Blackthorne

A Story by Jack Crueso

the prologue for a novel in progress

Blackthorne

The Blackthorn Tavern was a little place, an almost members only “establishment” where services were often exchanged in return for coinage all under the safety of the hired help and the respectable owner’s name. The services offered as can be expected from a Private gentleman’s club were though legal highly immoral. A regular walk through the “establishment” would most likely see a trader peddling stolen items, or even selling them back to those who they belonged to, the local authority could collect his bribes to turn a blind eye, thief takers could be reported to a neutral party who could at a cost ensure they did not bother the thieves again.

The young fellows at the bar eyed the barmaids assets adoringly, the sway of her hair and the curve of her legs, and in return she eyed the jewellery, the finely cared for nails and the clean, white silk clothing. The coins in one of their pockets would easily buy her company tonight. The owner approached the punters to make sure they were enjoying themselves.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms a wealthy noble had himself purchased some company “Come here” the gentleman ordered the adolescent slender girl, and as she approached her client she shut the heavy iron door and locked it.

In the clean white room above the weathered alchemist added boiling water to the powdered solution he had concocted and the three men in the room adjacent began to calm, and were within minutes hallucinating. One was amazed with the sight of his hand leaving trails in the air, it was shimmering and glistening in the laf light of the candle lights. His friend was busy talking to his brother who died of fever back when only ten imagining he was with a childhood friend whom he had not see for many years, the last thought he was a bird and clumsily hurried to the window and tried to concentrate enough to open the window latch, to flap his wings and soar into the sky. The concoction did not help him fly.

Next-door four men were busy playing cards on a large well polished table; one-armed Burt dealt a hand out while Jasper eyeballed him accusingly. It was no mystery as to where Burts other hand went and i'm sure I don’t need to tell you either. Now to the other two players the proceedings seemed to be fair and just but Jasper was himself a conman so he could see the trick being performed and when he drew his knife Burts good hand froze.

“I believe Burt that you just dealt yourself a couple high cards”

“I dint do anything of the sort!” a look of fear his Burts eyes, and jasper grinned his usual evil grin.

“Well you wont mind if we look at your cards and get young Corban here to deal the next hand” Burts hand slammed down on his own and held them firmly in place.

“If I got anything good, its natural luck it is!”

“Perhaps I should call ol’ Skirn” Jasper turned to motion to one of the scantily clad women to go fetch their master.

“No need for that, just a joke is all” Burt turned his cards over to reveal a couple of queens, and Corban turned over the cards in the middle of the table to reveal the other queens, a five and a couple twos “just a joke”

“You cheating hog”

“I thought you were doing a lil too well”

“I think it was time you were leaving don’t you?” Burt pulled himself out from under the table and began gathering his things

“Yeah got to be getting back got my da-” the coins clinked as his hands groped for them

“You can be leaving that where it is” the trickster looked right into Jaspers eyes, his false one sitting at an odd angle away from his own face unnerved Burt almost as much as coming face to face with old Skirn.

“Right you are” Burt scurried out with haste almost falling down the stairs.

It wont surprise you to learn that an industrial ‘accident’ took his one good hand less then a week later, Skirn was there to see it happen.

Corban played away close to a hundred coins that game, you win some you lose some seemed to be a good motto. The Negro fella sitting next to him was silent, had he noticed Burts dishonesty he wouldn’t utter it, perhaps he was a mute.

Jasper and the Negro fella soon escalated the bets too rich for the young lord Corban and so he bid the players goodnight. Jasper gave a tilt of the head and a nod while the Negro fella merely continued with the game.

Instead of staying at the Blackthorn with one of the girls he usually frequented he left through a side door, hearing as he did the screams of a woman in the blackthorn. intending to get back to the manor house, which he could see across the courtyard and across the field, he stumbled off now aware that he had drank a little more then he intended. The wind whipped his shoulder length auburn hair across his face, somewhere far off there was a howl and he became acutely aware of the moon being full. Even in the most drunken state no one from Amador Vale would dare step out while it was full moon, and although he wasn’t in an immediate danger he turned back towards the blackthorn.

Maybe he was too inebriated to notice, or perhaps they were masters of the craft but as they had managed to get close enough to be the young lords shadow, moving in rhythm with his footsteps and breathing in time with his own hoarse breathing. He didn’t feel the chain being ripped from his neck because his attention was focused on his bleeding stump of a finger that one of the crooks had just cut clean from his hand.

They have the ring! My father will kill me!

The shadow hider, was gone paying little care to be stealthy now but just to get as far from the young lord as he possibly could, he had got what he wanted and he could easily find a buyer for this, even if it worked its way to be sold to young Corban again it wouldn’t surprise him, signet rings usually were worth far more to those who owned them then to others who would buy them.

The young man dropped to the floor in an effort to find a discarded thumb, maybe it wasn’t too late to save it? Stones and pebbles lie motionlessly upon the cobbles, with every grasp he was groping on dirt and stones. But his index finger, and his fathers’ ring had been taken and he did not know which he wanted more right now, he felt light headed and dizzy.

A dark shape seemed to appear before him, it watched him for a moment smelling the young man. He acknowledged Corban

“Let us see to that hand”

“Thank you kind sir” Corban gruffly said, what he believed to be a cough was bad, and when it was not tickling his throat it was making his breathing hard and arduous.

The tall dark Negro stepped towards him and Corban found himself feeling even more dizzy as his blood continued to profuse from his bloody stump of a digit. Lifting him, the young lord slipped into darkness.