Tibs forced what had happened a few streets over out of his mind before entering the inn. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by recriminations.

He discretely looked over the people at the tables as he headed to the bar. With a pair of adventurers on the Night Runner’s trail, he couldn’t know what they’d unearthed of what he’d worked to keep hidden, even if, as far as he was aware, they’d never come close to this part of the city.

The crowd was the usual mix of dock workers, a few of the area’s shop owners, and some of the guards more interested in the cheap ale served here than keeping the peace. Along with plenty of people he hadn’t seen before. The place was popular with the sailors, and they brought travelers with them, or they were from other parts of the city, waiting for their ship to put the gangplank down. They all kept to themselves; none of them surreptitiously looked around.

Today, the king’s tax collector was here, speaking with the inn’s owner. The arrangement, as far as Tibs understood it, was bed time in exchange for the tax woman finding some of the owed coins elsewhere.

There was no one on the stairs leading to the upper floor. This close to the docks, the inn was used more as a tavern that happened to have beds, than as an inn proper. In the room he stopped at, he sensed the two he expected, and no one else. He’d taken the time to learn the pattern of their faint essence so that even with clever disguises and acting, he couldn’t be fooled. He couldn’t use that to keep track of them once they were more than a dozen steps into a crowd, but this close, with no one else to crowd the essence? This trick had kept him out of the guards’ grip more than once, and also kept adventurers from surprising him.

He still knocked the appropriate code. It wouldn’t do for them to think he was so comfortable as to be careless. He had an act to maintain here too, after all.

Three, two, four, and one. The woman moved, then the door opened, and she looked him up and down. She smirked. “Well, if it isn’t our lord and master, Tiberon. What happened, Ty? Got lost on the way?”

He pushed her out of his way more forcefully than he’d intended at the reminder of his delay. But he forced a smirk. “Did you want me to bring guards and adventurers to this meeting?”

“You were noticed?” she exclaimed in a good imitation of horror. She hurriedly looked left and right in the hall before closing the door. “Whatever happened to all the talk about—”

“Leave it be, Lev,” the man seated at the small table cut her off. “Him being noticed was the plan.” They were as contrasting a pair as Tibs had come across in a long time.

She was thin and wiry; her skin a darker shade than Tibs’s. Cuixtly, in contrast, was solidly built, with skin the tan of dock workers. The bulk was more muscle than appearances led people to believe. She had a sharp mind and sharper tongue, while he…. He wasn’t a dullard, but he couldn’t be described as sharp either.

“But Ty likes the banter, don’t you?” she asked, dropping onto her man’s lap. She kissed his cheek, and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Let’s say I’ve grown to enjoy you cutting me with your wit,” he replied with another forced chuckle. He also appreciated that their affection was understated. He set an etching of air into the walls to keep would be eavesdroppers from listening in on them. The most they’d get, no matter how hard they tried, were mumbled whispers. “How did it go?”

“As you said it would.” The words glowed faintly, then Cuixtly pulled a bag from the chest by his chair and lobbed it at Tibs. “While the guards were chasing the Night Runner, we walked in, got to the safe, and left without barely anyone noticing.”

“Barely?” he asked. Acting like the bag’s weight strained him as he caught it. He’d intended to let the lie pass, but now he needed to know more.

“Well,” Levtival stretched the word. “There was this guard by the safe that didn’t have the good sense to chase after the Night Runner with the others when the cry came. Cuixi had to deal with him before I could open the safe.” Her words glowed, too. He could work out enough he didn’t bother pressing for more.

“What did you do with the body?” The hefty bag was filled with silver, electrum, and gold coins, along with a few platinum. This would set them up for a lifetime if they were careful. He took five gold coins, tied it shut and lobbed it to Cuixtli again. If not for the need to maintain the illusion the theft had been what he’d been after, he’d let them keep all of them. He no longer needed coins in this city.

“I put it in the safe.” The ‘it’ spiked in brightness. “It’s going to be a while before anyone looks in it. They’ll probably think he ran off to chase after the Night runner too.” The ‘he’ spiked, too.

She chuckled. “They’re going to be in for quite the surprise.”

They were downplaying how many guards had been there. It wasn’t the first time. Cuixtly liked to fight, and he fought to win. It was why Tibs had picked him, even before he knew she was with him. She was clever enough to pick any lock that wasn’t protected by magic, while he could take down anyone who got in their way. The issue had been his predilection for ending those fights in a drastic, and permanent, way.

He understood that what they did came with risks; to himself and others. He accepted that, at times, he and his team inflicted death. But he didn’t like it. Guards only did their job. Maids and servants were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Adventurers and nobles? Well, he wouldn’t go out of his way to kill one, but he didn’t feel bad about how far he needed to go to survive when they got in his way.

A boy being beaten by his father?

“Is everything okay?” Levtival asked, worried. With a sharp mind came sharp perception. He’d taken too long working out how he felt about the unneeded death at Cuixtli’s hand.

At least, he had a response to explain the delay. “I’m leaving.”

Cuixtli jerked, nearly throwing his woman off. “What? Why? Don’t we have it good?” He hadn’t told them today was the day the Night Runner died.

“Adventurers are getting involved. Two of them were with the guards. Who knows how many more are in the city,” he added.

“And you survived?” Levtival asked, sounding suspicious.

Tibs laughed. “Don’t listen to bards. It’s not because they have magic they can’t be outsmarted.” He sobered. “But there’s no telling how many will join in next time. The Night Runner ran his last roof today.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to leave,” she said. “We can lie low for a while with this money. You can make someone else and then we—”

“That’s not how I work. My time here is done.” Some of the scribes had been more attentive to the scholar Tibs pretended to be in the last days.

“We can go with you,” Cuixtli said. “We make a good team.”

He shook his head. “I travel alone.”

“I can keep you safe.”

“I have no doubt.” His smile was genuine. “But you have your woman to look after. Are the wilds for her, really?”

They exchanged a look, and her expression was uncertainty. “Where are you going? Back home?”

Images of Kragle Rock came to him, and he missed the town; his friends there. Visions of the box that had been home before, with Mama. The dilapidated buildings around it.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“No. I have a horse stabled by Sunrise Gate. I’ll follow that road to whatever is at the end of it and….” His smile turned cunning. “I’ll see what’s there to do.”

“You can’t just go.” Panic tinted Cuixtli’s words. “What are we going to do? We never had someone this smart before. I don’t want to go back to bashing heads for copper.”

“Then don’t.” He looked at Levtival. “I explained how I work. Make your own team and keep reminding the nobles they have reasons to worry about those ‘weaker than them’.”

Cuixtli stood, forcing his woman off. “I won’t—”

She had a hand on his arm.

“Don’t, Cuixi. Ty’s as free as any of us. We can’t force him to stay.” The cunning in her eyes said she already had a plan, but he wasn’t worried. He had his. And it was better than hers; also simpler. Levtival’s flaw, as a planner, was that she thought complicated meant better.

“Be careful.” He paused, hand on the handle. “’The Night Runner might be done, but the guards will be alert for some time. Take your advice and lie low.” He undid the etching as he opened the door, then left.

He paid for another week, telling the owner he’d be gone for a couple of days. Once outside, he took in the late day sun and salty damp smell of the river before heading deeper into the city.

He was aware of his stalker without having to sense him. He kept too close as Tibs walked through the crowd, caused people to exclaim as he bumped into them, as he tried to close the remaining distance. Tibs let him.

The young thief waited for a lull in the traffic before clumsily slipping fingers into the pocket.

Tibs grabbed it. “You’re going to lose a hand.” He looked around for guards. “Which is going to make your life difficult.”

“I knew you knew,” he replied petulantly.

He was young. No older than Tibs, when he’d been sent to Kragle Rock. Like him, Stifin had no one but himself to depend on, so he survived however he could. He was nowhere near as skilled as Tibs had been picking pockets, but he could get into places Tibs would never have dared at that age.

That was why he’d picked him for the job.

“How did it go?” he motioned for the boy to hand it over, and in return, Stifin made a motion of his own. Pay first.

“It went okay.” He shrugged. “There was guards by that door, but someone yelled and they ran off. The lock was easy.” His eyes grew wide at the silver coin Tibs held, and he grabbed it, but couldn’t pry it out of the fingers. He took the small bundle of torn fabric and offered it.

“What else did you take?”

“Nothing. You said just this, and I don’t want those people looking for me over some other thing.” No light on the words.

He took the bundle.

Stifin pulled on the unmoving coin. “I did it the way you said.” He sounded worried. How often had he been betrayed after doing a job just for being small and easily beaten?

“I want to pay you with more than just this coin.” He’d spent the night working on the words he’d use. Those that wouldn’t have scared the Tibs of the Street if a stranger holding payment ransom told them to him. “It’s going to be work, but if you apply yourself, you’ll have a roof over your head and food when you’re hungry.” The boy looked uncertain, but hadn’t run off, so he continued. “There’s a merchant on Cobble Heel Road. The sign over the door is a bundle of wrapped fabric with a needle through it. He’s expecting a young man named Regis to see him, and asked to be tested as his apprentice. Nimble fingers are key for what you’ll have to do, and a willingness to work hard.”

Stifin’s expression turned fearful. “Do…I get to keep the coin?”

“Yes.” He fought against the disappointment.

“Then I’ll do it!” the words glowed.

Should he press? The boy didn’t understand what he was passing up. He could take him there, make sure he accepted the position. Of course, he’d have to drag him there. The boy wouldn’t go willingly.

He let go of the coin.

He’d known this would be a possibility. It’s why he’d told the merchant it might be sometime before Regis, his son, overcame his shyness. The glow only meant what Stifin’s was about what he intended to do now. Maybe, as he had time to think it over, as the silver turned into coppers, was broken down further, and vanished entirely, he’d realize that a roof and food was better than the freedom of the Street.

The illusory freedom of the Street.

He watched the boy disappear into the crowd, still wanting to do more for him. He’d done all he could. He knew that. But after the pain he’d inflicted on another boy, thinking he was protecting him, this didn’t feel like enough.

He put both boys out of his mind. Those actions were done with. And he had a last break-in to commit in this city

* * * * *

Getting into the house was simple.

This part of the city didn’t have guards patrolling the streets and the locks on doors were rarely more than a bar across it from the inside. The goal was to keep the area’s thugs from easily barging in uninvited. Windows had nothing more than shutters, if even that, and possibly a wooden latch to ensure they stayed closed when the wind picked up during a storm.

This one didn’t even have that.

The woman who lived in the room Tibs entered through the unprotected window had been happy, once. She’d lived in a better part of the city. She and her man worked hard to feed their children. They had little, but they earned it.

Then, sickness took them from her and left her weakened. Left her unable to work the ale boilers as she’d previously done. Even tidying a room, which was all the work she could get now, left her exhausted. But she pressed on, instead of giving up and letting the end come faster than needed.

Her one happiness was the one item she’d kept; left over from her man. A wooden ring he’d carved to celebrate their first born. It kept her going.

And the fucking noble had taken it from her, then bragged to all that listened about the ‘exploit’.

He’d nearly burned the man where he’d stood, recounting how he’d charmed the fool of a woman. Had her believing he was there to save her from the miserable life she’d built for herself. He laughed as he told of her begging for him not to take that worthless wooden ring when it was the only thing he’d found in that hovel of hers. How she howled in despair as he left her there to die, the way her kind deserved; in the filth and their tears.

She hadn’t died, Tibs had been pleased to discover when he’d found the house the noble had talked about. Her essence might be no thicker than that of the other cityfolks, but she was made of harder stuff. He’d seen the misery on her face as she carried on with her work, and he’d set about making the noble pay for what he’d done the only way one of their kind felt. Even if it meant the Night Runner wouldn’t vanish into the night, as he’d intended.

Levtival and Cuixtli had taken all the coins the man had, while Tibs distracted the guards. And they had been, in turn, the distraction that let Stifin get the ring.

He placed the open bundle on the worn dresser, with the wooden ring in its center. The work was exquisite in its simplicity. The man had been skilled. Next to it went the paper on which he’d written his message, the letters neat and crisp. He’d bothered, because in his investigation, he’d found out she knew her letters too.

‘The Night Runner’s last job.

I wish I could do more for you.’

But it was all he could do.

Giving her coins would only make her stand out and bring the greedy down on her. If he had someone in another city, he’d have arranged to send her there. But Tibs didn’t leave people behind who helped others. The teams he made were built from criminals and ruffians. It was what the work he did needed. Once he left, they went back to other crimes.

He didn’t think of them as bad people, but he knew they wouldn’t help a woman, even if he was the one sending her to them.

With the ring delivered, he had one stop left, then he’d be ready to leave.

* * * * *

Tibs looked at his reflection on the polished metal, running a finger over the short beard he’d kept for his role as Tiberon. It wouldn’t do for the next one. Tyborg was a respectable guard. Someone for whom neatness was important. He took care of himself, his clothing, his weapon, and whatever he was hired to protect.

He took the obsidian blade out of the plain wooden box and shaved to the skin.

Gaining an immunity to the elements had brought a problem he hadn’t considered until he’d aged and his beard came in. Metal not being able to cut him meant it couldn’t cut his hair or beard. A master barber had told him of obsidian as a shaving tool. Tibs had been unsure, until the man brought it out. It looked like stone, but he hadn’t been able to tell what the essence was. It had meant it wasn’t an element he had, so no immunity to it, and he’d let the barber shave him.

He’d then bought one of his own and had cut himself often in the process of learning how to shave.

Once done, the blade returned into its protective case and that went into his pack.

Then he put on the supple leather armor, again missing his old one. Not only the hidden places and its ability to repair itself, but what it had meant to him. It had been a gift from Sto, one he’d cherished, but eventually outgrown.

Just as his beard came in with time, his body grew from the boy he’d been to the young man he now was. It had taken longer than for common folks, even with being drained back to Upsilon by the guild, but over a couple of decades, instead of a handful of years, Tibs had changed. And he’d had to leave the armor behind.

With the armor on, he put his bracers back in place. The leather was old, cracked, in spite of Tibs oiling it daily. He hadn’t realized the protective weave had failed until the damage had started showing. The reserves in them were intact, but even once they stopped working, if that happened. He wouldn’t leave the bracers behind. They were all he had left to remember Sto by. So he took care of them and built a story to explain why a man as young as Tyborg wore something so old and worn.

They were his mother’s; left to him when she died protecting their town. The only thing he had left of hers, other than the memory of how much she loved him.

He wiped the tears and straightened. He attached the plain sword to his belt and left the simple room Tyborg had rented two weeks before, and only occupied as often as needed for the owner to believe the man came and went about some business.

The caravan he’d hired on waited at the Zenith Gate, and he didn’t want to be late.