Death worked tirelessly at the forefront of Gunther’s shop. The air was thick with mingled scents of fresh bread, herbs, blood, and of course, fresh mutton from sheep, wild pork from the old boars.

  The morning curled through the fluttering rags for a roof, pouring in sunlight like from a bucket.

  I cannot believe I have reduced myself to a mortal job, Death thought. I must bide my time in this place where the Sentinels can’t see, learn all that I can, plan my escape—I must assume the red of that Sentinel I stared into was for me… it is safer for me to plan my actions guessing that the Valans are searching for me.

  Gunther bellowed orders to Death from the counter; he took up a cleaver and cleaved through the joint of a lamb leg, cutting it into tender squares, scraping them into an iron pot of brimming soup brought to a boil.

  “You’re a natural lad,” Gunther said with teary eyes. “Just like my old boy used to do… a proper butcher.”

  If only he knew my prowess comes from cutting human flesh from my enemies… or perhaps it’s not, I do skin, gut, and prepare my own hunts, I have plenty memories of hunting bear.

  He poured the soups into bowls and served them up to peasants in their posh uniforms. He snatched their gold and gave change from a pouch of silver coins, staring them down with deathly stares if they claimed he’d gave them the wrong amount, which he didn’t.

  “We usually lose a couple of coins from stuff like that,” Gunther said. “I’m not the quickest at that stuff.”

  “I do not make mistakes,” Death grunted. “I will not have people like that try to scam me out of my coin—your coin, apologies, I have no need for any currency.”

  Death served all the customers then put the ladle back in the pot, removing his apron and staring at those that chose to sit in Gunther’s provided tables and seats.

  “Don’t you ever get bored of this life?” Death said. “You are a large man. Why not pick up an axe and use it? Plenty of people who would give you more coin than this for services.”

  Gunther pointed to his mute daughter. “Wouldn’t risk my time with her for any amount of gold,” he said proudly. “And there is no amount of gold that can buy what I want—just one more day with my son, one more moment to tell him how proud I was of him. In a way, saying it to you feels like I’m honouring him.”

  “I am not him,” Death reminded. “As harsh as that sounds, your son is dead. I am not your son. I will be leaving today when the time suits me. I don’t want your coin. My payment will come in another form.”

  Death listened into the conversation of the peasants. He begged for something to use against the Valans in the words. Tales of love, tales of missing their family—details of planned family trips, Death found nothing useful in their words and was even worried that his soul was beginning to enjoy the warm stories.

  “You’re looking for information,” Gunther noticed. “I know the face of a man snooping through eavesdropping.”

  “I couldn’t avoid their voices even I wanted to,” Death scoffed. “Those mortals talk far too loud, shouting at someone a less than a metre in front of them.”

  “I hear a lot of talk from my day-to-day life, what do you want to know, son? Ask. If I know, I’ll tell.”

  “Where would I find the Cum Master?”

  “Pardon son?” Gunther said with a chuckle. “The who?”

  “Big man, long arms, black hair, has a gift that controls water.”

  “Ah, you mean Captain Quinn of Bianca’s Bastards.”

  Death nodded without words to avoid Snow’s command coming into effect and forcing him to say ‘Cum Master’ a second time.

  “There’s a large tavern near Keep Blacksteel, quite highly built, lots of rented rooms to travellers. It’s got a statue of a knight with a rose, pouring a bucket of water into a fountain, the locals of the district call it the Leaky Knight Tavern, a renowned placed for him and the rest of Bianca’s Bastards to drink in.”

  That was a lot of information from one question, Death thought. “Where is Keep Blacksteel?”

  “I’ve got a route that gets close to there if you want to travel down it, built centuries ago, connects to a tunnel that servants used to use to bring goods closer to the Valans so they didn’t get robbed during the path. There’s a lot of hatches in there, but the one you’ll be looking for will have a golden shine, bit of rust, takes you up to a couple of trees next to a pond. You walk that path and enter the district gate on the opposite side of the waters you’ll find that place just sitting there for you.”

  “This is an acceptable payment,” Death muttered. I still must kill him and his daughter to destroy the fact that I was here… I can’t trust on their discretion.

  “Are you in trouble?” Gunther asked quietly. “Do you have a bounty on you?”

  “I might,” Death said truthfully.

  “I can keep our conversation a secret,” he said. “The Sentinels would’ve only seen our chat when we first met. As far as the Valans are concerned, you’re far away from me by now.”

  The pleasant breakfast was disrupted by hooligans pretending to be knights in standard iron armour. They growled at children, kicked over empty chairs, stole bowls of soup and gulped them down before chucking it fleeing civilians.

  “Oh fuck,” Gunther muttered. His daughter hid behind his legs. “They weren’t supposed to come until the night.”

  “Who are those jesters?”

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  “Just… just some assholes who my son used to owe a debt to, now they want repayment through a portion of my earnings.”

  “A reason to take up the axe,” Death said. “Who is the leader, what is their name?”

  “Rog. There’s more of them than me,” Gunther said. “I couldn’t take on all eight of them without one of them putting a knife in my heart. I have to stay alive for my little girl. Give me your pouch, son, I’ll make them go away.”

  Rog, hm, I will forget that name the moment he dies.

  “I was under the impression this city had a role for all, are they full-time criminals?”

  “No,” Gunther sighed. “They’re probably under the service of Killian, patrolling the streets, using their authority to prey on people like me. I am not the only one. I will get rid of them.”

  “No need,” Death said firmly. “I will deal with them.”

  “Son, no!”

  “It is fine, truly, think of this as a further payment for the service I have given you.”

  “Oy, oy,” said on of them. “Bloody ‘ell Gunt, did you drag your son out from the grave?” He leaned onto the counter. “We’ll have to increase your donations to us if ye’ve got an extra pair of hands on your workforce.”

  Death swung a fist into the man’s teeth, breaking them. Death had a hand on the hilt of the false knight’s sword, unsheathing it as he flew back into his friends, coughing blood.

  “The fuck do you think you’re think you’re doing?” a second one yelled. “We’ll kill your bloody friend, Gunt, get him out of our sight before we cut him open!”

  “What a low-quality sword,” Death sighed. He ran his finger across the blunt each, pressing harshly. “You could swing this into someone’s neck and it’d barely make a scratch.”

  “You bastard,” Rog spat. “We want double our donation for this shit, Gunt. Triple. You’re gonna pay for this shite.”

  “I doubt that,” Death said flatly. “Remove yourself, never come back to this farm, and if you are lucky, I will forget your faces. I shall not give a second warning, nor will I explain what your punishment shall be if you ignore my order.”

  “Ya hear that? He’s making threats.”

  “Only little boys make threats,” Death growled. “I only make promises. Now shoo.”

  “Don’t think we’ll be doing that,” Rog smirked. They all pulled their swords. “You’re outnumbered.”

  “You may swing first if it’ll make you feel like real knights,” Death said, now wielding his godsteel dagger in his free hand. “The end result shall be the same regardless.” He hopped over the counter and challenged them all with his eyes. “Well, come on, cowards, do you want to hit first, or should I?”

  The first attacker gave an overhead swing like it was a hammer. Death dropped his sword and raised a hand, catching the blade in his palm—just as he had thought, blunt, no edge, it still cut his skin from the impact… but the terror he struck into their souls from such confidence made their smiles turn to frowns.

  He then slashed open their neck with such speed and accuracy that his head nearly came completely off. They attacked Death from every angle, hitting him with their blunt metal sticks. He took down two more before Rog had the bright idea to use the blade’s point.

  This pierced Death’s arm all the way through and brought a taunting laugh. It didn’t last long, Death ripped it out of his flesh and stuck it into Rog’s eye, the wound healing on his arm like it had never happened.

  The surrounding civilians began to flee; the Sentinels in the far distance were blaring, red staining the sky.

  They must be seeing the people fleeing, Death thought. I don’t have time for this.

  He struck the others down effortlessly, nothing fancy. Two got a stab to the heart, the other three to their necks; he watched them all bleed out on the floor, feeling their insignificant strength added to his own.

  “Fuck, son, what have you done?” Gunther yelled.

  Now I have to kill him and his daughter, Death thought. A shame it had to come to this. He did seem nice.

  “We need to get you out of there! Come quickly lad, I have a cloak for you to wear! You must take the cellar to the underground tunnels before the Valans get here!”

  “You would do this for me?” Death said suspiciously.

  “Of course I would, come quick!”

  Gunther dragged Death by his arm and shown him the cellar door hidden under is carpet. As he opened it, a strange tingly feeling swelled in his chest. What is this? Duty?

  He realised what the feeling was: guilt. Not for the men he had killed, but leaving Gunther and his daughter at the mercy of whoever would come to the signal of the Sentinels.

  “I cannot leave you like this,” Death said. “It doesn’t look right.”

  “You must go.”

  “No,” Death growled. “I must attack you. I am well-educated on the arteries, the places to kill—I will slash you across the meat of your shoulder, stab you in the leg in a place that will heal without issue should you treat it.”

  Gunther took a deep breath. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said. He took a swig of ale and sat on the chair. “I’ve only known you for a day lad, but you’re family to me already… do it. Look away, my little princess. You mustn’t look at your father do this.”

  Death saw how scared she was. Another feeling tugged at him when he saw her missing limbs. “This deal struck is unbalanced in the eyes of the gods,” Death said low. “I am in debt to you.”

  “That doesn’t matter, son, get it done and start running!”

  He knelt at Gunther’s daughter and reached a friendly hand. She was frightened but trusted the man with the face of her brother.

  “We will be equal after this, Gunther,” Death declared. “I will not see you again.”

  He closed his eyes and gave some of his power to the little girl. Her eyes glowed in wonder as her arm grew back like a blooming flower. Her peg snapped under her foot, also grown back.

  “My gods,” Gunther said in shock. “Who—who—who are you? What kind of miracle is this?”

  Death turned his daughter around and stabbed Gunther’s thigh. He was happy with the precision, pulling it out and seeing it was only a flesh wound. He then slashed Gunther’s shoulder without looking, putting the knife back in his belt, and heading towards the cellar door.

  “Son,” Gunther grunted. “Thank you.”

  “We are equal,” he said flatly. “Do not thank someone that you are no indebted to.”

  Death slammed the hatch shut and descended the ladder. It was nicer than the sewers from Caron, an actual pathway. It was dark, but he managed.

  Twenty minutes of walking later, he found the hatch Gunther had mentioned. He stood below it, removing the cloak he’d been given. This cover won’t matter. I will stick out in a crowd.

  He climbed the ladder and stopped at the last rung. He entered deep thought, cursing his own decision to leave the man alive.

  Why did I help those two? Death thought. I will never see them again, their deaths wouldn’t bother me… yet I feel fulfilled having done so, what a disgusting feeling. I will find Quinn at this tavern, match this writing to whoever wrote it, use it as blackmail to get closer to finding the scarred man.

  He opened the hatch and left the tunnel, ready for whatever the city was about to throw his way.