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Glenn kept moving at a steady pace down the winding street, searching ahead, and watching at forks and cross streets.
“Pssst!”
Glenn looked right, his hand falling to his cudgel resting in its belt loop.
It was Kirby. The half-goblin thief signaled Glenn to come over to him, off the street between two buildings. One appeared of superior construction for the area. While that wasn’t saying much, maybe it was important.
Kirby put a finger to his lips, urging silence.
Glenn felt an urge to hug his friend, but refrained. Instead he leaned close as the thief whispered into his ear. “Listen.” Then the half-goblin pressed an ear against the dry wood.
The gnome followed suit, pressing his ear, and listened.
“So, you’s here to pay your debt?” It was a strange, creaky voice that Glenn didn’t recognize. I was sort of croaky, like Kirby’s.
“Nobody’s got that much gold.” Glenn recognized that voice. Guard Captain Nickson’s.
“Then whatcha doin’ here?”
“I got something better than gold.”
“What’s that? Magic?” Whoever was speaking laughed.
“Information,” Nickson said, clearly annoyed.
Glenn clenched his teeth. Information? The only thing he knew was that Higslaff sent him and his party to Riven Rock. He didn’t know exactly why, but he might be able to guess. To do a little payback for damage to the pawnshop owner’s property and the attempt on the pawnshop owner’s life. Slimy bastard, Glenn thought. He fought to keep his breath quiet and steady.
The half-goblin thief seemed to have better control. The only sign of anger expressed itself in his yellow eyes.
“What information you got that’s worth more than gold?” the sturdy shack’s owner asked.
“Information that’s too important for your ears, my old friend.”
“Ha! Long as you got a price on your head, we ain’t friends. Thinking on killing you and bringing Vineada your head.”
“You can try.” Nickson’s voice was little more than a growl. The clink and scrape of metal said the guard captain had gotten to his feet.
“Your fancy armor and sword don’t impress me.”
“Set up a meeting, Nibber. I want to talk to Veneada.”
“Why don’t you go yourself?”
It was Nickson’s turn to laugh. “I’m no fool. Odds are she’d have me killed first and wonder why I was there second.”
“True,” the croaky voice said. “What’s in it for me?”
“You owe me, Nibber.” The creaking of wood said Nickson had sat back down. “My sword stopped Lobo from doing you in.”
“Bahh, that was more than ten years ago.”
“Ten years of life you wouldn’t have lived.”
After a moment of silence Nibber hissed. “This’ll cancel that life-debt, Nickson. But not here. At the Warthog Well House.”
“When?” Nickson asked.
“Least an hour, maybe three,” Nibber said. “Might depend on Veneada’s mood.”
“Has she changed any?” Nickson asked.
“She’s started going gray.” Nibber laughed, and there wasn’t a hint of mirth. “Made her meaner.”
“Okay,” Nickson said. “I’ll be at the well house in an hour.”
Kirby signaled for Glenn to follow. The pair crept around to the back of the sturdy shack. They leaned their ears close and listened.
“No ways I’m gonna be seen with the likes of you, Nickson. Least ways not until the price is off your head.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I go set up your meeting. You wait five minutes, and then make your way to the well house.”
“Got anything to eat?”
“Ha!” Nibber said. “Help yourself. Might be your last meal.”
The sturdy shack’s door creaked open and closed.
Kirby drew Glenn away from wall, behind the one next door. Inside it, someone could be heard snoring with another occupant humming some sort of rhythmic tune.
The half-goblin leaned close and whispered into Glenn’s ear. “We take him when he comes out.” Then, in a few sentences, he outlined the plan.
“You good with that?” Kirby asked before leaning away to see Glenn’s expression.
Glenn bit his lip but nodded yes. He’d been in one fight already tonight, but that one didn’t end with death. The one they were initiating would—with Nickson’s, or theirs.