“YORIIIIIIIIIIIIC! WAKE UP! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TURN INTO A LAZY SACK OF SHITE WHILE YOU LIVE UNDER MY ROOF!”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“ABRAHAM! IF YOU ARE GOING TO DROOL ON MY FLOOR, YOU ARE GOING TO CLEAN IT UP!”
I would like to continue sleeping. Stop yelling.
“YOU LOT HAVE TWO FAT SACKS OF LOCKSLEY JEWELS UNDER THE KITCHEN BOARD! I WILL NOT HOLD THEM IN MY HOUSE!”
Yoric sat up fast enough to make his head turn. He tried to stand up but misstepped, his right foot landing nicely on the wooden floor whilst his left bumped into his desk. The hangover pangs caught up with him in that moment and he fell toward the ground. Sticking his right arm out, he nearly caught himself before remembering that this was the one that had been torn into and poisoned by the harpy.
Too late.
Trying to pull his arm away was futile, and the half-assed measure ended with a fall to the floor and a fair amount of weight on his arm. A newly familiar pain exploded across his forearm. His own angry grunts filled the room and drowned out the yelling of his mother.
Oh, right. Jewels.
“Ma!” He winced, his own voice sounding much louder than usual. Going to Dainty’s with Abe and Raina had not been a great choice. A fun one then, though not so much now.
“Do not ‘Ma’ me, Yoric! It is nearly noon!” Her words were slightly muffled by the door. She was calling from the kitchen. Nonetheless, he heard her loud and clear as day.
“Ma! Don’t touch the bag! Wait!” Too loud again. He sat himself up again, his left arm going to his head once he was properly oriented. The right arm still screamed of pain and drunken neglect, but that was not as important as his next question.
“Raina isn’t here, is she?”
“Of course not! She brought you here and dropped you both off like a good lass! Too good for any of you!”
“Did she say anything about the bag?”
“Come talk to me in the kitchen! Stop yelling, child!”
Rich.
Standing up, Yoric took a good look around the room. His desk was neat and proper, book stand well organized, and the bed was a mess. His bloody, snotty tunic as well as the trousers he had been wearing were strewn across his blue velvet reading chair. To the side were his knives, Sosin blade, and hammer. A token from a prior heist. His clothing had been replaced with articles of clean gray linen. Who did that for me? Embarrassment welled up in his heart for a moment. It had either been Raina or his mother. His coworker or the woman who stopped dressing him when he was seven. Shake it off. Just apologize later.
The window was covered. His black curtain prevented any light from even sneaking into the room. Thank the Mother. He was in enough pain. There was no need to exacerbate it of his own volition.
Opening his door with his good hand, Yoric Youngclaw walked down the hallway and toward the kitchen. Like all homes in Theralyn, theirs was made of Arcane wood. Despite the fall chill, very little cold actually made its way into his mother’s home. Yoric tapped the wall with his left hand as he made his way to his mother. He did this carefully in order to avoid touching the mounted paintings on them. Paintings of winter roses, sleuths of bears, and singular owls were placed on the black wood.
Yoric passed his favorite. The artist had been local and the painting commissioned by Abe for mama’s thirty-seventh birthday. He could remember the time of the painting like it was yesterday. His patience had been greater than he had previously figured. Himself, Abe, mama, and Arlox had all stood together while the artist created a family portrait. Abe’s original idea had only been for Yoric and mama to be in the painting, but mama had thoroughly insisted that both Abe and Arlox were family too.
The portrait had all four of them. Abe and Yoric stood on either side of his mother, her arms around both of their shoulders. Arlox, big as he was, was perched on the ground to Yoric’s left. He went up to Yoric’s belly, a sort of smile planted on the black owl’s beak. Abe towered over mama by a whole head. Both his size and calm demeanor had been well represented. Unlike Arlox, Abe had a sort of half smile planted on his lips. Yoric and mama were about the same height. The artist had caught this too. They looked rather similar. His mother’s hair was long and curly where Yoric’s was straight when long. It was currently cropped short. Their ice blue eyes and pale complexion matched. He was his mother’s child. This painting always reminded him of that.
“Must I come to you, my child?” Yoric flinched. Even when her voice was toned down, his mother was quite loud. The hangover made it worse.
“Sorry, mama. Got distracted.” She smiled as her eyes went toward the painting. She looked the same as she had on that day. She was thirty-eight now. Hardly a year had passed since then. She was wearing her customary gray dress as she had when they were painted. She had an apron on now, but she still looked every bit the ruler of this household.
“Is your arm okay, my boy?”
“It will be. Raina loaded it up with a mint salve when we got back.”
“So she said. She also left a bit for you when she dropped you off last night.”
“She’s too good to us.”
“Too good to you. I’m hardly a burden on her.”
“You brought me into the world. This is all partly on you.”
“I’ll remember to apologize to her later. Come. I’ve made eggs and bread.”
“I-“
“You can meet the fence when your emptied belly has something in it.” She walked off and he followed. Audrienne Ursahn had not only been born to tell others what to do, but to also make sure that they did as told.
- - - -
“Audrey was in a mood, huh?”
“She’s just mad about my arm.”
“Aye.”
“And the drinking.”
“Aye.”
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“And Raina being too good for us.”
“Aye.”
“And the jewels.”
“’Specially the jewels.”
Abe and Yoric walked side-by-side, brown leather bags in their hands, down the Street of Aulan. Aulan had been the younger brother of the first Lord Heret and a huge proprietor of local business. Much of Theralyn’s self sufficiency could be related to policies he had helped set nearly two hundred years prior. As a result, the main street which ran through the commercial district of the Arc-Wood City had been named after him.
“Could you imagine living without the Arc-Wood?” Abe asked.
“Huh?”
“The Sad Ward doesn’t have any Arc-Wood buildings. You and I just go back to your mom’s place. The folks there can’t do that.”
“Feeling sorry? Not sure our friends at Andre’s want your sympathy.”
“I’m sure they’d prefer change.”
“Well, can’t really give em that, Abe. We can pay for their tabs after Morrison gets us our coin.”
“Aye.”
Among the sound of clanging hammers and smells of strawberry pies, the two young boys found a building not unlike most others in Theralyn. Vertical logs of wood indicated that this was a shop. One such log had been painted red, white, and blue in a pattern which swirled upwards. Morrison did cut hair. Many citizens of this fair town went to him with their barbering needs. Both Yoric and Abe enjoyed his primary services. They also happened to employ his fencing services. Not everyone in town utilized him in this way. Every criminal, on the other hand, did.
Abe knocked on the door. Morrison was rather quick to receive them. He was older. Much older. He had easily seen sixty or so winters. He was thin and of an unassuming height, the tip of his head hardly reaching Abe’s belly. A small hunch in his back accentuated the scale of his stature. His head was free of hair, the bald skin freely reflecting light back toward anyone who dared stare. Dark bags sat permanently under his brown eyes. Upon his cheek was a scar of which he spoke naught. Abe had once asked and Morrison had promptly entailed that his secondary services would be quickly revoked should they pry further. Both boys made a point not to look.
Morrison wore blue trousers and a white buttoned shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing arms with aged veins and liver spots aplenty. Despite his age, he was the most highly esteemed barber in Theralyn. His fencing was also as fair as one could expect.
The shop was like any other Yoric had seen in his travels. The Arc-Wood floor was layered with plain rugs of green and blue. Those had been red and gray the last time they stopped by. Morrison seemed fond of changing up his aesthetic. One wall was lined with a large mirror which sat across from chairs where one sat whilst Morrison worked his magic. There were four black leather chairs despite the fact that Morrison was the only person who ever cut hair in the shop. Rumor spoke of children long gone, though naught was said of gender or circumstances. Another scar to ignore.
“Which service today, Youngclaw? Abe?”One might assume off of appearances that Morrison’s voice would be raspy, weak, difficult to hear if not for strained ears. This was not the case. A burly, no-nonsense tone is what the young men heard.
“Undercut, Morrison,” Yoric replied. A popular haircut in the southern provinces. Not so much in the Massif, not that many folks paid attention to the different hairstyles of choice across the kingdom.
Morrison gestured toward two of the leather chairs. Both Yoric and Abe sat down as the Fence flipped the sign on his wooden door, closed it, and locked its wooden bar in place. The old man pulled out his wand, muttered “Dolya,” and a bright set of blue sparks sprang forth from its wooden tip. These pale beads spread around the room until there was one on each wall, the floor, and the ceiling. The contents of the spell, now being absorbed by the Arc-Wood like water on sand, would ensure that no words could make their way past these walls. One generally had to endure a very unpleasant experience in order to be able to cast this spell. The same as any other spell, one had to experience the sensation in order to learn the cast. Yoric had been impressed when he had first seen Morrison cast the spell. Blue Hues were far along the Spectrum. Red was the lowest level of the Ether Hues, where as Violet was the highest. Blue was only one away from the Violet and required a mage to be thoroughly well versed in their craft.
Thanks to this spell, neither prying eyes nor ears would catch wind of their business today.
Mages didn’t need their incantations or their phrases, though they did help. They acted like a sort of muscle memory. When one spoke the incantation, they mentally prepared themselves to pull on the powers required to produce the needed Hue of Ether.
The Fence waved his wand. An Arc-Wood table appeared in the living room doorway, its legs a slight distance above the ground. The table quickly yet gently floated over to the boys. It descended toward the ground with a similar grace. No noise was made as the four wooden legs made contact. Nothing was on the table. It was simply meant to be the space where they examined the jewels.
Sheathing his wand, Morrison made his way to the boys. His hunch was now gone, his straight back a display of confident businessman rather than that of a man in the twilight of his years. His steps echoed off the wood, the Thump Thump serving as the only break from the silence. This was how the Fence worked. Morrison the Barber was kind, jovial; an extrovert on all fronts. This was a mask he wore. Yoric could only understand. Their true selves were the reason they were here today. A barber and some huntsmen. A fence and two thieves.
They handed their large leather bags over, gems clanging over one another with the simplest of movements. Both bags of jewels fit on the table top. All three of them were treated them with care. It would not do to scuff their winnings after going through such a hard time to obtain them.
“You’ve a knife on you, I assume?” the Fence asked. Both of the thieves did. Yoric’s saw more use. He looked to his friend with a nod. Abe stood up, unsheathed the dagger he wore on his hip, and handed it to Morrison. The old man took a moment to feel out the balance before slashing across both bags. Both incisions were well made. The bags themselves spread open. Both bags had been full of both precious stones and jewelry. Amulets, anklets, rings, earrings, and headdresses were plentiful in number. One bag featured diamond stones and jewelry, sapphires the other. Blues and clear lights reflected in all directions.
“Disenchanted?” Many noblemen and ladies would have their gems tracked with the Arcane in order to prevent thieves from making off with their purchases.
Abe spoke up. “The Lady Locksley did not think an enchantment necessary.”
The Fence raised an eyebrow. “I reckon she will next time.” Both thieves nodded in agreement. As much trouble as these jewels had been, the Lady’s stupidity had been a pleasant surprise. Disenchanting took a good deal of time. They would have needed to leave some of the gems behind as bait, thus throwing Trackers off of their trail. Trackers were generally very well trained in all forms of combat.
As were huntsmen.
Neither Abe nor Yoric had ever desired to see who might be better trained. Enjoying their hard-earned, stolen rewards was much preferable.
“Well, lads. Pretty good haul.” The Fence handed Abe’s knife back. “The gemstones make this even easier to move. The custom jewelry will be a tad trickier, but the stones offset that.”
“How generous you feeling today, Morrison?” Abe asked.
“Ten gold.”
Abe’s knife dropped to the floor. Both of their jaws would have followed had they not been attached to their cheeks.
“Y-y-y-you’re kidding.” Abe could hardly get the words out.
Ten gold? Ten gold!?
That’s astounding!
“Eastern jewels are expensive right now. The Frontier is in disarray following the death of the Gray Beard. Upstarts and Aegimari have been fighting over his lands, and Aegimari involvement in the Frontier tends to destabilize the East in unpredictable manners.”
“The Gray Beard is dead? You’re forging kidding!” Yoric couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Gray Beard was one of the Three Chieftains of the Frontier; an elite group of Pathfinders who were deemed too dangerous for the Aegimari military to trifle with. They led crews of criminals and held influence over vast bodies of both land and water within the Frontier. He was widely considered the strongest being in the world; a man with unmatched Kova. “What happened?” Yoric had to know.
“Too many rumors. I’m sure Aegimar will release their version of the facts soon enough. Lets hurry up and divy your reward.”
Right! The gold! Ten gold!
“Now, no place around here will break your gold. Nickys will do you good, but I don’t have ten-thousand Nickys for you.”
Yoric perked up. “You have ninety-five Silvers?”
“And five-hundred Nickys? Aye. I can do that.”
“We take the Nickys now, and you have the Silvers split between our safes? Abe can have the extra silver.”
“Aye. Works for me.” He looked to Abe. He had been silent on the matter thus far. “Good for you, lad?”
“Good for me.”
“Alright. I’ll go get some bags from the basement. Two-hundred and fifty Nickys for the each of you.”
And so he did. After disappearing into the basement, the Fence walked back into the room with two plump bags of coins. This would keep them both fed for a great deal of time. Forty-seven silvers would mean that his mother would not have to work for a much longer time than that. Near were the days where she could relax. Near were the days where she could enjoy her life as she deserved; the life his birth had stolen from her.