Free Greatshadow by James Maxey Page A

confident you can kill Lord Tower? If he’s good enough to take down a primal dragon, I don’t see how an undisciplined brawler like you will stand a chance.”
    Infidel chuckled. “Armor or not, I’ve thought of a thousand different ways of killing Tower. He’ll be dead before he knows what hit him.”
    “A thousand?” asked Aurora, sounding amused. “What’s your grudge against the knight?”
    “It’s kind of a long story,” said Infidel, raising her hand and pinching about a half inch of air between her thumb and forefinger, “but I once got this close to marrying the bastard.”
     
     
    T O MY GREAT frustration, Aurora didn’t ask to hear the long story, not even a short version of it. Her devotion to the unwritten rules of Commonground was admirable to a fault.
    Relic dismissed Bigsby, telling him his services were no longer needed, as he and Infidel set off for the Black Swan . Aurora walked alone, a few hundred feet ahead. Relic, despite his bent form and hobbling gait, proved to be rather spry, keeping up with Infidel’s tireless pace with no sign of effort.
    The sun was rising by the time we reached the docks. The daylight revealed a half dozen corpses floating in the brine. It was a rare night in Commonground that didn’t yield a few murder victims. Bleary-eyed river-pygmies in dugout canoes poled their ways under the docks, gathering the bodies. Commonground bred strange industries. Pulling the right corpse out of the drink could be the equivalent of winning a lottery. Any given body might turn out to be an outlaw with a price on his head, payable dead or alive. Or, you might recover the corpse of a wayward son of a wealthy family and demand a ransom to return the remains for proper burial. In contrast, my career of looting temples and ruins seemed like honest work.
    As Relic and Infidel approached the Black Swan barge, I noticed that the stream of clients leaving the bar was a bit heavier than usual. It was like the place was emptying out completely. Patrons grumbled as they walked past us, luggage in hand. Some of them were standing around, looking lost as they stared at empty boat slips. It dawned on me that only half the ordinary number of ships were docked this morning. What was going on?
    Waiting at the front door of the Black Swan , arms crossed, were the Three Goons, looking stern. When Aurora walked up to them, No-Face moved to intercept her as Menagerie locked the front door. We were still too far away to hear what the Goons said, but not too far away to hear Aurora’s loud and astonished reply: “What do you mean, I’m fired?”
    Hearing this, Infidel launched herself into the air, covering the distance with a single bound. She landed beside Aurora, not wanting to miss any juicy details, as Menagerie said, “The Black Swan no longer requires your services. This establishment is closed until further notice.”
    “You’re joking,” said Aurora.
    Menagerie shook his head. Reeker chewed a toothpick as he stared at Aurora, obviously amused by her confusion. No-Face slowly tossed the iron ball he carried back and forth between his beefy hands, his attention focused tightly on Aurora, no doubt hoping she’d make trouble. It was almost breakfast time, and it was a rare day when the Goons didn’t beat up someone before breakfast.
    Here’s a quick primer on the Goons: I’ve mentioned No-Face a couple of times. He’s got a flap of scarred skin that hangs down from where a normal man’s eyebrows should be, covering his face like a curtain. There’s a tiny gap on the left side of the flesh-mask where a single pale eye peers out. Perhaps because his eyesight is iffy, he tends to strike anything that moves when he’s in combat, which is why he pegged Infidel that one time. He’s bald, his whole scalp covered with pale, shiny scars from the countless brawls he’s been in. They say he was sold as a baby to a traveling circus for display as a freak, but by the time he was eight he was big