The Count of Castle Rock

Chapter VIII- Dutcham and Lucky

Lucky follows two local farmhands through the creaking doors of The Swollen Ass. As always the old watering hole stinks of sweat and barley. For the first time in weeks the place is bustling with activity. A caravan out of Levian and bound for the Badlands has stopped in Dutcham to resupply and exchange horses. The owners of the tavern and the trading post were filling their coffers with more coin than they'd seen all year. The thought of all of that gold makes Lucky's fingers tingle.

Inside, dozens of roadwary men and women mingle with local farmers and horse ranchers. Dutcham is known for its unique strain of barley, growing more and more popular with the spread of a certain specialty beer. Lucky hates barley and looks forward to the day he can leave the town behind. He's is a city boy at heart and the backwaters of Quinlain are not his style.

He catches the eye of the barkeep and the skinny man gestures towards the far corner. Careful not to draw attention himself, Lucky moves through the crowd. In the corner he finds his second in command. Her skin is as black as coal, as is her hair. She casually puffs a long stemmed pipe, blowing rings of smoke across the room. Lucky leans against the wall beside her and scratches his false beard.

"Took you long enough, boss," she says, her voice breathy like a whisper yet loud enough for Lucky to hear over the crowd. "Did you oversleep?"

"I had work to do."

"The legendary Lucky Blades doing common farm work. I would gladly part with gold to see that."

Lucky smirks. "You'd part with gold to see anything, Powder."

The dark woman raises the bowl of her pipe up to eyes too damaged to see. "You might be right, boss," she says, disarming Lucky by looking into his eyes.

Powder has a way of staring into the soul he always finds unsettling. Scanning the room as he regains his composure, Lucky observes the fellowship between the visitors and their local contemporaries.

"Is our contact here? I'd like to put this stinking town behind us as soon as possible."

"I don't understand why we couldn't just meet with the old man as usual."

"Now that things are moving, he doesn't want to risk being seen with the likes of known ne'er do wells."

Powder scoffs.

"The barkeep assures that your contact is here," she says. Her inflection and speech pattern shifts, her words becoming a perfect imitation of the skinny man behind the bar. "He came in w' the caravan just as you said. A kindly man w' three beautiful and fiery-haired daughters."

Lucky looks around. "I see them, Powder. The barkeep wasn't lying. Those girls are prize worthy. One has the bearing of a queen and the other has the body of a goddess."

"And the third?" she asks, her voice her own once more.

"Young, cute enough. Could pass for a boy if she wanted."

"Just my type." Powder licks her lips.

"Stay away from the girl," Lucky warns. Though blind, his second is far more dangerous than most realize until it's too late.

"It's been so long, boss. Maybe a short conversation. I can be gentle."

"No. We're here to do a job."

Powder whistles like the silver-beaked ravens of Ravensport, an affirmative for Lucky's gang. He responds with the same. Powder takes another pull of her pipe, blowing bluish smoke up to the cloud crawling along the ceiling.

"Don't feel bad, my friend. She looks too wholesome for you anyway."

"There's no such thing, boss."

"If you say so," Lucky scoffs, eyes glued to the trio of red haired young women. "I'm more interested in the other two."