Snippet #2295060

Common taverns were not an unusual place for Gwen to be seen, in fact, some of the more upscale establishments were some of her best hunting grounds. Many highwaymen shunned the cities in favor of the wooded roads, but Gwen had learned to find opportunity everywhere, and cities had their own advantages, one’s ability to disappear into a crowd chief among them. What was peculiar about this night however, was that Gwen was alone, and she was forced to ponder the events that had led to her being here. The murderous band currently loose on the roads were creating a multitude of problems, and not just for the reputation and viability of the highwaymen, which was honestly the least important. It wasn’t that she didn’t care per say, but Gwen was quite pragmatic, and she’d always seen the decline of the occupation as somewhat inevitable. One can only poke the sleeping bear for so long before it takes a swipe after all, and few had deliberately poked as hard as Rooster and Fox. But then Gwen was adaptable, thieves and con-artists had existed long before the highwaymen, and she was certain her skill set in both could translate well in a less flashy occupation.

No, what was unacceptable was the reaction of the crown, and the innocent blood that had already been spilt. Killing highwaymen was one thing, it was an occupational hazard and a risk they all knowingly took while riding the road, but innocent uninvolved villagers? Some had been little more than children, and the brutality of their murders by the Queen’s Men had a very dark place in Gwen stirring.

This band had to be stopped, there was universal agreement on that front, but the means by which to do so had so far left most camps divided, even for the infamous Rooster and Fox.

“Killing the band won’t stop the Queen’s men from killing us on the road Fox. If they catch the murderers themselves, they’ll take the credit for protecting the public, and if we do it for them, they’ll claim they scared the blackguards out of the country. We can’t win this battle like this m’dear.” Rooster has said in a voice that sounded foreign and sober for the usually flamboyant highwayman.

“I can’t simply sit here and do nothing Rooster. At least if we were to kill the band it would take some wind out of thier sails.” Fox reasoned, though even she knew better than to believe that.

“It won’t be enough. The Queen is playing a high stakes game of chess, and she’d been trapped in a corner by her own pieces. She has no choice by to appease them for the moment.” Rooster replied, and not for the first time Gwen wondered who Rooster, her partner for nearly five years now, really was. He just seemed to know too many things about important people at times, and she didn’t believe the cock and bull story he’d told her about being an out of work bard for a moment. “What do you plan to do then?” Gwen returned, knowing full well she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Incite the pawns.” He replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They may be the weakest pieces on the board, but they’re also the most numerous. They’ve already done most the work for me, I just have to fan the sparks of outrage into a flame.”

“With what, your poems? Rooster, they’re only stories, they can’t do anything.” Fox had cried indignantly. Her eccentric partner had always taken part of his year for his unorthodox hobby to write romantic poems about the highwaymen, but this was no time for fancy.

“Stories are everything.” Rooster contradicted. “They shape who we are, what we think, and in the wake of these murders, they present a villain that every common man can hate.” Something in those words had chilled even Gwen, but she couldn’t deny his point, though she was loath to admit that.

“That’s treason and you know it. No publisher in their right mind will risk printing for you, not in Wifield.” Gwen tried to argue, though she was afraid she already knew where this conversation was going.

“That’s why I’m going to the colonies darling. I have a printer lined up already, and even a friend with a ship willing to help with distribution.” Rooster had said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone.

“A pirate?” Gwen had guessed disapprovingly, and Rooster had only laughed.

“He prefers the term opportunist, but yes, I suppose he could be called that. Don’t be so hypocritical darling, we’re all thieves in the end, the same.” Rooster had chided. But Gwen disagreed, they were not even remotely the same thing, and a knot lodged itself deep in her gut at the thought of Rooster trusting one of those murderous backstabbing cutthroats. But she had no way to stop her friend, and that had been two days ago. Since then he had boarded a ship for the colonies, and she was alone in a tavern, waiting to hear news of the plan that the ever business minded Braith was concocting to solve their problem.

She sat alone at her own table, though in clear sight of Braith and his table. She would wait for a signal from the man that it was safe to approach before she showed her hand. There were too many unfriendly eyes on the road of late to be so conspicuous, and she could hardly believe how blatantly some of the others interested in this particular job had approached him. Well they could be as careless as they liked she supposed, but Gwen didn’t fancy the prospect of a noose around her neck, so she’d stay put until Braith, who she’d had minor dealings with in the past, gave the all clear.