(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

sour grimace, and he glared at me for interrupting his work. Crumplepunch
seemed a little slow, but earnest - not as poisonous as the others in this
town. He reminded me of an ox. "Aye? What d'yeh want?"
"Are you Crumplepunch?"
He nodded, his thick brows furrowing. "Crumplepunch Malako, the town's
smith. Yeh want somethin'?"
"I've come from your brother about a question of debts between you two..."
"Oh, yeh have, have yeh? Is my business with my book-learned brother the
whole town's gossip, then? Is my younger brother spreadin' stories against
me? Am I t' be slandered jest 'cause I ain't educated? The planes be against
me!" Each word became more heated until he was shaking his fist at the sky.
"I'm actually interested in clearing the matter up."
He looked at me shrewdly. "Here's the story, then: Our father was a barmy
ol' basher, but a wealthy one. He left us his smithy and his distillery when he
died... but now my brother's tryin' t' cut me out of the distillery, which
always made more coin, and I'm tryin' to get it back. I got a legacy to prove
it, but I ain't so smart with this stuff and I don't trust anyone in this town
t'help me. Yeh help me, I'll give yeh some jink, and I'll live by yer decision."
"All right. I'll need your legacy to look it over."
"Well... all right. I guess yeh got t' study it up and make sure it's on the
up'n'up." He passed me a crumpled wad of paper.
The wadded-up piece of old vellum I unfolded was heavily creased and
covered with soot, pored over much by someone with very dirty hands. No
amount of squinting could make it clear, but from what little I could
decipher Malako Senior didn't exactly have the brightest torch lit. While the
distillery was to be split between the two brothers, there were no details for
the actual division.
Two weasel-eyed guards flanked the entrance to the distillery. Excessive for
a distillery in a hive of rats, not enough for a business in a town of thieves.
There was only one purpose for those two, and that was to provide twice as
much muscle than Crumplepunch had. Kester kept a tight grip on his
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