Three toughs in the finest livery showed up at the bakery within the hour.

“Give us the cure if you know what’s good for you.”

Father dashed out past the counter, sword in hand and before I could blink he'd engaged with the trio. The sound of clanking and scraping steel echoed in the confines of the bakery, drowned out only by the heart sickening squeal of a man poked to death by my father’s blade. He crumpled to the clean wood floor, oozing crimson icour from his unmoving form.

My father did not stop to admire his handiwork, instead he kept moving with dazzling speed, making the two remaining men shift round and round in the confines of the bakery.

Coughing and sputtering one man fell back into a tray of baguettes, splattering them with blood.

“Just you and me.” Father said, grinning.

The remaining man dropped his sword.

“That’s what I thought. Tell your coward of a count to fight his own battles.” Father said, carving a “C” into the man’s cheek. “So that you never forget it was a Crowe who defeated you.”

We watched him run and the sound of the man’s feet receded into the distance almost instantly. My sister arrived home from her doctor’s appointment and frowned at the bloody sword in father’s hand.

“You’re courting trouble.” She said.

“I don’t want to hear that from you.” He replied, catching her arm before she entered the bakery.

“Better go around back, there’s a bit of a mess.” He turned to me. “Go fetch the watchmen and explain how we were attacked in our own bakery.”

***

The bells from the corpse wagon faded into the distance as it took the two unfortunates to the morgue.

“About time,” father said as a group of well dressed men hustled up the narrow, steep street our bakery called home.

“Please tell me that isn't...” Sis began.

“It most certainly is.” Father answered.

Count Grisham arrived, four men at his back and looking a bit green and pale.

“You killed my men.” Grisham said, as if the two had been his sworn brothers. “I can’t forgive that.”

Father smiled knowingly. “How did you like the muffins?”

Grisham’s eyes narrowed on father with cool disdain glinting behind them.

“My physicians discovered your trick, baker. I should have known you'd have neither honor nor conviction to follow through.”

“Don’t talk to me about honor, Grisham. If you’d had a shred of it you’d have done right by my daughter or at least faced me like a man instead of sending your goons.” He indicated the wagon in the distance. Grisham’s jaw clenched.

“I might have taken pity on her and allowed her to be my plaything for a time, she could have earned enough coin to feed and clothe the brat for years, now that ship has sailed.”

Father shrugged.

“First good news i’ve heard all week. My daughter’s dignity is worth more than a few coins. A great deal more.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Grisham’s fingers flexed in his black gloves and his own hand came to rest on a gilded sword hilt.

“Nothing you say will change the fact that your trick failed, neanderthal. You stand here with a discredited troglodyte daughter at your side and no cards to play. Do you think a magistrate would side with you? Those shameless social climbers would give anything to trade favors with me. What have you to say for yourself, fool? ”

Father stood tall, staring Grisham down like he was nothing, not a lord not even a dog.

“I say the same thing I said in my note. Marry my daughter today or die.”

“Can you not count, barbarian scum? I have four men, you stand alone and threaten me.” He laughed until father turned on his heel and entered the bakery without a word.

“Worthless throwback, nothing but talk.” Grisham said to his men, a sick grin on his face.

The smile washed away when father returned with an old metal gauntlet in his hand. He tossed it into the dusty street.

“You understand the meaning of this do you not?” Father asked. Grisham nervously stared at the gauntlet and nodded.

“I understand that you, a baker mean to challenge a count to a duel.”

“Not just a duel.” Father said. “Trial by combat, I invoke the old laws. Let all men here stand and bare witness, I accuse you, Count Grisham of bastardy and in the name of the ancient star sailors challenge your name, your title and your inheritance to be passed to your rightful child by my daughter upon the event of your death on my sword. Know that to decline the challenge is to accept my terms and wed my daughter this very hour.”

Count Grisham turned to his companions, mumbling louder than he thought. My young ears picked up the gist of his conversation.

“Is this madness really legal?” He asked.

His men all nodded.

“It predates the current government to the time when this nation was nothing but a collection of isolated farms and villages. Possibly even going back to the time of the star men. Legend has it that one of the first human towns is somewhere in the north country.”

The count scoffed.

“Perfect, bound to ancient holdover laws from seven hundred and fifty years ago.” He stepped forward. “As I apparently have no choice, i’ll ablige you in your suicide, baker.”

Father smiled, drawing his sword.

“You could always make us both happy and marry my daughter. You’ll never find a better wife if you survive this, which you won’t.”

“Marry a dirt grubbing throwback to an uncivilized time, I think not.” He stepped forward, drawing his own blade. “One day i’ll return to my home and I’ll not do it with a backward, savage wife at my side and a mewling troglodyte whelp in tow. I am a civilized man and when I return home I'll find a civilized wife and sire civilized children. ”

They circled each other in the streets, sizing one another up and bracing for attack.

“You won’t be returning home, boy but your child will be raised well enough without your idea of civilization and the honorless fools it breeds.”

Flashes of light dazzled my eyes as their swords wound slowly in circles deliberately catching beams of sunlight to fling at one another. Their feet kicked up dust in the street as the dance gained speed.

“Just so you know,” father said without losing a step. “There is to be no magical trickery or chicanery of any type. That’s the law, this is a battle between men, decided only with muscle and steel.”

The count spat in the dirt.

“I don’t need your fantasy hokum. I am an undefeated champion of the blade.” Grisham said with smug pride.

My father smiled, his eyes fixed on his opponent. I could feel the tension in the air.

The question of who would strike first oppressively hung unanswered.

“You have me at a loss, I’ve never won any contests except for the ones that matter. I suppose I'm undefeated as well but only in that all of my enemies are dead.”

Father struck out with godlike speed but Grisham matched it expertly. Their swords locked for an instant and separated, each man again out of the other’s reach.

My eyes were wide, I'd never seen anyone as fast as father in a fight. A thunder of metal on metal shook me to the bone as the swords clashed and rattled like dropped pots and pans.

“You should have stuck to making muffins!” Grisham shouted as he lunged violently.

Father leapt back as the count’s sword lashed out.

“I’m also good with cakes,” he said blocking Grisham’s blade expertly

“A shame you’ll never get the chance to make me one.” Grisham grunted, pressing his weight into the blade.

Father lost ground, pushed back step by step. I noticed the red tint to his face and my heart sank as I realized that he was pushing himself hard to keep his pace. Yet what a pace it was!

A swift blur of motion and he spun out from the count’s pressing attack, scoring a hit on his enemy’s shoulder. No blood, more like the chink of a metal blade against a hard surface.

“That’s your game, eh?” Father asked. “I thought you said you didn’t need any magical hocum.”

“Nothing magic about me.” Grisham replied, charging with a flurry of thrusts which father deftly avoided.

“We’ll see,” was all he said as he made his move.

Fastly father leapt then stabbed his sword not at Grisham’s vitals but at his wrist. He expected one of three outcomes from his attack. One, Grisham's arm is severed and he drops the sword. Two, Grisham drops his sword to avoid the crippling blow.

Three, Grisham’s arm is a wizardly prosthetic and the attack reveals this winning him the duel by default. He didn’t expect the fourth option.

Grisham’s hand moved at the speed of light. No sooner did the sword leave his fingers than they were wrapped around my father’s wrist in a vice like grip.

Father opened his mouth to concede only to have his teeth smashed in by Grisham’s fist.

“Too smart for your own good, baker.”

I was stunned, unable to even think.

Sis did not hesitate, running to intervene as that bastard snatched father’s sword from his hand and raised it high.

“NO!” Sis shouted, pulling a knife from her bodice. She stabbed the six inch blade deep into Grisham’s arm but his grip stayed firm.

In a single motion he slapped sis to the ground and skewered father with his own sword.

The world exploded into tears, blood and screams as my mind and soul was hammered by shock and indescribable pain. It’s a feeling I know you’ve experienced and wish to the gods that you hadn’t. I would have given anything to protect you from feeling what I felt in that moment as my whole reality broke, shattered into a million pieces and I was lost in the debris.

Life became a series of mechanical responses without thought, emotion or meaning. I don’t know if it was days or weeks but it all seems like a jumble. I was gone, totally absent and barely functioning. All I remember are the times it would all rush back and i’d find myself screaming from the pain as I realized all over again that my father was dead, DEAD. Then I would escape and nothing would seem real. I’d be a living doll, hollow and empty inside. I’d eat, I’d shit, i’d mumble a response when talked to and follow instructions if given but I wasn’t there and not a single thing that happened during that time stayed with me.

By the time my basic humanity started to return things had deteriorated badly.

We had no savings to pay rent on the bakery and nobody would lend to a disgraced woman. Your mother tried to take her case before the magistrate, pleading that Grisham had cheated the trial by combat through use of magical aids. But your father was right in that they were social climbing scum all too willing to give him the benefit of the doubt in exchange for an invite at his next soiree.

Eventually she found a place as a serving wench in a low end tavern where the owners encouraged the women to provide special service. She wasn’t forced into it but with two extra mouths to feed she didn’t need to be. I learned to supplement the family income picking the pockets of the tavern drunks. Eventually i got spotted by a local crew and after beating me soundly for working in their turf they joined me up. Your mother’s looks held up and she drew in a lot of regulars, eventually she got offered a spot at the owner’s main operation. The job came with a free apartment and that’s where she raised you. Of course she didn’t like my stealing and I got around to finding a place of my own before too long, though maybe if i hadn’t …

***

Draken takes one more look at the Count of Monte Cristo’s palace, feeling a stirring of emotion.

“We rob him,” he says. “I want what he owes me.”

Top Boy nods slowly, not suspecting that his nephew saw everything through his eyes. More of a shared memory than a story. The images weigh on Draken.

“We’ll need to plan.” Top Boy says, oblivious to the turmoil brewing like a storm in Draken’s soul. It’s not that he doesn’t understand what he’s been told and what he’s seen, it’s that it’s all too much.

As he stares at the castle Draken feels more than he can put words to. He wants to scream but instead he keeps a calm exterior and smiles.

“Hood’s gonna be pretty annoyed, I’ve been gone for hours. So, one extra hour at the whore house won’t make much difference. Care to come?”

Top Boy shakes his head and nods in the direction of a man approaching from the road.

“I think we’ll have to postpone, it looks like Master Hood has found you.”

Draken groans as the wizard approaches. The two are quick to look casual.

“So, this is where my wayward apprentice has gotten to.” Hood says, palming a small pendant. “You’ll soon realize I can find you anywhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Draken mutters, making a mental note to research how to block tracking spells.

“Who is this … charming fellow?” The wizard says, indicating Top Boy. “Another friend?”

“I’m his uncle,” Top boy offers his hand. “I gotta say I’m a bit offended that you took him without even a word to me.”

Draken is surprised by a smack to the back of his head.

“You said that you had no family.” Hood huffs. “There is an etiquette to these things and you’ve made me break it!”

“It’s fine.” Top Boy says, not wanting to draw any of Grisham’s guards.

“Let’s discuss it over cider.”

“Is the earlier business concluded?” Hood asks.

Draken nods, wanting as much his uncle to stop making a spectacle of himself in front of the place he’s casing.

“Good, a drink with your family sounds most appropriate.” Hood smiles. “What can I call you, Mr...”

“The name’s Thomas Crowe, but everyone calls me Top Boy.”