“So, unemployed again,” Nicholas complained.
“You agreed to this,” Connor replied. “Remember all that stuff about not being a king’s man? Not working for any lord?”
“Not sure. It sounds familiar.” Nicholas looked at the road ahead and wondered to himself if he’d made the right choice. They had been out of the army for several years now, and though the fight against the Lords of Shadow was nearly three years ago, they still felt restless and couldn’t stay in any one place for more than a few months. Do the job, get paid, and move on.
“I agreed to it too. As comforting as it is to have the security of a regular stipend, I worked for too many shitty masters to settle down. King Syphon was good to us, King Herron too, but the adventure is out there.” He nodded in the direction of the open road. Nicholas looked at him but said nothing. The normally, more optimistic member of their duo was in an especially somber mood. They walked for hours upon hours and eventually, they neared Mirren.
“I think that we’ve finally reached the end of the world, friend,” Connor said as they reached the outskirts of the large port city. “I’ve never been this far west.”
“Another city, another lord to suck up to,” Nicholas groused.
“You need to get out of your funk, it’s getting old.”
“Sorry, Centurian. I’m just… tired. As miserable as I was in the military, I had many brothers and always had a home to go to. We, you and I, have been essentially homeless for the last four years. I’m starting to wonder if finding a woman, having children and a home is even in my future.”
“I do not need a woman or children, but I understand. I’ve never had a long-term relationship, and when people find out about my proclivities, they are not always as kind as you’ve been. I think part of it is, I never really expected to live this long. Drink, raise hell, make love… and die young.”
“I don’t know how we’ve lived through some of the things we’ve been through. Both of us have been on the very edge of death, only to be pulled back by that priest, the healer. Perhaps we were meant to die, and we just cheated death.”
“Or… perhaps we are loved by the gods, and they have a higher purpose for us.”
“The gods? I have a hard time believing in gods! What god would create this world, and then allow the evil that we faced a few years ago?”
“You saw Magnus!” Conner scolded, “His very presence pushed back the darkness brought by the Lords of Shadow. You don’t need to speculate on the existence of God that you’ve seen with your own eyes.”
“I’ve seen a very powerful being, a man with incredible power. He claims to have created this world, but then he did next to nothing to stop the incursion of the lava men and the Dragonkin. There are dragons loose in Pyrros, gods knows where, and if one of them is female, we could soon have them all over the place! They killed tens of thousands of innocents. Would a loving god allow so many to perish for no reason?” They walked in silence for a bit before Nicholas turned to his friend, “I’ve no use for Magnus or any of the Old Gods. They are no friend to man, and I will no longer worship them.”
“Deserter? Heretic? You’re putting together quite the resume. When we get to the keep, let me do the talking.”
“What kind of job is this? He wants us to chase after thieves. Isn’t that a job for the local constable?”
“It’s the kind of job that pays money. Seriously, quit complaining.” They walked on the main thoroughfare, taking in the sites. “I know what you need. A few drinks and a good meal.”
“That does sound good. How about there?” Nicholas said pointing at a large tavern a couple of hundred feet down the strip. With the opening of trade between Kronos and the newly discovered other continents, the economy across all of Kronos was exploding. Port cities like Mirren were overflowing with wealth and were destinations for uncontrolled immigration. Men were leaving the farms and were coming to the big city to make their fortunes. The port city was one of the larger deep-water ports in Kronos twenty years ago, but it had more than doubled in size and population and was home to tens of thousands.
They passed many of the typical things that one sees in a large city, there were bakeries, tailors, and shops of all kinds. As they got closer to the docks, the types of establishments began to change. There were inns aplenty, gambling dens, houses for lending money, and they saw several brothels.
“Not quite the wholesome atmosphere that I was expecting,” Conner remarked. They came to a halt in front of an especially raucous bar; the musical instruments being played inside could barely be heard over the roar of voices enjoying an evening on the town.
“Could be fun. Let’s drop in for an ale.” Nicholas led the way, pushing into the crowd that was blocking the door. He was swarthy and tall, he wore his black hair just short of his shoulders, and he was well-muscled from a lifetime of soldiering. Connor was on his heels, he was thinner through the chest, though taller by an inch or two. Where Nicholas often didn’t shave for a week at a time, Connor wore his light brown hair short and was always clean-shaven. They may have seemed the odd couple, but they were big men who dressed and carried themselves like soldiers.
The interior of the pub was loud and filled with both energy and smoke. The air smelled of tobacco and beer, of sweat and grilled meats. The bodies were thickest near the door and along the bar. The men inside were of a rough crowd, hard men mixed with lost men. They were divided nearly equally between future tormentors and potential victims. The upper crust of society could be found several blocks towards the city's center. The men here were working-class laborers and uneducated functionaries. The women were almost universally the kind that entertained men, stroking their egos and sometimes stroking more than their egos. There were a few hard-core drunks who came for the numbness of alcohol, but most of the women were drinking lightly and were dressed to entice men to spend money. They would encourage men to buy overpriced drinks, and the hostess would receive a kickback. Men would be buying them food and flowers, trinkets, and other inducements to spend time with them. Many of the women were unlicensed prostitutes, and for hard cold coin, would take a man back to a tiny stall upstairs for ten minutes of ecstasy.
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“They don’t have places like this in Margera,” Connor said as he surveyed the room. There was a small stage at the far end of the room with musicians playing guitar and flute. Their tunes could hardly be heard over the sound of men shouting at each other. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in the enjoyment of a particularly bawdy jibe. Everyone was either drunk or on the path to inebriation; the room was like a match, ready to be struck.
“I’ll fetch us a couple of ales, you find us a place to sit, or stand.” Nicholas weaved his way through the crowd, making his way to the bar. He was no stranger to a rowdy atmosphere, and he knew that it was best to avoid confrontation with men who’d already had a few drinks.
There was a ring around the front of the bar two men deep. Nicholas waited patiently; despite the many times he was nearly jostled out of position. When he finally reached the front, he called his order to the barman. When he got his drinks, he reached for his purse to find that the small leather pouch was missing. Leather straps still hung from his belt; their ends were cleanly cut.
“Money!” the barman growled, holding out his upturned palm.
“I’ve been robbed! Some damn cutpurse has taken my coin!”
“You still need to pay!” the man bellowed. His face was sweaty and red with rage, he was inches shorter than Nicholas and the bright lamplight flickered off the bald spot that covered most of his greasy scalp. He pulled a blackjack from behind the bar and waived it menacingly.
“Relax, friend,” Nicholas said, pulling his sword halfway out of the scabbard. The polished steel caught his attention immediately and the barman lowered his weapon. There were a lot of dangerous men in the room, men who would pull your head off in a fair fight. Only professional soldiers and sellswords carried real swords. “My friend has coin. I’ll be right back.”
Nicholas pushed through the crowd; his already testy mood turned him into a pot ready to boil over. “I’ve been robbed! Some bastard clipped my purse and now I need a loan,” he said glumly. Connor laughed as he fished out a few coppers.
“I think I saw a guy behind you. I’m going to watch him for a bit.”
“Thanks. Let me know if you see him steal from anyone else. I have a lot of pent-up frustrations lately and could use a diversion.”
Connor sat drinking his ale and kept an eye on his suspect. “Hey, look at that guy over there.” He pointed with his eyes. “That skinny character over there with the short dark hair and bad skin.”
“Bad skin?”
“The one with the blue shirt and wearing a burlap pack.”
“Oh, that guy!” Nicholas laughed. “You go that way,” he said pointing to the far right of where their intended target was pressing himself against men trying to get to the bar. The man was late twenties with black hair that was cut short, his thin frame was covered by clothes that were two sizes too large and looked stained by god's knows what. Nicholas watched as he bumped his body against the back of what was probably a local smith of some kind. There were so many distractions that the man didn’t notice as the thief cut items from his belt and stowed them in the large folds of his overcoat. The brown woolen coat went almost to the floor and there were bulges from the many items that were concealed within.
“Your stealing days are done, thief!” Nicholas said, grabbing the man by the arm. Spinning him around, he could see that the cutpurse was practically a child, late teens most likely. His dirty face showed his shock at being caught in the act. “I’ll drag you off to the magistrate…” and he was gone. The boy ducked and dipped and slipped away through the crowd. Nicholas went after him, pushing his way through the crowd, knocking men aside roughly.
“Don’t push me, ya lousy!” A fist came at him, aimed at his head. Nicholas ducked and kept trying to brute force his way through.
“Watch it you,” Nicholas clipped the man with his shoulder, knocking him over and causing him to spill his drink down his front. The place erupted in a cacophony of shouting, curses were hurled, and threats were issued. He fought his way through the crowd, getting jostled and tripped, and someone punched him in the back of the head, though with not much strength in the swing. By the time he reached the far end of the room, chaos reigned all around and he found Connor holding the thief in his iron grip.
“I’m sorry to have clipped ya sire!” the boy squealed. He fumbled around in his many pockets, looking for the specific pouch he’d taken from Nicholas. He pulled utility knives, coin purses, a few rings, and a few religious tokens from within his coat. Nicholas grabbed his property and then turned to the crowd. Though still raucous, almost everyone in the pub was watching them.
“I caught this thief taking my purse, and as you can see,” He pointed to the many items on the table, “He’s fleeced many of you sheep here tonight. Come and claim your property and do not try and claim what’s another man’s goods!” He instructed the crowd.
“Who are you to give orders? By your rig, we can all see that you’re not the town guard,” someone yelled from the mass of men by the bar.
“True, we are not the city guard, but we do have authority, given to us by your lord, Lord Gottard. He’s charged us with reducing the crime here in Mirren, and before we can even get started, I get robbed. “He grabbed the thief by the front of his jacket, shaking him so that another dozen items fell from his coat, to rattle on the hard wooden floor.
“If you take everything, I’ll not meet my quota,” the boy squeaked.
“Quota?” Connor asked. He looked at the angry faces all around them. “Let’s take this outside.” With their swords no longer hidden behind their cloaks, they dragged the young thief out the door and into the streets that were just starting to empty for the night.
“What is this business about a quota?” Connor asked.
“I ain’t sayin nothin!” the boy said defiantly.
Nicholas slapped him hard on the back of the head, “You WILL, and you’ll do it now!”
“The guild’ll have my skin if I were to talk.”
“Guild? What guild would that be?” Connor asked, his expression leaving no doubt that he would be in serious trouble if he didn’t answer. He looked around for help, but no one was close enough to intervene, and if they were, would they take on two armed soldiers to save a dirty street urchin?
Nicholas smacked him on the back of the head again. “Talk!”
“The thieves guild of course. Every major city has a guild these days. They train and regulate the theivin, and for that, they get a cut of everything we take. Maybe two to three hundred members here in Mirren alone.”
“Who runs the guild? I’m looking for a name.” Nicholas’ tone was full of menace.
“I don’t know! Really! I don’t! I’m just a second-level cutpurse. I’ll probably have to reach Master Thief before I would know any of the names you're lookin for.”
“If he can’t give us any names, he’s worthless. Let's just eviscerate him and be about our business,” Connor said very matter-of-factly.
“Wait! No reason to go to extremes!” He started to shake violently, his legs stomping and sweat covered his face. “I don’t even know what the higher ranks are called, and I don’t know any Master Thieves, but directly above me is the Cutpurse Captain, and above him is a Swift Dagger.”
“Swift Dagger?” Connor asked.
“Yeah, the guild is broken up into specialties. At the bottom are the Cutpurses, Sneak Thieves, and Snatchers. Swift Daggers are one of the classes that are trained to go on longer missions, and they have combat skills. If I were a Swift Dagger, I woulda shanked you both and been back to the burrow by now.”
“The burrow?” Nicholas asked, giving the boy a full body shake.
“Damn!” was all he could say.
“You’re going to tell us where this burrow is and then you’ll tell us about this Swift Dagger. His name and where we can find him.”
“It’s a her. Her name is Charity.”
“How fitting,” Conner said smirking.