Quinn

Zebulun stood to leave, then turned to ask Mark one last question. "What of the old stories about the fair folk? They say they saved us from enslavement by dragons."

"In those," said Mark, "I’ve found little ethics or insight. All I can say about them is the old proverb: history is written by the winners."

Zebulun thought a moment, then nodded. "Thank you for taking time for me. I apologize for disturbing you."

"No trouble at all," said Mark, smiling. "I became a brother of the temple because I wanted to help others. You’ve given me a gift — assuming that I’ve been helpful at all."

"You have. Thank you."

"Goodbye. Come see me anytime." They bowed and parted.

Zebulun wandered the streets without aim. At length, he found himself in a poor neighborhood in the outer city. This quarter’s revelry was louder and more vulgar than that of the fair sections of town. He saw drunks stumbling about. Party-goers lie passed out in alleys. The horns sounded long into the night.

Something caught his attention as he passed an alleyway. Maybe a sound, or maybe a flash of movement. On instinct, he turned and entered.

Halfway between two buildings, a group of five thugs menaced a young man. The kid was short and wiry. He had pale skin and fine silk clothes, like one of the fair, but the clothes looked ragged. He smiled at his captors as if they were old friends.

"Come on, Zeke! You know I’ll pay you back! I always do! Just been having some off luck, lately."

"Yeah," said Zeke, "And now it’s run out. You been dodging us too long, and we’re very offended." The others laughed. "It’s like you don’t care about us anymore."

"Aw, don’t say that!" said the youth. "I love you guys. I still can’t believe I failed so badly at dice. That’s never happened before! And nobody’s tipping my street performances, anymore — it’s like everyone is broke. And I was this close to persuading some fair maiden to let me have some of her fine jewelry when her father came home. That was awkward, let me tell you."

A couple of the goons chuckled at this, then shut up when Zeke gave them a look.

"I’m sick of your jokes, Quinn," said Zeke. "You’re making me look bad. You don’t pay me back, why should anyone else?"

Quinn seemed unfazed. "Oh come on, just lie! Tell everyone I paid you back. I totally will! You know, eventually."

"Nuh-uh," said Zeke. "I heard you’re real good at getting in and out of trouble, but you ain’t getting out of this."

Zeke looked at one of his goons. The goon slipped iron knuckles over his fingers.

Zeke said, "You need an education."

Quinn stuck out his lip and pouted. "I thought we were friends!"

Zeke sputtered. "I just said that!"

"Not that exact phrase," said Quinn.

"Shut up!"

Quinn pouted again.

Zebulun stepped into view. "Leave him," he said.

The five goons reacted like startled cats. They hadn’t heard him approach. They paused, sizing him up. Quinn beamed at the newcomer.

"You want trouble?" asked Zeke.

"I have troubles enough," said Zebulun, slowly walking towards them. He seemed to grow ever taller as he got closer. "Leave him."

"My hero!" said Quinn. "Damn, you’re huge! How’d you get so big?"

Zeke drew a dagger. The others followed suit.

"Hey, let’s not lose our heads," said Quinn. "We’re all friends here!" He looked at Zebulun. "You don’t have to get stabbed on my account, you incredible, hulking man. I can handle these guys!"

Zebulun looked at Quinn, mild amusement in his dark eyes. "So can I."

Zeke approached Zebulun slowly, his weapon out in front. "You’re gonna turn around and walk away, right?"

"I wouldn’t turn my back on one such as you," said Zebulun.

"Now that’s just impolite," said Zeke. He advanced.

When Zeke reached the perfect distance, Zebulun — quick as a cat — took hold of his knife arm with his left hand and twisted, causing Zeke to yelp, drop the dagger, and fall down to one knee.

Two of the other goons lunged at Zebulun. He caught the first with a right backhand to that place where the jaw meets the skull, knocking him cold and causing his associate to trip over him and sprawl on the ground. Zebulun took the fight out of that one with a quick kick to the guts. The two remaining goons hesitated.

He still held Zeke in the arm twist. Zeke whimpered. Sweat dripped from his brow. "Uncle!" he said.

Zebulun stared deep into Zeke’s eyes for a moment, then released him. "Go. Take your friends."

Zeke and the other two helped their friends to their feet and hurried off. "This ain’t over, Quinn!" shouted Zeke as they fled.

Quinn looked at Zebulun, laughed, and threw his arms around him. He dangled from Zebulun’s neck like a child, looking up at him with playful eyes. "Thank you!" he said. "Those guys were gonna pound me for sure. I should at least buy you a drink!"

Zebulun stared down at the dangling Quinn in amazement.

"Oh, wait," said Quinn, as he released Zebulun from the embrace. "Those guys wanted to pound me cause I ain’t got no money." He thought hard for a minute, his brow furrowed. He stared first this way, then that, and then another. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He looked up at Zebulun and asked, "Hey! You got any money?"