The veins of a large city sprawled before me, twisted alleys and dark street corners where shadows were kings. I stood on the roof of a building in the Ringfort district, gazing at the sinking sun. I wasn’t looking for anything here, maybe just some respite from the Old Town's bustle. Those ancient towering spires always seemed to mock me, high like unreachable dreams.

The streets pulsed with energy like a tapestry of magic and mundanity woven together. It was a city where one could disappear among the throngs yet always be watched by unseen eyes. This city was Perlgate.

It had never really been my home. It was just where I lived.  

In my gloved hand, I held a piece of paper, a letter. It bore a seal I knew too well. Blackhand’s seal—two intertwined serpents slithering in golden vines, their sinuous forms capturing my gaze. The letter had been delivered to me by one of his errand boys. Those children, mostly orphans, who lived in the streets and were his eyes and ears. I didn’t have to ask how they’d found me because, having been one of them, I knew exactly how to find people like me. 

Victor ‘Blackhand’ Corbin, the most wanted man in Perlgate, had a reputation for leaving a trail of blackened hands in his wake, earning him the nickname. Despite his fearsome reputation, Blackhand did possess a strict code of honour. I guess that’s one of the good things he taught me. I have morals, thanks to him. Questionable morals, sure, but he could have given me much worse. He could have given me a grudge. 

I hadn’t bothered opening the letter because I knew what it said. It was the summoning seal I hadn’t seen in years, and even though Blackhand’s business was a hot topic in the underground, I’d stayed far from him and his club. I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, never again. But here I was, just a few feet away from the Crimson Cask, my heart pounding. 

~

As I pushed open the creaking door, raucous laughter and clinking coins swallowed me. The air crackled with the energy of risk and chance, intermingled with the scent of tobacco and whiskey. The dimly lit room was a haven for the miscreants of the city, their eager eyes fixed on cards and dice, their voices a symphony of excitement and deception. This was a den of sin and opportunity, where I, as a skilled contractor, found my place amidst the cunning and reckless.

I passed through the crowd unseen, only serving as everyone’s shadow. I wasn’t one for entrances. Not only was it my speciality to be silent, but I was here for one thing and one thing only: find out what notorious Blackhand wanted from me. I showed the letter to Ol’ Jack at the back of the club, and he let me through the door that led upstairs. If he’d recognised me, he sure hadn’t let it on. 

Upstairs was quiet and private. The noise of the crowd was a hum and words were indistinguishable. I stood above the balcony where I could see everyone in the Crimson Cask. It was dark here in contrast to downstairs, and the shadows seemed to cling to me as if accepting my presence as one of their own. I observed the dubious dealings and rich men engrossing themselves with either money, food, or alcohol. Some of them had probably been clients, others soon-to-be ones. None of them knew they were being observed, that I was watching. Me, Lucien without a surname, once a petty thief, now summoned by Blackhand. I was surprised to find myself anticipating the chance to see him again.

~

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I was finally let into the office that still exuded an air of opulence, with velvet drapes adorning the walls and a large oak desk dominating the room. The shelves were lined with rare artefacts and trophies, sparkling clean, none collecting dust. Blackhand, his allure matching the room’s and his physique, the air, smiled at me. It was almost like he was happy to see me.

“Lucien,” he said, a chuckle at the back of his throat. “It’s been, what, six years?” 

I wasn’t one for entrances, so I wanted to get to the point. “Got your letter.”

“Straight to business, I see.”

I shrugged. “You used the golden snakes. Must be a special occasion,” I said, knowing the seal meant the stakes were high. 

Blackhand exhaled deeply. Perhaps he wanted this conversation to be more, but he’d never want to fix things between us. This interaction would be strictly professional, and that was perfectly fine by me. Anything beyond that was an illusion, and I had learned long ago not to expect anything more from Blackhand. 

“It’s a quiet offer,” he said. “A hundred thousand gold pieces.” 

That number instantly tickled my ears! His punctuative silence made an impact that had me salivating.

A hundred thousand gold pieces. That wasn’t the kind of money I ever dealt with. This could be my ticket out of Perlgate. 

“What’s the job?” I asked eagerly. 

Blackhand smiled. “There you are, hungry as you’ve always been. A stray dog who sees a bone.” He laughed a little, mocking me or being touched, I didn’t know. 

It was one big bone. 

“They’re after a document,” Backhand continued. “It’s written in Elvish and stashed in a white music box. The location is the mansion on Briar Lake.”  

I briefly searched my knowledge of the countryside, looking for anything I knew about a mansion on Briar Lake’. I came up short. 

“That mansion belonged to a wizard, Adrian Thane. Archmage in the Academy, twenty-some years ago. He was murdered.”

Stealing an item from a murdered man was not an unusual job. 

“So the mansion is empty?” I asked. 

“In a way, yes, but Thane was a powerful, paranoid wizard,” Blackhand replied. “He left some surprises behind.”

“Why me?”

“It’s a Spellbreaker’s job.” Ah, typical. “I heard you got quite the reputation nowadays.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, it was a Spellbreaker’s job. Of course, I wasn’t here because he wanted me here. He wanted my skills. 

Was I hurt? No, I was disappointed. 

“You got your business, I got mine,” I said. I didn’t want to show I cared because I hated that I did. “I’ll do the job. I’ll nick that document, but I want eighty percent.”

Blackhand scoffed. “Sixty.” 

He was smirking. This was one of his usual games. I knew he’d yield because he always did. 

“Eighty’s my only offer,” I said with feigned contempt. 

He looked at me, pleased, happy that I’d stood my ground, proud. He held out a hand, inviting me to shake it. So I did and went on my way to Briar Lake.