“What,” the young, scarred and scabbed Scib said, “did Mr. Pin
calm him – Bixson-”
And Balkey closed the gap as soon as the word left the scab
head’s lips, his fist underneath the young guard’s chin, and
then it was a bolt from a bow. The uppercut cracked the face
of Scib; it sent his jaw skyward, and the rest of his head and
body, too. For a split his feet left the floor, and a splat later
his body was crumpled, and on the floor. A pool of blood began
to peek out from under the face of Scib. Balkey stood over
the formless mass, the bodied guard, with his fists raised
and his gaze glowered. In front of young Balkey was Coral
and his knights, and statue-style next to them, the Pin.
He’d verse them all if he had to. He dug his toes into his shoes.