Guild of Tokens_Trainee

by Jon Auerbach

  “Because I need to give you something first,” said Beatrice, reaching her hand into her bag. “I said that our employer probably was just using their money to hire us instead of getting their lazy ass down here, but there's also a chance that someone else knows what’s for sale here, so we need to be adequately prepared for that probability.”

  She removed the knife and unsheathed it from its leather scabbard. The smooth metal of the blade reflected the dirty fluorescent light in the vestibule, emitting a glossy sheen. She grasped the ivory handle and made a few quick stabs in the air before resheathing it.

  “Here,” said Beatrice, handing the knife to Kate, whose eyes widened.

  “W-what, why are you giving that do me?” It was clear from the girl's suddenly pale face that she had never handled a weapon before, and Beatrice didn't have to use her imagination to picture what would happen if the girl tried to use the knife. Especially that particular knife.

  “You know what, on second thought, why don't you let me hold onto that?”

  Beatrice took the knife back and placed it in her pocketbook.

  “If the raid goes south, just try to stay out of the way,” she offered.

  “Umm, OK,” said Kate. “Aren’t we just going upstairs, buying some random item, and then leaving? It’s not like we’re breaking into the Met or something.”

  “You’d be surprised at how often a mundane exercise turns into an extraordinary one, especially if the Guild decides to get involved,” said Beatrice, her eyes drifting down to the almost-faded scar under her jeans that ran the length of her right thigh. “Let’s go.”

  They walked up the short flights of stairs in silence. Beatrice grasped the strap of her pocketbook tightly, as if that would help calm her nerves. It didn’t, but the amethyst ring that was normally slotted below her engagement ring would have. Except, in a bone-headed move, she had left it downtown. Not that she expected to need it today, as it would be an absurd waste to use it during such a routine task. But wearing it provided a manner of reassurance that she was now lacking. Well, what's done was done, and the knife would have to be enough today.

  The door to 5A was slightly ajar when they arrived on the final landing. Because they’re expecting us, thought Beatrice. Not because that fop Gilbert was lying in wait inside. Well, she thought, only one way to find out.

  Beatrice pushed the door open and stepped in slowly. The room was empty. No, that was a bad word. It was bare. Where the furniture had once sat, only dents on the pale green carpet remained. The walls too were barren, except for rectangle-shaped squares of white where paintings or pictures had once hung. She was too late.

  “Hello,” said a soft, raspy voice behind her, causing Beatrice to nearly jump out of her skin. She lowered her hand into her pocketbook, ready to brandish the knife at whoever had spoken, and slowly turned around.

  A little old man who looked like a mole rat with glasses and an ugly sweater sat in a worn, leather chair right next to the door. Why she had missed him at first glance, she wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t Gilbert and he didn’t seem very threatening, so she let go of the knife and lowered her guard slightly.

  “Hi, umm. We’re here for the estate sale?” Beatrice said. She could see Kate peering in from the hallway and waved her inside.

  “What? Oh right. My sister’s things.” The old man pulled a piece of paper out of one of the pockets in his sweater and held it close to his face. “Yes, there’s an estate sale here today at 1:30. But it’s over.”

  “But it’s only 1:33, sir. How is the sale already over?” asked Kate. “We didn’t see anyone leaving on our way up.”

  “Hmm?” the old man peered through the thick lenses of his glasses at Beatrice, then at Kate. “There's two of you? You're a looker, aren't you?” he said, pointing at Kate. “And you’re not so bad either. Must be my lucky day.”

  Kate blushed at the comment, and Beatrice grimaced.

  “Anyways, what was I saying? Oh right. Someone came this morning and offered to take the whole lot off my hands. Offered next to nothing but I took it just the same. Heh.” The old man’s chuckling gave way to a hacking cough, and Beatrice turned away in disgust.

  “Serves Doreen right. Wasn’t even giving me the money. Nope. All going to some stupid charity for cats or something. She didn’t even have a cat!”

  “I see,” said Beatrice. This whole outing was turning into an outright disaster and she was furious at herself for ruining her perfect raid record because she hadn’t thought of going to the estate sale before it started. It was a mistake a seasoned Quester like her should never have made.

  “It sounds like she was very difficult to get along with,” said Kate. “My mom was like that, always complaining about this thing or that thing. She probably set the record for angry letters to the editor in our town paper.”

  Beatrice glared at her. What was she doing? Trying to make the old man even more annoyed?

  “Oh yes. That was Doreen to a T. She had a talent for it though. Always seemed to get what she wanted. Like getting me to schlep up here from Baltimore to take care of her stuff. At my age. As if I had all the time and money in the world. Which I don’t. But then I got that letter and, bam, suddenly I’m on the next bus.”

  Beatrice’s face lit up and she turned to look at Kate, who smiled. The girl was full of surprises, apparently.

  “Do you happen to have that letter still?” asked Kate.

  The old man nodded.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It's in my bag over there in the kitchen. Be a dear and bring it over, would you?”

  The girl dashed over to the kitchen and returned with a folded piece of paper.

  “Mind if I take a look at that?” said Beatrice.

  “Knock yourself out,” said the old man.

  Beatrice unfolded the crinkly yellow paper. The text was barely legible but her eyes were for some reason drawn to the words, which were written in deep black ink.

  “Morton,

  I’m dying. Get up here and take care of my stuff after I go.

  -Doreen”

  Beatrice ran a finger over the words. The ink felt almost like finger paint, like she could scrape it right off the paper with the right tools.

  “Your sister wasn’t much for words, was she?”

  Morton shook his head.

  “Nope. Can’t say I’m sad she’s gone, she was as rotten as a person could be, but part of me misses her phone calls.”

  “When they came and took out her stuff earlier, do you happen to see the pens or the ink she used to write this?”

  Beatrice held the letter in front of Morton, whose eyes suddenly became fixed to the paper, as if he were in a daze, and she quickly withdrew it from his sight.

  “No. They took everything. Well, except the bed. Couldn’t get it out the door for some reason. And this chair obviously. I wasn’t about to let them pull it out from under me. Not sure if they’re coming back, but I hope they don’t. I need somewhere to sleep tonight and this chair is qui-”

  Beatrice sprinted to the little bedroom, hoping beyond hope that the Guild had not been as thorough as it appeared. The windowless room was as empty as the other one, save for a queen mattress on a box spring. It took up more than half the room and featured all manner of stain and discoloration, but at this particular moment, Beatrice couldn’t care less, as she flipped up the mattress in one fluid motion to reveal...

  Nothing.

  Except the top of the box spring. She flipped that up too and was rewarded with a view of the parquet floor underneath. No secret stash, not even an empty box or a note saying “Haha, beat you to it.” She had failed. For a second time.

  Beatrice let go of the box spring and sat on top of it, the dirty mattress now leaning against her back. This should have been a simple raid, an easy win. But no. The Guild had bested her again. She felt all the fury and rage build up inside her - this failed raid, Garrett’s latest dalliance, her chronic lack of sleep. What was the point of all of this
? Was she going to have to keep grinding forever, the Guild forever taunting her from slightly out of reach?

  “Hey. Look at that.”

  Kate walked into the room and Beatrice quickly brought her hand up to her eyes to wipe away the tears. She couldn’t let her trainee see her this emotional over a stupid raid.

  “What?” asked Beatrice.

  “There’s a bulge in the box spring. Right next to you.”

  Beatrice looked to her left. Sure enough, there it was. How had she missed it? She ran her hand over the protruding fabric and could feel the outline of several small objects. A quick slice with the ivory handle of the her knife sheared the fabric of the box spring, and she pulled it back to reveal a ziploc bag resting on top of a wooden slat. A ziploc bag containing two fountain pens and a small bottle of ink. She took the bottle out of the bag and shook it next to her ear. The sloshing of liquid inside filled her heart with a joy almost equal to hearing Jack Jack’s wailing cry in the hospital that first time.

  “Is that it then?” asked Kate.

  Beatrice nodded.

  “Yes. We’ve found it. Well, you did. Thank you.”

  Beatrice suddenly stood up and gave Kate a heavy hug. The girl seemed taken aback by the gesture, and her arms hung in the air for a few moments behind Beatrice’s back before she returned the embrace.

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t really do anything though.”

  She released Kate from the hug and they turned away from each other. An awkward silence pervaded the room, as if a barrier between the mentor and trainee had been broken. Beatrice should have been angry at her lack of discipline, but the unexpected bounty that they had discovered had salvaged an utter disaster, and not only that, there was an an extra pen and plenty of ink for her own use.

  “You did though. Anyway, let’s book it out of here before the Guild realizes what they’ve missed.”

  “Sure. But what’s the Guild?”

  Beatrice’s thoughts again drifted to that moonless night in the Park.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  The wine was red tonight. A bottle of Carignan from their last trip to the South of France. Beatrice had mixed memories about that vacation. On the one hand, who could be unhappy lounging on a Mediterranean beach? But on the other hand, it was the last time that she and Garrett had had sex and the result of that act was quietly sleeping in the other room.

  Garrett’s glass remained full, for no sooner had he poured it than his work phone had rang. That was two hours ago and he still hadn’t returned from the bedroom. Well, whatever. If he didn’t come back soon, she was going to be forced to drink his glass, as the bottle was nearing its end.

  Her marriage might not have been firing on all cylinders, but at least Kate’s progression had been going smoothly. The girl had performed admirably on the raid, although Beatrice was glad that they hadn’t actually run into the Guild, not just because that was always a bad time, but also because she could just picture Kate inadvertently getting both of them killed. Maybe some krav maga and light weapons training was in order.

  Beatrice took another sip of the Carignan and closed her eyes. She thought about the latest spoils of the raid. It was also too perfect and that worried her slightly. Was the Guild that dense to have overlooked the mattress? Were they looking for something else? After all, if the old woman had the ink, who knows what else she was hoarding in that apartment? But Beatrice couldn’t dwell on such things now. Still, a test of the ink was in order before she made any more plans.

  Doreen’s letter was currently soaking in alcohol downtown, which would separate the ink from the paper. That would give Beatrice a little bit to perform some trial runs without wasting the pure ink left in the bottle. Now that she actually had a sample in hand, Kate’s research with the diary would likely bear more fruit. Speaking of fruit, Beatrice made a mental note to start lining up preparations for the fall, as her apple stash was running low. But that was a longer term project and she hoped Kate would be ready in a few months with a little more seasoning.

  The buzzing of Garrett’s phone on the coffee table brought Beatrice back to the present. Which was odd. Because Garrett was still in the other room. It vibrated again and she picked it up to bring it into the kitchen so she could get back to her brainstorming.

  That ended up being a mistake. Because as she put it down on the kitchen counter, another buzz went off and Beatrice saw the string of text messages that had caused all the commotion.

  “When is this call going to be over :(“

  “If it keeps going any longer, how u going to come over 2night?”

  “dont worry ill wait up for u :)”

  Beatrice stared at the messages. She wanted to take the phone and chuck it out the window. Or smash it with a hammer. Or go over to that little tart’s apartment and shove it down her throat. Instead, she picked it up, walked slowly over to the bedroom, and opened the door.

  Garrett was sitting on the bed in his boxers in front of a laptop, talking too loudly about shutting down some factory in Malaysia. He looked up at her and gave a half wave, and then when he saw the phone in her hand, his eyes went wide. Beatrice let the phone drop from her hand, and then, without another word, walked out of the apartment and escaped into the night.

  The warm morning light washed over the bedroom. Well, it would have, if the one window in the room actually looked out onto something other than a brick wall. Still, a tiny ray of sunlight usually crept into the tiny “den” of Beatrice’s Bowery apartment and it was enough to rouse her from her sleep. Her reward for waking up was a pounding in her head and a dry throat. She sat up and opened her eyes, trying to remember why she was here instead of in her much larger bed uptown.

  The half-naked man beside her let out a loud snore. Oh, right. She had stormed out of the apartment, hopped in a cab downtown, and then had started texting the Quester guys in her phone to see if anyone would meet up for a drink and then some. Let Garrett deal with Jack Jack by himself for once, she had thought. If he was going to be so blatant about flouting their marriage vows, then she didn't feel bad at beating him at his own game. From the presence of whoever this guy was, and her own half-state of undress, she surmised that she had succeeded in some part of her plan.

  Beatrice scooted down to the middle of the mattress. A set of built-in cabinets ran along the adjacent wall, with a clearance of maybe four inches from the bed. It made the tiny room feel even tinier and she had to move back onto to the bed to even open the doors. What clothes did she even still have here? The answer was one full-length black dress and one old down coat. Beatrice sighed and bent down to pick up her sweater from yesterday off of the floor, but it was nowhere to be found. She settled for the blue button down at the foot of the bed and walked to the bathroom.

  Her reflection in the mirror could have been from ten years ago - the bags under her eyes, the hangover headache, the shirt that wasn't hers. She had been a typical wild child living it up in the city: out most nights, a new guy every other week. That was before the Quests though, before the curtain had been pulled back and Beatrice had discovered a truth about the world, a truth that would have made most people curl up into a ball on the ground and never get up. Except she was made of sterner stuff. Working her way up from the bottom, grinding out Quest after Quest after Quest, piling up all those tokens. Sure, she had caught a few breaks along the way, the diary being one, but if anything, that had made her work even harder.

  Beatrice turned on the tap and let the rust-colored water turn clear before splashing some on her face. It didn't do the trick, and she tried to remember if she had anything in the other room that would help get rid of the throbbing in her head. She could deal with the aftermath of last night if she could just get in the right mindse--

  Three successive pounds on the front door broke her train of thought.

  Fuck.

  It was Garrett, although she didn't know how. She'd already moved to a different apartment by the time they started dating
and she never told him where she used to live. Maybe he had tailed her last night after she stormed out of the apartment. She laughed at the image of Garrett racing out of their building with a sleeping Jack Jack in a baby Bjorn, and decided it must just be the annoying old woman from across the hall complaining again.

  Beatrice walked back into the bedroom, where the mystery man was still asleep, and tiptoed into the living room. The front door shook again. Too loud to be the old woman, she thought. A flick of the peephole finally revealed the perpetrator: it was Kate.

  She unlocked and unlatched the door, and the pounding stopped.

  “Just a second,” said Beatrice, slowly opening it with a creak.

  Kate stood in the hallway, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes bloodshot, and her mascara running down her face. The girl was visibly shaking, as if she had just been mugged.

  “Kate, what are you doing her-”

  The trainee pushed passed Beatrice, walked into the apartment without saying a word, and sat down on the couch just past the large wooden bookcase. Her body continued to shake, and she stared unresponsively across the room. Beatrice walked into the kitchen and to get a glass of water from the tap, so she could stall a bit before confronting Kate. She hadn’t told her about this place, had she? Was she stalking her? Whatever was going on, it was one less thing she wanted to deal with now, so hopefully she could steady the girl and send her on her way.

  Beatrice set the glass of water down on the coffee table next to her pocketbook and waited for Kate to do or say something, but the girl didn't respond.

  “Kate.”

  “Kate.”

  “KATE!”

  She shouted the girl's name, but that too received no response. Beatrice wanted to slap her upside the head, but she settled for throwing the glass the water all over the trainee.

  The girl stirred back to life, looking down at her soaked shirt and then up at Kate, before finally settling on Beatrice's pocketbook.

  It only took a split second for the thought to percolate in her head, but it was a second too long, and before Beatrice could react, Kate dove toward the bag and wrenched something free.