Mongrel

Artie and his companion brought Mongrel to a large, high-roofed building near the center of the settlement, which was apparently the town hall. It was more than a little reminiscent of the longhouse in Millstone, only larger and standing upon a high foundation of tumbled stone. No wonder Buck fancied this place.

'Wait outside,' Mongrel signed to Number One as they reached the shallow ramp that led up to the doors, and left it to the old chimp to relay his order to the others. Truthfully he would have liked to have some backup, but after his rather violent first encounter with Buck, he reckoned it was important to make an amiable second impression.

Inside was a hall, warm and bright, where a whole drove of merry folk sat around long tables nursing drinks. There was barely a sound between them, though, aside from the occasional appreciative murmur or mirthful laugh, as their necks were craned toward the middle of the hall.

In front of a bright firepit was a man seated in a tall chair; lean and long-limbed, hair swept to one side in a fashionable tumble of curls. His muscled torso was bare and on full display, with his dark leather pants unlaced and hanging dangerously open at the front. He wore the insufferable, self-satisfied grin of a man who had been told one too many times he was handsome and let it go entirely to his head.

Mongrel recognized him at once.

Big Deal Buck. The bastard himself, in the flesh at last.

Buck's rich, honeyed voice bore throughout the hall as he spoke at length, seeming to have utterly spellbound his audience in the midst of his storytelling. He was sprawled comfortably across his seat, one booted foot propped against the huge, severed head of some draconic reptile that lay on a bloody tarp before him. A fine-looking woman reclined on the floor by his left side, her blouse open so that one full breast lay exposed; she plucked at a shamisen in time with the story.

At the same time, Buck was dandling an equally beautiful young man on his right leg, the lad snuggled against him and planting light kisses up and down his shoulder while tracing the sculpted V of his pelvis with one finger.

Floating in the air above Buck's head was a sliding Illusion of moving images that went along with the story, a mute play acted out in miniature with fantastical explosions of color.

Someone's certainly come up in the world, Mongrel thought sourly. In more ways than one, too. He had been Level 17 when Mongrel had last seen him, but now he sported nineteen sparkling AP crystals upon his arm.

Buck did not look up from his telling when Mongrel and the two others entered. There were a few light frowns from listeners who turned at the sound of the doors opening and closing, but no one said anything.

Artie leaned back against the wall with crossed arms, apparently not about to make any introductions, and Gutsy had vanished into thin air somehow.

Mongrel sighed. "Ahem!" he said loudly, and hooked his thumbs through his belt to look at ease. "Look alive, Bucky Boy—I've got business with you."

Everyone turned at that, and Mongrel suddenly had a hundred pairs of eyes directed at him and the crowd's enraptured quiet turned instantly into a heavy, perturbed silence.

The half-dressed Entertainer faltered in his story at last. The Illusion above his head glitched and burst. Calmly, Buck kissed his boy toy on the lips and set him aside, ignoring the young man's whispered protests. Then he hopped easily to his feet, stepped over the severed head, and came swaggering across the hall, his bright smile only widening.

"Good evening to you, and welcome to Freetown," Buck said with a laugh. He stopped briefly to snatch a cup out of a grizzled fellow's hand and take a deep swallow before returning it. "And who do I have the pleasure of doing business with, exactly?"

"Look close, and you'll know," Mongrel replied.

The Entertainer squinted and ran a hand through his tawny curls. "Aha!" His eyes sprang wide, and he snapped his fingers as he pointed at Mongrel. "It's you! I remember now—you're One-Eye's little goon, aren't you?"

"His partner, not his goon," Mongrel corrected with a scoff.

Buck laughed. "Is that so? I didn't know he swung that way. Kudos."

"You know this guy?" asked a gruff Explorer through a mouthful of greasy chicken.

"Sure I do," Buck replied. "It's been a while, my friend. How's One-Eye keeping these days?" He approached with a big smile and outstretched arms, as though coming in for an embrace.

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"He's well enough," Mongrel replied warily, and managed with an effort to keep his hand from drifting onto his sword hilt. He wasn't sure how this was going to shake out yet.

Then, all of a sudden, he found himself on his back, with Buck's boot to his throat and a knife he had never seen coming poised uncomfortably close to his face.

"And why, I wonder," said Buck with the same friendly smile and chirpy tone, "might a base fuck like you be knocking on my door?"

Struggling to breathe with the square bootheel pressing into his windpipe, Mongrel sincerely wished that Sam could have been here to take some of the heat for him. "I'm here… to bring you… to Sheerhome."

"That so? In that case, more fool you for thinking I'd come quietly; and for not bringing tall, dark, and homicidal with you."

Mongrel's eyes bulged. "Not… like that!" he croaked.

But the knife was already falling.

"Peace!" Artie cried from somewhere out of sight.

The blade paused so near to Mongrel's eyeball that his lashes brushed the tip when he blinked.

"What now?" Buck asked. He strained against the skill effect for a moment, then let up. He straightened and took the knife away, but his gaze remained fixed on Mongrel.

"He's not here on Brimstone's behalf," Artie said with great urgency in his voice, "but to seek support in overthrowing him! I can vouch for him and his group—please, hear him out at least."

There was a general murmur at that, folk looking to their neighbors on the benches in puzzlement.

Buck gave a low grunt. He weighed the knife in his hand, flipped it into the air, caught it spinning. "Now there's something I didn't expect to hear." With a shrug, he took his foot off Mongrel's windpipe and stood away. "All right. Talk fast, little man. And make it interesting."

With a flick of the wrist, the knife vanished—where to, Mongrel could not say—and instead, the Entertainer offered his open hand to help Mongrel up. Of course, he could stand on his own, thank you very much, and ignored the gesture as he rolled gracefully to his feet.

"Well?" Buck said, and motioned around him at all the gathered folk. "Let's hear it. We're all waiting with bated breath."

Mongrel crossed his arms. "You've got an ugly attitude, son." He blew a sharp breath out through his nostrils. "Well, whatever. Good evening to all you Freetown folk. My name is Mongrel, and like my friend there mentioned, I'm here to recruit help for taking down ol' Brimstone. More specifically…" He nodded toward Buck. "...I'm here for that fella there. The plan is to boot Brimstone off the high chair and plop Mr. Big Deal down nice and snug in his place." He said the last part with great reluctance, expecting it would go straight to the man's head, which hardly needed more inflating as it was evidently the size of a small planet already.

Buck let out a raucous laugh at that, lean abdominal muscles tightening and flexing as his stomach worked. What sort of idiot could be so vain as to starve himself enough to have an eight-pack, anyway? Absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm flattered!" the Entertainer said with entirely too smug a tone, "and killing that bald bastard does sound like it'd be good fun. But alas…" A shrug. "I'm quite happy where I'm at—here in Freetown with all these lovely people, and no gods or kings to darken my door."

There was a lot of cheering at that until Buck motioned for calm, laughing himself. "So there's my answer, good fellow," he went on. "I'm sure the journey here must have been arduous for you, so by all means, enjoy Freetown's hospitality for the night. But in the morning, you and yours will have to leave. Unless any of my peers disagree?" Buck spun around with arms outstretched in a mock show of polling public opinion.

"I disagree," Artie said.

"Artie disagrees," Buck echoed with a firm nod, snapping his fingers in the Trader's direction. "Anybody else?"

There was nobody else.

"All right, then," Buck concluded, and turned once more on his heel to face Mongrel, hands clasped over his naked chest and wearing a nasty grin. "I bid you a good night, Sir Mongrel. Since it seems that Artie has taken a liking to you, you can count on him to sort out your sleeping arrangements for the night. Now, if there's nothing else, I was actually at a fairly crucial point in my tale, and I don't want to lose my place. You are, of course, welcome to stay and listen if you'd like. I'm sure everyone would be delighted to be in the company of such an erudite gentleman."

Mongrel met the man stare for stare, refusing to give an inch, and chewed angrily on the inside of his cheek. "I'm not quite finished, actually," he said loudly, for the whole hall to hear. "Do you really think I would have come all this way to ask the aid of a man I'd rather spit on than gab with, on what—some vague fancy?"

Buck tightened his lips in a sort of vague facial shrug. "I, a lowly performer, can't possibly claim to know the inner workings of an intellectual titan such as yourself."

"Then let me fill you in, boy," Mongrel said, nearly growling. "Brimstone needs to die, and he needs to die right the fuck now. You see, he's planning to make war against Stormfort and Lady Winter. If he's allowed to satisfy his bloodthirst, the dead will be stacked up to the moon before he's satisfied. That's why I'm here—and why One-Eye is not. While I came here, he stayed behind to forestall Brimstone's plans as long as possible, and to learn any weaknesses the man might have.

"That is why I'm here, and that's why you're going to come with me, if I have to drag you by the ears all the way to Sheerhome."

If that preening dandy had expected Mongrel to wither in front of a hostile crowd, he'd be left sorely disappointed. He had made a job of it once upon a long old time, after all.

Buck was clearly taken aback by this news—as were all the others—and at last, that man's shit-eating grin slipped a bit.

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