The Price of Gold

Pavel supposed that his pouch always felt better empty rather than full.

An empty purse was motivation to the bounty hunter. He couldn’t just rest, couldn’t sit on his laurels. There was money to be made, a world to explore. People to care for.

It was when he started getting things going his way that made him feel unease. Even now, sitting on the edge of the White Tower in Mazrim, with his quarry tied down and payment on the way, he kept fidgeting. His foot tapped the white marble walls, his hands kept running over the knives in his hand.

This was when things went wrong. Money in the pocket wasn’t security, it was a target. Pavel liked having his money spent as soon as he got it. Whether it was on food, or drink, or the latest new toy, money flew out of his hand faster than it ever sailed in, and he preferred it that way.

Of course, when one doesn’t have money, they generally have to do something to get more. For Pavel, that involved finding people, and transporting them from one destination to the next. Some of their own free will. Most were not so accommodating.

Like Landa. At least, that’s what he thought her name was. She was soft-spoken at the best of times, and more likely to respond to words with her fists. The dark-skinned woman towered over the slight hunter, built like a stone wall, and with the same grace and sincerity. When Pavel had explained his occupation and needs, back at the rather nice café on the ground floor of the Tower, Landa had responded with three chairs, a table, and more knives on her person than could have been found in the cutlery drawer. Luckily for the hunter, the sleeping draught he had poured in her drink had taken effect, and he levitated her up to better scenery.

Landa was docile now. Or, at least, docile-ish. Pavel looked up, and waved. Landa glared down at him, furious. She hung just over the edge of the White Tower. Suspended by a rope no bigger than Pavel’s pinky finger, tied to the minarets that surrounded the White Tower. One slight move would cause the rope to snap. Pavel would have regretted these actions, but he needed to find some way to secure the bounty. And having Landa there ensured some modicum of cooperation.

“I am sorry about this,” Pavel said. “I doubt you’ll believe me, but I am.”

The bounty looked up from her reverie. A thin woman, eyes of bittersweet almond, and flecked with fire. She stared at him, and nodded.

“I do believe you, sir,” she said. “But I don’t think you should be doing this. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Yes, you have,” Pavel said. He leaned back, and looked up at the night sky. “You may not have done anything bad, but you did something wrong. you ticked off the wrong guy.”

“He wanted…” she turned away, and blushed.

“I know what he wanted,” Pavel said. “And good on you for saying no. Shows real moral fiber.”

“You didn’t say no,” Londa muttered.

“I have no moral fiber,” Pavel said. None that he’d ever reveal. “Now shush, money. Your collector’s coming.”

“You don’t have to do this,” the woman said.

“Yes I do, Shirae,” Pavel said.

“Why?”

“Because only rich people get to do moral things for free.”

When the king of Lorris stepped out onto the White Tower, he beheld a city enraptured. The fires down below glinted off the white stones, and shone back over the harbor and the crescent moon. King Yur stopped for a moment, and placed a hand on his heart.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” he breathed.

“Sure is,” Pavel said. “And exactly as ordered.”

The king ignored the help, and rushed to Shirae’s side. “Ah, Shirae,” he whispered. “Dearest Shirae, my desert lily. How could you have left me so?”

“She is not yours…” Landa breathed.

A flash of disgust washed over Yur’s face, but he said nothing. “Shirae, please come back with me. I can show you riches beyond compare. I can give you gold, and satin. Comfort for the rest of your days.”

Shirae turned her face. “Your majesty, I already said no. please, do not make me refuse you a second time.”

“Refuse?” Yur said. He chuckled. “How could you refuse?”

“Hey, King Yur,” Pavel said. “My money.”

“Yes, yes, whatever, here,” Yur handed Pavel a purse. He opened it, counted the coins, and nodded, walking away.

“Do you know how much money that was, Shirae?” Yur asked. “That man would be able to live like a king until the end of his days. And he helped me for one night. Think of what I would do for the woman who could hold my heart.”

“I would not hold your heart,” Shirae said. “You would just grasp my voice.”

The king sighed. And he pulled out a knife, and held it above the rope.

“Then choose,” he glowered. “Choose if this cretin’s life is worth my displeasure.”

Shirae wept. She knew it would come to this. She knew it back in the palace, when he beseeched her in the dressing chamber. When Landa grasped his throat, only then would he let her go.

Landa would never stop protecting her. He would never let her live.

“Hey!”

Yur turned. Pavel kicked out, and caught the king full in the chest. King Yur had a brief moment of weightlessness, before beginning a long fall off the White Tower.

Pavel poured out the purse, grains of sand falling after the ruler. “Illusion,” he sneered. “As if I wouldn’t check for that.”

He sighed, and nodded to Shirae. “Sorry about the inconvenience. I really did love hearing you sing.”

He left the woman and the bodyguard, and started back down the Tower. Ah well. Pavel supposed that his pouch always felt better empty rather than full.

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