"My lord, I really don't know what that fellow did." The man stared up in terror at the iron-clad figure who had stormed into his house with a group of soldiers. He couldn't understand how he'd gotten mixed up in such a mess.
The city guards who usually called him brother were hiding behind two soldiers, their eyes glued to the floor. None of them showed any inclination to put in a good word for the silver coins he slipped them every month. If anything, they edged farther back, afraid of being implicated.
He usually dabbled in a few less-than-legal ventures, and his operation was diverse. His men handled everything from petty theft and security fees for fixed stalls to casting custom weighted dice. His business and turnover were modestly renowned in the trade. But he'd always known his place and paid the right people off. Surely they wouldn't make such a spectacle of arresting him?
And yet here he was. One moment, someone had warned him that the streets were tense and he should lie low; the next, someone was kicking down his door. It was a silver-gleaming boot, fitted with a greave and sabaton, that sent the curse on his lips straight back down his throat.
The men had barged in and beaten him, then started interrogating him about some victim of loaded dice.
Heaven knew, he'd only sent his men to visit the man twice. The fellow had a proper job as a servant, so he'd figured he could pay at least part of what he owed. He hadn't even done anything yet before the whole thing blew up and he was pinned to the ground.
"Did you force him to do it?"
What the hell had the man done? That was all the fellow on the