by Eric Angers
It was unthinkable for anyone to sneak in the only door, find the clerk, steal his key, open the first gate, then somehow convince the jailor to let you in. No, that is where most plans would fail. There was only one way into the dungeon for a thief, but first he would have to drop his current prize, coin rarely made it back to a prisoner, even once released.
With his belongings stored in a relatively safe rooftop location he was certain it would be easy enough to get caught in some minor crime. However, it could not be just anything. Pickpocketing might get him thrown in the stocks, or sometimes the guard would take the money and let the thief off with a warning. In fact, most stealing would land you in the stocks, and repeat offenses could lose you your limbs. He had to be certain to end up in the dungeon, and the surest way to manage that was to be blind stinking drunk and cause a scene. He would protect his image as a nobody and spend no more than a night jailed. But Norgaard could not afford to be intoxicated when he was taken in, he needed to keep his wits. His old master was often drunk, though his own father never was, so he should be able to emulate that.
Passing by a lesser known merchant’s stall he nicked a bottle of cheap wine before slipping into an alley nonchalantly. There, he sat listlessly behind some crates in his best imitation of a penniless wino, Vastian. Instead of drinking his bottle, though, he poured it over his clothing and held one pull of the bottle in his mouth. He had no intention of drinking this, only keeping it to add the smell to his breath. Shortly after he made his way to the market square, stumbling in with the crowd, carefully selecting a mark.
Someone not too small, not too big, but definitely bigger than himself. That was easy enough, the only Northmen smaller than Norgaard were Northwomen, and even they were few and far between. There was such a man, a Kadori by his olive skin, and he was near some guards posted sentry over the square. Stumbling and pushing he drew closer until he bumped the Kadori gentleman who promptly turned and apologized. Norgaard sprayed the wine from his mouth into the face and clothes of the Kadori. “shoo can’t apolo-logize to me, shir! I’ll do the .. shut up!” Norgaard slurred. He began swinging while the Kadori man backed away, throwing his arms up for protection. The two nearby guards were on him quickly, pinning him down and complaining of the reek of wine.
When Norgaard awoke he was covered in filth, surrounded by it. His clothes were gone and he was wrapped in rags. The bastard guards had hit him, knocked him out, apparently. His mind was still foggy from the blow, but he tried to take in his surroundings. The cell was damp and looked as though it had never been cleaned. A pile of blackened straw lay in one corner, it was not a bed. An iron barred gate was the only exit and not even a barred window led to the outside. Leaking stone walls were the only evidence that the outside even existed here. Outside, two torches lit the open area between the cells, twelve of them in all. The door had a simple lock mechanism that Norgaard had seen hundreds of times, easy to pick for even an amateur if they could sneak tools inside. He had prepared for this. They had taken his coat but his stained and stinking undershirt was untouched. He reached back and pulled a long sharp metal pin out from between seems that ran across the back of the neck. He broken it in half and set about shaping part of it against the bars.
The lock was a trifle, slight downward pressure with the most basic implement, a turn with the torsion wrench and it made an audible scrape of rusty metal on rusty metal as the mechanism slid home. Outside his cell he could see no guards, hear no movement. Not many prisoners would be here, it was more of a holding area for those heading to Fort Gale or worse. Mostly, drunks slept the night and were released in the morning with a fine. Today, there would only be the jailor inside to tend the cells. Norgaard found the plentiful shadows the meager torchlight tried to keep at bay. They pulled at him and now he let them. They wrapped him, embraced him coldly, but protected him all the same. Down the narrow stone hall the jailor sat, wide awake, reading from a withered tome. Slipping along the wall, masked in shadow, he approached silently but quickly. He did not wish to waste any time. A ring of keys lay on the table beside the man. He hesitated briefly, taking him in.
The jailor was middle aged, with gray and white stringy hair falling to his shoulders. The top of his head lay bare and shone with beaded sweat in the torchlight. His clothing as well as his face was dirty, but he was well-fed. Clearly his salary was enough to eat, but not enough for him to waste on bathing or clothing. The book he read was a book of children’s tales. While the man could read, it was not very well, but at least he was trying. Norgaard thought about what might happen when they found out he had lost the keys. Surely he would lose his job, if not more, but perhaps not. Perhaps they would show mercy. No, not to the jailor. They had to be able to trust him. And Norgaard was about to seal his fate to begging in the street. His hesitation turned to minutes, just staring at the keys. Finally, he decided not to take them, not to rob the man of his livelihood. But now he still needed to get out.
The shadows swallowed him and spat him back out again at the other end of the hall closer to his cell. There he reached out and slammed his cell door closed before retreating into the shadows, nearly invisible to the eye. As expected, the jailor came running to investigate the sound. Norgaard darted behind him and up the hall to the jailor’s gate. Tools in hand he set to work on the somewhat more complex lock. However, having studied the ring of keys, he knew it was one of only three possibilities and all were simple enough for a trained hand. Click. And he was through. Up the stairs to the final gate, the lock was on the opposite side, but he had done it enough as a child that where the lock was located was of no consequence. He could be blindfolded upside down underwater and the lock behind him on the other side of a gate and it may delay him only seconds. Click. This time he held his breath and stepped into what was the entryway to the thing, and turned casually to the exit. It was not guarded on the inside, but he hoped the two sentries without would pay him no mind. The cold struck immediately, the rags he was given offering little protection, but he folded his arms and walked out as if it were completely natural. Still daylight, it probably was commonplace to see men in and out of the thingstead and the two guards barely spared him a glance. He was home free.
Chapter X.
Vastian
For a time he lived a dream. With her. And for her, he would have given up the life that had paid for everything he owned. He would have given up everything he owned, even, if she would still have had him without it. The assassin, V, and the master thief, Shade, were at their peak. While Vastian lived by the creed that there was always someone better, he knew through his constant training, that he had narrowed that list down to only a few names in all the world. All of his mastery had brought him to attain noble titles in any country he might travel through, and estates in all of them. Most of the time, he stayed in Phelandir, lord of a major house and thus able to attend any royal gathering by their own invitation.
That was how they met, at the royal ball celebrating the winter solstice. There, across the room, he spotted her beauty dancing with a terribly rich, appallingly unstylish, clumsy oaf of a man. Her smooth grace even while fighting off his woefully awkward, overly practiced dance steps reminded him of his own stunning elegance which he often admired in a mirror while practicing with blades. He would have to rescue her. Swirling his dark red wine in its glass he lifted it to his lips, sipped it, and carried it with him on a direct path to his damsel in distress. She was even throwing her head back in laughter now at something the man said, clearly under some kind of spell.
He quickened his pace, intent on spilling his wine all over the rich bastard when he was intercepted by an old friend in shining silver dress armor, wolf’s head shoulder guards, crimson cape emblazoned with the royal house crest and a golden rope, knotted with his rank, captain.
“Enjoying the party, uh.. what was it again, my lord?” the armored man asked politely but with a hint of cynicism.
“Of course, it is Lord Klensbane, a very old name, Li
eutenant, I’m sure you’ll find it somewhere in the books, between the ‘J’s’ and the ‘L’s’. So how is the Guard doing? Do they often come to the king’s parties?” Vastian said, sipping his wine and peering over the Captain’s shoulder looking for the girl, who had somehow slipped away.
“Yes, Klensbane, that’s right. I hadn’t heard of your bloodline before, but it must be as you say. And.. the Guard does not appear at the balls, only the Marshalls, of which I am a Captain.”
“Oh a promotion! How fantastic for you. And, does this new rank,” Vastian said, slowly circling to scan the room, “have you any closer to catching that thief, what was his name? Shade?”
The Marshall continually stepped in front of Vastian as he side stepped and turned, taking in the ballroom, appearing from the outside that the two were dancing awkwardly. “No, my lord, it hasn’t. And now that you mention it, I’d like to get your take on it. Do you mind answering some questions?”
The man was investigating him, or near enough, considering no one could claim all of the supposed ‘Shade’ robberies. And now he was about to talk to the very man responsible for many of the crimes. Vastian wondered what he thought this obscurely named House Lord could tell him about an elusive criminal mastermind. Unless he was a suspect. “Of course I don’t mind, Captain, I too have a certain curiosity about such matters.”
“Good, did you know that his crimes extend back as far as twenty five years?” The Marshall said. Of course Vastian knew that, it was the reason he could not have been responsible for all of them. Back then, he was not good enough to have broken into the Magister’s Library, one of the earliest burglaries associated with Shade. “That long! Living underground, hiding out, I really don’t think it’s possible. I have suspected for a long time that he may be hiding in plain sight. That’s why I find out all I can about other nobles. What do you think, lord? Do you think it’s possible to live a double life?”
Ah, the Captain was sharp as a dagger, Vastian thought. Not only did he have ‘Shade’ figured out, but he was talking to the very man who had committed most of the crimes, using a tone that sounded very accusatory. Vastian did not often read people wrong, and he would need to throw the diligent captain off somehow. Fortunately, playing people was Vastian’s strong suit.
“Of course, Captain, I think you’re onto something. I couldn’t imagine always being on guard, on the run, never knowing when the law would catch up with you. It’s probably best to just live out in the open, right in front of those looking for you. It’s the last place they’d look, isn’t it?”
The Marshall appeared thoughtful for a moment and Vastian wasn’t sure how he took his very honest opinion on the matter. However, the Marshall hid his true thoughts, posing another question, “why do you think someone like that steals?”
Vastian prepared his answer carefully, thinking how he might explain his motivations to the man without drawing further suspicion from him. He supposed in itself, giving him real motivations might have the desired effect, what thief would stand there and give his investigator the truth. As he opened his mouth to speak, he was rescued by a delicate hand upon his shoulder, the scent of roses invading the space between himself and the Captain. The marshall straightened in the presence of a lady.
“Oh, Captain, you’re not boring my Lord with tales of your incredibly tedious investigations are you?” the young lady who Vastian had been watching earlier asked. He was suddenly and uncharacteristically lost for words.
“I’m sorry my Lady, we..” he began.
“Oh, Mlaive, I’m sure you were just finishing up,” she said, her hand sliding down Vastian’s back and around his waist. “This fine young Lord has promised the next dance with me, so you will forgive us if we part company now.”
“Of course, Lady Synnove,” Mlaive said, offering a shallow bow as he backed away.
Once Mlaive, Captain of the Phelandir Marshalls and the biggest threat to Vastian’s existence was gone, Vastian regained his ability to speak. He could not, however, do so, as his present company, the beautiful crimson haired Lady Valrissa Synnove, rounded on him and her voice, like honey, dripped from her lips. “My Lord you looked in need of rescue. That man can drone on and on and on about thieves, practically accusing everyone he speaks to!”
Indeed, he was in need of rescue, he had known there were people looking for him, he had even known of Mlaive and his ten year quest for Shade, but he did not know the man took that accusatory tone with every noble he spoke with. It was not like Vastian to not know such details, the sort that could bring him down. Roles were reversed here, as well, she had done what he had intended just minutes ago. He took her hand from his waist and brought it to his lips. “My Lady, I am Lord Vastian Klensbane, I am your humble servant, and I would be honored to share the next dance with you.”
She withdrew her hand once he had gently kissed it. “Save it, my Lord, I saw you watching me from your table.” The next song began, the music was upbeat and rhythmic. He took her hand and let his feet guide him through various combat stances which were not unlike the steps of a dance. “Did you think to rescue me from my date?” She said, following his lead as they glided across the ballroom floor, and without waiting for an answer, “the Lord Jokull is not much to look at, but he is rich, and it may come as a surprise to you, he is quite entertaining. The fat ones usually are.”
She was very straightforward, this one, he thought. Not at all like other women that had been in his life. The ones he did not pay for, that is. They all liked to play the game, remaining guarded and coy, forcing him to work for the tiniest scrap of information, nevermind affection. “If your date is so interesting, what are you doing over here?” he asked, hoping to prod her into an answer he could use to his advantage.
“My Lord, because I know nothing about you. You may be more interesting,” she paused. “More rich.” As the tempo of the song picked up the two whirled about the dance floor with grace and ease, their feet never getting in the way of each other, their movements naturally flowing with the music. The two quickly became the center of attention as most of the attendees were average dancers at best and none nearly as graceful. Where she learned such practiced movements, he should like to find out.
“I can assure you, milady, I am not very interesting at all, but I am very, very, wealthy.” It was not his best pick up attempt, but he had a feeling it might lead him somewhere.
Lady Synnove held her hand over her face as she laughed, that liquid honey coming through once again dripping into Vastian’s ears. “That might just be enough, Lord Klensbane, for the rest of these empty-headed young harlots but I crave a little more substance.”
“That is well,” Vastian said as the song reached its end, “I did not think you were so shallow. Why don’t we take a walk, I have something to show you, I have always held a distaste for these things anyway,” he said waving a hand at the ballroom.
She obliged, allowing him to take her arm in his and lead her from the dance floor to the sound of polite applause from the other ball goers. He led her wordlessly out of Lord Nalren’s ballroom and down the main hall to his large estate. These were halls Vastian knew well, having studied them for months before sneaking in and robbing his strong room blind. Of course, this woman did not need to know that. He turned down a smaller corridor and then down another before descending a servant’s staircase to the basement level.
“Should I be worried, my Lord?” the milky skinned beauty asked, only half in jest.
“Of course not, my lady, I will protect you from the rats,” he said, smiling and casting aside her doubt.
After a few more moments navigating Nalren’s cellar, he stopped. He released her arm and went to the shelving on the wall, feeling about. His fingers found the ever so slight crack in the wall that he knew would be there if he had remembered the layout correctly. Pressing on a pressure plate to the side, the hidden wall swiveled, revealing a dark passageway. Valrissa seemed surprised and took a half step back, appearing unsure
whether she should enter with a man she had just met.
“Don’t worry, I am just showing you my interesting side,” he said as he stepped within and held his hand out to her. She took the bait, he knew she would be unable to resist, and followed him into the dark. A pressure plate on the other side closed the wall behind them and he navigated by memory, counting measured steps while he held the hand of his companion to guide her. Before they reached the end he felt and found the pressure plate to open the secret door in front of them, listening first to be sure no one was on the other side.
The door swiveled open just like the first one, revealing another dimly lit cellar. Wine racks lined the walls and a stairway led up into another noble’s house. “This is the House of Lord Elis, he has a much better view of the ocean from his rooftop.” Vastian said, not bothering with an explanation of the secret passage. Something so secret that neither family even knew of its existence, whether lost to time or built without their knowledge, it mattered little to Vastian.
There was worry there in her eyes, but at the same time a smile at the corners of her lips. She was afraid of getting caught, but excited by it as well. Her footsteps as she followed were as silent as his own; the lady would have made an excellent thief. Leading her up the stairs he was careful not to appear too professional, checking only some corners but not others, knowing from previous research that when the master of the house was away at a ball, the servants tended to take extended breaks. They found their way to the fourth floor and Vastian checked all of the doors until he found one that was unlocked. No need to display all of his skills. He approached the western facing window and opened it to the cool night air.
