Just as expected, the thug came barreling through the door of the guardhouse, chased by screams, his hands still bound. He saw Ash and dashing in the opposite direction down the alleyway. A boy of fourteen could easily kill a man with a sling. Ash’s shot splattered the man’s skull and brains all over the alley walls. Sergeant Pike let out a low whistle, the rest of the guards piling up behind him, muttering to themselves.

“Well,” Pike said, turning to him comrades, “I guess that’s the end of that.” He tapped his nose knowingly, and his compatriots nodded and winked in response. They were a motley group, made up of all sorts, their equipment ragged, patchwork, and often homemade. Ash spotted a number of women and woldwalkers among them. He cocked an ear, using his considerable height to look clear over them, staring at the entrance of the alley.

“Hear something?” Pike asked.

“Full plate armor. Five, no, six, marching lockstep.”

“Bugger.” he spat. “Look alive, we’ve got royal pricks headin’ our way!” He jerked his chit at the corpse. “Get him out of here.” Two guards broke off, grabbing the body by the armpits, dragging it back inside. The rest vanished back into the guardhouse, leaving Ash and the sergeant alone. He looked to the Hunter. “How’s your temper?”

“They that bad?”

“Worse.”

Ash frowned, looking at the procession entering the hallway. Six knights clad in full plate armor, bronze and brass inlays in diagonal bands upon their breastplates, the metal polished to a mirror finish. Their helmets were wide and flat, with shiny brass rivets around the crown. Their faces were twisted into scowls and sneers, not that any of them were exactly handsome to begin with. The apparent leader jerked his chin down the alley, arms folded across his chest.

“We’re here for your prisoner.”

His voice was rough, and ugly like the rest of him. Ash and the sergeant glanced at each other.

“He made a runner. Ran straight into the Good Hunter here.” Ash gave a friendly wave he knew would annoy them to no end. The knight’s frown deepened.

“Where’s he now?”

“Getting his ash and salt. We’d put coins over his eyes, but we’re a bit short at the moment.”

The knight walked forward towards the sergeant until their faces were almost touching. Pike held his gaze without flinching.

“Your guard wouldn’t be so incompetent if it weren’t made of women and otherworlders.”

“They’re plenty competent.” he replied. “But they’re underpaid, underequipped, and overworked. That’s not my fault.”

The knight spat in his face before turning to Ash.

“Come with us. We’ve a job for your mutant senses.”

“Not without pay.” he replied flatly.

“What?!?”

“Hunter’s Code, Rule One: ‘A Hunter may not work without pay, so as not be taken for granted. Once a contract is accepted and the bounty agreed upon, neither party may change their word.’”

The knight’s scowl deepened even further. Ash didn’t think it was possible.

“Fine.”

Sergeant Pike watched Ash worriedly as he followed the knights away. The Hunter winked at him, but that didn’t seem to help.

The knights led Ash, silently, angrily, through the city streets. The nonhuman crowd split before them as they marching, closing up behind them. They made their way to the human district, where the streets, while not paved with gold, were considerably cleaner and in better shape. The crowd still parted, but with respect instead of panic. Ash heard mutterings of ‘freak’ directed his way. Eventually Ash was led to an alley guarded by foul-faced knights of the Order of the Righteous, who jerked their chins up at their comrades escorting Ash, glaring at the Hunter, who simply stood there.

“Well?” the lead knight sneered. “Get to work.”

Ash shrugged.

“What’s the job?”

The knight pointed angrily down the alleyway, where another knight could be seen standing over a body. Ash looked over at it, then back to the knight. “I told you, not without pay. Hunter’s code.” Scowling, the knight produced a coin purse and pushed it none too gently into Ash’s chest.

“5 bronze.”

Ash frowned thoughtfully, weighing the purse in his hand, feeling the coinage through the thin leather.

“These are brass.”

“It’s all you’re getting.”

Ash shrugged, pocketing his payment, approaching the body. The knight watching over it shuffled away nervously as Ash kneeled down beside it. Male, mid-forties, wearing a doublet and trousers of middling quality. It lay facedown, arms loosely at its sides. Ash lifted one arm up off the ground; it was cold and stiff. He let it flop back down unceremoniously.

“When was he found?” Ash asked.

“Dawn.”

Ash nodded thoughtfully.

“Died last evening. Probably on his way back home.”

He rolled the body over. A pair of matching coin purses hung from the right hip next to a broken length of chord. Ash held up the coin purse he’d been given; it differed. He prodded the other two; still full. “Robbery was taking opportunity, this was planned. Killed him and ran off.” He looked up at the closest knight. “This alleyway see a lot of traffic?”

The man made a so-so gesture.

“Hm.” Ash examined the right hand, wrapped in black cloth, a makeshift bandage. Ash unwrapped it from stiff fingers, revealing a brand on the back of the hand. It was raised and red; A circle, two smaller circles inside it, touching each other and the bottom curve, a pair of crossed lines underneath the larger circle, three smaller, parallel lines within it. The sigil, taken together, had the appearance of a crudely drawn skull and crossbones with three bars on its forehead. Ash placed it between six and twelve months ago. He frowned in thought, then pulled his tool roll from the small of his back. With it he could do most things, the tough leather roll being stocked with lockpicks, pliers, a small prybar, and many other things as well, including a small but capable selection of surgeons tools. Ash selected a pair of thin forceps and examined the head of the corpse. Greasy black hair and a small, bloody hole, the skin surrounding it red and rough like sandpaper under the unwashed hair. Ash inserted his forceps into the tunnellike wound, gently prodding until he found what he knew was there, removing the mangled lump of lead, holding it up to the light. It glistened wetly in the midday sun.

“Well? What’s that then?” said the knight’s leader.

“It’s what killed him.” Ash stood up, dropping the deformed missile in the knight’s palm. The man’s beady eyes went from it to Ash and back again. “If he’s got a wife, you won’t find her. I’d consider the matter resolved.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ash knelt down, bending the corpse’s right hand so he could see the brand.

“Dakka Maiden brand. Meaning’s threefold, a warning, a punishment, and a deterrent: ‘This man is dangerous.’, ‘Society refused to punish you, so we will.’, and ‘If your behavior continues, or worsens, you will be killed.’” Ash looked down at the corpse. “It’s given to those whose hands have a nasty habit of striking their wife or feeling up strangers. Should’ve learned his lesson.”

“These Dakka Maidens, who’re they?”

“A creed of female warriors. The raped, the fondled, the beaten, the abused. Distrustful-of men, that is. Resolute. Willful. Cynical. Collectors and masters of Worldwalker weaponry, rivals with the Otherworld Scholars. Champions for justice and equality everywhere.”

The knights shared a desersive snort.

“Women can’t fight.” said one. Ash shrugged.

“They can, but I don’t care if you believe me. They’ve got nothing to lose, everything to prove. A dangerous combination, particularly if underestimated.”

He pushed past them, leaving them with the body, his work done.