As he passes a stack of crates he sees in the space behind it a rippling shimmer of a vertical plane.  It appears to be bounded by the outer edges of a large crate made of palette wood, standing on its side about five feet high.

It is one of Sigil's portal doors, perhaps whimsically opened by the Lady in a pile of trash.

Nope.

No adventures till he's met the tobacconist. Through the courtyard. Into the passage at the far end.

As he steps into the narrow passage at the end of the courtyard, he hears a voice behind him. 

“Hey mister.”

No good conversation ever starts in an alleyway. He keeps stepping quickly but will glance over his shoulder to size up the threat.

It’s a short man with a wiry frame.  

It seems he was sitting stationary behind one of the crates, for he is only just rising.  His hair is nappy and orange in a way that suggests artificial coloring.

The alley into which The Nameless One has entered is just barely large enough for two men to pass side by side.  Before he can flee much farther, a second figure emerges to block his path, stepping out of the shadow of a doorway stoop. 

This man is much larger, as tall as The Nameless One, but looking to be maybe four stone heavier.  He’s holding some kind of a battle axe with a cutting arc on one side of its head and a nasty looking spike on the other.

“Easy friend.  Slow down and talk.”  The voice is slower with a touch that makes The Nameless One wonder if the man is simple.

He stops and orients himself sideways relative to the two assailants, back to the solid wall.

He draws the scalpel from the loincloth with his dominant hand. He's positioned maybe three or four paces into the alley from the courtyard. If there are more of the gang planning to join in this attack he doesn't want to get outflanked.

The first man speaks again, approaching slowly with both hands raised in a calming gesture.

“That’s what I’m saying. Keep it slow.  Keep it simple, mister.  You’re walking known ground.  This is a known situation.  It is solved, see?”

He makes his face perfectly neutral. He looks at the smaller man briefly, then returns his gaze to the large one.  

No weapon drawn by the small one… and he trusts his own reflexes to be able to avoid any swing from that weapon.

He’ll wait out the one who is talking. He doesn’t see any advantage in speak first.

“There, there now.  No brains spilled on the floor.  No blood.  No guts.  Those don’t do us any good.  Let’s do introductions.

"I’m Landers.  And this corner of The Hive is in our keeping.  What’s your name?”

Can superstition work here?  Or should it just be brutality.

Anyone who lives long in Sigil has seen at least one strange and powerful being. Queer is good in this city. It begets caution, and respect, so as long as it's not transparently being queer for queerness’ sake.

He'll try a gambit,  and slay them all if it fails.

“This body has no name.”

“Nah?  That’s a shame.  Even a gutter rat’s got a name.  

"Well, Mister No Name. Where is it that you want to go today?”

The smaller man shakes his head in annoyance.

“See, here’s the thing.  We could kill you.  We do kill.  With some degree of frequency.”

He shoots a glance at his compatriot.

“But we don’t want to.  It’s not our most favorite way for this to go.  See, our most favorite way is that you leave here happy.  You leave here happy and we leave here richer.  And next time you come through, we make it even quicker.  Once we come to terms, it’ll be a breeze.  A regular thing.  Like dropping a few coins on the bar top for a cup of daffy in the morning,”

“This body has no coins. They do not serve.”

His face darkens.  He draws a long dagger.  “That won’t do at all, see.  You’re going to have do a lot-”

A feminine voice rings out, much louder than they have been speaking and accented with some kind of foreign patois.  “Would you look at the size of that prick?” she says, and then whistles.

A tiefling woman in bright red leathers steps into view from the courtyard, brushes past the smaller man and steps directly up to The Nameless One.

Her movements are easy and sauntering.  A tail a yard in length and resembling that of a giant rodent twists and curls behind her.  She has visible tattoos on the neck and forearms, and her outfit has clearly been chosen to accentuate a good figure.

Evidently the leader of this trio.

And there may be more of the gang on the perimeter to catch him if he slips round the larger man.

He prepares himself. Her forearms look small enough that he could probably snap one quickly. The sequence should be woman, then small man, then large man.

She paces back and forth in front of The Nameless One, scrutinizing him.  

“Bet he’s got a strong back.”

Then she smiles, and standing up on tip toes beside him, speaks into his ear.  “Here’s how it is, love. When we’re born, we’re very small and stupid.”

Reading some pre-movement intent in The Nameless One she quickly steps back, perfectly calculating the edge of his reach, and staying just beyond the boundary. She holds her arms akimbo at their sides.

“Then, we grow up.  Most of us get bigger.

“Some of us - also get smarter.“ 

Midway through the last sentence her hand makes an almost imperceptible movement and launches a small spike or dart, resembling a pen knife, into the Nameless One’s abdomen. 

It pierces the skin and remains embedded, quivering.

“And some of us don’t.  So I’ll explain it to you.  You walk out of here without paying, it isn’t about you.  In your eyes, me making an exception for you makes it easier.  But it costs me.  There aren't any exceptions. Someone sees you walk out of here unharmed and without paying… That’s a huge problem. That costs me dearly, as sure as you took from my own pocket.  It costs me in any number of bloods I have to paste into the paving stones just to maintain the reputation of a respectable lady of business in these parts.”

She sighs.

“Now you’ve got about five minutes before the little nip I gave you knocks you flat on your ass for a good long while.  So we'll get paid one way or another. You’d best have squared with me and gotten yourself to safe kip by then, or else there’s really no telling what manner of indignities might be visited upon your person.”

She smiles cheerfully at him.

His face has remained relaxed and vacant throughout this entire encounter, not reacting even to the dart. The “errant outsider” persona was a total miss as far as avoiding the fight, but it still might make them more cautious about rushing him.  

He slowly shifts the scalpel into his off hand, and then pulls the spike out from where it protrudes from his abdomen with his right.  He cocks his head to the side like a bird, making as if to examine it. Then, without looking up, he launches the dart with a flick of his wrist at the small man.

He reaches out and seizes the woman by the wrist.  

“No.” he says.  

She leaps backwards, avoiding the grab, and lands in a crouch, already beginning to draw a weapon from a sheath in the thigh of her leathers.

The large man takes one step forward and swings the spike end of his axe in a great horizontal arc, aiming somewhere between the Nameless One’s throat and sternum.

He ducks under the incoming blow and allows it to strike the alley wall behind him. He rises and drives his palm upwards, striking the large man hard at the elbow with a blow driven by the full strength in his legs. It makes a satisfying crunch.  

He makes a backhanded sweep of his scalpel, drawing it up and across the large man’s throat with his left hand. The short blade might not be deep enough to sever the major bloodway, but it will at least buy him time.