The kid and I parted ways at the street. He went left, I went right. I felt a little guilty for lying to him. He’d probably have hell to pay when the abbot, whoever that was, found out he’d let the scepter walk away from right under his nose.

But the thought of a pile of gold helped get me over the guilt, in a quick hurry.

I scurried from alley to alley until I’d put enough distance between both the kid and the flaming cathedral. Then, I stopped for the long-awaited piss break.

The scepter went into my bag of holding, along with the candlestick. It wouldn’t do to stroll about the city carrying holy relics. If the guards didn’t spot me, well, cutthroats might.

God knew there were plenty of them around.

Some time later, with an empty bladder and a holding bag that was anything but empty, I resumed my escape. By now, the city seemed to have cottoned on to the fact that something wasn’t quite right. Tin cans rushed past, not wasting a second glance on me. People peered out of their windows at the column of smoke with dismay. They hurried to and from shelter, stealing only brief, furtive glances at each other.

I couldn’t say I blamed them. It wasn’t every day demons attacked your city, or conjured up armies of undead.

But that was a them problem. All I had to do was exchange my pretty trinket for a pile of gold, and get the hell out of town. The tin cans could worry about the undead.

Now, I don’t mean to say I was entirely callous about the situation. I’d lived here for three-odd years, and I knew the city well. I didn’t want harm to befall her or her people.

There was just nothing I could do about it. And in the circumstance, well, I had to look out for Numero Uno.

I reached my fence a short time later. He lived in the back room of an overcrowded pawn shop, that dealt in both legal and illegal acquisitions. It provided him just the right degree of plausible deniability should a rightful owner discover their pilfered goods among his stock.

“How should I know that necklace was stolen, madam? She looked such a correct sort of lady, and gave me her word, she did, that it was hers! Here now, you can see her signature right here.”

Of course, the signature would be fraudulent, and the correct sort of lady wouldn’t exist. He’d be a grizzled thief, or she a sly throat cutter.

Still, it kept Russo out of prison, and that was his main concern. Mine too, because I didn’t think he would be the sort to stand up to questioning. Not the kind of interrogations that went on in the Realm, anyway.

No. If put to the question, Russo would spill the beans. And as someone with a lot to lose should those particular beans be spilled, plausible deniability was very much in my interests too.

Of course, today’s haul would change everything. No cover story, no fake signature, could account for showing up with the scepter.

Today’s haul would put us both in a good deal of danger. If it went wrong, we’d die, and die horribly. But if it went right, we’d be very, very rich men.

Even so, I wasn’t a fool. I had my own backup plan: as soon as I had my gold in hand, I’d be vacating the city. If the guards found Russo, it wouldn’t matter what details they tortured out of him.

I’d be long gone before they came looking for me.

Russo was a big guy with a full red beard, bushy eyebrows, a barrel gut, and a slightly unhinged look behind the eyes. He looked like he could just as easily invite you over for beer and barbecue ribs as put a steel blade between your ribs.

Still, he was a good fence who didn’t mind dealing with independent contractors, cut more or less fair deals, and had never done me dirty.

He glanced up now as I stepped into the shop, and he stared. “By the light of the eight. You survived.”

I produced the scepter from my bag of holding, and his eyes widened. “You got it.”

“Damned right I did.” I ignored the zap from the scepter, and plunked it heavily on the counter in front of him.

“Salvidora’s mark! Do you need to dent my counter?”

He wasn’t exaggerating. The scepter had put a deep gash in the surface. “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Sorry. If you were anyone else, Kaej…” He shook his head, reaching out a hand to the scepter. He winced and drew back. “Odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“It – it stings to the touch. Didn’t you feel that?”

I recalled the zaps I’d gotten, whenever I cursed. “Yeah, I guess I did. I thought it was because of what I was saying, but I guess not.”

Russo eyed me curiously, then tried again. Again, he retracted his hand. “Well, it’s no matter anyway.”

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

I didn’t care for the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

The fence sighed. “I do not know what it is you’ve done, Kaej, but the city is in uproar.”

“What I’ve done? Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“The king is dead.”

“Yeah, but that had nothing to do with me. That was the sorcerer’s minions.”

“Yes. But they will be looking for this.” He tapped the counter beside the artifact. “He needs it and the blade to legitimize his rule. He will have the blade already.”

I winced at the sound of that. Poor Jackoff. “Wait a minute. How do you know?”

“It was at the cathedral, was it not?”

“I think – I think someone might have taken it.”

A bushy eyebrow crept up Russo’s forehead. “Someone?”

“Not me. I had more than enough trouble getting this out.”

“Then how do you know the blade is gone?”

For some reason, I decided to lie. I couldn’t have said why. It was just a feeling, something in Russo’s peculiar interest. “I don’t. I thought I saw one of the tin cans pick it up after the king died, but I can’t be sure. I was running away.”

Russo smiled. Not his best look. His crooked teeth poked out in a wolfish sneer. “Running away. Somehow, my friend, that does not surprise me.”

I frowned at that. “Right. Well, what about it, Russo? You got my money?”

The fence studied me for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my friend. The deal is off.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The sorcerer, he will pay well for this artifact. But you – you have caused him inconvenience. I’m sorry. This is where our long acquaintance must come to an end.”

In a flash, Russo dove for the scepter. So did I. Our heads collided over it, and the metal thrummed. Or maybe that was just my skull. I couldn’t quite tell.

The overcrowded shop swam before my eyes, and little points of light danced this way and that. Still, I clutched at the countertop, grasping for the artifact.

And in a moment, my fingers clasped around it. I could sense Russo groping about, searching for it. Quick as a flash, I pulled out the candlestick, and relying on my [Deft Hands] perk, swapped the two.

Into the bag went the scepter. Into the indentation I’d made moments earlier, went the candlestick.

Russo cackled as his fingers found purchase on the ornate silver rod. “The game’s up, Kaej.”

But I didn’t wait around to hear more, or to give him the chance to recover his own equilibrium. I was already stumbling to the door.

I emerged onto the city streets a moment later, head still ringing, and the sound of heavy footfalls near at hand. No question as to whose, or how near at hand. Russo would have lost no time stumbling out after me.

Luckily, I was a lot lighter and quicker on my feet than the fence.

Nor did it occur to me to stand and fight. Russo was easily twice as wide and a foot taller than me. If I’d had to bet, I’d say he divided his skill points pretty evenly between charisma and combat. I already knew about the charisma. He’d hoodwinked me sure enough. No way I was waiting to find out how his melee and brawling stats looked.

So I tapped into some of my own agility and made tracks. Russo’s voice followed me, angry and threatening. Figures materialized from the surrounding buildings, answering his calls. Men, not monsters.

Not yet anyway.

This sorcerer had gotten Russo in his clutches somehow, and sent henchmen to back him up. Which meant they suspected I wouldn’t play ball.

I supposed I should have been flattered. My reputation for moral turpitude notwithstanding, I still hadn’t been marked as a likely shoe-in for the overthrow of humanity. Not even for a hefty bit of gold. Had to draw the line somewhere, I suppose.

A less complimentary idea niggled at the back of my brain. Maybe it had had nothing to do with my character, but rather the prospect of dividing the booty. Simply put, Russo hadn’t wanted to cut me in because he hadn’t wanted to split his share of the loot.

Much easier to elbow me out altogether. Elbow me out and put me six feet under in the process.

Bastard. So much for honor among thieves.

I ducked into the first alley I came to, and from there dove into an open window. A terrified trio of ladies screamed bloody murder as I flew past, but they didn’t hinder my progress. In a moment, I’d burst out the front door, onto one of the main thoroughfares.

On I went, ducking into byways and side alleys, vaulting over fences and piles of trash, skirting obstacles, and generally putting as much distance and distraction as possible between me and my followers.

And it paid off. Before long, I’d lost them. The problem was, I’d got so turned around, I’d also lost myself.

Ducking into an overhang, I caught my breath, and tried to get my bearings. I recognized an old shipping warehouse on the horizon.

The docks. I’d come pretty near the docks on the eastern seaboard. Well, I could work with that.

Carefully, slowly, I made my way northward. I had a vague idea, maybe a mad one. But I didn’t have a lot of choices.

The Realm’s wars had never been of much interest to me. Like the parable of the little boy who cried wolf, there’d been one world-ending crisis too many for me.

Now, I wondered if maybe there was some truth to the fearmongering. This sorcerer dude was bad news. Anyone who could summon demons, transform an entire cathedral full of people, and corrupt my fence needed to be taken seriously.

Somehow, I’d landed smackdab in the middle of this particular shitshow. I didn’t quite understand that. Why would Russo send me after the scepter, when he could have just let the goat demon or one of the sorcerer’s other minions get their hooves on it? Why involve me at all?

I didn’t know. But something told me there was a reason. It had been more than unlucky happenstance. Maybe that would come in handy somehow, somewhere down the road, and maybe it wouldn’t.

Still, whatever the reason, I’d been dropped in the middle of the shit. If he didn’t already know about me, the sorcerer would soon – as soon as he learned that Russo’s plan went belly up. They’d come looking for me.

For me, and the scepter.

I needed to deal with it first. I needed to be out of the city, preferably with a large stash of gold and new travel papers.

Which meant one thing: I needed to sell the scepter to the first buyer willing to pay a fair price.

Even that sounded easier than it would actually be. The artifact was one of a kind. There’d be no passing it off as anything other than what it was, and your average fence wouldn’t risk it.

Hot merchandise was one thing. This was radioactive, especially with the attack on the cathedral.

No. No one in their right mind would touch it.

Which left me one option: someone not in their right mind. Artemis Trenton, head of the thieves guild.

A bastard if ever there was a bastard, but gutsier than anyone I knew. It had been his idea to rob Salvidora. His idea to split the thieves guild into two factions after Master Garrett’s untimely demise.

His idea to banish me, for the same reason.

Okay, there was a little bad blood between us. Yes, mistakes had been made, on both sides. And sure, he’d threatened to cut my throat if ever he laid eyes on me again.

But Artemis was the only crazy bastard I knew quite crazy enough to take a chance on something like this. Plus, for all his faults – or maybe, as another of his faults – he was some kind of anti-heroic patriot. Hated the laws but loved the Realm, however that worked.

He would want to make sure the scepter didn’t fall into the sorcerer’s hands.