Patrick

  The two men stared at each other, neither willing to relent to the other's demands.

  To Patrick's left stood a solidly built sergeant of the guard wearing the simple but quality chain hauberk and royal blue cloak of the city's officer uniform, his arms crossed and stance unwavering.

  To the right gred the lordling d who wore a disgusted sneer across his face, all the while staring the shorter man down as though he expected to make a soldier far harder than himself shy away.

  The tension between the two was almost palpable but Patrick wasted little time getting himself stuck in. He'd already heard enough of their squabble as he approached and knew the sergeant well enough to note that he didn't need to be yelling to be angry.

  One look at his old friend's face was enough to tell the tale clearly as diamonds in the river, but with the easy grace of a man a third his age and twice as wise, Patrick slipped himself between the pair, fshing a silver coin as though manifesting it from air to catch the stubborn guardsman attention.

  "Apologies, sergeant, I hope 'me eager wards haven't caused you the ds too much trouble this morning." Patrick's fingers twisted the coin so it caught the light, fshing as it danced between his knuckles while the surly sergeant growled a low grunt.

  "No…" He began slowly, his hand turning over to receive the peace offering without so much as looking at it. "I was rather just about to expin to the boy here that a little respect can go a long way… and a lesson in it more so."

  Cmping shut like an iron vice as the coin greased the inside of his palm, the sergeant nguidly tore his gaze away from the glowering youth to stare hard at Patrick, his face a mask of unreadable patience. "It's good to see that there are still youngsters in the city that appreciate all the hard work that goes into keeping them suckling at their mother's tits in peacefully warm beds. Warms me bleak and stained heart, it does."

  Patrick merely grinned, offering the man a short bow before turning to his wrathful mark with easy self-assurance. Doubtlessly, the good sergeant knew exactly who he was and what he was about, which was why silver had found its way into his palm and not merely a night's worth of ale in coppers.

  However, as the officer shifted to return to his seat, the stupid kid who had only narrowly managed to avoid conflict with a man who'd gdly break the boy's nose, noble or otherwise, couldn't help but get a final word in.

  "You made a wise decision, guardsman; I'll be sure to remember your fa—oomph!"

  Patrick smmed his hand into the boy's armored chest, knocking him off bance with the sudden force of the blow and shutting the fool up before he managed to cost him more than a second silver.

  Turning his head, he noted that several of the sergeant's men were no longer content to simply stand by and watch the proceedings, each beginning to close around the altercation with the deadly calm of an encroaching pack of wolves.

  Quick as a rabbit, Patrick produced another silver and flicked it in the sergeant's direction, who caught it with a raised fist, not bothering to lower it after doing so nor command his ds to refrain from their menacing approach…

  "Let the boys have round on me tonight, sergeant," He quipped, effecting the most disarming smile he could possibly muster! "Consider it 'my thanks for seeing us safely through the entrance of the dungeon—without noteworthy incident."

  Behind him, the tall young man made to dispute Patrick's words, but the thief quickly rounded on him with an icy stare and hissing rattle that left the brat stumbling over his own tongue. "That's two silvers I've wasted, d." He whispered, tone cruel and ruthless as a salted killer eyeing his prey.

  "Now, I want 'ye to think long and hard whether or not you'll be on the right side of the w after Justinians reforms, then ask yourself if it's worth a third bit o coin cuz little be coming from your purse next, willing or otherwise." He paused, gring at the boy who stared right back at him, flummoxed by what was happening but now clearly uncertain of himself.

  Patrick grinned, lightening his mood as he nodded at the boy and patted his shoulder. "And just so we are both clear on this matter, it will be costing you your guide to boot. I need no ill blood with the city watch, and I doubt very much they'd be willing to let ya in without me by your side at this point, regardless."

  The young man eventually scowled at his savior and, taking a step back, brushed away his hand as though it were covered in shit. "I'll have you know that ying hands on a lord is punishable by hanging. Do so again, and I will mete out your just desserts right here, present a rope or otherwise."

  Shaking his head wearily, Patrick dipped his hand into the crevice at his neck and produced a golden medallion, allowing it to sway zily before the eyes of the youth. The boy's gaze fell upon the shining bauble as it moved in a pendulous arc, his stare widening with understanding as a bluish ring began circling its perimeter.

  All members of the guild of—sufficient rank received one such token once they had passed its tests, and it was the universally accepted proof that one was indeed what they cimed to be, at least where higher rank was concerned.

  The conveniently foolproof little things were notoriously difficult to replicate with any real success by even the most talented of mages, the secrets behind their creation a closely guarded secret.

  Moreover they were wondrously identifiable as the real thing by the strange feeling one received when looking at it. Patrick had never really been able to describe it himself but had often heard the phrases soothing and trustworthy associated with the little light show they offered.

  For his part, the young d was too stunned to really react to Patrick's sudden reveal, but thankfully, his pudgy little friend was quicker on the draw.

  Moving to the taller boy's side, the shortest of their group pced a soft-looking sausage-fingered hand on his friend's arm, gaining his attention with near immediately as he did so.

  "Arthur, my goodman, in the spirit of proper propriety, perhaps it would be prudent not to upset the man we hired to chaperone us. I don't know about you, but I certainly didn't pay all that money just to have my investment walk away without ensuring that I receive at least a bronze ranking with the guild without difficulty. This is to be the first delve of many, let us use the tools at our disposal before we just—run off on our own."

  The short boy's words rolled from his tongue with a horridly practiced highborn accent that truly offended the ears as he spoke. Yet, it was exactly what was needed to finish deescating the nearly bungled situation at hand.

  Turning to see his comrades behind him, each nodding their heads in agreement with the nasally pork-chops words, the handsome d quickly found himself outnumbered, and, in a surprisingly mature dispy of self-control, the damned gorgeous bastard breathed deeply and nodded his head in defeat.

  Though he did smirk at his shorter companion and give him an arrogant toss of his hair.

  "Connor, if there were any means that someone like you could make it to bronze on his first week of delving, then I daresay that the three of us will be walking out wearing the silver."

  This brought on a small bout of ill-mannered chuckles amongst the group, and shrugging them all off, or trying to, the portly d grinned back at his friend, though Patrick could have sworn there was a flinty hint of spite in that gaze as he held his absurd weapon a fraction higher and—flexed his—well, tiny muscles...

  Obviously, meaning for it to come off as an intimidating dispy but it only managed to make the rogue, and probably everyone else, compare him to a fat monkey.

  "You got lucky st time, Art," He assured, chin raised as though in defiance to the gods themselves, "I merely hadn't yet gotten used to Tabatha yet; I assure you that the next time we cross bdes, you won't be so confident nor fortunate."

  Outright ughing now, the mouse-faced young man shifted his weight to the other foot and held up four fingers in his bck-gloved right hand, smirking, though, upon his face, the act seemed almost greedy, like that of a merchant who knew he was robbing sweet old dies blind for topical ointments while loving every moment of it.

  "And what about the four times st week, Connor? You know, when he made you taste the dirt before you got your fancy new sword?"

  This time, the shorter ds' gre focused upon the other boy, though the smile he offered was much less—reserved than the one he gave Aurther. He was about to open his mouth to retort when an uncertain and demure voice from behind them turned all eyes upon her.

  "We should get going, Arthur; I don't like it down here… everyone around us is just so… grubby…"

  The three boys stared at the young girl for a moment before the tall d burst out with a bark of ughter. Patrick couldn't help himself but note that while his friends seemed to follow in his example, they did so with a reservation that made him pause and consider the group.

  It only took a few heartbeats to pick up on the nervous and almost apologetic way half of them looked at the ss; he'd naturally seen that look in the young boy's eyes before and nearly let out a short ugh for it all as well.

  "Ellie, I assure you that things will only get worse once we actually enter the dungeon. I mean, what by the dead god's names did you think you would be doing with those weapons today, swinging them at straw dummies?"

  Blushing, the tall girl looked down at her boots, her left hand reaching for a strand of hair that wasn't there a moment before, seeming to catch herself in the act, then proceeded to look entirely awkward as she sought a pce to keep her hands occupied.

  Both of the handsome youth's friends spoke up in her defense, both tripping over each other's words as they realized they were trying to speak at the same time. It wasn't until Patrick himself cleared his throat loudly enough to gain the motley group's attention that any even seemed to remember he was there.

  "Lads!" He spoke up in a commanding voice. "And Lass." He added with a wink. "I believe it's time for ye to decide whatcha pn on doing. The guild was paid to guide ya, not babysit, whilst ye all take a leisurely stroll through the boulevard."

  Arthur only blinked at him, looking as though he'd just been spped.

  "What in the gods is that even supposed to mean?" Chimed the mouse-faced boy with a twisted expression.

  This time, it was Connors's turn to get a small chuckle in, arriving to the aid of his comrades with an all too condescending tone.

  "He means that it's time for us to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and I'm of a mind to agree, dy Ellinor is by no means wrong; it certainly stinks like a stable down here, and I'd rather not have my new leather boots smelling of the poor when I return home. It will ruin the delicate nose of my hounds!"

  With a grudging look, the mouse-faced boy agreed, and so did the young woman, though her expression looked more relieved than anything… Even their leader, now understanding Patrick's reference, approved as well.

  Raising a silvery gauntlet, the lordling cpped a hand on the rogue's shoulder, and his voice barked with the glowing confidence that only a nobleman ever managed to attain.

  "Well, man, lead on, daylight's burning and all that!" Then, hesitating a moment as he clued in on something that he was missing, his treatment of Patrick so different that it could be considered night and day, the d pcing a fist over his mouth as he coughed apologetically in yet another surprising dispy of consideration. "I'm sorry, my good man, I don't believe we ever caught your name…"

  Patrick turned on the boy, meeting his questioning gaze with a far softer one than he wanted to give. "The names William, or Will for short, and Willy works just as well; I'm not too picky so long as ye don't come up with any nicknames; a man ought to have pride in what he's called after all."

  "Here, here!" The rat-faced boy excimed with a raised chin. "Well said, and something that I myself—" He began while gring at his shorter companion. "have been trying to advocate for years."

  The young woman behind them barely managed to cover up a short snort, to which the poorer d looked upon her with a nearly broken heart.

  Arther outright ughed, cpping his armored hand on his friend's back and grinning broadly, uncaring or perhaps not noticing how the girl seemed to quickly cover her mouth.

  "It's not like we don't respect your name, Old boy, but it's just... so much more fun to call you 'whiskers.'"