The city watch trundled en force down through the city streets, they began to knock on doors and hammer on windows their lanterns threw patterns of light across the broken cobbles. They went about this fracas for a good few minutes questioning everyone that answered their doors. It was fairly obvious that something or someone had them riled, the cause of which didn't become apparent until an elderly butcher's wife, Mrs Finkle poked her hawkish nose out into the cold night air and spied a watchman face down in the street, he looked as though he might be dead. "Here," she prodded the guard with a stubby finger. "Is he alright?" "Sorry ma'am I'm not allowed to discuss the current state of my unconscious colleague," he replied with a forced smile. "So he is alive!" "I, but, well...yes," the guard rubbed at his nose and pinched the bridge with his fingers. "Now moving on to my questions?" "Ask away dear," Mrs Finkle purred in a way that made the guard take a step backwards. The man didn't quite look at the plump woman in the shabby nightdress; he locked his mind away behind steel bars and bribed the jailor to throw away the key. "As a member of the city watch I have been ordered to question the inhabitants of Fackle Street," he began whilst looking at the floor more than the woman. "As to if they may have witnessed the cold-clocking of my comrade in arms, or any mysterious circumstances that might be at all related to the event in question." Mrs Finkle leaned out a little more and made a sour little face. "What's it worth?" "Pardon?" the watchman's eyebrow raised a slight notch. "You heard me, what's it worth?" "Are you asking me to pay in some kind of way for information that should be volunteered freely and without cost?" "Ooh, bright one," Mrs Finkle rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. "No such thing as a free lunch as they say, if you catch my drifting wood dear boy." "I," he stammered. "I don't know if that's allowed, I mean, I've never heard of a watchman bribing a citizen before." Mrs Finkle snorted softly. "But you have heard of the other way around right?" "Well yes," he admitted. "It's a sign then that times are changing dear lad, now what about me gold?" The watchman looked at her, or rather his eyes refused to look at her and they simply filled in the gaps with a pleasant image of a summer's day and rainbows. He wasn't entirely sure how to handle this, his captain had told him to get the information by any means, but he'd rather arm-wrestle a bear than tangle with Mrs Finkle, she was known far and wide to have a mean left hook and she had a skill with a cleaver that meant her husband had never strayed from her side for thirty years. It was in some ways terribly ironic that above the watchman and the terrifying Mrs Finkle, Weaver Finch sat with her small black and white cat-shaped helper; Mal perched upon a chimney pot and sifting through the spoils of tonight's light fingered pilfer-spree. Stolen necklaces gleaming and resplendent with glittering gemstones shone under the light from the full moon, she picked through them and placed the finest into a leather satchel at her side, all in all it had been a wonderful night. -------- This image was painted by Hellion for DarkQuest games book: City Guide - Darkside, the accompanying fiction here was written by me. The image has been posted with permission.