The Hook - The Road to Hell

[Tyralor]

There was much to be said for running a tavern, thought Devlin as he took a sip of ale. For one thing, days like this, when the warm glow from the hearth was laced with the aroma of the stew cooking in the pot over the fire. He'd spent the better part of the morning unloading supplies and now could enjoy the fruits of his labors. Yes, it was a good day!

"Devlin! John, come quick!"

Grace rarely yelled for help like that, so Devlin set down the mug and raced out of the kitchen to the common room. The dark haired beauty turned to him and then pointed towards the front door. "Quick, catch him! He just left!"

"Who just left? Someone skip out on paying?"

"Just the opposite! He left his coin purse! Go after him, John!" She held out a gray cloth purse and waited until Devlin finally reached over to take it.

"Grace, surely he'll realize it and return? And who is 'he' anyway?"

"Master Grayson!" Grace shook her head. "The quiet one with the red boots. Go after him with it, John. We can't afford another incident so soon after that brawl those pirates started. Just a hint of theft here and we'll lose more business."

Devlin frowned. Grace was a bit jumpy since the incident with the O'Malley brothers. He tucked the purse in his belt and nodded. "Which way did he go?"

"I don't know! Surely Korys saw him? Please, John? Before he comes back to accuse us of stealing it?"

"Alright, love, calm yourself. I'll go after him." He leaned forwards, pecked her cheek with a quick kiss, and ran out the door. Korys was lounging on the step with his own tankard of ale. He looked up as Devlin tapped him on the shoulder.

"Korys, which way did the man with the red boots go?" The barbarian blinked at his friend. "Redboots? That one went that way, back towards the gate. Ran, too!" He shook his head and took a pull on his ale. "Men in towns always run, run, run."

Devlin didn’t hear that part. He was already running.

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

Unlike the rest of the city, most of The Hook's streets and alleyways were unpaved, for cobblestones could be pried up and hurled at unsuspecting troopers.

Luckily for Devlin, there'd been a cold spell recently, so the dirt was frozen hard and the footing easier than usual for running. He pounded around the corner after Grayson, then stopped to see if he could spot the man. Across the way, some of the Faded Rose ladies were sitting on a bench, sunning themselves like a bunch of old cats.

"`Allo, Johnny? Chasin' after someone?"

" Did any of you see a man with redboots?" Hands pointed in six directions, including skywards and downwards.

"He ran out on his bill!" Devlin figured as ladies of commerce they'd be more sympathetic if he appealed to their more practical natures. He was proven right when the women all pointed north towards the gate. "Thank you, ladies"

He started up Shore Road after his man , shouts of encouragement (and one proposition) echoing behind him. It was near midday, and only self-respecting citizens went out and about in The Hook in the daylight hours, which meant there were very few folk out at all to get in Devlin's way. He caught sight of someone ahead of him who was not running, but was walking at a very brisk pace.

"Hey you, Grayson! You left this!" The man looked back over his shoulder at Devlin. John held the purse up so Grayson could see it and smiled.

A horrified expression was on the man's face as he turned and ran for the the gate into the upper city.

"Damn it. Wait, I'm not going to hurt you!" Devlin called after Grayson, then started running himself until he'd passed through the gate into the Camelot market square. There were considerably more people here, since there were more law abiding folk than in The Hook. Merchants hawked their wares from brightly colored booths to warmly dressed customers while a diminutive figure sat atop the wall and played a pipe gaily. Devlin strained to see over the heads of those in front of him, but it was hard to pick out the plainly cloaked Grayson in the flow of the crowd. He headed for the one person who might have noticed a man with red boots.

A few years ago, the Commander of the BlackWatch had a set of stocks built in the middle of the market place to display minor criminals as a warning on the hazards of breaking the law. Most of the time they were occupied by Rorik a likeable enough fellow until he drank too much and got into a brawl. Today was no different. Devlin made his way over beside the stocks and leaned down so the bent over Norseman could see his face.

"Good day, Rory. Did you happen to see a pair of red boots come this way?"

Rorik laughed. "What's it worth to you?"

"An ale on me at Grace's"

"Done! He went that way." Rorik's left hand twisted in the stock and his index finger pointed north towards merchant's quarters. "I'll be by tonight for that ale."

Devlin nodded with a grin and set out for the northern end of the market. The sound of the piping ceased for a few seconds, but then seemed to grow louder as he picked up speed. He was about to look back to see why when he caught sight of Grayson again as the man turned down a side street towards the docks.

John broke into a flat out run and was about the corner before Grayson was halfway to the dock. "Master Grayson, please stop!" But the other man continued to run. Behind Devlin, the music once more seemed to draw nearer. And then Grayson stopped. He'd raced out onto the dock at the street's end, but there was nowhere to go from here. Devlin gratefully slowed down and walked out to join him there, then took a few deep breaths and held out the purse.

"You forgot your coinpurse."

Grayson stared at Devlin in fury as he held out his hand, but as John was about to give it over, a pipe played some lightly mocking notes behind him.

"Actually, the purse is mine. Isn't it, Grayson?" Tyralor McDougal gave a bright smile and stepped forwards. "I'll take what's mine. Now."

"Please! Don't hurt me, I didn't mean…"Grayson took a step back and his foot found nothing but air. Then his arms flailed, and the purse flew up into the air, Tyralor's hand reaching out to snatch it before it could fall over the side of the dock and before Devlin could grab it himself.

Grayson, on the other hand, fell.

There was a hard thump, and Devlin looked down. The tide was low and there was a good ten foot drop to the deck of a small boat tied up at one of the pilings. Grayson lay atop it, neck twisted at such an angle there was no doubt the man was dead. Tyralor shook his head and looked reproachfully at Devlin. "I thought you would grab for him, not the bag. Poor Grayson; he really didn’t have the nerves for his chosen profession." The smaller man tucked his recovered purse back into his cloak, then looked down at Grayson again. "Ah well. You know what they say about the road to hell."

Devlin nodded. "It's paved with good intentions?"

Tyralor smiled. "Really? I was thinking more along the lines that the first step is a killer. Well, as edifying as all this has been, I've a friend to go wake up. You will tell the Watch I didn't push him, won't you? Good day, Master Devlin. My best to your Grace." He smiled politely and walked away, leaving Devlin to summon the Watch and to wonder how well Tyralor McDougal knew Grace.

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

It was nearly two hours later when Devlin slipped into the kitchen of the tavern and took his seat again by the hearth. Grace looked up from where she was slicing some meat. "So. Did you find him? What did he say when you gave him back his purse?" She poured Devlin a new ale and handed him the mug.

Devlin had considered what to tell her when he returned. Lying was out of the question of course, but he could be truthful and still avoid telling her what the outcome had been. He took a sip of ale, then wiped the foam from his lip.

"Why, love, he was speechless!"


©02/2003 Bill West
The character of Tyralor borrowed with permission.

[Tyralor]

In every city, there were the misfortunate. The ones that had nothing to
look forward on the following day, but a repeat of the previous day. The
ones that watched the excitement of life in others, and could not even
recognize the emotion that flickered in their eyes. People who heard of
hope, and snorted distastefully when ever the term came up in conversation.
There were always those who suffered, those who were broken and would never
find their way again.

In every city, there was the possibility of success. There was the
possibility of fortune and happiness. Those who could find that glimmer of
pure bliss, and latch onto it. Ones who would never suffer misery, or pain,
or misfortune, because they had captured the secret of life.

In every city, there are always two sides to one coin. Coins which can
provide the purchase of success. Coins which can purchase misfortune.
Coins, which can purchase hope.

Sometimes, though, it is not always wise, to purchase the hope of others.

* * * * *

"Ye CANNAE!" Amanda sobbed, already upon her knees as she stretched her
fingers forward. Grasping at the toe, then the heel of the pristine red
boots of the man who'd come to visit her.

"I do not like this any more than you do. Yet it is done."

"Where will we go? Please."

He shook the boot a bit. Attempting to dislodge the woman that clung to him
in such an unpleasing manner. She had been pretty once upon a time, there
was no doubt. Enough words had been sung in praise of old Amanda McDougal.
That had been long ago of course, or at least longer than his own lifetime.
She was portly now, as age had begun to catch up to her. A few years shy of
a half century, it was said. Weight had attached itself to her hips, while
her chest had begun to sag. The once luxurious brown hair was bland and
struck with strands of white now. Wrinkles lined her features, with cheeks
that puffed out just a little too much. If nothing else, he thought to
himself, she still ate well.

"I am merely a courier in this affair. The doing was well out of my hands.
Please Amanda. Let loose my boot."

"The children, Master Grayson. Please consider the children. Where now,
will they learn the trade? Who else holds an artist license for such
entertainment as we have here. No one! Ye cannae take this away from me."

He rolled his eyes in some exasperation, and finally managed to kick his
foot loose from her grasp.

"It is done. By the end of the week." His voice firm and certain. He
backed out and quickly shut the door on the weeping woman before his
conscience played him for a fool.

"Bloody doddering fool of a woman." The building was of course, ideally
suited for all of the work he planned. The exception of course, had been
that someone had already owned the land and building to begin with. That
however, was something that could be dealt with. Straightening his form, he
inhaled the rich scents that lingered in this quarter. Perfumes of floral,
cinnamon, mint and other fragrances that managed to cloud even the
unpleasant scent of the sea that lurked just around the corner.

"It's a good building." He admitted to himself, and walked down to the
street. He was humming to himself as he began making his way downwards. "I
should celebrate all my planning, all my good fortune." He decided aloud,
with a smile forming upon his lips. Steps became a little bit more lively.
A certain spring to them. A sparkle dancing in his gaze.

"You seem to be in fine spirits this morning, Master Grayson." The soft
toned voice offered from the corner of a fruit vender's stall. The insipid
manner that the words were delivered were enough to pull Grayson up short.
A sharp intake of breath, and a sudden moisture trailing up and down his
spine.

"My, what big eyes you have, Master Grayson. To see me better with, no
doubt. And my, what a big mouth you have, Master Grayson. all the better
to speak to me with, I'm certain." The half-elf offered as he placed a pair
of copper pieces onto the vender's countertop, before turning to pull
himself up alongside the realtor.

"I." Grayson began, before swallowing dryly. "You're." He attempted to
continue, before the man he was speaking with held up a hand politely,
forestalling further conversation for a moment.

"Yes. Tyralor McDougal, occasionally referred to as PoD by a few of my
closer associates. I'm so delighted you've heard of me. I must say, I
certainly have heard of you."

Rumours and gossip had a way of wheedling their way around just about any
circuit, so long as one listened closely enough, and had a mind to join in.
Grayson, truth be told, actually did have a big mouth.

A soft clicking noise of a tongue rapping against the roof of a mouth, and
an apple was offered out to the realtor. "Come now, we mustn't stand in the
middle of the street as this. Your boots would get dirty, or a, " There
was a brief pause, though Grayson spent too long recuperating his own
courage and intelligence to take note of it, "horse might run us down. Walk
with me for a bit."

"You've heard of me?" He finally managed to ask as control returned to his
limbs, and he began to walk. Heard of him? Why, surely this must be a good
thing. A moment ago, he had thought himself as successful as he could
possibly manage in this region. A local lord with a good portion of the
city under his thumb, earning him a tidy livelihood and profits till the end
of his days. Now though, he could envision feasts, ladies, and perhaps a
title one day. True ownership of lands.

[Tyralor]

"Yes, of course I have. The exquisite manner in which you manage to gain
all that you seek, is without question, most delicious to a man of my
standing." Tyralor offered with a soft chuckle, meaning to put his
companion at ease. "I think though, of the stunts that you pulled, having
the street waif barge into the bailiff's home, while he was in the kitchen
with the servant girl he was so fond, and the guardsmen in hot pursuit was
possibly one of the best manners in which you spent your coin."

"I nev-" Grayson began to protest, before blinking quietly. It was a
belated thought, that he hadn't even considered much at the time. But if
half the truths about this man were based in actual fact, denial wouldn't be
effective. He'd known the bailiff to dally while his wife was off on
errands, and had taken opportunity once, to have a young lad feign pursuit
by the guard into the house. The ensuing scandal had been devastating. The
young bailiff had been forced to leave town swiftly, with as much money as
he could gather. Grayson had pleasantly offered the man a quick, tidy sum
that could be paid immediately in coin for the house. A tiny fraction of
what it was actually worth, but the coin had been paramount. And the lad he
had used a common street waif. One that had no doubt earned extra coin that
week by tattling to Tyralor about the escapade as well.

"Yes, you did. Magnificent really. After that escapade, I couldn't help
but follow your other efforts. The rats you placed inside Lorell's Inn
weekly, till he had no choice but to sell. The way you cunningly suggested
old man Hodrig was stark raving mad, and how you silently swept up his home
after he killed himself."

Grayson studied the pleasantly smiling man next to him. There was no
ability to find his own tongue yet. He'd thought himself particularly
careful in all his proceedings. Apparently, he had overlooked details here
and there.

"As I said. Positively magnificent efforts. Almost impossible to trace."

"These, things, do not displease you?" Grayson inquired. It was a silly
question to ask really. That didn't occur to him till a moment later.
Guilt of the crimes that had taken place had momentarily overwhelmed his
dreams of living well. Yet the man that accompanied him now, was one who
took lives. Who played cards over the fate of others. Compared to
Tyralor's blackened heart, his own must surely be gold.

"Is there something that I might do for you perhaps?" Courage finally held
in a firm grasp. There couldn't be any more surprises now. He even allowed
a bit of the spring to return to his step and a smile to his lips. Yes.
Surely great things were just upon the horizon. "Some property perhaps,
that you believe would make a magnificent mansion for your new home, that
you'd like to get your hands upon? I have many, many lots of land
available. If there is anything you need, you need but ask."

"Grayson, ever an opportunist." A comment that was accompanied by a soft,
but pleasant sounding chuckle. "I think that perhaps in the future I might
have some purchases to make, which might include you. But please, tell me of
your latest exploit. I am curious as to how you convinced Widow McDougal to
part with her home, work, and life."

"Widow McDougal?" Somewhere in his mind, there was a faint alarm bell that
started to ring. He couldn't place his finger upon it immediately, but was
certain he would sort it out in good time. Merely needed time to think. He
was crafty after all. He'd gotten away with everything thus far, had he not?
Surely he must be crafty.

"I, well, that is to say, I found that her home wasn't serving the better
needs of the people at large. It's location and all. It could be so much
more than it is. The rooftop is in dire need of new shingles. The wood is
old and rotting. The hearth is in a sad state of disrepair. I merely.
That is, the guard merely happened to notice it one day, and they thought
that such a building was no safe place for children. So they recommended a
little thing here or there that she could do to make it safer."

"She is an old woman, who cares for children. Lives for the youth of the
city. She makes only enough profit upon her teachings to provide for
herself. Which meant of course, that she had no coin with which to pay for
said repairs." The words were far more a statement, and a conclusion to
Grayson's words, than a question fishing for confirmation. Either way,
Tyralor received a nod of agreement.

"Aye, just that and precisely so." Grayson turned to smile upon the gray
clad gentleman. Pride and arrogance, at the ease in which the task had been
accomplished finally showing through, while his hand tapped the small pouch
at his side. "Why, I just stepped out of her home, with the deed to her
home, and was on my way to Grace's for a sip of spirits, to celebrate the
end of a wonderful day. Why don't you join me?"

"Oh, I am horribly sorry Master Grayson, but I don't think that I can just
yet. You see, Sister just happened to lose her well cared for home, and I
do beli-" The corners of his lips turned upwards just a bit. His companion
had stopped three paces back, with his mouth hanging open, and his eyes wide
once again. There were little parts of his work, that he enjoyed immensely.

"Sister? But you're elven!"

"Merely half elven, if you wish to be precise. My mother was human. Is
there something amiss Master Grayson?"

"I didn't know!"

"It's hardly too late, now is it?"

"Too late?"

"Of course. You must register the purchase at the halls of Justice."

There was a moment of bewilderment that danced across Grayson's face for a
moment or two, before he swallowed compulsively. Fingers drawn together and
wringing themselves swiftly in a heavy display of nervousness.

"Oh yes. I'd forgotten about that." Naturally he was thinking swiftly.
McDougal. How could he have been so blind? Amanda must be Tyralor's younger
sister! "Maybe. Maybe I shall have too much to drink at Grace's. Oh, you
know how I am, Master McDougal. If I have too much to drink, I am bound to
forget my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders."

"Truly? Well, I would suggest that you don't forget the deed to that
beautiful building you purchased earlier today as you leave. The
consequences of such misfortune could be catastrophic."

There wasn't anything that he could do, but nod to Tyralor's words.
Vigourously at that. He understood the instructions perfectly of course.
And he would follow them exquisitely. His life was worth more than a piece
of property. He could always purchase another later.

"I must depart from you I fear, Master Grayson. I have a gentleman with
which I should speak to. I trust that you will have a drink for me." A
quick smile for a half second, before Tyralor turned to the side. The
conversation with Grayson obviously concluded, and his attention settled
upon another gentleman loitering up against one of the walls nearby.
Grayson only managed a quick glance, but there wasn't much of a chance to
err. He knew immediately, that the man hadn't lost two fingers while
attending mass.

He rushed onwards towards Grace's.

* * * * *

He sat in the corner of the tavern with his companion. Back settled
comfortably against the wall, and gaze traveling across the room
occasionally. The table was cluttered with three empty tankards, as well as
the pair that were currently being nursed. An empty plate suggested that at
least one of the occupants had been present a while.

The tap room was uncommonly crowded this evening. Rory's presence was one
of the reasons of course, and he was recounting a tale of earlier in the day
about a pair of red boots. A tale that was embellished on each recounting,
until there was little concept of what the story originally had been.

A woman managed to make her way past the throngs at the doorway. Nudging a
pawing hand or two away as she moved deeper within the tavern. She'd been
pretty once, a long time ago. Now her figure ran more towards portly, as
white streaks ran through tired brown hair. Wrinkles were set firmly in the
corner of her mouth and eyes. An older woman now, though still one with a
kind heart.

"You said you had something for me?" She questioned, as she sat down to
regard the two gentleman that she didn't recognize. Attention turned
immediately to the pouch that was tossed onto the tabletop before her.

"Yes, Sister."

"Sister? Don't mock me" Amanda stated as she reached over to pick up the
pouch on the tabletop. "I left the order a long time ago. It's just Amanda
now."

©2003 J. Matthew Schijns

Some Characters used with Permission from Dhugal.