I stood and crept to the edge of my rooftop perch. Seeing no one beneath me I lowered myself over the edge and skittered down an exposed beam. After darting across the road beginning my ascent was no more difficult. The humans here in the lower districts either couldn’t afford to plaster their walls into a smooth surface or didn’t care. It might have said something about the city that I couldn’t say which was more likely.

Either option was just dandy for me. Stopping one floor shy of my previous perch and shimmying sideways was even easier, or it should have been. My damn shoes kept slipping me up, providing neither the dexterity of my toes or the secure grip of sinking my claws into the wood. After the second time they slipped and left me dangling by my claws alone I had to choke back the urge to rip them apart.

Only repeated visualization of my death at the hands of adventurers gave me the strength to resist. Contrary to what one might expect, these dark halls where (hopefully) no one would see me were exactly the place it was most important to maintain that particular element of my disguise. A single goblin footprint in a center of human knowledge could easily stir up a larger hornets nest than a brazen burglary. Humans didn’t like it when we got uppity.

Instead I forced myself to go slower, only shifting my weight gradually, when I was certain I had a firm foothold and both hands dug into the support beams. It was agonizing climbing like a babe fresh off the teat, but needs must. No true goblin preserves his pride over his life. In due time I shifted round the corner and resumed my ascent. I was just barely out of clear sight from the walls of the Heights, but the further right I shifted the greater the moon’s light.

I cursed the stars that this night’s moon was so fat and bright, but as the human had said, beggar’s can’t be choosers, and neither can thieves. Their was no telling when my condition could take a turn for the worst, and waiting for lunar cycles was far too long to wait.

Approaching the window was more awkward than I’d expected. Due to its impressive size it was actually the biggest surface free of obvious handholds since I’d started my climb and I knew I couldn’t trust my feet to support me alone. I paused to size up the window, then took a deep breath and stepped out around the last beam to stand over nothing.

It was a tight fit, but my new warped height turned out to be good for something after all. I was just large enough to reach from top to bottom and press against both sides to wedge myself in. Pressing down with both hands felt unnatural, even to a veteran climber like me, but it was the only way to give these stupid human boots the purchase they needed to remain stable.

Shimmying over to the center of the shutter was ten times as awkward as the rest of the climb and took twice as long, but I made it there in one piece. I pressed one eye against the joint, catching a hair-thin slice of the room beyond, but that was far from enough to satisfy me. The join was far tighter than I’d expected, better than typical for what I’d seen the humans achieve here and enough to make me curse myself. Other people were the supposed to underestimate me, not the other way round! That was not a mistake I could afford to make.

I clung there like a beetle on a wall for a good five minutes, too snug against the window for anyone else to see or for any light to slip past my face pressed against the wood. Gradually my eyes adjusted to the near complete blackness of the inside of the building, my Perception Stat pressing my already superior senses to their limits and scrounging up details from the sliver of darkness before me.

It was clear.

I reached into the pouch where I’d lined up a selection of knives in order of slenderness. I’d need Garrett’s finest for this. Surprisingly it wasn’t his narrowest knife that had the skinniest overall dimensions, as those tended to thicken the spine to compensate, nonetheless it was far from the broadest, an average width hiding a wicked distal taper.

Even so it was hard pressed to fit more that halfway deep into this crack. I didn’t force it any farther, but twisted it gently to provide a more secure grip. The shutters creaked as they were pushed ever so slightly further apart. With my position so secured I lowered my other hand and shook loose the tingles before taking up the next most slender blade. I slid it up the crack as far as it would go, then let the first dagger come loose.

The shutters didn’t close, the second blade serving as a wedge and leaving its smaller cousin free to search out the latches without issue. It was a matter of seconds to find both, but they proved stubborn, shifting neither up nor down when pressed.

I frowned, and used my pryblade as a mirror to reflect what moonlight I could onto the problem. I succeeded only in finding shadows, tantalizing allusions to a reality I could not truly perceive. I tried to picture the latches in my head, laying that image over what little I’d been able to see. Or thought I’d saw, the shadows could make a liar of your own mind.

If they weren’t moving then they must latch in multiple dimensions, not simply descending into a hook but sliding into a hole on the opposing side. I angled my blade as far to the left as it would go and stabbed it into the wood there. It wasn’t much for leverage, but it was enough purchase to jerk the drawbar to the right. I pulled the blade free and stabbed it home again, walking the wooden latch over one millimeter at a time. Eventually it stopped fast and a quick test confirmed that it would now rise freely.

Excellent. I repeated the process with the second latch, jiggling it back and forth before I found the right direction and freed it in the same fashion. I lifted both latches and the shutters swung open practically on their own. I stepped forward hurriedly, struggling to keep my knives under the latches so they didn’t swing about and clatter.

I fell to the floor, easily catching my stride and letting down the latches gently right until I walked shin first into a chair. Shit. I lost control of the shutters as they swung fully open, exposing the room fully to the light of moon and star. Rows of desks and benches stretched out in the cold light, mercifully empty. Each was well stocked with parchment, quill, ink, and rushlights, each set aside in its very own cubby. I picked out the exits and went for the shutters, closing them and latching them behind me.

The room vanished into darkness once more, shapes only slowly forming themselves from shadow as my eyes adjusted. I ducked under the desks to hide under one three rows over, waiting for any sign of alarm. I let a minute pass, though it was far from enough, before I rose and left. I snatched up a handful of rushlights from each cubby on my way out, no need to let my enemy’s bounty pass me by.

I took a good whiff of them as I sidled up to the door, taking in the soft and subtle scent of beeswax. Ah, the good shit. I’d hoped for that, but you could never be sure. Light was one of mom’s leading concerns once upon a time, lest her human eyes fail her and she cut too deep. As her lead supplier, that is the one who stole most of her supplies, I’d learned the difference in quality well. Anything to make her happy, even if it meant stealing candles from a Hob.

Beeswax rushlights were what they sounded like, dried river reeds dipped in beeswax. They didn’t last long, but they were cheap and burned clean, making them the perfect tool to extend the working hours of your idiot apprentices. This clearly wasn’t the working area of the guild masters, not with these cramped desks and hard wooden benches. No, somewhere up above there were thickly cushioned chairs beneath full candelabras, but a quick short light was more what I needed anyway.

I put my ear to the door and heard nothing save distant murmurings and the soft creaks of settling wood. There were definitely still people in the building, but they weren’t in these stairs. I opened the door and stepped into even deeper blackness than before, especially once I closed the door behind me. It was simultaneously anxiety-inducing and nostalgic, anyone could walk into me, but I could imagine myself deep beneath the earth as easily as I could with closed eyes.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

I crept up the stairs, shifting my weight slowly and feeling out the shape of each stair before I committed myself. It was a risk, as my goal could lie in either direction, but a calculated one. The Scrivener’s Guild did a brisk business throughout the day, which would occupy a hefty portion of the lower floors. Assuming that the ground floor was largely dedicated to servicing their customers, that left two more before you hit my entry floor. As the closest to the action it would be most efficient to fill those with short term records, bills of sale, indexes of clients, books queued up for copying, and other such things.

The long term records I was looking for on the other hand, could be as high as they wanted. If the Guild leadership was up top, as I presumed, they’d keep the best stuff close by anyhow, so it was the best place to start.

I picked up the pace as I got the feel of the stairs and could step confidently blind. I let one hand run along either wall and was rewarded with my left had catching on a door otherwise invisible in the darkness. I felt along it for the knob before I stepped up and gave it a listen.

I tugged down my cloak and rags, finally freeing my ears to breath again. Better to not be seen at all at this point. One ear to the door gave me nothing, while the second gave me nearly so. If anyone was awake they weren’t on this floor.

I teased the door open, caught my breath at the creaking hinges, and hopped inside so I could put the closed door between me and the inevitable armed response to such a loud alert.

A heart beat passed, and then I chastised myself. That hadn’t been that loud, even to my ears. I had simply allowed my fears to get the better of me.

I looked around, my eyes revealing nothing. My inner coward suggested I feel about in the dark, but cowardice can be as sure a poison as bravery. Bumbling about and knocking over a heavy vase or candelabra would damn me far more than a little light.

That wasn’t to say I was going to let that light loose without precaution. I pulled free a long cloth from a dimensional pouch, whether it was descended from one of Garrett’s cloaks, blankets or even a tent I did not know, only that it was soft and absorbent to both sound and light. I felt out the crack beneath the door and filled it with bunched cloth, I attempted the same with the sides but they were as fine as the shutters, fitting too closely to allow it.

Prepared as I could be, I held a rushlight in my lips to free my hands for the flint and steel. I crushed the tip between two fingers, splitting the internal plant fibers to better catch the sparks, then struck. I struck blindly, letting the first strike fail if it may in favor of snatching my first look at the floor.

The sudden spark light put stars in my eyes, but glaring through them revealed a small desk separating the stairs from row upon row of shelves. In spite of myself the fragile flame dangling from my lips was snuffed out as the broad grin on my face yanked it up.

Dammit. I fixed the rushlight in my teeth and struck again, sparks flying past it to skitter away on the floor. Stars above was this angle awkward. I struck for a third time and finally hit it straight. The sparks flew from my steel to impact on the flattened rushlight tip and tumble away into the darkness, leaving a single glowing ember behind.

My eyes were practically crossed just to look at that fragile little light clinging to a stray strand of pith. I kept the rushlight steady as a pillar, desperate to avoid a draft that could snuff it out. Nonetheless it flickered, burning down towards the rushlight proper where it would inevitably burn out.

I peeled back my lips and blew softer than a whisper, scarcely more than a breath. The ember caught it and flared brighter just as it reached the end of its path.

My heartbeat eased as the rushlight flared up into true flame. If I had to strike the flint one more time the noise was going to give me a heart attack.

I stowed the flint and steel as I moved forward into the rows of bookshelves. If someone had heard me the first thing to do was break line of contact to my previous position and it wasn’t like I’d be comfortable reading next to the door in any case.

To that end I moved as far from the entrance as possible, even if I couldn’t resist scanning the stacks as I moved towards the corner. Most of them weren’t even properly bound and those that were went disappointingly unlabeled, whatever secrets they bore not worth declaring to the world.

I eagerly scrambled to the back, unable to express a certain excitement. Learning untold secrets had been some of the most important turning points in my life, so the the thought of learning more was more than a little tantalizing.

The books needed no titles to unveil their secrets to me, I could see it in their scarred and leather bound covers, in their dusty shelves and untrod floors. Every detail spoke of ancient things long forgotten until I could constrain myself no longer. I was long out of sight of the doors, surely I was safe enough to begin my search?

I licked my lips and held the rushlight in my mouth again, reaching out for a hefty tome with both hands. It slid off the shelf with a soft rasp against the other books and fell into my hands with a satisfying weight. I hunched over it in anticipation as aged leather creaked open.

Discrepancies in Tax Law Across the East Fingers and the Effect Therein on Trade: Volume III

The rushlight damn near fell out of my mouth.

I scowled and shoved it back on the shelf. Not every book was going to be worthwhile, I knew that. I moved three down and checked that one.

Taxes.

I moved three up.

Taxes.

Oh for the stars sake, who had an entire section on tax law! Just lie and keep your money!

I walked two shelves forwards before I checked again. However disappointed I was, it was probably better that things were somewhat organized in here. It let me work through it in sections rather than book by book, dramatically raising my odds of finding what I needed in one break in instead of three.

Taxes, architecture, agriculture, zoning laws, that one gave me pause, these people had laws on where and how to build? I shook my head and passed on, only checking a single book a shelf. There was an entire law wall with different sections for different topics. Why would anyone read these? Even I could tell them that there was one surefire way to never fall afoul of the law, any law; don’t get caught.

Human silliness aside, it did waste a lot of time, even when I started skipping every other shelf, but all that frustration fell away when I opened the book in my hands.

Archmage Teclis’s Primer on Elemental Magics 3rd edition, annotated. The blessed words flickered in the last light of a dying rushlight like salvation itself.

Excellent. I returned it to the shelf and backtracked to check the last shelf I’d skipped, lighting off a new rushlight as I did. The fresh light flared brighter than the dying one, revealing a stark difference between the two shelves. The law shelves bore books of uniform height bound in faded blue cloth in regimented rows while the magic shelf was crammed with an eclectic mix of styles, sizes, and even materials.

Wood, cloth, and metal all showed their faces on spines, one space was even occupied by three scrolls stacked on top of each other. More concerning still were the pages and parchments simply crammed in between the proper books with seemingly no thought to the preservation or safety of the words inscribed on them.

How could they do that? Weren’t they afraid the grimoires would get angry and curse them? Normal books couldn’t get angry or lay curses upon their foes, but was it really worth the risk with wizards?

I stepped back and looked down the aisle. There were at least a good dozen such shelves, all haphazard and more than a little dusty. Was this really how you treated arcane lore?

I stepped back to the shelf and hovered my fingers over the beginning of the magic section. The lack of respect they showed the books didn’t mean they were worthless, maybe they were idiots, or too afraid to touch the magic books to even clean them.

Then why are you about to touch them?

Because I didn’t have a choice. I flinched as my hand came down on the book, even as nothing happened. Of course nothing happened, they were just lazy or stupid, not dumb enough to leave a lethal text in their library.

Or the real dangerous shit is deeper into the magic section.

I shook off my paranoia and pulled the book free. It was time to read.

Several rushlights and two shelves later I was hardly any closer. Of all the tomes I’d read, or at least briefly skimmed, only a handful covered the soul system in anything approaching detail. It had been very interesting detail, but detail in entirely the wrong place. As fascinating as it was, that only really served to distract me further.

It was admittedly useful in telling how humans classified and understood their magic. This magic section was ultimately a mana section. How to manipulate mana more precisely, how to harness mana from the environment, how to develop mana related Skills, and it was that last one that had proven most interesting.

Not that I had any intention of hollowing out a Level for use as a mana reservoir, or using a whole Skill to form an imprint of a spell so I could cast it instantly without incantations or gestures, even if I could do those things. Nor was it the admittedly more practical effect of filling in some of the blank space labeled what mages can do. After all, that void of knowledge was so big it made little difference.

No, it was two things that were of real value. One was the concept of energy primacy. Some magical energies took priority over others. It wasn’t understood how or why, but the practical applications were obvious. The book explained it well enough: even if a mage could generate a thousand pounds of force with his telekinesis spell and a warrior’s [Blade Call] only generated five hundred that didn’t mean the mage would win the contest over a blade left halfway between them.

The Skill was fueled by soul energy and the spell was fueled by mana. Soul energy had primacy over mana, so if the two were in direct conflict you might need several times the energy to cross that gap. What exactly qualified as “several times” it failed to clarify, preferring instead to go on an extensive rant on what this meant for necromancers and how it symbolized their inferiority before those who followed the true will of the gods.

I hadn’t had a positive impression of necromancers before, so I moved on before the book could change my mind. I wouldn’t be sure on this concept until I saw it for myself, but it would make some sense. Just another advantage for the damn humans.

The more immediate one was the mention of classes. It was brief, but critically important even before some blessedly lazy scribe had scribbled some notes in the margins.

Classes are in 34-D

May the stars bless that stupid little human. Who knew how many hours I’d waste without them?