Rank hath its privileges....

Cuthbert

"State your business?" the man asked, starting a little at Joan and the others but keeping his peace (for the moment).

Despite myself I almost have to bite my tongue before I give off a rather smart remark to this man who is eyeing my wife (and the other women) rather too much. Oh, with the business of the of the New Amazons running amok (until recently) I suppose it is natural for armed and armored women to draw more attention than the usual, I wont. However, I rather do not like the fact that that gaze has lingered in places that....speak more than just a city guard doing his duty.

Fighting down an urge to bark (and bite), I instead force something of a smile (that I fear does not reach my eyes).

"On a quest that deals with the Dark Tower," I say simply, "This being a likely spot as any to spend a rest during that long journey, we decided to visit. While more expensive that spending the night in the woods, I rather doubt my children would like that."

Beyond that, I do not need to go into more details. First, by my clothings and other signs of status I need not be probed by him too deeply. Rank does hath its privileges, after all. That and another thing....

Almost everything I have said has the virtue of being absolutely true, except for one thing. Oh, it is indeed true that we are on a quest for the Dark Tower, but the guard (and most everyone else) will believe that this Dark Tower is the one of this world (not Midworld). The one which is some kind of holy shrine to a saint or some such for "us foreigners" which is hardly of interest to the more right minded, upstanding citizens of this land.

You know, that provincial attitude that some who refuse to travel have because "they know what's best and everyone else is wrong" kind of deal, so why bother to listen to such twaddle?

Anyway....

The guard looks me up and down and again I am struck by an old saying that I have heard back on Midworld (and seems to have leaked its way into the other realms that Stephen King's books have touched).

If brains were dynamite this guy couldn't blow his nose! I sneer a little to myself (hiding it behind a bland mask).

Then again, given the technological level of this world, it probably be more appropriate to say "black powder"...

Well, needless to say I doubt that the chose this fellow for his brains. Or rather, it was the fellows lack of brains that landed him her in this rather dull job than elsewhere more challenging.

A few more question answered with a light frosting of distain on my part (playing the part of a somewhat arrogant but well to do foreigner on pilgrimage) seems to satisfy this guard and we are let in through the gates.

Into the gates we go, garnering somewhat hostile stares from some in the crowd (but nothing more than what I feel we'd get even if my wife and other female friends were unarmed and unarmored).

First we must establish a base of sorts (if just an inn) so to rest if nothing else. Then, perhaps, we should "case" the outside of the royal dwellings to see if it presents anything. Gunslingers, by force, train to examine the environment around them for things like ambushes and other interesting things so to lessen the chance of premature....er.....retirement. It should pay some kind of dividends, hopefully.

What it does do, anyway, is pay a dividend right now. I note that the others of my group have also noticed it. Gunslingers like me are trained to pay attention to all for quadrants, after all.... Some of the group seem to have been born to such things naturally. That or it came with the new bodies they wear.

We are being followed, Synizn whispers in my mind, Believe it is a footpad rather than any spy fetched on us by suspicious guards.

Do not need trouble so soon out of the gate, I mutter to myself, Still....

It is getting on in the day, but not dark by a long shot. Still, this quarts of the city we chose is rather shadowy, so I shan't think that the demifox male is wrong by much (if any).

Hold on a moment....I'll just....ask him a question or two, Joan 2 adds, slipping out of sight for a moment.

A surprised gasp and whimper tells me a second or two before I and the others turn to see what I expect. The few people in the crowd around us seem to find other things of interest (or other places to be) as I and the others go over to talk with the fellow who's now backed against the wall, a dagger at his throat.

Seems that I was wrong in part, because apparently by a small bag of coins that he seems to have dropped (obviously dropped by him in surprise) a small purse of coins. From the severed purse strings (as well as the face that he already had another one attached to his belt) leads me to believe that after having filched another travelling group's gold, he was sizing my group up for his next victim.

"Believe you've dropped this," I sigh, handing him his dropped purse, "It is yours, right?"

Never saw it before," he said, staring straight ahead.

"Oh well," I sigh as I pocket it happily, "Sorry for the mistake. Have a nice day!"

Elsewhere! my face adds.

1. Gulping, he nods and rushes off, deciding that was a good idea for now......
2. Gulping, he nods and rushes off, deciding that was a good idea for now......

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