image [https://i.imgur.com/9JnFmXw.jpg]
----------------------------------------
Rumdoodle crept out of the crowded bunkhouse in the dark hours of early morning, while most of the patrons still lay sleeping in their cots.
As far as she knew, there was no-one following her and no real need to be sneaky, but after a lifetime of theft and subterfuge it became a strong habit to move unseen whenever possible.
After all, if somebody was tailing you without your knowledge, why make it easy for them?
She liked the solitude of rising earlier than most. The world was never so quiet or calm as when everyone else was trying to get a few more hours of sleep.
Fort Morrow's high stone walls cast long shadows under Vestar’s bright moonlight, which she slunk through on her way to the fort’s stables. The stable lad was curled up snoozing under a blanket in the back corner, so Rumdoodle went unseen and undisturbed as she saddled up her chestnut mare to continue their journey to Loverlock.
The fort had tall defensive towers and a thick outer wall that still bore the scars of ancient battles. A prime example of old Alfir military architecture, it stood at the narrow midpoint along Ardwin’s Pass, a road through the Twirling Ridge Mountains that connected the Wine Sea Basin to the Eastern Outerlands beyond.
A long time ago, before the Forgotten War, this fort had marked the most easterly point of the Radiant Dynasty's territory. The great eastern campaigns of the Radiant Expansion had been launched from within these walls. In all of recorded history, no army had ever crossed the mountains to threaten the Heartland while Fort Morrow stood guard over Ardwin’s Pass.
For the last few centuries, however, Fort Morrow had been relegated to little more than an extravagant rest stop and trade checkpoint for goods and travellers crossing into and out of the Heartland. No armies moved through it, and nobody could even remember the last time there had been a credible threat of invasion from the east. Garrel to the north and Saltcrust in the south were where the Dynasty focused its military attention nowadays.
Far from the border it used to defend, as Fort Morrow’s strategic importance lessened, so had its garrison shrunk until there were barely enough soldiers here to perform necessary upkeep on the increasingly dilapidated old fort. One of the walls had a conspicuous collapse hole in it that still hadn’t been repaired since the last time Rumdoodle passed through. Not to mention the half dozen other gaps in its contemporary defences that a skilled sneak thief might exploit, should they find reason to do so.
Sometimes she wished she could turn off the part of her brain that looked at everything in the context of a potential heist.
She fixed her saddle and packs in place, checked her documents were ready for the guards at the gate, and prepared to move out, tossing a coin onto the stable boy who mumbled in his sleep.
The buildings inside Fort Morrow's walls were full to bursting with travellers making the journey from Trent to Loverlock for the Lovers’ Festival, which was due to start in just a couple of days.
A cosy multi-floored guest chalet with many smoking chimneys and plush bedrooms adjoined the fort’s main keep, lavishly furnished to cater for wealthy travellers and nobles. Meanwhile, common folk were sent to the cramped and chilly bunkhouses on the far side of the complex.
Rumdoodle’s breath fogged the chill mountain air as she led her horse around the edge of the shadowy courtyard and out to the eastern gate, where a lone guard sleepily checked her travel documents and waved her through.
On the other side of the gate, the mountain road opened up before her.
Stars still shone overhead, sparkling far above the snow capped mountain peaks in a thousand swirling constellations. Vestar and Manrith orbited each other, one light, one dark, though they were dipping further out of sight with every passing minute, and a blush of rosy colour on the eastern horizon betrayed the coming daybreak.
By leaving early she aimed to avoid the glut of carriage traffic that would likely follow in a few hours' time when all of the travelling nobles finished their hearty breakfasts and finally departed Fort Morrow to make their own journeys down to Lake Allura.
Rumdoodle scratched her mare’s neck and set off at a trot along the quiet mountain road, enjoying the solitude of the still pre-dawn air.
She’d been fortunate to have such fair weather for the trip. The mountains often suffered awful blizzards, but under clear summer skies she made good time eastward.
The mountain highway was wide and well paved, cut into the cliffs beside a sheer drop to the valley floor far below.
Say what you like about the sprawlingly inefficient bureaucracy of the Dynasty, but they sure could build roads, especially when they needed to keep the wealthy elite nice and comfortable inside their carriages while they undertook what would otherwise be a difficult mountain crossing.
After an hour or more of travel, Rumdoodle crested the final rise and beheld the Eastern Outerlands just as the sun rose above the horizon and lit the sky with rays of morning fire. Vandrin was really putting on a show today.
In that glorious light, the great expanse of Lake Allura glowed down below with the same azure majesty of a flawless sapphire. Whispers of pale mist hung over the miles of water, giving the lake an almost mystic quality. The only thing that broke the clear perfection of its surface were the small dark shapes of barge traffic crossing to and from the head of the distant Allura River.
The town of Loverlock nestled along Lake Allura’s northern shore, surrounded on either side by miles of verdant orchards and farmland, and backed by the looming deepwoods of the Berabrick Forest that stretched away as far as Rumdoodle's eyes could see.
Those woods were home to the elusive eastern Alfir, who shunned the outside world and killed anyone who ventured too far into the trees. The Dynasty, stubborn as always and desperate to exploit the material wealth of the vast forest, tried to subdue them by marching a couple of legions into the forest to occupy their woodland homes.
Neither legion was ever heard from again, and every attempt to log the forest was met with disaster and mass casualties, leading to an eventual stalemate.
Whatever the eastern Alfir got up to in the heart of their mythic woodland, it was nobody else’s business, and the world outside carried on, living off the lighter glades around the edge.
Rumdoodle had a perfect view across the landscape and the town below. It might have seemed a small and dinky settlement compared to the great cities of the Heartland, but Loverlock had a quality of endearing quaintness that the town’s leadership worked hard to maintain across generations of new development.
Every street was wide and cobbled, lined with beautiful tiered buildings that hung flowery trellises from their balconies. The people painted their homes with vibrant colours, and everything was built with planks of strong wood drawn from the fringes of the nearby forest.
Market stalls and broad sunshades filled the squares, and the streets dazzled with bunting and decorations set out especially for the Lovers’ Festival. People sipped tea in rooftop gardens, and swam in the lake’s clear waters. Every year, the town put on its best face for wealthy visitors. Businesses relied on the profits from the summer season, and the upcoming weeks especially, to carry them through the quiet months of winter.
Work had long since begun on a floating platform near half the size of the town itself. It was made from hundreds of barges lashed together and connected with sturdy decking to form a network of walkways and stages.
In time, that huge platform would be anchored out in the centre of the lake and would play host to the festival’s greatest events, including the auction Rumdoodle had been sent here to attend.
She was due to make contact with another of her employers’ mysterious agents before the auction to discuss further details. For now, she knew that she would be stealing a priceless Bilberry Rattlestaff draft manuscript for the bard’s final play, supposedly lost to the depths of an exclusive collection for years before it was finally recovered for auction with the recent death of the collector.
Why this particular play manuscript was so important to her employer, she did not know. Nor did she really understand the convoluted list of conditions and hoops she had to jump through during the auction prior to the theft, but those were the kind of questions she was highly paid not to ask. These employers put more emphasis on discretion than almost anyone she had worked for, and the scale of the resources and connections they’d demonstrated so far made her very reluctant to jeopardise her position with them. She was a professional, after all. You had to take a certain amount of pride in your work.
Drafts of air rising from the lake below smelt sweet and carried just a hint of apple blossom. Rumdoodle breathed deep. This place brought back good memories, some of the few she had.
If only she weren’t here to work, she could really relax. Maybe once the job was done, and the package handed off, she could stick around for a week or two and make the most of a holiday.
She urged her chestnut mare onward, following the trail to a set of switchbacks that descended the mountainside and finally led through pretty groves of apple trees as the path joined the curve of the lakeshore.
A few hours later, Rumdoodle hitched up at a set of stables on the outskirts of town and said goodbye to her horse for now. She wasn’t much of a rider at the best of times, having only learnt how out of necessity when she was already an adult, but the mare she bought in Trent turned out to be gentle and forgiving, and had served her well on the ride over from the shores of the Wine Sea.
She hadn’t bothered giving it a name, not expecting to get attached, but if she did end up riding the same horse home she’d have to come up with one.
She tipped the portly stablemaster to give her chestnut some extra grooming and attention, and to keep the horse ready to saddle and leave in a pinch. She knew how busy the stables were going to get over the coming days but Rumdoodle wanted to be able to mount up and flee town quickly if she needed to.
Walking the broad quiet streets of Loverlock was so relaxing compared to shouldering her way through the fretful mobs of Port Vermil. The town was the very definition of an idyllic getaway.
It wouldn’t last long though. She’d beaten the rush, but more visitors would flood in by lunchtime today, and by tomorrow every street corner would be packed with festival-goers.
A delightfully warm and buttery smell drew her across to the shaded alcoves of the town's central square, where a small queue of people had formed outside the storefront of a local bakery.
When she first ended up on the streets of Westport, all those years ago, she remembered deliberately begging near places like this, torturing herself with the smell of all the baked treats she couldn’t afford. She’d come a long way since then.
She joined the queue and ten minutes later she exited the bakery carrying a large basket packed to the brim with fresh pastries.
Snacking on one that was deliciously flakey and glazed with a kind of lemon icing, she made her way to Loverlock’s small guilds district. She needed to take care of her first bit of business in town, an obligation she just could not shirk, a visit to The Luvellia Presimis Home for Orphans.
‘Rumdoodle!’ the children started shouting and climbing over each other as soon as their flustered headmistress, Liviana Presimis, daughter of the owner, ushered her through to the dining hall where the kids were just finishing their breakfast.
‘Hello my little monsters!’ she called out.
They swarmed towards her in an overwhelming tide of cries for attention and eager voices telling her everything she’d missed since her last visit. Shortly she had a group of toddlers clinging to her legs and waist while some of the older and more wily kids took great interest in the pastries she was holding just out of their reach.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Rumdoodle laughed, trying not to step on anyone and holding the basket overhead as she waddled to the centre of the room surrounded by the excited children, ‘You lot make me feel like a climbing frame every time I visit! Mind, a lot of you are much bigger than you were six months ago. I don’t know how many piggybacks I can manage before I get too tired!’
A chorus of disappointed moans rose from the younger children.
‘No!’ a precocious one she remembered was called Walter cried, ‘You have to do piggybacks for all of us, or it isn't fair!’
Rumdoodle smacked her forehead in mock realisation.
‘Gosh! You’re right, Walter! What was I thinking?’ she said, ‘Piggybacks for everyone!’
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
They cheered, though some of the teenagers at the back of the room rolled their eyes at the younger ones’ enthusiasm. It was a phase all of them went through at some point in their teens, considering themselves aloof from such childish entertainment. She couldn’t help but chuckle.
‘But first, as some of you have already noticed, I have some sweet treats for all of you!’ she called out, ‘Come on, gather round. There should be plenty for everyone.’
Liviana hushed the children and stood beside Rumdoodle to organise handing out the pastries. The kids crowded round, pushing and squabbling until their older peers imposed some order and got everyone to line up neatly to make sure nobody missed out or took more than their share.
‘How long are you going to be in town this time?’ Liviana asked while they worked.
‘Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. It depends,’ Rumdoodle replied.
‘You’re working then?’
‘The less you know the better, as always,’ Rumdoodle shot her a grin, then leant down and planted a wet raspberry on the forehead of a toddler, who giggled and screamed.
While the kids tucked into the pastries and got their hands covered in syrup and crumbs, Rumdoodle listened to their stories and how they’d been doing in their classes. She remembered as many names as she could, and greeted the new arrivals. Sadly there were a few. Farms nearby were being attacked and the Dynasty wasn’t doing much to stop it.
The newest children stood out. Quiet, unsure of themselves, still shaken by the sudden and unfathomable change their life had gone through. She remembered what that was like. It wasn’t something you ever really forgot. She invited those children in, included them, asked them questions, and if they weren’t ready to communicate she let them be. You just couldn’t rush some things.
There would be other visits. She made sure to get round to all of the orphanages she patronised every few months or so, though it had been a while since she’d made it back to Loverlock.
True to her word she gave all fifteen of the youngest kids piggy-back rides around the hall, prancing over chairs and tables, making animal noises as she did, to their raucous joy and laughter, and she only stopped when Liviana firmly asserted that it was time for the children to head to their morning classes. Otherwise their teachers would be arriving to complain to Rumdoodle about their absent students.
Grumbling and dragging their feet, the children waved goodbye and filtered out of the hall to start their day, leaving overturned chairs and lots of half finished breakfasts that Rumdoodle helped Liviana clean up.
At last, they finished taking their trays of dirty crockery to the kitchen and went to sit down in Liviana’s office, where Rumdoodle put her feet up on a stool and accepted a chilled glass of slightly watered down cider, a favourite summer refreshment in this town so famed for its bountiful orchards.
She massaged her brow and enjoyed the quiet for a minute.
‘It’s good to see you,’ Liviana finally said, ‘Six months is the longest you’ve been gone in a few years.’
‘I didn’t realise you missed me so much,’ Rumdoodle said.
‘The children do. They ask about you. I’m never quite sure what to tell them,’ Liviana responded, shaking her head, ‘All those mysterious jobs you’re always doing. Mother doesn’t tell me much but I can read between the lines... I always worry that something bad is going to happen and we’ll never hear from you again.’
‘Now, Liv, why would you say a thing like that?,’ Rumdoodle asked, leaning back in her chair, ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me, because I’m the best at what I do, simple as that. Nobody else even comes close. I’m certainly far too good to get caught.’
‘And so humble too,’ Liviana smiled.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Rumdoodle returned the smile, taking a big swig from her cider, ‘I can’t think of anyone more humble than me. Everyone says it’s my best feature.’
‘Of course they do,’ Liviana fetched a couple of files from her cabinet, ‘I have good news about Roland Kier. Since you were here last, he had his metallurgist apprenticeship confirmed and he’s in Brod now, working on the Deepforge restoration.’
‘Ooof. Good for him, but I bet that’s hard labour,’ Rumdoodle said, ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s tired, but enjoying it,’ Liviana handed a handwritten letter from the young man across the desk, ‘Most people aren’t as work-shy as you.’
Rumdoodle stuck out her tongue, but read the letter with interest.
She remembered Roland as a quiet boy who shunned social activity in favour of tinkering with any tools or constructs he could get his hands on. They’d done a good job getting him in to help out Yurbek, the town’s smith, a couple of years ago. The smith put in a good word for him, and now he was starting his own career with a trade and an apprenticeship contract with some of the best artisans in Brod.
It was nice to have another success story. Not every child who aged out of the orphanages did as well, despite their best efforts.
‘I’ll drop in on him when I get the chance,’ Rumdoodle said, pocketing the letter, ‘Brod’s a little out of the way for me, but I’m sure I’ll pass through at some point.’
She liked to keep tabs on the alumni of the orphanages when she could. It was a difficult transition out into the wider world, and sometimes they needed help, but over the past few years Rumdoodle and her partners in the orphanages were able to build up a decent support network that was paying dividends for the children following in their older peers footsteps.
One family; that was the message she’d wanted to give to all those lost children. No matter who they were, or what had happened to them. Now they were part of one family, a group of peers who took care of their own.
‘Is that madman still showing up to serenade your mum?’ Rumdoodle asked Liviana.
‘Every single day, ten in the morning, without fail.’ the young woman rolled her eyes, ‘I swear his family are going to disown him if he keeps up the charade.’
‘I might still catch it if I hurry then,’ Rumdoodle said, getting up.
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ she took one of the flawless ether-crystals she’d received as payment for the Haldor Delles job from her pouch, and slid it across the table, ‘My charitable donation, with a little extra because I was gone for so long.’
Liviana stared at the incredibly valuable ether-crystal, then scooped it off the desk and into a strongbox.
‘Not that I’m complaining,’ Liviana said, ‘but with mother’s funding from the Lodge, we really don’t need this as badly as some of the other places you donate.’
‘Don’t you worry, they get plenty as well,’ Rumdoodle assured her, ‘But I noticed that you have a particularly large cohort about to age out in a couple of years, so take that and throw some money around if you need to. I want as many of them set up with decent trades and prospects as you can manage. Lean on the network, I’ve been telling people to open up positions and pathways for their siblings.’
‘Of course,’ Liviana said.
‘And let me know if you have any problems. You have my mailbox address in Trent, they can get stuff to me if they need to. I’m always busy, but not too busy to make time if it’s urgent,’ Rumdoodle gathered her things and stood to leave.
‘Stay safe,’ Liviana said.
‘I always do,’ Rumdoodle lied, and left the orphanage, waving goodbye to the kids as she went. They clamoured at the windows while their teachers fought to make them settle down.
Ten years.
Ten years since she started pouring money into the orphanages, working with their owners and trying to build the mutual support network. It still felt like a drop in the ocean, but at least every child they got off the streets and onto a stable trajectory was a tiny victory.
She knew what the alternative looked like. She’d lived it, up to a point. So many of the children she’d grown up with on the streets turned out a lot less fortunate than her.
And sometimes she wondered who she was kidding. She wasn’t a philanthropist, she was a thieving bastard who stole for thrills. None of it was about the money for her, so if donating most of what she stole to the children helped assuage her guilty conscience, all the better.
She did enjoy her visits though, even though the kids took a lot of energy out of her, it was wonderful seeing them grow up a little more every time she returned.
Just as Liviana had told her, quite a performance was taking place in the square outside the Lost Love Lodge, Loverlock’s premier hotel and casino.
The middle-aged Alfir mayor of the town, Falinar Barbitus, was down on his knees in his full mayoral regalia, singing loudly and only optimistically in tune up at the opulent exterior of the Lodge, while a crowd gathered around to alternatively cheer him on and laugh mercilessly at him.
‘Luvelia!’ he sang with his hands raised to the top balconies of the hotel, ‘Luvelia!’
Luvelia Presimis, Liviana’s mother, was notably not in attendance, though that didn’t seem to discourage the mayor.
‘Your name as sweet as honey on my lips
How I long to lay my hands upon your hips
So open your heart to my charms and arms
Will you heed my desire at last, my Luvelia!’
Goodness, he was really belting it out, and those lyrics didn’t deserve such conviction.
‘I’d say he needs to fire his latest songwriter,’ one of the assembled citizens jested, ‘That’s barely better than last month. Look, she’s not even coming out on the balcony anymore.’
‘Oh, have a heart,’ another whispered back, ‘You’d run out of rhymes too if you had to write a new sonnet every single day. And all the good ones have already refused to work for him.’
‘It’s no Rattlestaff, that’s for sure,’ Rumdoodle interjected as she passed, raising a small chuckle from both men.
With nobody coming to receive his adoring words, the mayor eventually drew his performance to a close, to a smattering of mixed jeers and applause. His guards stiffly accompanied him as he left the square and went off, presumably to see to the rest of his mayoral duties.
But he’d be back tomorrow.
‘Loverlock, there’s nowhere quite like it,’ Rumdoodle laughed to herself.
She entered the Lost Love Lodge and walked through the opulent entrance hall toward the front desk where lines of visitors were waiting to check in.
There were other hotels in town but this was the establishment of choice for anyone looking for the complete Loverlock experience. It had a critically acclaimed restaurant, a casino offering all manner of thrilling ways to lose your life savings, and indisputably the best lake views in town.
She passed a trio of travellers who–
Hang on a second, that was Dorian!
Dorian Darling! He was right here, only a few metres away, standing with two companions and a luggage cart with a large covered box on it.
What were the fucking chances of bumping into him? Well, fairly high actually, considering she was in town for the Lovers’ Festival and he almost always attended when he got the chance. But he was still supposed to be missing!
She was just about to walk up and ask where the fuck he’d been for the past few months, when she recognised one of the people he was travelling with.
Darrowfig Sable.
Oh fuck!
The same Darrowfig Sable she’d recently swindled out of a very large amount of smuggled Garrel technology, and who had sworn to gut Rumdoodle like a fish if the duellist ever saw her again.
Was that an enchanted sword on her belt?
That was new.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She still remembered the remarkable shade of purple rage on Darrowfig’s face as the duellist had slashed around inside a hastily erected illusion while Rumdoodle was making a swift getaway with the stolen goods.
If Darrowfig recognised her at this close range, Rumdoodle was dead.
The first thing was to act natural. Warriors were trained to pick up on sudden or tense movement, in order to identify incoming attacks, so Rumdoodle stayed perfectly relaxed, even though she was in full view of the deadly woman, as she calmly turned and strolled across the hotel foyer, using the crowds as partial cover and finally obscuring herself behind a large potted plant nearby, praying to Ilfish that she hadn’t already been spotted.
After a few tense seconds, no sword strike had come plunging through the leaves.
Rumdoodle breathed a sigh of relief. What a way to get caught out. That could have gone so badly. She guessed she was safe for now, but the presence of Darrowfig Sable did put a damper on her hopes to catch up with Dorian Darling.
Damn it! There was nothing else for it, she’d just have to use a disguise and back off for now. It was a busy festival, and she’d probably get another chance to say hi to the writer when the Outerlands’ most capably violent mercenary wasn’t two feet away.
Rumdoodle fished a purple ether-crystal out of her pocket and fixed a disguise in mind, shaping her illusory spell with practiced speed. She draw a small surge of power from the crystal and in mere seconds the spell took form, settling over her features as snug as a glove, accompanied by a slight wave of fatigue as the mental tax of maintaining and controlling the spell's continuous effect weighed upon her.
She stepped out of cover and breezed toward the front desk, entirely ignoring Dorian, Darrowfig, and the oddly cloaked and bandaged third figure in their trio.
Her disguise was a middle aged Orend woman draped in a flowing purple dress and green cardigan combo, and a bright hat with feather plumes pierced through it.
‘Good morning,’ she trilled to the man at the desk, in a melodic voice the suggested a flair for the dramatic, ‘I am Alice Cotram, I should have a suite booked in my name.’
She’d conjured the disguise on the spot, but the name Alice Cotram was actually a pre-arranged alias for the job. She was playing the part of a representative of the Masked Queen Theatre, a prestigious dramatic organisation in Trent, who was in Loverlock scouting for new performing talent and prospective investors during the Lovers’ Festival. It gave her a plausible reason to approach and ask various people questions under the guise of networking, and she got to style out some extravagant clothes for her disguise, which was always a plus.
The hotel receptionist quickly found her name and room booking in the Lodge’s ledger, and gave her all the information she needed for her stay. Then he arranged someone to help carry her packs and guide her to the room, where they had laid out a complimentary breakfast platter, five star service indeed.
She made her way upstairs to a suite that was ridiculously spacious for one person and once the bellhop had finished unloading her bags, she dropped the disguise and slumped down on her bed.
Fucking perfect. She was going to have to look over her shoulder for Darrowfig Sable the entire festival.
That was the only problem with robbing people all the time; they often held a grudge afterwards and were willing to back it up with lethal force if you weren’t careful.
She’d just need to make sure she was in disguise if she left her room, which would be tiring initially as she’d have to use magic and burn through some of the charge in her ether-crystals, but she had a couple of days to put together a good outfit for the masquerade portion of the festival, and then nobody would be able to recognise each-other anyway.
‘Dorian fucking Darling!’ she muttered as she walked out to the balcony and looked across the gorgeous view of Lake Allura and the mountains she'd so recently crossed.
She and Dorian were in Loverlock together once again. The last Lovers' Festival they'd both attended had ended in a proposal. What would the fool do this time?
[End of Chapter 20]