Well, technically speaking the child was selling papers, shouting at the top of his lungs to grab the attention of all and sundry that might be interested in purchasing a newspaper or one of three different gossip sheets. The boy, ten at the oldest— and an underfed, scrawny sort of ten at that, looked at him expectantly when he spotted Naum, and the reeve approached casually.

“Newspaper,” he told the boy and fished a few stray coins out of his coat pocket then traded them for the day’s paper. He opened it automatically without bothering to read the front page and asked, “Anything interesting?” while he pretended to skim an article within.

The boy, Niko, was one of many children across the city Naum paid for information off the street— though he knew he wasn’t the only one so he always took their words with a grain of salt. Fighting to survive in an unforgiving city they often took whatever money they could get, and sometimes that meant spreading lies as rumors or feeding certain patrons bad information. Considering his position as a reeve, few of them would dare to try it with him, but it had happened before and Naum always kept in mind that it could happen again.

Niko thought for a moment, then offered, “Small potatoes, but heard there’s a Ward in Ashtown picking fights with some smalltime gang. They showed up to toss the Red Bird and he set ‘em packing, I guess, so now they’re out for payback.”

Naum hummed and was ready to discard the info until his tired mind caught on the word ‘Ward’. There were plenty of them around Vorslav, obviously, but for one to suddenly be making noise down in Ashtown…

“This Ward, he have black eyes?”

“Know ‘im, do you?”

The reeve folded his paper and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. “Not exactly,” he said then pressed another coin into the boy’s hand for the information. “But he seems to have a nose for trouble.”

“Everyone’s a troublemaker to a reeve,” the boy grumbled under his breath but pocketed the coin all the same. Naum turned then started walking in the direction of Ashtown and Niko called after him, “Ain’t your laws down there, Reeve! Watch your step!”

~~~

It was said that reeves carried the weight of the law with them wherever they went, but realistically speaking, ‘the law’ became a frail, ephemeral thing within the boundaries of Ashtown.

The watch rarely ventured into the warren of narrow streets— too many alleys to disappear down and it was a rare soul that had a kind word for watchmen. The powers that be had abandoned Ashtown, so Ashtown had little love for the agents of their laws that punished them more than they helped. Here an ever-shifting hierarchy of gangs and slumlords ruled, waging war for territory and resources among themselves while taking little notice of the noble politicians that did much the same in finer clothes and on cleaner streets in the city proper.

Naum hated Ashtown, though less for what is was and more for what it signified. Ashtown was a testament to the failure of the law and the system at large that had allowed its poor and disadvantaged to sink lower and lower in the mire of destitution while it’s richest climbed to yet greater heights off the back of their suffering.

The reeve stepped through one of the gaps in the old wall and made his way towards the Red Bird Inn while he tried not to think about his own blind optimism all those years ago when he’d first been given his position. For a boy who had been born poor and suffered long and hungry days under the indifference of the law the chance to take those laws in hand and actually apply them equally for once had been a beautiful dream…

He’d woken up to the bitter reality of it all eventually, of course.

There was a crowd already gathered outside the Red Bird and Naum joined them at the door, craning to see over heads and into the barroom beyond. Suddenly the mass of bodies shifted back, carrying the reeve out into the street with them like a ship on the tide until a space had opened up in front of the door. More people poured out through the door and into the street, all bruised and bloody to some extent, immediately followed by two more. It was Hastur and a red headed man almost half his age exchanging blows at a furious pace, sheathed saber meeting bared short-sword with a teeth jarring clang at every strike.

A young woman with hair that matched Hastur’s attacker grabbed the older man’s boot from where she’d fallen to the ground and he tumbled backwards with a swear to land right at Naum’s feet.

Hastur’s black eyes blinked up at Naum, startled and disbelieving as he looked up into the reeve’s face. The rest of the crowd retreated a few extra paces, but Naum remained where he was, looking down at Hastur while he waited to see what he would do next.

“Boy, you sure picked a helluva time to take me up on that drink,” Hastur said with a ferocious grin— blood in his teeth and a wicked glint in his eye.

~~~

“You really showed up, huh?” Hastur remarked when Jasna and her crew, eight strong now, pushed their way in through the front door of the Red Bird Inn. He spotted Gavrail among them and said, “Not much of a listener, huh?”

Stationed at the rear of the group and sporting a nasty bruise on his chin, Gavrail grimaced and refused to meet Hastur’s eyes. Hastur sighed and tapped his pipe out on the ashtray on the bar then turned to regard the crew properly.

He’d had the room cleared not only of patrons, but most of Prishka’s furniture as well, leaving the barroom near empty in anticipation of the fight to come. Looking at Gavrail’s crew now, Hastur mostly felt a pang of pity. There was no doubt they were a tough looking lot that had seen their share of trouble, but Hastur also saw hungry, desperate young people grasping straws for something, anything that would offer them some sort of stability in city that couldn’t care less if they were still there come dawn.

“You can still leave,” he offered one last time, something he probably wouldn’t have done ten years ago.

Gods I feel old, he thought to himself as he watched the red headed girl, Jasna’s, face contort into a defiant scowl.

She’d acquired a new bat since the last time they’d met and she pointed at him with it now. “That’s our line, you black-eyed, nob-sucking bastard,” the girl snapped. “We’ve come to collect— you pay in gold or you pay in teeth, your choice.”

Hastur threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. Jasna lunged at him before he could finish, cutting him short, but he was still ready for her and blocked her attack with the club she’d left behind the day before.

Her eyes widened fractionally when she realized and Hastur smirked. “Hope you don’t mind I pulled all the nails out. Can’t have you kids poking an eye out swinging it around.”

“Ugh, shut up!” she snarled, flushed and irritable, losing ground quickly as Hastur rose from his seat and bore down on her with his much greater size.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to mind your elders?”

A redheaded boy that was obviously her brother and another girl sprang at Hastur in an attempt to flank him, but he forced Jasna back with a sharp push and met them both head on. What followed was an all-out brawl on the part of the furious youths, and a neatly executed war of attrition on Hastur’s.

Sheer numbers gave the would-be gangsters the advantage on paper, but in the enclosed space of the barroom there was a limit on how many of them could take a swing at Hastur at any given time without hitting a friend so long as he was careful in positioning himself. It was crowd control pure and simple, something learned from years of experience clawing his way from the bottom to the top of the criminal world one bloody fight at a time.

Hastur landed a swift kick in Jasna’s ribs, sending her backwards into her beleaguered crowd of friends so they all tumbled right out the front door of the inn and into the street. Before he could give chase, though, there was a flash of silver in Hastur’s periphery and he swung Jasna’s club up just in time to block the sword her brother had swung at his neck.

The chipped blade bit deep into the seasoned wood of the club and there was a brief struggle as the boy fought to gain the upper-hand. “Now that wasn’t very nice. You could hurt somebody like that,” Hastur drawled and shifted his grip as he felt the club creak ominously in his hand while the blade at his neck bit deeper into its wood. Sweat trickled down his back at the near miss, but he didn’t let his alarm show on his face.

“Yeah,” the younger man growled, hate burning in his eyes as he grit his teeth and strained against Hastur with every muscle in his body. “That’s kind of the point.”

Hastur felt the wood start to splinter in earnest and he gave it a sharp twist, forcing his opponent back just long enough for him to cast the ruined club aside and bring his own blade, still sheathed, up to block again.

The boy was less experienced than the greenest Red Guard recruit, but his wild swings made him unpredictable— though they also wasted a lot of energy and left him wide open. His only advantage had been catching Hastur off guard with a blade the older man hadn’t realized he carried, but that last gambit had failed to do the job.

Hastur pushed him back towards the door and out into the street where the others were still struggling to regain their feet and found a crowd of spectators waiting for them.

A shout went up from among them, but too late, Hastur tumbled backwards when someone on the ground grabbed at his boot and when he hit, found himself staring up into the face of an angel.