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, oneâs 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 wasnât that she didnât care per say, but Gwen was quite pragmatic, and sheâd 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 Queenâs 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.
âKilling the band wonât stop the Queenâs men from killing us on the road Fox. If they catch the murderers themselves, theyâll take the credit for protecting the public, and if we do it for them, theyâll claim they scared the blackguards out of the country. We canât win this battle like this mâdear.â Rooster has said in a voice that sounded foreign and sober for the usually flamboyant highwayman.
âI canât 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.â Fox reasoned, though even she knew better than to believe that.
âIt wonât be enough. The Queen is playing a high stakes game of chess, and sheâd been trapped in a corner by her own pieces. She has no choice by to appease them for the moment.â 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 didnât believe the cock and bull story heâd told her about being an out of work bard for a moment. âWhat do you plan to do then?â Gwen returned, knowing full well she wasnât going to like the answer.
âIncite the pawns.â He replied with a smile that didnât reach his eyes. âThey may be the weakest pieces on the board, but theyâre also the most numerous. Theyâve already done most the work for me, I just have to fan the sparks of outrage into a flame.â
âWith what, your poems? Rooster, theyâre only stories, they canât do anything.â 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.
âStories are everything.â Rooster contradicted. âThey shape who we are, what we think, and in the wake of these murders, they present a villain that every common man can hate.â Something in those words had chilled even Gwen, but she couldnât deny his point, though she was loath to admit that.
âThatâs treason and you know it. No publisher in their right mind will risk printing for you, not in Wifield.â Gwen tried to argue, though she was afraid she already knew where this conversation was going.
âThatâs why Iâm going to the colonies darling. I have a printer lined up already, and even a friend with a ship willing to help with distribution.â Rooster had said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone.
âA pirate?â Gwen had guessed disapprovingly, and Rooster had only laughed.
âHe prefers the term opportunist, but yes, I suppose he could be called that. Donât be so hypocritical darling, weâre all thieves in the end, the same.â 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 didnât fancy the prospect of a noose around her neck, so sheâd stay put until Braith, who sheâd had minor dealings with in the past, gave the all clear.