Speaker 1: The Scum Kings, a Broadsword Studio production created and written
by Mike Daltrey. Chapter twenty four, The Hammer and the Nail.
The town had turned from my castle into a cage.
I felt it every time I walked the walls. I
felt it in the way the people looked at me,
or rather didn't look at me. I felt it in
the incompetence of my army and the silence of the river.
I was a king, but I was pacing the cell
of my own making. I needed air, I needed blood,
I needed something. I walked to the stables, thinking I'd
take a horse and ride until the folly was a
speck behind me, maybe burn a farm, just to feel
the heat.
Speaker 2: I found Brinn there. She was saddling a mare, a
mean tempered roan that looked more interested in biting off
a finger than being ridden. She wasn't wearing her usual
scavenged armor. She was wearing a tunic of decent wool
and leggings that were clean. She looked travel ready, scouting,
I asked. Leaning against the stall door, he tightened the cinch,
not looking at me, no hunting in a way. He
adjusted the stirrup, then turned her green eyes were flat, unreadable.
Speaker 1: As always.
Speaker 2: I need a good fuck, Dre, she said, It's been
too long. I blinked. I laughed. It was the first
honest thing I'd heard in three days. We have twenty
men in the barracks, I said, and the town is
full of I'm not going to get on my knees
for someone I may have to kill the next day.
And I don't want a soldier. I want a farm
boy with strong shoulders who doesn't know who I am
and isn't interested in proving anything to me other than
how loud he can make me scream. She swung herself
into the saddle. She looked down at me, and for
a second I saw something that looked like pity, or
maybe just amusement. I'll be back in two days, she said.
Where are you going? Wherever there's a strong field hand
with bulge in his breeches. She shrugged, or maybe two.
She kicked the horse and it clattered out of the stable,
through the open doors and toward the gate. I watched
her go. I watched the guards open the gate for her.
I watched her ride out into the open country, into
the wind, into a world that wasn't Vance's folly. She
was free. She could leave. She could ride ten miles
for a romp in the hay and come back. I couldn't.
If I left, the fear would evaporate, the town would stop.
I'd hired, would eat the sheep rather than heard them.
I was the king, which meant I was the keystone.
If I moved, the arch collapsed. I spat into the
straw and walked back to the hall. That night, the
heat was suffocating. Sat in the Mayor's bath, soaking intepid water,
drinking the last of the wine from a bottle that
I'd found under the bed, staring at the ceiling. The
door opened. I reached for the dagger on the lip
of the pool, relaxed, Dray, It's just me. Delane walked in.
She was carrying a ledger, because she always carried a ledger,
but she set it down on a bench. Then she
undid the clasp of her robe. She had a nice body, lean,
but with curves that filled her hand. She wasn't looking
at me with desire. She looked at me the way
she looked at a column of numbers that needed balancing.
I've been counting expenses, she said, dropping the robe, she
sped into the water, naked and unashamed. Your dogs are
fools and will ask for more money soon. The food
supply is critical and we have zero income. She slid
over to me. The water lapped against her chest or
bleeding out dre she murmured, moving closer and not slowly either.
I didn't ask for a report. I grunted, though I
didn't push her away. I know, she said. She straddled me.
Her skin was cool, wet, her eyes were gray flint.
I need to stop thinking about numbers for an hour,
and you She ran a hand down my chest, her
nails scraping lightly over a scar. You look like you
need to hit something I usually do. I said, this
is better than hitting. She whispered, She kissed me. It
wasn't soft. It was hungry, sharp and demanding. It was
a transaction. Was taking what she needed release, distraction, sensation,
and I I was the tool she was using to
get it. We had done this before, but it was
usually me pulling her into an alley and pushing her
hands against the wall, or bending her over a fallen tree.
I needed it, and I guess she didn't mind, and
now she clearly needed it. It coupled in the water,
hard and fast against the stone edge. It was the
friction of two stones grinding together, trying to create a
spark in the dark. Afterward, the silence returned. Selaine climbed
out of the pool. She dried herself with a towel,
efficient as ever. She picked up her robe. She picked
up her ledger. I stayed in the water, feeling drained
but not rested. You're a terrible king, Dre, she said,
tying the sash of her robe. I looked at her, careful, Selaine,
I'm serious, she said, turning to face me. You treat
the town like it's a prisoner or a slave. You
treat the economy like it's a lute pile. You treat
people like obstacles. It worked at the abbey, I said.
The abbey was a robbery. She said, this is a government.
She walked to the door, then paused. She looked back
at me, floating in the cooling water, surrounded by stone walls.
You know, Dre, she said, a small, cold smile, touching
her lips. There's a saying that when you're a hammer,
every problem looks like a nail. I glared at her.
I know this saying. The funny thing is, she continued,
sometimes you really do need a hammer. Her eyes wandered
down my body to the part that was underwater, and
with a rare laugh, she walked out of the room,
leaving me to my tepid bath. You will w