Scamps & Scoundrels: A LitRPG/Gamelit Adventure (The Bad Guys Book 1)

by Eric Ugland

  “Goals, then.”

  “Surely. What happened to Biscuit’s Union is what happens to everything. We got cocky, we got exclusive, and we got old. And fat. And happy. And once you are fat and happy, it is much harder to risk anything, especially the ways in which we had in the past. It would have been time for new blood, but new blood went in different ways. Flashier. More violent. The newer gangs, they have no class, honor. They exist without regard for anything else, and, left alone, they would destroy the world merely to put another coin in their pouch. We liked to imagine we were shepherding the city in a way, providing a means of moving up in the world to those who might otherwise be stuck in the streets. We had rules. Contracts. When I was a young pup, looking to join, the Biscuit’s Union was powerful beyond measure in the city, and they were able to keep order amongst the underworld. There was infiltration by other countries. No spies that we didn’t know about and approve. But that is not who we are any longer. Now, we are just old. Not quite as fat, not quite as happy, but that is the nature of life.”

  “So you’re a thieves retirement home now?”

  “Oh, not by choice, but I suppose it is an adequate descriptor.”

  “You want back in.”

  “To be back on top? Sure. Of course. I presume you think you are the man for that job. That you will bring us to greatness once more. I fear that’s quite the presumption.”

  “I didn’t say that, you said that.”

  “Well, I was presumptuous on your behalf, but are you going to sit there and say that didn’t cross your mind?”

  “No, I’m not even sure I want to be part of an organization like this. Primarily, I’m here because someone is trying to have me killed, and Matthew doesn’t know the current dynamics of the underworld in the city.”

  “Oh, that changes things.”

  “How?”

  “Well, if someone wants you killed, then I daresay you are likely more skilled that I’ve given you credit for.”

  “Okay, cool. Just—”

  He held up a hand.

  “If you fear for yourself, and you want to be in this type of profession, to play the game as it were, then doing it alone is very rarely a good idea. There is a reason we criminals tend to form gangs.”

  “Now you want me to join?”

  “I never said I didn’t want you to join, I merely questioned if you thought you’d be able to take us back to the top of the heap. And yes, I think you joining would be very interesting for us.”

  “And for me?”

  “Well, it would likely be interesting to you. But it depends largely on you, doesn’t it? What you decide to do with what we offer you.”

  “And what can you offer?”

  “Training, for one. Guidance. Assistance when dealing with other groups. Other syndicates or guilds. We will be able to make you much more impressive as a thief. But we will also likely be able to keep you alive.”

  I had the feeling I wasn’t going to get the information I wanted, that this guy wasn’t about to help me figure out who was after me unless I was willing to join his group. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, doing my best to give myself a little room to think. Was joining a group bad? How did this factor in a game sense? If this was an RPG, or at least if it was an RPG back on Earth, joining the guild would be a non-issue, it’d just be the way to reach higher levels. But, in the real world, or this real world, the guild was made up of other people, not NPCs. Plus, Earth-side, I’d never been the joining type. Mostly, I’d done my own thing. Hence why I wasn’t part of any clans, I solo’d most games, and even found ways to turn games that were usually played by teams into a more individual experience. Hence the trolling. And yet, here, in this world, as soon as I really put my mind to the problem, the answer was simple. Of course I was joining. This was what I needed. Perhaps not wholly wanted, but it was definitely the best way forward in a world where I was ridiculously new and woefully ignorant. These people here, old though they may be, had vastly more experience doing what it was I wanted to do, I’d be a fool to toss that aside because I wanted to run solo.

  “Yeah,” I said as I admitted the realization to myself as well, “I’d like to join.”

  “Smashing,” he replied, clapping his hands together, then pulled a blank sheet of parchment from a drawer I hadn’t noticed in the coffee table. He slapped it on the table, and produced a pencil like a street magician might cause a pencil to appear. “There are a few questions I need to ask before I extend an official invitation.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “And you’ll have to agree to our rules.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you practice magic?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not technically, no. It’s not on our list of rules, mainly because our charter is so old. Written some thousand years ago, before all the Wizard wars. But there will certainly be those of the Union who feel unkindly about magic. Some remember the last war, rather horrific what magic is capable of, and they’re not quite as understanding that our kind, we thieves of the night, tend to follow the mantra of using whatever means necessary to succeed and not get caught. Magic included. If you are going to sling the spells about, you will need to take lessons with someone.”

  “A specific someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure.”

  “I appreciate your affability in this manner. Next, do you have any family?”

  “No.”

  “None?”

  “None.”

  “Oh, well, easy answer, and I can skip these next few. A wife? Or a husband. Either.”

  “Neither.”

  “Skip this about children. Though, do you—”

  “No. No children.”

  “A true loner. Rare, but useful. Skip this and that, and here we are again, are you an Imperial Citizen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Born in the Empire.”

  “I was. Yes.” Technically the truth. Just have to alter the definition of born ever so slightly, and it was true.

  “Capital. And your specialization?”

  “Uh, what? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Are you looking to be a thug, a pickpocket, a con artist? Fraud? Smuggling? Fixing fights and contests?”

  “Uh, thievery?”

  “The classic. Second-floor man, eh?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “In that case, you’ll be working and training under Rowland. I believe you met him outside, and he’s in charge of thievery. At least in that regard.”

  “I met him, yeah.”

  “Lovely fellow, just don’t mention fiends around him. Really, you shouldn’t be mentioning fiends at all, tends to get their attention, which you don’t want. First lesson there for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He winked at me.

  “Alright, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment. Try not to steal anything in the office.”

  He laughed, then left.

  Naturally, as soon as he told me not to steal, stealing was the only thing I wanted to do. But somehow, through a supreme effort of will, I restrained myself for the ten minutes he was gone. He returned with a massive tome in his hands, and Rowland following him. Somehow, Rowland looked different. More put together. His hair was styled, and his beard was perfect. He was moving with more confidence, and I was starting to get that his old-man persona was a ruse. To really see the Biscuit’s Union as a down-and-out coffee and cookie place.

  Rowland plopped down in the chair opposite me, while Victor took his place on the couch, dropping the heavy book on the table with a thud. Victor started thumbing through the pages.

  “A thief, eh?” Rowland asked, a smile hidden under his white beard.

  “Yes,” I said. “At least—”

  “Hatchett, we have just started, leave the doubt for later. You’re young, be overconfident.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I guess I can try that.”

  “There wi
ll be a test of sorts,” Victor said as he scribbled something into the pages of the tome.

  “A test?”

  “Yes, you’re a probationary member of the Union right now, but following the test, provided you pass suitably, you will be a full member. Hold out your arm.”

  I frowned, still concerned about this “test,” but I held out my arm.

  There was a glint of metal as Victor’s hand moved impossibly fast, and I felt a flash of pain.

  Blood came out of my arm into a thin brass tube.

  “Hey!” I started, but Rowland shook his head.

  Victor put one drop of blood on the page.

  Immediately, a prompt appeared in my vision.

  Do you wish to join the Thieves Guild: The Biscuit’s Union?

  Yes/No

  I blinked a time or two, I hadn’t realized the game world would be a part of this. But, then again, why would it not?

  Naturally, I picked yes.

  Congratulations! Look at you paying for friends. You have been made a Probationary Junior Member of the Biscuit’s Union. You have been granted the indicium: Biscuit’s Union Member.

  Ugh. Sass. And what was an indicium?

  47

  “The Test,” Rowland said as we walked outside, “is here to determine if you have the skills to be a part of our organization. It will challenge you. It is supposed to, for we are the best of the best, and—”

  “You got enough youth left to be picky here?” I asked.

  He was a little bit flustered.

  “Kidding,” I said. “I get it, you guys don’t want to bring in some stupid dingus who’s going to wind up sending you all to the hangman’s noose.”

  “The noose is only if you’re fortunate. Far more likely, some of us would face breaking on the wheel or being drawn and quartered. Well, if the powers that be found out all that we’ve done. But, those are tales for the basement after ales. For the moment, the test.”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “You are to retrieve the Orb of Leeching from Lord Tollendahl. He’s very wealthy, you’ll hate him.”

  “What does the orb do?”

  “I will tell you the orb does not do what anyone says it does.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It’s quite unimportant. More important is that you get the orb out safely, and remain uncaught. Preferably undetected.”

  “Okay, seems, well, challenging?”

  “Were it any normal day, it would be. In a normal day, the orb would be in the vault, amongst the other priceless artifacts Tollendahl stole.”

  “He stole them?”

  “His father, technically. His father was part of the group who orchestrated the last laws on magic, and Lord Tollendahl the senior used those laws to seize an enormous number of artifacts, weapons, armor, collectibles of all kinds. Many were sold to provide gold for the Tollendahl family activities, and their rise has been rather dramatic since then. That’s one of the reasons the Tollendahl family is one of the most powerful in Glaton today.”

  “So I should take as many magic items as I can from him?”

  “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

  “Extra credit?”

  “Sure. But, as I was saying, there’s one element that makes this possible at the moment, and that is because Tollendahl is very proud of his collection and himself. He has a ball coming up, and his collection will be on display.”

  “So I just need to get into the party.”

  “Not a party, it is a full ball. A ball is a wholly different event than a mere party. But yes, you need to get into the event and back out. With the orb.”

  “No problem.”

  “I like your confidence, misplaced though it may be. Here are the rules for your test; you may not solicit help from anyone save your current mentor and me. All others are off-limits. You may not be caught. That is paramount. You don’t need to steal the orb on the night of the ball, but it must be in my hands no later than a fortnight from now.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. For now.”

  “You might change them?”

  “You seem to think this is a rigid world you are walking into. There are no hard and fast rules that exist in perpetuity within the underworld. Everything may change in an instant, and you must be able to adapt and overcome.”

  We had walked around half the Arena, and I was still mystified by the size of the thing.

  “Anything else?” Rowland asked.

  “Yeah, can you guys find out who’s trying to kill me?” I asked. “Maybe see if there’s some way to stop them?”

  “Where do you live again?”

  “Old Town,” I said, then gave him the cross streets.

  “Old Town is unclaimed territory. Most of the city is, the idea of holding territory is rather outdated. These days, groups hold onto areas of commerce. Running numbers. Running brothels—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but are brothels illegal here?”

  “No, but it is an area rife for, shall we say, exploitation? Do you know of anyone who might be antagonistic towards you?”

  “Not really. I mean, there’s a group called the Iron Silents, and they’ve expressed an interest in buying the building I own.”

  “You own a building? That changes things. What is this building?”

  “It’s a four-story thing. Tavern on the first floor, apartments in the rest.”

  “Anything make it special?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I’ll look into these Iron Silents, see what I find out. Anyone else?”

  “Might be soon,” I said. And I explained the situation with the ring and the Swamp Angels.

  Rowland nodded as he listened. He pulled a pipe out of a pocket and packed it with something that resembled tobacco but gave off an intense purple smoke, and smelled of something sweet.

  “Return the ring,” Rowland said. “There’s little chance the news will actually get back to the Swamp Angels, but if it does, I doubt they will care as much as your mentor thinks it does. The Swamp Angels have plenty on their plate to deal with right now. It’s a good time to push them around and gain allies.”

  “Okay.”

  “And if you’d like to earn some style points, perhaps you should try to return the ring at the ball you aren’t supposed to be attending. Remember, half of this business of ours is based on appearances and reputation. A little mystique goes a long way.”

  48

  I was early to the pit again. Not necessarily super early because I just showed up at daybreak, but because I’d skipped dinner, I had no idea what time I was expected to be at the pit. So, after a night of two hours of sleep inside an obstacle on the second-floor parkour course, and a solid eight hours of training, I’d hiked over to the Pit and sat down against the gate with a small basket of meat buns.

  And I sat there.

  And sat there.

  Finally, Nadya came strolling down the street, once again looking like she was strutting her stuff on the mean stages of fashion week.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning,” she replied.

  She mirrored me again, sitting up against the other side of the gate.

  “You missed dinner,” she said.

  “I did,” I said. “In more ways than one. But I got to see that Arena place for the first time. So, you know, I had that going for me.”

  “You’ve never seen the Arena?”

  “Recent arrival.”

  “From?”

  “A small town you’ve probably never heard of.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Is it some plague-ravaged hamlet you’re afraid will get you reported to the authorities?”

  “Maybe,” I said, wondering if there really were plague-ravaged hamlets and authorities designated to root out troublemakers from said hamlets.

  She laughed.

  “Fine,” she said, “keep your secrets.”

  “A
re you a capital city girl?”

  “Not sure I’d call myself that, but born and bred in Glaton.”

  “What happens in the Arena?”

  “I, uh,” she paused, and I had the distinct impression I was about to hear a lie. “Fights.”

  “Oh,” I said, nodding along. “Fights. Between people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Animals?”

  “Sure.”

  “Monsters?”

  “Probably.”

  “You’ve never gone, have you?”

  “Nope. Not my scene.”

  “You’re more a fancy dress ball sort of a girl?”

  “I look like one, huh? I wear only the finest oilskin coveralls and muck out just the fanciest pits.”

  “Matthew did pick a nice pit.”

  “I think we got lucky. The queen was amazing, wasn’t she?”

  “I, uh, I think I was a little too focused on not, uh, getting destroyed by her.”

  “But after. The things going on inside her, things I would never have thought.”

  “I guess I wasn’t paying as much attention to her, uh, insides, as I should have, I was kind of a bit on autopilot during that.”

  She shook her head, “That’s where the most interesting work happens.”

  “Okay.”

  “You disagree?”

  “I suppose I never thought about it that way, no.”

  “You should. Next pit.”

  And that made me wonder if there was going to be a next pit. Was I going to keep working with Matthew in the pits? It wasn’t the best work, and I had no idea how much I was going to get paid, or even if I was being paid, but, so far, I liked my coworkers, and I appreciated the skill levels I was reaping from the slog.

  Right about then, I saw Matthew turn the corner a block away from us, so I scrambled to my feet. And Nadya did the same a second later.

  “Good morning,” Matthew said, looking a bit rough.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Celebratory night,” he said, wincing as if even his own voice was too loud. “Saw the effects of the Queen on the budget.”