“Morgan!”
His eyes blinked open to contemplate the blurry wood he had been resting his head on, “I’ll take another,” he slurred, lifting a hand that knocked over his half-filled mug, spilling it on the table.
A voice muttered a curse, and small hands seized his tunic and pulled until he slid off his chair and fell heavily onto the floor.
“Ow.”
“Get up, Morgan. You’ve got a job.”
Morgan turned his head just enough to glare at the girl scowling over him, “If I wasn’t drunk I’d tan your hide.”
The girl sniffed her disdain and kicked him, not quite hard enough to hurt, “And when are you ever not drunk, Morgan?”
“I sleep sometimes.”
“You pass out.”
“Well,” Morgan paused reflectively, “That’s when I get sober.”
“Get up, you’ve got a job.”
Morgan attempted pushing himself to his knees; failing the first time, succeeding the second, “Is it my imagination, or are you getting meaner by the day, Sissa?”
She took a deep breath, “It’s a big one this time, Morgan.”
“Who?”
The girl looked over her shoulder and nodded her head to the corner of the room. Morgan heaved himself upright and tottered behind the girl as she nervously moved as far away from the window as the small room allowed.
Morgan shook his head and laughed, “Who’s gonna spy on us, Sissa? You’re the Ear, kid. And if that wasn’t enough, I’m the Knife.”
“Not just any Knife, Morgan. You’re the oldest. The best.”
“Kinda my point, kid.”
Sissa lowered her voice, “You know this guy.”
“I’ve known a lot of people I’ve killed,” Morgan shrugged, “It comes with the job.”
“People like Zhiul?”
Morgan cocked a smile and looked down at the girl, “Are you testing my loyalties, Sissa?”
“Maybe,” she crossed her arms, “You weren’t the same after you killed Zhiul.”
“Your father met your mother a few years after that happened, so you don’t really have any idea at all what I was like before I killed Zhiul.”
“You didn’t drink.”
“Did to.”
“There’s a difference between having a few mugs of ale, and making yourself a walking inland sea of rotgut, Morgan.”
“Maybe I was working up to it.”
Sissa smiled, but just for a moment, “There’s some strangers in town, staying at the Open Hand.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, but one has priority.”
Morgan rubbed a hand over his face and tried to clear his head, “Which one?”
“Male, you’ll know which.”
“Fine. Anything else I need to know?”
She paused, “Be careful.”
Morgan looked at her sharply, “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
He slapped her hard and grabbed her by the front of her shirt, “Don’t you dare cross that line, kid. The Ear doesn’t give a damn about how careful I am,” he towered over her, watching the blood flush over her cheek as it began to bruise, “Or have you forgotten that our mommy ain’t the type to tuck us in at night?”
“The Lady is good,” Sissa whispered.
Morgan spat and let go of her shirt, “I’ll be back when they’re dead.”
*
No comments:
Post a Comment