The instructions seemed simple.

Go to the back side of Laverna’s Cup, find the service entrance, and perform a coded knock to gain entrance. Not the most sophisticated security, but they likely were flying under the radar, so to speak. If people knew that Laverna’s Cup was their base of operations, it likely would be raided, regardless of how elaborate the process to gain entry.

Thus, I found myself at the backdoor. Some graffiti had been scratched onto the painted steel. Crude graffiti, of a sexual nature.

I saw no reason to hide my disgust. Just simply touching the door seemed unsanitary. Which was ironic, considering where I worked and lived.

Truthfully, I was stalling.

While we were merely performing introductions today, and likely going over the plans for the upcoming heist, I found myself nervous. This seemed a focal point. Once I entered, then I would be accessories to this gang. In a more official manner than I already was.

A significant portion of myself wanted to distance myself from Belobog and her people. They were dangerous. They were likely using me. They could be planning on tossing me aside, or worse, to the wolves.

After living with such a wholesome girl as Marianne for the past weeks, I found myself loathing the idea of returning to such a threadbare state, where I required constant vigil against knives to the back.

However, I already knew my decision. I would gain resources through Belobog that I would not gain otherwise. And while there was danger involved, that was true for all things, and these dangers could be mitigated.

I was stalling, nervous, and I felt a wave of vertigo as if I was almost observing myself standing before the graffiti disfigured back-door. The nervous energy was growing. My anxiety began to spiral around the most ridiculous worries that at the time seemed troublesome.

What if somebody saw me stalling. What if someone was already watching me. What if a patrol of Peacekeepers or Knights just happened by and saw me enter or behaving suspiciously. Should I lap around the block to make sure–

In the end, I surprised myself by simply knocking.

It almost felt as though my body were moving without my input.

Since it was my false-arm that did the knocking, in a way, it had been without my input.

The four tendrils imitating a clenched human hand knocked twice, paused, then knocked thrice more.

That had been the correct code. Mentally, I gave the symbiotic parasite some speculative side-eye. I never had figured out just how intelligent it was. As the speculation regarding my agency and my union with the symbiotic false-arm caused me mental discomfort, I found myself instead examining the crude graffiti.

It seemed to be a fairly well endowed male organ attached to a poor representation of a possible meohr. As far as distractions went, the graffiti served.

Thus, I waited. Perhaps a minute had passed, though it felt much longer. My apprehensions grew.

A tickling sensation formed upon the nape of my neck. It felt as though I was being spied upon. Discreetly, I checked about my surroundings. I could find no obvious lookout, but that did not mean one was not present.

Why had the door not opened yet? I had knocked in the correct pattern, of this I was certain.

Once more, I wondered: was this a trap? No. I had already spiraled through such anxieties. If so, it was highly elaborate when much simpler plans would have had a higher chance of success. Perhaps not a trap in the fatal sort of way, but perhaps some form of hazing? Were they screening me? Checking with Belobog? Or, and this was a loathsome thought, they had forgotten I was to arrive.

What did it say about me that I preferred the idea of them prepping an ambush rather than simply forgetting myself?

I shook my head and pinched the side of my thigh.

While impatient thieves are hung thieves, this current state felt deplorable, and something had to simply be done.

Once more I knocked, repeating the same pattern as before. This time, I used my true-hand, in case that somehow made a difference.

Afterall, I only had so much time to waste standing around, especially as I had been delayed in leaving Ma’Ritz.

Was that the reason none had come to let me in? Because I was late in arriving? When then, should I do: simply allow myself inside?

I tried the door handle, but predictably, the door was barred from the inside.

A frustrated groan escaped my throat. I wanted to seek a person to blame for my tardiness, but the only person which I could blame, I refused to do.

It was hardly Marianne’s fault for delaying me. I supposed I could have been more forceful in extricating myself from her presence, but she had insisted on having a girls talk. This had come after our shared Massage course, where we had partnered up as was usual. What was less usual, was that she had kept insisting that I ought to find Sir Kate and take her up immediately.

To Marianne’s mind, being courted or asked on a date by such a person as Kate was too good to pass up. Not that I had passed up that opportunity, exactly, I perhaps was disinclined to formalize any sort of relationship between Sir Kate and I, which I feared a ‘date’ would do.

Of course, my feelings towards Kate were hardly relevant on this particular day, as this particular day I had plans to make and a crew to establish rapport.

However, I could hardly tell Marianne I had to go meet with a crew of thieves and criminals, which meant I ended up accompanying Marianne back to Ma’Ritz.

When Marianne and I had returned back to Ma’Ritz from the Academy, I had made to drop my things off, change, and take off to Laverna’s Cup.

It was at this point that Marianne decided that I was suffering through some nature of ‘funk.’

Just thinking about that conversation left me experiencing an echo of a shudder of ill feelings.

Apparently, the best thing that could be done to extricate myself from such a ‘funk,’ was to put my mind to something else. Marianne had several proposals, the most benign being to work alongside her as she tended to the tavern floor.

A lesser person may have snapped.

Not I.

Though, it was at this point that I had had enough of her benign and well-meaning helpfulness. Rather than committing a rudeness which I would later regret, I ended up telling her I had errands to run.

Naturally, she wanted the details.

Also naturally, I had already considered the details of any false account I would provide for this so-called errand. If I said I had purchases to make, then she would likely exhibit interest upon my return, which would prove my deceit. This was not necessarily the end of the ruse, as I could perhaps say that I was unsuccessful, or that I had received some professional service, such as several of those ideas she had earlier shared. Unfortunately, nearly all such services were available at Ma’Ritz, particularly to, for, and by, the working girls.

Thus, I told her it would be a surprise, and when a large crowd entered the tavern, I used the distraction to make my escape from Marianne and Ma’Ritz.

Even now, waiting for this mother-cursed door to open, I could not help feelings of confusion as I considered Marianne. Her motivations and actions made little sense to me; I struggled to rationalize her behavior. Which was nothing of a surprise. My previous life had left me without the skills nor experience to deal with such persons as Marianne. Or rather, my previous life had left me with the skills to exploit such persons, which I most certainly wished to avoid doing, at least not with Marianne.

But, attempting personal growth came with such difficulties, and such was life.

The door.

Despite the minutes that had passed, the door continued blocking my path. At this point, I may have growled an impolite phrase.

I knocked once more, much more forcefully this time. And this time, something happened.

I heard shuffling from the interior. Finally! I thought. Movement.

Whether that was a positive would remain to be seen. From the volume of their steps, from the slight reverberation of the ground, I determined the person was on the larger side. The time intervals between plodding steps implied a long gait, or a sedate pace. The force from their feet hitting the wooden floor seemed sharper than expected from leather soles.

Too many discrepancies had occurred for me to feel completely at ease. If the worst came, I would be prepared. My false-arm twinged its tendrils, coiling and preparing to lash out, should such be required.

And then, finally, finally, the door opened.

The interior was dim, but I could still see the mammoth of a man who had opened the door and was now peering down upon me. My eyes quickly adjusted. I took a step back to better see this person. He had horns. Bull horns. His face was bovine, covered with a white pelt. His brows were bushy, and his hair was more of a mane than anything else.

A meohr?

Not even considering the fact he was wearing clothes or that he had such a rare coloration, all of this was pushed to the side by the most unusual thing of all, which was a meohr who seemed sapient. Were all meohr sapient? A minute wave of horror passed through me, though this was quickly quashed. I had met plenty of them in the midst of their labors, and were they sapient, I would think I would have known it, or at the very least, the stables would be locked or otherwise better secured, besides against thieves.

What made this meohr an exception then?

My musings came slamming to a halt when he spoke with a gruff voice of such a deep and rich baritone that I found my chest vibrating in reverb.

“You the new girl?” he asked, snorting out through his flared nostrils.

I was unsure of how to read that expression, but I thought it must have been negative. I quickly responded, to hopefully abate this possible mood of his.

“Perhaps,” I answered. “Do you by chance work with for woman by the name of–”

He grumbled an affirmative and turned, leading the way into the dimly lit hallway, towards an interior set of stairs. The motion made it clear I was to follow, even though it came abruptly and without preamble or niceties.

It took a second for my mind to catch up and I found myself finishing the sentence. “-Belobog?”

From where he was in the hallway, I was unable to see his expression, but he made a sound and gesture that may have been him spitting on the floor.

I winced. It was not the worst thing I had seen, but the people of these lands were generally obscene.

“You following or not?” he asked, more of an impatient grunt.

“I am,” I said cautiously, approaching where he was waiting in the hall. I allowed the heavy metal door to shut behind me.

He led the way further in, then up the stairs. Several wall sconces could have lit the way, but the only source of actual illumination came from narrow windows from high up along the wall. Needless to say, the stairs were dark. Were it not for my low-light vision, I likely would have stumbled. I had to wonder if this was part of a test of some sort.

The meohr must have had low-light vision as well, either that or he had memorized the uneven stairs.

Soon, we reached an entry to an atrium, which the meohr bent down to pass through, before standing up and stretching.

Several lamps were lit, providing a warm glow in a fairly large space with a sloped ceiling.

Once we entered, I found myself in a sort of communal recreational space.

Several linen bound couches were scattered around a focal coffee table, and a kitchen-counter with barstools and sink was set up to the side. Before I could further examine the space, I found myself also under examination, by another meohr, though this time female.

She seemed amused from where she was sprawled upon a couch.

“Well?” she asked, her voice a rich contralto, pairing well with the male. “This was who’s knocking? I won the bet then?”

“No,” the male answered gruffly. “I never took the bet.”

She blew a raspberry at him, “Nu-huh, you did.”

He growled and stalked past where she laid and he headed towards what looked like a parietal gym, complete with dumbbells, sparring equipment, and most striking, a metal plated punching bag, which seemed unusual, even by this world’s standards.

I had to admit, for a criminal organization built over a run-down pub, the place was incredibly well furnished.

The couches seemed sturdy, firmly padded, and upholstered with a thick material that would be resistant to wear and tear. The kitchen was stocked with a breadbox and an ice-chest. There even seemed to be artificed devices, including what seemed to be a crude version of an arcade console, though it currently was powered off. Which made sense, considering that Chargers were required to run devices, and Chargers were literally this country’s form of monetization. But that just made the point all the more clear. This was no mere hideout meant for shoddy thieves. This was an organization with pretenses, at the very least.

However, before I could investigate further, I had to deal with the room’s only other current occupant, the female meohr. She was reclined upon a couch, with a magazine resting upon her stomach, and a large bottle of slightly fermented berry juice in one hand, though I failed to recognize the brand. Her hooves were up on the arm-rest, leaving her sprawled out and quite casual. Her fur coat also appeared white, which was an incredibly rare coloration for meohr. In fact, these two were the only such meohr I had ever seen.

“Yep,” the woman said, or possibly a girl, though her age was difficult to determine without asking. The way she emphasized the p, however, led me to think she was towards the younger side.

The male went further in, to where a large, heavy, and metal plated bag hung from the rafters. He slipped thin mitts over his hands and began pummeling it. He was practicing rapid fire hooks, following through with swiveling footwork, though he hardly moved. His style seemed more suitable for a brawl than anything else, though that was not to say his technique was poor, but his technique did seem meant for messy situations where distance could not be gained between opponents.

The female saw me watching, perhaps bordering on staring, and she smirked at me before performing an overly dramatic wink.

“Sooo,” she said, drawing it out. “You gonna gawk all day? You liking what you’re seeing that much?”

Her casual mode of speech grated, more so considering her implications. I found myself frowning her way.

“In what manner do you mean?” I asked for clarification before realizing her insinuations tended towards the puerile.

She scoffed, before making a crude gesture to imply coupling.

My frown grew, though I quickly smoothed my face back over.

“No,” I answered truthfully. “Not at all. What drew my interest was the punching bag itself. Most fists would break striking the bronze plating. Even those gloves seem too little to protect his knuckles, but perhaps they are enough?”

The male snorted, but otherwise continued his exercise. He may have been enjoying the fact that he had an audience. It certainly seemed to be an odd decision to immediately workout upon having guests.

“Nah, you got it backwards,” she claimed. “Bee wears ‘em to protect the bag, not his hands.”

That caused me to pause, but after quickly thinking upon it, it did not seem entirely beyond the realm of possibility. If he had the appropriate alterations or Marks or possibly even some other nature of enhancement, then it might be that the metal was softer than his bones. Other than nodding slightly, I proffered no further reaction.

Clearly, this lack dissatisfied the female.

“Whatev,” she said. “So, where’d Belobog find ya?” she asked. “Pretty sure somebody mentioned a whorehouse’r some such?”

I strove to maintain a calm demeanor, as I was fairly certain she was attempting to gain a rise from me.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Apologies,” I said, avoiding answering her question. “But we have yet to be introduced…”

My attempt at an introduction was stalled by her cutting in with a rather crude sound reminiscent of flatulence.

“Pfft,” she said. “Nah, your name’s new girl.”

I blinked. Were this person any less ridiculous then I likely would have expressed some outrage. However, her demeanor was off-putting enough that I was unsure of the appropriate reaction.

Meanwhile, she tapped her muzzle in an expression of false thoughtfulness.

“You still need something to call us though. Ain’t the right, new girl?”

One of my eyelids fluttered, and my false-arm coiled slightly.

“...Call me Ay. Short for Kit A-32. Over there’s Bee.”

A strange name. My incredulity must have been on display, as the girl cackled.

“Pardon, but ‘A?’” I asked, verifying the pronunciation. “How is that spelt?”

She laughed, “Might need to write this bit down. Ya read?”

My original intent of repressing my frown had been forgotten. I was verging on a scowl.

“Alright,” she said, making a show as if she was preparing to provide a lengthy diatribe. “Here it is. A.”

She paused.

I waited.

The corners of her lips curled upwards. It was a jest of some sort. Was this her actual name, or was she merely hazing me in some form of bizarre sense of camaraderie?

“By chance, do you go by anything else?” I asked to verify.

It was Bee that answered this time, before Ay could provide another name, likely one more ridiculous than the last.

“Just Call her Rabbit,” Bee said, though he punctuated each word with his fist slamming against the metal plating.

“You’re the only one that uses that,” Ay said, rolling her eyes in the direction of the punching bag. “Doesn’t make sense for anyone else.”

“It’s catchy enough. Easy to remember. Better than what you’ve come up with.”

That had to have been the longest string of words that Bee had put together yet.

I thought that Ay would protest more strongly, but all she did was smile and huff in his direction, before turning her attention back towards me and slipping into a slightly more relaxed demeanor.

“Nah, but seriously,” the girl said, measuring my disbelief. “Call me Ay. And my little bro over there’s Bee.”

A sudden cough forced itself from my throat.

“Did you say little?” I asked, before realizing how crude my question was.

“Yep,” she said, gloating. This sounded like a point of contention. Reaffirmed a second later when we heard Bee growling and picked up the frequency with which he struck the heavy bag.

I then stood there somewhat awkwardly for the better part of a minute, while Ay went back to glancing through her magazine, occasionally taking a sip from her bottle. I was unsure if I should make myself comfortable, or just what liberties I had been granted in this situation. My impression of the siblings thus far was that they were poor hosts. But then, what expectations could I have in regards to etiquette from criminals? Still though, the moment was terse and awkward, and I found myself longing for Belobog to hurry and arrive to spare me from this.

It was then that the door on the opposite side of the loft opened. At first, I assumed it to be Belobog, as I had just been thinking of her, and as she was purportedly psychic. However, this assumption was proven false, as in strode a familiar man.

Joe, the bartender and sometimes fence.

He had painted a good natured expression across his face, though I doubted it was a true expression of his feelings. He just gave me that feeling, though I could never exactly point my finger at any single thing. Granted, I had only met him a handful of times.

He took a glance at Ay and Bee and smirked before greeting me.

“The twins getting into it again?” he asked, sounding only somewhat cultured. This was in comparison to the first time I had met him when he had acted the part of a bartender. And then when I had used him as a fence when he had acted as the odd negotiator. With the mercurialness between his mannerisms, I doubted he was any less of a manipulator than I. In fact, I suspected he may have rivaled mother. The comparison caused me to shudder. “Don’t pay them any mind. Belobog will be here shortly. Want for something to drink?”

I remembered the last time he had spilled warm ale across me to provide a pretense to speak privately. I had stunk of sour ale until I had taken the time to wash my clothes.

He held up his hands to wave me off. “What? No, I recognize that look. We’ve got better stuff up here. Promise,” he grinned a boy’s grin.

I shook my head slightly and ever so slightly shrunk away from the man and his offer.

“As I have obligations later tonight, I fear I must decline.”

Turning away from her diatribe with Bee, Ay jumped in. “Not much a drinker then?” Ay asked me, before grinning towards Joe. “I’ll take hers then.”

Joe gave an almost chuckle and began digging through the ice box before grabbing another oversized glass bottle. Since she made no move to get up from where she lay, he went to hand it off, and when he did, he saw the half full bottle still in her hand.

“What?” Ay saw him looking and cackled. “Don’t shame a girl for drinking.”

Joe made a sound of disapproval but finished handing the fresh bottle to her all the same.

That was when Belobog entered.

She had come through the same doorway Joe had just used. She either had been listening in, or she had been listening in, because she took not more than several seconds to act upon Ay claiming her second bottle.

“Best if we don’t get drunk off our asses, yeah?” Belobog said more than asked. “We got plans to make.”

Ay complained but I noticed she was still nursing her first bottle, and had yet to increase the pace of her consumption. It was then that I began to suspect that Ay was putting on a false front, either to conceal or to protect.

Regardless, I turned my attention to Belobog.

She had yet to cease frowning in disapproval at where Ay was lounging. It was moments such as this that I wondered what it was that Belobog was sensing with her talent. Either way, she realized her judgment was wasted upon Ay, and instead turned her frown to Joe.

“You didn’t have to enable her,” Belobog complained.

Joe shrugged, also ignoring Belobog’s frown.

“Not like she’s the planner here, anyways,” Joe said, shaking off the imaginary dust from his shoulders.

Belobog closed her eyes and breathed for several counts before opening them once more, with a grin upon her face. She clapped her hands.

“Alright folks!” she said, then called Bee over from where he was hanging up his gloves. “Since it seems introductions have already been made, let’s get to it. In less than a month, Baron Ore will be holding a contest to determine the best applicants to field. While it has yet to be officially announced, the grand prize will be a Grimoire.”

At this point, Bee grunted, and Ay crowed. “Way to think small there!” Ay said with a laugh.

Belobog scoffed but kept going. Or rather, she attempted to.

“Naturally, it’s our job to–”

“-what’s the contest for?” Bee interrupted.

Belobog rubbed her temples. Idly, I noted that the nubs were missing, though a hair-band still covered the spots from which they grew.

“Let’s stay on topic, yeah?”

I debated remaining silent, as I wanted to keep what goodwill I had with Belobog, but I also wanted to know what the contest was being held for. However, I decided I could always find out at a later date. It might be that Belobog lacked these details herself, or that they were currently irrelevant.

Bee made a strained sound, before adding, “Why not win it?” When he saw the looks of confusion around him, he elaborated, “the contest. Win it.”

Ay snorted a laugh, “Because only you would think that trouncing some rubes is the same as stealing the prize.”

“It is,” Bee insisted.

I could have sworn that I heard Belobog whisper under her breath, something similar to “grant me strength.” But she then shook off the irritation and shot down Bee’s suggestion.

“The contest won’t be pit fighting,” Belobog said.

“You sure?” Bee asked, sounding surprised.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Huh.” Bee rubbed the base of his horns, seemingly lost in thought from the sudden revelation. A few seconds passed, and it became clear that Bee would ask no further.

“Alright…” Belobog floundered before recomposing herself. “Back from the top. We’re going to snag the prize out from under Baron Ore.”

“Not that I care one way or another,” Ay said. “But… why bother?”

Bee nodded and pointed at his sister, seemingly also wondering the same thing.

It appeared that Belobog’s team was not aligned; perhaps, she had been holding out on the rest of them; perhaps, she enjoyed lording over the rest by doling out bits and pieces of pertinent data. However, from watching Belobog’s growing frustration, I decided that Belobog was very much not enjoying this, which meant she had held back pertinent information, such as her group’s actual motive. It left me wondering if the siblings were also cat’s paws, such as I. If so, perhaps I could exploit the dissension should Belobog grow to be a larger problem.

“I mean…” Ay explained. “I don’t need a grimoire, and my little brother–”

Bee snorted in dissent.

“-definitely doesn’t need one. Just seems like a lotta trouble for something we’re not even gonna use.”

I returned my attention fully to Belobog, watching her expressions for any signs that might betray her thoughts on the matter. Afterall, she had promised me that grimoire. But if this object was the prize that the entire crew worked towards, then how could Belobog rationalize her giving me the grimoire to the siblings.

Unfortunately, I was not able to discern her thoughts on the matter, as Belobog dodged the issue neatly.

“You saying you don’t want any of the rest of the loot we’ll be grabbing?” Belobog asked sarcastically. “Because the baron’s safe’s gonna be packed full of good stuff. Cee, at the least.” Belobog introduced a slight bit of slang and casual behavior into her mode of address, likely to mirror Ay and better manipulate her sympathies.

“How much Cee?” Ay asked, perking up slightly from her sprawl.

Belobog scoffed and waggled her hand, “Least a few thou, I’m betting more.”

“Yeah?” Ay asked.

“Mhm,” Belobog nodded, humming in a lazy agreement. “And that’s not including what the client’ll be payin’ us on top.”

“Don’t like it,” Bee grunted, causing Ay to once more deflate. “We can get Cee anywhere. Job’s too risky, not enough gain. Baron’s Estate’ll be guarded. Peacekeepers, Knights, Vigilants…” Bee continued listing off the agents of ‘justice’ that might take issue with our heist.

As he went on, I think all of us were realizing the extent of risk involved with this job.

Belobog must have realized we were losing motivation, as she quickly diverted.

“Don’t even mention those kiddie-vigilants like they’ll be a problem.”

“Aren’t they?” Bee asked. “I remember you making us break off a gig so we could dodge ‘em.”

Belobog groaned and rolled her eyes. “That’s different,” she said. “Avoiding them’s the same as dealin’ with them. Least in my books.”

Ay chose that time to cackle, “You saying Bee can’t punch all his problems away?”

Rather than respond to Ay’s jibe, Belobog focused solely upon Bee.

“Weren’t you the one wanting to build a rep?” Belobog asked. “Well, this will do it. Everyone’ll know who we are after this.”

“We can get the rep without the heat,” Bee grumbled.

“Besides,” Belobog pointed out. “The heat’s most of the point. It’s sabotaging Baron Ore, embarrassing him, and maybe delaying this contest. That’s why we’re getting paid. The rest is just a little bonus.”

“Still haven’t met this client,” Bee said.

“And you’re welcome for that,” Belobog replied, as though she was doing him a favor by acting as an intermediary. And depending on just who was funding this operation, she may have been correct.

“No other problems with us takin’ the job?” she prompted. “Because we’ll be getting it done, regardless. Our client’s not one to disappoint.”

Bee grumbled, flared his nostrils, but made no overt signs of disagreement. Instead, he waved a meaty hand at Belobog as if to say he was conceding the point. Ay opened her mouth, likely to add another trite quibble to the mess, but Joe, Belobog, and Bee all shot her a glare at once, causing her to cackle and mime shutting her mouth.

“Good,” Belobog said. “Then let’s talk plans. This will be an infil op, which is where the new girl comes in. You’ve all met Jackie, yeah? She’s gonna be our in. The twins will be running diversions, if necessary, and’ll help if something goes wrong on the inside. But, I think I don’t need to tell you this, but I will for everyone else’s sake. Something goes wrong on the inside, getting you out may be a challenge. Good chance you’ll be on your own.”

Rather than causing concern, I took her caution as a sign of honesty. Besides, after a moment of thought, I realized that I could easily stand on my own. And if worse came to worst… I had several tricks that I had yet to really play. Thus, I responded with a slothful shrug.

“A distraction will likely be sufficient for my escape, should I be discovered,” I said.

“Confident much?” Ay asked.

She may have had a point, as I had yet to hear the plan yet. But I remained assured of my talents regardless. In the worst case scenario, I could always drop my Guise and rely on Illusions to cover me. And if I was to go all out, then my false-arm would likely guarantee my physical safety. As though it read my mind, its tendrils tightened around my ribs and collarbone, and I felt at ease. I was growing used to its attempts at communication.

As I was distracted by introspection, Belobog answered on my behalf.

“She’s got reasons for it,” Belobog said. “She’s good. Real good. Maybe the best at what she does. Least that I’ve seen.”

“Really?” Ay asked, brows furrowed as though she doubted the praise.

“Yep,” Belobog said.

Surprisingly enough, it was Joe that explained further. “Young miss Jackie here is an expert at stealth. She’s taken several challenging jobs independently, and has impressed both myself and our client.”

Belobog snapped her fingers and pointed at Joe. “That’s right, you would know that, huh?”

I wondered why Belobog had said that.

She and Joe exchanged knowing smirks, leaving me ill at ease. My well of confidence dried as I encountered these hidden currents of subterfuge. Where had that honesty gone? I wondered.

“It’s her skin,” Ay said with a shrug. “But… don’t they got their own psychic? Plus that dude with the bad vibes–”

“-Velvetcall?”

“-He the one giving of those vibes that scream ra–”

Belobog cleared her throat to cut her off.

“Well, nothing for sure has come up,” Belobog said. “At least not that I’ve dug up, and I’ve been looking around. A bit of blackmail would be pretty nice, yeah?”

“But, hey!” Belobog hurried. “That’s why we’re planning it out, yeah? ‘Sides, it just so happens there's an upcoming gala. It’ll be the perfect shot. In and out, boom.” She went on to make several nonsensical sounds, which ordinarily would be humorous, were it not that the onus of this job was falling to me.

“We were planning?” Joe asked, prompting Belobog to return to course.

She flushed slightly, realizing she had gotten slightly carried off.

“Right,” she said with a nod.

It was at this point that Belobog pulled a cheap wooden box out from under the center table, and opened it, revealing several cuts of cloth, what may have been a servant’s uniform of some sort, clean cut, of good quality, featuring plenty of brass buttons, and dyed in the baron’s colors. I ignored that in favor of the map and sketched blue prints she placed on top of the table. Several annotated numbers and lines crossed over the map, and I realized they were possible patrol times, based on a range of likelihoods.

“Is this accurate?” I asked, impressed by the level of detail.

“For sure,” Belobog said. “Who do you take me for, some kinda hack?”

“No, of course not. I was merely surprised.”

“Cool stuff,” Ay said. “Who’d you bone to get it?”

Belobog grimaced.

“Crude,” I said.

“Hey, girl’s just asking for pointers,” Ay said with a smirk, referring to herself in the third person.

For a second, I thought the rising tempers might lead to hostilities.

“Now, now,” Joe said, interrupting. “We all have our strengths. Don’t we, Ay?”

Ay’s smirk faltered, before reappearing just as quickly and twice as mischievous. “For sure. Though like me, some of us got more than others,” she gave her own chest a squeeze and winked at both Belobog and myself.

I tasted bile at the back of my throat.

Just who had I climbed into bed with? I wondered.

Belobog caught my eye and shook her head slightly. “Ignore her,” she mouthed.

From there, we went over plans, along with several contingencies. Once Ay and Bee controlled themselves, things proceeded quickly and smoothly. It was not long until we finished, and Belobog took it upon herself to show me around the loft.

I was following her down the corridor lined with doors. Some of the doors showed signs of use and wear. One had notches carved into the top of the doorway threshold, where one large meohr likely frequently hit his horns.

“Are these your team’s living quarters?” I asked.

She opened one of the doors that seemed brand-new, though it had a dusty doorknob.

When I saw inside the room, I noted that it was fairly spacious in regards to city boarding rooms. It came with a cot and a sitting desk. It even featured an artificed lamp, though there were window shutters on the upper portion of the exterior wall, which would allow natural light in should I need it.

“Yeah,” Belobog said, taking in my reaction to the space. “Bet it’s a good bit nicer than what you’ve got going on right now.”

“It does appear that way, yes.” I could not help but compare this single occupancy room to my current shared room with two other girls back at Ma’Ritz. Tiffany’s cousin snored. And she had… other nocturnal indiscretions.

“You know,” Belobog said. “If it’s that awful, you could always move in,” she joked.

I shook my head. That would be too soon, too quick, and entirely too reliant upon a crew that I hardly knew.

“My current residence provides certain benefits that I am loath to part with,” I said.

One thing I noticed was that the hallway we had walked down had been lined with ten doors, five to each side. If I had met the team in its entirety, then only half of these dormitories were occupied. That, and in combination the fact that their loft spanned the building and seemed quite large, left me with a question that I decided must be asked.

“Is the team in the process of recruiting?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe. Depends a lot on our client.”

As it was just her and myself, I decided to ask a few other questions, to help me gain a read on her.

“And this client. Are they the only one you currently have?”

She waggled a hand in indecision but nodded her head slightly.

“Are you aware of their motive in sabotaging the baron?”

She shrugged, “Not exactly, but yeah, I’ve got a few ideas.”

I was unaware if this world had a word to express terrorism, however, upon thinking about the situation a bit more, I thought the term a poor match. Afterall, there ought to be no terror involved, at least not towards the populace. This was sabotage.

But why would someone want to sabotage the baron? I could identify several possible reasons, but largely all of them were political.

“Exactly,” Belobog said, even though I had yet to speak. “Goes without saying.” She tapped the side of her head, as though she needed to remind me. Physic, she seemed to be saying.

“Do you suspect that we are disposable assets?” I asked bluntly. It would do no good to dance around the issue, especially as she could directly determine my thought process.

“Pff, nah.” She made a broad wave to encompass the building around us. “People don’t spend so heavily on things they plan on tossing, yeah?”

I remained doubtful. While this operation may have cost plenty of Chargers, unless we knew how miserly or how wealthy this so-called client was, would determine the validity of that assumption.

Belobog rubbed her temples. “You’re killing me,” she complained. “Can’t you just take this for granted? We got a crib to land at, if shit goes sideways. Let’s leave it at that.”

I noticed that she knew better than to ask me to trust her. Although–

“You kinda have a backwards way to relationships, you know?”

I frowned.

“Yeah, like, look at it this way. If we were gonna screw you, you’re gonna get screwed. So, the way I see it. You’re on our team already.”

My frown deepened. I might not have been the most philanthropic sort, but her reasoning seemed… bad?

“Ha! Gotch-ya!” she gloated, before giving my shoulder a playful jab. “So relax and enjoy. You do your thing, I’ll do mine, and I’ll make sure it lands right side up.”

I scoffed and shook my head.

“And you said my methodology towards relationships was backwards,” I complained.

There was one thing I noticed during the span of our conversation, and that was that Belobog had entered the dormitory room behind me.

When she shut the door, I turned towards her with an eyebrow raised.

“What? Don’t give me that look. No offense, but I’m not into…” she winced as she glanced towards my false-arm, which briefly turned to a grimace before she shook it off “...that,” she finished.

My false-arm was twitching. In the narrow confines of the room, I felt certain any confrontation would work out in my favor. Unless… well, this lacked the feeling that traps typically had, but–

“Gods and spirits and swamp-baths!” Belobog swore. I had not heard that particular take on swearing previously. “This isn’t a trap. Here–” she tossed a sack my way. “-try this on.”

I snatched the bag and, without taking my eyes off Belobog, opened the sack.

“It’s the uniform the servants’ll be using at the party. Need to make sure it fits, yeah?” Then, under her breath, she complained, “Most suspicious misanthrope ever…” she continued to complain.