Barely a minute had passed before Bab’s shaking body had stilled and he began fighting his way out of my embrace. I let him go. Bab’s eyes were still wet, and he kept them firmly pointed at the ground.
“That Peeler guy is a real piece of filth, isn’t he?” I commented dryly. Bab nodded; his face was still grim. “Come on,” I told my friend as I scooped the keys from their hiding place, “Let’s do what we came to do.”
The chubby boy’s mouth fell open. “Yo-you actually got them?” He had thought I had failed. The kick must have thrown him off.
I bowed. “Who do you think I am? Now, Mr. Bab, would you be so kind as to join me for a spot of…” I spread my hands dramatically. “Sabotage?”
He bobbed his head and together, the two of us left the room. My head had mostly cleared by that point, so I was able to stride over to the door that had rebuffed my entrance unaided. I had to try every single key on the ring to open it, but eventually, upon inserting the very last one, the lock clicked and I shoved my way into the storeroom.
Unlike the entrance to the building – which was faintly lit by a glow under the door – and the offices proper – which contained vibrant bloodtech bulbs – the storeroom was blacker than a moonless night. After walking a few steps in, I immediately drove my knee into something and keeled over, clutching my throbbing kneecap. Bab scuttled away, returning a few moments later with some sort of metal contraption. He pressed a button on its side, and the device illuminated the room with gentle, bluish tones.
My surroundings looked exactly as I expected them to: a small space filled with cabinets, wooden crates, several small paperweights, and a few mops and brooms. It was missing some key elements: there was no dust, no scent of mould, and any wood was not yet mossy, however for the most part the room was the picture of a neglected storage closet.
“What are we looking for?” I asked.
Bab didn’t answer, instead heading straight for one of the crates. He attempted to open the top, then let loose another vicious curse. The lid had been nailed on. Opening it bare-handed was impossible for all but the stoutest of Blooded.
“Here.” I withdrew two of my picks, handing one to the chubby boy. “It’ll take a while, but we can probably lever the nails out with these.” I thought for a moment. “Use the thick ends. Please. They were expensive.”
He gave a grunt of assent, and we both got to work. It was almost absurdly difficult; the picks were too large to fit under the nails, so I ended up having to retrieve two quills from the room over, using them to scrape the wood beneath the nails away. Predictably, the process was slow, so much so that I became concerned that Peeler would return and see the door hanging open. After his actions, I doubt he would be surprised to find the two of us gone from the office, however the disappearing act would be far less convincing if we were just next door. I closed the door and locked it, praying that he wouldn’t link his missing keys with the storeroom somehow.
The room was entirely silent, save for our irritated grunts and the scraping of quills against wood. It was the kind of grating sound that gave a person the shivers – it was even worse when the noise was coupled with the sensation of wood slowly being peeled away. Maybe that was why, despite the quiet, it took the two of us some time to notice the faint murmur coming from above us.
“Hey,” I muttered, “Do you hear that?”
Bab looked confused for a second, but indulged me. He tilted his head, and slowly, his eyes widened. He gave me a thumbs up, then pointed upwards. I placed a finger on my lips and carefully began stacking crates. Bab frantically shook his head, however I ignored him – I was just too curious.
Luckily for me, the room wasn’t very tall. Two crates on top of one another allowed me to press my ear against the ceiling, another box helping me climb up. The sound remained somewhat garbled, but it was clearly distinguishable as voices. I focused, trying to make out as much as I could.
“…assemblage of persons involved in the expedition.” The clipped cadence of the speaker, directly above me, was familiar – where had I heard him before? “Some of you may notice additional faces. Hunter Dirk is a representative of the group selected to guide us to the monster and back. Medic Sara will offer assistance to Doctor Rafi, and, in the event that he is incapacitated, take his place.”
Dirk… and Sara? That was Stitch’s name! There was another voice who spoke briefly. Their words were too faint to make out.
“Both were chosen due to their veterancy: the two assisted in felling the Raven. They should be familiar with the standardised training offered to most conscripts. It should not be an issue.” The familiarity burgeoned into a realisation: it was Representative Fedor. The Dolphinblood.
There was an exchange of two recognisably distinct voices, still inaudible. The first I had heard before, while the second was rough, cutting the ends of words – Dirk’s. From what I could make out, they seemed to be arguing about necessary qualifications.
A deep rumble emanated from the roof. It seemed to come from the same area as the other two, however it was loud enough to hear clearly. “I recommended them.” Jackson’s voice sent motes of dust falling from the ceiling. “They are both competent.”
Silence reigned for a few seconds. Someone spoke a single word, and Fedor hummed his approval.
“Excellent. If there are no more objections?” There were none that I could hear. “Let us move on to the beast in question. By all reports, the monster is large, approximately nine feet tall. It is quadrupedal, and capable of moving slightly slower than a galloping horse. Identifying the godsblood of the creature has proved difficult – the many attributes it demonstrates suggests it is a Ravenkin. Given that has survived for eight years, it is not unreasonable to assume it has accumulated powers from several different monsters. Clearly it is part Oxblood, and by Dirk’s account it seems to have weak Dolphinblood. Multiple eyes suggests Spiderblood as well, however it could have originally been a three-eyed creature.”
Dirk said something, briefly.
“Hmm. Foxblood is unlikely. It may be fast, however from the way you described it the Ravenkin seems not to be very dextrous.” Bab waved beneath me. I ignored him. “We will make preparations in the event it is a Lizardblood. Now, the plan is as follows: we will prepare a fortified basecamp some distance away. Jackson will approach, while I attempt to daze the creature.” Bab was whispering something. “Vernon will provide support in the case it proves stronger than anticipated. We will use this as an opportunity to evaluate its abilities. Now-”
My tower of crates shuddered as Bab punched it. It teetered, and I came close to falling off.
“What?” I hissed.
Bab flinched, and I mentally berated myself. Go on, scare your junior after he’s just got the snot slapped out of him. Great idea.
“Uhm it-it’s open.” He managed to get out. “I need your help.”
Murmuring an apology, I hopped down. The crate wasn’t quite open, however the nails were most of the way out. I wrapped my hand in my tunic for protection, then grasped each nail and pulled them from the wood, one by one. With them gone, I was easily able to shove the roof off the crate.
The lid fell to the ground. Inside the box were a dozen jangling bottles filled with blood-red liquid. Potions.
“Bab.” I said slowly. “What is this?”
“It’s, a, uh…” He was sweating softly. “We’ll get to the do-documents next.”
“Why?”
“Uhm, why what?”
“Why did we open this gods damned-“ He placed his hands over my lips, cutting off my shout pre-emptively.
“Uh, well, I need to add more potions anyway,” his eyes rolled in his head, looking at everything but me, “I thought you could, um, take a few?”
I levelled a stare at him. There was something off. He wasn’t telling the full truth. Or maybe he had been lying the whole time.
“Do you promise?”
Bab finally managed to look me in the eyes, though he immediately looked away. “Yes,” he quietly whispered. “I promise. We’re getting the Old Guard out.”
The plump boy had proved himself a friend. I thought I could trust him. Or at least trust him to screw the Guard over, and not me. I nodded my head, and began helping him load the bottles from his backpack into the crate. They would be identical to the other potions, were it not for the yellow liquid swirling inside them. I swiped two of them, however Bab gently took them from me, placing them back in the box. He offered the red potions to me, instead.
I sniffed, then silently took them, stuffing them in the scribe’s satchel. My suddenly mysterious friend began rifling through the cabinets, each drawer filled with paper, sorted haphazardly at best. I busied myself with sealing the crate again, using a stone figurine of a hawk to hammer the nails back in. During the process I managed to break both its wings off; I stuffed the pieces in the satchel as well. No point in leaving evidence. The fact it looked nice was definitely not a part of my reasoning.
The cabinet drawers were mostly full of paperwork it was too dark to read, and the crates were all closed tight; there was nothing to interesting to look at while I waited. Nothing worth taking, either. Instead of allowing boredom to dominate my mind, I scurried back on top of my tower, placing my ear against the ceiling once more.
“…as Dirk pointed out, being aware of any other monsters. However, Ravenkin are solitary creatures; we should be able to travel mostly unmolested. Our supplies should last for at least two weeks longer than we need. Now, are there any more questions?”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, the ceiling shook:
“There is a more pressing matter that has not been mentioned.” Jackson rumbled. “Dure is approaching the Foot.” Two separate voices both swore – Dirk and Stitch. “Given that the city is situated around one of the only sources of water for leagues, the Lizard will probably attempt to drink from it before heading to the desert. What is the Old Guard doing to combat it, Representative?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Jackson’s tone seemed serious. I supressed a yawn. The severity of his tone was offset by the sudden urge to go and do something less boring. Perhaps helping Bab might be a good idea? Several voices above seemed to share my opinion. However, a dangerous groan from the ceiling stole my attention back.
“How dare you attempt to use your powers on me, Fedor?” Jackson’s voice was dangerous, far more so than it had been during our talk the night before. “Me, the successor of General Maja’s blood? In a discussion so clearly important?”
A soothing sensation flooded me; I steeled my will against it, now aware of the Dolphinblood tugging at my mood. Biting my tongue, I pressed my ear against the ceiling once more.
“Calm yourself, Captain Jackson.” The Representative’s intonation was off, almost sheepish. As if he were a child caught stealing sweets. “I was only attempting to expedite the conclusion of the conversation – of course I was planning to have this talk as soon as we returned.”
The Oxblood spoke once more. “What are House Esfaria’s plans regarding this threat?”
“Well, I am not free to make claims on Lord Irwin’s behalf. Ideally, we will have the troops to redirect the Lizard back into Esfarian territory, thus keeping it as a resource for the House. However, we will most likely simply scare Dure into the wastes; with only a few more Blooded, our manpower will be sufficient.”
“And if it is not?”
“It will be.”
“I think it best not to be overconfident where gods are concerned.”
Was Jackson allowed to be so bold? His words seemed to have impact – was it his status as one of the only living Godslayers? His strength? Or was it simply the weight of his blood? Whatever the reason, the Representative was forced to tolerate Jackson’s rudeness.
The Dolphinblood responded to Jackson’s rebuttal angrily. “The Lizard’s offensive ability is lacking-”
Jackson interrupted. “The Lizard is a god.”
“If we are overwhelmed, we will send for more help.”
“It seems prudent, then, to send a message to his lordship to pre-emptively ask for assistance.”
“House Esfaria needs all the soldiers it can get.”
“Representative, more soldiers increases the likelihood of Dure shedding its blood. Undiluted Lizardblood should be worth far more to Lord Irwin than a few warriors.” Jackson paused, then continued. “The prestige to those stationed here will be immense.”
Fedor clicked his tongue, apparently annoyed at being argued into a corner. “Your request is reasonable. The message shall be sent upon our return.”
“Before we leave. More time to prepare is always better.”
“Fine.” Fedor spat. “A courier will leave before we depart. And I will hear no more of this!”
“Not a peep.”
Jackson shot upwards rapidly in my esteem; standing up to a superior, from what Ma had told me, was an act with potentially fatal repercussions. It took a brave person to do so.
“If that is everything,” the Dolphinblood continued, “then the meeting will be adjourned. Talia, please file the minutes before we leave.”
Uh oh.
I dropped from my pile of crates, and rapidly tapped Bab on the shoulder. “Hey, they just finished. We need to get out of here.”
He turned to me, teeth clenched. “Yo-you can read, yes?” I nodded quickly. “Help me find documents RBB eight through fifty. The letters and numbers in the top right. They should all be in the same section.”
I began slamming open cabinet drawers, then carrying documents over to the light in order to examine them. The first pile I grabbed were labelled LCP. Briefly glancing over them, I could tell they contained information to do with the Lizard, complete with various illustrations and diagrams, however it wasn’t what I needed. Then there was UDU – to do with waste disposal – NIH – regarding some sort of mountain geography – and BMT. The latter was the most interesting – it seemed to contain methods for teaching volatile Blooded self-control. I discreetly shoved the file into Bab’s satchel, for later.
By the time that was done, footsteps were echoing down the hall. Making a snap decision, I formed a makeshift wall by dragging boxes, then tugged Bab behind it, dragging the light and satchel with us. We huddled behind it, Bab clicking off the bloodtech lamp. Darkness enveloped us for several seconds, however soon afterwards faint light entered the storeroom as the door scraped open.
We both held our breath as two or three pairs of feet stomped their way inside. They halted barely a foot away from us. “Which ones do we need?” a sonorous voice drawled out. One of the others grunted, and after a few more steps, a knocking sound resounded as they tapped the top of a crate.
With my limited field of vision, I could only see at an angle upwards; the rest of the room was blocked by my cover. The relatively low light and obscured vision gave reason for me to question what I saw next.
Like they were lighter than air, boxes began drifting upwards.
I looked at Bab, wide-eyed, and he looked at me, wearing an identical expression. I closed my eyes tightly, then reopened them – they were still floating. Someone stomped over, and I flattened Bab and I to the floor, covering both our mouths. There was the creaking of a cabinet being opened, the shuffling of papers, then the gentle sound of a drawer being shut. The trio strode out, the boxes drifting after them, and the door swung shut, casting us in complete darkness once more. The lock clicked.
Both of us stayed completely still for a time. My curiosity swiftly got the better of me, however.
“What in the eight gods’ quivering sacks was that?” I blurted.
Bab giggled. “Uh, well, we have an Owlblood. Vernon. Uhm, Captain Vernon, but he doesn’t do all that much captaining.”
“Owlbloods can make things fly?”
“Well, if their blood is strong enough. Among other things.”
I blinked. “Woah.”
Bab nodded. “Woah indeed.”
The diminutive scribe clicked the lamp back on. With a more casual pace, Bab and I continued our search for documents RBB. Some of the files I glanced through were interesting – containing standardised tactics for fighting certain monsters or people – but most contained relentless lists of numbers, next to meaningless words, next to more numbers.
“Do you write all of these out by hand?” I inquired idly.
Bab had submerged his head in a cabinet’s drawer, however I could still see his shoulders shrugging. He lifted himself out and spoke. “Some of them. Most are copied by Owlbloods.”
“That seems like a waste of their time.” I sniffed.
“No, uh, they use their power.” He clarified. “To copy text from one place to another.”
I grunted. “I thought they were rare?”
Bab bobbed his head. “Yoot’s blood is. A lot of scribes are given the tiniest amount. Fr-from what I gather, copying patterns is quite easy.”
I thought for a moment, then furrowed my brows. “Do you have Yoot’s blood?” I asked.
“Uhm, we’re not- that is, I, uh…” He swallowed, then began again. “No. Only Captain Vernon is an Owlblood.”
We lapsed into silence once more. From there, it only took a few more minutes for Bab to produce the pages we were looking for. My competitive spirit was slightly annoyed that he found them first, but I squashed the feeling. He then pulled a thick folder of paper from his satchel, swapping it with the originals.
“I thought you had to alter the original documents?”
Bab coughed. “I, uh, no. No, I prepared these beforehand.”
“Oh.”
Briefly, I considered asking to check through the forged papers, before dismissing the idea. If something was wrong with them, I had absolutely no chance of figuring out the problem.
Slinging the bag now filled entirely with pilfered goods over my shoulder, I moved to the door, pressing my ear against it. The building was completely quiet again – the Old Guard must have all left on their expedition. Slowly, wary of any sounds the lock could make, I inserted Peeler’s key and opened the door. It swung open. Warily, I poked my head out, swinging both ways. The hallway was empty.
Bab and I entered the office once again. He replaced the quills and bloodtech lamp while I crammed Peeler’s keyring in the gap between a desk and a wall – hopefully, he would have to overturn the entire room to find them. I began to leave, but my companion pulled me aside.
“P-Peeler is probably by the entranceway.”
I hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. You’ve patched me, the son of a prominent farmer, up somewhat. Call me…” I wracked my brain for Jasmine’s family name. “Master Frond. I don’t remember anything about the seizure. I’ll ask you to escort me home.”
“Uh, Orvi, are you sure this will-“
No. “Absolutely. There’s no way he’ll see through it.” I draped my arm over his shoulder, handing him the bag. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Partially supported by Bab, I walked down the stairs. As we descended, I began speaking. “Thank you very much, young sir. I will confess that I did not think much of the Old Guard, however upon being accosted by those ruffians, you were the first to extend a hand. I will be sure to inform my father of your assistance. I am sure he would be delighted to spread word of your good deeds.”
“Uh. Yes,” belatedly, he added, “Master Frond.”
I kept my tongue flowing with as much nonsense as possible, regurgitating terms like ‘crop output’, ‘fallow fields’, and ‘trusted farmhands’ I had heard Jasmine use before. Soon enough, we had reached the entranceway proper, and I was delighted to see Peeler’s face was as pale as a corpse. He knew who the Frond family were.
“Ah!” I exclaimed, “you must be one of the guards. I do appreciate you allowing me shelter. Your man here has done such excellent work.”
Looking like a whipped dog, the soldier nodded.
“I’m afraid I must ask you for another favour, sir. My head aches something terribly – the scoundrels must have gotten a few good kicks on me,” Peeler’s teeth clenched, and I resisted the urge to cackle madly, “so would you be so kind as to lend me this young scribe for an hour or two? He has been such a good friend to me, and I do not trust my legs to carry me home.”
The piece of filth cleared his throat. “Uh. Yes.” He regained his composure somewhat, which was disappointing. “Of course, Master Frond.”
He opened the door for us. We wobbled our way out, the sudden bright light sending shards of pain through my skull. I turned my head over my shoulder. I couldn’t resist myself.
“Oh, and if you see the fellows who did this to me, be sure to inform my family. We’ll have them quartered in no time!” Peeler looked like he was about to puke. “Goodbye for now.”
As soon as we were a hundred paces from the offices, the two of us burst into hysterical laughter.
----------------------------------------
The day was hot enough that even after being drenched in several buckets of water, cleansing myself of blood and vomit, I still wasn’t cold. I strutted back home like a king. Even the usually reserved Bab couldn’t resist the urge to grin wildly.
Our return journey moved at a far more sedate place than our rush to the offices. We spent most of it chatting. Though it was mostly myself talking, my speech punctuated with a few impromptu dance-moves, and Bab listening, occasionally nodding. I was in a great mood. It had been an excellent heist.
After a few dozen minutes of travel, we had reached the front of the restaurant.
“Do you want to come in?” I offered Bab. “I can make you something. Free of charge.” The urge to overcharge him was still present, however I had learned from my argument with Blake.
Bab rubbed the back of his head. He seemed somewhat nervous. “W-well I would love to, but I, uhm, have to be somewhere e-else.”
“Are you sure? I could introduce you to Sash.” I wiggled my eyebrows. He blushed fiercely. “Though, if you try anything with her I might have to put you in a stew.”
“Uh, no, sorry. I-I have got to go.”
“Okay, okay. But wait here for a second – I’ve got something to give you.”
He nodded. I snatched the stone wings from the bag and ran inside. Rushing past several customers and an inquisitive Dash and Sash, I slid into Ma’s room, looting a small hand-drill from a pile of tools in the corner. An idea had niggled at me the entire way home.
It took me a few minutes, but finally one of the broken wing’s had a small hole in it – I would do the other one later. I scrambled up to the attic and grabbed a piece of string from my sewing kit, and hurriedly made the trinket into a makeshift necklace. I hurried back outside.
Bab was still waiting, shifting from foot to foot.
“Here.” I said, holding out the necklace to him. It seemed like a good idea a few moments ago, but in practice the gift was incredibly embarrassing.
The chubby scribe glanced at me inquisitively.
“It’s a…” I struggled to put words to my feelings. “A keepsake. Because… we’re friends now. Uh, if you want to be friends, that is.”
Reverently, Bab took the wing from me. “Yo-you’re sure?”
I nodded. “Robbing a place together makes us pals. You might want to hide it from the Guard, though.”
He smiled widely, then started and looked around quickly. He removed the pack from his back and handed it to me. I nodded, and began taking out the potions and set of papers I had stolen.
“No.” He shoved the backpack towards me. “Y-you can have it. The whole bag. If you want it.”
I blinked. “Really?” The backpack was extremely impressive, at least to me. It was a large and jet-black, with two straps to buckle it closed.
Bab nodded.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded again.
I blinked. “Thank you.” I grinned. “This is such a cool gift. I’ve only ever had little bags to carry my stuff in. Are you really sure you don’t need this?”
The scribe nodded once again. “It’s yours. I, uh, I would have had to, uh… not have it, anyway.”
That was a strange choice of words. Still. I flipped the pack around, admiring it.
Bab began walking away. I called after him. “Swing by sometime! Our door is always open!” He turned around and waved, then began jogging away. I smiled. It was a good day. I had made a friend, stolen some nice trinkets, and gotten a great bag.
The worst mistake I had ever made had passed me by, and I didn’t even know it.