blue-eyes, through teeth gritted in pain.

Definitely more.

“I know that!”

“Then… why did you ask?” The man’s voice was growing weaker as his swollen eyes closed once more.

“You’re going to lose that arm you know. Sure you want to live? I could kill you. Life with one arm can’t be fun.”

“I want to live! Please.” The man’s eyes flared open as tears began to mix with the blood on his cheeks.

Matthis sighed dramatically. They just didn’t make street thugs like they used to. “Some people have no dignity. Fine. In fact, I’ll even help get you to a healer!” Bending down. Matthis helped the man to his feet. “Be sure to tell everyone how Matthis the Pious helped you!”

“Matthis… the Pious,” the man agreed between heavy breaths.

“I really am quite generous you know,” Matthis continued. Don’t believe all their stories. You know, once I — oh.” Matthis glanced down at his tunic. The beautiful green was ripped and torn. “Oh, this is simply unacceptable!” Matthis spat. “This tunic cost more coin than you’ve seen in a lifetime. And look! You’re dripping blood all over it!” With a shove, he pushed the wounded man away.

The man screamed in pain as he struck a nearby wall. “This is what I get for being nice!” Matthis declared, as he continued on through the winding streets, examining his now blood-stained garb closely.

You said you would help him.

“He got blood on my tunic.”

I got blood on your tunic. It was a fight.

“I liked this tunic. I traded a lot for this tunic.”

You stole it!

“Yes. But I had to trade a lot for the tools to break into the house and steal it.”

You stole everything you traded.

Matthis huffed. “That’s your problem you know. No palette for poetic exaggeration or fine fashion.”

Your knife is dripping blood down your leggings.

He glanced down at the dark stain forming below his belt. “Oh, for Tenatun’s sake.”

The voice chuckled. If Three Silver sent men, he won’t stop until you’re dead. We’ll have to kill him.

Matthis found a barrel of water and thrust his head inside. The cold seemed to leak into his skull and he could feel the headache retreat slightly. Drawing his head out of the barrel, he spat a mouth full of water onto the street. The night sky above was beginning to give way to pale orange.

“I have no wish to return to Vermasse,” he said at last.

Then let me take over. I’ll do it.

“And have a trail of bodies halfway across the country? I think not.” He cast a glance back down the street before hobbling on. Already the first shutters were being thrown open to greet the new day. “We have enough enemies as it is.”

I don’t enjoy killing.

“I beg to differ.” He turned a corner, knocking into a heavyset man as he did so. The man swore, but his lips quickly closed as he took in at Matthis’ face. Matthis pushed past him.

Beg all you like. I don’t enjoy killing, I’m just very good at it. You enjoy killing, but you’re terrible at it.

Matthis sneered but didn’t reply. There was a vein of truth in the statement that annoyed him greatly. “I was beginning to like this town.”

No, you weren’t. It’s dull.

He lurched into his inn and staggered up the stairs. Throwing open the door to his room, he fell onto the hard bed. “Well that’s because it is dull.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “The beds are comfortable, though. We should stay just for these.”

No answer.

“Fine! Vermasse it is then.”