Halfway through the Merchant District, down five alleys, and across a shoddy rope bridge that hung low over the Layton River, the group arrived at a solitary home. Shutterkeep winked at Mags and Marek while he jangled an imposing set of keys. The man took his time unlocking the knob and three separate latches above. And though his actions were subtle, Marek caught Shutterkeep deactivating a sigil lock as well by tracing the tip of one finger across the hidden mechanism.

"Here we are!" the man announced as he flung open his door and stepped inside. Before Marek or Mags could enter, however, Shutterkeep stopped again to fastidiously clean his shoes on a bristled boot scraper. "Mind you do the same, now," he said with a tone reserved for those needing guidance. "Please, take no offense, I'm simply not accustomed to living like a mongrel. I swear, half my neighbors don't brush their teeth most days!"

Marek cleaned his boots and admired another piece of clever enchantment. He couldn't puzzle how, but every bit of mud that fell from his foot was drawn toward the center of the scraper, where it then fell into a trap below. Mags took her turn next, and only then were they allowed to truly enter Shutterkeep's home.

Mags whistled as she scanned the walls, which were cluttered with oddities. "Bet your neighbors don't squirrel away so much stuff either."

Marek elbowed her, but their host only laughed. "That they don't. They can't afford it, and even those that do lack the understanding to know which items are worth collecting and which are little more than junk. For instance!" He thrust a finger in the air, then reached one hand back and removed a small book from a shelf behind him. Three rapid clicks followed, and then something moved in the corner of Marek's vision.

He pivoted to find a crossbow emerging from the wall. Two more popped out nearby a second later, and a humming filled the air. "Hey! What do you think—"

Shutterkeep interrupted with a high-pitched whistle. "Be still! You're not under attack, but I'll kill you on the spot if you don't answer a few questions!"

Mags growled beside him, arms raised but fists balled. "And here I thought you weren't a jerk."

"I'm not and I am, like anybody else, young lady... Now, as I was saying... For instance, my neighbors lack the wits to remember most folk can't be trusted, those that come with smiles on their faces even less. Tell me, what color are Una's eyes?"

Mags turned to Marek anxiously. He was the only one in the situation that had any power or means to defend against crossbow bolts. His intuition told him he could trust this man for some reason, but he didn't enjoy negotiating on such uneven footing. Reaching inward, he tried to activate Spirt Body. Neither his Skill nor his ether were accessible. A faint throb bloomed at the back of his head, and the humming seemed to intensify.

"Ah, so you're Classed! Won't help you right now, so I suggest you answer my questions and we can move on to more amiable discussions."

The muscle at the side of Marek's jaw twitched. He held onto his emotions and decided it would be best to comply. Besides, the question hadn't exactly been a riddle. Marek sighed and gave his answer. "Her eyes are the brightest blue you could find. Is that all?"

"What's the name of her husband, the man who runs the caravan?"

"I..." Marek tried, mind scraping about for an answer. "She didn't tell me," he said honestly. "Listen, we didn't travel with their caravan at all, not even a mile. The kobolds rolled in, we barely reached their caravan, and then I helped Una, Lianne, and Shespa make poultices to treat the wounded."

Shutterkeep's narrowed eyes relaxed a bit after Marek named the other women. He twisted a strand of his beard for a moment, looking at the fat feline lounging lazily in the middle of the room as if nothing at all were wrong. "Fine. Many could name Lianne, for she's well known, but Shespa is a shy one that keeps to herself. One more and I'll be satisfied."

"I'll have questions of my own after this," Mags said, her gaze steady and hard. "You treat everyone that comes to you with this courtesy?" She spat out the last word like a mouthful of vinegar.

Shutterkeep's demeanor didn't falter for an instant. "No, I don't, but once we're acquainted you'll understand my reasoning. You'll have my service and my apology once I learn the answer to a most intriguing riddle. How, young man, have you come to wear Leyan's dreadful sword?"

Marek tensed, and he cursed himself for bringing the weapon. The shortsword he’d left behind with the horses would have done little good in a real battle, but he should have been more cautious. He'd hoped the leather wrapping would help disguise the weapon, and he'd even covered the scabbard in cloth to conceal the filigree that adorned it.

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"Answer now and answer quick," Shutterkeep said. "Leyan is a man of great reputation in certain circles. Are you in league with him and his ilk? And why did he part ways with his sword?"

Mags' anger faded a little, replaced by uneasiness. Marek tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his efforts were lackluster at best. If this man was a friend to Leyan, we're doomed. He didn't say as much, though. Only left his feelings ambiguous. Better play the cards I have and hope for the best. "Leyan was a bandit, as were his two companions. They robbed us and left us ill-equipped to survive, though I will credit the man that he did spare our lives. They were foul men regardless."

Shutterkeep inclined his head. "You didn't answer my questions."

"I killed them and took their horses, their weapons, and the stolen goods they'd horded."

The man betrayed only a hint of surprise, his head titling to one side ever so slightly. "I'd call you a liar if my array didn't tell me otherwise."

Marek frowned. "Your array?"

"I'm an Artificer. My speciality resides in the crafting of magical arrays that imbue spaces with a variety of effects. Some are used on battlefields—to deplete enemy casters of mana, for instance. The one you're standing in achieves two purposes. It blocks any Skills or Spells from being used, effectively silencing you, and it also relays information to me directly. I can detect a lie ten times out of ten."

Mags folded her arms and broke into the conversation. "You said you'd knock it off if he answered. He did, so I believe we've earned enough trust at this point to talk without having crossbows aimed at our Rift-blasted heads."

Mr. Shutterkeep chuckled, and Pickles the cat rolled over and exposed his round belly. The two were so at ease it irritated Marek to no end. Thankfully, the man didn't seem intent on playing with them.

He replaced the book. The humming ceased and the crossbows sagged from their holders. "I'll need to reset them manually before those will be tucked away again... in case the fiery one here thinks I'm not upholding my end of the bargain. Now, how about a little tea and cookies? I find conversation flows much smoother when it’s served with refreshments."

Turning on his heel, their host walked to another bookshelf and shoved at one side. It slid smoothly, making hardly a sound, and revealed a hidden door. "Come, follow me. If you've things to trade and acquire, you'll want to see my private selection."

Mags and Marek were left alone, dumbfounded. Surprisingly, Mags wasn't as angry as he'd supposed. She smiled and nodded her head toward the revealed entryway. "Bastard for pulling a slick one on us, but I'll be damned if he doesn't have style."

Marek couldn't argue with that. Led by the faithful Pickles, he and his friend followed after Shutterkeep. Down a short hall and a single flight of stairs, they entered a lavish basement. Fewer items were on display here, but they seemed finer somehow, and more purposefully arranged. "You've got a lot of tricks for a simple shopkeep," Marek said when he found the man sitting in an armchair, a pot of tea steaming on a table beside him.

"Ah, but I'm not a simple shopkeep, am I?" Shutterkeep chuckled and poured three cups before gesturing to a score of stools around him. "Sit! Sit! I'll tell you a bit about me, then you can tell me what exactly I can do for you."

Marek soon found the most frustrating thing about Mr. Shutterkeep was his unwavering composure. That and his apparent taste in fine tea.

"Damn, if this cup isn't spot on!" Mags chirped. "My Ma would kill for a pound of this. Let me guess, Basari Chai with a pinch of Chamomile?"

"Astute tongue you've got there!" Shutterkeep replied with a chuckle. "You missed the Fae Flower, but it's a subtle thing."

Marek cleared his throat, growing tired of the situation and preferring talk over tea. "Can we get to it? There are things we need to purchase in town, and we aren't long for Middlebrook."

The man shrugged. "Very well. My name is, of course, not Shutterkeep. It's not something you'll learn anytime soon, though. Shutterkeep is a title, a guise, and a passphrase. The townsfolk know me as Mr. Shuttersby, another alias. Those like Una have special privileges. She may be graying, but the woman has more dimensions than you might assume."

He sipped his tea, set the cup aside, and folded his hands in his lap. "I run Middlebrook's Thieves’ Guild. I prefer the term Reconnaissance and Reacquisition Guild, but it is what it is, eh?"

Mags choked on her tea and coughed a few times. "You're what? Marek, did he just say he's a blasted thief?"

Shutterkeep raised his hands, eyes bemused. "It's an honest job if undertaken by honest folk. Killing is wrong, but you don't see soldiers getting harassed for doing what is necessary, do you?"

"How is stealing necessary?" Marek threw back, not believing his ears.

"There's an old saying that answers that question perfectly. Gold begets gold, which of course means the wealthy have an easier time acquiring more wealth than those less fortunate. So, I steal from the right people, and in so doing, am able to support a broad network of support that would otherwise go unfunded."

Mags snorted. "Sounds like a pretty load of shit if you ask me."

"It really does," Marek added. "You want us to believe you're a good-guy robber?"

Shutterkeep smiled calmly. "Believe what you will; I was merely showing you my hand. Now, why are you here? Whatever you asked Una prompted her to send you my way, and she isn't a woman who makes brash decisions."

Marek looked to his companion. They used their long familiarity to communicate a few concise things. Mags' dead stare read as we seriously going to trust this asshole? Marek raised his brows a fraction of an inch, saying, do we have a choice? Finally, she rolled her eyes and faced Shutterkeep, drinking the rest of her tea in a swig.

Marek reached down and grabbed the pack she'd set beside her stool. Then he unloaded its contents methodically. Weapons, the enchanted chainmail, and finally the sack of gold, silver, and jewelry.

Their host scuttled closer and opened the sack, eyes lighting up with undisguised glee. "My, my! Our dear Leyan has been a busy man."

Marek stood and planted his hands on his hips. Despite his better judgment, he liked this strange man. Yet the reminder of the source of their riches brought him back to reality. “Even if we believe you that you’re some kind of noble bandit, Leyan wasn’t… In what capacity did you know him and his crew?”