Thick as Thieves

By Dixxy Mouri

Chapter Thirteen: A Safe Place?

Everything had been fine that morning. Karsh had gotten up early and brought fresh baked muffins from the local bakery as a surprise – Norris hadn't even woken up by the time he smelled them and saw his boyfriend sitting on the edge of the basket with food, which earned the blacksmith's apprentice a thank-you kiss. After getting dressed, Norris joined Karsh for breakfast. When they finished, they kissed and went their separate ways for the day.

But on his way to the repair shop, Norris saw the posters and his world broke.

Norris froze in place. Wanted: Dead or Alive. Ten thousand gil. Treason.

Next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor of his apartment, breathing heavily. He had his face in his hands and he began to sob. This wasn't the life he wanted! He just wanted to live quietly with Karsh and try to move on past all of the bad things that happened to them. He wanted to stay the repair shop while Karsh finished his apprenticeship and live comfortably. Maybe they could have adopted children (as often as Karsh joked about “trying to figure out how to knock him up”, it simply was not possible). They would have had a LIFE.

No. Not anymore.

Son of a bitch.

Norris stayed in the apartment for a few hours, absently wandering around. The kitchen where he and Karsh had tried to teach themselves to cook. The dinning room table where they had shared so many meals and late night talks. The sofa where they had spent so many hours cuddling after long days at work.

The bedroom where they spent the nights together

Norris sat on the bedspread, moving his hand over the blanket. He could smell Karsh on it. He laid down on his boyfriend's side of the bed, caressing the pillow. So many times Karsh had looked at him from there, trying to coax him into making love. Norris had always said no, and Karsh was always good about saying it was okay and pulling him into a gentle cuddle instead.

Now, Norris felt a pit in his stomach. He still didn't feel like he was ready, but now he was afraid that he would never get that chance to finally tell Karsh “yes”. He felt himself start to cry, clutching the pillow for dear life like it would somehow save him. Karsh. . . what do I do now?

Karsh. . .

Norris sat up. “Karsh,” he said.

His mind started to spin. By the end of the day he was going to have to start a life on the run. Norris would be running and hiding for a long time – possibly even the rest of his life. He looked down at the pillow. He was looking at a very difficult, dangerous life. He could be shot at, hung, hunted like a dog, hunted BY dogs. . .

If Karsh stayed with him. . .

No.

I can't do that to Karsh, Norris thought. To the best of his knowledge, no such mark was on his head. At the very least he didn't notice him on any of the other wanted posters. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. It wouldn't be fair of him to put Karsh through that.

He didn't want Karsh to go through that, even if it meant never seeing him again.

Norris got off the bed and into the kitchen with a piece of paper and a pen.

Norris didn't have much of a life ahead of him – but he wanted to keep it.

“He's wandering into a cave right about now.”

“Has he seen us?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

“Now what do we do?”

“Well, we wait until his falls asleep, tranquilize him, and bring him in.”

“What if he wakes up?”

“You moron, that's why we have the transquilizers!”

“Oh. Right.”

“Now keep him in your sights – he probably won't go far in, it's too dark.”

“You're right – it looks like he's staying behind that rock.”

“Ah, staying out of sight, I see.”

“He's such a young kid, though – how old is he?”

“Sixteen.”

“What the hell did a sixteen year old kid do to make the Porre Military angry?”

“Dunno, don't care – they want him pretty dead, though.”

“Sucks to be him.”

“Yeah. He's gonna be angry when he wakes up – make sure he's tied up.”

“Right. Don't know what the brat's capable of.”

“He is the son of Captain Curtis, after all.”

“You think he's dangerous?”

“Poster doesn't say so, but do you want to risk it?”

“No, no!”

“Good. Then just make sure he's good and tied up, okay?”

Norris woke up feeling a bit too groggy. He tried to fumble around to his left where he thought Karsh should have been, only he couldn't do it. Confused, he started to twist around, and as the grogginess faded, he realized – much to his horror – he was bound hand and foot, gagged, and blindfolded.

Norris frantically began to twist and move, trying to break free – what if he was already on his way to Porre?! What if this was just an execution waiting chamber?! What if this was the hideout of some mercenary who'd just scored a big one?! What to do, what to do?!

“Relax, my boy – you won't be handed over to your father – not now, at least.”

Norris froze. Was this his captor?

He felt a large figure – based on the voice, it was a man – sit near his legs. It was then Norris realized he was on a bed, and his blood almost froze. He tried to move away from the figure, who only started to laugh as it leaned over. Norris screamed into his gag, thrashing about as he tried to break free.

WHY THE FUCK DOES EVERYONE WANT TO RAPE ME?!

The blindfold was removed, and Norris ceased panicking for a moment. He turned to face his captor. He was a well-dressed man with graying hair – he was somewhat thin but still had a rather large nose and smallish eyes. “If you would stop moving for a moment I will remove the gag as well – provided you don't bite or else I promise you will be on the first boat home.”

Norris stayed where he was as the gag was removed. “Who are you?”

“No proper introduction? You should be more polite.”

Trying to retain his dignity, Norris took a deep breath breath and sought to hold together what little composure he had left. He didn't feel like “proper introductions”, but this man was in control of the situation. “My name is Norris Braquer. Thank you for removing my blindfold and gag. May I ask your acquaintance?”

“Much better!” the old man said, clapping. “I am Maxwell Ridgefield.”

Norris' eyes widened. “I've heard of you – you're one of the wealthiest men in Northern Zenan. You own something in almost every industry – a mine, a small fleet of fishing boats, a farm or two. . . what are you doing looking for me? Or do you want to look into bounty hunting now?”

“Please – there aren't enough criminals worth enough money to make it worth my while,” he said. Ridgefield stood and looked down at Norris. “I'm only interested in your bounty – your very life – as a bargaining tool. You see, I would like it very much if you weren't hanging by your neck or shot by the Porre military.”

Norris raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Ridgefield walked over to a nearby table and poured himself a glass of wine. He then began to pace back and forth in front of Norris. “You see, we have something in common – we've both delved into practices that the Porre government deems to be. . . well, criminal.”

“What?!”

Ridefield chuckled, ruffling Norris' hair. “Oh the fishing and the farming and the mining are all nice, but the real money is in the underground,” said Ridgefield. “Some of my fields have a few special crops growing and a few of my taverns employ some rather special young women and men to provide extra customer care to those willing to pay the price. Just to name a few things.”

“You're a crook.”

“You're a traitor.”

Norris bit his bottom lip.

“Now I bet you're wondering what a man like me wants with a boy like you?” said Ridgefield. He pulled out a knife and leaned in closer to Norris, pressing the blade against his neck. “After all, Porre would give me a lot of money for your head right about now. Wouldn't that be the easy thing to do?”

Norris stayed perfectly still, but his heart was pounding.

“You did some work for me several weeks ago on an old gun,” he said, taking the knife away from his neck. “The gun was never one that worked very well – it was fine for shooting sick dogs and not much else before it broke. But it did have a certain family history to it and I didn't want to see it go to waste.”

“Did it work?” asked Norris.

Ridgefield stood. “It's the best gun I own now.” He slammed the knife into the mattress next to Norris' head. “I don't know how you did it! It was amazing! I've never had a gun work as well as this one did! It has distance, it's accurate. . . I could shoot a bird at a hundred yards easily with that gun! It's the most brilliant thing I've seen in YEARS!”

“So you. . . like my work?”

Ridgefield laughed. “Like it?! You're a prodigy! I want you to work for me!”

Norris' jaw dropped. “You want me to work for you?”

“Yes! I wanted to try and lure you away from that old fool Bart with a big paycheck and a better home than the hole in the wall you're sharing with that young blacksmith friend of yours, but then your wanted poster came out and changed things – it made things more difficult at first but now that you're here. . .” he said. He grinned. “Now, you see, we can cut a deal.”

“A deal?”

“You work for me – make and fix whatever I tell you do.”

“And in return?”

“I make sure Porre doesn't have a clue where you are.”

Norris shut his eyes. “That isn't much of a choice, is it?”

“How many other choices do you have, Braquer?”

Norris leaned back. He could work for Ridgefield and go back into doing work for a man who would probably use him for criminal activity, but he would probably be safe – Ridgefield was definitely rich enough to be able to make those kinds of promises. He could also refuse and be sent back to Porre, where he was certain that he would be executed without a second thought.

Ridgefield was right. He really didn't have a choice.

“All right,” Norris said, lowering his eyes. “I'll do it.”

Ridgefield grinned.

Today is my birthday, so I'm updating! Whoo-hoo!

Norris' last name here, Braquer, is the French word for "to point" as in a gun or camera.

-Dixxy