‘I think you should be more worried about trying to arrest an officer of the King’s army for carrying a weapon! Or did you expect him to fight the orcs with his bare hands?’ Fletcher said with confidence he did not feel. Turner was swinging his truncheon back and forth.
‘Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?’ Murphy, pointed his pistol at Fletcher’s face. There was nothing that Ignatius was going to be able to do against a bullet. Fletcher weighed the odds of being able to perform a shield spell on his first try, but decided against it. Better to take a beating than risk death. He cursed under his breath; this was the second time he had found himself cornered in the streets of Corcillum with a pistol in his face.
‘What did you just say? I think he just swore at you, Sergeant Murphy,’ Turner growled, raising his own pistol.
‘Nothing! I was just cursing my luck,’ Fletcher stammered. The two barrels were like a pair of snakes’ eyes, ready to strike.
‘You have no idea who you’re messing with,’ Othello growled, straightening with a wince. ‘You’d better put those pistols down and get the hell out of here.’
‘Enough, Othello!’ Fletcher hissed. The dwarf must have gone mad! It was easy for him to be cocky, he wasn’t the one staring down two gun barrels!
‘Just wait till we tell his father about you. Lord Forsyth will be very displeased to find out that some low-level Pinkertons held his son Tarquin at gunpoint,’ Othello continued, unbuttoning his jacket to show the uniform underneath. Fletcher tried not to look too surprised, but inside he was horrified at the gamble the dwarf was taking. Even so, it was too late now. Then Fletcher detected a hint of hesitation in Murphy’s face.
‘Of course, you are aware of the dwarven battalions forming on the elven front. If the Forsyths have to incorporate one of them into our forces, we will want the best dwarf officers available,’ Fletcher said in a confident voice, pushing Turner’s pistol away from his face. ‘Now I find you assaulting our newest officer in the street, for carrying a weapon that Zacharias Forsyth himself gave him? What are your names? Murphy? Turner?’
Murphy’s pistol wavered, then lowered to the ground.
‘You don’t speak like a noble,’ Murphy challenged, his eyes focussing on the ragged hem of Fletcher’s uniform trousers. ‘Nor do you dress like one.’
‘Your uniform would look like this too if you were fighting on the front lines. As for my voice, if you grew up amongst the common soldiers, your language would be as coarse as mine. We can’t all be fancy boys like you.’ Fletcher was getting in the swing of it now, but Othello prodded him in the small of his back. He reined it in, worried he had gone too far.
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I will be on my way. Ignatius, come!’ Fletcher said, scooping Ignatius into his arms and striding off down the street. He didn’t look back, but heard the click of a pistol’s flint being pulled.
‘Keep walking,’ Othello whispered from behind him. ‘They’re testing us.’
Fletcher continued onwards, every second imagining a bullet was going to come bursting through his chest. The moment they rounded the corner they ran down the street, Solomon just managing to keep up with his stubby legs.
‘You’re a genius,’ Fletcher gasped, when they were a safe distance away.
‘Don’t thank me just yet. Next time they see you, they will probably beat you to a pulp. They won’t be able to tell who I am, all dwarves look the same to them. I’ve been arrested twice before by that pair and they didn’t even recognise me,’ Othello wheezed, clutching his injured side. ‘I think they might have cracked a rib though.’
‘The sadistic brutes! We need to get you to a doctor. Don’t worry about me. My hood was up, and it was dark. As long as they don’t see Ignatius and Solomon next time our paths cross, we should be OK. We’ll need to learn how to infuse our demons straight away. Shield spells too, for that matter,’ Fletcher said.
‘Too right. Come on, let’s go. The Dwarven Quarter is not far from here. My mother should be able to bind my chest.’ Solomon gave a throaty groan as they set off once again. Clearly, he was not used to this much exercise.
‘I’m going to need to get you into shape,’ Othello chided, pausing to rub the Golem’s craggy head.
They walked on, the streets getting narrower and filthier. Clearly the cleaners no longer bothered to come this way, not with the Dwarven Quarter so close. The dwarves must have been allocated the worst part of the city to live in.
‘Why were you arrested before?’ Fletcher asked, stepping over a tramp who was sleeping in the middle of the street.
‘My father refused to pay the protection money the Pinkertons asked of him. Every dwarf business gets turned over by their officers, but those two are the worst. They threw me in the cells both times, until my father paid up.’
‘That’s insane! How can they get away with that?’ Fletcher asked. Othello walked on in silence and Fletcher kicked himself. What a stupid question.