‘I saw a pismire swallow up a whale,
I saw the sea brimful of ale…’
The voice rang like a bell tower, scattering the ravens of Zahne’s memories violently from their roost. It had been several months since he had heard those rakish tones: it was the laughter that followed in the wake of Ara’s last words – ‘Good bye, Z.’
Donnovan Chickweed: lecher, gambler, souse and conman. If there was an honest bone in his body, then it was broke twice and still crooked. Don’s part in the Breeman’s past was not a pleasant one; towards the end the wretch was a nightly visitor. There were many evenings where the man took his wife in squeaky, nasally tones and tumbling furniture. Sometimes they lay across Zahne’s immobile form leaving him sweat slicked and sticky the following day.
‘I saw red eyes all of a flaming fire,
I saw a house bigger than the moon and higher…’
A dark voice whispered softly into the scarred man’s ear. Its voice was the scuttling of bugs, the crunch of ground glass, and the distant wail of the banshee’s lament.
“He’sss talkin’ bout you, mah boyo. You ‘member, d’ya not the flaming eyes o’the lamp’s lit oil? Your shack grew pregnant with flame which reached up unt’a the moon ‘n stars.”
Zahne gritted his teeth, cracking another molar when his jaw spasmed from being clenched too tightly. The warrior shook off the thought and pulled the hood of his cloak farther over his face, shadowing his visage with the exception of his one, glaring eye.
A crowd surrounded the table in which Donnovan plied his skill; the bastard always liked an audience. If he wasn’t showing off and performing, then he was quietly conniving on how to steal the spotlight next. Being taller than most allowed the crippled warrior to survey what was happening without being too close to the action itself.
Before him was the villain who was previously heard. He was ensnaring another victim: this one young and naive with a pretty face that emphasized her wide eyes. Donovan would take her last coins, encouraging her until they were completely spent, then leverage her to beat the odds one last time by encouraging her to wager herself. The rube would take it to mean menial labor, but the only task that Don would be interested in is that of a carnal nature. Used up and spent, she would be left a desiccated husk of her former self, condemned to seek out Bree’s dark corners until disease or violence stole what was left.
"See? I told you it was easy. Silver for gold if you want to have another go, my Pet."
Zahne strode forward, pushing his way through the throng slowly. The lass had already pulled a coin and set it upon the table when he had reached the edge of the game. The cups were shuffled and her offering marked her guess as to where the prize may lay. Don reached to grasp the cup in front of the silver piece when a thick finger slammed another coin on top of Rhawnwyn’s. The scammer looked up, flicking aside a lock of hair to see who entered the additional wager.
“The cups are moved, the bet is placed. You’ll have to wait your turn my fine fri…” , the words collapsed back into his throat. Beady eyes seemed to waver as if unsure whether they recognized the new gambler. “Alright then, double to my nothing.” The words were spoken mockingly, deft fingertips revealing no coin beneath the cup while simultaneously hooking up the winnings. Don smiled widely at his own cleverness.
Zahne reached forward and tipped over the remaining upside down glasses. Like the first, neither had coins beneath them. The shyster kicked upward immediately, snatching his coin purse as it vaulted into the air and the flipped counter blocked the public’s immediate access to his retreat. Spinning on one foot, Donnovan sprinted away from the crowd.
The burly man tripped as he tried to reach for the escaping charlatan, but the vagabond was just beyond his reach…
