Vincent ran the razor along the slope of his scalp. The bowl of warm water in front of him already contained a few handfuls of hair. It had grown too long, but not by his own choice.

This was his first night at home in two weeks. The Vigil had hauled him in for being out after curfew. They kept him in a disgusting cell, which had enough room for him to stretch out and sleep on the cold slick floor, but only barely. He didn’t even want to consider what it was that kept the floor of the dungeon perpetually slick.

They let him go when they could find no charge to bring against him, and wanted the cell for some new unfortunate. Vincent always went about his work carefully, and his caution had paid its dividends.

The guards never had any idea why he had been in the market after dark. Looking for cursed talismans hidden beneath market stalls was beyond their pay grade. His client was satisfied with the work, and that was all that mattered. When he checked the dead drop, he’d found an extra fourteen silver crowns with his payment, one for each night he spent in the dungeons.

Now Vincent was backing home in the room that served as both his work place and sleeping quarters. He couldn’t stay long; he had another job. Clean up, change clothes, and eat. Then back out on the streets again.

He had told this new client that he would have the item he requested in a month. He’d done his initial casing and found nothing to worry about. At the time he figured that would be more than enough to arrange, what seemed to be, an easy job.

Then he had procrastinated for two weeks, working on more interesting assignments. The market stall job itself hadn’t been particularly interesting; in fact, he was only caught because he had gotten so bored his mind wandered. But crafting the talisman itself had been a fascinating exercise, and good practice in case he ever needed to levy a curse against a more substantial target.

After that he spent another two weeks detained. Now he had one night to break into one of the most popular business in the ‘entertainment’ district, find a jeweled box owned by the Madame, and bring it back for his customer.

Vincent looked at his reflection in the pool of water. He still had his pug face, which continually looked as though it were pressed up against an invisible pane of glass, but his chin and head were finally smooth. He traced the scar that ran along the outer edge of his right eye. He had a hundred stories for how he got it, but as with most cases, the truth was the least interested of them all.

He set the bowl and razor aside, and left the apartment.

A pleasant evening walk along the docks. Feel the cool breeze coming off the water. Listen to the calls of the seagulls. Ignore the fetid odor of rotting fish and urine.

A less appealing place he could not think of, but it was cheap. That was the reason Vincent had taken rooms on the waterfront. The fact that the authorities were disinclined to interfere there was an added benefit. But – gods – was the fish smell unbearable. It was worse during the summer, when the fish seemed to come off the boat already rotting in the heat.

Turning towards the north, he began his meander up Temple Road, facing the old fortress looming over him from its perch atop Castle Hill. He wouldn’t be going that far, of course. The Vigil would roust him and send him back, or bundle him off to his cell again, long before he reached the city citadel.

His own destination was substantially nearer.

Before going too far, he decided - partially on a whim - to venture off the well-trod Temple Road into the twisting and turning side streets. His intention was to approach his target with a lesser chance of being observed, as well as to dissuade any pursuer who may already be silently shadowing him.

He didn’t sense the presence of anyone pursuing him, but it had always been Vincent’s opinion that it was the small securities which ultimately kept one alive. If he had been more careful two weeks ago, he might have evaded capture altogether.

Now in the narrow alleyways, and sans the crowd, he was left almost alone. Only a few residents’ eyes peering out from dark windows and doorways traveled with him. They observed the queer looking stranger venturing through their domain with only mild interest.

Once he came across a small gang of youths – in truth, not that much younger than Vincent himself – but his demeanor, and the dagger he kept quite visibly at his side, dissuaded them from impeding him.

As he began to go further north, the buildings became more familiar to him. He realized he would soon be venturing into Guild territory, so he cut to the east. Down towards the docks, the buildings would only rise to a few stories in height. Where he was now the ‘island’ buildings towered up to eight or night floors.

He found one of the sturdier looking buildings. It was made from concrete, and put up by the city at some point in the past, when they still cared about housing the impoverished population.

Vincent didn’t remember any such time, but some of the old sailors who sat on the docks reminiscing about the halcyon days of their youths assured him that it had existed.

Taking a running leap, he grabbed at the bottom of a window ledge above him and hauled himself upwards. He moved up the building looking for ledges, ornamental overhangs - once, even a precarious laundry line - anything his hands could find purchase on.

Finally, he arrived on the roof, having disturbed only a single resident in his ascent, a middle-aged woman washing up. She spouted curses at him about two thirds of the way to the top. He was sure he had seen her working the street before. He might have paid her.

Now arrived at the top, Vincent took a moment to appreciate his surroundings. His building was the tallest for some blocks, and he had a good view of the dark streets all around it.

He observed for a moment, and then spotted something amiss. A figure ducked into an alley when Vincent looked back over the way he came. The movement was certainly furtive, but the timing may have been mere coincidence. The figure may have been pursuing any number of other individuals besides himself.

Vincent, however, did not believe in coincidences.

Instantly, he began running as hard as he could across the roof top. Not pausing for an instant, he threw himself into space and landed hard on the roof of the next building, one story below his starting point.

He silently thanked any goddess who might be listening when the flimsy looking lumber roof did not collapse under him; evidently the structure was sturdier than it looked. He preferred goddesses to gods on principle, but he didn’t actually believe in any deities. Lurching forward, he continued on his way. Hurling himself over streets when they opposed him, and making his way as fast as his legs would carry him.

Stolen novel; please report.

At last, out of breath, he stopped on the roof of a building with a skylight. He recognized it as his original destination, and practically threw himself to the ground. Both to hide himself from any ground level observers, as well as to restore his stamina.

His mark was the owner of the theater, which meant that there would likely be guards on site. Vincent decide to work a quick obfuscating spell over himself. He hesitated only a moment as he sifted his reagents out of the hidden pocket in his cloak. He wasn’t licensed to do magic, which always made the purchase of ingredients a hassle. An expensive hassle at that.

He’d already needed to dump most of his components just before he’d been arrested, in order to avoid being identified as an illegal mage. Yet, he believed that the danger posed to himself now sufficiently warranted the expense. Strictly speaking, he had placed himself into this situation without even waiting to see if the figure was truly following him, but it was little adventures like this that made life in the city worthwhile.

With his steps quieted and his image distorted, he carefully went over towards the skylight to ascertain whether or not it was latched. Finding it unlocked, he cautiously opened it and made his way inside.

He knew he was in trouble, as he clambered down into a lavishly furnished woman’s bedroom. He had climbed into women’s bedrooms through skylights before, but even when the tenant invited you in, it still usually ended in trouble.

Taking stock of the room he was in, he found a four-poster bed with some very fine silk sheets, a large wardrobe, and a table and chairs set with a silver tea set laid out upon it. Vincent never had liked tea, and he couldn’t think of a way to bring one of the house’s employees into the room to make use of the bed, while still escaping unnoticed afterwards. There was a writing desk in the corner, and this - he had been told - contained the item he was meant to steal.

Vincent crept across the room to the small writing desk his client had told him to raid. To begin, he carefully searched for any possible traps or alarms.

He was just outstretching a hand to touch the thing when he spotted it. A faint magical circle inscribed with glyphs, etched into the wood of the underside of the desk. He froze with his fingers, only a fraction of an inch away. His client had said nothing about this woman possessing any mystical abilities.

It could be his client would be just as surprised by the news as Vincent found himself. Unlicensed mages didn’t exactly make themselves known, as such as he could well attest. Vincent’s natural paranoia however, argued against this point. So did the strange man who’d followed him. Either way, he would need to find the time for a long conversation with this particular employer.

The job was off, of course.

He had no interest in looking for some box owned by a mage, on behalf someone who couldn’t even be bothered to do proper research on a mark. Stealing jewelry and maybe even a book or two for personal use, was still on the agenda.

Careful not even to breathe on the desk, Vincent inched his way closer to the glyphs to study them in detail. They were almost certainly some manner of ward, but he didn’t recognize them. If he were to hazard a guess, that would mean that the symbols were religious rather than purely arcane. Going so far as to hazard a guess regarding the runes’ nature, it did not therefore follow that he was going to hazard an attempt to dispel them, however.

No doubt the desk contained the most valuable treasures, but Vincent wasn’t so desperate that he would risk bringing down the angry sorceress, and half the house guards down on his head to get them. She probably left some trinkets out and unguarded that he could scoop up if he searched hard enough, most people did.

He approached the wardrobe. He had just finished checking the front and left sides for any more wards, when he heard a key being inserted into the door lock.

How had someone been able to approach the door without him hearing their footfalls?

At that point it didn’t matter.

The lock clicked open as Vincent threw himself into the wardrobe, hoping it didn’t have any nasty surprises for him. He was fully concealed inside, when he heard the door open. He hadn’t been struck by lightning, and no alarms had blared, so he assumed that there had been no spells on it.

Now he only had to pray that this was not the owner coming to change her clothes.

Vincent could hear the door close, but even though he knew that she must be in the room, he still could not hear the woman’s footsteps. In fact, he did not even know if this visitor was a woman, but he had presumed that the Madame had returned to her private room.

He closed his eyes and focused all his concentration on his hearing.

At first there was nothing, then the opening of a drawer, which could only have been the writing desk.

And then, with a voice crashing like thunder, perhaps due to how desperately Vincent had strained his hearing, she said, “I know you’re in there. Throw out any weapons, and then step out slowly.”

It was a woman's voice, almost certainly the owner. She had retrieved something from the desk, then confronted him openly, so she was likely armed. Desperately, he looked around for some means of egress from the corner he had placed himself in, and then realized that he had none.

Finally, pinning his last hopes on negotiation, Vincent unbuckled the dirk he always wore in his belt. He opened the wardrobe door a few inches, and threw it out onto the floor.

“Good, now come out yourself.” The woman’s voice seemed much softer this time. It had a lilting, almost sing-song, quality he hadn’t noticed previously. Vincent raised his hopes that she would be good natured about this, put on his most winning smile, and then stepped out to meet his fate.

If this was to be his fate, it would perhaps not be quite so terrible as he had feared.

The woman was extraordinary. Her body was nicely curved, full breasted and she had devious intriguing eyes. She wore an expensive looking purple and silver dress, cut to easily draw the eye to her exposed bosom, and with a split along the side that ran all the way from her hem to her waist.

Vincent coughed to give himself time to consider what to say.

The woman didn’t wait. “What are you doing in my room?” Her eyes seemed curious, or perhaps Vincent was merely flattering himself, but her tone was fierce.

“Miss, I am truly apologetic for any intrusion. I had no intention-”

“If you did not intend to intrude, why did you break into my room? I can’t imagine an unlicensed wizard would go to all the trouble just to steal my small clothes.”

Vincent winced when she mentioned his illegal use of magic, and saw the slightest curve of a smile pass her lips as he did so. “Frankly, I was expecting to find a common Madame, not the priestess of a forbidden deity. If I had known, I would never have troubled you.”

That seemed to steal her smile. “Priestess? You’re looking for gods in a house of ill-repute?”

“Why not? Everyone else seems to go to them. Besides, I saw the wards you placed on your desk. Those aren't from any religion I'm familiar with, and why hide your presence if you worship part of the legal pantheon.”

“I bought that writing desk second hand.”

“Your dancers here bring in enough money that I seriously doubt you need to buy used furnishings.”

“And what do you know about my dancers?”

“If you’re trying to needle me into making some admission that I’ve patronized them, you needn’t bother. I’m not ashamed that I’ve hired several working girls in my time.”

“Quite an interesting theory you’ve concocted about me.”

“So, who is it that holds your devotion, Mother? Affliction, the mistress of plague and poison, perhaps? Doesn’t matter to me. As you said, I’m an unlicensed mage, and I don’t worship any gods.”

“Affliction, how frightful.” Her tone was flat, and portrayed no fear. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken about me, and you still haven’t answered my first question. Why did you break into my room?”

“I was hired by an elf to steal a formerly jewel encrusted box, which had been pried free of its jewels. I assure you this was purely professional, and not the least bit malicious. I would be more than happy to help you arrange an interview with the man in question. I want to have a word with him myself.”

“Not particularly loyal to your clients, are you? How can I be expected to trust you?”

“I’m extremely loyal, up until the point someone sends me to steal from a dark priestess without warning me. The moment he deliberately withheld information from me, our contract was broken. I’m also particularly trustworthy until my client follows me, or has me followed, from the shadows.”

“The man following you came to the attention of our security, but he vanished before we could detain him.”

“Well, there you go. As I said, my services are at your disposal.”

The woman considered the offer for a moment before speaking. “What’s your name, thief?”

“Vincent, what’s yours?”

“You can call me Catherine. I believe we have a deal, Vincent.”