Bertim Nohara, Tavernkeeper
The boy facing Bertim certainly did not look like a menace.
The slender youth lounged against a crumbling stucco wall, head cocked to the side as he studiously cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his knife. He wore loose brown breeches, a green vest, and very little else. Even his feet were bare, toes buried in the fine silt that covered the ground. That same dust coated his dusky skin in layers and clung to his abundance of dark curls. In fact, the only thing about his person that seemed untouched by dirt was the knife; that glittered in the half-light of the alley.
Jaryd was just a boy. A boy that could fit inside Bertim’s frame three times over with room to spare. Not a threat.
Dark eyes looked up from the knife, regarding him from beneath a set of lashes to put any woman to shame. The tavern keeper licked his lips, feet shuffling backward without thought under that intent gaze. His heels hit brick first, then his shoulders. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. It sounded like a whine even to his own ears and he cursed himself silently. He’s just a boy.
His adversary arched an eyebrow. “Don't lie to me,” Jaryd said. There was no animosity in that statement, nothing but calm confidence. “I have eyes in every room and ears at every door, Bertim.”
Bertim felt a line of sweat drip down his temple, and his eyes flicked to the alley’s entrance without his bidding. Just a few short steps away. A few steps and he could be back on the street. Just a boy, he reminded himself, but it held no weight. It was a lie and Bertim knew it. There would be no leaving the alley. Not yet.
“She’s a liar and a thief,” he said instead, licking his lips. “I gave her an honest job and she stole from me. What could I do?” Why couldn’t the little chit have been happy with what he paid her? It was better than the nothing she’d been getting on the street. He hadn’t liked her from the start. Too much attitude, too many opinions.
“Marisa does not lie or steal.” The youth paused to consider those words for a moment, brows pulled together thoughtfully. “Not without my prior knowledge anyway,” he amended with a chuckle, as if the girl’s bad habits were some kind of joke. “She took only what she was owed.”
He knew. How did he know? “She didn’t-”
“The Wise Women say it will take weeks for her to recover. You nearly beat her to death for the sake of five copper pennies and a loaf of bread. Is that how little a life is worth to you, truly?” He sounded…philosophical...but something glittered in those feminine eyes.
“Thieves must be punished or they just keep stealing. Who are you to change that?” Bertim demanded, fists clenched. “We had terms. She didn’t meet them. Instead of accepting her due, she stole from me. By the Light, I will not-”
The boy pushed off the wall toward Bertim too fast for the latter to react. One hand grabbed the tavern keep’s arm and slapped it against the brick next to his head; the other pressed the knife against his wrist. “The next time you lay a hand on anyone, I will remove it. Slowly,” Jaryd told him. Blood welled as the blade bit into Bertim’s skin. It took so little pressure; he had a breath to stare at it in morbid fascination before pain lanced up his arm. “You will make certain Marisa’s mother is well cared for until the girl recovers from her injuries. Are we clear?”
“Why would I do anything for that little bit-” he cut off with a yelp as the knife bit deeper. “Yes! Yes I will.”
“Good.” Jaryd stepped away and looked about him as if seeing the alley for the first time. “Be sure you don’t forget, Bertim. I will know.” He flashed a bright smile, and just like that he sauntered to the street and was gone.
The slender youth lounged against a crumbling stucco wall, head cocked to the side as he studiously cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his knife. He wore loose brown breeches, a green vest, and very little else. Even his feet were bare, toes buried in the fine silt that covered the ground. That same dust coated his dusky skin in layers and clung to his abundance of dark curls. In fact, the only thing about his person that seemed untouched by dirt was the knife; that glittered in the half-light of the alley.
Jaryd was just a boy. A boy that could fit inside Bertim’s frame three times over with room to spare. Not a threat.
Dark eyes looked up from the knife, regarding him from beneath a set of lashes to put any woman to shame. The tavern keeper licked his lips, feet shuffling backward without thought under that intent gaze. His heels hit brick first, then his shoulders. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. It sounded like a whine even to his own ears and he cursed himself silently. He’s just a boy.
His adversary arched an eyebrow. “Don't lie to me,” Jaryd said. There was no animosity in that statement, nothing but calm confidence. “I have eyes in every room and ears at every door, Bertim.”
Bertim felt a line of sweat drip down his temple, and his eyes flicked to the alley’s entrance without his bidding. Just a few short steps away. A few steps and he could be back on the street. Just a boy, he reminded himself, but it held no weight. It was a lie and Bertim knew it. There would be no leaving the alley. Not yet.
“She’s a liar and a thief,” he said instead, licking his lips. “I gave her an honest job and she stole from me. What could I do?” Why couldn’t the little chit have been happy with what he paid her? It was better than the nothing she’d been getting on the street. He hadn’t liked her from the start. Too much attitude, too many opinions.
“Marisa does not lie or steal.” The youth paused to consider those words for a moment, brows pulled together thoughtfully. “Not without my prior knowledge anyway,” he amended with a chuckle, as if the girl’s bad habits were some kind of joke. “She took only what she was owed.”
He knew. How did he know? “She didn’t-”
“The Wise Women say it will take weeks for her to recover. You nearly beat her to death for the sake of five copper pennies and a loaf of bread. Is that how little a life is worth to you, truly?” He sounded…philosophical...but something glittered in those feminine eyes.
“Thieves must be punished or they just keep stealing. Who are you to change that?” Bertim demanded, fists clenched. “We had terms. She didn’t meet them. Instead of accepting her due, she stole from me. By the Light, I will not-”
The boy pushed off the wall toward Bertim too fast for the latter to react. One hand grabbed the tavern keep’s arm and slapped it against the brick next to his head; the other pressed the knife against his wrist. “The next time you lay a hand on anyone, I will remove it. Slowly,” Jaryd told him. Blood welled as the blade bit into Bertim’s skin. It took so little pressure; he had a breath to stare at it in morbid fascination before pain lanced up his arm. “You will make certain Marisa’s mother is well cared for until the girl recovers from her injuries. Are we clear?”
“Why would I do anything for that little bit-” he cut off with a yelp as the knife bit deeper. “Yes! Yes I will.”
“Good.” Jaryd stepped away and looked about him as if seeing the alley for the first time. “Be sure you don’t forget, Bertim. I will know.” He flashed a bright smile, and just like that he sauntered to the street and was gone.