The Colour of Vengeance by Rob J. Hayes Page B

how ta run the place. I jus' let Josef get on with it an' prance around like I got some sort o' clue.” They both had a laugh at that. Anders glanced up at the sound of merriment, waved his mug around a bit then laid his head back down on the table.
    “So you got some sort of plan, Thorn?” she asked him.
    “Gettin' a bit tipsy ain't a plan?”
    “Far as I'm concerned you can get shit-faced as Anders here.”
    Thorn smiled, at least Henry thought it was a smile, seemed a bit sad if truth be told. “Don't really drink so much no more, Henry. But if ya got a few spare bits wouldn't mind a loan, get myself cleaned up an' dressed proper 'fore findin' me a job.”
    “Aye,” Henry grinned her wolfish grin again. “One condition. Ya take Anders an' get him smartened up some.”
    Thorn let out a loud groan but agreed all the same.
Thorn
    Truth was Anders smartened up well. He looked almost like a proper member of a blooded family once the filth and sweat and stale booze had washed off and once he was dressed in more fitting clothing. He wore his dark hair in a long ponytail, had shaved off his stubble to show his strong jaw and high cheekbones and had chosen a simple set of riding leathers with an old, worn, green overcoat. He'd also insisted on being bought an old rapier which he kept sheathed by his right hip. Betrim had asked what happened to his last sword but Anders insisted he had no idea; he had woken up one day and it was gone. Most likely he had woken up in a ditch and it had been stolen.
    For his own part Betrim had washed, shaved his head back to bald; hair seemed a right nuisance now he didn't have much of it, and had bought himself a light padded-leather jerkin and a heavy brown duster to wear. Good thing about a big coat was plenty of places to hide knives. The Black Thorn had long ago decided as he never knew when someone might need a good stabbing, it was best to always make sure he carried enough sharp implements to stab everyone around him. He'd seen a right fancy eye-patch in the market too; a black circle of leather with a red gem set in the centre as if to look like a gleaming, demonic eye. Of course Betrim knew first hand that demons had yellow eyes as bright as a flame but most folk wouldn't know that. After a heated argument during which Anders had used a fair few number of complicated words like; garish and lurid, Betrim had backed down but not without giving the blooded drunk a real good stare with his eye.
    Fact was, walking next to Anders as he was gave Betrim something he'd never had before; a certain amount of respectability. The Black Thorn may have crewed with Swift for over a year but there had been no mistaking the bastard blood in that one. Anders hid it well; looked almost like he belonged to a family, well, as long as folk looked past the acrid smell of alcohol on his breath and the occasional drunken stumble.
    “Reckon havin' you around might open up some nice new doors,” Betrim said with a side-long glance at Anders.
    “I presume you're referring to my lineage, Mr Thorn?” Anders said with only the barest hint of a slur, impressive given the amount of booze he’d put away already this morning.
    “Your... um... linage... right. Yeah.”
    “Are you offering me a job?” Anders asked.
    “A job?”
    “On your crew.”
    “What crew?”
    “I accept.” Anders smiled at Betrim. “Boss.”
    “Wait,” Betrim wasn't sure what had just happened but he knew he didn't want to lead any crew. Folk who followed the Black Thorn tended to end up on the dead side of life. “This ain't a crew. I ain't got no crew. Jus'... need some work is all an' havin' you around might open up some doors. You havin' some blood in ya an' all.”
    “Right. Whatever you say. Just know I'm ready for work, boss.”
    “Stop it. An' don't call me boss,” Betrim complained. Anders had a way of complicating the issue with all of his words.
    “Sorry. I'm ready for work, BT.”
    “B...T? Eh?”
    “It’s an