About half a mark later, Gilmir and Hobble sat waiting in the Guild hall, which looked the same as when Gilmir had last been there, the time he had come to gather information about his mark: Sylvester Champagntino.

Manfred disappeared through the door to the chamber where Gilmir had met with Silver, the female halfling guild leader. After a while, he returned and asked, "Pray, what be thy name, young halfling?"

"I’m called Hobble."

Manfred nodded and disappeared again.

"What was that about?" Hobble asked.

"I have no idea," Gilmir replied.

They waited in silence once more. The thieves had left them their weapons and didn’t seem to pay them much mind, but Gilmir sensed their alertness. Pretending to be busy with other tasks, the guild members kept at least one eye on their guests.

A few moments later, Manfred returned. "Follow me."

Gilmir and Hobble did as told and were led into a mostly empty room. Three chairs and a small table occupied the center of the space. Manfred indicated they should sit and took the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"May I inquire as to thy activities within the temple?" Manfred asked.

"I thought we were waiting to see the guild master?" Gilmir countered.

"The master finds himself otherwise engaged. I shall attend to this matter."

"Well," Gilmir said, "why do you ask?"

"It is our duty to be apprised of all dealings within the city. Such vigilance is part of our creed."

"Do you have an arrangement with the sect of that temple?" Gilmir asked.

"Such matters are not for thine ears, nor mine to divulge. Pray, tell me of thy business there," Manfred pressed with a hint of impatience.

"As I said, we had a job."

"And what nature of employment was this?"

"That’s between our employer and us. We can’t go around discussing our undertakings with anyone we meet."

"You did not dispatch anyone, so I surmise you appropriated something. The temple boasts little of genuine worth. If we were to search thee, we would surely find it. Why not divulge the truth and be rid of this affair?"

"Ok. Let’s say we stole something. What happens next?" Gilmir asked.

"A fine is levied, and you are free to depart."

"Fine?" Hobble interjected.

"Call it what thou wilt—fine, tax, compensation, release money," Manfred said, adopting a bored expression.

"And then we can leave?" Gilmir asked.

"Indeed, with a caution against engaging in further endeavors here without our consent."

"How much?" Gilmir asked.

"What item did you purloin?"

Gilmir looked at Hobble and nodded. Hobble returned the gaze with a look that seemed to say ‘are you sure?’

Gilmir nodded once more, and Hobble shrugged before he pulled out the star gem from his sack.

"And what fate awaits this item?" Manfred asked, eyeing the shard.

"That’s up to our employer," Gilmir said.

Manfred fell silent for a moment, completely still. He did not even breathe, putting Gilmir on edge. He already knew this from their last meeting, but it was still unsettling, unnatural. Hobble shifted in his seat, apparently also unnerved.

"Two hundred silver," Manfred finally said.

Hobble gasped. "TWO HUNDRED?"

"A fair price for an item of such exceptional value," Manfred stated.

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"We don’t have that kind of money with us," Gilmir said.

Manfred spread his hands, indicating that he did not know how else to settle this.

Gilmir shook his head, then a thought struck him. "We will wait."

"Wait? And for what doth thou wait?" Manfred queried.

"To talk to the guild master."

Manfred did not respond, and a new, unnerving silence ensued. Hobble shifted in his seat, and Gilmir focused on staying calm. After a lengthy pause, Manfred finally drew breath and spoke, "The master is preoccupied, yet there may be an alternative resolution."

"Which is?" Gilmir asked warily.

"You shall undertake a task on our behalf."

Gilmir's heart sank. He did not like the sound of this but also realized that the undead man had the upper hand. “Well, let’s hear it, then,” he said, his irritation poorly concealed.

Manfred took a seat, adopting a posture of refined ease. “Pray, lend me your ears, for I have a tale of some intrigue. Not long past, a gentleman of Shacktown's own ilk sought our expertise, offering a handsome sum of silver for a task most clandestine. It is our custom to shroud our dealings in secrecy, for discretion is the lifeblood of our trade. Yet, this affair bears a unique mark. The object of his desire was a tome, penned by the historian Quentin Quillhart, concerning The Umbraforge Staff, or perchance, some curse related to Saiqtron. In brief, we acquired said volume and concluded the exchange. Whilst we are not of faint heart, a cursory perusal of the book hath raised some concerns about its recipient and their intentions.”

“And what, pray tell, would be our role in this matter?” Gilmir asked, adopting Manfred’s grandiose style of speech. Whether Manfred noticed the mimicry or not, he showed no sign. Beside Gilmir, Hobble shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Whether from amusement or apprehension, Gilmir couldn’t discern.

“Our quest, dear sirs, is to unearth tidings of this Calder Shipwright, a gentleman of medium stature, with tresses of brown and a scar gracing his left eye. He claimed Shacktown as his abode and departed thence. Moreover, endeavour to ascertain for whom this book was procured and to what purpose it is to be employed.”

“Why do you care?” Gilmir could not entirely hide his annoyance.

“As I afore mentioned, our interest is seldom piqued by our clients' machinations. Yet, something about this transaction sits ill at ease with us. Mayhaps it is naught but a trifle, yet should you deign to investigate, our minds would be assuaged of this disquiet.”

Gilmir shrugged. “Is there a haste? We have quite a few things on our plate these days.”

“Nay, I urge you not to hasten on our account.”

“We will look into it.” Hobble interjected.

“Splendid.”

“Can we go?” Gilmir asked.

“Indeed, you can.”

“I hope this is it,” Gilmir said. He and Hobble were riding back towards Shacktown. The deal with Manfred and the Sandcastle thieves guild had ensured they’d kept the shard.

“This is what?” Hobble asked, glancing up at Gilmir.

“That your service for Zekatar is over.”

“He said so,” Hobble said.

“Did he? Did he explicitly say so? That if you delivered the shard you were free?”

“Yes…”

“You’re not sure?”

“When you ask like that… I think he did. Yes, I’m almost certain.”

Gilmir shook his head.

“You’re not any better!” Hobble exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re also working for him.”

“Working, yes. That’s the difference.”

“How?”

“I’m free to leave at any time.”

“So you say. Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t know. Many reasons. I’m constantly helping you, it seems.”

“You don’t know what you are going to do with your life!” Hobble said, grinning.

Gilmir didn’t bother to reply. Although, on some level, the halfling was right. He had cut his ties with his family. He was no longer his father’s assassin. He was happy with that. However, it posed another question. What was he now? Who was he? He’d gotten his revenge on Voan, the man who had tortured him and held him in a dungeon for two and a half years. He really did not know what to do.

“Zekatar is up to something,” Gilmir said at last. It was partly an answer to Hobble's question and partly a change of subject.

“Of course he is,” Hobble said.

“Something dangerous. Something big.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure.”

“So, what makes you think he is up to something big and dangerous?”

“I cannot pinpoint it at this moment. But that’s the reason I’m staying. I need to find out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust that anyone else will do. Not until it is too late.”

“So, you are staying because you’re an arrogant prick?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Gilmir said.

“And the other way?”

“That I’m staying because of the goodness of my heart.” Gilmir threw Hobble a sideways glance.

“Hah, you’re an arrogant prick!” Hobble chuckled.

“Well, I’m helping you, am I not?” Gilmir asked, smiling.

“You are. And I have to admit, it worries me.”

“We’re friends!” Gilmir said.

“Equals?”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“So you’re my friend out of pity?”

“Why? Can’t I be your friend AND your better?”

“You admit to being arrogant at least?”

“I admit I believe I’m better than most humans and halflings, and… well, most. But if I’m right - does that make me arrogant?”

“Yes!”

“No, being arrogant is believing you are better than you are. I am confident, and in contrast to humans, and halflings it seems, elves are perfectly capable of evaluating their own worth without artificially blowing it out of proportion to feel better.”

“Are you saying you’re just a confident prick?”

“I guess I am,” Gilmir grinned.

Hobble shook his head. “Have I told you that I liked you better when you were sick and starving?”

“Yes, if I’m counting this, I believe you have told me thirteen times.” It was a lie, Gilmir had no idea how many times Hobble had made that sentiment, but he enjoyed demonstrating his superiority.

“I’m glad we’re in Shacktown soon. I need a break.”

Gilmir laughed.