‘I believed him, but only because we located the one who has been dealing in our
name.’
‘A poacher?’ Jubal scowled. ‘As if we didn’t have enough problems. All we need
is to have every cheap crook in Sanctuary borrowing our reputation for his own
extortions. I want the offender caught and brought to me as soon as possible.’
‘He’s waiting outside,’ the aide smiled. ‘I thought you would want to see him.’
‘Excellent, Saliman. Your efficiency improves daily. Give me a moment to get
into this wretched mask and bring him in.’
To maintain appearances, Jubal always wore one of the outlawed blue hawkmasks,
as well as a hooded cloak when interviewing underlings and outsiders. It would
not do to have the word spread that his youth had fled him, nor did it hurt to
capitalize on the terror inspired by a featureless leader. In an effort to
maximize the latter effect, the ex-crimelord doused all candles but one and laid
his sword on the table in front of himself before signalling that the captive’s
blindfold should be removed.
Their prisoner was an unwashed urchin barely into his teens. His type were as
numerous as rats in Sanctuary, harassing store owners and annoying shoppers with
their arrogant stares and daring sorties. There was no defiance in this one,
though. Cowed and humble, he stood blinking, trying to clear his eyes while
standing with the trembling stillness of a tethered goat trying to escape the
notice of a predator.
‘Do you know who I am, boy?’
‘J … Jubal, sir.’
‘Louder! The name came readily enough to you when you represented yourself to