"Hey Treve, took longer than I expected. Did Loo…ka… Malika come back while I was gone?"

He shook his head. "Not back yet."

"Music to my ears. I'll have a mug of that ale now if you don't mind." I raked through my freshly bulging money pouch, to pay and slapped down a silver Decitol.

"Got nothing smaller, Joren?" he said pulling a pint of dark amber.

"Won't need it. In fact, I said pulling out a three more of the silvers. Can you keep track of that if I put it behind the bar?"

"You're going to drink …" he paused to do the maths. "Thirty one stouts?"

"Not today, just keep track of it. I'm in here enough, and pulling out coin every time, well it's a bit mundane isn't it?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Sure, whatever you say." Then he handed over the froth topped mug.

I drained it in one and then slid it back, with a lip-smacking sigh of contentment. "It's as good as you said. Hit me again."

He shook his head and chuckled as a customer down the bar complained he was next. I almost flipped the complaining old bastard the bird but stopped just short. This bar might be Siroth owned but the punters weren't and I didn't want to cause problems for the place. I'd just put forty Decitols behind the bar and didn't need any interruptions, so I settled for a light-hearted ribbing. "You got somewhere you need to be?"

His toothless wrinkly face twisted into scowl but he said nothing. Stupid fucker wasn't even ascended and he was starting shit. As Treve passed over my next stout, I considered what it must be like to live in this place as a bottom dweller. Anyone form any planet could come here at any time. You didn't know who was ascended and who wasn't and even I'd think twice about fighting an ascended if I wasn't and I had no off button when it came to gratuitous violence.

As he tottered off unsteadily, I pushed my second empty mug back over to Treve. He took it and poured another. "You sure you're not planning on drinking all thirty today?"

I raised the mug. "Nah, I'll savor the rest. Tough morning, you know?"

"Not really," he muttered. "Heard there was a bit trouble up at Akerash's Hardware. You know the place?"

"Think I do. Grunir fellow, red beard?"

"That's the one. Heard Dalgom's lot were giving him a hard time. Poor blighters probably waiting retribution now. Set of bastards that lot."

"Hmm. I might pop in on my way home."

"Best steer clear. If they get it in their minds to cause trouble for you then you'll have to watch your back every time you walk around here.

I grunted agreement and set to work on my third.

Loosh arrived on my sixth. She eyed me distrustfully. "How drunk are you?"

"Me," I said clutching my chest like I'd been stabbed. "I'm fine." I moved my hand back to my mug and she eyed my chest. "Is that a burn mark on your jumper?"

"What?" I said looking down. "Nah, that's the pattern."

"I picked the jumper out for you. I'm sure I would remember…"

I held my index finger to my lips.

She raised a questioning eyebrow, but sensibly changed tack. "Are you ready to go back? We have lots to talk about."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Born ready!" I grabbed my poncho, pulled it over my head, grinned at her dubious expression and made for the door which I opened for her.

She looked up at me as she passed. "Lots and lots to talk about."

With a chuckle, I followed her out into the rain.

At a romping pace it didn't take long to get back and I was eager to hear what had been discussed. I should have known I'd have to wait until she'd completed her usual routine of firing up the granite heaters and getting into more comfortable clothes.

I followed my own routine, removing my poncho, pouring myself a whisky and collapsing on to the couch. Life was good when you didn't need to worry about liver damage.

I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when she returned ten minutes later wearing thick, fluffy cotton pajamas. I guessed that was a message in itself, but after my day, I really didn't mind an early night and some solid sleep.

"So what happened?" I asked once she sat down across from me.

"I spoke to Onlan. I thought he'd dismiss it out of hand. He did not. We've spent the last six hours trying to work out if and how it could work. We ran through the options, pitfalls, and avenues it could open."

"And?"

"He loves it but he needs to run it past the high council. This would be bigger than him."

"So why the long face? Surely if he liked it that much, you get major kudos?"

"I did," she said sourly.

"Let me guess, they want someone else to do it instead of us?"

She shook her head. "I wish. But no. This only works because of the situation we've found ourselves in with Peralt."

"Then fucking spit it out. Why's your face up your arse?"

"Once we start this officially they'll have to cut us off. I'm not allowed to go back to the Perch and I can't contact any of our Siroth operatives. Not until Peralt is dead."

I scratched my head, a little confused. "That's a bit shitty, isn't it?"

"Peralt is in bed with the Archons. If they think the Siroth are involved in his downfall they'll start snooping. Worse still, the only good reason to do this is so we can get involved in with those Archons."

I shrugged. "Sounds to me like they don't want to get their hands dirty. Lucky for them that I was happy to do it myself anyway."

"Yes. You were, weren't you?" she said with such venom you'd have thought I'd killed her family. "Onlan's going to speak with the council, but he's certain he can get them to agree. Which means he wants us to move ahead as if it's a given. That means no more enchantment purchases. He's going to make sure we have plenty of money so we can approach mercenaries, and he can offer a couple of additional bodyguards. Siroth Warriors but untraceable. Meanwhile he will get lead an in-depth research mission on Peralt's operation and give us all the information he can."

"Sounds good to me." I patted her on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it, Loosh, we can do it. I'm built for killing Warrior Mages!"

She pulled back, scowl deepening.

"There's more, isn't there?"

"More!" She shouted "Yes there's more! I'm level 30. I've loyally served the Siroth since I was thirteen years old!"

"And?"

"And they want you to be the fucking lead on this."

I blurted out a laugh, spurting out a fine mist of whisky over Loosh in the process. She was vibrating with rage now, so I probably could have picked my next words a little more wisely. "Is that on account of you being a delicate little mage woman?"

She lunged at me, smashing a green ball of power in my face and following up with a corker of an open handed slap that cracked against my cheek.

I grinned wider. "That was fast! You've been practicing, haven't you?"

She sagged back, still sitting on my lap and staring in my eyes hollow with spent rage. "I have." Then she dropped bonelessly to the side, to lie on the couch with her legs left draped over mine. "Not fast enough though. I still can't believe your immune to magic. It's so unfair."

"Quit your complaining. It's not all roses for me you know. It's much harder to level with only two of the three base stats available."

"Oh yes! Poor Earl. It's holding you back so much!" She barely missed a beat, but her tone changed from mocking to soft. "And thanks for not hitting me back. It was always a risk."

"Definitely a risk," I agreed, but chuckled at the unexpected apology. In all honesty I didn't know why I hadn't. Maybe I was getting soft in my old age. Maybe it was because I didn't sense any real intent to hurt me. It had felt more like rough play, with a sprinkling of petulance and I could appreciate that.

"Why the hell do they want me to take the lead anyway? We go there. We kill the dickhead, job done."

She shook her head. "We can't just go there. We're going to need men. We'll have money to pay wages, but the kind of fighters we're going to be able to get. The kind of fighters we'd need… they're not going to follow someone who looks like a pampered mage. Even if I didn't have a character to play I wouldn't exactly inspire confidence in vicious thugs. Meanwhile, you actually look like someone who'd be in charge of a mercenary band."

"True," I agreed. "And I'll look even tougher if I've managed to tame a Level 30 Mage. So you're not entirely useless."

She kicked weakly at me. "It's not fair."

"Sure it is. You still get exactly what you want in every way. Unless you're doing all this for personal reasons and not for the Siroth cause."

She kicked me again.

"Let's be honest, you'll still technically run the operation for anyone who matters. And don't kick me again."

She was grinning as she kicked me again. Then screaming as I hauled her up over my shoulder and set off to the bedroom. She thumped at my back, half giggling, half screaming yet somehow managed to gasp out the words. "You still haven't told me about the burn mark and the poncho!"

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