by David Dickie
He’d studied Filin for the better part of a week, learning his patterns. Filin had just returned from an expedition to Pranan and was taking advantage of his time in Bythe to visit his lover on a frequent basis. Varleri’s apartment had been the ideal spot. Filin stayed with her three times a week like clockwork, and unlike Filin’s room in the small complex his team lived in, there were no magicked alarms, no comrades in arms that could show up unpredictably, no security. Grim snuck in once to plant his tattletale, a small magicked device that recorded and played back a three-dimensional rendering of everything in front of it, then snuck in a second time two days later to retrieve it and plan his route from the balcony to the dresser. Playing back the periods when Filin was there let him get a sense of their evening pattern. Both times sex had been initiated shortly after they entered the room. It had been energetic, and the sleep afterward had been deep. Watching it had been enough for him to try the heist the next time Filin visited, two days later, making it a grand total of thirteen days from when he took the contract. Just under two weeks from start to finish for that kind of money was a good deal.
Grim’s room was spartan. There was a bed, a small chest, a chair, and a single, plain bedside table. He reached under the bedside table. With a little work, he’d added a small wooden box connected to the bottom of the table, something that would be hidden from view even if the table was lifted off the ground. At the moment, it held a few professional items he’d collected over the years, like the tattletale, and a small amount of cash. He put the amulet in it, added the mana sapper he had used to disable the glow disk, clipped the box back in place, pulled off his dark cloths and crawled into bed. Sleep came quickly, the release of tension after a job more relaxing than the softest lullaby.
He woke several hours later and dressed in normal street clothes: a white cotton shirt, dark pants and blocky leather shoes. He threw on his cloak, strapped two daggers to his waist, looked for a moment at his rapier and, deciding against wearing it, stepped outside. He did his normal routine of walking off, pretending to search for something in the pockets of his cloak, and heading back again, looking for any sign of a tail. When he was convinced no one had any particular interest in him, he found a small, quiet cafe for breakfast, paying a gossip mage to look over the morning sound bites. He paid a bit more for an article on a recent Kethem Naval Intelligence action on the docks, but there was nothing interesting in it. That was, nothing about him or the disastrous expedition to Tawhiem he’d been involved in. Nothing about Daesal or Stegar, Gyeong or Hantlin.
He killed a few more hours roaming the alleys and touching base with the network of small-time thieves, gamblers, pickpockets, and other borderline legal to fully illegal individuals that made up the bottom rung of Kethem society, the shadow guild. At least, the bottom rung from a Holder’s perspective, as members of the shadow guild didn’t pay Holder’s taxes. To Grim’s surprise, no one mentioned Filin or a stolen amulet. If Filin had gone to the wardens, there would have been a ripple in the pond of humanity, the questions enough to start one of the shadow guild member talking to the next, who would talk to the next, until word was all over the street. The lack of news was not comforting. Why wouldn’t Filin report his stolen property?
Grim ate dinner at a hole-in-the-wall that served decent food for a reasonable price, drawing his meal out until it was dark. Then he left money for the dinner and a modest tip and walked out into the night. Ten minutes later, he walked into The Mudrake’s Den, a poorly lit, marginally clean bar near the docks, its only unusual feature the longer-than-average distance between tables. It was shabby and run down and only attracted any kind of drinking crowd because of the low price of beer, and not much of a crowd even so. The owners liked it that way, as their primary business didn’t have anything to do with serving alcohol.
Grim nodded to the bartender on the way to a table. The bartender nodded in turn to a waitress who was moving before Grim sat down. She walked up with a sway in her hips, leather boots tapping on the wooden floor. “Whattleitbe?” she asked, running the words together as if trying to save her breath for something more important.
Grim smiled. “You have anything from Micaforo?” he said.
“Sure, some,” she smiled. “All the way from Pranan. Expensive stuff. Has to be shipped to Kethem by a merchant, but worth it. Looking for something specific?”
“Vodan’s,” said Grim. “Got the coin if you’ve got the beer.”
The waitress nodded. “Vodan’s. Let me check.” She walked back to the barkeep and spoke softly to him for a few minutes, then came back. “Sorry, no dice.” She lowered her voice. “Barkeep says you might be able to find some at Able Jim’s. Says you’re better off trying tomorrow, maybe three-ish.”
Grim nodded. Able Jim’s was another bar a few blocks away. Cleaner than The Mudrake’s Den, and not just physically. Able Jim’s was a bona fide bar, with nothing connecting it to any of the kind of services Grim and others like him provided. “Good to know. Like a bartender who sends you to the right place. I get my beer, I’ll stop by with a finder’s fee.”
The waitress smiled. “Sure. You do that. You want anything to tide you over?”
Grim nodded again. “Something local.” She nodded and brought him a Docker, a light beer made in Bythe, inexpensive but drinkable. Grim nursed it for a quarter hour, then left the money for the beer on the table and headed out. The real “tip” he would leave tomorrow, if all went well. It would be much larger, five thousand rimmi, one tenth of the contract value, the go-between cost the “bar” charged for matchmaking between freelancers with special skills like his and those who wanted their services, a nice double blind that prevented either party from knowing too much about the other. Beyond meeting in an honest establishment to exchange the item and the cash, they didn’t need any contact at all, and the Mudrake’s Den never had any contraband inside its doors that would give the city Wardens a reason to shut the place down. An arrangement everyone was happy with, particularly Grim, who wanted to keep his head down above all else at the moment.
He headed back for his room feeling happy. Tomorrow, he’d be forty-five thousand rimmi richer.
Chapter Two
Grimalkin wandered by Able Jim’s twenty minutes before the meet time, just passing by, not even looking in. He circled back fifteen minutes later and passed by again. There were two men loitering by the entrance to Able Jim’s who were still there on the second pass. They were out of place, too watchful, too controlled. They had knives on their belts, but unlike the sailors, merchants, dock workers and down-on-their-luck never-do-wells that were always wandering in the areas surrounding the docks, whose knives were utilitarian, theirs sported black-textured combat grips and thick crossbars. Knives meant for serious business.
Grim continued on without stopping. He couldn’t be sure they were waiting for him, that they had anything to do with his transaction, but he hadn’t gotten this far by not being cautious. It took ten minutes to walk back to The Mudrake’s Den, and he passed by that twice as well, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, before he wandered in and walked over to the bar. The bartender frowned. That wasn’t the normal protocol. Normally the waitress would bring food, and you would leave a small envelope under a plate.
Grim nodded to the bartender. “Thanks for that recommendation, but I don’t think Able Jim’s is the right kind of bar for me. Didn’t like the feel of the place.”
The bartender looked thoughtful. “You sure? Should be a fine place to get a beer.”
Grim said, “Ya. Too crowded with the wrong kind of customer, you know what I mean.”
The bartender nodded. “Sure. Well, I feel bad about that. Let me ask around and see if there’s another place that serves Micaforo beer, and that it has the right kind of clientele.”
Grim nodded his thanks. “Appreciate that. You find me a good bar, I’ll throw a little extra in the finder’s fee.”
The bartender smiled and said, “Tips are always appreciated. Swing
by in a few hours, I’ll let you know.”
Grim thanked him and headed out, walked in circles and doubled back a few times. When he was convinced no one was following him, he went back to his room to think. When things went wrong, cutting and running was usually the best option. This time, it wasn’t as clear. He didn’t know whether a trap had been set for him at Able Jim’s. It just hadn’t felt right. Walking away from forty-five thousand rimmi was a tough call to make without more to go on than just a feeling.
So he waited the three hours and then went back to The Mudrake’s Den. He walked by on the other side of the street. The Mudrake’s doors were closed. Grim had never seen that before. He kept on moving. Down the street, standing outside a pottery shop, one of the men he’d seen at Able Jim’s was leaning against a wall looking down the street. Grim moved unhurriedly by him, just a guy going about his business. The man glanced at him, but most of his attention was on the door to The Mudrake’s Den.
Grim turned on the next corner, did his circle-and-double-back routine, and returned to his room. He sat in the one chair in the place and considered his options. The gods of the dice must have it in for him, he decided. First the debacle in Tawhiem, which he only signed on for because he was low on funds, and which he’d walked away from without collecting a copper. He’d kept a low profile for the last three months, worried about Kethem Naval Intelligence and their possible interest in him. He had maybe a thousand rimmi to his name after spending down for that entire time. And after finally deciding that mess was behind him, his first job since then had turned on him like he was using an asp for a walking stick.
Grim sighed. It was time to cut and run. He needed money to do that. And he needed friends to give him the money, because he was out of options other than cutting purse strings, a low-value, high-risk proposition. Or trying to sell the amulet, knowing nothing about its worth, only that it was valuable to someone else that had impressive assets at his or her disposal to retrieve it. No, it was friends or nothing. Daesal. Stegar. Hantlin. Gyeong. They were his only options. And then he realized he was completely lost, because there was no way he could face any of them and look them in the eye after abandoning them to the Kethem Naval Intelligence.
The fire was burning. He’d have to use his limited funds to get as far away as he could, then reassess the situation. It only took ten minutes to pack his meager belongs in a backpack, pull his tools, the amulet and his limited funds from his stash, and take a last look around. The landlord would be fine, having established the sensible policy of collecting the month’s rent up front. He had no one he cared enough about, or who cared enough about him, to tell he was leaving. With a final, melancholy glance around, he opened the door to step out.
There were two men standing outside waiting for him.
Chapter Three
Grim looked at the two men.
They looked back at him.
The one in front was tall, a good foot taller than Grim, with clear blue eyes and light blond hair, in a yellow silk shirt and long dark-blue pants. He seemed unarmed and had a bemused expression on his face. Behind him was a smaller man with skin the color of teak, who stood with a loose, casual posture that Grim recognized from many prior encounters. It was the stance of a man ready for trouble, ready to strike out in whatever direction danger arrived from. His eyes, so dark it was hard to see his irises, were piercing in their intensity. He wore a sword on one side and a short-sword on the other, an unusual combination. His clothes looked cheaper: cotton shirt, leather pants. Clothes that any dock worker or laborer might wear. Grim felt like he knew the man, and it threw him off for a moment. Then it came to him; the man looked like Nhi Nyjha, the Ibisi tribesman from Tawhiem who had been part of the team with him on that ill-fated journey. But no Ibisi would be caught dead in Kethem clothing, and they preferred spears or bows to swords.
Grim casually slid his arms inside his cloak. He didn’t put them near the daggers on his belt. He didn’t need them. His cloak had daggers hidden in inside pockets he could access just as easily. The teak-colored man just as casually slid a hand onto his short-sword.
The tall man bowed. “My apologies, we were just about to knock at your residence. My name is Alan. My associate is Lug. If you have a few moments to spare, I would like to make a proposition I think you might find intriguing.”
Grim hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded. If they wanted trouble, the swords wouldn’t be in their sheaths. “Come in. Sorry, I only have one chair. I can sit on the bed.” He led them inside and sat down. Lug closed the door, then turned and leaned against it while Alan sat in the chair. Alan looked around curiously. “Rather austere. I thought people liked more elaborate decorations in their homes.”
Grim considered that for a moment, then said, “They do in their homes. This is just a waypoint for me, a temporary stay, and when I’m traveling I travel light.”
“Fascinating,” answered Alan, and there was a glow of curiosity burning behind his eyes. Lug made a grunting noise. Alan glanced back at him, then turned his gaze back to Grim. “Perhaps we can talk about your traveling lifestyle later. For the moment, I am most interested in your travels to Pranan. I understand you’ve been to many of the larger City-States there.”
Grim considered that for more than a moment. He had, in fact, been to Pranan many times. Five centuries ago, it had been the base of power for the House of the North, one of the two factions that had tried to claim the throne after the first empire collapsed. After the mage wars had left both sides on the verge of collapse, the green-skinned ohulhug had boiled out of the northern mountains and taken Pranan all the way down to the border of Kethem. Only the walled cities had remained free. In the several hundred years it took to drive the ohulhug back to their mountain fortresses, any sense of unity between the cities had vanished, and each surviving population center had declared itself a free and independent kingdom, principality, monarchy, realm, or whatever those in power at the time decided to name themselves. It was a shell of the place it had been in the days of the empire, but there were many artificer’s items from that time that remained in Pranan. Items that enchanters had lost the ability to create. Pre-Fall artifacts were worth a lot of coin, and the people who inhabited modern day Pranan lacked the sophistication of Kethemers in their ability to use sorcery to protect them.
His visits were not the kind you advertised to others.
“Been around a lot in general. What is your interest, friend?” Grim said mildly.
Alan said, “I may have to travel to several different locations in Pranan to find what I am looking for. I am looking for a guide, someone who can assist me in navigating the local customs, someone who has the breadth of knowledge to assist me in my travels.”
That brought Grim up short. No one he knew would give his name as a guide. “Not my cob. Where did you get my name?”
Alan pursed his lips. “‘Cob’ means your area of expertise? My understanding is that individuals in your particular profession prize anonymity. I am afraid that, as a result, I cannot share the source of my referral with you. However, your… cob,” said Alan, pausing. “Interesting phrase. It’s an idiom I haven’t heard before. Your cob. Where did that originate from? Do you happen to know its linguistic roots?” Lug grunted again, and after a glance over his shoulder, Alan cleared his throat. “But that’s not important. Your reputation is indicative of certain skills I may require in addition to your knowledge of the localities we will be visiting on this trip. I am willing to pay handsomely for that combination.”
While that made more sense, Grim remained wary. The shadow guild was an informal network but an efficient one. If someone with the right contacts was looking for a combination of thieving skills and knowledge of Pranan, his name might well have come up. If it did, this could be an honest offer to acquire dishonest services. The single most important rule in the shadow guild was not to set someone up. People who did that, even unintentionally, tended to have short life spans afterward. But the ti
ming seemed questionable, given the fire-spider nest he had apparently poked with the theft of the amulet. “What’s the job in Pranan?”
Alan shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t supply details until we are in Pranan. My own version of confidentiality.”
Grim shrugged. “Then you have the wrong person. I’m not walking into anything blind. You want my help, you need to let me know what I’m going to be acquiring and what kind of protection it might have.”
Alan blinked. “Oh, I don’t mean to imply you will have no choice in the matter. If I need your special professional skill set, I will tell you when the situation arises, and you may accept or decline as you see fit. There will be additional compensation if you agree, but there will be no coercion. It will be your choice. And, simply for the option of asking for your services when needed, I am willing to pay one hundred and fifty rimmi a day, plus all expenses incurred in our travels.”
