Using the wall for support, Arash made it back to her feet. “I didn’t declare any champion’s ring. I wasn’t armed with my faithful Papercutter. Don’t think I can’t see what’s happening here.”
Brunhilda frowned. “What do you think’s happening here?”
“You’re all scared of me, of course! I’m too terrifying a chief, so you’re sneaking off and trying to find someone less intimidating. I won’t let you. You’re my clan now, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have to challenge me to a champion’s ring like any Brobnar with ethics when I get better.”
Arash had always thought Brunhilda gave broad smiles, but she’d never seen one like this.
Brunhilda closed the door. And the Brobnar stayed.
True, Arash would have preferred to recover in peace and quiet. She did not authorize the bonfire of tax books, even though Marya assured her that she enjoyed watching Grinkle cook a whole cod snake over them. Arash didn’t like it when Red and Tek made a maze out of the stacks. She didn’t approve of the Brobnar using socks as bookmarks or trying to see who could make the tallest castle out of dictionaries.
But soon, it was hard to imagine her library any other way. There ought to be at least one library in Hub City, after all, that was welcoming to Brobnar and adventuresome children alike.
To Catch A Thief
Thomas Parrott
If there was one thing Nalea Wysasandoral loved, it was luxury.
The purple-skinned elf ran her hand along the silken curtains as she made her way into the room. It brought a smile to her face. They were so smooth to the touch. The room was mostly dark. The only light was what leaked in through the window. That didn’t bother her. She’d lived most of her life in shadowy places.
Furniture was just fuzzy shapes in the gloom. She ran her fingertips along the side of the bed as she passed it. Satin sheets. She stifled a yawn. It had been a long night already, but this was no time for sleep. There was still work to do. On into the heart of the chambers, there was a table. A golden goblet had been left out on it, and it went into her pouch. Fresh fruit was piled in a bowl in the middle, replaced daily.
Nalea sorted through them curiously. She hadn’t even seen some of these before. She was pretty sure one of them was a bluestar that grew only in saurian lands. She scooped that one up and peeled it with nimble fingers, taking a bite. It was sour beyond reckoning, and she carefully set it back down with her mouth screwed tightly. An acquired taste, to put it lightly.
A number of portraits and tapestries hung from the walls. They were hard to make out in the dark, but she had seen enough in other manses to imagine. Stern forebears glaring down at their wastrel descendants. Or perhaps a landscape. The wealthy sometimes had things that had come from other worlds entirely. She remembered hearing about a picture that had gone for hundreds of thousands of æmbits. It had shown a soup can, as she recalled.
To think they called her a criminal.
Nalea strolled along them, her hand held over them as if feeling the heat from a fireplace. She had a certain talent that helped her to be the best at her job. A nose for value. A sixth sense, as it were. She didn’t even bother to look, just closed her eyes and focused on the feeling. Four of them she walked right past, then she paused.
This was the one.
The elf opened her eyes and tapped her palm, triggering the illuminator built into her fingerless glove. Dull red light shone forth. It didn’t allow much in the way of color, but she got the impression of what the painting showed. A meeting place between sectors, lava spilling over a cliff side into an icy lake. Steam arose in a great cloud, in which the vague impression of figures could be seen. Enigmas, caught between hostile extremes.
Nalea rather liked it, truth be told. With great care she lifted the portrait off the wall. It took a little maneuvering to work the corner into her belt pouch, then it all slid away. An onlooker would have found the process startling and inexplicable. Unless, of course, they were familiar with how dimensional satchels worked. She made it a point to never leave home without one.
As much as she appreciated the keepsake, however, what she was after actually lay behind it. Now that the picture was out of the way, she could see the safe. A dial was set in the center. She placed the fingers of one hand against the metal of the door and used the other hand to spin the lock slowly. She had carefully trained her sense of touch, one reason why her gloves were fingerless. One click. Two. Then the third, and the door swung open with the slightest of creaks. She froze for a moment, but the sound elicited no reaction. Relaxing, she began to rummage through the contents.
There were a number of things inside. Papers she cared nothing for, nor the data-cubes. Jewelry was appreciated and went into the pouch. At the back, however, was what had drawn her to this place from the start. A crystal no bigger than her fist. It glowed with a light of its own, as if a tiny spark of sunlight were trapped inside. The light reflected from her own golden eyes and revealed the smile of delight on her face.
Raw æmber, the most precious and useful substance in all of the Crucible. It lay behind any number of miracles and marvels. Sorcerers and scientists swore by it alike. People had killed for it. Not Nalea, though. Violence was so ugly and crass. She hated the very sight of blood. No, why go through all that sweat and mess of fighting when you could just stroll in and take what you wanted?
Once it was tucked away in her pouch, she tapped her palm again to turn the light back off. She took in the chambers again with a last wistful sigh then headed back for the window. Luxury. She was forever touching it but never quite able to truly luxuriate in it. It didn’t seem quite fair.
Nalea was halfway to the window when the person on the bed finally coughed and began to stir. She sped up her catlike tread only slightly, a grin spreading across her face.
“Who’s that? What’s going on here?” called the man’s alarmed voice.
The elf pulled her mask up over her mouth and nose and leapt up into the window right as he turned the chamber lights on. A human, with salt and pepper hair and distinguished features. He was staring at her with wide eyes as she crouched in the opening, his mouth working silently. The open window let in a chilly drizzle, cold wind billowing the curtains.
“Thank you kindly for your hospitality, High Councilor.” She tugged her hood deferentially. “I’ll leave before I overstay my welcome.”
The councilor finally found his voice. “Guards! Guards!”
With a chuckle, Nalea slid out of the window and scrambled down the rain-slick wall with no more difficulty than a spider. By the time she reached the ground, lights were coming on throughout the house and shouts had begun echoing. By the time they actually came searching, however, she would be long gone into another district altogether. The smile stayed on her face the whole way.
Inspector Virdon held the shimmering device over the table. The fingerprints on the wood stood out sharply under the silvery glow. The human took his hat off and swept a hand along his crew cut with a frustrated sigh before placing it back on his head. Normally he would have had to capture images of the prints and send them for processing. Not these. He had seen them so many times lately that he literally knew them by sight.
One of the patrol enforcers, “hubbers” as they were known, that were bustling about stopped to give a sympathetic burble. They were an aquan, living in a pressure suit that kept them suspended in water.
“The Slip again?” they asked.
Virdon gritted his teeth. That damnable name. You couldn’t pass a paperboy or turn on the radio lately without hearing it. “The elf thief,” he emphasized, “is indeed the culprit again. Which is fine because sooner or later she’s going to make a mistake, and then we are going to catch her.”
“Sooner or later, Inspector?” The refined voice was sharp and came from behind him.
Virdon did his best to hide a cringe. The aquan hubber quickly found a reason to be elsewhere. Taking a deep breath, the human turned to face the speaker. High Councilo
r Learmont stood there with his arms crossed and his expression dark. They stood in his apartments, though the inspector had thought he was still being interviewed by other officers.
“I beg your pardon–” Virdon started to apologize.
Learmont cut the lanky inspector off. “I had rather hoped you might see to making it a priority to catch this thief now. Perhaps you have more pressing matters to attend to, than one of the members of the High Council being menaced within his own home?”
“We can be reasonably confident that you were in no danger, councilor. The thief has never engaged in any violence.” A glance at the councilor’s face told him it had been the wrong thing to say, and Virdon cursed himself internally.
“I can only assume you don’t grasp the value of what was taken. Maybe if we took it out of your pay, it would sink in on a deeper level.”
The value of what had been taken was the better part of a year’s pay for Virdon. “I assure you, councilor, that is not necessary. Catching this thief is my absolute highest priority. I will see her in chains. I swear.”
Learmont narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me if I find your assurances empty. This hoodlum has plagued our fair city for months now, and you seem to be no closer to catching her than when you started. This final outrage – this assault upon my own person! – is too much. It’s past time we brought in outside help.”
Virdon stifled a frown. “I have patrolled this city for a decade now, councilor. No bounty hunter from the world beyond will know its streets better than me. I beg you to reconsider.”
The councilor snorted. “They may not know the streets as well, but they assuredly know how to catch thieves better than you. The matter is decided, the first payment already made.” Learmont turned. “Inspector, allow me to introduce you to Talus.”
The inspector stiffened at the name. The sight awaiting him beyond the councilor only confirmed it. A sylicate stood there. They were shaped, seemingly, from pure obsidian. Deep within their core a white light shone, distorted by the translucent layers between. It eked out pure from the eyes and mouth on the creature’s head. It was small and slender. They wore no garb save a top hat, which they doffed in greeting with a long-fingered hand. The other was wrapped around the handle of a simple but well-made cane.
Talus the Thief-Taker, undoubtedly one of the most famous hired detectives in all the known reaches of the Crucible. Their name was spoken in the same breath as such investigative experts as the duo Wibble and Pplimz. It was said they had ended the predations of the Leaping Bandit in Spiretown, and most recently tracked down the Portal Pilferer in Quantum City. The sylicate was truly a luminary of investigative work, said to have pioneered whole new advances in the field. Virdon was irritated to realize he was a bit in awe.
He was further annoyed with himself when he realized the detective was waiting for him to speak. “Nice to meet you, Master Talus. I am Inspector Jaym Virdon, in charge of the hunt for–”
“Formerly in charge,” interjected Learmont. “I place him at your disposal. He’ll serve as your liaison with the city’s resources.” The councilor turned cold eyes on Virdon. “I assure you, he will cooperate fully and make himself very useful.”
The inspector cleared his throat uneasily. “Inspector Jaym Virdon, at your service.”
“I am sure he will be a welcome aide in the hunt for this miscreant.” The sylicate’s voice was surprisingly high and reedy, not at all what Virdon had been expecting. They turned their glowing eyes about the room slowly. “She is an interesting quarry.”
“You have observations about her?” Virdon couldn’t conceal his surprise.
“To be certain. She has made her mark quite indelibly. In what she took, in what she didn’t take. In choosing to plunder this place at all, in a city with such a variety of choices available to her.” The detective motioned around with their cane. “Yes, a picture of her begins to form.”
The inspector blinked. “Perhaps you could share some of your insights, then?”
“The painting – taken, not just removed. The goblet, missing. The jewelry. She longs for the finer things. She is displeased with her status in life. To come after a councilor, this is a statement, you see? But she is no anarchist agitator. Not enough destruction or vandalism. No, her actions stem not from resentment but from envy. She would not tear down the current order. She simply longs to be at the top of it.”
Virdon scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Even supposing that’s all true, what good does it do you? She probably retreats to the Lawless Zone after each job, and we don’t have the reach there to find her.”
Talus chuckled and turned their glowing eyes on the inspector. “That is exactly why understanding her will be the key, my good sir. We are faced with the conundrum of a clever quarry that we cannot go after. The trick will be getting her to come to us.”
Nalea awoke to the patter of rain drops on the glass ceiling above her. She was warm and cozy and for the moment extracting herself did not appeal. Her bed was actually a collection of lounges pushed together and covered with as many blankets and pillows as she could haul home. Getting all of it to the top floor of her abode had been a trick, but it was well worth it to have the sky above.
She held up a hand to the light above, the natural gray stained a dozen colors against her skin by the roof. A sigh and a stretch heralded the time to rise. Further procrastination was counterproductive. It would be evening soon, time to get to work. She burrowed out of her blankets and hopped down to the floor. It was cold beneath her bare feet, forcing her to do an odd dance on her way over to the rope. She scrambled down it to the next room, dedicated to clothes and gear.
Her home was a hole in the wall. That wasn’t a joke or a metaphor: she had moved into the gap in the walls of a truly tremendous cathedral in the Lawless Zone. It was long abandoned, but it must have been built by giants considering the sheer scale involved. It made for a very vertical living space, even so. Each makeshift “room” might have been three hundred square feet, with about seven of them stacked. They were connected by ropes, ramps, and ladders.
Nalea pulled on the leathers that were her usual clothes, and threw a gray cloak with an incorporated hood and mask around her shoulders. Tools went on her belt and were hidden in pockets in her sleeves: lockpicks, a file, pliers, and a few other things beside. She added a ring of invisibility reluctantly; they were undeniably useful, but also unreliably usable. One never knew when the charge was going to give out. She hefted a knife with an even more reluctant grimace, but tucked it into the back of her belt under her cloak. Violence might be grotesque, but the Lawless Zone was no place to be unprotected.
She hurried on down through her home from there, passing through the rest of the rooms with scarcely a glance. She had set herself up relatively nice areas for cooking and bathing. She even had a nominal area to meet guests, assuming she met someone someday who was trustworthy enough to invite to this place. Most of it, however, was given over to storage. Artifacts and items from dozens of trips into the city littered those chambers haphazardly. The portrait from last night was among them.
At last, she emerged into the city streets, raising her hood against the sprinkling rain. The Lawless Zone was just as multicultural, in its own way, as Hubcentral itself. Plantoid phylls rubbed elbows with clattering robots and everything in between. Anyone who didn’t particularly care to live under the constraints of the city’s law found their way here. No one knew why the ancient High Council had declared this place an anarchic pocket, but no one hesitated to take advantage of it either.
Least of all Shadows, the network of illicit guilds that had its fingers in criminal activity all across the Crucible. Nalea had never been much of a bower and scraper, but being a Svarr elf meant practically being born into the organization. Luckily, the guilds didn’t feel much of a need to intrude into the daily lives of their members. That is, as long as you paid your cut of each take and didn’t bring too much heat down on their heads.
It
did come with its benefits, of course. Belonging to a guild meant people to watch your back, people to give you information, people you could rely on. To a degree. In Nalea’s opinion, nobody in Shadows was about to put their neck on the line for anyone else. As long as you weren’t likely to get them killed, however, they’d probably help you out in a pinch.
Such as, for example, when one had a batch of freshly stolen goods that they were trying to offload. She made her way along the street, nimbly weaving her way among the crowd. Most people didn’t even give her a look. There was no shortage of elves in the Lawless Zone, and she had never been all that remarkable looking in the first place. A useful trait in her line of work.
Arriving at her destination, Nalea ducked within. It was a scarred set of wooden doors leading into a pawn shop. She pulled her hood back from her white hair as she looked around. Shelves lay all about, strewn with all the strange products of the cosmopolitan city. The clean lines of Logos tech, the rough pragmatism of klaxxron devices, and more besides. She moseyed up and down the aisles, casting her eye over what was on offer. Sometimes remarkable little treasures ended up here.
Someone cleared their throat pointedly. “I just want you to know I’m watching you, Nalea. Anything goes missing and it’s going right on your tab.”
The elf thief turned and flashed a winning smile, showing off her silver-capped canines to good effect. “I would never steal from you, Ruvyn. You’re my favorite.”
Ruvyn was sitting behind the counter of the store. He was an elf as well, though he had midnight skin that made his golden eyes stand out all the more. A newsholo was laid out in front of him, which he’d been reading until she came in. He was also significantly older than her, showing some lines on his cheeks and forehead.
“You don’t have favorites, Nalea. Just people who are useful and people who aren’t.”
Tales From the Crucible Page 13
