The TwiceBorn

The Binding Of The Yoke

"You must suffer me to go my own dark way."--Stevenson

“C’mon Winnie…the pain is just startin to ease a bit.  One more should do it.”

Winnie sneered and gave a disapproving “humph” under her breath.

“Last one,Tib. I mean it,too.  Ya’ve dinged me now for four and yore cutting in to my profits.  I’m runnin’ a business here, in case ya hadn’t noticed. Not some kind of lay up place for stupid dickweeds that should know better.  Ya got what ya deserved.”

Winnie hooked a thumb at the shame-faced man on the stool.  Gre felt his eyes drawn to a large glistening sore nestled  against the man's lower lip.

  He realized that, like it or not, he was going to know the man’s business because Winnie was just itching to tell him.  Over the years, the itch between her legs had migrated to an itch for gossip and drama and Gre knew he would hear every aspect of what was probably a sordid little tale.  He felt a little sorry for the man slumped over on the stool like a sack of potatoes.  Once you caught Winnie’s eye, there was no place to hide until she was done.

“This dumb fuck--yeah, Tib, I mean you-- decides he’s a’gonna pay to diddle some hexer’s girl who came in here when I got all those holes upstairs with cobwebs sproutin’ ‘tween their legs.   So, he’s gittin’ all settled in his seat with this purty little blond gal on his lap,  and he’s so busy playin her up and givin her the eye that he don’t take a note of the dark one as she sidles up and skewers his hand to the table.”

Winnie gave a wild hoot of laughter as she warmed to her tale.  One pudgy hand slammed the bar planking with gleeful emphasis. 

“So, ol’ Tib is sittin there all bug-eyed starin at his squashed hand when the dark one plants a foot on the chair between Tib’s legs and asks him how he likes it.”

Winnie chortled as she slapped the bar again.  Gre glanced at Tib and saw he wasn't enjoying the story near as much as Winnie was.  He grinned.

“That so, Winnie?  What happened then?”

Gre drained his ale and inched the empty tankard towards Winnie who filled it back up, still laughing.

“So then…then!..Tib comes to and grabs this dark bitch around the neck but she counters with rippin’ the blade out of his hand and putting it to his throat.  So then it was a damned if you do and damned if you don’t roustabout.  Ol Tib tried to hang tough but wound up spewin all over my good floor.  Not to mention bleedin everywhere, what a fuck of a mess it all was…”

“The hexer? It was a girl?” 

Gre carefully set his tankard down on the bar.  His hand had spasmed into such a tight grip that, a first, he wasn't sure if he’d be able to let go.  The hair along his neck and arms prickled and he had the sudden sure feeling that “the hexer” was watching him from behind. Watching him and laughing.

Winnie nodded ruefully as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Oh, ayuh,it was a girl.  Some uppity hexer cunt and her slave, if ya believe that.  Gal said she used to belong to Behrin, ya may have laid up with her at some point. I offered to—“

“Where are they now?”

Gre felt himself actually shaking. 

“Fuck. Fuck,fuck,fuck…”  The words seemed to be trapped in the space between his ears and they raced nastily around, hysteria driving them into a frenzy.  He resisted the urge to turn around.

“Oh, they both skedaddled this morning ‘fore the sun came up.  Good thing I got my coin up front.  The bitch told me they’d be out first thing, at least she kep’ her word…”