Elbow deep, I was, on Fifthday, shoulder-to-hip with a stinking sea of dock scum, cutthroats, street rats, the obligatory gaggle of painted meat-for-sale, slinking temple servants, off-duty craftsmen, sailors with a few hours to kill, and the inevitable troublemakers found in every tavern that ever opened its doors in a city with that many poor, destitute, screwed-up fuckers as the black Port of Galron was in those days.

Like I said, it was Fifthday, and I was flush from three jobs all paid-up. I was here, in The Thorn, because I knew this place and I felt at home here. I finally caught Squint’s eye behind the slab of ironwood that passes for the trestle, and he hustled his fat ass over to me, dodging beneath the crush of patrons waving empty tankards

I nodded at him, not daring to smile, and asked for a Dox, real polite, and showed him my coin.

He squinted at me with those evil piggy eyes and for a second I thought he was gonna turn me away for sure, knowing my need, hoping like hell he couldn’t see the sweatline framing my brow.

I thought for sure he was gonna call over the Thugs and that would be the end, ya know?

‘Cause no way is Squint gonna let me slide this time, even though I hadn’t actually done anything, but just ‘cause I was there, that could be enough, if Squint said so.

In this place, his word was Law, and even The goddamn Owl knew it, and none of His Claws ever came in here. No Law, no militia, no squealers ever fucked with Squint, and the fat bastard knew it. He had enough ears, tongues, toes and cocks nailed up above the trestle to prove it, too.

I waited, and sweated, and tried to keep breathing through my mouth. The air was rank with blood and meat, seawater and spilled ale, and it was a hot night, shimmery-air kinda hot. The place was rollicking with drunken breaknecks and the great meaty bastards stank, like the asshole of the demon-whore Xxzzt stank, and I was swaying with the lot of them, one great big juggy sloshing bowl of drunkenfucks, like we was on some slaver weeks out t’sea. The babbling drunkchat was deafening, unbearable. The torches that spat on the walls threw greasy, choking smoke into the air and little light. It was dark and loud and full of stupid drunken men with lots of money. My kind of joint, ya know?

I’m still waiting and then I saw Squint’s brow relax, and I knew he wasn’t going to turn me away. He kind of half-nodded at me, not even meeting my eye and plucked the silver ducat from my trembling hands.

I waited until he was filling the ‘jack before I let out my breath real slow-like, and I could feel some of the icy fingers clutching my guts slip away. Squint turned with the tankard perfectly poured, a thick foamy head mushroomed slightly on top of the bitter brew and my mouth suddenly lost all of its moisture in anticipation, my tongue, all grit and fuzz, swiped over my lips and I could already taste the bastard, ya know? That feeling of gut-thirst? Like a goddamn hook in your belly.

I’m jammed up next to some noneck and I could see immediately that he was a Crudder, some filth from eastside, some legbreaker off-duty and I smiled. The Sheep Drop would bring down this ape, quicker than a whore’s drawers on Third-day.

As Squint hands across the ‘jack the fuckin’ noneck jostles my elbow and half the fuckin’ Dox leaps out and across the trestle, splattering me, Squint, the noneck and some stinking halfbreed crammed in next to me.

Squint shouldn't have cared, he’d already been paid, but all the same he bellowed like a sonofabitch and reared back a great hammy fist, ready to break jaw.

I immediately drop down off the stool onto the floor, a stupid stupid idea, I know, but I didn’t want no trouble that day, no trouble at all, I just wanted a goddamn drink, ya know? I hear the flat smack of Squint’s meaty fist breaking the noneck’s nose and the outraged bellow in response.

The halfbreed above me who also got splashed decides to open his drunken mouth.

Always a good idea.

I decide to get while the gettin’s good. I kick the stool out of the way and start to move away and stand up when the noneck fucker decides I was the problem after all and suckers me in the back of the head, felt like a goddamn sledge hit me, ya know? I stumble into the crowd, spilling ale, stepping on boots, and nearly go out. I know I’m gonna get shoved back towards the sonofabitch, and I know he’s waiting with another hammerblow that’s gonna knock me out, break my jaw and really fuck up my day, if I even survive, once I fall to the floor, but chances are I’d get stomped like a roach just for annoying these drunken psychopaths, ya know?

I got once chance. Sheep Drop was my play, and I gotta stick with it, even if the timing’s lousy. I get my hand into my tunic and manage to grab the pouch before I’m thrown back.

Fuckin’ lucky, I know.

I get pushed, hard, and as I’m turning I drop my head way down and throw my arms out, the pouch, upended, spills its bounty in a nice spray into the crowd, three dozen carefully weighted wooden discs, painted in gilt and embossed with the offical-looking profile of His Fucker, The Owl.

As I turn, I duck the haymaker, I even see the fucker’s eyes as he misses. It was nearly worth everything that came after on that day, and I crash into my stool and the trestle as the spray of ducats hits the ground. The crowd around me all does what they are supposed to do, they look at the ground and start grabbing and punching and slopping ale all over the floor trying to pick up the booty.

The noneck is among the grabbers and Squint has already turned away. The Halfbreed is arguing with someone else and didn’t even see the Sheep Drop. Crudders always carry their dosh on their belts, and this noneck filth is no exception. I see the pouch laying against his hip, nice and fat, and I think, “This chum’s just got paid”, and I lift the fat sack with the chock and snickety-snack I cut the tethers with my palm-cutter and push the dumb fucker as hard as I can and duck away into the crowd, past the halfbreed, and start squeezing through the bastards sideways and snake-like, slithering through the crowd, getting ready to call out “Imgonnabarf-watchoutmate-gonnathrowmygutsout”, when the crowd fuckin’ parts before me, like the floor was on fire and I can see the back door, out to the Trenchtown road, and the door was open and a mean looking bastard was standing there.

He was covered in blood and his clothes were shredded and the stink that poured from him instantly banished the putrid atmosphere in the place and set a new standard of disgusting. I had to hold my guts in, and no pretending, and he took a step forwards and when he did the whole place changed, ya know? It wasn’t silence, or electricity, or awe. It was way beyond that. It was … the power of … righteousness fulfilled. It was in my mind like the most perfect truth. I had no other thoughts in my head. It’s like I wasn’t there anymore, no mirror of self to reflect darkly, there was nothing but the truth of righteousness. I was the word, ya know, we were all the word, all of us there, even fatass Squint, and we knew this man.

This was a Speaker and he had a Tale.