Jack Daw Part One

The legend of Jack Daw started on a blustery grey morning in the transition from fall to winter, in a cottage on the edge of the woods. The trees still tried to hold the fading remnants of their colorful crowns to the sky, but their skeletal limbs brought to mind dripping bits of rotted flesh instead, and the crows made a gruesome spectacle as they flew amongst the standing corpses.
The only sound to be heard in the chilly air was the crunch and swish of a shovel. The ground was frozen hard on top, but the man working had broken through with a pick and was down to his chest now, no longer cold from the work. Runnels of grey dirt trailed from his red-rimmed eyes, and he shook occasionally with more than cold. Next to the hole lay two sheet-covered bodies, blood stains visible at the throat of the taller one. The shorter body was small and thin, surely no more than a child.
The shovels of dirt hit the ground next to the cottage with clockwork precision, and the man in the hole couldn’t help but remember…

**“I’m Jack Daw. I’m looking for a second-story man.”
The man speaking was dressed much like the other patrons of Sam’s Seaside Bar, which is to say ‘all in black’. He wore the same anonymous black domino, as well, and his hair, assuming he had any, was concealed by a bandana, a muffler, and a black floppy hat. The only thing that marked him was a large ferocious beard and the edge of a scar peeking from under the domino.
The one he spoke to was dressed similarly, but rough shaven and scar free, at least to outwards appearances. He carried a natty-looking cane of polished mahogany that almost certainly concealed a blade, and his domino had a certain mark at the edge, just to the side of the right ear.
“Might be I know someone. What’s the pay?” The man with the cane kept his voice low, despite the hidden nature of Sam’s Seaside, requiring two tunnels and a search to get in. The clients of Madame Brevity’s Brothel, through the thin floor above, sometimes had sharp ears, after all.
“The pay’s 3 large in advance, 2 after, with a 10 percent bonus of the take if the job’s quiet. It should add to maybe 800 all told if it goes well.” The bearded man raised a finger in warning. “But no amateurs, you hear? I understand you have at least one good topper around, and I need talent for this job.”
The cane twitched slightly at the total, but the man who held it stayed impassive. “I know a guy,” he said cautiously, “but he’ll ask for more than that, even with the bonus. He’ll want maybe 5 up front, 5 after, plus the bonus.”
The bearded man scowled under the domino. “13 large? I can get 20 scags and roust the house for that.” He scratched at his chin under the beard and spat at a tin on the floor, hitting the edge.
“You can’t get this quality for less, though. The guy I got is good, and worth it.”
The bearded man grunted a laugh. “How do you prove it before he drops a dagger into my foot while he’s up?”
“You hear about the Danziger job?” The man with the cane studied the other man’s face and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “I thought you might have. That’s the guy.”
“Him, eh?” The bearded man seemed to be trying not to appear impressed, but having a tough time of it. “Alright. 5 up front, 5 behind, and the bonus. I’ll drop the front at Brevity’s in an hour. The job’s two nights from now, but I want a go-over tomorrow to set the plan.”
The man with the cane nodded, pleased. “I’ll have him meet you at…?”
The bearded man thought for a minute. “The old Borgman place in the woods. It’ll be secluded enough that we can talk without interruption.”
With a flourish of the cane, the marked man got up and nodded, then left towards a side room. The man with the beard finished his drink and then went to begin the crawl back outside, unremarked by the other customers. **