Millersday Middleweek, Fieldfire, 147/32

Seems I overestimated my old friend's gratitude. Turns out Edley Gotch doesn't think he owes me a favour after all. In fact, he's actually pretty mad at me. Apparently the information I gave him last time we met - information given freely and out of the goodness of my heart, I might add - wasn't quite as accurate as I'd thought. I'd neglected to inform him about the armed guards swarming all over the warehouse he wanted to rob. Not my fault; I told him everything I knew. Can't help it if he wants to base his shabby little criminal empire on semi-reliable hearsay, can I?

Anyway, he wasn't best pleased about having to replace two of his men and one of his ears (the latter with a pretty fetching tin substitute). I suspect if the Doc hadn't been with me, I'd be missing a few exterior organs myself right now. But people don't like to mess with Malvery. Something in his manner, I suppose. You just can't be sure about a man who laughs that loud and that often. He sort of makes you feel like he knows something you don't.

A swift bit of smoothing-over later, and we had ourselves a deal, though not as favourable as I'd like, given the circumstances. He has four canisters for me - and believe me I'm gonna test them this time - but first he needs some help with a little problem he's got. Edley Gotch has some competition in town, and he's looking to drive the new gang out. Needs a few extra guns. That's where we come in.

Between you and me, Log, I don't like gunfights. They carry a high risk of making me dead. So I told him half up front, and he laughed, and then Malvery laughed and Gotch went a bit pale and offered one up front and three after. We shook on that.

The crew were suitably unenthusiastic, except for Pinn, who's too dumb to be scared of getting shot. The situation's not ideal, I'll admit, but we need the aerium or we're not flying anywhere. And I'm damned if I'll rot in Craven's Nook too much longer. This place stinks in the heat. I want to get up north where the temperature is suitable for humans.

The crew like to bitch, but they'll warm to the plan once they're drunk. I know I will.