Page 59 of The Sorcerer's Thief
“Debts, eh?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well, Tauren ain’t here.”
“Damn.” I make a show of looking surprised, then disappointed. “Forice said he would be.”
“Well, he ain’t.”
“There must be someone else I can talk to. Look, I won’t be any trouble, and I need the work something bad.”
He blows an irritated breath through his nose. “I’ll check. But you’ll have to come back later. Tonight. Around dusk. What’s your name?”
“Lou.”
“Right, Lou. See you tonight.”
“Thanks, man. Didn’t get your name.”
“And you won’t, not unless the boss says you need it.”
I nod and take my leave. That was easy enough. I head up the shore to find something to eat and a good place to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the area.
My nerves, steady until this point, catch up to me as I walk. A growing sensation of unease in my gut, a tightening of the spine, a closing of the throat.
Panic, my old friend.
I breathe through the uncomfortable feeling, counting my steps to distract myself. Listening to the cawing of the seabirds. Gulls squawk and peck, fighting over scraps of food, shitting on the beach. This place is disgusting.
Did I mention I hate it?
But I need to eat. Keep my strength up. To be ready.
A street cart selling falafel catches my eye. I buy myself a plate of food: fried chickpeas, vegetables, hummus, and yogurt. Nothing exists here like the nice outdoor seating of Willowood, so I eat as a walk. The fare is probably good, but I’m too high strung to taste it.
The countdown has begun.
Dusk.
Tonight.
I’ll come face-to-face with Tauren once more, only this time, I’ll come out the victor.
He stands no chance against me, that greedy, money-hungry degenerate. The coin may not be mine, but I won’t be going in empty handed. I curl what’s left of the fingers on my right hand around the hilt of the Gatekeeper’s dagger. Given to me by the man himself. Was it a moment of weakness that made him part with this treasure?
Shame?
Love?
Some unnatural assortment of all three?
I know not.
And I care not. That man can freeze his balls off guarding his precious gate into eternity for all I care. He’s caused me enough trouble for ten lifetimes.
But his dagger—forged from the molten remains of a falling star by a master blacksmith before even the Gatekeeper’s time—will be my secret weapon. Enchanted never to miss its mark when welded by a proper sorcerer like me, the blade will always strike true.
I’d hoped the coin would make me invincible, but the dagger will be enough.
