At some point, in a dosshouse near Robin’s tavern…

Dag sniffed loudly, a vain attempt to draw a small river of snot back up and into his nose. The flop around him was cold and greasy, some kind of former butcher shop or something, and he always caught a cold when laying low here. The Broken Knucklebones hadn’t had a great couple of weeks, but the street gang was never down for long.

They weren’t smart enough to know when to quit.

‘Dag! Dag!’

His lieutenant—had Dag known the word—came rushing into the flop. Terlene was broad and boxy and she kept her hair shorn short. She liked to box, and hair was too good a handle to leave for an opponent to grip.

‘What is it, Ter?’ Dag didn’t stand up from his chair, nor set down his hand of cards.

The four other gang members playing with him followed suit. They paid a bit more attention to Terlene than Dag did, though. It wasn’t often the brawler came into a place this excited.

‘Someone’s claimed that burnt-out wreck of a tavern. The one on the border between the Old Man’s territory and El’s.’

That made Dag sit up. The Broken Knucklebones worked for Ella Vahit, brutal crime lady and second-most powerful figure in Noviel’s underworld. It was at a remove, of course, but they were technically her soldiers.

Soldiers being the operative word as Ella was in a low-key constant state of war with the Old Man, an attempt to become first amongst the underworld’s powerhouses.

‘Who’d be stupid enough to do a thing like that?’ Dag scratched his gut. That tavern had been no-man’s-land since El had trashed it months ago in a skirmish with the Old Man. Neither side was willing to sink the resources into taking and claiming it. Not with the other stuff going on in the city right now.

‘Some bard!’ Ter said. ‘And it sounds like he’s chummy with the Old Man’s wizard son, to boot.’

‘The Old Man is making a move?’ Dag was incredulous.

‘Dunno. They’re both members of the White Star Company. Maybe they’re just mates. Maybe something else. Maybe the kid is trying to use the bard to reclaim territory to impress the Old Man?’

‘Could be.’ Dag grunted. ‘Let me think. Starkers. Go get us a fresh bottle.’

A skinny kid stood up and went over to the corner where the Broken Knucklebones stored their provisions. It was a messy pile more than any kind of organised larder or pantry. There were clinks and rustles as Starkers rummaged around.

Dag drummed his fingers on the table.

‘Who all knows about this?’ he asked Terlene.

‘A few people were talking about it down The Ratarse. Apparently the bard does something fancy with illusions, puts on a good show. Doesn’t let many people in. Small potatoes.’

‘Anyone thinking of moving on him?’

‘Not as I heard.’ Terlene rubbed her jaw. ‘You thinking we should?’

‘It’s like this…’ Dag pulled out his dagger and began carving a sketchy map into the top of the already heavily-scarred table. ‘El and the Old Man are at an impasse in this neighbourhood. We hit them. They hit back. Nothing really changes. Everyone’s got bigger fish to fry someplace else. But if we take back that tavern, even unofficially, well, maybe it’ll be big enough that El will give us some more territory, some more gangs to oversee. Even if not, if we do it right we might pocket a nice bit of coin.’

‘Whatcha mean, Dag?’ The piping voice belonged to a graceful blade of a girl. They called her Stiletto, because she was slim and sharp and you did not want her ire pointed at your gut.

‘I say we go in and make it clear to this bard that he is operating in our territory. As such, we’re beholden to protect him from the less desirable types that haunt these streets. Of course, such insurance needs to be paid for, right? It’s only fair.’

The gang grinned. They spent most of their time on muggings and petty theft, lacking enough organised muscle to really set up a protection racket like some of the larger gangs did. But they could see the opportunity Dag was laying out in front of them.

Starkers returned with a grimy bottle of ale. Dag pried it open with the tip of his dagger and refilled his cup. He thrust the rest of the bottle back at Starkers, who went around filling the others.

‘If he plays ball, then fine. We make a nice bit of coin and El can see we’re capable of running our own patch. If he doesn’t…’ Dag let his voice trail off as a brutal grin muscled its way across his face.

‘What do we do if he doesn’t, boss?’ Terlene stepped in and asked the obvious question.

‘Well, if he doesn’t, we break his legs and burn the place down around him. If El can’t have the place, ain’t nobody else going to. Especially a mook as might be friends with the Old Man’s kid.’ Dag cracked his knuckles.

The rest of the gang mirrored the action, a rat-tat-tat of popping cartilage.

‘What about the kid though, boss? Aren’t you worried he’ll bring the Old Man down on us?’ Stiletto asked sharply.

Always questioning him. Stiletto might need to bury herself in someone else’s back, soon, before she ended up in his. Or the sewer. Dag could happily see her buried in the muck at the bottom of one of those underground canals.

‘The Old Man hasn’t moved so much as a finger to reclaim the place in months. Why would he do so now? Everyone knows how disappointed he is in that kid of his. So long as the wizard doesn’t get in the way we shouldn’t have any trouble.’

Dag flicked his fingers dismissively and took a long pull from his tankard before slamming it back down onto the table with a loud belch.

‘How tough can one bard be?’