A Sunberth Folktale:
Wiley Wilson
This was a story my ma’ told me once, about a man whom was quick of tongue as well as fleet of foot, and all the good it did him in the end. To start it all right and proper, I’ll begin with the familiar:
There once was a boy named Willson, whom had come to know fifteen winters growing up in the orphanage just down from the regular apartments in the quarters. He was your ordinary lad, too bold, and stupid to be properly reigned in, which is what it was fortunate for him he lived where he did. One winter though, the one in which this story is set, things got worse than usual in the Quarter, and his stubbornness got him kicked out of the orphanage.
Wasn’t the first time, mind you, and such things usually went around for a few days what with her being too kind on her charges, but Wilson decided he was old enough to strike it on his own this time around. So he went to the place he’d heard the most about, the Den, with his head full of ideas on how he was going to carve his own little place out there where he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and feast, and drink till his heart’s content.
It’s a long way to the Den, especially through the snow and ice, so when he made it pass the Crossing, he was of a powerful thirst, and hunger. The Pig was nearby, but his pocket where empty, so he settled upon the idea of exploring some pockets so he might refresh himself before continuing on. Wasn’t too hard either to fill his pockets, the ice had trapped some sailors in the city, and they’d apparently gotten it into their heads to see what the Commons were about.
He filched from them easily enough, dumb and drunk as they were, treating himself afterwards to a drink, as well as a hearty bowl of stew that warmed him right up. After that, he got back on his journey as it were, feeling a whole lot better about the whole trip. Didn’t even look all that bad, he thought, as he got closer to where he heard it to be, but he was still well into the Commons. He had not even begun to see signs of the Den, but he soon would.
Rounding a corner, he stopped at the sounds of steel grating against steel. He knew the sound of it from one time when these two brutes went at it outside the Orphanage over some lady, and the sound now stopped him in his tracks. Wherever this was happening, it was just out of sight, so he moved up as quietly as he could and started slowly peeking around shacks until at last he saw them. The fight looked almost over with many on the ground and groaning. Groaning until the few left standing silenced them, and shared a hearty laugh. Then they started stripping the corpses, and young, stupid Wilson crept closer.
The men on the ground had many fine things, you see, like leather vestments, and things that twinkled in the sunlight. Wilson only had eyes for those things, and didn’t pay much attention to the men aside from glancing occasionally to make sure they were not looking his way. They weren’t, too intent on pillaging the corpses he was eying, and so Wilson got it into his head another idea. He didn’t have any weapons, or much else really, but he had his mind, an he could run passably fast, and this made him think he could pull this off.
“Petch you thugs, the Daggerhands will send their best!” Wilson shouted at the top of his lungs, having stepped out from where he’d hid, and after it was said, he took to running. So did they to his hearing, their boots crunching away at the snow and ice. He picked his own way carefully, sticking to the muddier tracks cause it was better than finding a hidden patch of ice, and it didn’t stick so bad now that he’d taken his shoes off. Of course, it sent pain shooting up his legs, but it kept him quicker than the men clunky boots, and he knew where he left his own.
So quick in fact, he managed to lose them in the crooked alleys of the commons, and soon he was back where he was, slipping on his hole riddled boots. Didn’t warm him up much, but maybe the corpses could satisfy that was his thinking, and again he peeked around the corner to spy a couple of men still there. That was certainly disappointing, he’d thought they might all give chase, what with him mentioning the Daggers after all, because those were always sure to stir up a crowd. They weren’t looting anymore at least, but still, they seemed to be waiting for their companions and that didn’t sit too well with him. He was convinced that something could be done, and that he was the one to do it.
They wore steel at their hips, and were facing away from him, so he got another idea in that stupid head of his. This time, he did not venture out, bold as you please, but crept, sticking close to the shadows. Once and a while the men would turn his way, and he would stay stock still till they looked away before continuing on, and he did this till he was scarcely an arms length from one of them.
A wicked looking dagger glinted at the man’s him, and giving his best effort, Wilson lifted it off of him real sly like, putting a brush in the sheath to replace the weight of it. Then, him feeling real powerful with such a thing in hand, he gripped it tight, and started creeping towards the other man, but then the other started turning, an Wilson tackled into the fellow. The man carried a mace, and couldn’t get it readied in such a state, so Wilson jabbed him a few times with that curved dagger before springing up to face the other fellow.
Wilson dared to smile even, cause the other was clearly caught off guard by the whole thing with all his fuming and fumbling for the sheath at his side. He advanced while the guy at last seized upon the handle, and brought the brush to bare. The boy couldn’t help but have a chuckle at that, stopping his advance for a moment, and the man promptly beamed him in the head with the brush, knocking him onto the seat of his breeches.
The guy was quick too, standing over him in no time to deliver a few slugs to his face. “Who sent you” The man said after he spent a little rage, but beat him a bit more for good measure. “Who, and don’t get smart with me kid”
“Stringy Tom, of course”
“Who the perch’s that?” Another slug.
“My boss”
“Said don’t get smart” A couple of kicks to the stomach, and he was rolling around in the mud, clutching everywhere it hurt.
“Sorry, just, he pays me to keep his position secret like, even to recruits”
“Recruits eh, recruiting who?” The man’s boot ground his knuckled into the dirt real good.
“You! You” Wilson couldn’t get out quick enough his voice all breathless.
“Yea, really?” Now with the other hand.
“No, not you specifically, but told me to find the right man, and I can say you are”
“What does this right man do?” The man was still on his hands, but crouched down now, leering over him with his teeth showing. They were sharpened, and yellow, and would’ve made him lose control, bold as he was, had he not leaked on the tavern earlier.
“Whatever he wants!”
The man walked off, and didn’t say anything, pacing around him in tight little circles. Wilson could spy the dagger a few fingers away, but his hands hurt too much to try anything stupid, so he rolled onto his stomach to catch his breath. His heart was hammering, and his mind clouded, but still he had time to get another of his ideas into his head.
“Paid me half up front to do it, hid it by my place in the Commons” Wilson didn’t dare push himself up from the dirt, but looked up to the man as he spoke. His words stopped the man, and slowly the fellow turned to face him squarely.
“Sure, and you want me to follow you to this “Place” and then “Give” me this gold, is that right. Kid, try harder.”
Wilson turned out his pockets, gold rimmed miza’s spilling out into the muck as he eyed the man, and slowly, he scooted backwards to a sitting position. “Alright, so I got part of it with me, but there is more there, and its already yours, I know, just being formal, n’ all.”
The miza’s drew a raised eyebrow where his words had failed, and soon he was being pushed away so the man could gather the spilt coins. “Alright, show me what you got hidden, and the real stash, or I’ll treat you to what you gave him” The man picked up his dagger as he said it, and pointed it at Wilson, eyeing him so he got it into his head just what would happen if he tried anything. Wilson couldn’t help but nod, and shakily stood to his feet.
“Get going then”
So he went, taking a different way back, but keeping a notion of direction based on what he recognized in his running about earlier. This next part would be a bit tricky with him hurting so bad, but he hobbled like nothing was wrong, eventually coming upon a larger street in the Commons. The man put his dagger away, and just like that, Wilson pretended to trip, shoving into the man to push him sliding across a patch ice they’d just crept across, and shirking off his shoes, Wilson took off.
He ran, and ran, and kept running even when his feet were numbed and bleeding. Only when he reached to Orphanage did he actually stop, and by then it was almost dusk, the lady there letting them all in, even him in his disheveled state. Oh she fussed, and picked at him, plying him with questions as well as commands to get cleaned up before getting insides, but did not discuss his earlier issues. Instead she sent him up to bed, which he gladly did, settling into one of those massive beds they all have to share, and passed away the quiet hours telling his friends of his harrowing journey before falling asleep.
That wasn’t the end of it though, because I stressed he was stupid right? You see, he used a real name, and a few days later, they learned of the fellow with that name. A baker whom kept quarters in the Quarter, and would deliver stale bread to the orphanage every now and again. Well, they got him talking quick, and one night, young Wilson woke with these fellows standing over him, only to be promptly dragged out of the orphanage and out into the dark, never to be seen around there again. You see, that cause no matter how sly and clever, and quick you think you are, your going to make mistakes, so don’t make the wrong ones, right? Remember that, or maybe you just might see where they took Wilson. |
