Thumped

Vale heard more than felt the rattling thump, thump, thump of the boot as it connected with the yielding flesh of his underbelly. Softly, his mind counted the impacts, depositing the numbers into the master schematic, rising with each collision. He slowly tilted his eyes upward, waiting for the right figure. Prime, always prime. Seeing looks of apprehension, even horror on the faces of the bystanders caused him to smile inwardly. One more... he thought. 7 is right, 11 too many. The last one came, pounding deep into his ribs. If there was pain, his skin, muscle, and bone weren't notifying his brain. Keep up now... he chided his silly head.

As the boot drew back from his body he grasped it, holding it tightly to his chest. The muscles of the calf grew taught as they struggled to pull Vale up and up. Shaking in frustration, the assailant attempted to punt him with the other foot, but to no avail. The skinny boy already had all the momentum he needed, using the inertial force and a shove to propel himself away from the booted man. Tucking his head, he somersaulted, hair and back soaking up wet grime from the cobbled streets. Had he done it perfectly, there would have been no need for the touching of filth. Two steps forward, grab stick, reversal. 

In the turn, he brought his stick up, encountering the downward swing of the man's club at the perfect moment as it came for his shoulder. Glancing to the side, Vale smacked with his stick, hitting the man in the kidney, a leather jerkin padding the blow. Even so, the attack gave him a moment to look around and judge his surroundings.

What he saw shifted him to the next portion of the schematic. Growling and spinning around, the booted man brandished his club over his head, only to stop short. The defiant eruption of anger that had been building in the man's throat deflated into sputtering as his arm fell to his side. Six angry shopkeepers had bustled out of their respective businesses and were glaring, eyes narrowed. Some had hands on hips, others were leaning ever so slightly forward as if daring the two to continue fighting in their presence.

Had there been a bird flying above the scene, it would have noted the four wide streets leading to the square. Looking closely for crumbs as it flapped its wings, it would have seen horses pulling carts full of meager looking vegetables farmed on the terraced slats of the rocky mountain. It might have turned its head, understanding the bowl-like impression the city was built into to be its home. It would have spied the vendors selling spiced almonds, sweets, and smoked meat. This would have been important to the bird as he circled, seeking a meal to sate its hunger.

If it swooped closer to the tops of the shops and houses, closer to Vale's struggle, it would have been able to observe that the skinny boy's clothing was just a little too well made and tailored for his body compared to those gathered around him. It would have acknowledged the stillness of the street as the shopkeepers bared down upon Vale and his assailant. The final thing it would have seen was the boy, drawing breath, preparing to speak to the assembled crowd. 

"Gentlemen!" Vale began, gathering his voice so that each on-looker could understand his words. "I've summoned you here today to discuss the problem of back-taxes. It seems that not one of you have deigned to consider the contention associated with the dilatory nature of your payments!" The shopkeeper's eyes flitted to each other, each seeking to glean meaning from Vale's words.

"What d'ya mean?" One asked, puzzlement laden in his voice.

"I mean that as we sit here chatting the day away, your valuables are being appropriated from behind your secret counters. You sirs... oh! and of course you madam, should be remanded for your laxness in the security of your stores!" Vale said, shaking his head and wagging his forefinger back and forth in front of his chest. Fear radiated around the tight circle of keepers, eyes going wide with understanding. As they started to turn towards their shops, Vale called for their attention once more, "And this booted heathen was trying to distract you while you were relieved of your mentionables!" he said with a flourish, pointing his walking stick at his attacker.

The man threw his hands up indignantly. Stepping forward menacingly he grumbled, "I was onl-" before he was cut off by Vale.

"Remember this face lady and gentlemen! It is the face of a swindler! A teaser! A hoaxmaster!" The man clomped forward in his boots, ready to pound Vale with his club, but unknown to him, some of the larger men from the crowd had moved forward and at a collective motion from the shopkeepers, they began to remove him from the cobbled square. The gathered people clapped, but Vale paid them no mind.

"I can be of use to you in tracking down at least some of what has been taken from you," Vale explained. "I'm somewhat of a specialist in this regard." He followed one merchant into his establishment, speaking quickly and deftly. Soon, he had gone through the inventory with the man and identified the prices of many of the lifted items. 

Promising to pay a visit once any of the artifacts were found, he departed and spent time with each of the other shop owners in turn. Gathering the lists of valuables into a small satchel he had bought from the last shop, Vale walked out the door and turned the corner into an alley. No guards were called, no one showed any hint that the actions of the booted man, Vale or those that took the goods were shameful or improper. They merely continued about their day, heedless of the seeming atrocity committed in the cobbled square of Thelua.

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So you've met Vale. He's an odd one and the chapter was written to try and convey it. Please let me know if I went too far or need to revise anything to have it make more sense.

Vote if you liked it.

Onward!

A. Fortiori