My gun jerked in my hand as its teeth tried to find purchase along its barrel. I pulled away, and it slid off, falling to the ground with a soft thump. It slowly blinked at me, as though surprised that it hadn’t bitten the weapon in half.

  “Food hard,” it complained, pushing itself unsteadily to its feet. “Pinkskin easier.”

  That cinched my decision, and I turned and fled from the monster. It let out another squeal and chased me down the road. The monster’s footsteps were loud compared to my near silent ones, a property of my enchanted shoes. Though, as I ran, I wished I had cared less about being heard pacing and more about grabbing some kind of speed enchantment. No matter the danger of launching myself into a wall by accident when my feet accelerated before the rest of me caught up.

  “Stop running. I just want to eat you!” The monster complained.

  I didn’t stop. We continued up the road, my jacket gripped in one hand, with my gun in the other. My sides ached, and I could feel the stitch incoming. Each breath became harder, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the bright sun. Behind me, I could hear the creature cry out, and when I turned, I spotted it on all fours, chasing me like some kind of mad dog.

  “Go away!”

  It launched itself forward, and I stumbled to the side even though it didn’t get near me. “No! Come back so I can eat you.”

  “What if…” I panted, my breath not wanting to come. “What if I told you where you could get food?”

  “You have food?” It sounded hopeful, but I didn’t hear it slow down.

  “Yes… if… If you go back. Horses. Fresh meat you don’t have to chase.”

  Guilt gnawed at me for sending this monster to desecrate their corpses, but if it was to be me or them, I would pick them. They were a spent asset in my life. A fate I heavily wanted to avoid. The sounds of running feet slowed down, and I dared to turn my head around to check what was happening behind me.

  Behind me, the goblin had stopped and was sniffing the air. Its head turned in the direction we had come from, and to my shame, I realised not that far. I could still see the coach, sitting among its bed of flowers.

  “Come on,” I thought, not stopping despite my leg protests. “Come on. Take the deal. It’s a good one.”

  “Two horses?” It asked.

  I nodded and took the risk of slowing down. “All for you.”

  “Tribe gone, horses good. I like horses.”

  To my relief, it peeled off and raced back in the direction it had come from. Now that I was watching it leave, it didn’t seem as fast. I stopped, panting and doubled over as it left, as I tried to decide which was worse. The fact my driver had tried to kill me, or that the goblin had forced me to run. Neither felt good.

  When I was sure it had left, I turned and started, slowly, walking back down the road. I would have given almost anything for a coach then. Maybe a lone rider, or a farmer pulling a cart of produce. Anything that meant that I wasn’t required to walk. This time, I didn’t make any promises to the gods above. Instead, I simply kept walking.

  By the time it had sailed past the midway point of its journey, I was sweaty, tired, and irritable. I had cursed Lionel’s name. Or was it Lulnal? Lopiel’s? Whatever. Until my imagination had run out of ways to bankrupt his family, if I hadn’t already accomplished that, like his story claimed.

  It took the sound of approaching hoofbeats to break me out of my mental tirade. I stopped, moving to the side of the road. From the sound of it, there were four horses, which meant whatever they were drawing would be a sizable coach.

  Their approach meant that they were travelling away from my destination, but that was fine. I had some gold in my pockets, and skills to trade. A ride to what nearby town they were visiting, or even back to Crecia, shouldn’t be impossible to barter for.

  With haste, I donned my jacket and tried to get my hair in order before I had to meet with this new traveller. There wasn’t much I could do about the sweat, though I put my gun away. No need to make them think I was threatening them. Then, when I was as presentable as I was going to get, I raised my index, middle and pinkie finger. A southern kingdom sign for a traveller in distress.

  Then I waited. The coach soon came into view, and I let myself whistle at the sight of the animals. They were stallions, and all in their prime, though it was the one at the front that caught my attention. He was large, with a pitch black coat and mane. His tail flicked out, slapping at a fly that had landed on the chestnut next to him.

  Not for the first time, I wished my Item Value Identification skill worked on living creatures. As it didn’t that left me having to guess. I doubted the lead was worth less than ten gold, and the others were anywhere from one to five. A sense of peace washed over me. Whomever was driving this coach was unlikely to be a bandit. Perhaps they might be a local lordling, or visiting merchant.

  My hand never wavered from its spot in the air, and the coach slowed, until it came to a stop with a creaking of wheels and snorting of horses. My childhood upbringing made me want to go check them first, but I forced myself to lower my hand and look towards the driver.

  He was an aging man, with a stooped posture and short messy grey hair. His clothes, a basic brown tunic and long pants, appeared baggy in his frail frame. Though he gripped the reins with clear expertise, and the whip coiled beside him didn’t appear designed for use on horses. When he smiled at me, I saw signs of missing teeth.

  “You look a bit lost.” He laughed, which turned into a hacking cough that took a minute to get under control. “What’s the danger, traveller?”

  I gave the customary southern greeting of a small three fingered wave which he returned. “Goblins, and assassins, my good man. May I speak to the owner of this fine coach, and beg passage to Crecia, or perhaps a neighbouring town?”

  “You’re speaking to him.”

  “My apologies.” Poker Face kept the embarrassment at bay, and I waited for a moment to try and rework the speech in my head. “Then, please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Chad Burling, a level twenty-four fixer and businessman. Perhaps there’s something I can help you with in exchange for a ride? Mr…”

  “Reeds, Miles Reeds. Though everyone calls me Reeds on account of where I grew up.” Reeds chuckled. Which once again turned nasty.

  “Let me guess, near a bog?”

  “Aren’t you a smart one?” He grinned and nodded. “That’s right. I saw you looking at my horses, too. Are you perhaps a ranch owner?”

  I shook my head as my gaze rested on the black-coated stallion. “My father was a coach driver. He wanted me to go into the same business, but the system had other plans. He also told me you can’t trust a man who doesn’t look after his horses, no matter how honest he appears. But these? He’d have sold the house for animals like these.”

  “That one there might cost him as much.” Again, Reeds coughed, wet and thick. “That one’s Hubarrah, Vulpine for Midnight. My wife named him after a stallion she had seen in her home country in the west.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Is it wrong that I’m still tempted to make an offer? My coach lies abandoned not far from here, and I think he might be able to pull it on his own.”

  Reeds waved me away. “I wouldn’t sell him for all the gold in the kingdom, none of them. They’re too precious to me.”

  “My father would say the same.” I let out a sigh and I turned away from the horses. “Back to our previous business, then. May I barter for a ride? I have a few coins on me, and more at the Sunrest National Bank. Or I can offer my accountancy skills and other similar things.”

  “No barter needed. Hop on in. Though you’ll be sharing the space with my other passenger.” He grinned as he said it, his tone taking on an aspect that I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “I’m sure the gentlemen and I can come to an arrangement, though with how I smell, I may be better sitting up with you.”

  “Oh no, that’s why I’m putting you in there.” Reeds laughed. “Don’t need you stinking up a pleasant day. In you hop.”

  “Thank you.”

  With another wave, I moved to the door, my thoughts on how I could slip the man some coins. There was no way I could take a free trip. That left me in Reeds debt, and I refused to have that come back to bite me. As I opened the door to climb in, I found a pair of green eyes staring at me from a face framed by a curtain of red hair. Behind me, Reeds laughed until he once again coughed.

  ***

  The woman, who wore a light grey tunic and riding pants, fiddled with the sheathed sword across her lap and didn’t look at me. Occasionally, her long red tail wiggled from its place wrapped around her lap, or her cat ears twitched, but otherwise she was motionless.

  At first, I had assumed she was a merchant’s daughter. As someone had obviously tailored her clothes to accentuate her athletic frame. However, a use of Item Value Identification made it obvious they were cheap, a few copper pieces that someone with skills had fancied up to make them appear more expensive than they were.

  My next guess was a warrior. Both her build, and the sword worth a thousand gold, spoke to that. Though I couldn’t deny the plays my father often took me too helped with that. It was easier to imagine her long red hair billowing in the wind, as she slayed an enemy knight in single combat.

  I had to admit; I found myself intrigued. Reeds himself was nothing to look at, though, again, his horses were expensive. The best guess I could make was a soldier of fortune. Some kind of mercenary whose expenses far outweighed whatever she was bringing in. My hands itched to see whatever ledger she kept. Could I find a way for her to cut down on her maintenance cost? Perhaps travel and lodging ate into her budget more than it should?

  Of course, it was possible she was indeed a merchant’s daughter. A third, or fourth, being sent out with a gift to some Lordling to fawn over. She had the face for it. Few men wouldn’t look at her, even if the signs of her obvious martial training would turn some off.

  “You’re staring.”

  There was a hint of another accent beneath her southern drawl, though with her curt tone and the way she cut off the end of her sentence, it was difficult to tell. She kept her gaze on the window, and from the way her nose wrinkled up, I knew she wished they were bigger. I didn’t blame her. The smell was getting to me as well, and I wished for nothing more than a bath. Though, perhaps, not as much as she wished for me to have one.

  “My apologies.”

  “Is it because I am Cathinil?” Her tail flicked, and I knew it was irritation thanks to my previous dealings with her people.

  She didn’t seem to believe me when I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

  Some had issues with the beast kin, the humanoids that had appeared on all the continents well over two hundred years ago at this point. As far as I was concerned, that was for old men to quibble over as they discussed wars that started and ended far before I was born. My father had always said their coin spent the same as any other. It was one of the few things we had seen eye to eye on.

  I continued when she didn’t speak again. “My name is Chad Burling. I—”

  “You are a Fixer, and a businessman. I heard your conversation with Reeds,” she said, and I heard a note of curiosity. “Though I am curious, you didn’t mention what business you were in?”

  “Other people’s.” I hoped it would get a laugh, and instead I received a frosty glare that made me wish she had remained looking out the window.

  “You are admitting to being a slaver?’

  “No, not at all.” I held up my hands, and I was relieved when she appeared to believe me. “My job is to take businesses and improve them. Help people cut the chaff, make up profit shortfalls, and negotiate better supply deals. Contracts and barter are my bread and butter.”

  She nodded along with my words. “A contractor?”

  “Of sorts. I have to admit, I’m curious about your business. Though I have my guesses, none feel quite like they fit.” I said, as I smiled at her.

  “Oh?” There was a twitch of her lips that might have been an attempt at returning the gesture, and that told me she didn’t have the Poker Face skill. “May I hear your theories?”

  “Soldier of fortune, merchant’s daughter, run-away Nobel.” I tossed in the third one as more of a joke than anything else.

  I finally got a laugh, and it was a full and pleasant sound. She shook her head, and her tail twitched away from her waist, landing on the seat beside her. A sign that she was growing comfortable around me. Good. Though I didn’t know her history, having contacts of all stripes never hurt. It often came about that being able to call someone with a unique skillset got a contract signed, or a negotiation handled. On occasion, that call didn’t even require me asking someone to commit a crime.

  “You think I am a runaway Nobel?” She raised an eyebrow, and shook her head. “Surely you jest. Though your first guess is accurate. My name is Rita Thurmlin, head of The Blackrock Mercenary company.”

  “A pleasure Miss. Thurmlin. Though I must apologize, I’m not familiar enough with the mercenary trade to recognise the name,” I said, as I reached over to shake her hand.

  She took it, and we shook, just as the coach slowed. With a frown, Rita poked her head out the window seconds before Reeds called out.

  “We’re nearing your abandoned coach. I thought we should stop, in case there is anything you want to get.”

  “Anything I require, I have on me.” Then I paused as it hit me. “Shoot, my appointment journal.”

  “Is that important?” Rita asked.

  “Yes, and no. It has names and contacts for people in Crecia, but nothing I can’t replace. The goblin destroyed it already, most likely.”

  “We should check. Reeds, do you mind waiting?” Rita pushed the door open and gracefully climbed out without waiting for an answer.

  I followed her, and saw Reeds grinning at us both, as he shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “Not at all. Though don’t take too long, alright?”

  “Promise.” Rita said, at the same time that I replied. “Yes, sir.”

  “No sirs, just Reeds. Get going.”

  The long grass parted before us as we strode towards the coach. It embarrassed me how out of breath I felt, and as we reached it, I heard teeth gnawing bone. Rita’s hand gripped the hilt of her sword, and I winced at the scene before me.

  What the goblin had eaten wasn’t the horses. Instead, he gnawed on the corpse of the man who had tried to kill me. At our approach, it looked up, and gestured towards me.

  “Pinksin truth. Good meats.”

  “You bribed it to kill this man for you?” Rita looked at me, and I worried she was going to draw her sword.

  “No, no, no. I bribed it to stop chasing me. The man was dead before he got there.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew it wasn’t the correct thing to say for this negotiation. She glared at me until I pointed at the crossbow in the grass. The goblin had gnawed on it too by the looks of the broken firing mechanisms.

  “He shot both my horses and tried to kill me. I defended myself.”

  “Pinksin brought more food.” The goblin spoke at the same time it tossed itself bodily at Rita.

  That was a mistake. With a flash of steel, her sword was out, and she was standing in a stance that I swore was familiar, but I couldn’t place. It had her feet a shoulders length apart, knees bent, and sword raised before her. The now bisected goblin was staining the grass with its blood. None of which, I noticed, had gotten on me, Rita, or her sword. If there was any doubt in my mind about her claim of owning a mercenary company, it no longer existed.

  “Get your book.”

  There was no humour in her words, and I moved to the coach. To my delight, the leather-bound journal remained inside, and I picked it up. There was little in there. Some names, addresses, times of old meetings. None of which meant much aside from sentimental value. I returned to Rita, my book in hand.

  She glanced at it, then at the dead goblin and the chewed on corpse of the man. “He tried to kill you?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Clearly, as you’re still alive.” With a nod, she held out a hand. “Tell me, Chad. You tried to barter for passage with Reeds. Would you be willing to strike a deal with me?”

  “That depends on the deal,” I hedged, acutely aware of how alone we were and that it could be a while before a patrol passed here. Not to mention one that bothered to check the abandoned coach in the field.

  She smiled, and she brushed a strand of red hair, the single one that had strayed onto her face, aside. “How would you like a change at longer term employment?”