The line outside the commissioner's office was twenty deep with applicants. Kagger would have been closer to the front of the line if he had slept a wink last night. Marta had been understanding of his work situation. The stress perhaps causing her milk to dry up early. The baby’s disquiet from a change in diet had unsettled the entire boardinghouse.
A heavy cart loaded with lumber and canvass rolled by a line of people outside a shiplap sided building. Most of the men in line carried an unseen weight that caused them to bend, dignity surrendered long before entering the charity line. Light chatter came from the group, but it was easily drown out by the metal banded cart wheels that bounced across the scarred cobbled street. The driver called a halt to his mare and dismounted. His face pinched with anger. He raised his crop to strike the beast then thought better of it. He gave the mare a quick once over before letting his attention linger on the creature's foreleg. With a heavy sigh he curved his posture downward, dropping his portly weight with some labor. In a moment he produced a small jack knife from his belt. Bracing his shoulder against the mare’s knee he folded the leg back on itself so he could get a better look at the hoof. He worked the knife at an object lodged in the shoe.
The line of men shuffled forward while the driver focused on his work. A group of young men arrived on the square and took their usual position on the sea wall. Kagger shook his head as he waited in line. Careful to avoid meeting the gaze of the new arrivals. He tried to blend into the line of men. It was not uncommon for the thugs to stir up some trouble. A line of witnesses was just what they needed to provoke their wrath. They were here with enough regularity that Kagger knew their names. Falk was the ringleader. At twenty four he was well past the age where an apprenticeship was in his future. Falk had found that his skills were better lent to bullying and extorting from those who could find work. The humiliation he inflicted on those unable to pay the mandatory street tithing, ensured that coins were quickly forthcoming from those who had them.
Elick was his second, a husky no-neck boy who had worked for a time as a freight loader in Six Crates. The wild look that always resided in his eyes was enough to reason out the failing of that venture. Now he stood watch over the underprivileged that called this cabbage-cart hole home. As districts go, Six Crates is small and mostly filled with tinkerers and mildly successful craftsmen. Anyone who tasted any success quickly moved to Bowler’s Green or Piper Rim. The bulk of the people who worked in six crates lived in Duman Downs. A maze of streets that navigated a slum. The guard rarely bothered with active policing. When they did enter The Downs it was usually in numbers to arrest a high value criminal. And that was usually to take whatever holdings the target had and toss him in the dungeons. At least In Six Crates there were enough tax paying merchants to demand tepid policing.
Lost in his thoughts, Kagger accidentally made eye contact with Elick. Burying his chin in his chest, Kagger stared down at the ragged boots of the man in front of him. His heart raced, fear pounding in his ears like a drum. He wouldn’t even be standing in this line if the caravan from Hanover Castle had arrived as scheduled. The caravans always meant plenty of work and they paid well. The caravan was three days overdue and that usually meant they had been ambushed and robbed or worse. The Princess would send out her Storm Pikes to clear the roads again, but it could be a month before the schedule got back to normal and day-work would be plentiful again.
The mare whinnied and Kagger hazarded a glance across the street. Elick and two others had jumped down from the wall. Kagger wanted to run, but his broken toe had not fully healed and the boys—men would beat him more severely if he ran. A surge of traffic blocked the thugs from crossing the street. A couple of men dressed better than the local wages could afford, shuffled by with the flow of locals. This was enough to distract Elick. Then the unthinkable happened, one of the men called out Elick. “Are you looking at me!?” The stranger said it with enough bluster to have captured the attention of the self proclaimed district enforcers. The six thugs were instantly poised to pounce on the unsuspecting prey. Once Falk and company set their sights on a mark they never backed down.
The two strangers that had wandered into the trap were out-of-towners by the look of them. One of them carried pistols and a rifle. Novel enough in any quarter of the city, but extremely rare here. The thugs must have seen a boon in their future. The other man with him looked like a guide or a scout. He wore a bow and quiver in the fashion of the highlands rangers that wandered in from the south.
Whatever their experience, they were outnumbered three to one. The stranger with the pistols drew down on Elick. The pack of thugs postured like wolves around a lone bull. This time Elick’s caustic tongue would find him on the wrong side of fortune. The stranger called out a warning to Elick and the pack, but Elick would not be cowed. With a crack of thunder from the pistol, Elick dropped to the street. Blood pumped from his wound at an alarming rate. The others pounced, knives and short swords flashing from secret pockets and sheathes.
At first it looked like the gunman’s companion was going to flee. Instead his bow flashed from his shoulder to his hand. The axe that was once there lay on the street. The flow of traffic through the square had frozen. Those who maintained their senses took shelter in side streets and alleys or ducked into doorways. The rest held their hi-priced seats for the gladiator sport that was to come.
Such a savage turn of events was rarely witnessed. In the span of a dozen measured breaths it was all over. The two strangers melted into the crowed and disappeared. In their wake an overdue justice that was years in the making.
The flow of traffic resumed, moving around the fallen thugs as though carrion from an overturned cart. Occasionally passersby would bend over to retrieve a souvenir. In minutes those thugs whose chests were still rising and falling under labored breath quieted. It was then that the guard arrived. Witnesses were absent and those questioned could not give an apt description of the assailants.
Soon the rhythm of the day returned. Kagger looked up to see that the line had shortened significantly. He stepped through the door into the commissioner’s office. “Is there any work today?” The line reformed behind him on the street and the district turned the page on a small unhappy chapter.