Harlea took a swig of his drink, closed his eyes for three seconds before opening them to find that she had not only remained on the road but it was clear that she was cutting a direct path through the crowd towards him. Harlea began to walk towards his gate to meet her, “Great.”

Jorgia was a real piece of work. Thin as a whippet and with a Cheshire grin to her when she knew she was being watched. She was a head or so taller than Harlea and she always wore a vest or a coat that she had adjourned with her collection of brooches to show her clandestine reputation in the town. She spoke pretty all of the time but when she looked at you, the malice was clear, plain as day. There was a look in her eyes that she couldn’t disguise no matter how nice she acted. She was composed, calculating, and always very ordinary but it didn’t change the fact that anyone who was anyone in the Outer Holds knew she was the Baron. 

To make matters worse, Jorgia was accompanied by a particularly large gentleman who walked on her right side and, in his arms, was Harlea’s old friend, Arty. 

Arty sat sprawled out over the giant’s arms and did little to stop his head from bouncing with each step the man took.

When Jorgia noticed Harlea watching them, she increased her pace and gave him a wave.

Harlea waved back and dry swallowed. There weren’t many objects around Harlea that would work very effectively in a fight. Jorgia was sure to have a weapon and the thug she brought with him was a weapon in and of himself. Harlea had his favourite mug but he’d be throwing that into the bushes so it didn’t get broken rather than smash it. 

He searched around the front of his garden and noticed a little gnome sticking out on the far left that might do if he was really desperate. He got within a few steps of his gate and turned back around to give a forlorn look at his garden shears. Little to be done now.

“Good morning!” Jorgia called out as she closed the distance between them. 

Harlea placed his mug on the gate’s post and placed his hand down on the top rail of the gate, “Good God’s give me patience, Jorgia. You’re up early.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” Jorgia returned pleasantly, “I told Van just before that he’d be knocking down your door to get you up. But look at you, awake and sober. Prosperous even.”

“Prosperous is a bit too far sadly. I’m a touch on the seedy side at the present moment.” Harlea replied while he watched for any signs of trouble.

“Well, I am sure you will recover quickly, oh Red Devil.” Jorgia replied with a sickly sweet tinge to her words, “And not just me hoping you do. Folk around town have been asking about you again. Important ones.”

Harlea didn’t react. She watched him like a hawk, no matter how innocent she seemed, she was reaching. 

For Harlea, it was her whole schtick that annoyed him. She acted all pious, the way she walked around town, shaking hands and kissing babies, so to speak, but a shadow followed her every footstep.

She told him one time that her success was all because she knew that all the town really wanted was sweet words and a heroic figure. She admonished him for thinking so poorly of her and then had two of her thugs beat the living shit out of him for interfering in her business. 

Jorgia didn’t speak again until only a few steps away; clearing her throat and abandoning her niceties almost immediately, “I come with bad news.”

“Clearly.” Harlea watched Arty stir slightly at his voice. His fur was soaked through and through with odd patches of pink colouring, no doubt from his own blood, and his breathing was laboured but fairly steady at the very least. He’d be fine, Harlea surmised; Harlea’d certainly seen the old goat a lot worse.

Harlea reached out with open arms to accept his friend from Van, “What happened?”

Van hovered several steps away from the gate and mumbled something that Harlea couldn’t quite hear.

Jorgia advanced instead of Van and stood face-to-face with Harlea, “Poor Billie took a bit of a tumble in the river. I had to jump in there to save him, at great personal danger, I might add.”

Jorgia tapped her finger on the gate post and looked over at his half-filled mug. She smirked and rested her hand on the stone wall instead. 

“Well, saving him is very heroic.” Harlea commented dryly.

“Well, I couldn’t stand to watch him get taken off downstream.” Jorgia feigned a look of shock, “Not with business unsettled as it is.”

Harlea shifted his weight back onto his feet but kept his hand on the gate. Showing his unease wouldn’t help, nor would trying to hurry her along. While she had no dagger on her belt, her clothes were well-made with a variety of pockets running around the vest she was wearing. Harlea couldn’t imagine her going anywhere without something sharp just in case and Harlea really didn’t want to pick a fight. 

Especially with her bodyguard nearby. He wore a large warhammer hanging from his belt and looked disapprovingly at Harlea. While the man’s shirt did look wet, Harlea couldn’t help but notice that Jorgia’s clothes were all bone dry and incredibly clean. 

Harlea sniffed, grimaced, and waited for her to cut to the chase. He was tired, sore, and wanted none of her nonsense. 

Van hovered uncomfortably nearby. With a slight toss, he readjusted Arty back up his arms while he waited for Harlea and Jorgia to stop politely staring at each other. 

The street was far too busy for anything to happen anyway, Jorgia wouldn’t want to be seen getting in a scrap with the likes of someone like Harlea and Harlea wasn’t too proud to squeal like a pig if Jorgia made a move on him. 

“So, we brought him to you. We thought we’d deliver him ourselves to make sure he got here safe and sound.” Jorgia finished her spiel lamely.

“Thanks.” Harlea raised his hands up again to take his suspiciously unconscious friend from Van, “I hope he’s learnt his lesson about the dangers of living on the edge this time.”

Once again, Van pulled back and kept Arty out of reach. 

Harlea dropped his hands and sucked air through his teeth in frustration, “Very well. And how can I help you, Jorgia?”

Jorgia’s face lit up at his question, “I thought you’d never ask! For a while, we had been hoping to have a chat with dear Arthur about his unpaid debt. And now we have him, he seems like he needs some time to recuperate before we can have that chat.”

“I am also in need of some recuperation time.” Harlea countered pointlessly before he followed up with what Jorgia needed to hear, “But what can I do specifically, Jorgia?”

“Well, we want you to assist us. Monetarily.” Jorgia informed him confidently, “Given you’re his benefactor of sorts and he has become so overdrawn on his tab, we thought you’d be able to pay for him.”

“Mhmm. And how much does he owe you?” Harlea sighed, his headache returning as he felt his coin pouch begin to burn on the back of his leg.

“Good. Well, his bill has come to one hundred and thirty silver at this point. Well, one hundred and thirty with five copper but I will waive the copper because I am so moved by your generosity.”

“Daelos be damned.” Harlea felt a real visceral pain shoot through his body at the idea of having to part with so much of his savings, “What in the hells have you been giving him? We’ve only been back a few months.”

“Some of it is from before you left. We’ve really been more than patient, Harlea.” Jorgia spoke plainly for the first time that morning, “And I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t have him laughing about the money he owes me and get away scot-free, you know?”

“Right,” Harlea said, now suspicious the story of how Arty had ended up in deep water was beginning to become clear to him, “Especially rude of him considering how you pulled him in as he drifted down the Harbourkey River.”

“I’m thankful we were able to catch him in time.” Jorgia agreed with an air of faux genialness, her mask firmly back in place already.

“Hmm. Well, I can’t magic up that much coin today,” Harlea said as he reached for his coin purse. Suddenly the space between Jorgia and him became tense, with her eyes tightened slightly. He produced his coin purse quickly and brought it out in front of himself, “Easy, I have some coin on me now. Some now and then I can bring the rest by the Orchid later next week.”

“Ah,” Relief washed over Jorgia’s face as she smiled again, “That will be fine. I think, given our history, you understand the seriousness of the situation.”

He opened up the coin pouch to watch the glimmer of gold and silver coins deep inside the pouch before he tightened it and dropped the pouch on the top of the gate’s post, “I’ve got two gold and seventy five silver in there. I’ll pick up the pouch when I bring the other -”

“Thirty five silver.” Jorgia interrupted to do the maths for him, “Good Gods, Harlea, why are you carrying so much on you?”

“Like I am going to get robbed.” Harlea answered back more confidently than he felt. He paused and double checked her maths before he responded again, “Yeah, thirty five by Friday week. I’ll be back out on contract tomorrow.”

Jorgia scooped up the pouch and placed it in a decent sized sling bag she produced from under her vest, “Sounds good to me. Pleasure doing business with you. Van.”

Van stepped forward and Harlea opened up the gate for him. Harlea stepped back a few steps to let Van through but stayed face on just in case. When Van tried to give Arty to Harlea, Harlea instead pointed over his wicker rocking chair that sat on the far side of the porch, “Over there, Van.” 

Van looked at him blankly and then across to Jorgia. She inclined her head slightly and Van moved up to Harlea’s porch.  

As Van passed, it became clear that he only carried the single weapon on him. Dressed in a simple singlet and linen pants, there wasn’t much space to hide much more than the Good Gods gave him. The warhammer was a sinister piece of steel with a raven’s beak on its back, like the longer polearms of Breisachia but there was no dagger for him to duel wield nor shield to defend himself. His stature wasn’t that impressive, being large but not too shapely on the muscles but he held himself well. 

The fact he carried Arty easily through the garden before plonking him unceremoniously onto the weathered wicker rocking chair also made Harlea suspicious that he was far stronger than he first appeared. Van strode back along the stone path, leaving Arty slowly rocking back and forth. After a few times, his hoof slipped down to quietly grind his momentum to a stop. 

Van pushed past Harlea on his way out and made off down the street with Jorgia to his left. Jorgia waved happily back to him as she did her coat back up, secreting his hard-earnt money away from him forever.

“Oh, Jorgia,” Harlea called back out loudly as he closed the gate, “Remember before you come knocking on my door, I’ve also got a reputation. Big man there won’t stop me from taking a pound of flesh if I hear you telling anyone what happened here.”

Jorgia flashed him a snide pout while Van looked across at him, wholly unimpressed.

“And I swear, if Arty doesn’t wake up, there is going to be all nine kinds of hell to pay!” He shouted back at her.

Jorgia and Van slowly disappeared into the crowd and Harlea happily let it go. Trudging back the long way round, he was intent on finishing his final circuit before he had to deal with Arty and his bullshit. 

It was ballsy that Jorgia came to his home unannounced, but given the circumstances, not hugely surprising. She probably wanted nothing to do with Arty once she realised there was no way he had her money. 

Arty sat slumped in the chair with a faint smile on his bruised and battered face. He must have been freezing with his wet clothes and sodden fur but he refused to move despite how uncomfortable he must have been. 

Harlea moved up the steps but went to the keg rather than his friend. He filled up his mug and then turned back to face his supposedly unconscious friend.

The floorboards creaked under Harlea’s feet and he noted how Arty’s ear flicked in his direction at the noise. Harlea clicked his tongue while he closed the distance between them, “Got to say, it would have been a hell of a fight if I did have to go toe-to-toe with Jorgia and that Van.”

From the side of his mouth, Arty mumbled back at him, “I am unconscious.”

“I don’t think you fooled any of us, you idiot.” Harlea kicked Arty’s outstretched leg but accidentally collected the tip of Arty’s hoof with his big toe, “Ah, fuck.”

Arty let out a braying laugh, “Serves you right, kicking me when I’m having such a tough day.”

“Serves me right?” Harlea lifted his foot up and wiggled his toe to get a good look at it. There wasn’t any blood or mark but it hurt . He dropped his foot back down and gave Arty’s chair a little push to throw the silly git off balance, “I just paid eighty five silver for your ass. You’re having the best day of your flea-ridden life, goat.”

Arty scoffed as he slowed the rocking chair back down, “It is crazy that she got you to pay it. She cooks those numbers, you know?”

Harlea scowled at him and moved back over to his lounge, “I trust her cheque book over yours, Arthur. And better this than ending up in the river.”

“Very true. Take the funds out of the emergency supply.” Arty said easily as he righted himself in the chair, “And then I’ll pay you back later.”

Harlea fumed as he circled his lounge. He was too angry to sit down so he paced on the porch. The walking helped. With a look at Arty, he realised he was also too angry to show his normal restraint, “You better, Arty. You bloody better. And, if I catch you indulging again before you do pay it off, I swear I will beat you so bad you’ll wish Van had finished the job this morning.”

Arty shrank into the chair and held up his hands in surrender, “Of course, yeah. I’ll jump on the contracts and you can have my cut. Or most of it, I got to eat.”

“Food and ale, you understand?” Harlea warned him, “You told me you were going to straighten out when you got back home.”

“I will. Starting now, I think this is my wake up call.” Arty yielded, “It was just a bit of fun, that’s all. But it stops now.”

Harlea didn’t trust his word for a second. When the both of them sobered up properly, Harlea would scold him again and maybe that time it would stick.  Harlea rested on the back of the lounge and pulled at a splinter that jutted from its corner. 

Arty being at his house didn’t change his morning plans but did fuck up his afternoon. He and Arty had spent many a morning sobering up together and Harlea was sure Arty could look after himself if Harlea did choose to head out. But now, his afternoon would be going to Nicolas to explain why his axes would have to wait because he was poor again. Nicolas would understand but the idea of telling the big man wasn’t particularly appealing. 

In a single sweeping motion, Harlea pulled against the chair and let his head duck between his arms to give his back a nice long back stretch. His back tensed and fought the stretch in a way that was painful but oh so good. 

He could stop by the Baths afterwards and perhaps even drop by the Hillside Training Ground if he was still on the up. He didn’t need to push himself hard, a bit more stretching or some sparring just for fun could be a laugh. Or watch some of the sparring. At the moment, with all the quality tournament fighters recently, the Hillside had become a hub of activity. So many of the north’s best brawlers had been passing through the Valleys on their way to Dark Hold that the Hillside had become noticeably busier with some real arena fights happening.

The day before they’d left for their contracts, Harlea had had a wonderful bout with an expert grappler by the name of Toorin. By the end of their fight, they’d both resorted to wrestling around on the ground rather than wasting any time with their weapons. With any luck, the crazy bastard would still be hanging about Ol’Haran for another couple weeks until the Autumn Tournament. 

Harlea lifted himself back out of the stretch and moved to the side of the lounge. In one easy motion, he picked up the second cup from the floor and moved back to the keg for another healthy pour. First, he filled up his own mug and then the cup. Fate had a funny way of providing him what he needed and forcing him to do what was right. Arty was simply the most annoying of Fate’s tools.

“You’d better be paying me back.” Harlea said as he wandered back over to Arty and gave him the cup, “I was going to get my new axes today.”

Arty let out a pained groan in sympathy and happily took the cup, “And that was the money you gave her. That sucks.” 

“It does suck. And your coin for the next few months is mine so I can get my axes.” Harlea grumbled back while he moved back to his chair to finally collapse. 

Arty took a swig of the ale and his face grimaced then eased, “That is surprisingly good.”

“Right?” Harlea agreed as he pulled the heavy little keg back off the stool and dropped into his chair, “This was the keg from the travelling merchant a while back.”

“There you go. It is a magical little find.” Arty pandered shamelessly as he gingerly patted the pink-stained fur surrounding his right horn.

Harlea mumbled back half a response and settled back into the large cushions. He shifted over to get a look at his shoddy friend, “Do I need to be worried about this morning?” 

“Nah, this one is on me.” Arty shooed both the idea Harlea away with his hand, “I was the one that went to the Orchid and I do remember talking some shit. Then, I got drenched because I jumped out of the window and into their pond.”

Harlea’s jaw clenched and pain shot through his nose again, “Why on Coia did you decide to visit her House of any, Arty. You have a Good-ridden death wish.”

“I honestly thought she was going to do the deed when Van dragged me out of the pond. Kill me that is.” Arty laughed sluggishly, “Instead, he just gave me an old-school beating.”

“Idiot.” 

“Yeah,’ Arty agreed as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the chair, “Not my brightest choices. But, for now, nap-time.” 

Harlea said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Arty had always been too Good-be-damned cavalier. It didn’t change the fact that he was good with a bastard sword and he could mend if the need arose. When he was in a good headspace, he was a valuable member of the Damnables. What sucked was that he was being such a piece of shit now he was home. He was hells-bent on acting up, complaining in town about not doing anything and then whinging whenever they were on the road. He told Harlea he couldn’t be in the crew anymore but refused to look for other work.

Harlea sipped his own drink and watched his friend looking miserable. With a bit more time, Arty might be able to right himself. 

Harlea tilted his head back and closed his eyes, “You know, we have the spiders in Tuelton end of next month.”

“Already? Didn’t we just go there?” Alwin replied, “I don’t know about doing all that again.”

“It’s been four months. So in five weeks, we’re due to head back.” Harlea explained, resenting how powerless he was in his own scheduling.

“Mmm, and what are the next few weeks looking like? Apparently, I am in need of coin again.” Arty asked.

Harlea opened his eyes and gave him a dirty look. Arty was waiting for it and smiled when he saw Harlea’s glare, “It’ll be a slower few weeks. We’ve got a silver contract but it’s a Wild Node so that is better for you to skip. Then, we have the Autumn Tournament in Dark Hold so no nonsense until we get back from that.”

“Urgh, so much down time, what about helping our countryfolk?” Arty complained, rolling onto his side to hug the arm rest and gently rocking himself to and fro.

Harlea rolled his eyes at Arty, “We’ve been on four contracts since your last one. The countryfolk are just going to need to stay out of trouble for a few weeks.”

Arty pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, “Right, four contracts, did I miss much?”

“Nothing particularly interesting. A fist fight in a village and we killed some gnolls down a mine.” Harlea glazed over the details since he was confident Arty was barely listening anyway, “We could have used you though.”

“Ah, apologies, I was indisposed.” Arty’s eyes closed shut again and he started to drift off to sleep, “The next ones at least. Where are the Wild Lands for our next contract?”

“A town called Coalpass. You probably heard about it going Wild several years ago, it was a big deal. But I’m serious, you won’t be joining us.” Harlea stated firmly. 

“You said you could use me though. How much are silver contracts these days?” Arty asked innocuously.

“It’s irrelevant, you aren’t invited. You can figure your shit out this week and then join for whatever we’re doing next month.” Harlea took a deep breath and felt the gentle embrace of sleep begin to take hold of him, “Later, you want to join me for some food?”

Arty stopped rocking in his chair and leant on his arm to get closer to Harlea, “Oh, I could eat. But I’m a little short on coin at the moment.”

“Me. Too.” Harlea reminded him crankily. Harlea took another drink and waited for Arty to show even a hint of remorse. 

Right on cue, Arty’s head lowered down onto his forearm and closed his eyes again. 

Harlea’s anger swirled inside of him before eventually spluttering as it ran out of fuel. He was entirely too tired to be mad. 

Harlea closed his eyes and bathed in the soft glow of the sun. He shuffled the cushioning to make a head rest as he lifted his feet back up onto the stool for a proper lay down. 

The sounds of the bustling street drifted in from far away and barely registered as Harlea sank into the voluptuous cushions that held him perfectly. 

“Hey Harlea?” 

“Yeah?” He replied sleepily as he began to drift off almost immediately.

“Mind if I get a towel?” 

Harlea opened one eye and looked across to Arty, “Around the back, there should be one hanging out there. Go through the side gate, not the house.”

Arty craned his neck to look over to the side of the house before he went back to laying awkwardly on his chair, “Maybe later. I might have a bit of a sleep on your couch. I’ve had a terrible nights’ sleep.”

“Mmm, and I wonder who would be to blame for that.” Harlea grumbled back as he closed his eyes and drifted happily off to sleep.