by Max Anthony
“What can I do for you, Tan?” she asked, not even looking up from her desk. He was the only person who didn’t bother to knock when he let himself in.
“There are things about which I must speak!” Spout looked up now, putting aside her writing stick.
“And here’s me thinking you’d come for my pastries.” Her words were too late for he was in fact already halfway down his second, with his cheeks puffed out as he chewed. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“I’m starting to have doubts about my appointment,” said Skulks, sitting down in one of the three comfortable chairs Spout retained for just such moments. She got up, showing herself to be the well-presented lady that she was. Although ageing, she was keen of mind and had in the recent past shown herself keen of body by saving Skulks from the grasp of the wizard Lunder.
Sitting herself opposite, Spout replied, “Is it the office? I told you that’s only a temporary one until we clean up the one near the lobby.” Skulks flapped his hands to indicate that it wasn’t the office, though in truth he’d rather not be situated next to the privies.
“The pay? We can probably pay you a bit more.” Her eyes twinkled. “As long as you don’t go spending it all on hats.” Skulks forced a smile to his face at the mention of the hat.
“I don’t think the job is for me. I expected a bit more from it, you know? More doings a-happening. Rather than having a deep to-do tray that seems to fill itself up quicker than I can empty it.”
Spout leaned forward. “Tan, I think you’re approaching it wrong. I’ve heard that you’re staying in your office until late and allowing paperwork to build up. We aren’t paying you to sit in your office. Sweep all the paper into the bin and make the job your own!” Skulks didn’t tell her that he’d already swept the papers into the bin. Spout continued:
“Look at all the things you could be doing. One. Lunder has escaped. Two. There’s an expert burglar afoot, making a mockery of our guards. We need a master in his field to catch him!” She was becoming more enthusiastic now, checking Skulks’ opportunities off against her fingers. “Three. We have a Wizards’ Convention coming to the city next month which is sure to cause some sort of trouble. Four. We have a special secret mission we need someone for. A mission that will take someone far from home to Rhult. A mission which is so important that we’ll need a man known to be an expert in mischief-making and hoodwinkery to assist Captain Honey and a delegation of our finest negotiators!” She nodded at Skulks.
Becoming slightly mollified for he knew what Spout was getting at, he was already perked up to hear his duties so nicely sorted into approachable parcels.
“And someone has stolen my dagger-swords!” said he, remembering their loss afresh.
“Maybe you should find them before we send you off on this special secret mission then.” As it happens, Skulks already knew they were planning for him to go to Rhult to cause problems for King Meugh. He wasn’t head of the Office of Covert Operations for nothing. Captain Honey was currently somewhere in the Million Trees Forest, driving off a contingent of Meugh’s men whom this underhand king had hoped to use in the conquering of Hardened, so presumably they wouldn’t be going to Rhult until Honey returned.
“Someone’s trying to kill me as well. I’m a marked man.”
Spout shook her head, astounded that Skulks could have found his job boring given how much was happening. She didn’t question him further on it; he was quite capable of finding out who it was and putting a stop to them. The guards had told her about the dead creatures in and around his office, so she’d already asked for patrols to be doubled while Skulks was working in the Chamber Building.
With a spring in his stride, Skulks left Heathen Spout’s office, determined that he would track down his missing daggers. As he left the Chamber Building, he happened to walk past the small training ground which the guards made use of between shifts. There were three wooden training dummies set up for the guards to hack at with swords to strengthen their arms. Doing a double-take, Skulks noticed that his hat was atop one of the dummies, set at a jaunty angle. The other two dummies were ignored as several guards took turns to chop vigorously at the hat-wearing dummy, jostling for position. A small crowd had gathered to watch, pointing and laughing. Skulks put his gaze forward and strode quickly past.
Having returned directly to his humble dwelling, Skulks set about scouring his home for clues as to the theft of his blades. While he had no direct evidence that they’d been stolen and even less evidence that they’d been stolen from his house, he was nevertheless certain they had been taken from his bedroom. He referred to his Thief’s Senses for this certainty and they rarely let him down. These senses had their hob-nail boots firmly planted on his rear and were thrusting him rudely in the direction of his bedroom.
Skulks’ room was in disarray. Not because it had been ransacked, more because it was lived in by Tan Skulks. Where his personal possessions were concerned he was prone to disorganisation. As a consequence, his chest of Solids obtained in payment for services recently rendered to Hardened was carelessly opened with some of the contents scattered across the floor and furniture. Skulks was drawn to items of value and felt compelled to steal them, but didn’t really want them when he had them. Not that he’d let anyone steal them back, mind you! Had someone cheated him out of a single coin he would go to great lengths to recover it, even if it meant spending fifty coins in its pursuit. When his pockets were full he had been known to display extraordinary acts of generosity, such as dropping handfuls of coins into a beggar’s bowl or purchasing the entire contents of a baker’s shop and giving them away free to whomever came in. Even though he’d almost forgotten they were there, Skulks still knew exactly how many Solids should be in his bedroom: seven thousand and fifty-nine. It took him almost an hour to locate and count them, but they were definitely all there.
Skulks scratched his head. It wasn’t itchy, but his innate showman told him that a puzzled man must scratch his head to show the audience that he’s puzzled. He checked the traps at his window. “Aha!” said he. Someone had been up to mischief with them and had disarmed all three. This was most unusual for Skulks had set the traps with care. He cursed himself for his drunkenness; had he been more alert he could have used his Wielding to listen to the past events in his room for clues. Now that so much time had elapsed there was no chance he’d be able to hear anything.
“How does one catch a burglar when there are no clues?” he asked himself.
An idea popped into his head and he raised a finger into the air, indicating to his absent audience that events were about to move on.
“To catch a burglar with no clues, one must speak to other burglars!”
Four
Having spent the afternoon mooching, meandering, drifting and loitering, Skulks judged that it was now late enough in the day to catch that most prized of fish: the Silver-Scaled Burglar fish. He had a man he wished to find and he’d last heard this man’s name voiced in The Five Humped Goatherd where Skulks had once been accosted by a thug-like gentleman with low brows and a face like a pickled gherkin.
When Skulks arrived at this establishment there was a pleasant hubbub of patrons enjoying an early evening drink or pie which The Five Humped Goatherd was famed for. Usually there would be a singer to entertain the customers, but the bar lady informed Skulks that tonight’s performer, who was a pig tender by day, had been eaten by her charges. Skulks agreed that this was a most unfortunate happenstance and ordered himself a watered cup of The Unlucky Farmer and two pork pies.
Whilst he sipped meagrely at his ale and ate his pies, Skulks looked across the room to identify any likely targets. Locating one, he shuffled his way through the clutter of tables until he could see her more clearly. She was a wizened old bat, dressed in dirty clothes and with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders in a failed attempt to improve her appearance. Skulks sat himself down next to her without waiting for an invitation. In Hardened this was perfectly acceptable behaviour,
for everyone liked to think of themselves as a friendly sort.
“Good evening, darling,” said Skulks without preamble. She looked up, curdling his ale and shrivelling his scrotum with her ugliness.
“Hello, young man,” she responded, grinning at him and demonstrating as fine a display of toothless, blackened gums as one could hope to see. Skulks tried to stop his eyes flicking to the hairy wart upon her nose.
“It’s a lovely evening, innit?” said Skulks slipping into tavern vernacular.
“A lovely evening….for a shag,” she responded, not at all backwards about coming forwards.
“Yeah, love, your husband is a lucky man,” said Skulks, trying both to flatter her and gain control of the situation.
“Oh I don’t have a husband,” she said, letting Skulks in on a secret he’d already guessed. “My Norris died a long ten years ago. Ooooh the nights is so cold without him. What I need is a man to keep me warm.” She put a hand on Skulks’ leg. “I’d do anything for him,” she continued, treating Skulks to the dirtiest and most extravagant wink he could remember seeing.
“There must be plenty of men around here looking to snare themselves a fine filly such as you, I’d wager.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? A sweet, vulnerable young girl such as me, just waiting to be swept up and ravished by a firm-bodied, virile beefcake.” The hand on Skulks’ knee moved upwards and squeezed his crotch, causing a half-digested pie to crawl its way back up the gullet down which peristalsis had recently pushed it.
“You’re such a doll,” said Skulks. “A real diamond like you deserves a man. A man like my Hank, though you’d have to fight me for him, sweetheart, and I’m not giving him up for nobody!” The hand on his crotch was withdrawn and Skulks felt his balls slide slowly back down from behind his kidneys where they’d been hiding.
The crone huffed and puffed. “The good men are all taken!” she bemoaned.
“Well, how’d you like to earn yourself a few Slivers to buy yourself a man? Just for tonight, you know?” Her face lit up, before furrowing in suspicion.
“What do you want from me?”
“Me and Hank, we’re new in this neighbourhood. Hank’s the best juggler you ever did see and he’ll always find work. Me? I find other things.”
“What sort of other ‘things’ do you mean?”
“I mean ‘things’ that might or might not have a value, that might or might not be lying around unwanted in someone’s house.”
“You’d best not be finding things on Jerry’s patch then. He’ll stick a rusty fork in your eye if he so much as gets a sniff of you nicking things around here.”
“But what if a man, new in this neighbourhood, wanted to see this Jerry in order to talk about a donation to Jerry’s retirement fund? In order that this new man could go about his business without upsetting Jerry or getting a rusty fork in his eye?”
“You want to speak to Jerry, do you? Well why are you dancing around it? Everyone knows who Jerry is, he’s over there.” With that, she pointed to a man only a few tables over, sitting with two other men. The horny old shrew suddenly realised she may have diddled herself out of a few Slivers.
“You promised me!”
Skulks reached into his pocket and gave her ten Slivers. He watched as she hurried from the tavern to find the unluckiest toy boy in Hardened.
With the hag gone, Skulks made his way to the table which had been indicated to him. He did his best to address all three men, not knowing which one was in charge.
“Mr Ratchet, I would like to speak to you about a matter of business.” All three men looked at him, but none bothered to reply. Skulks leaned forward so that his next words would not be overheard by the adjacent tables.
“Am I speaking to the one known as Jerry the Ratchet?”
One of the men looked up. He was small and wiry, with the face of a rodent. Skulks had often thought that the face of a person gave away their profession, though he’d yet to reach a conclusion as to whether a person’s face adapted to their chosen line of work, or if a person with a certain sort of face was attracted to the work which suited their appearance. He was determined that there was more than coincidence in it. Either way, the man looking up at him now was clearly a pick-pocket. Even if he’d been dressed like a woman, with tassels hanging from his nipples, he’d have looked like a pick-pocket.
“He can’t hear you,” said the rodent-faced individual. “He’s deaf.” He was pointing at one of his colleagues. Jerry the Ratchet was of medium height but broad. Not as broad as most bargemen, but enough to suggest he could lift a couple of small and wiry rodent-faced men above his head and throw them into a wall. He was quite a few years past his prime now, so Skulks assumed Jerry led his gang by fear and intelligence, rather than brute force. “I should probably arrest him later,” thought Skulks.
The second man piped up. “If you’ve got business with Jerry we should go somewhere private because you’ll have to shout. It had better be important business as well, or he’ll stick a rusty fork in your eye.” This man was hunched over unnaturally and had a pointed nose and quick eyes which never stayed in one place for long. Skulks already knew him to be a fence.
Skulks looked at Jerry the Ratchet and smiled. “PLEASED. TO. MEET. YOU.” Jerry the Ratchet smiled back and nodded, clearly not having heard a word Skulks had said.
With business to conduct, the four of them left The Five Humped Goatherd. As they walked, Skulks told them he was called Jinky the Jink, borrowing the name from a baker’s shop he’d walked past yesterday. He discovered that the rodent was known as Henry the Cheese and the fence had the street name Scrimulous Frank. Skulks had no idea what ‘scrimulous’ meant, or whether it was the fellow’s name; he had no intention of asking.
“Well Jinky, if you’re as good as you says you is, today might be your lucky day,” said Henry, looking for all the world as if he liked to lay small, pellet-shaped droppings in every outhouse he entered. He’d already stumbled twice into Skulks, once to locate his coin pocket and the second time to try and steal from it. Henry was adequately skilled, but his questing fingers had found only the vinegar-coated needles sewn into Skulks’ tunic to dissuade rat-faced men such as he. His fingertips would be stinging like buggery but he couldn’t allow himself to let on.
“Why’s that then?” asked Jinky.
“There’s an opening in Jerry’s organisation. For a man who knows how to find things in places that people didn’t want them finding.”
“I can find things, that’s for certain,” said Jinky. “Look at this pocket watch I found earlier this evening. It was just lying around, waiting to be picked up.” He showed Henry a watch that he’d taken from the same Henry’s pockets not ten minutes ago. It was a special watch, that Henry had stolen from his grandad on the old man’s death bed and it was his most cherished possession.
Henry couldn’t let on. It was part of The Game. “Yeah that watch looks average. I’ll bet it was hard to steal though.”
“Not really, the man I lifted it from was a proper arse-scratcher.” An arse-scratcher in thief’s parlance was used to refer to a distracted bumbler who would make an easy target. Such as a tourist looking at a map with a fat money-purse tied invitingly about their waist or in the case of Tan Skulks, a small-time thief who resembled a gerbil.
“It looks cheap, but my old dad’s been after a watch for a while. How about I give you three Slivers for it, though it’s not worth more than two?”
“This watch?” asked Skulks, feigning disinterest. “Why I’ve been looking for a watch like it myself for quite some time. I have a mind to put it on a chain to keep it for myself.”
Henry was starting to sweat now, a nervous tic appearing at one eye. “Ha ha ha! A man looking to work for Jerry the Ratchet can’t be seen wearing a cheap old piece of rubbish like that! Let me have it for ten and that’s my dad’s birthday present sorted.”
Knowing that the rules of The Game dictated that Henry should eventually get
his watch back, even if the penalty was grossly unfair, Skulks finally allowed the watch to change hands for twenty Slivers, with Henry’s relief palpable even though he’d been royally shafted.
By this point, they had reached Jerry the Ratchet’s hideout. One could tell it was a hideout because it had two slovenly men sitting on an upturned box in front of it. Men who had no reason to be sitting on an upturned box outside what appeared to be a ramshackle lower-floor house. Seeing Jerry approach, these men patted themselves down and sat more upright, transforming themselves from slovenly into merely dishevelled in a matter of seconds.
“HELLO BOSS,” one of them bellowed as they passed. Jerry the Ratchet smiled and nodded.
Inside, Jerry the Ratchet’s hideout proved itself to be more palatial and extensive than Skulks had guessed. It was furnished, though without any particular consistency given that most of the goods were likely stolen. They reached what Skulks imagined to be Jerry’s office, which had a desk to give it an air of authority. There were four chairs, all of them different. Skulks took one.
“I AM JINKY THE JINK AND I WOULD LIKE TO WORK FOR YOU,” thundered Skulks across the desk. Without other voices to provide distraction, Jerry could just about hear Skulks’ words, though he was as deaf as a post.
“What makes you think I need anyone in my organisation?” he asked, his voice slightly loud because of his hearing impediment. He had an accent that identified him as a man whose origins were more salubrious than the gutter.
“I AM A MAN WITH A TALENT FOR FINDING THINGS. EVERYONE NEEDS A MAN WHO KNOWS HOW TO FIND THINGS.” Having heard the opening pitch, Jerry seemed to be thinking.
“As it happens, there might just be an opening for a man who knows how to find things. My organisation needs only the best men. Men without scruples or integrity. Are you such a man?”
