Down at the end of the hall, Hastur heard the door to the holding cell area open and the new arrival exchange some words with the guard on duty.

“— take a break…”

“… five minutes…”

Hastur strained his ears to hear what they were saying, that extra sense for danger that had kept him alive all these years screaming at him to pay attention. He couldn’t make out much, but had figured he had the gist of it when a guard he didn’t recognize stepped into view and came to a stop in front of his cell.

Well, here comes trouble, Hastur thought.

The watchman was heavily built with fists like hams and a face like cold mutton. Still sprawled on his cot, Hastur sighed and met the other man’s menacing stare with one of casual indifference. Internally, though, he was readying himself to get jumped.

Cops really were the same anywhere you went. Even on entirely different planets.

“Let me guess, ‘the count sends his regards’,” Hastur drawled while the guard unlock the door to his cell.

“Nah,” the other man said as he pushed the door open and pulled a billy club from under his coat. “He did send me, though.”

Made of stitched black leather, the club wasn’t long but Hastur knew from experience it hurt like the dickens to be on the receiving end of its palm-sized, paddle-shaped head thanks to it being stuffed with lead balls. The shape spread the force of the blow, so while it might leave some nasty bruises, it wasn’t likely to break bones— perfect if your aim was to inflict pain without leaving your victim incapable of standing on their own in front of a judge.

“So, what’s the plan here? You just beat me black and blue and expect no one around here will notice?” Hastur asked but received no answer. Instead, the watchman lunged at him, but he was ready. Subtlety was never this kind of goon’s style so Hastur simply lifted a leg and planted it in the center of the watchman’s chest with all the force he could muster while lying down.

His attacker grunted in surprise, winded as he stumbled backwards, giving Hastur an opening to spring to his feet and close the distance between them with a quick right hook. He wasn’t as fast as he’d used to be, thanks to Mike abandoning his daily training regimen, but Hastur still managed to clip the watchman’s jaw, startling a swear from the man and forcing him to take another step back.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t actually matter if anyone does notice, does it? Just business as usual, right?” Hastur taunted and dodged when the other man swung at him with his club again. He missed, but brought it right back around on the backhand to catch Hastur in the jaw with the hard slap of leather against skin.

Pain exploded across Hastur’s face and lit up his vision like fireworks on the fourth of July. He swore and stumbled away, leaving himself open to a hit to his ribs then another to his gut. That one probably would have made him puke his guts out if he’d had any food in him but as it was he retched and doubled over with the pain to absorb a rain of blows across his back and shoulders.

It’d been years since Hastur had been forced to take such a thrashing laying down, but without regular training his body’s pain tolerance was at an all time low so it was all the man could do to stay conscious and shield his head with his hands and arms.

Eventually, the watchman seemed to tire, and after one last kick to Hastur’s ribs he left the cell and locked the door behind him.

“You can expect worse the next time the Count sets eyes on you,” the watchman said, then departed as his co-worker returned right on time. The other watchman peered into the cell just long enough to check that Hastur was still moving, then went back to his desk by the door without further comment.

It took some time for Hastur to work up the will to make it back to his cot, but he did eventually and settled onto it with a groan. He’d intended to take the beating from the start, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt like the dickens.

I’ll be feeling this for awhile, he complained silently as he checked his ribs and winced at the answering flare of pain. Bad, but not so bad he thought they might actually be broken, at least.

Hastur had been through enough by this stage in his life to be too proud to take a beating in a cell now if it meant avoiding a stabbing in an alley later. Better to let the count think he’d schooled him well enough here than challenging him directly so he’d immediately send more, better armed, men after Hastur later.

If nothing else, it was motivation for Hastur to get back in shape as soon as possible.

~~~

“Do you consider yourself a clumsy man, Mr. Ward?”

Hastur turned to find Branimir watching him from the shadow of the watch house. The thin man had a wan, tired sort of look about him that made Hastur wonder if he’d ever made it home last night, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Not particularly, why?” Hastur asked as he adjusted the collar of his long coat to keep the chill morning air off his neck. He winced when his ribs gave an unexpected pang, but he did his best to cover it up with an idle roll of his shoulders, then shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.

The reeve was a hard man to read and he was uncannily good at standing completely still. The only thing that gave away his presence in the yard outside the watch house was the smoke from the cigarette dangling loosely between two of his tan fingers and Hastur had been ready to write that off as coming from one of the second story windows until the reeve had called out to him. They watched one another for a long second and Hastur found himself transfixed in spite of himself when Branimir raised the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag before exhaling slowly. His sharp features blurred briefly behind the haze of smoke, breaking their eye contact just long enough for Hastur to find  both his breath and his senses again.

The reeve flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette with an apathetic grace that spoke to years of habit and hours without sleep. He was still devastatingly beautiful, though, even in the gray morning light that did little to hide the circles threatening to form under his eyes. His exhaustion just put one in mind of love-sick, fragile poets putting pen to paper over lost loves and hopeless melancholy.

Hastur grimaced internally and quickly cast the thought aside. However good looking the man might be he was still a reeve— the embodiment of Vorslav’s entire justice system.

No one liked coming across a reeve unexpectedly— or even expectedly, if one were being honest. They were authorized to carry out investigations, cast summary judgments, and perform executions everywhere they went in Vorslav by the king himself. They were something of a rarity, thank the gods, but they were always formidable and had a habit of making you feel guilty just for standing around. No one enjoyed being watched by the watchmen, but something about Branimir’s gaze felt particularly heavy when it settled on Hastur’s face again.

“You look like you fell down the stairs.”

Hastur threw his head back and laughed. If his reaction startled Branimir at all, the reeve managed to regain his mask of indifference by the time Hastur turned to look at him again.

“Yeah… yeah you could say that,” Hastur mused, tone sour as his his smile was cold. “Funny how many people fall down in those cozy little cells you’ve got out back, huh? Make sure to watch your step if you ever wind up in one.”

The reeve exhaled another heavy plume of smoke into the chill morning air and for just a moment Hastur thought he saw a bitter scowl contort Branimir’s features, but when the smoke cleared, only cool indifference reigned there. “I hear of it more often than I’d like.”

“All the screaming gets real grating, I’m sure. No wonder the brass keep their office on the opposite side of the building.”

The reeve flinched. “I— no—” Branimir began but Hastur turned away. Whatever brief amusement he’d felt needling the other man had faded, leaving him sore, tired, and in dire need of a proper night’s sleep.

“See you around, Reeve.” Hastur hesitated a moment, then added, “For what it’s worth— thanks for not selling me out to the count. I’d have done worse than fall down a few times if you had.” He didn’t wait for a reply after that, simply strode through the gate and onto the street beyond.