Golden Fool

Rory Hartshorn was not thinking as clearly. He struggled as a guard dragged him to his feet, and was soundly thumped with her truncheon several times for it. When he was finally still, he was on his knees. Blood from his mouth dripped from his chin. He glared at me malevolently.

“Penalty for brawling in a tavern is six silvers. Each. Pay it now and part peacefully, or go to the lockup, and pay twice as much to get out of there. Tavernkeeper. Any damages within?”

I didn’t hear the man’s reply because Hap hissed suddenly by my ear, “Tom Badgerlock, how could you?”

I turned to look at my boy. He recoiled from my face. I wasn’t surprised. Even in the cold of the winter day, my cheek burned hot. I could feel it puffing. “He started it.” I meant it by way of an explanation, but it sounded like a boy’s sulky excuse.

The guard who held me gave me a shake. “You! Pay attention. Captain asked you if you got the six? Do you?”

“I’ve got it. Give me a hand free to reach for my purse.” I noted that the tavernkeeper had not tallied up any damages against us. Perhaps that was a benefit of being a regular customer there.

The guardsman released both my hands, warning me, “No stupid tricks, now.”

“I’ve already done my stupid trick for the day,” I muttered, and was rewarded with a grudging chuckle from him. My hands were starting to swell. It hurt to tug my purse strings open and count out the coins for them. Now there was my queen’s largesse well spent. My guard took the coins from me and walked away to hand them to his sergeant, who counted them and then slid them into a town bag at his belt. Rory Hartshorn, still gripped by a guard on either side, shook his head sullenly. “I don’t have it,” he said mushily.

One of the guards snorted. “The way you’ve been spending coin on drink the last few days, it’s a wonder you had any money to buy beer today.”

“To the lockup,” the sergeant decreed stonily.

“I’ve got it,” Hap said suddenly. I had almost forgotten he was there until I saw him tug at the sergeant’s sleeve.

“Got what?” the sergeant asked in surprise.

“His fine. I’ll pay Hartshorn’s fine for him. Please don’t lock him up.”

“Don’t want your money! Don’ wan nothin’ from him.” Rory Hartshorn was starting to sag between the men that held him. Bereft of his fury, pain was taking him over. Then, horribly, he began to weep. “Ruined my daughter. Ruined our family. Don’ take his dirty money.”

Hap went white. The sergeant looked him up and down coldly. Hap’s voice cracked as he said, “Please, don’t lock him up. It’s bad enough, isn’t it?” The purse he lifted and tugged open was clearly marked with the sigil of his master, Gindast. Hap scooped coins out of it and proffered them to the guard. “Please,” he said again.

The sergeant turned away from him abruptly. “Take Hartshorn to his home. Fine suspended.” He turned coldly away from my boy, who reeled as if he had been struck. Shame burned his face scarlet. The two guardsmen holding Hartshorn hustled him away, but it was now plain that they were aiding him to walk rather than restraining him. The rest of the city patrol moved off on their regular rounds. Suddenly Hap and I were alone in the middle of the cold street. I blinked and my own hurts began clamoring to make themselves known. The worst was my cheekbone where the heavy mug had connected. My vision in that eye was blurred. I felt a moment of selfish gratitude that Hap was there to help me. But when he turned to look at me, he did not seem to see me at all.

“It’s all ruined now,” he said helplessly. “I’ll never be able to make this right. Never.” He turned to stare after the retreating Hartshorn. Then he swung his gaze back to me. “Tom, why?” he demanded heartbrokenly. “Why did you do this to me? I went to live with Gindast like you told me to. I was getting everything sorted out. Now you’ve ruined it.” He stared after the departing men. “I’ll never make peace with Svanja’s family now.”

“Hartshorn started the fight,” I said stupidly, and then cursed my own pathetic excuse.

“Couldn’t you have walked away?” he asked self-righteously. “You’ve always told me that’s the best choice in a fight. To walk away if you can.”

“He didn’t give me that opportunity,” I said. My anger was starting to swell worse than my face. I walked to the edge of the street and reached up to take a handful of somewhat clean snow from an eave edge. I held it to my face. “I don’t see how you can blame me for any of this,” I added sullenly. “You’re the one who set it all in motion. You had to rush her into bed.”