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of being this close to a demon。
Turning around； he found himself facing absolute darkness。
What the ？ He whirled around； but there was only darkness behind him as well。 Theramore had pletely
disappeared。
I do not like spies。
Strov didn t so much hear the voice as feel it in his very bones。 It was as if someone had sewn his eyes shut； only
his eyes were open； but he couldn t see anything。
No； it wasn t just sight that had gone quiet。 The darkness extended to his other senses。 He could no longer hear the
bustle of Theramore； nor taste the salty air； nor feel the breeze wafting in off the Great Sea。
And the only thing he smelled now was sulfur。
Why do you spy on my minion？
Strov said nothing。 He wasn t sure he was capable of speech； and even if he was； he would never give up
information to a creature such as this。
I do not have time to play these games。 It seems you must simply die。
The darkness caved in on Strov。 His body grew cold； the blood freezing in his veins； his mind screaming in sudden；
terrifying agony。
The last thought Strov had was hope that Manuel wouldn t blow Strov s entire pension on boar s grog…。
Eleven
M uzzlecrank used to like being a goblin bruiser。 Truly； it had been easy work when he first signed up。 Bruisers
enforced the peace in Ratchet； and the pay was good。 Muzzlecrank s shifts were spent wandering up and down his
section of the pier at Ratchet； beating up the occasional drunk or vagabond； taking bribes from shipmasters moving
contraband； arresting the ones who were too stupid or too cheap to pay bribes； and generally getting to meet all
manner of people。
Muzzlecrank had always thought of himself as a people person。 Ratchet was a neutral port goblins as a rule did
not take sides in the numerous conflicts that ravaged the land and as a result； pretty much every type of creature
you were like to find in the world came through at some point or other。 Elves； dwarves； humans； orcs； trolls； ogres；
even the occasional gnome it was the crossroads of Kalimdor。 Muzzlecrank always liked seeing the different
interactions； whether it was dwarves shipping construction materials to elves； elves shipping jewelry to humans；
orcs shipping crops to elves； humans shipping fish to ogres； or trolls shipping weapons to pretty much anyone。
Lately； though； things had gotten somewhat less pleasant。 Especially between the humans and the orcs which was
problematic insofar as the most mon patrons of Ratchet were those two races。 Ratchet was right at Durotar s
southernmost border； and was the nearest port to Theramore as well。
Just last week； he had had to break up a fight between an orc sailor and a human merchant。 The former had
apparently stepped on the latter s toe and the human took umbrage。 Muzzlecrank had been forced to break them up
before the orc beat the human into a pulp； which hadn t been any fun at all。 Muzzlecrank preferred to get into fights
with vagabonds and drunks because they were kind enough not to fight back。 Fightingmad orcs were another kettle
of grease entirely； and Muzzlecrank preferred to stay as far away from them as possible。
Fights like that usually meant that he had to draw his gun； and every time he did that he ran the risk of someone
figuring out that he was really bad at using the stupid thing。 Oh sure； he could fire it easily enough any idiot could
do that； just point and pull the trigger； and a pressed air burst sent a out to snare whatever you were
shooting at but his aim was lousy； and the always missed the target and usually made a big mess。 Luckily； the
site of a bruiser pointing a gun with a giant muzzle at you was enough to stop most fights or at least slow them
down long enough for reinforcements to arrive。
Since then； no more actual fights had broken out； but there were a lot more terse words and heated exchanges
happening。 It had gotten to the point where many of the merchant ships were now ing into Ratchet with armed
escorts the orc vessels with warriors from rimmar； the human ships with soldiers from Northwatch。
Muzzlecrank s beat was the northernmost section of the pier； a section that had twenty berths。 As Muzzlecrank
wandered down the woodenplanked pier； he saw that fifteen of the twenty docks were filled； but things were
mostly quiet。 This was a huge relief。 The sun shone down on his face； warming him in his mail armor。 Perhaps
today would be a good day。
After a few minutes； the sun went away。 Muzzlecrank glanced up to see that several clouds had rolled in； and it
looked likely to rain soon。 Muzzlecrank sighed he hated rain。
As he neared the end of the dock； he saw a human and an orc having an animated conversation。 Muzzlecrank didn t
like the look of this。 Animated conversations between humans and orcs these days tended to end in violence。
He moved in closer。 The human s boat was docked right next to the orc s； in the two northernmost berths。
Muzzlecrank recognized the orc as Captain Klatt of the Raknor； a merchant who served as the dealer of crops from
the farmers in the Razor Hill region。 Though he could not remember the human s name； Muzzlecrank knew his ship
was a fishing trawler called the Passion s Reward for some odd reason。 Muzzlecrank had never understood human
naming conventions。 Klatt had named the Raknor after his brother； who died fighting the Burning Legion； but he
hadn t the first clue what the name Passion s Reward had to do with anything； least of all fishing。
The exchange was a mon one。 Farming was difficult in the Dustwallow Marshes where humans had settled on
Kalimdor； but there was plenty of fishing。 Razor Hill； meanwhile； was too far inland for fishing to be practical so
humans often traded their surplus catches for the orcs surplus crops。
I will not trade you my finest salmon for this refuse！
Muzzlecrank sighed。 Obviously today trade was not going to go well。
Klatt stomped his foot。 Refuse？ You lyin little twerp these are our best crops！
A sad mentary on your farming； the human said dryly。 That fruit looks as though it was stepped on by an
ogre smells like it； too。
I ain t gonna stand here and be insulted by a human！
The human drew himself up to full height； which made him e up to the orc s shoulders。 You re not the one
being insulted here。 I ve brought you my finest catch； and you offer me the bottom of the barrel in exchange。
Your salmon ain t fit for mulch！
Too late； Muzzlecrank noticed that the human was armed with what looked like a longsword while Klatt was
weaponless。 Assuming the human was skilled in the blade s use； it negated whatever advantage Klatt s size gave
him in a fight。
And your fruit isn t fit for dogs！
Coward！
Muzzlecrank winced at Klatt s words。 Coward was the biggest insult any orc could deliver。
Filthy greenskin！ I ve half a mind to
Whatever the human had half a mind to do was lost as Klatt charged him。 The human was unable to unsheathe his
longsword in time； and the two of them rolled across the dock； Klatt pummeling the human。
Wondering how； precisely； he was supposed to break this up； he was relieved of immediate act