Chapter 12: stolen goods

Arthur’s POV

Pebbles dug into the palm of Arthur's hand as he grabbed the next handheld. Hanging ten feet from the ground, the young boy continued up one of his favorite shortcuts through the ward. Taking the streets and alleys was dangerous for someone as small as him, so he had long ago developed a series of paths between windows and over rooftops. He released his lower hand and reached up to grasp the ledge. With a heave that belied his small frame, the boy surged up and over the ledge to the cracked clay tiles of the roof.

One had to be careful when traversing older roofs like these. The tiles upon the roof were overlapping flat tiles with semi-cylindrical tiles sandwiched between. It required an expert eye and fast feet to determine which ones could still hold the weight of a human after decades of neglect. Luckily, he had been traversing these heights since before he could remember, which made it easy to determine the best route to follow.

One roof after another, the skulking youth passed over the heads of his impoverished peers unseen. He couldn’t spare the time for them right now, even though several of them were very dear to his heart. The prize that he had just acquired rested like hot coal against his chest, where it lay inside of a concealed pocket.

Keep moving!

Everything was going according to plan. He had successfully fingered a bobble of great prize right under Caster’s nose and gotten away with it. His elder brother was too focused on making people like him to see the opportunity that was right before his eyes. Did he think some fairy tale hero was going to swoop in and save them from out of nowhere? His only source was a member of the imperial family. The nobility couldn’t be trusted to put on their own shoes without help, let alone look beyond their own walls to see the squalor that lay on the other side.

A shadow skidded across the roof to his right as he stepped off an old plank that bridged one of many alleys. With no further ado, he dropped to the floor without a sound as he wrapped his second-story cloak around himself for camouflage. He had taken great lengths to acquire this cloak as it was the same shade of reddish-brown as the bricks. Seconds passed as he controlled his breathing. The technique, Empty Mind, was a novice breathing technique for cultivators that caused the mana in their bodies to mimic the ambient mana in the air. It was a useful technique with many useful applications, but the one Arthur prized was the fact that it assisted the user in evading arcane detection. If someone was using a spell to find him, then they would have to work for it.

When nothing happened, the cloak shifted just enough for him to peer towards the source of the shadow. A crow sat perched on a chimney, its beady eyes trained on him. It cawed twice before it bobbed down and spread its midnight wings. Then there was no more shadow, only a chagrined youth. With nothing else of interest in his immediate vicinity, Arthur replaced his cloak and continued his journey.

Things were finally going according to plan. Things were looking up. First, he would fence his goods; with that money in hand, some of his old plans would finally have the monetary lubricant to get their rusty gears in motion again. He had crossed three more alleys without notice and was halfway to his destination when he heard the howl.

It didn’t register at first. Howls were one's constant companion in the ward due to the sheer number of implant orphans that got dumped here ten years prior. Arthur was one such war orphan, but where some are lucky enough to find a home, most were not so fortunate. These children went feral with no one to teach them basic language and human decency. They communicated in a guttural language they had invented for themselves and formed a tribal group that preyed on the other residents. One should consider themselves lucky to survive a visit from the Howlers.

Another howl joined in from the south, then a third from the north. That wasn’t good. This was how they hunted for prey. They used the same methods as the hunting dogs of the nobility. Spread-out, make a lot of noise, then drive the prey in the direction of the trap they had laid ahead. There was only one course of action left for him. The narrow rooftops and alleyways that he favored for speed and discretion had just turned into a disadvantage.

He adjusted the course south and picked up speed. Stealth was abandoned, only allies could dissuade the Howlers once the hunt began. A new breathing technique replaced the Empty Mind. Alacrity was another novice technique that focused on injecting mana into the nerves, this increased the control one had over their body slightly at the price of overstimulating their sense of touch. It wasn't a popular technique for that very reason. Most people were too soft to handle the increased pain and discomfort, but Arthur excelled at overcoming such hardships, he had too.

The tone changed after that. The measured calls between his pursuers fell apart, the discordant melody became a chaotic jumble of shrieks and hoots. They didn’t need to coordinate their efforts anymore for they had flushed out their prey. Now was the time for the chase.

Arthur rushed as fast as he could, but his empowered speed was no March for them. They had long ago discovered a primitive way to utilize magic to increase their physiques. Most would never be a match to a second realm cultivator, or even magi individually, but that didn’t matter when they could swarm him with sheet numbers. The distance shortened faster than he wished—two hundred meters, a hundred meters, fifty meters. He could see them now. Lean frames that stretched to run on all fours, their bodies covered in thick hair. Yellow eyes glinted in the sunlight with an unnatural sheen.

Oh, Almighty! He wasn’t going to make it. These mana warped cretins were going to catch him. No! He argued with that small part of himself, the one that had had enough and just wanted to give up. I cannot die yet! Not yet!

He reached into his hidden pouch and grabbed the other object he had secreted there a thunderstone. It had cost him an entire silver clip, a month's revenue, but this was what he had bought it for after all. He ducked behind a crenellation, out of sight. With a bleeding heart, he invoked the command mnemonic before he tossed it over his shoulder, hard.

Several things happened in quick succession. First, there was a tink-tink noise that heralded the fall of the thunderstone. Next was a flash of light that garnered several screams in reaction. That wasn’t the end of it however as a thunderous boom shook the rafters and shingles. Many shattered under the pressure and zoomed away with the force of an arrow shot by a longbow.

The effect was so great that a shard burst through his improvised barricade and winged him on the forearm deep enough to draw blood. It was a small price to pay for his life, he mused while wrapping the cut with some spare cloth. By the sound of the shrieks, the howlers had fared much worse than himself. It was time to move.

Arthur peered around the crenellation to see if any in the pack were still at large. The few that he could see were all on the ground, clutching at their eyes or lacerations. The coast was clear. He reactivated Alacrity and zoomed away as fast as his bare feet could carry him.

…

The wall loomed overhead as Arthur reached the first transition point in his journey. There were several underground tunnels that had been secretly excavated by spies, smugglers, or nervous nobles over the years. More than enough to allow him to enter the city at nearly any point he wished and vanish as quickly if trouble came calling. The particular tunnel he had his eye on was one that led into the shabbier side of the merchant district, located in the eastern sector.

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There was just one problem, there were twenty Imperial Guardsmen between him and that tunnel. Half an hour ago, they had swarmed the area like buzzing flies looking for food. Only the well-constructed blind that had been constructed on one of the rooftops kept him safe. This spot was one of many such sentry posts that his father had helped construct to inject some much needed security into a region where such a term was foreign. Time passed as he watched the guardsman swarm around, then close in on their target.

Now! He scrunched up in preparation. Mana surged from his core to infuse the tendons in his legs. Once they were out of sight, he lunged. The leap consumed most of his anemic mana pool. Until there was time to cultivate more, he was limited to the strength of his physical body, which had only undergone the first step of physical augmentation in the novice stage.

The ground shrank as Arthur flew high above it. For just a split second, the scuffle that had drawn the guard's attention became visible. Was that Casper? He wondered in confusion. That fake Adjudicator must have gotten him into trouble. He answered his own question after noting the figure of Jack on the ground.

I have to report this to father!

There was nothing that he could do about the situation. Every member of the Imperial Guard had reached the second stage as magi, at the minimum. Just one could decimate a non-magical force ten times their size. This many could fight off a sentry. Arthur's only consolation as he opened the door that led to the tunnel was that the guardsmen seemed more interested in capture than violence.

...

The rumble of cartwheels and the creaking of wains joined in with sounds of a thousand voices laughing, chatting, and hollering. The road once paved with cobbles of immeasurable beauty, now melded together in a matte grey line across the wide commercial way. Shops, booths, and stalls lined the street with no recognizable pattern or schema in mind, merely set up here or there by the needs of commerce at need.

Noon had come and gone while Arthur journeyed down dark tunnels to reach this out-of-the-way entrance. The exit appeared to all as a Chandlery, and it was, but the proprietor was a former orphan and a member of the nascent resistance movement that the princess and his father were putting together quietly. When a dirty street urchin suddenly materialized in the stock room filled with wicks, wax, and aromatic herbs—one would expect the apprentice that walked in to find him there to scream thief and call the guard, but this apprentice was a friend of Arthur’s as well as one of his many adoptive brothers. Arthur had quickly described the scene of Casper’s capture in as much detail as he could. The other boy expressed shock at the guards' temerity to accost one of their number before gravely he departed to send a message down the line. Someone with real authority would clandestinely receive the message and intercede on Caster’s behalf.

Arthur departed the chandlery through a side door that was obscured from the view of the road and eased into the crowd of shoppers and market-goers with the ease of long practice. It was a surreal experience for him to be on this road to conduct business instead of slipping his open hand into the coin purses of wealthy merchants or ditzy noblewomen. Soon enough, he was at the entrance to the alley his fence, Twitchy Anthony conducted business from.

The alley wasn’t the strait affair that the alley in other parts of the city were. Those parts of the city were planned out long before he was born when the Eternal Emperor moved the capital west several miles. The merchant district had only been lightly developed when the Emperor started to rent out parcels of undeveloped land to aspiring merchants. They were responsible for the construction of their own shops, which led to a hodgepodge of designs. This alley was the natural byproduct. It twisted in like a corkscrew until one reached the center. That was where the clandestine purveyor of goods made his lair.

Arthur crept down the alley, not wanting to interrupt any ongoing deals that might be happening. People got surly when they were caught committing crimes. Surly people were often quick to pull steel; better to approach with discretion.

His caution proved insufficient when an armored hand reached around the next corner and snatched his tunic. Steel dug furrows into his skin from the sheer power of the motion. His tunic ripped apart as the gauntlet yanked him from his feet where they hung six inches in the air. The poorly crafted fabric was unable to take such abuse and promptly split along the seams, spilling the now shirtless boy on his but.

Arthur took advantage of the newfound freedom to scuttle back out of the alley on his hand and feet. He had only made it a few feet when a massive form covered in blackened lorica stepped around the corner and loomed over him. The figure smiled down upon him in a mockery of paternal concern.

“Well well, if it isn’t the Rat. What brings you to this neck of the woods today? It is quite rare to see you around civilized parts like this fair market, is it not?” The stranger growled.

“It is no business of yours, Enyalios, where I choose to do business. I am a freeman of the Empire and may do commerce how I please!”

“Watch how you speak to a citizen, boy!” The big man's arm came around to slap Arthur across the face hard enough to leave a bruise. “You are nothing more than a street rat that was taken in by that bleeding heart that makes you call him daddy. I am a citizen of the realm, a magi practitioner. Do you even know what that means? It means that I have reached the second stage of my power. That is a feat far, far above any that a pathetic little rat like you will ever aspire to.”

The big man paused to stare directly into Arthur’s eyes for a long moment. In that brief connection, Arthur saw calculation, disdain, and greed vie for dominance. Greed won over the myriad impulses in Enyalios’ eyes, the man’s sneer turned back into a grin, this one showing teeth.

“You’re right, of course. Every freeman and citizen has the right to do business here. In fact, I recently took up a new side business, on my own time, providing security for affluent clients. Citizen Twitchy just agreed to accept my generous offer of protecting his place of business for him. Now, it is customary in these parts to give the door guard a small donation so that he can purchase a refreshing drink after serving so faithfully. You would not want to stand against custom, would you, Rat?”

Arthur sighed. This was the most ridiculous excuse for a shakedown he had ever heard, but Enyalios didn’t need to be reasonable, or even sane. Power was the crutch upon which his argument stood upon. Very few people were strong enough to kick that crutch out from under him, and none of them would be caught dead in a place like this.

“Just how much does a ‘refreshing drink’ at the market cost today?”

“I am so glad you asked! A refreshing drink goes for two iron chips at the market today.”

Arthur knew that a pint of juice or ale at the market fluctuated between one to four copper chips, less than a quarter of that price. Though he guessed it didn’t matter. The deceit was designed to be an insult. Enyalios was a brutal man that was always looking for an excuse to hurt someone much weaker than himself.

“Here is your ‘requested donation’.” He pulled out nearly all of his accumulated savings, sparing only a single copper chip, and handed it over.

“Ah, I can already taste the sweet nectar on my tongue. Be on your way, Rat.” With that, they parted ways. Enyalios left the alley to seek out more prey, while Arthur went deeper into the alley.

Two more turns were left in his wake before the first glimmer of a seedy market stand came into sight. It was a rickety affair; wooden beams that had long ago begun to degrade from exposure were nailed, clamped, and lashed together haphazardly. Splinters covered every square inch except for the middle of the counter where Twitchy Anthony plied his trade. That section of countertop had sunken from thousands of transactions passing back and forth over it for so many years.

Twitchy Anthony, or just Twitchy, was a lanky man with long fingers that shook like an earthquake. His hair was thin and spotty on his head and a wispy goatee hung limply from his chin.

“Why if it isn’t ma favorite customer. What brings you to my humble stall today, Arthur?” Twitchy asked in an oily voice. Hearing it made your teeth itch like nails on a slate board.

“I come bearing some…wares of dubious quality that I wish for you to evaluate. Since you possess a distinguished eye for such things, it only made sense to seek your unique services.” Arthur replied with great care.

“Of course, of course—I do possess a distinguished eye, feel free to bring your wares to my humble stall so that I might ply my skills.”

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal medallion he had pilfered a few days ago. He knew exactly how much it was worth on the street. This would serve as his test of trust.

“Ahh, a pocket warmer. This is a very classy enchantment. It can keep the user warm for up to…ten hours, maybe twelve. I can offer you five copper chips for it. How does that sound?”

Arthur had to suppress a scowl at the pronouncement, and quote. A pocket warmer like he described was worth twice that amount, let alone the fact that Twitchy had just lied to him about its duration. It had enough power to last thirty hours, a full day. He would have to take the loss and find another buyer for his real prize.

“Is it really so valuable, brother Twitchy,” he asked with sincerity. “I could eat for days with such a sum.”

“Indeed, young Arthur, it is that valuable and more. How about this, since you are an old client I can do you a favor and offer you six copper chips. Generous right?”

Now Arthur had to struggle not to pull a blade on the insufferable man. To be cheated and then forced to thank the man, bleh.

“Thank you brother Twitchy. That would be a great boon indeed.” He pushed the puck down the counter and pocketed the red coins that had materialized in front of him as if by magic. Twitchy found great fun on his sleight of hand to impress his customers.

“Good day to you young lad. Put in a good word for me with that father of yours.”

“Oh, I will. You can be sure of that.”