“Who are you, and why would Sir Virgil waste his time on a skinny little pissant like you?” the man sneered, but Lucas only responded by smiling a little wider for a long moment. 

When the man opened his mouth to speak again, Lucas finally answered. “Special delivery. Just let him know it's what we discussed last night, and he’ll know what you’re talking about.”

The man looked Lucas up and down before he said, “Sounds like someone else could handle it. You sure you want me to bother the boss with this? If he never heard of your delivery, it won’t just be me kicking your ass, you know that, right?”

Lucas shrugged, and said, “Hey, I’m just the delivery guy. You want me to go home, you can be the one to explain to the man why he’s out the dragons, not me.”

The guard’s eyes squinted a bit, and he grunted, “Wait right here,” before walking off toward the other side of the small courtyard. 

Now that the big man was out of the way, Lucas could actually get a view of the place. It was a large open space surrounded by two and three-story tall buildings. A number of armed and armored men sat in the shade while a couple dueled on the sands of the place with more than a few spectators. 

Some of the fighters used wooden weapons for fierce sparring, but others used steel for the practice of more formal-looking forms. It was all pretty interesting and probably something he should start practicing himself at some point after he was on good terms with these dudes. 

All in all, it was a nice atmosphere, not so different from a gym, but those hadn’t been invented yet. More than half of the people here wore the orange of the gang, but without the ink he was used to those types sporting, they seemed like average mercenaries and the like. Honestly, if you added a sports bar and the background sound of some Harleys, this would have seemed like a motorcycle club to him. That much made sense to him, at least, since those dudes were notorious drug smugglers and gun runners. 

Lucas hadn’t heard much about the Knights of Brass besides the fact that they tended to think more with their swords than with their heads. He could work with that, though. Simple men, motivated by money. Those were the least likely to betray you as long as business stayed sweet. 

He stood there looking like he was watching the fighting, even as his eyes followed the guard that had gone to deliver his message. The man walked to the far end of the courtyard where it was most crowded, and when he got there, he waited deferentially until the older man that sat on a wooden bench surrounded by a crowd of hanger’s on. Once the boss was free, there were a few words exchanged, and the men looked over at Lucas while he pretended not to notice. 

After that, the guard returned and said, “The boss will see you after all, little man. Looks like you’ve got friends in high places.”

Lucas said nothing and moved to walk past him with the donkey, but the guard grabbed the lead, preventing it. “No animals in the courtyard. They foul the sand. I’ll take it to the stables for you until your business is concluded.”

“But my cargo—” Lucas protested. 

“Will be very safe with us,” the guard continued. “You can consider it to be delivered. Now, it's all just a matter of payment and paying respects.”

“I see,” Lucas answered skeptically. “Well, just remember that what you want is in the small barrel inside the larger one. Be careful removing it, or I’ll have to charge you for both.”

The guard smiled dismissively and then led the animal away, leaving Lucas free to enter. He gave the donkey one last look, trying to decide if he was being tricked or not, but in the end, he decided to go with it. If they fucked him over, he’d just sell them a keg of blue food coloring next time to make up the losses. 

They didn’t, though. Instead, when he reached the far end of the courtyard, he was warmly welcomed by the man and charge who stood and shook Lucas’s hand in a painfully tight grip. “Welcome,” he said loudly as a couple of his lieutenants moved and made room for Lucas to sit. 

The leader of the Knights of Brass was an imposing fellow. He was neither the largest nor the most muscular, and with his steel gray hair you might be forgiven for thinking that the man was passed his prime. All it took was one look into his eyes from up close and Lucas knew he was killer. 

That wasn’t the only tell, of course. The way he carried himself, the difference of the strong men around him, and of course, the man’s armor which was both expensive and well-used, all told the story of a man who was not to be fucked with. Lucas decided to set aside the idea of squeezing a few extra coins from him just now before they’d exchanged a word. That simply wasn’t how you dealt with people like this. He had no intention of rolling over. 

“We weren’t sure exactly when to expect you, but my men said you acquitted yourself well in last night’s melee. Charged right toward the enemy without any regard for poison. Very impressive.”

“Fucking slants,” one of the other men growled, but Lucas ignored him. 

“Hey, I don’t want anyone ruining a get-together if I called it in the first place,” Lucas said. “It makes mee… my boss look bad, you know?”

“Indeed,” Sir Tristen said. “If one of our men had been maimed or killed under the auspices of a parlay, you’d owe more than a blood debt.” Everyone nodded at that. 

“Well, all’s well that end’s well,” Lucas nodded. “How’s Ritchie?”

“Already practically healed,” the knight nodded. “We might want to invest in more than just your blue if you can offer us a good price on healing aids of that caliber.”

Lucas recognized that as flattery immediately. Though he was sure that men like this could always use a healing potion or two, the stuff he’d made was nothing special. It was called lesser for a reason. 

Before he could figure out what to say, though, the man gestured, and a young man came running over with a bag of coins that jingled just about right. He quickly handed it to the knight and then vanished from the meeting again, leaving the grown-ups to talk business. 

It probably wasn’t fair to call the lad a kid, though. He was probably a squire or something, and they obviously had him working out like a dog because he obviously had more muscles than Lucas.

“Go on, count it,” Sir Tristin said as he handed Lucas the small leather coin purse. “New partnerships should be scrutinized. Trust can come later.”

Lucas didn’t hesitate. He’d seen dealers try to make that bluff to shame you into not counting before, but he always counted. Inside were twenty dragons, exactly as advertised. None of them seemed fake. Lucas counted them, chose one at random, bit it, and then, satisfied, returned them to the pouch and tucked that away in the shoulder bag with his potions. 

“Looks good to me,” he nodded, “So if there’s nothing else…”

“Leaving so quickly?” the knight asked. “Don’t you want to stay and watch the fights? No better place to find muscle if you’re looking for someone to keep you safe.”

“Well, I have that covered, with—” Lucas started to answer. 

“Yes, the half-orc,” Sir Tristin nodded. “But those… creatures are beasts as much as men. As your little organization grows, you might find that you need something more… biddable and loyal.”

“Well, I don’t imagine that the men I see are going to be more loyal to me than they are to say… you,” Lucas said, making the assembled men laugh. 

“Not everyone here works for me, though most want to,” Sir Tristen agreed. “Still, there are plenty that would be happy for any steady work as long as they got the chance to crack some skulls occasionally. If none of them are to your liking, though, then you could always hire my friends and I to protect your interests.” 

“I imagine you’d want to be paid for that protection, too,” Lucas said while his mind raced. 

This was exactly the sort of hard sell he expected. The Knights of Brass might honor the letter of their agreement, but they were clearly the stronger party here and where strength was involved. People tend to push. 

“Of course,” the leader of the Knights of Brass said with a predatory smile, looking every inch the leader of a gang of some notoriety just then. “Why? You don’t think we’re worth the money? Everyone needs protection, especially in your line of work. Running alchemy labs can be very dangerous… All those volatile chemicals…”

“I’m not sure we really need—” Lucas started to say.

“You’re just becoming a very important partner of ours,” Sir Tristen continued. “That’s a nice product you got there; it would be a shame if something were to happen to it.” He said the words with a tone of sorrow, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a threat. 

“For a mere five dragons a month, you could have a veritable army at your beck and call, ready to keep you, your property, and even your loved ones safe,” the Gang leader said, smoothly easing toward the end of what was obviously a well-practiced pitch. “No one would dare try to cross you with the Knights of Brass at your back.”

“Five dragons is a lot… for an outfit of our size, I mean,” Lucas said, hastily adding the last bit when he realized the other man would twist his words into an insult about how they weren’t worth it if he didn’t. “I mean, I’d be happy to pay for services rendered if we need it, but right now everything's…”

“Clients typically don’t have much money when the trouble starts,” the knight said, obviously growing a little annoyed. “We find it best to make regular payments as soon as possible to make sure we can be there when you need us. You know - a sort of insurance.”

“Everyone needs insurance,” Lucas agreed, tensing up. This was worse than being cheated out of a couple coins. If this group sensed weakness, they’d swallow their outfit whole. Suddenly, he found himself wishing that Kar’gandin was here to help him talk his way out of this. 

What would the dwarf do to try to chisel his way out of this,  Lucas wondered. 

He’d find a way to beat them at their own game. That’s what he’d do, he realized with certainty, but how? These guys spent every day training with swords, and he was only decent with his daggers.

He realized there was no way that he could win, but as he looked into the smug face of the gang’s aging leader, he suddenly realized that didn’t matter. If the game was rigged he had to cheat, or play a new game. Something that would allow his speed and cleverness to matter more than the man’s skill and armor. 

Just as Sir Tristian opened his mouth, Lucas started to talk again, trying to stay ahead of this. “Well is there anything I could do to convince you that me and my crew are more than capable of taking care of ourselves?”

“Not at risk…” the Knight asked, confused. “Of course you are. Everyone’s at risk in this chaotic world of ours, that's why you need—”

 “Right,” Lucas agreed, interrupting him. “Maybe we aren’t five dragons worth of risk right now, though. Maybe we’re just a dragon or two? That’s how insurance works, right? The more risk, the more it costs.”

“Ah, I see, you’re haggling,” The gang leader said, “You don’t think that we’re worth—”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Lucas insisted. “If I was in a jam, you’d be the first ones I’d come to for help; no matter the price, you’d be worth it. I’m just saying right now, things are good. We’re both getting paid, no one’s out to get me, and we don’t need to upset the apple cart, you know?”

“What do you propose then?” The knight sighed, rubbing his temples with one gauntleted hand. When he’d been giving his pre-planned sales pitch, he’d been pretty slick, but now that Lucas had him off his game, he was a little frazzled. 

“I dunno, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Lucas lied. He certainly had thought that far ahead; he just didn’t know if it would work. “What about you and me square up so you can see what I’m made of. Not a dual, of course - I wouldn’t stand a chance against you, but just… you know, more of a challenge? How’s that sound?”

All the talking had obviously been getting on Sir Tristin’s nerves, but the mention of combat perked him right up. “What are your terms?” he asked as he leaned forward.