Exhibit 8: "Sneak Attack"

Right as "Quincy" and Cora made their exit after that nothing-steak conversation, I crept in and held my dagger to Ridice's throat.

He sat at his desk, settling in for an evening of staring at the squalor beneath him and jacking off. When he felt my steel, he only went rigid for half a second before relaxing.

"I sense you're a townsperson with a grievance?" he said evenly.

My hand tightened around the handle. I'd be damned if I let him get me with a cool one-liner. I thought for a moment, thinking back to all the times I'd imagined doing this. As soon as I'd learned the bastard's name at fifteen, I knew this would be it. I spoke my truth.

"I'm not gonna kill you," I began, "simply because I don't have any ideas of who to replace you with. But remember this—" I pressed the dagger in hard enough to hear his intake of breath, and to feel a line of beaded blood feed the blade. "The only difference between you, me, or anyone in this town is good fortune."

I sheathed the dagger and stalked away, letting Big Nick's blood dry on the leather.

I'd come up with that line during a particularly grueling gauntlet of cleaning to earn my freedom. I was situated in the east wing, one cocky bootlicker guard jeering at me about how I needed to know my place. It was right outside the very office I'd just stepped into and out of unscathed. He had the door open, feet kicked up, frustratingly full hair and trimmed beard still damp from a hot bath in his private spring. From what I can tell, hair is mostly a burden and a hassle, but what it represented to me was enraging enough to kill over.

Haven's Inn was full of the usual suspects and my three companions when I got back. Harmony gave me a concerned look, but she always did that. She was in the middle of dual-flirting with Promise and Cora when I slammed my bony ass into a seat. I kept my boots on the floor, after having wiped them on the doormat. Only pigs put their feet on a table.

Harmony brought us some food, and we discussed our findings once she was back behind the counter.

"Listen," Promise said with quiet intensity, already knowing where Cora and I were headed. She'd laid into Nicholas pretty heavily, which he didn't even flinch at. "We're not here to overthrow any governments. We need to keep our heads down."

Keelo blinked quickly at that, zoning back in from petting their metal raccoon's head—Rebecca listened too. "Why would we—what happened?"

"This guy needs to die," Cora said with no reservations.

Windsor the bloodhound poked his head out from under the table.

Promise's eyes widened. He put his glowing hand on the dog's head, and Windsor laid his head under Keelo's seat and fell asleep. Promise eyed them. "What happened here?"

Keelo leaned away. "Carver said his dog was missing. I didn't have anything else to do."

Promise nodded apprehensively. "And why is that what we lean toward?" He put his outstretched hand on the table and leaned forward. "We're not here to do anything. We're passing through. And while maybe this thing is big enough to ride as a horse—" He pointed to Windsor, then put a hand on Keelo's shoulder. "This is not an objective complete. Should I give you a badge? Is that what you want? A little reward?"

Keelo frowned deeply, standing and brushing the hand away. "I'm returning him. Come with me or don't." Then they walked out.

I'd been zoned so far out I could barely move my legs. The adrenaline crash was catching up with me, but I summoned whatever I could to get up and follow. Promise grumbled something as he and Cora trailed us.

When we got Windsor home, we were met with a panicked, despondent mother, telling us her boy had been taken by a guard.

Nothin' Promise could say would dissuade us. The other three of us were united in purpose, at least for this one thing. But we needed to be careful—we didn't know where the Reaping initiates were held. Thankfully, Cora had a solution.

See, Nicholas had a young son, about nineteen. His name was Nathaniel, and he was a class-A douchebag. After Cora got done telling Big Nick what a class-S douchebag he was, he made some condescending remark about her being Promise's "whore." Like… seriously fuck that guy. The apple didn't fall too far from the rotten tree, so she used her fancy outfit and her childhood training charming nobles to get his attention that night. Then we'd get inside and teach that tree a lesson. It'd know it was—yeah, it'd learn.

Okay, that comparison got away from me. I ain't a poet.

Nathaniel, predictably, was aimlessly wandering the second level looking for something to stick his Ridice in. Cora sidled up and distracted him while I tailed invisibly; three casts in one day was too much for me, and I knew it, but we didn't have much time.

Nathaniel took a long time getting up those stairs. Cora squeezed him for as much info as possible, like exactly where the initiates were—God, I still don't get why he'd spill it so easily, but he really wanted her to like him—but I couldn't hold my spell any longer.

That was where Promise came in. Rather, Quincy appeared, and I became his silent bodyguard, hood up, to another late night meeting with the city's top advisor. Lady Ester was too old to see her own hands in front of her, so he could steer whatever he wanted whichever way he wanted. Promise wasn't enthused, but if he could get his claws even deeper into Nicholas, he could steer, too. Which way that was, I wasn't certain, but I felt better with him there.

Keelo waited out back in the shrubbery, prepping our getaway spells as Promise lied our way through the front doors. Nathaniel and Cora had disappeared around the back way; she could easily overpower this dipshit, so I wasn't worried, but I did worry about her staying on track.

Promise and I split at the wings. He went east to swindle the swindler, and I went west, where Lil Natie said the kids were.

There weren't any guards in my way. That made my hairless neck pores prickle. Still, I pressed on as quickly and quietly as anyone could in my situation. Nice plush carpet in that hallway—I bet it felt nice on bare feet. I don't think I'll ever experience something like that.

The wing had a number of locked doors lining it. I picked 'em all until I found Carver's little shaved head. He still had the bandage 'round his forehead from where he tripped and hit it running behind some others kids when we'd first entered town. Back then, I told him not to "let them make him into an outcast." What does that even mean?

The rooms were packed with stolen children. A dozen each. There were almost as many kids as there are of you lot in this room now. Carver told me they'd hurt his mama if he was bad. I bet they said that to all of 'em. He said he had a friend named Charlie, an even younger girl, and we had to get her too.

I was drowning. The other kids were asleep, but I wondered if we could coax up a mob of 'em and just knock the front door down. That's the kinda shit Lucky would pull in this situation. I figured it would just work out. I'd get Carver and Charlie to safety, then come back and start a junior riot.

It would just work out. It had to.

Charlie was a room over. She was truly tiny, crying and scared. I'm a small guy, and Carver was growing to be close to my height, but Charlie really looked like a child.

Promise could handle himself. Cora could handle herself. Keelo was out back, so out back we went. Out back was, as I would discover, the guard entrance.

Carver tried to get Charlie to calm down, but she was shivering and sniffling somethin' fierce. There was one man patrolling the doorway, and one of Charlie's hiccups perked his ear up. I tried to hold her back, but she didn't know me, didn't like me, and broke out of my grasp. She ran out in the open, and he saw her.

It was a blur after that. All I know is I found myself in a now-familiar spot: behind him, dagger to his throat. He was surprisingly short. Had little pimples on the back of his neck.

Strange thing. In that moment, I considered a bribe, but I don't carry any money. Ever. I don't believe in the concept. Maybe it's the sort of thing a trickster hero in a different book woulda done. Lucky'd just punch the dude and go on. Probably break through the side of the wall.

I think this was my version of that. My senseless, cartoon violence to get through my predicament. But I knew as soon as the blade slit his throat, as soon as the blood sprayed out and coated Charlie and Carver, stained their teeth as she cried and wailed and he stood in shock, that it was very, very real.

Keelo was right outside the door. I ushered the kids to go with them, which they, of course, did without hesitation. They said something to me, their eyes wide, and patted a gently glowing hand on my forehead. I felt a little lighter, like I could spring further than normal, and stumbled away.

The stairs weren't possible for me. I dunked myself in the river to duck the shouting guards—if they saw me, they didn't come after me. My pulse was going so fast it just vibrated. I was peaking and crashing at the same time, and my shallow, repetitive breath was invaded by snorts of sewage water. The current dumped me down the cliff; a little golden poof padded my long fall, then dissipated. I was sure my back was broken, but I could move fine.

At least, I could if I wasn't surrounded on all sides by garbage and graywater. There was a great stone wall in front of me, towering high—this was the third level's waste disposal reservoir. It churned around me as the turning wheel directed the shitty water underneath the second level… I knew where it came out. Directly into the part of the river that flowed through the third.

I—I didn't know it did that until then.

This was massive infrastructure, not something stabbing one guy could solve. I didn't even stab the right guy.

It was as effective a sneak attack on my morale as any could've been. I couldn't delude myself into thinking I was doing anything good anymore. I let the water take me under.

…Right, there's a painting too.

I never saw Carver, or his mama, or Charlie again after that. I imagine they skipped town—rightfully so. Didn't feel right to paint them exactly, so I made 'em dogs instead. Here they are frolicking around a little puddle of clean water, with big boy Windsor looking out for 'em in case of foul play from the enemy cat gang. There they are, creepin' in the background. Sunny day out there.

Daryl, I'm giving this one to you. Hang it up over your door. And, uh, sorry for all the money I stole over the years. It never did any good.

GALLERY OF FORTUNE SIMPLECREEK—RECEIPT—9/18/1316

EXHIBIT #8: "SNEAK ATTACK" SOLD TO DARYL BUNKER (-10 GP)