enjoying the luxuries of my home without so much as an apple core left out for the Duke?”
He was at least as tall as an elephant, nearly as broad and
fat
. A patchwork robe of stitched-together blankets strained to cover his layers of girth. And atop his square, lumpy head, resting crookedly on two pitted black horns—
horns
—was a dull, dented crown of gold. The Duke Under the Bridge.
He upended the cast-iron tub like it was made from so much newsprint. For once, Merlin had the good sense to remain quiet. As my gaze drifted, very much against my will, up to the pointed teeth that grew crookedly in all directions out of his wide mouth, I had the instant, sinking certainty that Prune-face hadn’t lost those fingers to anyone’s blade.
The Duke grinned, showing even more twisted teeth. “What’s the matter, sport? Cat make off with your tongue?”
Somehow, I managed to find my voice. “Uh, no sir. I … I didn’t realize that this tub was taken.”
“This whole patch of turf is taken. This here bridge and its surrounding parts is mine. And nothing happens here without my say-so, so you’d better pony up tribute to the Duke.”
I doubted that the traffic of carriages and carts going to and fro up top had ever even heard of this Duke, much less paid him any sort of tribute. My first guess was right, more or less—the Duke was only a thug, playing big man with the crazies. He was just a particularly nasty, and sort of inhuman, thug. But I had been dealing with thugs all my life.
This insight gave me a scrap of confidence despite the Duke’s size and considerable appearance—enough so that my knees stopped shaking, at least. “Well, that might’ve been my oversight, eh … Your Highness,” I said, searching my pockets. “Let’s see, I’ve a fine hickory ax handle here, barely a spot of blood on it … a nice fur-trimmed coat that would make a grand gift for a lady friend. Just needs a little darning for the holes. Here’s a few buttons, some string and a fishing lure …” As the Duke scooped up the ax handle and the woman’s coat, I subtly put my body between the Duke and Merlin. The big oaf was making small growls of pleasure as he fondled the coat, and I dared to hope that I might just make it out of there if I could keep the beast’s attention off the bird.
“Ask him about his shiny parrot, Your Majesty!” shouted a voice from nearby. Cursing under my breath, I spotted Prune-face, looking innocently at the sky.
“Eh?” said the Duke, looking down. “What’s this? You holding out on me, son?”
“What? No sir. Of course not. You’ve got all my best loot right there in front of you.”
“That so? I
was
thinking that I’d take this here fancy coatand maybe just a pinky finger. But if you’re holding out on me …,” said the Duke, letting the coat fall to the ground. “Step aside.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry as sand. My alternate plan, which was mostly a lot of running, was looking better by the second. “Sir, I know a very nice scrivener’s shop that’s an easy mark. Maybe I could get you a few—oof!”
The Duke had heard enough. He poked me in the chest with one thick-clawed finger, which knocked me flat on my back. I landed next to the cage wherein sat the shiny “parrot.”
Merlin squeaked with panic, but I couldn’t tell whether the concern was for me or for the bird’s own well-being. The Duke bent over to inspect the cage, one eye squinting to get a better look, but he seemed to be having difficulty making out such a small thing in the dark. Despite his manhandling of my other goods, the Duke was being surprisingly delicate now, almost cautious.
“Oh, that little thing,” I said, rubbing at my sore chest. “That’s nothing of interest. Just a bit of junk. A child’s toy, is all.” If the Duke decided to take Merlin now, there was really nothing I could do about it. And it wouldn’t solve my other problems, either. I’d still be
He was at least as tall as an elephant, nearly as broad and
fat
. A patchwork robe of stitched-together blankets strained to cover his layers of girth. And atop his square, lumpy head, resting crookedly on two pitted black horns—
horns
—was a dull, dented crown of gold. The Duke Under the Bridge.
He upended the cast-iron tub like it was made from so much newsprint. For once, Merlin had the good sense to remain quiet. As my gaze drifted, very much against my will, up to the pointed teeth that grew crookedly in all directions out of his wide mouth, I had the instant, sinking certainty that Prune-face hadn’t lost those fingers to anyone’s blade.
The Duke grinned, showing even more twisted teeth. “What’s the matter, sport? Cat make off with your tongue?”
Somehow, I managed to find my voice. “Uh, no sir. I … I didn’t realize that this tub was taken.”
“This whole patch of turf is taken. This here bridge and its surrounding parts is mine. And nothing happens here without my say-so, so you’d better pony up tribute to the Duke.”
I doubted that the traffic of carriages and carts going to and fro up top had ever even heard of this Duke, much less paid him any sort of tribute. My first guess was right, more or less—the Duke was only a thug, playing big man with the crazies. He was just a particularly nasty, and sort of inhuman, thug. But I had been dealing with thugs all my life.
This insight gave me a scrap of confidence despite the Duke’s size and considerable appearance—enough so that my knees stopped shaking, at least. “Well, that might’ve been my oversight, eh … Your Highness,” I said, searching my pockets. “Let’s see, I’ve a fine hickory ax handle here, barely a spot of blood on it … a nice fur-trimmed coat that would make a grand gift for a lady friend. Just needs a little darning for the holes. Here’s a few buttons, some string and a fishing lure …” As the Duke scooped up the ax handle and the woman’s coat, I subtly put my body between the Duke and Merlin. The big oaf was making small growls of pleasure as he fondled the coat, and I dared to hope that I might just make it out of there if I could keep the beast’s attention off the bird.
“Ask him about his shiny parrot, Your Majesty!” shouted a voice from nearby. Cursing under my breath, I spotted Prune-face, looking innocently at the sky.
“Eh?” said the Duke, looking down. “What’s this? You holding out on me, son?”
“What? No sir. Of course not. You’ve got all my best loot right there in front of you.”
“That so? I
was
thinking that I’d take this here fancy coatand maybe just a pinky finger. But if you’re holding out on me …,” said the Duke, letting the coat fall to the ground. “Step aside.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry as sand. My alternate plan, which was mostly a lot of running, was looking better by the second. “Sir, I know a very nice scrivener’s shop that’s an easy mark. Maybe I could get you a few—oof!”
The Duke had heard enough. He poked me in the chest with one thick-clawed finger, which knocked me flat on my back. I landed next to the cage wherein sat the shiny “parrot.”
Merlin squeaked with panic, but I couldn’t tell whether the concern was for me or for the bird’s own well-being. The Duke bent over to inspect the cage, one eye squinting to get a better look, but he seemed to be having difficulty making out such a small thing in the dark. Despite his manhandling of my other goods, the Duke was being surprisingly delicate now, almost cautious.
“Oh, that little thing,” I said, rubbing at my sore chest. “That’s nothing of interest. Just a bit of junk. A child’s toy, is all.” If the Duke decided to take Merlin now, there was really nothing I could do about it. And it wouldn’t solve my other problems, either. I’d still be
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