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Gurk leaned forward in his chair. “Dude,” he said to Mustache Man, “I came here for a haircut before my lunch date. If it ain’t gonna happen here any time soon, I gotta get it somewhere else.” He made as if to get to his feet.
Stosh pointed his flanged mace at the thief. “You ain’t going nowheres.”
The half-goblin thief raised his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Okay, dude.”
Josiah figured Mustache Man was distracted, like Stosh, so he hooked his thumb around the lever and forced it down. The eight-inch steel rod, thick as a pencil, was attached to a hinge at one end and a well-greased wire on the other. The thin cable, guided by pulleys, ran internally along the chair’s arm, down its base, and beneath the floor to where it connected with the closet’s intricate trap mechanism.
Josiah felt the cable snap taught, toggling the pressure plate back into its “set position.”
At the same time, still in the closet, Stocky Guy said, “Think I figured the hidden door out.”
A click, followed by sharp hisses, sounding like four pissed-off giant snakes, preceded Stocky Guy’s bellowing cry of pain.
Josiah didn’t wait to determine if the scalding steam did its job. He threw the copper bowl like a Frisbee at Stosh before flinging himself over the barber chair’s left armrest and onto the floor. A difficult maneuver because of his stepping stool next to the chair. He didn’t crash onto the floor, so he’d made his Coordination Roll.
The barber’s right hand reached for the stiletto hidden in his boot. Not the best weapon to begin a fight with, but better than fists or the straight razor stuffed in his belt, still hidden behind his apron.
Stosh ducked and the bowl clanged off a closed shutter. Surprisingly, Mustache Man was slow to respond, distracted by the triggered trap’s effects. That wouldn’t last. Worse, Stosh was already moving around the chair, mace cocked back and ready to bust open Josiah’s skull.
One problem at a time. Josiah charged forward and drove a shoulder into Mustache Man, who was just turning to face the barber. The jolting impact knocked Mustache Man’s knit cap from his head. Backing the mustached thief against the counter, Josiah stabbed with his stiletto. The blade’s point penetrated leather and found flesh. A solid strike, but the weapon was small, with minimal damage potential. If Mustache Man were a first-rank thief, he would’ve been severely wounded. As it was, he’d lost only a fraction of his hit points. Josiah had seen it happen often in the world governed by Monsters, Maces and Magic game rules.
Josiah pushed away from Mustache Man and went for his magical dagger on the floor. Even with it, he had little hope of winning the fight against Stosh. And when Mustache Man added his blade...
Continuing to bellow in pain, Stocky Guy staggered out of the closet. When the scalded man crossed the threshold, he triggered the Minor Lightning Spell’s arcing bolt of electricity. The energy flash caught the hapless man. After seizing up, the stocky thief collapsed to the floor, his dying face twisted in pain-filled rictus.
At least one of them wasn’t going to walk away from this, Josiah thought. As he made for his dagger on the floor, Luck played its part. Crouching to grab the magical weapon caused Mustache Man’s short sword to whiff inches above the barber’s head.
While that mattered, it was the burly warrior and his mace that worried Josiah. His magical heirloom pendant reduced damage from pointed and bladed weapons—a little. Bludgeoning weapons, like Stosh’s mace, were unaffected by the magic.
The big man should’ve already been attacking. Something must have slowed him.
Josiah retrieved his dagger and took a step back, toward the shop’s back doorway.
Stosh wore a pained look on his face as he staggered forward, like each step caused immense agony.
Helga swooped down, making a bellowing cry—a higher-pitched version of Stocky Guy’s agonized scream from a moment before. The gray-feathered parrot landed on Stosh’s broad nose and dug into the warrior’s face with claws and hooked beak.
Things looked bad for Helga until the half-goblin thief leapt onto Stosh’s back and stabbed with a curve-bladed dagger. It wasn’t the most efficient way to employ the weapon but it seemed to work. The thief’s Stealth Attack appeared to cause more damage than Josiah expected. Still, the bloody neck wound wasn’t nearly enough to bring the burly warrior down.
Josiah would’ve moved to help Gurk, and his companion parrot, but that meant turning his back on Mustache Man. The barber balanced himself to receive an attack as he faced the short sword-wielding thief.
Mustache Man’s face held a grim look. His lips moved but the shouts and curses hurled between Gurk and Stosh drowned everything else out.
Josiah held his dagger at eye level. An awkward guard position. At the moment, the weapon’s minor combat enchantment, which meant it was +1 to hit and +1 to damage, counted for less than its accessory enchantment.
Mustache Man grinned as he observed the inexpert manner Josiah held the weapon.
The barber waved the dagger as his opponent prepared to attack and muttered the activation word, “Flash.”
The single-burst strobe effect went off like a triple-intensity flash bulb. It temporarily blinded everyone who saw it—except the wielder, who was magically protected.
Josiah took advantage of the blinding effect and ducked in low, beneath Mustache Man’s hampered attack. The short sword bit into the doorframe instead of Josiah’s head. Josiah slashed with his magical dagger and stabbed with his stiletto. He wasn’t proficient in two-handed combat, but he needed to capitalize on his temporary advantage. The dagger’s flash enchantment wouldn’t recharge for ten combat rounds, and it was less effective against opponents a second time. They probably got a +4 to their saving roll against magic, or something like that.
His dagger’s blade cut, but not deep enough to penetrate his opponent’s leather jerkin. His stiletto, however, did penetrate. Its tip bit deep into the man’s ribs.
Mustache Man spun and swung his sword backhanded. The move yanked the stiletto from Josiah’s hand. It fell from the wound and clattered on the floor.
Josiah earned a light sword wound to his right bicep—the blade didn’t bite deep. Probably three or four hit points of damage, the lay healer-thief thought. A retaliatory slash left a shallow cut across Mustache Man’s cheek.
Josiah considered running while his opponent still saw spots, but he didn’t think he could unlock and make it out the back door in time. There was even less chance he could get around the brawling pair—Stosh and Gurk—and make it through the locked front door.
Stosh had fallen backwards, slamming to the floor, in an attempt to knock the wind out of his smaller opponent who’d clung to his back, stabbing again and again. The two men now rolled across the shop’s floor. Stosh abandoned his mace in favor of pummeling the half-goblin with his calloused fists. The outmatched half-goblin, for his part, kept giving as best he could, enduring body blow after body blow. When it found flesh, Gurk’s wickedly curved dagger inflicted grievous wounds.
For some reason, Josiah felt a twinge of loyalty toward the half-goblin, who was obviously losing the fight. Maybe it was the Lawful aspect of Josiah’s alignment, or maybe his conscience. Probably both. Ignoring Mustache Man, Josiah closed the gap between himself and the brawling pair, and performed his own Stealth Attack on the big warrior.
His magical blade bit into Stosh’s back, scraping against spine.
The dagger wound proved too much. Stosh grunted and collapsed onto the battered and bleeding half-goblin thief.
Josiah paid for his good deed with a blade biting into his own back. He’d expected it and tried to maneuver out of the way, so Mustache Man didn’t get any Stealth Attack bonus. Still, lay healers only got 1d4 hits per level, and that blow took the majority of what Josiah had left.
The barber spun around, maneuvering less nimbly than when the fight began, and pulled the straight razor from his belt. With two smaller weapons, he faced his grinning opponent. Mustache Man knew Josiah wouldn’t survive another successful attack.
Josiah gave ground. When Mustache Man’s attention diverted toward the half-goblin climbing from beneath Stosh’s dead weight, the barber began a quick spell. Josiah hastily cast his only Cure Spell. He had three Minor Cures, which were less powerful than his Cure Spell. Nevertheless, he’d expend those if he got the chance. The spell he’d just used meant he could probably take another sword thrust without falling. If the half-goblin put up a fight, Josiah figured he might be able to undo the front door’s bolts and get out the door before Mustache Man cut him down.
Not wasting time, Mustache Man turned his short sword on the half-goblin.
The wiry thief managed to half roll out of the way, causing the short sword to bite into one of the blood-soaked floorboards. Rather than try to extract himself from his dead opponent’s weight, the half-goblin slashed with his curved dagger.
Mustache Man hadn’t expected that and paid when the dagger’s blade sliced through boot and into ankle. The gash it left was deep and painful, as evidenced by the leader’s wince and grunt. Before Mustache Man could bring his sword down a second time, the half-goblin shouted, “Thanks for holding still, dude,” and slashed out, scoring blood again.
Josiah saw his chance and charged, dagger and straight razor ready. The half-goblin earned a glancing blow to the head for his aggressive folly. Not much of a strike, but enough to put him out of the fight.
Taking advantage of the opening, and his now hobbled and profusely bleeding opponent, Josiah drove a shoulder into the man, knocking him down. The attack reminded the aging barber of his days playing free safety in high school.
Mustache Man staggered back and crashed into the customer chairs against the wall. That gave Josiah a round to cast another spell. Inspiration struck. He laid a hand on Gurk and spoke the words for a Minor Cure Spell. By the time Mustache Man untangled himself from the chairs and was back on his feet, the half-goblin’s eyes had rolled back open.
“Thanks, dude,” the wiry thief said, wrapping his hand around the grip of his nasty curved dagger. While Gurk attempted to kick himself free of Stosh’s dead body, Josiah stood ready for the coming attack.
The barber managed to sidestep the sword thrust and backpedaled, placing himself on the opposite side of his barber chair. That gave Josiah a few seconds to breathe and organize his thoughts, his strategy. His shop smelled of spilled blood and open bowels, of sweat and singed flesh. The half-goblin was back on his feet, unsteady. Josiah figured his ally only had one, maybe two hit points.
There was no room for negotiation. Either he and Gurk were dead, or Mustache Man was dead.
Mustache Man’s determined gaze shifted from the half-goblin to Josiah and back, emphasizing there’d be no call for a truce.
“If all you’re gonna do is stand there,” the half-goblin said to Mustache Man, “I’ll get my cutlass over there and then things’ll get real interesting.”
“Bold words for a runty thief about to die,” Mustache Man replied.
“Uttered by a fool who doesn’t realize when he’s beat,” Josiah said. When Mustache Man returned his gaze to Josiah, he muttered the word, “Flash.”
For a second time, Mustache Man was caught off guard, closing his eyes and turning away an instant too late.
Before Josiah could get around the chair and take advantage of his once-again blinded foe, the half-goblin thief was already there. One dagger slash to the gut ended the fight. The leader of the trio collapsed, a section of his intestines spilling onto the floor.