Thank you gentlemen.
Next bit.
Comments and criticism sought.
Grendel stepped out of Kurlar's Hole onto the ill lit, irregularly paved, puddle filled mess that was Watergas Street. Splashing through the dirty street water, his right hand gripping the hilt of the cutlass sheathed at his hip, he barged past the motley throng of traders, con artists, slaves and urchins who clogged the thoroughfare. Shoving aside those who were too slow of foot or wit to move out of his path of their own accord, he made for the corner where Watergas street intersected with Crackmouth Lane.
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On that corner, Kelan Cotreck, underfixer for the Water Sellers guild, struggled to unjam a faulty battery from one of the many malfunctioning streetlights which ran the length of Watergas street. A powdery green acidic discharge spattered onto his heavy work apron and protective goggles as he yanked the jammed battery fee. Grendel stomped past him.
Without breaking stride or acknowledging Kelan in any way, Grendel muttered a single word as he passed.
"Bolt."
Hidden behind the dark tint of his goggles, Kelan's eyes flickered toward the still open double doorway of Kurlan's Hole, from which several faces peered out, following the passage of Grendel across the busy street and as he disappeared up Crackmouth Lane.
Keeping one surreptitious eye on the doorway, Kurlan selected a new battery from his satchel and rammed it home, bringing the streetlight back to life.
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Inside Kurlan's Hole, the front bar room was filled with noisy, confused chatter, the excitement and relief following Grendel's intrusion and the confrontation with Bolt adding to the volume. Boltmen, hastened through the crowd, some towards the crumpled form of Suttler, others, with weapons drawn towards the open doorway through which Grendel had just exited. Only Bolt hadn't moved, standing silent at the same spot where he had confronted Grendel a minute before.
He stood imobile, like a ferrocrete pillar, one hand at his right hip, thumb tapping on the handle grip of his boltpistol, the other stroking his beard in thought. Furious at the sleight of Grendel and furious with himself, he gazed into the middle distance, the cogs and gears within his mind whirring into overdrive to make sense of this new development and to work out his next move. His thoughts gathered, his plan made, he stepped towards another of the grimy metal bar tables and slammed the palm of his callussed right hand down onto it with force. The sonorous ring of the impact caused every head in the dimly lit room to turn towards him.
"Listen up!" He shouted at the now silent crowd "If you're not with me, then get out! Now!"
Chairs were overturned, and cups and tankards were knocked across the floor as every occupant of the room who wasn't a Boltman scampered for the door. Bolt paused to let the room clear. His glowering eyes chasing the last of the civilians, who was actually the barman of the establishment, out the door.
In a voice that was lower in volume, but still piercing with intensity he addressed the Boltmen.
"Gizzler and Fraker, " he said, pointing to two of his men who were kneeling over the unconscious body of Suttler. " get him out of here and get him patched up. Pogger and Klem, stay here. The rest of you, pack up, go home, and get strapped. We meet up at the factorum in two hours."
Gizzler spoke first, bitter anger tainting every word. "We are going to kill that bastard, right Boss?"
"He'll get what's coming to him," Bolt snapped "and you'll bloody well shut up and do what I told you to do."
Gizzler quailed under Bolt's glare and nodded in acknowledgement "Yes Boss. I didn't -,""
Bolt smothered the fire of anger which had momentarily exploded all over Gizzler. Anger clouded judgment, and lead to bad decisions, and he was coming to think he had already made enough of those in the last few days. Calmer, he said back to Gizzler "I know you didn't. How is he?"
"Not great."
"Alright, get him to the Doc. The rest of you get going."
The rest of the Boltmen made for the door and scattered onto Watergas street. Gizzler and Fraker picked up Suttler, a viscous mixture of blood, saliva and snot dribbling from his mouth and nose, staining the front of his overalls, and carried him outside.
Only Bolt, Klem and Pogger remained after they left. Klem, the largest of the Boltmen took up position at the double doorway of Kurlan's Hole, bolt pistol in hand. He closed the doors to only a crack, leaving just enough room to see out down the street in both directions. He peered intently outside looking for anyone watching the building "We can't let that go unanswered, Clay. That bastard can't come in here and do that to one of ours. He has to pay."
"All we have to do is sit tight for another two days." said Bolt, failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice "If Grendel is stupid enough to come back here, then I'll blow his heart out the back of his chest myself. Otherwise we don't have to do a thing. He must have less than six months left before he's a dead man anyway."
Pogger, Bolt's second in command spoke. "Either way, what about the cargo?"
"We aren't leaving it here. Help me bring it up from downstairs."