Grabbing my bag and flying out the library door, today's plan scattered to the winds. Heading east at a good clip, getting faster and faster, almost running now, blood thrumming in my ears. Something coming from behind, getting in my way and forcing me to stop short. A grey wolf, some soon-to-be in mourning Ranger's pet, the coat darker on top and fading to white, with ears erect and amber eyes boring into mine. Recognition clicking. Vesper.
He'd seen and heard a lot. Nothing directly incriminating, but a lot more than necessary, a lot more than is properly healthy. The wolf issuing a low growl, his hackles raised.
Messy, much too messy. This double life, this skulking and feigning and pretending, is all getting tangled and convoluted, and so very messy. There needs to be a reconciliation, piece by piece. Discarding my impulse to solve this particular short term problem by creating a much larger one and relaxing my stance.
“Vesper, you've seen the real me a couple times now and you've kept it to yourself. Which I appreciate. If Nico knew about our earlier confrontation he wouldn't be able to keep it to himself - and I like that about him. It's the sort of dumb, forthright honesty that often succeeds in spite of its many shortcomings. The only thing I'm really good at is using people to get what I want – trying to get what I want – but doing that is how I ended up here.”
Falling silent, unsure of how to proceed, and letting my gaze wander. Vesper still watching closely, but his fur back down now that my brief flirtation with canicide had passed.
“So, for today, there's been a change of plans. We're still going out, but I need to do something, first. Something very important to me. It doesn't have anything to do with Nico or his,” unable to keep the mirth from my voice, “quest, so I'd really appreciate if you kept this between us, as well.” The wolf giving no indication whether he would, or not. “I'd bribe you if I knew how, but I don't know if food or walks or whatever else is going to be enough to bribe you in the long term. So tell me, what do you want?!”
The question sounding loud and shrill in my own ears, half request and half demand, and my throat smarting from yelling it out far too loudly. His ensuing response completely expected. None at all. Noticing a handful of people wearing House Solstice colors walking by on the other end of the square looking over in my direction, smiling and chuckling. Where did they come from? Suddenly feeling like an idiot for yelling at the dog as if he could properly reply, and Vesper, likewise, seeming dismayed at being forced to follow around such an emotionally unstable, murderous moron. The feeling almost palpable.
“Alright, you ugly mutt,” his obvious annoyance only spurring me on, “I'm not going to bother threatening you because we both know I'm not gonna follow through, but this is how it's gonna be. First, if you want something from me, let me know. Sometimes it's real easy to read you, and sometimes it isn't. You know what I think? I think that's on you. I know you can communicate better with me than you pretend.” Vesper displaying a jumble of emotion at that accusation: exasperation, frustration and annoyance. “Second, you're mine.” Surprise and disbelief. “I know you're Nico's pet, but as far as I'm concerned you're working for me. Third, you're forbidden from dying. I won't allow it.” Throwing my finger right between his dumbfounded eyes. “If things go bad I expect you to run. I won't condone last stands or anything stupid like that. That also means no sacrificing yourself for any reason. Not for Nico, not for me, and especially not for your duplicitous, overstuffed, longwinded father.” Refusal creeping back in, his teeth starting to show. “Especially not for him. You know why you're still alive? You know why I decided not to clean up your little loose end after you walked me and Nico into that deathtrap? Because you're weak, and you're dumb. You're basically a dumb kid, doing the kinds of things dumb kids do for their ungrateful, abusive parents.” The wolf closing his mouth and breaking eye contact. “I've never been the biggest on second chances, because most people don't deserve 'em - and believe me, I am speaking from personal experience when I say that.” Pausing for a moment, then softening my tone. “But an otherwise good, dumb kid, like you, who happened to follow some bad orders from a supposedly trusted source? I'm willing to give you a second chance. When it comes to something like that, I have in my heart the ability to forgive. So, with all that said, are you clear on my expectations?”
Vesper appearing resigned to his fate and signaling his agreement, or his defeat, by letting out what was either a great sigh, or a sneeze.
“Good. We're going to do my errand and then grab lunch before heading out. What do you feel like today, pork or goat?”
Amazing how a simple change in topic can have such an effect. The wolf throwing off his world weariness and clear dissatisfaction by excitedly tamping his front paws on the ground and dancing about with a renewed bounce in his step. Goat, it is, and then fish tonight. Heading in the direction of the town square. Entering the southern end of the square and a voice calling out from the right.
“Ms. Macarthy.” A runner, one of them, holding an envelope and heading toward me. “I have a delivery for you. I'm going to need your response.”
My name drawing all sorts of unwanted attention. Of course. Not as busy right now as it will be this afternoon, but by no means deserted.
“What do you think you're looking at?” Drawing my knife and pointing it at various gawkers, itching for a fight. “Nothing? That's what I thought. Keep walking.”
No takers. Shame. Some mutters but the people around me taking the hint and continuing on. Getting the envelope from the runner and using my knife to open it.
Lucy,
I've been looking forward to a visit from you but you haven't come by in several cycles. If possible please come by on day two, in the evening. Otherwise, try and come in on day five. I want to discus how things have been going, as well as some future arrangements.
Best regards,
Samuel Phelps, Esq.
Not dealing with your dumb ass today. Looking back at the runner, pausing for a moment to try and recollect myself.
“Please tell Mr. Phelps that I'll be by on day five.”
Reaching into my pocket but not finding enough silver. Giving the runner a gold piece instead.
“Thank you very much, Ms. Macarthy,” he says, before running off.
Making a small withdrawal at the nearby bank and getting hit with a property destruction charge for the chair in the library. Leaving the bank and heading east in a zigzag pattern, in the general direction of the Rat Cellar. Getting within a few blocks and looking for a specific alley. The marking on the side of the building long gone, but after years of coming and going the marking would be completely unnecessary. Doing a lap around the block, just to confirm no one had been following, and then ducking inside. Picking my way through trash until reaching a stack of boxes and pallets somewhere near the middle. Moving them to the side, one at a time, being careful not to make too much noise and uncovering the sewer entrance.
Reaching down a hand to pull up the grate and finding it completely stuck. Using both hands and bracing myself. Still no good. Definitely weaker now, but it's wedged, not just heavy. The shield? Too noisy in the alley. Using my axe to bust up one of the pallets and using some of the wood as a makeshift prybar. Putting it in and slowly adding more and more pressure. The grate breaking free with a metallic pop and flakes of rust falling from the sides. Vesper looking at me in askance. “Wait for me here. I'll be back in about twenty minutes.” Straining to move the grate to the side. Looking down into the darkness below and a memory surfacing.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
***
My third day in, night, wandering around the east side of the city looking for trouble. Unknowingly wandering into some gang's turf and getting confronted by a group of them, getting surrounded, and a man with scars covering his face, his knife out, demanding everything on me. Three days in and itching for a fight. Knifing two, shallowly, before getting pummeled and beaten to the ground, and then repeatedly kicked. Laughing at them even as they kept at it. The scar faced man bending down, his knife in my face.
“Kid, I like you,” he'd said. “You've got balls taking all of us on. We run this town, understand, but I'm thinking you may be a good fit for our organization. But, first things first, you need to earn it, and you need to know your place. Find out where we hole up, and then maybe – maybe – we'll consider letting you in.”
The group of thugs leaving. Pulling myself into a sitting position, pissed as fuck and ready to chase after, but too battered and bruised to do it. Limping out of the alley, holding my side, and heading to a nearby bar filled with dock workers, hoodlums and other riffraff. A crude picture of a smiling rat holding a mug on the sign, The Rat Cellar. Kicking the door open and demanding to know where those people were. Almost catching yet another beat down for being so reckless and stupid. Had died the day before doing similar stupid shit, picking fights for fun, picking fights with the wrong people, and had come back to life at the temple not too much worse for wear. And the day after, felt immortal. Told them as much and laughed in their faces, said even if they put me down, that I'd come right back looking to get even. It seemed to click with them, then, with my face starting to swell from the previous beating and with dried blood filling my nose, just exactly the sort of unreasonable asshole they were dealing with. So, rather than doing it, they'd pointed me over in this direction to come find this place. A half hour later, cursing and sweating and still bleeding, opening the grate and looking down into the darkness.
***
Back in the present, climbing down the metallic rungs into the sewer below. The lighting we'd installed had gone out at some point over these past months. The nice, easy to navigate path we'd cleared, and had kept clear, had reverted to its former glory. Letting my eyes adjust to the meager light coming from down from above and using my hand to follow the wall, stepping gingerly on the slick stone. Coming to a fork and taking the left branch. Moving a distance further in and activating the shield to use as a light. Filth and grime had accumulated on our previously cleaned walkway. Heading further in, a couple more turns, and then getting to the spot where the tunnel leading to the guild is. Rather, where it should have been. The impervious material filling the space a noticeably different color than the surrounding masonry. Putting my hand against it and another memory surfacing from that same night, long ago.
***
Creeping down the passage, heading right at the first fork and getting lost for a bit in the twisting tunnels. Being set upon by hunger crazed rats and giant insects, but eventually finding my way back to the grate, covered in blood and guts. Turning around and taking the left fork, my only concern now finding those people who'd forced this little adventure on me, and determined to show them who exactly they'd messed with. Coming down this way and finding a tunnel, wide open and well lit.
Walking a few steps in and a man appearing in front of me. One moment the tunnel empty and him not there, and the next, there he was. He was a couple inches shorter than me, wearing a well made, well tailored suit coat and pants, with fine leather gloves and boots, and an expensive looking sword at his hip. His noble bearing completely at odds with our surroundings, but his ease with the situation making it clear he was at home.
Thinking about trying something but getting a horrible feeling at the thought. Choosing to listen to that feeling.
“You may have some potential,” he'd said, squinting at me. “If you want to be considered for membership in our organization, I have a job for you. There's a ship coming in three days from Ossen, The Golden Bonny. The captain should have a lockbox in his quarters. I don't care what you do to get it, but get it and bring it to me. Do that and you'll get paid. The ship'll be here for a night, and some of the next day. Does that sound like something you can do?”
“Piece of cake.”
The man's tone and the way he'd phrased his request made any other answer unacceptable. Three days later, after sneaking aboard, fighting more of the ship than necessary, and running from the rest, had come back here lockbox in hand. My first payday, and my first step in joining the guild.
***
Back in the present, staring at my now small, feminine hand on the wall. An enormous burst of anger at what had been stolen making me see red. All my years of work destroyed, everything gone, and they'd even managed to steal me away. Now, staring at the blank area where my old life had been, drawing a circle on the wall and making sure to make it nice and thick. Removing pieces in a fit of rage, leaving behind something that may possibly have been a circle at one point, but looking more like a blood splatter on the wall. Looking at it, closing my eyes and seeing the circle it had been, opening them and seeing the bare remnants left. Focusing everything on it: all my uncertainty, all my indignation, all my resentment and all my mounting, righteous anger.
Erase.
A loud tearing sound filling the area as blackness, dead black, blacker than the darkness in either direction, spreading from blood splatter shaped rune and covering the space where the tunnel had been. The blackness disappearing, leaving behind a sudden burst of subzero air that causes my breath to mist. Behind it, the area where the tunnel should have been, still blocked.
***
“I only asked you to get the lockbox, not fight the entire ship,” the man had said.
“I got the lockbox, so what's the problem?”
“And stirred up an entire hornet's nest. We're Thieves, not cutthroats and brigands.”
“Those sound pretty similar to me.”
“Do you Outsiders have no subtlety? Thievery is an art used for a specific purpose that demands a delicate touch. When force is necessary, it is well placed and precise, not slapdash and indiscriminate.”
“You said you didn't care what I did to get it. Is all the attention a problem?” The man considering me, but not saying anything. “What's in there anyway?”
“You didn't look?”
“Didn't think you'd appreciate it.”
The man nodding to himself and producing a small metallic object and fiddling with the lock. “You do have potential, regardless of your methods, and I suppose we can smooth out any rough edges.” The box opening with a distinct *click*.
“Papers? I figured it'd be something more valuable.”
“These documents are quite valuable in the right hands. As I said, thievery requires a delicate touch and appropriately placed pressure.”
***
“God-fucking-damn it.”
Carve. My left glove falling to pieces, my arm guards and the shirt underneath touching my wrists, and a bit lower, down the forearm, fraying and turning to tatters. Venting my frustration on the wall. Trying to slice through, my hands uselessly scraping against the surface, making not a dent, not a scratch, not anything. Leaning against it, trying to push through, my fingers and knuckles aching from scraping and punching the unyielding material. One of my nails peeled off, and nothing to show for it. Taking deep breaths, still pushing against it, but my impotent fury spent.
Should've known. Nothing else worked. Shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Shouldn't have imagined there'd be more. Studying the surface, looking for any indication, but still smooth and unmarred. Wait, over there on the side, and that side as well. Wasn't it flush before? Now an indentation had appeared, maybe half an inch. Pushing down the sudden surge of elation. Puncturing and releasing Carve, and then redrawing the circle. Removing pieces, leaving tatters around the circle, like the ends of my armor and shirt all falling apart.
Erase.
Another blast of the shredding sound, inky blackness and frozen air. Another half inch of the obstruction gone. Enough mana right now for two more. My laughter echoing against the tunnel walls as what had occurred finally started settling in. Real, measurable progress after almost a year of getting nowhere. Two inches closer to recovering some of what had been taken, and two inches closer to clawing my way back from the abyss.