Chapter 1.1: The Guide

Suimin – the city that never sleeps. Since so much time she bore that surname that it fell into oblivion who gave it to her, but she earned it and worn it with honor. The lighthouse of the coastal jewel was known throughout the country, and at every hour, in wind and weather it guided the barges into the harbor, that place in the city that met its reputation entirely.

Since time immemorial not a night had passed without freight being loaded, sailors being hired and deals being made.

But exactly the kind of deals made Suimin that infamous, well known in the whole world. An ulcer spread over and under the city, deeply entrenched, concealed but still obvious. Her true rulers lived and resided in the underground, and their realm thrived like a carefully pruned rose.

Old and rich in traditions felony held its hands over the city; if one wanted to see someone dead, he looked here for a red hand. Pirates and burglars knew where to find a fence, trickster and traffickers found their victims in the streets. If Suimin were not of that great importance, so they said, it would have been rotting away from the inside, suffocated in fear and blood. But the vermin of the alleys knew its limits, and if one new whom to bribe, one could live a safe and wealthy life.

But like everything in this world even crime, this old and stuck business, is subject to change. A very old branch of this rich in traditions tree bloomed in youthful blossoms – and one of these slowly strolled through the shadows of the streets, dressed in a dark coat. Nobody paid attention to this strange figure, and the ones who did knew how to look away. The people of Suimin knew not to meddle in the affairs of others if they were not directly concerned.

Shortly after midnight he left the poorer quarters towards the districts of the merchants and nobility. There he needed to be more careful. Though the streets were not as restless as the port, yet one could meet the numerous entourage of some gentlemen, often drunk and high on mostly illegal substances. In every case he would have attracted attention if someone saw him - and so he simply avoided to get discovered. In advance he prepared for this day, and therefore he knew safe paths, short detours through alleys, gardens, even a roof. He only had to be cautious and patent until he finally made it to his goal.

Tranquil the estate of Anor de Anloch lay before his eyes, a minor residence of the aging aristocrat. A high fence of wrought iron embraced the property, protected the ornamental garden under the plum trees and the house itself. With some admiration he let his gaze wander over the gorgeous building. Oriels and even a tower on the west side made it look like a miniature palace, colorful slug glass windows captured the moonlight. He always had a weakness for the pomp and the ostentatious lifestyle of the nobility, and eventually the day would come when he could call himself the lord of such costly residences. But until then there was much to take care of.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Determined he pulled a roll of paper from one of his numerous pockets, smoothed the creased surface and inspected the drawings on it in the pale light of the stars. It didn’t cost much to get a plan of the building. A recently fired servant who couldn’t let his hands from the opium drew it for him, just for a meager crumb of the substance he was craving for. He also told him about the balcony on the roof, hidden and invisible from the ground. The lord left a few days ago to visit his other estates; here in Suimin he only had his summer residence, and his tiresome duties called him to the north. Most likely he only left a few employees, possibly four servants and two guards, all of them barely suspicious and lucky that they didn’t have to see their master for a few weeks. It would be a peace of cake to climb the walls and to jump down on the balcony. There he just would have to break the lock, and then his way would be free.

And the idol of Damuteph would be his. Self-satisfied he smiled. Anloch couldn’t let it remain a secret that he was in the possession of the stele. Every being with treasures he had problems remaining silent. Finally a friend of Anloch was seized with envy, and so the contract to steal it fell into his hands.

In the hands of the silver fox. He wasn’t that long in this business, but he firmly planed to make himself a name among his own kind. Not only his kind, the whole city shell wear his name on its lips, the rich and mighty shell shiver when its sound is heard. Money and fame would come by itself, but only if he carried out this job properly. The silver fox was sure: Today was the night his live would chance.

But enough of idle reveries. The itch to finally start his foray became unbearable. With a tight grip around the steel bars of the fence he pushed himself up.

And before he could climb over, he felt an arm embracing his chest. Just before the silver fox had time to scream, the world fell into darkness, a piece of cloth suffocating his dreadful sounds.

Someone pulled a sack over my head! In the blink of an eye he threw himself back, laid the whole force of his legs into this jump. Hefty his enemy hit the ground, but the stranger still held him in his arm.

“Leaf me alone!” Writhing in his embrace, the silver fox took a swing with his elbows, hit the air, hit the chest of his panting reaver. Screaming he pushed himself up, tore himself out of his grip, fell stumbling against the fence. The silver fox finally got up, shivers running through his body, and tore the sack from his face.

Just to see a colossus of a man throwing himself against him, his mouth warped in anger. Hefty the silver fox hit the stone plaster, felt a brief sting of pain.

But then the darkness grabbed him, pulled him into the realm of dreams.