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The chamber flickered with the dim light of a hearth. A nasal giggle followed by a snort as the nude, supple body wiggled from his grip.

“Garvin, you’re incorrigible!”

Grabbing the small of her back he pulled her warm body into a passionate embrace.

“That’s why you like me, Diane.”

His attention was jared from the deep kiss by a thunderous noise. Heavy boots on granite stairs growing ever closer. An audible and unflattering gasp as the woman, overcome with dread physically pushed him from her bed. “It’s my husband,” she whispered.

“You need to leave!” Before hearing the words the blond haired young man was pulling on his trousers. “I know who’s with you wench,” a voice bellowed. Before he could buckle his belt there was a deafening crash and a large figure speeding toward him. The whisper of sliced air followed by the glint of steel dancing in firelight. Garvin moved with a practiced agility, just fast enough to keep his face from being slashed as badly as the curtains.

“Sir, please I know what this looks like but the truth is it’s a very funny story.” Garvin slowly backed away from the advancing man, eyes scanning the room. “The thing is I spilled some wine on my shirt and your kind, lovely wife offered to lend me one of yours.” The larger man stopped and grinned, testing his razor-sharp blade on the bedside fern.

“Tell me another one,” he rasped, resuming his advance. A bookend found its way into Garvin’s hand as he backed into the corner and felt something against his leg. The noble moved slowly and deliberately, cutting arcs in the air. The bookend slapped down from it’s flight easily and the blade swung up with ferocity towards Garvin’s jugular. The clang of steel on steel, Garvin’s sword raised instantly from it’s resting place in the corner. What followed was a symphony of chimes and bells as the two swords met in a frantic dance of death. Diane’s shouts and pleas turned the performance into an opera. Garvin really liked her, he’d hate to make her a widow and yet the burly man before him would not relent or tire.

“Sir, i’d prefer a more civilized approach to our dispute. I’d hate to spill a man’s blood in his own home and doubt the magistrate would understand. ” A lance of hot pain struck Garvin’s shoulder and drops of his own blood speckled the marble bust of the previous king. The noble laughed with such mirth one could almost think he enjoyed catching his wife with another man.

“The magistrate, I think will understand my need to kill an intruder.” The advantage was to the noble, that was a simple fact. The pain left too many openings that the bearded giant was all too willing to fill with his blade. Sensible as ever, Garvin maneuvered himself to the ideal position.

“Good sir,” he said grinning. “You’re wife was too beautiful to resist but I do apologise for the wrong I've done you and I regret the thought of wronging you farther by damaging your property. ” In a single motion Garvin tossed the king’s bust through the window and leaped out, landing on the roof of a neighboring townhouse. As the noble readied to follow, Garvin held out his hand and pointed to the street three stories below. “I wouldn’t try it, good Sir, you’ve more of a waist than I and while the cabbage stand may break your fall it may also break your neck.” Bowing, Garvin turned with a flourish and leapt to the next building. “Adieu my lovely Diane, may we meet again .” Running across the tiled roof of the bakery Garvin heard the nobleman below in rage.

“Garvin Santiago, I’ll have your head!”

The young man sighed as he scrambled down the drain pipe. He’d just settled into life in Bandbrick, found a good place by the brewery and even found a cadre of like-minded young men he could call compatriots if not friends. Oh well, the river rolls on as they say. Following the sound of clicking dice on brick he surveyed a group of dirty street boys of varying ages huddled behind the bakery. One stood out, watching the gamblers with a forlorn look and fidgeting in his pockets. “Lost your eating money in the game, eh?” Garvin asked. The boy nodded slowly.

“How’d you like to make it back?” Alarm, paranoia and curiosity flashed across the boy’s features before they settled into a stony grimace and he snorted derisively.

“What’ll I haveta do?”

With a gentle but firm hand, Garvin gripped the lad by his thin, grubby shoulders and pointed him toward the towering and stately townhouse on the corner.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Lord Torrid’s manor, In a moment about a dozen armed men will be coming out, looking for me. When you see them run up and tell them I ran north toward Dock Street. ”

“I don’t know, mamma made me promise on her deathbed I’d never lie to a nobel.” The boy rubbed his fingers in the universal sign for money. “Breaking a promise like that’ll cost ya.”

Garvin tousled the youth’s grimy hair, soliciting a contemptuous look.

“I’d never make you break a promise to your dearly departed mother, simply tell the truth enthusiastically and knowing how much the nobility trusts the freely given word of a commoner I expect i'll be left alone. ” Patting the boy’s shoulder Garvin handed him a note, scribbled on a handkerchief. “When they are gone knock on the door and tell the lady this note is from Garvin and say i promised that she’d give you a silver.” The urchin could not hide the greed in his eyes. Garvin smiled as he heard the footsteps of his messenger quickly retreating into the night. Turning north he walked at a leisurely pace, taking in the city one last time.

Eventually he began to hear the clang of harbor bells in the distance and the aroma of fried fish. The first of the food stands spotted had a little crowd building up but the delicious look of the fried squid on a stick was worth the wait. Crunchy and flavored with a pasty crab sauce, it was a dish unique to the city. The taste was strong and appealing and always left one craving more. He dropped the empty stick on the boardwalk for the squawking gulls to fight over and the rotted planks squeaked beneath his heels as he approached a small, round building with a man-sized anchor leaning against the wall. The chalk scribble above the door read, Anchor playhouse, one copper on entry. A handwritten poster on the door describes the current play:

TALE OF A DROWNED PRINCE.

A comedy about the murder of the late

And MUCH despised Prince Henry at the hands of his

Sainted mother five years past.

Garvin chuckled, tossesd a copper to the boy manning the door and scanned the audience for a familiar blue dress. The woman turned to Garvin as he approached, falling into his arms.

“Oh, Garvin! I thought i’d never see you again.” She lay her head on his chest, seeking comfort.

Pushing her back firmly, Garvin stared into her eyes with cold determination.

“Did you do what I asked?” He demanded, never breaking eye contact.

Hesitating only for a moment she handed him a coin purse and a sheet of folded paper.

“Travelling money, I booked passage for you on the Regal Lady. She’s parked at the old East dock and leaves at the next bell.” The tears sparkled in her eyes and she tried to hide them by turning to look at the bumbling hacks on the stage.

“People have no food sire, you horde enough to feed the kingdom yet let them starve!”

“My father let the peasants breed like rabbits,” the actor pontificates wildly. “I say let them starve and feed the lash to any who complain!”

Diane sighs, leaning her head on Garvin’s shoulder. “If you must really leave, I should come with you.” Garvin felt an icy shiver run up his spine and took a step back.

“You’re not planning to do that are you?” He asked, a hint of panic seeping through his smooth delivery. “You’re one of the Queen’s maids in waiting, not even your husband can get away with publicly assaulting your virtue, it would harm the queen's reputation and she’d sooner kill you both than let that happen. Me, I’ll either be killed by your husband's goons or hauled up on an invented charge and hanged by virtue of his influence, so I must flee and you must stay if for no other reason than to protect Lord Torrid from her majesty’s wrath.”

“But I can’t bare the thought of never seeing you again,” she cried. Garvin wiped her tears with his silk handkerchief and placed it in her gloved hand.

“We’ll see eachother again, I promise.” Garvin’s lie slipped from his tongue with such sincerity that he almost believed it himself. “Your husband’s lifestyle will surely lead him to an early grave, our love can last that long. When he does drop you can send me a message through a tavern in the poor quarter called the Raven’s Knuckle.” Where the name came from Garvin couldn’t say but he was certain no such tavern existed. He was even more certain that a lady of high birth would know nothing of taverns in the poor quarter. “I’ll come back and we’ll be married.”

“Lies, lies, lies!” The prince shouted from the stage. “None of you can be trusted so I must kill you all, guards!” The guards converged not on the nobles but on the prince, binding him with chains. “Treason! Treason!” He shouted as they tossed him over the side of the boat with an audible splash. The Queen stepped out from behind the curtain. “There will be no tricks, no talk of assassins. Let it be known for all time that not even a prince is above the law.” The curtain dropped.

“Poor Harold,” Diane muttered over the crowds thunderous applause. Garvin snorted, perhaps the mad devil smiled at her once. As the audience moved for the exit he managed to slowly separate from Diane without her noticing, losing himself as the murmering crowd piled out of the theater. He didn’t like lying to her and would rather not have to look at her tear streaked face one moment longer. Staying married to someone rich who she doesn’t love was no awful fate and the odds were he really would keel over and she’d get to live as a young, wealthy widow. Not a terrible fate at all, he reasoned as he jumped over a gaping hole in the planking.