The Knife Might Slip

Mouse had warned him that an attack would be coming.

Demenik expected it. His fortune was growing as he built his business. In the few months since his chance meeting with the baker he had extended—and collected on—loans to a significant number of people, both inside the alley and out. His rates were lower than competitors, which was causing a stir. Demenik knew that he was the smallest fish in the pond and it was no surprise when his friend warned that the bigger fish would soon try to eat him.

His captains made certain that he was never alone, with one exception: his visits to the baker.

Oak had asked why he still disappeared one night each week and Demenik admitted that it was a valid question. He did not need the silver piece any longer. His wealth had grown well beyond that, but he felt a sense of obligation to the baker. Demenik knew the truth of the arrangement; the baker's motive was selfish. He helped stray boys to feel better about himself. Regardless of the baker's true motive for helping, he had made an enormous impact on Demenik's life and the boy was determined to keep visiting. At least for a few more weeks.

He had a good visit with the baker and left early the next morning to see Arkell at the tannery, leaning his quarterstaff against the outer wall before entering the building. When he exited, it was gone.

No one appeared to pay attention to him as he walked through the trade district. When he stepped across the invisible border into the first layer of slums, three men appeared and began to follow him.

Demenik turned a corner and slowed his pace, glancing at the windows and roof to see if anyone was visible. Then he turned and waited for the men to arrive.

"Just the three of you?" Demenik asked as the first one turned the corner.

"Three is more than enough for you." The man pulled his cloak back and removed a heavy wooden club from his belt. The other two men appeared and pulled knives from sheaths.

Demenik watched his attackers calmly as they spread out and came closer. "I see knives. Is this more than just a warning, then?"

"That depends on you." The lead man grinned to reveal brown teeth. "If you lie there and take it, we will just cut off a couple fingers. One if you're real good. The order was to leave you as a live example. But if you struggle, the knife might slip and . . ." He drew his finger across his neck.

Demenik knelt on the ground and put his hands behind his back.

"Pathetic." The lead man spat on the ground. "Let's do our business then, boys."

Mouse, if you're up on the rooftop, now would be the time to help me.

One of the men kicked him in the ribs. He grunted and fell onto his side while the other kicked him hard in the leg.

"Stop," the lead man said. "Set him up and let's do his fingers first. Then we can beat his face a bit for good measure."

One man leaned down to pick him up. Demenik kicked upward, connecting with the man's groin. There was a surprised grunt and gasp for air, then the man toppled to the ground.

"What the—"

Demenik stood and reached behind his back, pulling out a three-foot length of linked chain. He let it dangle to the ground, holding one end in his hand and looking down to make sure the black rectangular weight on the other end swung freely. "I recognize all three of you," he said. "This is business, and I don't blame you for doing your jobs. Leave now and I will let the matter drop."

"That's not gonna happen, boy. Now we gotta kill you."

"Okay." Demenik shrugged and swung the chain in an arc, guiding the weight so it came down on the prone man's head, crushing his skull like a ripe melon.

The other two men attacked, but Demenik was fast. He spun around and swept the feet from one, sending him to the ground, then he flipped the chain out, making it twist around the throat of the lead man. Demenik jerked and the leader's eyes bulged. There was a pop as his neck snapped.

Demenik dropped the chain and moved to stand over the remaining survivor. The man raised his hands. "Please don't hurt me. I was just doing my job."

"You had your chance to leave." Demenik held out his hand. "Give me your knife."

"What?"

"I've gotta cut a couple of your fingers off." Demenik's voice was cold and flat. "If you struggle the knife might slip and . . ." He drew his finger across his throat and grinned.

The man began to cry as he handed Demenik his knife.

A moment later, the first finger came off.

"By the gods." Stick's face paled as he watched Demenik below. Raw screams filled the air.

"I told you he didn't need our help," Mouse said.

Stick looked at Mouse. "You were right. There's more to Demenik than we know. What do we do about it?"

"Do? Be glad we are on the same side, that's what we do. And make sure we keep him alive." Mouse watched the scene below and grinned. "I have a feeling our young lion will do great things, and those at his side will rise with him."