by Eric Ugland
“Maybe she did,” I said, swallowing the quip I wanted to make about mayhap. “I can’t tell you that.”
He shook his head and came back to the present.
“I will buy the building from you,” he said.
“No thanks,” I replied.
“I have not told you the price I’m willing to offer.”
“True, but I’m not selling.”
“It was my building originally.”
“Okay, but then it was hers, and now it’s mine. It’s the circle of, uh, real estate. Except I can’t hold the building up to show off to all the neighboring animals?”
“What?”
“Look, never mind. Just know that I’m not selling.”
“I gave it to her. As a gift.”
“You know how gifts work, right?”
“Do you know who you are attempting to mock?”
“I’m not attempting to mock you; I am mocking you. And yes. You’re Lord Gazelzeb.”
“Gazayev.”
“Okay, you got me, I don’t know who you are.”
“I am not to be trifled with.”
“Clearly. You have no sense of humor.”
He glared at me, which was really not very effective. Being forlorn suited him better.
“I am finished with you,” he said, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the library through the arched doorway.
Someone grabbed me by the shoulder, and I turned to see the asshole.
“Time to leave,” the asshole said.
“Fine by me,” I replied with a smile on my face.
Lord Gazayev was still in the foyer, busy yelling about needing to put an expedition together. He needed men for a trip west, to scout along the Royal Road leading to a city I couldn’t pronounce. Looking for his love.
“Hey, boss,” I said as I was being pushed from the house. “You gonna replace the bed your boys busted up?”
Gazayev’s eyes went wide, and he recoiled like I’d just pushed a heaping handful of horse shit under his nose.
“I am one of the greatest lords of the empire,” he said at full haughtiness. “The mere fact that I have not had a man of your rank killed for your continued insolence is evidence of my extreme generosity. Begone, filth.”
“Well fuck you very much too,” I said.
The asshole shoved me out of the house. Then he frogmarched me down the driveway and pushed me through the open gate onto the street, hard enough that I fell over.
“No ride home?” I asked from my dignified position on the street.
“I look forward to hearing of your demise on your walk home,” the asshole said, slamming the gate in my face.
He stared at me for a moment, and then strode off like he owned the world.
I waited for a moment myself, and then I looked at the knife I’d snagged from him as he threw me.
Dundee’s Knife
Item Type: Uncommon
Item Class: One-handed Melee
Material: Steel, Crocodile Skin, Brass
Damage: 10-20 (Slashing)
Durability: 20/20
Weight: 4.8 lbs
Requirements: Str 8
Description: A long-bladed knife with a deep fuller, and a brass guard to protect the hand.
“Now this is a knife.”
Chapter 92
It made me angry that the rich bastard had gotten one over on me, and all I’d managed to do was snag a magic blade from his henchman. And now I had to go basically the entire width of the city in order to get back home. It would actually be difficult to find two neighborhoods farther apart than Old Town and The Bright. I knew the smart move would have been to walk long enough to find a carriage and then get a protected ride back home, but I didn’t have the coin to pay for a ride. The only weapon I had was the stupid magic knife I’d stolen. And if there was one thing I knew, it was not to use unidentified magic weapons. There was always the chance it was cursed, or that it had some ridiculous properties, like I would talk like a frog if I used it. Or that I would only speak the language of frogs. Which made me wonder if there was a frog language in Vuldranni, and, if so, was it something I’d learn if I overheard it? The thought made me listen for nature sounds, and I couldn’t hear much, which left me slightly worried. Though, to be fair, it’s not like I’d seen much in the way of wildlife since I’d come to Glaton, aside from the myriad monsters actively trying to kill me.
I needed to do something though. I had to get either coin or weapons (preferably both), and fast. But considering I was in a rich district full of idiots who were incapable of building secure homes, things were looking up. First step: getting a few blocks between me and the home of Lord Gravelnuts. I didn’t want to risk his security actually paying attention to me, so I passed a few nice-looking homes, moving quickly and quietly. Finally, I got to a place that looked ripe for the picking.
Two poor fools stood at the gates leading into the front yard. Which was a tiny thing, basically just a round driveway area big enough to turn a carriage around in. The two guards were wearing some of the heaviest and most ornate armor I’d ever seen. Both of them were leaning back on the metal bars of the fence, one of them snoring. They’d been given big shiny halberds, but neither guard was holding theirs. Instead they’d been leaned together against one of the fence bars to make a rather stable tripod. A quick walk around the place showed me more glaring flaws in their security. At the back, there were tons of trees, including two big enough to climb up and be able to reach a second-story balcony from. Along the far side wall, I could just scale a fence and then very likely step across the short distance onto one of their windows, thoughtfully designed with quite generously-sized sills. Ridiculous. And tempting.
I had to try it.
I did a last check of the guards out front — still sleeping — and took a peek at the other homes in the area. None of the other guards had a view of the iron bars I’d be climbing. Totally safe.
I climbed the bars, which, I’ll admit, was a bit harder than I’d anticipated. There were gold-leaf spear points lining the top of the wall, which severely prevented me from getting over for a whopping no-time-at-all. Instead, I just planted my feet in between the dull spear points, and then made a little jump to catch the sill and pull myself up onto it. It wasn’t quite large enough to stand there, not without issue. I had to do a little holding in place, a little balance. While balancing there, I considered my options. Mostly, I thought that hopping back to the fence and climbing a tree would probably be a better plan. But then a slight push revealed the window wasn’t locked.
I hopped through the window into an office. There were two bookshelves with an assortment of texts, a large desk with an uncomfortable looking wooden chair tucked into it, and a small fireplace that still had a quaint fire burning. On the desk were folders filled with papers, as well as some small journals. There were three different ink pots and five dip pens. None of those foolish pencils for this man. Plush carpets were layered on the floor, wood paneling lined the walls, and there were glowstone lights hanging from the ceiling. It was a nice place.
I shut the window and eased myself into the chair behind the desk. If you can forgive the horrible pun, I felt at home in the strange home. My whole time bouncing around this crazy new world, I’d been out of my element. I’d been confused and reacting off my back foot. And here, finally, I was where I did my best work: some rich asshole’s study, about to rob them blind. This was my bailiwick. I’d done it so often back home, it’d been the only real way I kept everything together, mentally, emotionally, and even fiscally after I became responsible for my father. I felt happy. Which, sure, was a little weird, but, you know, I’m one of the bad guys.
The house was quiet. The residents probably asleep. At least, that was the feeling I got from the place. I wasn’t super sure of the time, I hadn’t seen a clock since I’d been so rudely escorted from my apartment. But given my sleep needs, I figured it was likely just past midnight, or thereabouts. I decided to w
ait in the room for a bit, just let the house get accustomed to me, and hear what was going on in the place. So in order to pass the time, I peeked through the first folder.
It was boring stuff. From what I could discern, the owner of the office I was in happened to have a government position somewhere in the agriculture department. The first folder was full of crop yields in the eastern portion of the Empire. From my quick glance through the papers, I determined that I had no idea what rape seed was, but I figured it wasn’t something I wanted to grow in a dark alley.
I went through the drawers, but that yielded nothing but a golden letter opener and a bunch of spare dip pens. Nothing of actual value.
I tugged a string from my shirt and tied a small metal pen nib to the end. Then, because I’d already seen at least two secret doors inside libraries and offices, I figured I’d see if there was a trend going on in Glaton. I cast detect secret doors.
The nib shot out, and pointed at one of the bookshelves. I eased around the desk and walked over to the it. As I poured more mana into the spell, the door’s existence became easily apparent. I halted the spell and dropped the nib and string into my pocket. Then, I felt along and around the shelf itself, feeling for a switch or lever. I couldn’t find anything, so had to resort to pulling all the books, one at a time. Finally, I got to a red leather-bound tome, whose quick yank yielded a loud click. The door released ever so slightly.
I pushed it open.
Inside was a rather small room, maybe five by five feet. A little desk had notebooks stacked on it, and a chest rested next to those.
I peeked at the notebooks quickly, confirming they were the bonded, or paired, notebooks I’d seen earlier. This was the accumulated secret communication between the agricultural minister and various people around the Empire. So this wasn’t the home of just some random bureaucrat — it was the actual minister of agriculture. And judging by the journals, it seemed like he was up to something. Spending the night reading seemed like a less-than-ideal use of my time, though, so I didn’t really dig into them.
Since I didn’t have a bag, I took the books and slipped them into my shirt. It made me look like I had a really jagged paunch with lots of right angles somehow, but hey. It’s not like I was planning on going to a ball or anything. I was robbing a rich jerk. Looks come last.
I took my time looking over the little chest. It was small, only about the size of a shoe box. But like a nice pair of kicks shoe box. It was made of red wood and some sort of golden metal that held the whole thing together. A light touch and the chest didn’t move in the slightest. It was secured to the desktop. I didn’t have my lock picks, but there was a pen knife in the desk, as well as some little bits of wire and a few firm feathers. I figured that’d be enough to get into the chest, considering I couldn’t actually snag the chest and bring it with me.
Improvised tools ready, I picked at the lock. Slowly. Very slowly. Finally, I got the lock to tumble. I heard a very soft click, and then I used the knife blade to lift the lid. Peeking inside the remarkably thin slit, I saw the glowstone light glint off a tiny wire. It was booby-trapped.
That made things challenging: did I attempt to disarm the trap and chance being injured (or killed) while in the midst of larceny, or did I leave well enough alone and accept that there might be better loot elsewhere?
Chapter 93
Of course there’s only one answer to a question like that. I was going to disarm the trap.
The thing about this sort of trap is that someone intended it to be disarmed on the regular. It was a chest inside a secret room that the homeowner accessed regularly. So while I could attempt to cut the wire through the tiny slit and then open the top, there had to be a better way. That meant more of the dull stuff: close examination of the box. A light touch as I felt along for any sort of switch or button or raised area that could be depressed.
Nothing.
Next was a visual inspection for a second keyhole or something along those lines. And that’s where I found success. Located in a swirl of metal that hid it quite well was a small hole. Tiny really. It was the perfect size to fit a quill. And luckily enough, I had one.
Again, working slowly — no real prizes for speed here — I pushed the quill inside. There was a small hesitation, but gentle pressure caused it to go away. Finally I heard a very soft click.
I pried the lid up and peeked through the tiny slit.
The wire was loose.
Perfect.
Cool Beans, you’ve uncovered the skill Traps. Now you can set traps with sharp objects and likely not hurt yourself. You can also dismantle traps. +5% successful setting of traps. +5% successful dismantling of traps.
Now that was an unexpected bonus. I was a little surprised I hadn’t gotten that skill already, but it wasn’t exactly like I spent a lot of time working on my trap skills.
I opened the chest slowly, just on the off chance there was an additional trap.
Nope.
And the treasures were revealed.
Which, to be honest, weren’t all that overwhelming. There was a small pouch filled with platinum coins, and an even smaller pouch filled with three very large coins that looked a bit like the account coin from Gideon. I tied both pouches onto my belt.
The base of the chest seemed at odds to the size of the chest, and a little pushing and prodding at the corners confirmed it had a false bottom. I popped the thin piece of wood out and set it to the side.
Finally, we got to the juicy stuff.
Six rings, a black stone broach with a bunch of shiny black gems all over it, two heavy golden chains, a bag of loose gems, four slim spell books, and the weirdest thing: a cloak. At first, I thought it was just a little square pouch. But when I pulled it out, it just kept coming. It was a very fine weave. Unbelievably thin, almost translucent. It was black (naturally), but there was a certain sparkle to it. It also fairly thrummed with magic, so I knew it had to be something pretty powerful. Into a pouch it went.
I returned the chest to its former position — as much as I cared to, at least. Not like there’d be much confusion that the place had been robbed, considering all the journals were gone. I closed the secret door and made sure everything around the desk was in the same spot it’d been when I’d entered the room. I also used my sleeve to wipe any surfaces I may have touched. It was more of an automatic habit than anything I really needed to do, since I had no indications that fingerprinting was something law enforcement had discovered here. The thought made me stop where I was in the room and look at my fingers. I had no idea if elves even had fingerprints.
Yes. We do. They looked a little different, but I definitely had them.
I went over to the door and pushed my ear up against it to listen.
The house was pretty calm. I heard something regular, like footsteps on carpet, but it was getting further from me. So I edged the door open, and peeked out.
An empty hallway. There was a dark green carpet runner down the middle, with fine wood flooring on either side. There were sconces at regular intervals, each with a small glowstone in it. It wasn’t overly bright, almost like the sconces had been dimmed. Or maybe there was some poor maid who had to replace the ‘bulbs’ for the different times of day. Who knows?
I counted three doors on the same side of the hall as the office I was in, and two on the opposite side. I made my way to the door across the hall.
Ear to the door.
Silence inside.
A gentle twist of the knob, and the door opened into a darkened bedroom. A guest room, it seemed. I shook my head. No one ever put valuables in the guest room, because then the guests could take them.
I shut the door and crept down the hall to the next one. Again, ear to the door to listen. Someone was muttering inside, the vague utterances that indicated sleep-talking. I edged the door open, and peeked my head inside.
Kid.
Rules were rules, so I eased the door shut.
Three more doors, but the footsteps I’d
heard were getting closer. The walker had turned around and was closing in on me.
I moved down the hall, closer to the walker, and peeked into the next room. A drawing room. I think. Naturally, given the time, it was empty. So I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. It was rather dark, with only a single small glowstone lantern in the corner. One wall had a fireplace, but only a few glowing coals were left inside. There was a large wardrobe along one wall, and a small table below the window was covered with a wide variety of boxes. There was another door, ostensibly leading to a bedroom, and given the snores coming from the room, I figured that was clear.
First I went over by the window to check out the small boxes.
One by one, I opened them up and peeked inside. Something like snuff. Something like cigarettes. Then the nice stuff, jewelry and watches. It wasn’t the exquisite stuff you’d find on the ladies of the realm, so it was definitely a gent’s room. Much more masculine vibe. Though, in Glaton, that wasn’t quite the same guarantee. There seemed to be more fluidity between the genders here.
I left the little jewelry boxes open, and went over to the oversized wardrobe. I flung open the doors, — quietly mind you — and pored over the clothing. I spotted a very nice black coat, so I pulled it out, swung it around Jeb Bartlett-style, and gave it a once over. It was definitely tailored to someone who didn’t have much in the way of upper-body strength. A little pinch in the biceps, a bit tight in the shoulders. I took it off, hung it back up, and found something better: a leather satchel. Nothing in it, by the by, but the actual bag was even more important at this point. I put all my pilfered products into the bag, and it fit so well. I felt good about things, and dumped the jewelry boxes into the bag.
I froze when I heard footsteps outside.
But the person passed by without stopping. It was a plodding, regular step. Not someone who’d been awakened suddenly. I was willing to bet it was either a guard bored on patrol or someone heading back to bed after a midnight snack.
