“I don’t know, John. Maybe I just don’t understand women.”

Gell took a long draught from his tankard and prepared to settle into a nice drunken mope. John, the bartender, gave him that typical bartender look that somehow manages to appear interested even while communicating that he’s seen it all before.

“Girl troubles, Gell? Ah, don’t let it get to ya. You win some, you lose some.”

Gell paid him no heed. “Just when it looks like everything’s coming along nice and you finally got some kinda understanding, boom, she comes at you with the knife soon’s she thinks you won’t notice.”

“Stabbed you in the back, huh?”

“Base of the neck. Tried, anyhow. Poisoned, too, from the smell of it — that’s what gave her away. Tricky little harlot.”

“Real sharp tongue? Nasty temper? Redhead, I take it?”

“Oh yeah. Red as the devil’s underpants, and burns twice as hot.”

“You’re having a hard time getting over her, then. Can’t seem to move on with your life.”

“She won’t let me move on, John. No matter what I do, where I go, she’s there. Hell, this whole thing started when I tried to get some shut-eye, and no sooner does my head hit the pillow than there she is hovering over me.”

“Sounds pretty bad.”

“Bad? Damnable’s more like it. Sure, she thought she put one over on ol’ Gell, but I caught her this time, and all she got for her troubles was a big wallop upside her head. But there’s gonna be a next time.”

“You think so? Maybe you should make sure there isn’t.”

“What, you want I should kill her? That ain’t my style. ‘Sides, I reckon I’ve already done enough pruning of that family tree.”

“… Kill her? Gell, I wasn’t –”

“I mean, maybe I should. Lord knows she’d do me in a second I gave her the chance. This time she even tried that fancy slayer-knife brouhaha they taught her in temple.”

“Temple?”

“You know, where the Cult takes ’em to learn the Arts. Legerdemain, they call it — the Thieving Arts. ‘Slike magic, almost, I guess. Anyhow, she comes at me with the slayer-knife, knowin’ she can’t take me in a straight-up fight, but I guess she feels like she needs to put on a show, you know? Save some face before she turns tail. And I ain’t lookin’ to have more of her blood on my hands, so I just box her around a bit until she gets tired-like. But you know what? I think that just pissed her off somethin’ fierce. Almost think she’d like it better if I just killed her.”

“Uh, Gell, this isn’t really my area of –”

“So she gets tired and jumps up into the window, right? And you know what she says to me before she skedaddles? ‘This isn’t over, Gell. This won’t ever be over. Not until I win. And I will win.’ And then — poof! — gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. And the hell of it is — ” at this point, Gell paused in his ranting to defeat the rest of his ale in one long gulp — “the hell of it is, she’s right. She will win. All I’m doin’ is treading water ’til it happens.”

“So, wait,” the bartender, composing himself, finally uttered, “this girl you’re talking about — she’s actually trying to kill you? For real? You’re not just exaggerating about an ex-lover, now?”

“Lover? Maybe once or twice, when it wouldn’t interfere with business. But business is what it is, and a mighty ruthless one at that.”

“I’m a little lost here, Gell. Maybe some background would be nice. Fill me in on how you met this girl.”

“You sure? It’s a long story. Alright, here goes: see, in the beginning, there was the Word…”