The Gleeman
Copyright© 2026 by KiwiGuy
Chapter 6
Night lay thick across the Pitch, pooling in hollows and clinging to the rough edges of scrub and broken ground. A loose knot of street kids had gathered in one of the darker clearings, their voices low but restless, circling the same subject like dogs worrying a bone.
Deathrow spat into the dirt. “I’m telling you, this Gleeman’s just playing us. Like he said the other night—we’ve got nothing he wants.”
Blaze shook his head slowly, his eyes glinting. “Don’t you believe it. His fancy talk’s meant to tie your brains in knots. But underneath all that—we’ve got something he needs.”
Wolf frowned. “Like what?”
“Money,” Blaze said flatly. “Strip away all the rubbish people talk, and it always comes down to money. Power too. But money is power, so it’s the same thing in the end.”
Turner kicked at a stone. “Why should we give him anything?”
Blaze’s mouth curved. “Because if this ‘high’ he’s peddling is half what they say, I want a taste.”
Wolf snorted. “If it’s that good, why not just roll him and take it?”
Deathrow shook his head. “Tried that. He laid Blaze and me out like we were nothing—and he didn’t even have a knife.”
Blaze rounded on him instantly. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll have your tongue for a key ring.”
The threat wasn’t idle. He stepped forward, grabbed Deathrow by the shirt front and yanked him close, the knife flashing into his hand and pressing lightly—but unmistakably—against his stomach.
“He caught us off guard once,” Blaze went on, voice low and dangerous. “It won’t happen again. But he’s not stupid enough to carry anything on him. We find his source, we cut him out.”
Turner shifted uneasily. “So—money. What else?”
“Information,” Blaze said. “That’s power too. That bloke up north pointed me to a few useful contacts. I’ve got letters out. Just waiting.”
Deathrow couldn’t help himself. “Since when did you learn to write? King of the spray can, stooping to a ballpoint—”
The blow came fast and hard. Blaze didn’t even change expression as he struck him across the face with the back of his knife hand. Deathrow staggered, reeled sideways—and collided with someone just entering the clearing. Gislane.
She dropped to her knees beside him almost instinctively. “Oh dear,” she murmured, already examining the cut. Blood smeared her fingers as he touched his face. The others started, their attention snapping toward her.
Blaze’s voice cut through. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Gislane,” she said calmly, reaching into her small shoulder bag. “And it’s a good thing I know a bit of first aid.”
She worked with quiet efficiency—cleaning, binding, soothing—while the gang watched in wary silence.
Blaze gave a short, dismissive laugh. “If I’d wanted to hurt him, your bandages wouldn’t help.”
Wolf scratched his head. “What’s a Gislane? First a Gleeman, now a Gislane. Why can’t people speak proper English?”
“It’s my name,” she said simply.
Blaze stepped closer. “Why are you here? We don’t like strangers on our turf.”
“For the moment?” She didn’t look up. “I’m being a healer.”
Turner snorted. “Don’t waste your time. He’ll give the knife gangrene.”
Gislane finished her work and sat back slightly. “As for why I’m here ... I like wild places. And animals. I gather there aren’t many places left in this town where the two still meet.”
Blaze’s eyes narrowed. “Girls who go hunting in wild places shouldn’t be surprised when they get bitten.”
“Hunting’s not my scene,” she replied evenly. “I prefer to see creatures free. Not caged. Not used.”
Wolf gave a short laugh. “Sounds like us.”
“They hate us because we’re different,” Turner added. “They’ve tried to move us on. Can’t. We know this place too well.”
Blaze’s voice dropped again. “Wild animals are still wild. And they bite outsiders.”
“Protecting their territory,” Gislane said.
“Or feeding,” he countered.
She met his gaze without flinching. “I have no intention of encroaching. And I doubt I’d make much of a meal.”
Blaze smiled slowly—a different kind of hunger in it. “Depends what kind of meal I’m after. Too long since I dined on that.”
He stepped forward, knife visible now, his intent unmistakable. “Be co-operative, and I won’t need this.”
For the first time, the air tightened. Gislane did not pull away.
“Before we go too far down this road,” she said quietly, “have you considered it might be better to have me as a friend than an enemy?”
“We don’t have friends,” Blaze replied. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm and hauling her closer. “But I’ve got another category in mind.”
“Hold on,” Deathrow said, unsteady but on his feet again. “She hasn’t done us any harm. Maybe she’s got a point—”
Blaze didn’t even look at him. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
Gislane’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “It’s alright, Deathrow. I think Blaze and I can come to an understanding.”
“But you don’t know—”
Blaze spun, fury flashing. “I told you to shut your hole.”
This time there was no restraint. He laid into Deathrow with brutal efficiency, driving him backward, striking again and again until he collapsed. With a final shove, Blaze sent him sprawling into the shadows, where he lay motionless.
Gislane flinched—just once—her body instinctively turning toward him. But she stopped herself. She knew the cost of moving now.
Blaze turned back to her, breathing hard, a cruel satisfaction in his expression. “Apologies for the interruption,” he said. “Now—where were we?”
“You’re a person of action,” she said softly.
He smirked. “You noticed.”
“And someone who knows how to get the best out of a situation.”
“I’m glad you see that.” He reached for her again. “Let’s explore that understanding.”
She did not resist as he took her arm—but she shifted the momentum.
“Especially,” she continued, “when the better deal isn’t the obvious one. Sometimes it’s the opposite.”
That gave him pause. “Huh?”
“One of your strengths,” she said, holding his gaze, “is seeing what others miss. Am I right?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You don’t get distracted by small things,” she said. “You focus on what matters.”
“Which is?”
“Power,” she replied. “Real power. Not over a weakling like me. Power that lets you control people. Events.”
Blaze’s grip tightened slightly. “Taking what you’ve got doesn’t sound like a distraction.”
“Not if it’s the best option,” she said. “But what if it isn’t?”
He hesitated—just for a fraction.
“What I have to offer,” she went on, “may not be what you think at first glance.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You talk in as many riddles as the Gleeman.”
“No,” she said. “I have the answers to his riddles.”
Blaze’s tone shifted. “What do you know about the Gleeman?”
“A great deal,” she said. “Enough to know he’s dangerous—and needs to be stopped.”
Blaze gave a short, confident laugh. “Not so dangerous we can’t handle him. But if you’ve got information we can use...”
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, gently but deliberately lifting his hand from her arm, “in a slightly more congenial setting.”
He let her move his hand—only to pull her sharply closer again. “No,” he said. “I prefer to learn at close quarters.”
And at that moment the Gleeman stepped into the circle.
“Good evening, my friend,” he said smoothly to Blaze. “Exercising your rights as lord of the domain, I see.”
Blaze scowled. “You have a lousy sense of timing.”
“I’m not sure the lady would agree with you on that.” His gaze shifted to Gislane, and lingered. There was a flicker of recognition—or suspicion.
“And if I’m not mistaken,” he went on, “she is a lady. How did you become entangled with this riff-raff, m’ dear? I don’t recall seeing you around here before ... Have we met?”
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