the smuggler’s bible

Isbrand the Axe

Isbrand the Axe does most of his carousing at the tavern’s grubby back table, and—because one so often leads to the other—he takes his business meetings there too.

“Ground rules,” the woman says, pulling out a leather portfolio and running a finger down the list inside. “One, no purposeful mutilation or dental torture. Two, all killing blows are at the client’s discretion. Three—”

All killing blows?” Isbrand interrupts. “Meaning those which may lead to somebody’s death?”

“That’s exactly correct. He doesn’t want you getting carried away.”

“Huh,” Isbrand says. “I sort of think he’s missing the point.”