Kaspia opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the murky interior of the crew's den. A musky odor hung in the air and her head throbbed in painful evidence of last night's drink. She pushed herself up off the pillows on which she had been sleeping and wondered if there were any of the pills she had acquired on a job a few weeks ago left. Figuring she might need one or two to get herself back into working shape again; it was something she had done before.
A quick inspection of her surroundings revealed that some members of the crew were stirring from their sleep; most likely due to Beoria’s loud snoring. With utmost silence, Kaspia made her way towards a secluded alcove built into a brick wall, where she could observe those around her without being disturbed herself. Solitude was something she craved - when alone, her thoughts were clearer and less clouded with noise, clawing at her from all around. The idea of traveling through life in peace, without being subjected to the cruelties of the slums captivated her imagination, and filled her with dreams that one day she would have what she had come here for, then such freedom could be hers once more.
At that moment a young elf called Tillian stirred, noticed Kaspia's absence and called out for her; his hushed voice echoing throughout the room as concerned eyes searched for her.
“Kaspia,” the boy cried out, his tone loud enough to cause several of the sleeping crew members to shift around. “There you are, I was worried when I couldn’t see you.”
Tillian, a gaunt faced, droopy eared scion of Valium's underworld, he thought he was around thirteen years of age; though having been thrown to the streets when he wasn't much more than a baby made it difficult for him to know for sure. Like many with mothers of less repute he had been cast from her side and left with a local orphanage when he proved too large a burden. Those like Tillian, and there were many in Valium, were forced to learn from hard earned experience in a rather accelerated fashion. It was rare to find innocence in children like him, she had learned that much the hard way. The slums breed cruel, scheming creatures, not kindness.
Despite her weariness with most of her associates, Kaspia found herself drawn towards the boy, his kind naivete and endearing disposition a good reminder of how her world used to be years ago. It was unfortunate she thought, that however much she was loath to do so, she had never managed to bring herself to trust Tillian.
“Outside the law, trust is worth less than dirt for trust will only put you six feet under,” Beoria had told her the same night as Kaspia was inducted into Redhand’s crew.
With a jolt she was roused from her musings, a scarcely audible clamor, like wood screeching and metal clanking coming from somewhere above. In a heartbeat Kaspia's nerves tensed up, a reflex honed by experience, no way they were lucky enough that the ruckus was from some clumsy apprentice making a mess upstairs.
Another faint sound, her pointy ears twisting to hone in on the sound and heard a person shouting, a stream of cries of panic coming from far away, muffled by stone and wood.
“I'm a fool,” Kaspia reprimanded herself. Oh, how she regretted not having taken it easier with the wine last night. Her mouth still had that sour taste of cheap wine left behind and before her the floor refused to stay still.
The crew’s heist during the festival the night before had been daring after all and some diligent know it all constable might already be on the case.
She looked out of her alcove towards Redhand, their leader and the owner of the turf they all worked in. He lay on a gigantic mound of pillows, eyes squinting and letting out a slight whine as he shifted about. She wondered for the hundredth time what inspired his obsession with cushions.
“What are you looking at, little piss rat?” he growled, squinting at her with one eye open.
Kaspia jumped from her alcove and down into the sea of pillows, taking care to keep her distance from Redhand. “I thought I heard something, perhaps shouting, it came from upstairs, boss,” she replied in as low a voice as she could.
Redhand gave her a look of distaste, it made her want to crawl into a hole and hide. Every time she opened her mouth and spoke to the scarred thug her skin crawled like she was covered in bugs and she felt a terror crawl up her spine and grip her chest, a rising feeling that had been a constant part of her life for years now.
Clap!
A loud sound like an explosion of shattering wood turned the stirring basement into a raging hornets nest. At once everyone was up, looking around with frantic eyes and speaking in low, panicked, voices. Some were scrambling for their things, trying to sort out their valuables and the occasional weapon.
“Shut up,” Redhand hissed. “What have you fools done!”
The room fell silent, as if the air had been sucked away in one giant gasp. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that even the tiniest sound felt like thunder, every exhale excruciatingly loud, as time stood still.
In the end Redhand broke through the moment of panic, shattering the deafening silence with a hushed command and Kaspia’s throat constricted as a crooked finger pointed towards her, rage-filled words of their leader slithering through the air.
“You, little piss rat! Get over to that hatch and find out what made that sound!”
In a frenzied rush he whispered orders and with a sudden bush of sweat pouring down his face Redhand got the room moving.
“Beoria and Silvertongue, get off your asses and make damn sure those crates are prepped for a quick escape!” His eyes bulged with urgency as he scanned the room, fixing each of his crew. No one uttered a single word to reply.
Beoria and the Silvertongue were seniors in the crew, favored, only second to Redhand himself. With Kaspia as their help, they had pulled off the main part of the heist the night before. She still couldn't believe the Silvertongue had managed to infiltrate the festival with the two women. He still wore the clothes he had pranced around in the night before; a white gown with rich red embroidery and lace along its neck and arms. Its neckline was high, reaching up to his chin. The fine cloth was held tight around his waist by a thick red cord. On his shoulders rested a deep blue cloak that went all the way down to his feet. His fingers sparkled with rings and he looked every bit like a wealthy merchant's wife. When it came to playing a role, Silvertongue had proven that there were few who did it better than him – assuming he could keep his flirtatious nature under control.
Kaspia stood up, her hungover body struggling to catch up with her racing mind as she slapped her cheeks. She edged towards the ladder that led up to the hatch in the roof of the basement, and heard shouts from upstairs. As she cautiously placed a foot on the ladder, it creaked under her weight. Her sluggish mind wrestled with surging panic, trying to formulate a plan.
“Dunauri!” she cursed. “The sound will give us away.”
Kaspia spun around, staggered as she almost lost her footing, looking for something, anything that might aid her. She noticed mounds of filthy pillows strewn about as well as the many items stored in the hideout; an idea took shape in her mind. If only she could make it just a few feet up the ladder without giving away their hiding place, then she could pull herself up onto one of the supporting beams in the roof and open the hatch from there.
“How tough?” Despite her best efforts, Kaspia's vision began to blur and panic set in as her foggy brain refused to cooperate with her wishes for clarity when she needed it most.
“Focus, there’s always a way. Figure it out!” Kaspia reprimanded herself as she studied her surroundings once more, seeing rotting shelves full of mold and old trash nobody had cared to remove. A few casks of beer stood in one corner and next to them was a large wine barrel. Scrambling towards it Kaspia almost fell over as her foot slipped on some unknown gunk. With her stomach turning she reached the barrel, it was empty, perfect! With utmost care, she moved it toward the beam, rolling on its edge.
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The Redhand looked up from organizing the crates with stolen goods. “What are you doing piss rat?” he growled. “I give you an order.”
“Boss, the ladder.”
Kaspia didn’t get another word out as the Redhand closed the distance to her with unnatural speed, sending out a fist that punched into her stomach. The force of the blow threw Kaspia back toward a wall and her stomach blazed with unfathomable pain. She slumped towards the wooden floor but bore the pain, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her crying. She met his glare, staring into emerald green eyes, heart pounding in her chest. Up until a feeling rose from her chest and vomit spewed between grit teeth. Perhaps curling up into a ball on the ground was a good idea after all, maybe trying to look strong was foolish. Puke ran down her chest, oh how she felt small. Yes, laying down was a good idea, wasn’t it, her mind whispered. She heard Redhand's words in her ear, his breath smelled of pus from his rotting teeth mixed with old booze.
“You will do as I say!” he spat, his face mere inches from hers, words seething with venom. “I won't have last night's score ruined by you, understand?”
Kaspia cowered, unable, unwilling to rise, her head bobbing in frightened acquiescence.
The Redhand stared down at her for a moment, only his scars pale as his face grew red. In the end he looked away muttering to himself, huffing like a pig with manic eyes flickering around the room.
“He just wants someone to vent his fear on,” Kaspia thought. “He’s always itchy after a job.”
She looked up at the large man, tasting the sour vomit in her mouth. She must not have looked meek enough because he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His expression darkened even further. Then he raised his fist as if to strike her face. The Redhand was so strong, impossibly so, and for a moment Kaspia felt a pang of envy.
“This is my own fault, I'm weak,“ she whispered to herself.
The Redhand stood still, eyes fixed on her, fist high in the air, for a moment, then he sighed.
Turning to walk away he said. “Get up and do your job or I'll gut you like a fish. I knew you were worthless, good for nothing, and I should have never picked you off the street.”
It was true, Kaspia thought to herself, the Redhand was right, she was worthless and her joining the crew hadn't changed as much as she'd hoped.
“Better get moving,“ Kaspia thought to herself, determined to struggle on, like she always did.
She spit out some vomit drenched, foul tasting leftovers from her mouth and started moving again, edging the barrel with great effort toward her target, hoping that her boss didn’t interfere again. In no way could she take that kind of abuse again and still keep going.
To her good fortune their leader seemed to have lost interest in her, instead rumbling through some shelves in the back of the basement while his desperate hands kept flinging stuff off the shelves. Those around him bustling around like bees catching them all before they hit the ground. She wondered if he had gone mad as the Redhand started ripping shelves off the wall in the back of the room, his henchmen struggling with flying boards before they could land and make a loud ruckus.
Kaspia made sure the barrel was steady before taking a step up on it. It felt sturdy enough below her feet. Reaching up she grabbed a hand around the beam in the roof and started to heave herself up. It was difficult in her current state but she managed, in the criminal underworld you just had to tough it out or you’d soon find yourself dead in a gutter somewhere.
Sitting on the beam Kaspia searched for a handhold close to the hatch, finding a grip in the cracked mortar and pulling herself up to a standing position she put her head close to the hatch, listening, careful not to make a sound.
“Ah, my dear shopkeeper, you should know that I am already aware of the nefarious activities perpetrated by that society of ruffians you're covering for,” a raspy voice declared.
“He isn't here, it's the truth.”
By his voice the second man was quivering with fear, like a cornered rat turned on its back.
“Now my good man, who said anything about a, him ah? You know that scoundrel, the Redhand, I just know it. Ominous name that fella has, wouldn't you agree?”
“He isn't here.”
“Now do tell me where I may find him and the goods he's taken or I shall have to sever your fingers one by one,” the voice raspy continued. “We are both gentlemen and I wish we could settle this as civilized men, my dear little shopkeeper.”
“I swear, I don’t know! Please, I’ve done nothing wrong sir.”
“I am going to need a real answer soon or I regret I shall be left with no choice but to consider rather drastic measures. That situation is not one that any of us want to enter into.”
Kaspia recognized one of the voices upstairs, the one quivering with fear. Someone was threatening poor ol'Fimius, the owner of the store that led down to the crew's safe house. She had always liked the old man, he was kind and never late with a comforting word whenever she was having a bad day.She knew why the old shopkeeper had thrown in with the Redhand, he'd hit some desperate financial times and he had come to the crew to get one last infusion of cash so that he could keep his shop. The old man had a crippling gambling addiction he had fought a running battle with for years before he had to come begging to the people he paid protection money to. More than once she had thought about asking the kindly old man for help to start a new life many times but she never took the step to actually ask. In the criminal underworld everyone could betray you and that that risk was far too big. What if ol'Fimius went to the Redhand? It would be the end for her. Better she stay low, like a good little thug, while looking for an opportunity.
“Argh!”, Fimius cried in anguish.
“Focus!” Kaspia thought to herself. “Don’t let your thoughts drift.”
She had to know what was happening upstairs; so with trembling hands she raised the hatch, inch by agonizingly slow inch, letting more and more of morning sun sliced through the opening. Kaspia tried to keep still as the brightness blinded her, sending her reeling back and almost losing her footing. However, it wasn't the dread of tumbling falling off of the beam that scared her most and she had to bite her lip so that no sound escaped her lips. Thankfully no one noticed.
With exceptional care she pulled herself together and looked into the room once more. Old man Fimius sat strapped to a chair, blood dripping from his nose and hand, whilst a severed finger lay on the floor.
“Where are the stolen goods? I hate to use such crude methods in order to procure an answer from you, my dear shopkeeper. Just give me an answer and I'll go my merry way.”
“No more, please no more.”
“The dear gods know how it simply is not fair that they put you in this situation, so I will, graciously, give you a few heartbeats to decide what your next words will be before I cut off another finger.”
“The Redhand will kill me if I tell you.” Tears were starting to run down Fimius' face. “Please let me go sir. I won’t cause trouble I swear, please,” the fear and agony clear in the old man’s trembling voice, it was obvious he wasn’t going to hold out for much longer.
“Don’t worry about that thug my dear man. Tell me what I wish to know or you will wish you were already six feet under when you find out what I have in store for you,” the other man said, a grin spreading at the corners of his mouth as an amused chuckle slipped out.
Sweat was trickling down Kaspia's face as she took in what was happening. What in the burning pyres of Tartarus was this, how had the guards tracked them so fast? The crew's hideout was supposed to be secret, a safe place while they lay low for a day or two.
Kaspia forced her eyes from Fimius and studied the rest of the room upstairs. It was empty except for a tall older elf in a heavy brown leather coat, he wore a thick belt with a strange bladed weapon tucked into it and a bandoleer full of daggers and strange wooden sticks across his chest. Outside the window Kaspia could see the sheen of reflected metal, lots of well armored men stood outside. There was no way they could fight their way out if they were discovered.
“Arrrgh!”
Fimius cried in pain as the interrogator pushed a thick dagger through his finger, cutting it clean off, before beginning to move it in a sawing motion above another one. All the while the old interrogator looked as calm as if he was cutting a loaf of bread.
Fimius broke.
“For the love of everything that is holy! Down below, they are in the depths below,” Fimius pleaded, his face now covered in tears. "The hatch is by the corner, hidden beneath the counter, oh kind sir please! I beg of you, have mercy!”
Kaspia's heart skipped a beat. They were trapped, utterly trapped like a duck in a pen, waiting for the chopping block. Kaspia ducked down, the hatch slamming shut above her. As she did she could hear loud commands above. This was the end.
“Lads, get that hatch opened and deliver swift ends to everyone who doesn’t surrender immediately down there, now lads, go!”
Panic flooded Kaspia's mind while she was trying to crouch before jumping down. Considering she was still very much hungover it came as no surprise when her foot slid off the beam's side, sending her crashing down to the ground. First smacking her side on the beam before hurtling towards the ground, head first.
The moment dragged on like only a moment before death could. A final, fleeting thought crossed her mind.
“Mother, father, brother, I'm coming to join you. Please let this be the end.”
Full of resentment and yet grateful that this life would soon be over she hit the ground head first.