Read Online Closer to the Chest by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online

would take a few moments to get oriented and focused on him. Those few moments should be all the time he’d need.
    :The only question I got is whether or not their hired thugs are gonna pile on me after I get the three bastards down,:
Mags replied.
:I’m figurin’ they won’t. I’m figurin’ they got paid enough t’make a show, but not enough t’risk gettin’ hurt.:
    :And if you’re wrong?:
Dallen asked.
:Purely an academic question, of course . . . :
    Well, he’d tie up the door taking out the leaders, and that would buy him a bit more time if the mercs got enthusiastic. Time was all he needed. The Watch was already on the way.
    :By then, I reckon the Watch’ll be here, so likely at the worst I’ll get off with some bruises.:
He might have added more, but just at that moment the door crashed open, and there they were, Hatchet, the grizzled, greasy-haired brute, coming first through the door and ending up in the middle, Dog-Billy, the filthy, ugly one squeezing in on the right, and Rufus, the bald, scarred fool on the left.
    Of the three of them, Dog-Billy was the most dangerous, because he was no little crazy, and utterly unpredictable. Besides that, there was not a single soul in all of Haven who would mourn if he died, and he was so foul Mags really didn’t want to touch him, even with a six-foot pole. So it was Dog-Billy who got the lead ball pitched into his throat before Hatchet could open his mouth to say anything.
    Dog-Billy went down choking, clutching at his crushedlarynx, as the hired thug that had been crowding in behind him stared in dumbfounded disbelief. Hatchet and Rufus were staring, too, but not for long. Mags took two long strides toward them and drove the end of his staff up between Hatchet’s legs before the bully-boy had any idea what he was doing. As Hatchet doubled over, clutching at his abused privates, Mags reversed the staff and brought it down on the back of his head, felling him. And before Rufus had time to react, Mags cracked him alongside his head, dropping
him
to the ground.
    There were six hired thugs standing there just outside the door now, staring at him in shock. He grounded the staff, and looked them up and down.
    â€œSo, what’d these idjits give ye?” he asked calmly. “’Cause I kin do better.”
    They exchanged a look, equal parts shock and calculation. Finally the rightmost one answered. “Five copper each in ’and. Five more when—” He shrugged, saying without words,
well,
that
isn’t going to happen.
    Mags dug into his belt-pouch and came up with six of the smallest silver pieces, each one of which represented twice what they had each been paid already. He tossed the coins at them; they snatched the money out of the air. “Get out,” he suggested. “’Less any on ye either wanta
meet
th’ Watch or
bring
the Watch.”
    It appeared that none of them were interested in either prospect; the doorway shortly held nothing but air.
    With Hatchet and Rufus unconscious, Mags examined Dog-Billy without touching him. It appeared that he had figured out how to breathe again, so maybe Mags hadn’t actually done him permanent damage, but he was still choking and gasping, his hands still clutched his throat and tears of purest pain were cutting furrows through the grease and dirt on his face. “Guess, ye’ll live,” he said with regret, picking the lead ball up from where it was rolling around a little on the floor, just as the Watch arrived.
    Now the Watch of this district knew him; knew him not only as Harkon, but as Mags, so they didn’t argue when he loudly proclaimed that the three men on the floor had come there to “interfere with m’bizness,” and had tried to attack him. Mind, that actually was telling the strict truth—they had, and they had. In Mags’ mind, it was always better to tell the truth than make something