“She would beg ‘please’ like the world would break open if you didn’t say yes.” The parade kept marching down main street as León stood absently staring with Kallor. Kallor tried not to listen to León moan on about his supposed “one true love” although from Kallor’s point of view it sounded like a failed venture. Something he knew plenty about.

“This is not the time for wishful thinking,” Kallor said to León as a cart filled with buoyant flower girls rolled past.

“I’m not being wishful— I’m being… I’m being honest!” León scraped at the ground with a worn heel. His riding boots had fallen into disrepair. “It’s better than riding a black cloud of despair.”

“It’s not a cloud of despair. It’s introspection. Something you should spend a little more time on than aimless moping. Tell me something, León, do you even remember the color of her eyes?”

“Valeria’s? They were beyond description.”

“My point exactly.”

“That’s not fair. It’s just that I don’t have the words to describe them. I don’t think anyone could,” he said looking wistfully at the dancing girls following the flower girls.

“They were a light green, León. Lovely, certainly, but easily described if you remembered anything more than the ache of your balls.” León frowned and looked at his crotch.

“I think you’ve become an old, grumpy bastard.”

“I thought all grumpy bastards were old,” Kallor said rummaging around his coat for a note. “and I ain’t old yet. Just seasoned, is all.”

“Like rotten meat, aye.”

The two men watched the final wagon roll through the street and they started towards it slowly. They wove in and out of the crowds in a practiced manner. All raised hackles and hurt feelings were left for clinking mugs of ale for the end of the job.

Four guards covered the final, ostentatious wagon. The gilded golden edges shone in the sunshine. The attention of the crowd was on the young maiden standing at the front of the wagon, near a plain clothes enforcer who drove the wagon on. The countess of Veltham struck an inspired figure for young men and doddering fools alike.

Perfect timing for Kallor and León to show why they were the best footpads in the kingdom.

Two rough hands slapped down on the shoulders on Kallor and León stopping their advance. “Well if it isn’t the third worst thieves and two stupidest men this side of the Galarn River. León. Kallor. How are you boys doing?” Tachyon Vils said with a gold littered smile.

Behind Tachyon stood a regiment of unmarked guards with assorted sneers, cudgels, and blades. A couple familiar faces dotted the line up and León paled at the connection his brain made. He and Kallor shared a tight grimace and listened to Vils continue on his airy dressing down of his former guild mates.

“So what do you say, boys?” Vils said shaking a pair of cuffs and a fistful of coins. “Which one will it be?”

“You want us to join your gang?”

“Guardsmen. I’ve moved official as I was just saying. You’d be temporary deputy’s for an expedition to the Malton reach.”

“Malton? But they’ve been dark for over a year now. Nobody even tries to get in there,” Kallor said thinking of their last failed adventure. They’d lost half a band to the roving highwaymen between the former Malton reach and the outerlands of Veltham. Kallor wagered you could fit five old forests in that stretch, but he wasn’t a mapmaker. Or even much of an outdoorsman. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the city.

León reached for the coins and received a slap for his troubles. “Verbal confirmation first,” Vils said rubbing his hand. “I’m a stickler for rules.”