The Gold in the Dark

Chapter Thirty-Four

"STAY PUT, you spawn of a whore! And no, three silver is not nearly enough to settle this! In my book, anybody who dares pass off rabbit shit as medicine deserves nothing less than a hanging!"

The bellow resounded through the courtyard, silencing the outraged crowd. All heads swiveled towards the shouter; there were even a few whistles from people hoping they could egg on the two men to fight. Thurie shuffled a bit closer.

It was the two men who had been arguing earlier about counterfeit goods. The shorter man, clearly the accused, glanced about the crowd nervously. He was an unfortunate-looking man: pudgy, wrinkled as a prune, with greasy, slicked-back hair and two protruding front teeth. Looking at him, Thurie had the distinct impression of a rodent, a vision aided by the numerous furs the man was wearing. Most strangely, he was standing beside an ugly, ramshackle cart painted in lurid colors. The sign on top read "Bogman Everil's Goods."

His accuser, a tall man dressed in respectable, if threadbare, clothes, sensed the crowd's attention and let a nervous grin slide over his face. He whipped his arms about, as if summoning everyone in the courtyard to battle.

"This man," he said, pointing a shaking finger at his anxious, fat companion, "is a purveyor of false hopes and false goods. He may call himself a bogman, but he is a scoundrel through and through. I needed medicine for my sickly wife, and he sold me—he sold me—well you heard." A woman to Thurie's left gagged loudly.

The tall man's voice grew louder. "And now this cheat, this liar, will not refund my money!"

The man in furs drew himself up to his full height, though he still only came up to the other man's shoulder. "I will not stand for you to besmirch my business's good name. Only if you renounce these words will I refund your money. I have helped thousands of people, who would all tell you—"

The tall man looked ready to explode with anger. "You sold me rabbit shit! Rabbit shit! I would shout it from the mountains if I could. Apologize? You must be—"

"ENOUGH!" The secretary left his position at the door and stalked over to the two men, fixing them with an icy glare.

"You are in the royal palace. Have some decorum. If you think for one moment I will allow such vulgarity in this place—"

"But it's the truth, sir!" The tall man jabbed another trembling finger at Bogman Everil. "This man is a menace to the city. He cannot be allowed—"

"I've already told you—take the matter to a city guard station! This is too small a quarrel to present to His Majesty."

The tall man scoffed. "Right—the empty guard stations. Where do you think we went first? But no, every guard in the city is out looking for that stagehand—"

A smirk appeared on the secretary's face. "Perhaps if you two had ceased flinging insults at each other for two seconds you would have heard the news. The killer's been caught, so stop wasting my time and get out."

The tall man let out a sharp snort. "Wasting your time? What about wasting all of our time?! Some of us have been waiting out here in the cold for hours—"

"That His Majesty deigns to see you at all—"

It was over in a second. The tall man's punch connected solidly with the secretary's head, who staggered and fell to the ground. Thurie gasped as he caught sight of the man's face. It was a mess of blood, nose clearly broken.

"Guards! Guards!" the secretary called, his voice garbled. They rushed to his side, abandoning their post by the door.

It was an opportunity that would not come again. Dunna's gruff voice whispered in Thurie's ear. "Time to go."