Chapter 1: Delivery Work

  16 years later...

  Sunlight shone through threadbare curtains, making soft, dusty stripes on the floor. The morning light wasn't bright, but it was still surprising. Turner usually woke up well before dawn, but now he found himself blinking and rubbing his eyes. His thoughts were still foggy, his joints aching, in spite of the rare, full night’s sleep. More than that, he hadn't dreamed about that day in a long while.

  The bed wasn’t comfortable, but it was clean—or at least had been, before a night of tossing and turning. The young man slid out from the blankets in a smooth motion, bare feet landing on the slightly cool floorboards. The inn wasn't fancy, with aging furniture and tiny rooms, but it was reliable and most importantly, affordable.

  That was important, lately. Especially now that Turner was waking up more. He’d grown far too used to the horrifying memories by now. He could wave them off with ease, even if he knew he shouldn't.

  The inn didn’t have a bath, but the wash basin worked—and in a city this size, even the run-down parts had plumbing. He always flinched when he turned off the water and heard the pipes rattle, but they hadn't burst on him yet. Small victories.

  Twenty minutes later, Turner came down the stairs dressed, clean-shaven and damp-haired. A regular here, with a lean but not particularly notable appearance, he barely got a glance from anyone in the common room when he descended.

  It wasn't crowded, today, but neither was it silent. Turner had no trouble threading his way across the room and sliding into a seat, settling himself at a round table near the bulletin board. He didn't bother to look at it, instead focusing on a gesture toward Annie, today's attendant. She nodded to let him know she'd seen the request. The coffee here was cheap, weak, and tasted like flavored dirt, but it was habit by now.

  "Something up, Turner? It's rare that I'm up and ready before you," noted the young woman sitting at the table with him. She didn't look up from the letter she was reading. Turner hadn't picked this table at random, and most of the patrons knew to stay away from the cute, petite, yet clearly world-weary blonde.

  The young man rubbed his finger over the thin scar along his cheek. Barely visible, but his fingers always gave it away when he fidgeted. His one defining physical mark. He shrugged, "Morning, Nora. Guess I was just tired." He didn't like talking about his dreams.

  He couldn't fool Nora. Her mild brown eyes lifted up from the small paper, staring for a moment. This time, she let it go, as the coffee slid over for Turner's consumption. Instead of commenting on his tardiness, she went right to business. "We have to find a job. We can't afford to even stay here another night, unless you want to dig into our travel rations."

  He sighed. He hadn’t forgotten. He remembered the moment he woke up, then buried it on purpose. Leave it to Nora. "Yeah... yeah," he agreed, sipping on the hot drink that passed for a breakfast. For once, his stomach didn't join Nora's prodding with its own loud complaints. "Anything new? I haven't looked at the board yet. Maybe we'll end up repainting a wall again or something."

  Nora scowled, fixing a glare on him that made Turner frown and look aside. She spoke in a level tone, "We do that again, and the Wellright brothers will definitely leave. They're impatient as it is, Turner. They want action." She settled back in her chair with a heavy sigh. "I already had to shut them down with the wolf hunting job over in Fern Hills they tried to bring us while you were sleeping."

  Turner raised an eyebrow. Not because the two approached Nora, though. "I guess they figured if they convinced you first, I would be more likely to give in. What was the problem? Too many?"

  The blonde waved her hand at the board, dismissing that thought. "It would be fine, except there's another job over there. Some listless black bear that's been spotted. That's a sign of rabies, and if that's spreading through the area, even I don't want to mess with it."

  A wince passed over Turner's face, but he had to nod. If Nora worried about it, then there was no way he would give the okay. "Okay, no painting jobs. Something that lets the kids stretch their wings a bit. But most of the easy jobs are gone by now. That damn Academy..." he grumbled. His heart wasn't in it, and Nora knew it. They both wished they’d had the Academy before getting into the business. It would’ve saved lives.

  That still left the pair - and by extension, their two more novice fellows - without much money and even fewer prospects. Turner's eyes drifted toward the board again, still just a wall covered in the wrong kind of ink. He sighed, "It's good that the Commonwealth is starting to get a handle on the region. But it's bad for us."

  "Another few years and people like us won't even be needed here," Nora agreed. "We could always go west... but I hear that's still mostly local warlords. Not exactly steady coin." She smiled, "Wouldn't it be nice if the Guild worked the way everyone else thinks it did?"

  Turner snorted, but didn't say anything about the Guild. "I suppose we could give up on morals entirely and work for one of them," he pointed out. "Or get together a group and sack one of them, set up our own little town. 'Lord Turner and Lady Graves' has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He flashed a grin, finally cracking the dour look on his face. Then, sobering up again, "At least your talents would be in demand."

  While Turner was teasing her, Nora remained looking at the paper she'd been examining. One finger tapped the thin, single page. "Not as much as you'd think," she pointed out, though her lips curled into a faint smile. "At least we wouldn't lie and say we weren't aristocracy, hmm?"

  The paper lifted up with Nora's hand, and the blonde shook it gently. "There's been some kind of trouble down south," she said, revealing what she'd been looking at the entire time. "Nobody is paying to go look into it, but if we go to this... Hodgeworth place, there might be work for us. It's a little risky though."

  Surprising no one, Turner's face twisted into a grimace. Before he could grumble any about it, the door to the inn flew open, letting in a brief rise of the growing bustle outside. It also let in two figures, grinning and waving a paper around. Eyes immediately turned to both of them, but Turner just sighed.

  It wasn't that they were hard to miss. Young, in their late teens - a few years younger than Turner - the duo weren't identical, about a year apart. Each had tousled dark hair and sported patchy beards in an attempt to look older... but it only drew attention to how young they were. But both were fit, attractive, and had an infectious and positive attitude that made them likable.

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  Also, the sheathed long knives at their sides. And how the taller of the two had a well-maintained and polished rifle case slung across his back. Those things tended to draw the eye as well. These two were young, but dangerous. Frontier fighters, wanderers, adventurers, and other names were what people called them.

  Turner called them 'the two kids who were going to get themselves killed.'

  "Hey! Turner, Graves!" the taller of the two yelled out, waving the paper again. Both plodded toward the table where Turner and Nora sat, drawing an uncomfortable number of eyes their way. The youth slapped the paper down and slid it over, confident. "It doesn't pay great, but it's something even you can't fuss over," he declared.

  The shorter of the two pulled a chair out, spun it around, and sat astride it with arms over the back. Turner nodded to him, "Martin." Then to the taller one, still standing. "Milo. We were just talking about our options." He didn't make a move to look at the paper, yet.

  Nora did. The blonde pulled it over and gave it a quick glance, then pursed her lips. "Hodgeworth. A delivery job. That is pretty straightforward." She scanned it more closely before sliding it over for Turner to examine. "A quarter up front. That's enough to resupply and get moving, but it doesn't pay a lot. Any port in a storm though."

  The paper was pretty basic. It looked prepped for posting on the board, which meant the Wellright brothers had somehow snagged it before it went up. That happened, sometimes, so it didn’t raise a red flag for Turner. The job itself...

  "A... bottle of wine? Jadeberry Fields 1844? Sounds expensive." Turner questioned, looking at the delivery. His eyes scanned through the other details. "Not a lot of pay for a four person party, but pretty pricey for a delivery," he commented. "Still, it says up front that the roads down south are a bit more dangerous now. Four day time limit, usual cautions against breakage... it's a three day trip, two and a half if we push."

  His thinking aloud was musing for him, but the duo hung on every word. He looked up at the two brothers and asked, "Where did you get this? How'd you manage before it went up to the board?" A question that had the two brothers looking at one another, some silent thought passing between them. Turner could guess. He knew they'd been getting fed up with his caution.

  It was Martin who spoke first. Despite his heavyset, broad-shouldered frame, the young man had a high-pitched voice that startled most who heard him speak. "It was a servant of one of the locals. Guess one of those minor lords who think moving to a podunk city like this will let them be a big deal. He was posting it on the boards of the other inn, the Cantering Caper, while we were poking around."

  Milo jumped in to add, "We didn't walk up to him or anything. Another guy hanging around suggested it. Said he went by Keyson? He said it was your kind of job." The youth shrugged, his eyes wide with a mystified expression.

  That got a subtle twitch from Turner. "Keyson? Still alive? I'd have figured he’d be impaled or worse by now." He rubbed his chin in thought, too busy considering the job to notice the confusion of the brothers.

  Nora stepped in to fill the information gap with a soft-voiced explanation. "Keyson left our group about a year before you two joined up. Turner always thought he was too reckless," she winked, keeping her tone playful at the end. Turner didn't notice, but Martin and Milo smiled, with a light snort of mirth from the former.

  Turner gave a small shake of his head. "Yeah, sounds like him. Never could tell the difference between boring and safe." The paper fell to the table, where Turner drummed fingers over it, still in thought. He was speaking now, letting the others hear his musings. "It does seem pretty safe. Suspiciously so. The warning signs are that there aren't any warning signs."

  The brothers both started to speak, but Nora waved them quiet. They snapped mouths shut immediately as she spoke, "That's paranoid even for you, Turner. Are you sure you're all right this morning?"

  Milo added, "We were looking for a safe job because we knew you wouldn't take anything dangerous, but guy... we need to do a little something. We're never going to get better if we don't take some risks!" Martin didn't pitch in, but he nodded in support of his brother's words.

  Turner hated to admit it, but Milo wasn’t wrong. This was the kind of job he looked for, most of the time. "Mn," he mumbled, drumming fingers some more. "Just a gut feeling, this time," came the quiet murmur, almost defensive. His mind flashed back to the near-forgotten dream of this morning... he was treating it like a bad omen. Despite running into - and working with, at times - a half-dozen self-proclaimed witches, Turner didn't believe in omens.

  After a long silence, Turner sighed. "You're right. I can't think of a real reason we shouldn't, only my gut saying no." He looked up at the other three, still frowning. "And we need a job. I don't like it, but I'm glad you're thinking ahead about this. I think... we should take this one."

  Martin grinned at him, "You don't have to sound so enthusiastic. If you really have a bad feeling about this one..." He cut himself off and looked up at Milo, unwilling to speak for his elder brother. Turner noticed the hesitation, but didn’t press.

  Yet Milo shook his head, "We want to get into something more, and you're holding us back, Turner." Before Turner could protest, he went on, "But we know you're just trying to keep us alive. We aren't stupid, Turner... if you honestly think this is a bad deal, we can skip it, but we have to do something, even if it's a little more dangerous. Got it?"

  To that, Turner had to rub his temple as if fighting down a headache. He didn’t trust the feeling... but he trusted his team. That would have to be enough. "I do have a bad feeling, but I think this time it's more my mood. I can't point to anything other than it looking too perfect." He sighed, "Don't be in a hurry to get into danger. But you're right, you're part of the team, too. And you were trying to pick something solid and safe. I can't say you did a bad job, guys."

  "We get that, man," Milo bobbed his head. "And thanks. But you’ve got to admit, it’s a little weird we’ve been taking jobs with you for half a year, and I’ve never seen you draw that sword." The hunter gestured toward the blade at Turner's side. "I see you practicing with it, and you've taken some decent shots, but one of these days we have to take a job with a little risk. I'm more tired of being broke than bored."

  As much as Turner was looking dour, that got a wry smile out of him. Nora outright chuckled, "You aren't alone there. Don't be so hasty to see his bladework, boys. If he draws that sword, things have gotten way worse than you're ready for." She laced fingers under her chin and gave her sweetest smile. "Besides, stabbing things is what you're here for, isn't it~?"

  The younger brother grunted in amusement, Turner rolled his eyes, and Milo laughed. "You look ridiculous like that, Graves," came the tease. Yet the subtle tension in the air was gone now. Both brothers relaxed.

  Even Turner had to shake his head in amusement, before speaking up. "Nora's right, if things are so bad I'm ready to fight hand to hand, you should be running." He pushed his chair out, leaving a few coins for the drink that passed as coffee here. "Adventuring isn't glamorous. Staying alive-"

  "-is the most important part," Milo and Martin finished in unison, before laughing. Milo grinned at the lecture, "I'm pretty sure we're the last generation that will be doing this anyway. We'll probably end up bodyguards or something in a few years."

  A quiet grin tugged at Turner's mouth. "Yeah, Nora and I were talking earlier about that. It's not a bad thing to have our profession becoming obsolete. With some real world experience, you two can likely join the Dispatch if you want."

  Then he jerked his thumb up toward the stairs, "But for now, let's enjoy our freedom while we have it. I'll get my things. It's not that late, we can swing by and pick up the delivery and get a start today."

  "Great!" Milo agreed. "Meet back here in a few minutes?" He looked over at Nora, making sure she was in agreement. Usually, it was Turner they had to convince, but despite Nora's fears the brothers still respected the two elder adventurers.

  Nora was already rising from her chair. "I'll be there," she assured. "Truthfully, I've been getting a little restless here myself. It might be a boring trip, but at least it's to a town I haven't seen before. That's the real adventure, right?" Nora smiled as she turned away, already picturing the road ahead. Turner’s smile lingered... just long enough to fade.