Cecil kicked the wooden doors open and the sign post above the guild house swerved. Le Hunter’s Embrace in big bold black writing, shaking. Harrogate too, shaking as he followed with small and quiet steps. His hands on his face, stretching out his skin taut and Cecile close behind, shrugging.

“I thought it’d more than two gold.” She said.

He counted the coins in his hand, poking each one and rolling it across sweaty palms. His face had no color. His eyes went small, his head looked down.

“You alright, Harrogate?” She asked.

“Cecil.” He turned his head with a slowness that you could almost hear the rusted old forty year old bones of him creak.

“Yeah?” She picked her ear.

“We’re due today for a payment. Do you know how much we have to pay today?” He asked.

“Nope.”

“Two hundred gold.” He said. “We’re short by a lot.”

“And that’s why I’m saying-”

“No.”

“Hear me out.” Then she smiled. Her shoulders rounded, her body leaned forward towards his. He could see every detail of him, every blemish on his shiny scalp and every sweat drop that came down him that made his skin sleek and wet. She put her hand on his shoulder and retracted, looking down at it. Slippery. Wet. She wiped Harrogate’s nervous-smelly-sweat down on her coat. “Harrogate, I have an idea if you’d just let me get it out. Ya see, I checked the bounty in there. Ya see.”

“No. Please, no. Let’s just go out tomorrow early in the morning. We can still make it if we start early.” He started running numbers in the air with his fingers. Carrying the what onto the who, shaking and jumping in the air.

She stood straight and looked out across the street, the long line of bright colored pedestrians forming a moving rainbow against the tawny colored streets. People, busy with trade, walking around with baskets of slime-confection and slime-drinks and slime foods and slime clothes? Plushies. Lubricant…? All in vases or in baskets, on the behind of carriages worked by gray donkeys. Behind them, somewhere beyond the cross hatch of baskets and the snipped-ears of false equestrians were three people. Particular people, with white cloaks, who looked plain and stupid, honest. With cut ropes around their arms and legs, so that every time they moved (and they moved, alright) they’d whip the floor with a loud bang.

Cecile smiled.

“Be right back.” She said. Walking forward to these white cloaked figures with fliers in their hands and their eerie sets of rictus faces as they turned mechanically to each person.

She stepped up onto one of them.

“Have you come to join the Children of Jenba?” One of them, a girl with a blond ponytail said. She leaned into Cecile, her breath smelling of wine and herb.

“Give me that.” Cecile snatched her paper, ran across, bumping not once but twice.

Harrogate was sat underneath a little canopy, his faces on his chin amongst a group of other poor-people. Him and some lanky looking dirt-faced fellow looked at each other, the dirt-faced fella who after nodding, started handing Harrogate a bottle. Cecile grabbed it, drew it back. She drank and chucked it behind her.

“It’s not time to celebrate yet.” She said.

“I’m not celebrating.” His back slouched.

“Get this. Alright, this was in the guild and what I was trying to get at.”

“I’m not joining their cult, Cecile. I can’t believe you’d stoop so low-” He grabbed another bottle from the drunkard to his rear. Cecile grabbed that one too. Drank. Chucked.

“Get this, alright. These people are looking for artifacts of the great Yenba.”

“Jenba.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She said. “They want stuff belonging to this Jenba guy and they’re willing to pay some coin.”

“Alright? And?”

“And it says here,” She reared her face closer and squinted. “It says there’s a place called Hawkin’s Catacombs nearby. And there might be some of this treasure underneath.”

“What kind? Why is this place important?”

“Who knows? Who cares? Maybe this Jenba guy died there. Maybe he ate dinner there once. Maybe he lost his virginity there, alright? It doesn’t matter what we find.” She said. “Clothes or furniture or used condom. These guys will buy anything Jenba related. They love the shit. They put Jenba on their walls, on their clothes, in their…nevermind. What matters is they’ll buy, and they’ll buy at three hundred gold a pop, Harrogate. Three hundred. Do you know how to count that high?”

He pivoted his foot, drilling into the floor and moved his hips side to side. Harrogate faced the people across the street, their smiling faces staring directly at the two of them. Happy, smiling people in their white cloaks underneath this spring sun. The fliers waved to one side in their hands.

“I don’t know about this…” He said.

“What’s there to not know?” She asked. “We’ll be famous.”

“Famous?”

She coughed and cleared her throat.

“I mean, we’ll have enough to pay our debt. Right?”

“This seems too good to be true, Cecil. Are you sure about this?”

She leaned down and grabbed his palm, swiping every bit of gold he had on him. He looked up to her, twitchy on the face.

“I’m going to buy a shovel. And a crowbar and a lantern, don’t you worry Harrogate.” She said.

“Don’t worry, she says.” He massaged his face.

“If this doesn’t work out, I’ll hunt as many slimes as you want.” She pushed the coins down her pockets and licked her lips.

“If this doesn’t work out, we’re screwed.” He said. “You won’t be hunting shit from a prison cell.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one. A good feeling.” Already in her head, the fantasies were starting to form. The day dreaming so enticing, so visceral that she shivered in place and rubbed her palms together with loud friction. Her eyes narrowed and it was like she wasn’t even looking at Harrogate, or anyone at all. She just kind of smiled at the fantasy of it.

“Excuse me.” The beggar raised his pointer finger to her armpit. The bottle, tucked away neat. “You gonna finish that?”

Her face went flat. She uncorked the rim, took a swig and passed it along.