Thrand (Part Eleven)

Thrand turned involuntarily to see what new development this was, and in that instant the boy snatched the bag of coins from his claw. Otherwise, the two thugs had frozen in their tracks and were staring scowling at the odd figure that was running toward them.

It was a young Morg, younger than Snav, not even into First Beard, it seemed.  Scrawny, dressed in a motley of about five layers of different-colored shirts that flapped and tattered as it galloped frantically towards them, the urchin was small enough to wear a shiny brown scalewing pod as a makeshift helmet on its round head. The youth came scooting to a halt next to them, paws crossing back and forth in a forbidding gesture.

“What are you doing?” The voice was scratchy and squeaking with alarm.  “Don’t you know who this is?”

“No. Who is it, then?” sneered the other Morg.

“Damn, I don’t know! But he’s got an entourage of Palace Guards a-shadowing him most respectful like! Palace Guards! I passed them coming up. They’ll be here any second!”

“The Guards!” The human boy’s face went pale. He turned to his companion in alarm. “They ain’t like the Watch, Snav! It’s beat first and questions later with them!”

“I know it, Terp!” Snav snapped. He turned to Thrand, voice still threatening, but with an edge of appeal in it. “Perhaps you’re right grampa. We’ll just call it even and be on our way. No need to make a court case of it, eh? Have a nice day, and Mog keep yer!”

The two took to their heels with a scramble of boots and in no time were disappearing around the corner. Thrand watched them go in amazement, dazed but relieved by the sudden turn of events. What had just happened? He turned to the little savior at his side in puzzlement.

“How did you know who I am?”

“Bless you, sir, I haven’t a clue.” With a chuckle, a little claw withdrew a grimy cloth out of one of the many shirts pockets and was dusting away at the manure on Thrand’s cloak. “Are you somebody, then? Actually got some Guards? I thought that was a good story, myself, though I thought of it on the fly.” The ministrations finished the cloth went back in the pocket. “There you go, grampa. All right, then?”

“No, I don’t have any guards. I suppose I should have.” Thrand was still distracted with the bewildering speed of the incident. “But I left so quickly this morning, I didn’t think …”

“Ah, that habit will get you into trouble, more like as not.” The little Morg nodded wisely. “I’d best walk with you until you get home. Good as a guard dog, I am. Guide you along and bark when there’s danger.”

“Well, thank you, young sir. I …” Thrand patted his robes distractedly. “That was my only money, and those rascals made off with it. I’m afraid I have nothing to reward you with right now, but when I get home …”

The other chuckled.

“Save you, sir, I can see you’re a good sort. I know you’ll do the right thing when you can. First, why don’t we get out of this hunt-run and onto a safer stretch o’ street.”

“Yes, you’re quite right, lad.” He looked down and smiled. “And might I know the name of my clever rescuer?”

A snaggle-toothed grin looked back up at him, eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Folks just call me Kettle. I reckon that’s good enough for now. Shall we be on our way?”