The Dorston Fall [Book I in the Dorston Legacy]

Chapter 8 - Stench and Alcohol (Part II)

"What do you want, Snare?" called Matthew from behind the counter, spitting out the words. By his defensive posture, his hands leaning and gripping to the counter edge, these men were no such friends. All the compassion and politeness in his face was gone, hidden behind a mask of dislike and suspicion.

The man called Snare stepped into the tavern, strutting towards the counter like he owned the place. He had scruffy brown hair and a square face. A face disfigured with a fine scar curving from his temple to the tip of his chin. Sammy shivered, imagining how he came by such an injury. He watched Snare's companion carefully, as he walked slowly through the cluster of tables; glaring at villagers and making them flinch with boo!

Now at the counter, Snare challenged Matthew; copying his posture and leaning in intimidatingly. They stared each other down for several minutes. His friend seemed at ease, pulling up a stool and sitting comfortably at the counter; waiting for his orders. The air in the tavern had intensified; everyone was watching them, ready for a fight to break out. Carefully, Katelyn turned in her seat to see the confronting men at the corner of her eye. Then her gaze focused on something she did not expect. A red threaded crest on the men's shoulders. Even in the dim light, she could make out the circle with a martyr's head in the centre. She looked away, shuddering and feeling a new fire burn in the pit of her stomach. These men were of the Justice.

Bastards, Katelyn cursed bitterly; reaching for her sword. 

"Don't," Sammy whispered suddenly. Taken back she looked up at him, seeing the desperate gleam in his eyes. If she made a move, everyone would be put in danger. Gods knew what the men would do to them, to her should they know her person. There was no doubt in Katelyn's mind that they didn't. To discover the princess in their midst...well she would be no better off than her father. Biting her lip and keeping her hand on her sword, she nodded in agreement and averted her gaze, willing herself to disappear. 

With a deep winded sigh, Matthew surrendered first; pushing away from the corner and standing tall. Snare chuckled in triumph and crossed his arms over his chest. "The boss needs his money, Abbott? Where is it?"

"Be kind, Gareth. I have a family to feed-" Matthew stammered nervously.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you went running for a loan," spat Gareth, leaning across the counter again. "Now, I ask again. Where's the money?"

Sighing mournfully, the barkeep reached under the counter and retrieved a leather pouch; its contents jingling as he held it in his hands, savouring the feeling of wealth before tossing it to Snare.

"There it is," Matthew growled hatefully. Snare caught the pouch and examined its contents quickly with a greed shining his eyes. "Every last stinking penny. We're square and done, Snare"

"So we are," cheered Gareth, tucking the pouch into his waistcoat. Matthew tugged his cleaning cloth off his shoulder and began cleaning again. This was a nervous habit, Sammy knew it well.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to leave," stressed the barkeep. "You and your friend. I have a business to run."

Snare and his companion laughed, getting to their feet. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Abbott my old chum. Come on Burnford."

Gareth and Burnford left as quickly as they had arrived, dashing in front of villagers and making them flinch as they approached the door. As if to leave a statement, the men haunted the doorway; glancing back into the building and scanning the room with their sharp eyes. They enjoyed the thrill of scaring the wits out of people. They had all the power they needed in the crest on their arm. Their order, the mighty Justice. They had every right to fear them. After all, they would be ruling over them all one day.

With a satisfied smirk, Gareth turned to leave before he felt his friend nip his shoulder for attention. He looked at Burnford, then in the direction he was staring. And there they were a boy and a hooded figure huddled up in the far corner. 

"Interesting," he mumbled with a grin, crossing the room quickly towards the pair; Burnford in his wake and his hand at his knife collection. Sammy saw them approach at the corner of his eye and looked desperately at Katelyn. 

"Don't say a word," he whispered sharply. She nodded, bringing her cloak closer to hide her face and weapon. 

Towering over the pair side by side, Snare and Burnford smiled innocently. "Good day," greeted Gareth, holding his hand out for Sammy's. The boy didn't take it, only looking to meet his gaze and return the false expression. "Good day. Can I help you?"

Gareth laughed in his throat, retracting his hand and placing his gaze upon Katelyn. "Who's your friend? Don't think I've seen them around here before."

"My cousin from Newmere," Sammy lied perfectly. "He's a bit shy around new people."

"Well, I needn't be new. My name is Gareth Snare," he announced, holding out his hairy hand. Sammy looked to Katelyn, scared when she turned slightly, her face still hidden and took out her hand to receive his. Gareth snatched her hand and shook it, too enthusiastically Sammy noticed. Then he saw something flicker in the man's eyes, as he stroked the skin repeatedly. An accomplished smile appeared on his face. Katelyn pulled her hand away eagerly.

"Those are fine hands you have, my boy," Gareth hissed. "Not at all the hands of a blacksmith"

"He's a candle maker," Sammy interrupted, desperate for them to leave. Gareth regarded him carefully, nodding to Burnford who moved to stand behind Sammy. The boy became to fidget, trying not to draw attention to Katelyn, anywhere but Katelyn. He became to sweat and his breath hardened.

"Gareth, I don't want any trouble!" shouted Matthew, from the bar. 

"I'm not causing trouble, I'm just saying hello," he replied. He frowned at Katelyn...and her hood. 

"Got something to hide, my little candle maker?" he sneered, his hand reaching for it. Katelyn, her hand sweating but steady around her sword hilt, prepared for the attack. In her mind, she saw her path. She'd stomp his feet hard, bring his head upon her knee, shove him away to the ground and then with a kick to the stomach, she'd strike him in the chest. Not a fatal blow, but one that will keep him bed ridden for a week or two. His companion however would be tricky. He was too close to Sammy. And he had a collection of knives to his disposal. Katelyn knew she had to get Sammy out of here. She had to.