Tam had come to the conclusion that stealing a corpse was far more difficult than kidnapping a person. The thought crossed his mind as he shinned his way up a pipe on the third floor of the huge family home. Rain pelted his face, making his hands slick and the climb even more difficult. 

Realistically, he mused, you could trick someone living into coming to you, most people are idiots. You have to physically go and steal a corpse. I wonder if I could convince someone else to bring me the body? Maybe his sister? Or Opal, she always liked me.

The strange train of thought served to distract him from the cuts and abrasions covering his body and the undignified position the climb seemed to force him into. Luckily he had worn underwear beneath his battle robe or he would be feeling a considerable breeze. The thoughts failed however, to take the edge off the smell emanating from the muck staining the front of his dark grey robes. 

At this point they may be discovered by smell before anyone noticed the pair clinging desperately to the buildings exterior. Even with Monk cursing like a sailor below him.

Looking down bought a grin to his face. If he was having a rough time of it then Monk was having the worst day of his life. Sweat soaked the big mans face under his heavy hood, dripping from his chin with every breath. It was lucky that it was raining or anyone walking underneath them might have thought a pipe had burst. His broad shoulders were straining to hold his weight and what teeth he had left were gritted in a fearsome snarl. Subtracting from the intimidating visage was a muddy boot print planted squarely on the big mans face. In Tams defense, the pipe was slippery and he had kept most of his laughter to himself, out of respect.

“You need a hand down there big man, or was the foot enough?” Tam asked, sincerity practically dripping from his tone.

Monk swiped at Tams feet, nearly losing his grip as he threw off his balance with the clumsy attack.

“Go on, keep taking the piss. When we get back how about we see how funny you are with my boot up your backside.”

The gruff reply was punctuated by heavy breaths and grunts of effort, Tam chuckled and climbed on. 

Finally, after a marathon of climbing, sweating and swearing the duo crested the building and collapsed onto the roof. Pushing sweat and rain slick hair back from his face Tam glanced over at his large friend lying in a puddle a few feet away. The rain had mercifully slowed to a drizzle and the moonlight broke through the clouds illuminating the two figures panting on their backs. Even wearing similar dark hooded robes and loose trousers when lying side by side their differences were stark. Tam’s slim and slightly shorter than average physique looking no larger than a youth next to his titanic partner. 

“Still alive over there?” he jibed, alternating words with gasping breaths. “When people said you froth at the mouth during battle I didn’t realize it was because you were so unfit. I assumed you were a rage monster or something more dramatic.”

“I swear to the Ferryman when this is over I am going to murder you, smug little asshole.” The threat fell flat when the cumbersome warrior tried and failed to sit up. He let out a gruff chuckle at his own expense and splashed water impotently at Tam.

“I should hope so, that is the plan Monk. Do you even listen when I tell you things?” Tams jovial tone sounding decidedly forced. The big man looked as if he was going to reply but paused, introspective, and the moment passed.

Breath caught, Tam rolled to his feet and began pacing out the top of the roof muttering to himself his boots splashing through puddles. Monk, content to let Tam work propped his back against a wall and tried to hide how out of breath he still was, a futile exercise as Tam couldn't help but hear his ragged breathing over the quiet sounds of the night. Despite the forested grounds surrounding the estate there was barely a rustle. As if the night itself were holding its breath. After a few moments Tam stopped. He had settled on a location seemingly chosen at random but he was fairly sure he had it mapped out right. He waved the larger man over. The darkness was oppressive this high above the well lit lower floors and the rain seemed to mute all other sounds. Still they would be out of it soon enough.

“This should be the spot. Once we are in we go for quick and quiet,” he said giving the giant a meaningful look. “We don’t want to go loud unless we have to.”

“I know, get to the room of mourning on the second floor and stay hidden, you will distract the guards. I’ve got it.” Monk intoned and rolled his eyes. 

Tam paused and let the silence stretch until Monk gave him a serious nod, his expression all business. They could not afford to take this lightly, the plan started right here and now. Tripping up on the first step would not bode well.

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“If we get caught meet you back at the horses?” 

“Good idea, but we will  be in and out quick enough that it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Famous last words,” Monk muttered.

“Shut up mate, now step back while I show off a little.”

After getting a nod from the dangerous man, who had fallen quiet, Tam widened his stance and put his hands together. He closed his eyes and for a moment looked to be praying. He took a deep breath through his nose and deliberately drove his hands downward. Instead of driving into nothing they sank seemingly into the air itself. Monk looked away cringing. The strange rippling in the fabric had always made him queasy. Concentration on his face, Tam began to pull his hands in separate directions. With his eyes closed and his mage senses straining it felt to Tam as if he was running his hands through folds of silk. Only silk was not soft enough to describe the sensation. It was closer to running his hand through water but there was a definite feeling of cloth. When touching the fabric of reality like this Tam received a small sense of the object he was interacting with. The building felt… ancient and sedate. It had not been disturbed since it was built and resisted his efforts to manipulate it. Not in a way that implied sentience, more primal than that. It was hard to describe to those who were not attuned to the sense but objects warped often were easier to manipulate, as if they had a form of muscle memory.

Tam’s hands moved slowly at first, as if resisted by a great weight. After a few seconds of grunting effort Tam managed to pull his hands apart. Reality stretched with them. Tams wiry shoulders bunched with effort. The roof beneath his feet began to stretch. With a noise like localized thunder the fabric of reality seemed to reach its elastic limit and tore. The stones of the roof, bonded together centuries ago, parted like thick grey curtains before the duo. Monk was down through the hole in seconds, his haste appreciated by Tams straining arms. Landing quietly despite his size his muddy feet sank into the thick rug that covered the stone floor. Rain poured in after him but he checked the room in a well practiced manner. Tam, not quite as graceful, pitched himself through the hole. Reality reasserted itself as he stopped fighting it. The hole slammed shut with a muffled bang, snapping at the hem of Tams dirty robe. He hit the floor hard on his back with vision spinning and teeth aching from clashing together. He stared up at the torn piece of his dirty cloak now protruding from the middle of the ceiling of stone and groaned. 

“Real smooth there oh powerful one, consider me thoroughly impressed,” Monk laughed. He picked Tam up and set him on his feet as one might a toddler. A shovel like hand nearly knocked him back to the floor as Monk patted him on the back patronizingly.

“If you understood what I just did you would be far more impressed but I am cursed by your lack of talent. Do you have any idea how hard it is to warp just a small part of something? The building thinks of itself as a single object!” Tam said in a hissing voice as close to shouting as one could when whispering.

“It is a building, it doesn’t think of anything jackass. How hard did you hit your head?” Monk whisper shouted back.

“Give me strength,” Tam muttered. “Alright, just shut up, this is supposed to be a stealth mission.”

Monk chuckled under his breath just loud enough that Tam could hear it. Then through his smirk he spoke. 

“Try not to knock yourself out while I’m not with you. The guards will probably stab you a couple of times just to make sure you don’t run away when you come to. And I really want to be the one who gets to stab you.” Monk emphasised the word a little too much for Tams liking. 

Before he could reply the statuesque man turned and walked to the bedrooms door and cracked it open a bare inch. He peered out and checked both ways down the corridor. They had chosen this room to make their entrance for the simple reason that its former occupant was currently lying on a stone slab two floors below. Seeing nobody, a small miracle given their hardly subtle entrance, he stepped out and set off leaving Tam alone in the unlit room.

Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself down. He chastised himself for making a mistake this early and for letting Monk get under his skin. He and Monk had got along far better when diluted by Connors affable charm. Shaking his head at the memory of the three of them together he glanced at the familiar room he was in. A large bed dominated the far wall, its deep purple covers black in the dim light. There was a large fireplace, long since cold and empty, beside which sat two leather chairs and a table with a small metal container of tobacco. A decanter of whiskey sat on the table next to a pair of crystal glasses. Lifting the glass bung from the decanter the smell of Three fields whiskey wafted out. He poured himself a long shot of the clear brown liquor. A flood of memories and emotions crashed into his mind threatening to overwhelm him.

“Miss you Connor,” he muttered raising the glass to nobody in particular before knocking back the drink.

 Quashing the melancholy rush, Tam moved to the door Monk had just left through. Taking a final look around the room he glanced at the desk against the wall and noticed a well worn book lying open. It was a book Tam was very familiar with. He had his own copy of course, Connor had insisted they all get one. But still his friends copy was significant to them all. So, before he could change his mind he scooped it up and shut it with a snap. The cover was black, worn away to grey in places due to age, the title in bold letters on the front read ‘The Field of Reeds’. Nobody knew who wrote it or even when and the Author was listed simply as The Grey Mage. Still the book was famous in certain circles. 

“By the Ferryman you best have been right Con,” he said to the empty room. 

The slim book slid into the pocket inside his robe as Tam walked out of his childhood friends bedroom. 

“Time to make a mess.”