One Thousand Words

Saruman led Bilbo to one of the once powerful strongholds of the dwarves. The massive gates had once been locked and barred, sealed from within. Now, however, the doors were cracked open. A small curl of smoke drifted out. The dragon inside was on the move. Bilbo swallowed nervously as Saruman led him in, asking him questions about his dwarf adventures and his home in the shire and his family. Bilbo relaxed a bit, feeling a bit more at ease as he spoke of himself. Saruman led him through the big doors and down into the antechamber of the great treasure hoard of the dragon. The dragon was curled up there, a massive jeweler's loupe screwed into one enormous eye, examining precious gems. He looked up when Saruman and Bilbo entered.

"What." he said.

"Well, Smaug, this is an old friend of mine, Bilbo Baggins. I remembered you'd been looking for a bit of company in this rambly old place so when I ran into you, well, I thought you'd make a nice fit." He bounced on his heels as he spoke, smoothed his long white beard again.

"Really." Smaug took the loupe out of his eye and examined Bilbo.

"You've had a bit of trouble in the Shire, eh?"

"Well, not exactly trouble, but--"

"Do you have the time?"

Saruman bounced again.

"Loan him your watch a tic, Bilbo. It's a trick he does. It's a bit insufferable but very clever. That's him in a nutshell."

Bilbo frowned a bit but then handed over the solid silver pocket watch his father had left him. Smaug plucked it delicately with his razor sharp claws and studied it.

"I see you come from a wealthy, established, respectable family that has a streak of daring in it. You've just returned from an extended trip to find the confines of your old home even more confining. Your father left you this watch, he had a tendency to drink to excess, but at least he wasn't violent... unlike some of your still-living relatives."

Bilbo was impressed despite himself. One eyebrow lofted toward his hairline.

"You somehow managed to read that from my pocket watch? Observing minute details about it which allowed you to infer my life?"

"That or I'm a bloody dragon with excellent hearing and you discussed yourself all the way here."

Bilbo frowned sternly at him.

"May I have my pocket watch back now?"

"What part of "I'm a dragon" do you not understand?"

Markiss Halfweight had tried to kick a door down once. It had flown open in a very gratifying manner, but before he could step through the doorway it had swung closed again with a violent slam. He’d managed to avoid getting struck in the face by unyielding wood, but ever since that lazy, beery afternoon he’d decided that all stories of door-kicking-in were just that, stories, told to bolster the reputations of people who need bolstering. As such, he was very unprepared for the door to his gang’s club being kicked in. The admittedly not very good lock skittered across the floor, broken off of the door, and the rough wood slammed against a chair, sending it flying. The door kicker then strode confidently into the room, heels clicking on the floor.

“What fuckery is this!” she exclaimed, a beast of a woman, tall and broad shouldered, with hands bigger than most men’s. “What sheer, unbridled, fuckery is going on in this craphole?”

She had taken everyone by surprise. The gang gaped at her and then scrambled to their feet. Sinkhole Senca reached her first and then went flying back, knocking Short Mavon over, when she brought one of those giant hands to bear on his jaw. Jerome Fiflower went at her with a knife and she swung her cloak around and off and muffled him with it and when he was released, stumbling, he was bleeding and she had his knife and her cloak both.

“Listen up, you pathetic amateurs! I’m Hobbin Bellehouse and the Five Lillies gang work for me, and are under my protection. Which means when you shitfucks rough them up, you answer to me and let me just tell you that I can take you all one at a time or all together, and darling boys, I have got all night to play.”

Jerome pressed the tail of his shirt against his bleeding cheek and glanced over at Sinkhole and Short Mavon, both moaning on the floor. Markiss, who’d stayed alive this long by not charging headfirst into trouble every time it presented itself, hung back. Hob held up Jerome’s knife where everyone could see it, and then flung it towards him. It planted itself a good two inches in the floor boards with a meaty thunk, the knife vibrating gently, next to his foot.

“OR, and I highly recommend you take this option, you come work for me as well. I take ten percent of anything you haul in, and I handle your problems whether it’s another gang or the Short Swords.”

Jerome stared at her sullenly.

“And if we refuse your most generous offer?”

“Then I beat the shit out of you, take ten percent anyway, and keep doing so until you lot give in. Oh, and sometimes I might take more than ten percent. You know. If I’m feeling irritated at you little shits for bruising up my knuckles.”

Sinkhole and Short Mavon were sitting up, getting to their feet; in short, recovering. Thom the Small and Bearbiter were edging toward her, and Markiss joined them. Jerome grinned, showing the gaps between his too-small teeth.

“There’s more of us than there are of you.”

“You think you can take me down, little ones? Bring it.”

They brought it, but not very well. Hob left the gang with her purse and her obligations both heavier.

Mirrored from Fiction.