T'Jae gazed at the sleeping Lady Sweet with a mixture of

                        humor and envy.  She had been amused at the Lady's demeanor as

                        she was in her cups.  T'Jae had always shared the company of men,

                        and had learned to hold her drink from long practice.  Her toast to

                        Grouche and  the drinking that had followed had been a  slight

                        mockery of the Lady, but now she regretted the challenge.  Brat

                        could have certainly done with more information from the Lady, but

                        what is done is done. As she watched the sleeping woman, her

                        thoughts were of the differences between the two.  In the Brat's

                        eyes, the main difference was a mere accident of birth.
 

                                Had Brat been born of noble parents, she would now be a Lady,

                        wife of some noble of the land.  And if the man had been weak, she would

                        have ed her native intelligence to her advantage.  With noble birth, Brat

                        was quite confident  that  her  present  station, and the riches she had

                        accumulated, would be a mere shadow of the possibilities. She had been

                        born the only daughter of the man who had created the Vixen's Den, and

                        she had learned well at his side.
 

                                   Her father, Doog, as he had been known, had been a powerful

                        man, big and strong. He had been well liked by the denizens of the

                        backstreets, and he, like Brat, had been known for the honesty of his

                        dealings with those outside the law.  Her father had been a jolly man,

                        rarely showing temper.  But, as many discovered, he could not be

                        intimidated by any man, and drunken brawlers in his Inn were dealt

                        with swiftly, and effectively.  Upon the outbreak of fights in his

                        establishment, Doog would grab a huge oaken club from behind his bar.

                        Confronting the brawlers, he would give them a choice of leaving, or

                        having their skulls cracked wide by the club.  Most had the presence

                        of mind to depart swiftly.  A few unfortunate souls had the temerity

                        to challenge the innkeeper, and not a few of those never recovered from

                        the encounter with Doog’s club.  Marividnum had been a very different

                        place at that time, and Doog was a law unto himself.
 

                                Shortly after Brat's seventeenth birthday, Doog had one

                        night broken up such a brawl involving four strangers.  None of the

                        four had been wise enough to call it a day, and only three had lived to

                        tell the tale.  All three had been injured, and they had nursed a hatred

                        for Doog thereafter.  When they had encountered him one night

                        weeks later outside his Inn, all three had fell on him unprovoked,

                        and butchered him brutally. T'Jae had taken the news of his death

                        stoically. She had taken over the business of running the Inn, and

                        spoke not a word of the events that had made her Innkeeper.
 

                                    One month after her fathers death, Brat had summoned

                        four of her father's most trusted friends, and asked them to

                        accompany her.  They had traveled in the still of the night, and

                        finding the three murderers, avenged her father.     Word had

                        traveled swiftly the next day, when the three had been found in a

                        blood-soaked hut outside the town. All three had been flayed alive,

                        one still breathing and begging for death. One of his finders had

                        mercifully slit his throat, cursing his soul as he did it. The

                        townspeople had known who had performed the grisly deed, and all

                        looked at Brat with a new respect. Brat still kept the flayed skins of

                        the three, and considered them prized possessions........
 

                                    Brat shook herself from her reverie….there was much to

                          be done.
 

                                      She covered the sleeping Lady and placed a soft pillow

                        beneath her head. She laid a simple meal upon the table, a loaf of

                        bread, cheese and a flagon of water. Looking the room over , she

                        saw that all was well and prepared herself for the business of the

                        coming night.
 

                                    Leaving the room , she once again locked it securely.

                        Brat went to the kitchen, where she found the children busily helping

                        the cook, stealing a taste here and there as they went.  Summoning

                        them to her, she instructed them to go to Unka's fortress, and make

                        themselves useful. She bade them to keep their ears open for mention

                        of a man named Grouche, and to report to her immediately upon hearing

                        word of him. Many of Unka's servants were in debt to Brat in one

                        manner or another, and she knew the  children would be safe.  She sent

                        them off, the three chattering merrily.
 

                                    Brat then inspected her kitchen, making sure all was in

                        order, and the food ready and waiting for the nights guests. Above

                        all else, Brat attended her business faithfully.  Finding nothing

                        amiss, she berated the cook briefly, believing that this was adequate

                        to remind her  servants that she was indeed watching. Chuckling to

                        herself, she went to the greatroom of the Inn.

 

            Once there, she inspected the crowd assembled. Most were

regular customers, but a few were strangers. These she inspected

closely. She noticed nothing suspicious, but  told her servers to gain

whatever information they could from them. Better the devil ye

know...... Brat startled herself with the thought....the  devil  I

know?......Aye, there's a one I should talk to.  Dear Brian of

Blunt, aye, he will be so pleased. Brat chuckled to herself, her

thoughts progressing nicely. Hmm…and surely Lord Unka will

have his say to him too. Very well, we shall stiffen Brian of Blunt.

Brat considered how far she should use the craftsman. His many

dalliances with ladies of all classes, except the nobles of course, had

yielded much useful information to Brat. Pillow talk oft made for

loose tongues.  Aye, Brian was useful, and shouldn't be wasted.
 

                T'Jae motioned to Lass, a server girl who oft carried

messages for her, and told her to go summon Brian to her.  Lass

was to bring the man to the Inn, using back routes, and avoiding

watchful eyes.  Brat wanted Unka to have news, but only news

carefully tailored by her. Lass nodded her understanding, and went

about her errand.
 

                During this, Blakwolf, a man who had been drinking all

afternoon at the Inn, carefully got to his feet. Muttering farewells to

his companions, he reeled to the door.  Several in the Inn grinned at

the drunken man, knowing he would pass out somewhere in the

street, and spend a cold night sleeping the wine off.  Blakwolf

fumbled with the door latch, and after a seeming eternity, finally

gained the street. Stumbling and muttering constantly, he lurched

down the way.
 

                Rounding a corner far down the street, and out of sight of

the Vixen's Den, Blakwolf stopped.  He grinned evilly and thought

to himself.....Well done, well done, indeed. No one suspects the

funny drunk.   He laughed out loud. And even better, he had

information he was sure Lord Unka would find useful. The Lady's

message was fresh in his mind and he thought perhaps Brat might

make a mistake this time.  Lord Unka would be most pleased to see

her hang.  Blakwolf himself was not anxious to see the pretty

mistress of the Den hang, but he preferred the weight of the

Magistrates gold in his hand to anything else. So, for him, Brat

was forfeit.........

"Dream Girl's"
excerpt from coming novel
by the author,
Richard Corbit aka  Grouche
 

 Coming soon

Chronicles, the Quest...
 

 
 

 
 

 
 
 

 

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