The
guard stood by the gate-house, his breath emerging from his mouth into the cold
night air in periodic gusts of vapour. In
his right hand he held a sword, which shone brightly in the light of the moon,
and whose point reflected the flame of the solitary torch that flickered next
to him. He wore a coat of chain-mail,
with a fabric coat over it, and a helmet over his head. They were obviously heavy, for he
continually shifted his weight between his feet, and sometimes rested the tip
of the long sword on the ground. Or
maybe he was bored instead. Garrett,
from his hiding place in the shadows across the street, could hear him
muttering something under his breath, something about a guard who should have
relieved him several hours ago.
The gate-house the guard
stood by was built in the typical style of the City: a medium sized stone
structure, with crenelated tops, and small archers’ slits in the walls. However, there was no light behind the
slits, and no figures with bows patrolled the tops of the walls. The man who owned this small mansion was not
wealthy enough to hire many guards: according to Garret’s information the house
only contained three guards, and the occupant.
On the front of this gate-house hung a banner, a green carpet of
cloth upon which was woven a stylised T.
The T was a symbol of the Lord Tanner, a small nobleman who was one of
the lesser classes of nobles that lived in the City. By all accounts his father had been a successful builder, one
responsible for the construction of some of the greatest landmarks of the City,
and the house in which his son now resided was in that time merely a guest
house. However, then the Hammers had
taken notice, and the father could not compete with the Hammerites’ unique
combination of building skill, and justified violence. Lord Tanner’s father was a lay builder, a
profession that the Hammerites saw as an anachronism, a mocking of the
Builder’s word. When the Hammers had
finished with the poor man, all that remained was the guest house, and a small
amount of money that he and his family had managed to escape from their house
with.
Now Lord Tanner lived there, alone apart from his guards, with
chest of money that no-one had reported to have been paid from. However, Garrett needed this job for more
than just the money. He had been
fleeced on his last few jobs, and had decided that it was time to make an
acquaintance with a fence who would get a decent price for him. He had found one, named Cutty, but Cutty
would only take Garrett on if he had evidence of his skill. Lord Tanner’s money was reportedly stamped
with the name of his departed father.
It would be a fitting catch. He
could always spend the money if Cutty turned him down.
The guard was still muttering, periodically turning round to
glance at the heavy wooden door behind him.
Deciding to make a move, before a Hammerite night watchman found him,
Garrett waited until the guard had turned away, then quietly crossed the
street. He melted into the shadows by
the gatehouse as the guard turned round to view the silent streets. Garrett knelt, and felt in the gutter of the
street for a suitable distraction. His
hand touched a glass bottle, the cork missing and the paper falling off with
damp. Holding it in his palm, he drew
back his arm, and then threw it forward, releasing the bottle. It impacted in the shadows across the street
where Garrett had previously been hiding.
The bottle splintered with a crash, and the guards head jerked up. He raised his sword and peered into the
darkness. Slowly he advanced forward,
sword held at the ready, and his eyes searching the streets. Reaching the bottle, he knelt down and picked
it up. Suddenly he heard the wooden
door at the gate-house shut. He whipped
around, but there was no-one there. The
streets were as silent as they had been since he had come on duty after
dinner. Looking around thoughtfully, he
shrugged his shoulders, dropped the broken neck of the wine bottle, and walked back to his post,
dismissing the broken shards of the bottle as having fallen from the window of
one of the houses. People left their
windows open sometimes, even in this weather and with the threat of thieves,
and doubtless they must have placed the bottle there when they went to bed. The
rustle of wind he had heard must have knocked it off from there.
Inside the gate-house, Garrett leaned against the door and
breathed deeply. It would have been
possible to knock the guard out, but he had only just bought a blackjack, and
was reluctant to use it before he knew how to.
Straightening up, he walked over the stone floor to a convenient shadow,
and examined his surroundings. He was
in a long hall, that stretched down to an atrium in the centre of the
house. The hall was stone, except for
the wooden roof, and was decorated with tapestries hung on the walls. They were obviously designed to impress any
visitor that visited at the height of the family fortune, but now they were
faded and threadbare, and some were ripped and torn. Every so often there was a torch attached to the wall with
decorated fixings, but the brass fittings were tarnished and dirty, and some of
the torches were out. Garrett smiled to
himself. This was going to be easy.
He silently crept down the hall, sticking to the shadows, and
pausing before he left them. A corridor bisected it at the end of the hall
before the atrium, and appeared to continue round the other side of the atrium. This one was brightly lit, with wooden doors
at intervals, and a plush carpet down the middle of the stone floor. Garrett paused to listen. His caution was rewarded. A guard came round the corner, his footsteps
inaudible, his sword held by his side as he whistled a Hammerite hymn. Obviously Lord Tanner didn’t hold any
grudges, or if he did he wasn’t picky about those who he hired to work for him.
Once the guard had left, Garrett emerged from the shadows, and
turned left into the corridor. He walked
on the carpet, his footsteps as inaudible as the guards, his ears pricked up
for any sound that could signal the guard’s return. Coming to a door, he opened it and walked in, then closed it
gently behind him. The latch clicked,
and then Garrett turned to look at the room.
It was a dining room of some sort, small but grandly furnished. The room was decorated with expensive
wallpaper, the floor with a carpet that only the rich are accustomed to. In the centre of the room was a large wooden
table, while around it were chairs that seemed, in the dim light, to have been
newly upholstered. Garrett clicked his
tongue in consternation. Lord Tanner
had obviously been spending some of his hoard recently. There might not be much left. The thief looked around the room for any
valuables, but the place was devoid of any loot, and the table was covered only
with a table cloth.
Garrett walked back to the door, and then suddenly froze as he
heard the footsteps of the guard on his patrol. The footsteps became louder, and then quieter as the man moved
away. When the coast was clear, Garrett
opened the door, and glided out. He
moved over to the carpet, and carried on to the next door. The room behind it was just as disappointing
as the first. The only valuables were
stuck to the walls, or covering the cushions of the sofas and armchairs that
were arranged around the room.
However, the next room was far more rewarding. Garrett opened the door, and gently closed
it behind him. He had found the
kitchen, a room with a large, cold fireplace against one wall, and assorted
shelves loaded with canisters of seasonings.
All along the walls were waist-high work surfaces on which tools were
scattered around, while below them were closed cupboards. Moving through the room, a glint of glass
caught Garrett’s eye, and he stooped by the counter to find a rack of wine
bottles, all of rare vintages. For
someone who could not afford to replace the tapestries in his front hall, or hire
decent guards, Lord Tanner was living suspiciously well.
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the floor above
him. Garrett looked up in alarm, but
when nothing more was heard he dismissed it as the unaware Lord Tanner getting
up for a visit to the privy. He bent
down again, and pulled a bottle of wine from its rack. It was indeed a rare vintage, one that it
was said the Baron only drank on special occasions, and used to toast the
Builder when attending a Hammerite ceremony.
Garrett smiled, and silently placed it in the folds of his cloak. This would fetch a fair price, fence or no
fence.
He was reaching for another bottle when he was pulled up short by
the sound of a conversation outside the door of the kitchen. As his instincts rushed him into a shadow,
the door opened, and two guards walked in, the one from the corridor and a new
one. The new one walked over to the
rack of wines, muttering to himself at the Sir’s need for a nightcap at this
hour. He took a glass from the counter,
and then bent over to search the wine rack.
Garrett did not dare to breath as the guard’s gaze swept up and down the
rack, and his brow narrowed in his search for the missing bottle. The other guard also grew impatient, and
began tapping his foot in annoyance.
Finally the new guard straightened up, and looked around in search of
the bottle.
Maybe it was the light, or the location, but whatever the reason,
the guard suddenly lifted his sword and began to advance towards the thief in
the shadows. Garrett fumbled in the
folds of his cloak for a weapon, and the movement attracted the attention of
the other guard, who also raised his sword.
The thief withdrew from his cloak a small round device, with a large
eye, and a small red button. Garrett
was reluctant to use the flashbomb, but realised that this was the only he was
going to get out of the mansion with both his skin and any loot there was
left. He jabbed his thumb down on the
button, then threw it on the floor, while he brought the other arm up to shield
his eyes.
The flashbomb exploded in a brilliant flash of light, and the
guards screamed in pain. Garrett delved
into his cloak and produced the blackjack, which he raised high over his head,
and then swung down on the skull of the new guard. He cried out, then slipped unconscious to the floor. The other guard, realising that something
was amiss, waved his sword weakly in front of him while his hands clawed at his
eyes. However, it was child’s play for
Garrett to evade the ineffectual strokes, slip under the guard’s blade, and
bring down the lead weighted club on his head.
The guard crumpled, his blade dropping on the floor with a clang as he
fell backward unconscious.
Garrett stood silent, surrounded by his fallen adversaries. He listened for perhaps ten minutes, but
there was still no reaction. Maybe the
Lord had fallen asleep without the night-cap, he thought, and smiled to himself
as he breathed a sigh of relief.
However, the business of disposing of the bodies still remained. There was no convenient cellar or well to
dump them in, and there was no way he could drag the bodies to the
streets. In the end, he settled for
tying the bodies up with cords made from a ripped up tablecloth, and gagging
them with the same material. Leaving
them in the darkest corner of the room, he offered up a mental prayer to the
Watchman, the god of thieves, that they not wake, and then knelt by the wine
rack. There was no way he could carry
all of them, so he settled for the few that his scarce knowledge of fine wines
told him would be valuable.
Finished with the kitchen, Garrett rose, and left the way he
came. Continuing round the corridor he
passed the other end of the atrium, and saw a flight of stairs leading up to
the second floor of the mansion.
However, he ignored it for the moment, anxious to search the remainder
of the floor. His search was rewarded
when he stumbled across the guard’s barracks.
All of the other rooms contained no removable valuables, but in a chest
in the barracks he found a pouch of coins that would make the trip worthwhile, even
without any other loot. The barracks
presented a startling contrast to the rest of the house, the bare stone walls
and wooden floor seeming of an entirely different character.
Once finished with the first floor, Garrett embarked on the most
important part of his mission. Although
the wine was remarkably valuable, he wanted proof to show to Cutty that he had
been inside the house, and that could only be obtained with the gold. The stairs that led up to the next floor
were stone, and possessed no carpet to muffle his footsteps. He took them carefully, pausing every time
he made a sound to check for a reaction.
However, the whole house was silent.
At the top of the stairs, the stone changed to wood, and the carpet
began again. This part of the house was
dark, with no crackling of torches to mask any errant footfalls. Then again, the absence of torches meant
that there were more shadows to hide in.
The carpet in this part of the house was far superior to any Garrett had
encountered in the first floor, and the walls were decorated with the same
expensive wallpaper used in the rooms below.
The ceilings were of carved wood, intricate spiral patterns that looped
and dove beneath each other. Garrett
was worried by this. This type of
decoration cost money, and lots of it.
More than would be available to the son of a lord, who had fled his
burning house with only as much money as he could carry. This sort of revelation was uncomforting,
especially in a man who hated surprises.
However, Garrett pressed on, his footfalls unheard on the plush
carpet. He paused at a door, and
listened at it intently. When he was
sure there was nobody inside, he pushed it open. Inside the room was richly decorated, with silver birchwood
furniture, inlaid with pearline and onyx.
The bed was made with expensive sheets, and the table beside it was
carved with engravings of such delicacy that it seemed a mere breath of wind
would break them. Garrett stepped over
to the cupboard, a large construction about as tall as he was, and covered with
exquisite artwork. He gently pulled
open the doors, only to reveal an empty interior, with a single rail on which
to hang clothes. He searched the rest
of the room, but it seemed that whatever wealth existed here could only be
carried away with the help of several men and a burrick. The bed alone would have needed two burricks
to transport it, three if they were old and weak.
He gently withdrew from the room, and went over to the other side
of the corridor. The room there was
decorated to match the furniture, this time pieces made of weirwood with copper
embellishing and ink-and-glaze cracquadare varnish. The effect was overwhelming, but once again it soon became
apparent that any loot here would be leaving in pieces, or with the aid of a
burrick.
As Garrett exited the room he saw at the end of the hallway a door
that stood alone in the wall. Striding
over to it, he leant over to listen through the wood. When he heard nothing he cautiously gripped the iron handle, and
slowly pushed down. The latch clicked,
and the door swung open at his push.
The room before him was incredible.
The designer had melded both elements of the other two rooms, to create
an effect that was nothing short of incredible. The contrasts reinforced each other, and the wood’s gleam told of
hours of polishing and labour. The
furniture also combined elements of the previous two rooms, and the bed, the
centrepiece of the room, was like an island in a sea of plush blue carpet. The room was about 40 feet by 20 feet, with
a high ceiling from which hung gleaming brass lamps. These were lit, and cast a warm glow over the room, while the
richly decorated tapestries became alive with the reflected flames of the fire
burning in its grate on one wall.
However, Garrett’s attention was immediately drawn to the large
central window, which seemed to open onto a balcony. The window was open, and the wind from outside made the draperies
flap and the fire flicker. He strode to
the balcony, and looked out at the darkened city skyline. Suddenly, a shape appeared on the roof of
the house opposite. A silhouette of a
man in a night-shirt, the figure turned round to stare at the open window, and
then dropped down out of sight.
Garrett turned back from the window, his heart quickening in
panic. Lord Tanner must have heard the
noise of his encounter with the guards, and fled from the house. The figure Garrett had seen must have been the
escaping Lord. He must have gone to
summon help, and Garrett only had a little time before the Hammerites and the
City Guard came down on him. However,
he had not come all this way for nothing, and he resolved to take something
with him, to pay the rent if nothing else.
He stepped back in the room, and began to examine it. The cupboards or a
safe hidden somewhere were the only places where any loot could be. He began to make a cautious circuit, but
still nothing came to light.
However, his attention was continually drawn to a section of wall
next to the fireplace, against what was presumably empty attic space. Walking over to the wall, Garrett could just
make out the outline of a hidden door, its hinges concealed in the decorative
ornamentation that covered the room.
Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the door and pushed
gently. To his relief, the section of
the wall suddenly swung away, with a minimum of fuss, to reveal a small, plain
room, with a desk and a pile of chests.
He stepped in, ducking under the small doorway, and made his way to the
desk. It was empty, except for a single
sheet of paper. Garrett picked it up,
and held it close to his eyes:
Lord Tanner
Needless
to say, I am most pleased with your acquisition of the miniature silver
birchwood treasure box. As you are well
aware, I dislike using the Downwinders in tasks of such delicacy, but I realise
that you believed they are the only group capable of such a feat. I require your assurance that they are no
aware of my involvement, or the ownership of ‘Grimworth and de Perrin’. The place was formerly well guarded, and I
am satisfied that Ramirez is no longer able to avail himself of their services
in times of need.
However,
I am also disappointed that the Guild was unable to reach the place in time to
obtain the sceptre. As you know, I
desire all valuable antiquities, and the sale of the sceptre to Lord Bafford
places me in a difficult situation. I
am reluctant to steal again from yet another one of Ramirez’s people, but the
situation may demand another use of the Downwinders’ skills. Please provide them with the details that
will allow them to complete the job, and at no point reveal that ‘Grimworth and
de Perrin’ belong to Ramirez. I have
enough problems without the Downwinders being angry at being tricked into
stealing from their boss’s company. If
they are reluctant to take the job I recommend that you remind them of the
unfortunate arrest of one of their number.
Subtlety is more suited to these circumstances than brute force would
be.
I
am relying on your abilities to ensure that the final stage of my plan is
completed satisfactorily. You have been
adequately rewarded thus far; do not make me regret this. If there are any questions meet me
personally at my place in Oldbridge.
Larnseng, Warden of OldBridge and CityGate
Garrett gasped when he read this.
Lord Tanner, in the pay of Larnseng!
And as a thief’s –pawn! Larnseng
was Warden of OldBridge and CityGate, some of the oldest parts of the
City. He was a remote man, but was
famed for his rivalries with some of the other Wardens of the City. Garrett had heard that the man secretly
owned most of the businesses in his ward, and even controlled businesses in
other wards, through series of false fronts and middlemen.
The thief placed the parchment in his cloak, thinking that
it could be useful if there ever came a time to confront Larnseng, and then
turned his attention to the chests.
They were locked, and there seem to be no key in the room that could
open them. They were definitely full
though, for they did not sound hollow when tapped. Garrett grimaced, and walked out of the room. The gold may well be in those chests but it
would take more than brute strength to get it out. Maybe at some other time he could come back and take what he had
earned tonight. With one backward
glance at the small alcove, he headed for the window. He climbed out, then crouched and jumped for the wall of the
neighbouring house. He grabbed on to
the eaves of the roof, and pulled himself up onto it. His escape route now open, he looked back, and caught a glimpse
of the guard outside the gate as he waited for the replacement that now would
never come.
Garrett
made his way towards Farkus’s shop.
Since his meeting with him early in his career as a thief, Garrett had
relied on the shop keeper for the necessary tools of his trade. Farkus, like the thief himself, was an
independent, and could be relied upon to keep silent about the large purchases
that could signal the start of a mission.
The shopkeeper kept a shop, called Farkus’s Functionals, at Newmarket,
practically on a main highway through the district. Newmarket was not a particularly savoury area, but it was still
patrolled by the City Guard, and the Hammerite night-watchmen. If Farkus was ever suspected, the shop would
be a death trap.
Garrett had chosen to go to the shop at late evening, when the
crowds would be few, but large enough to conceal his presence from inquisitive
eyes. He wore a light cloak, sufficient
to cover the few things he intended to purchase from Farkus for use in his next
mission. Most of the wine bottles had
sold well, to a middleman of a thief’s-pawn reputed to have links with
Constantine, the mysterious new arrival to the City. Since the Tanner job Garrett had been out of work, but he had
heard of a Blackbrook Underguild Ambassador, Dorcas Goodfellow, who traded in
medicinals and elemental crystals.
Things like this could fetch a high price on the market, and Garrett
needed the money to pay the rent on his small apartment. He had heard that the City Hospital, and its
bureau the Department of Public Health, had recently received a consignment of
gas crystals for use as anaesthetics during their operations on the wealthy
nobles who could afford their treatment.
He was walking over the bridge at Downtown when suddenly he heard
a heavy step behind him. He began to
turn round, but as he did a blackjack came down and landed with a heavy thwack
on his shoulder. His movement had
prevented it hitting his head and knocking him unconscious, but it still took
him down. He fell heavily to the floor,
and then gasped in pain as a metal-toed boot struck him in the stomach. He could hear footsteps as another man came
up, and then pain blossomed from his leg as the man stepped on it. Bone cracked, and then the foot came up and
kicked Garrett in the head, knocking him unconscious.
The two men stopped hitting the now still body, and one bent
down. His practised hands searched the
folds of the thief’s cloak for the key to his apartment. He pulled out a small purse of gold and tied
it to his waist, and was turning back when a contingent of the City Guard came
round. Assessing the situation with one quick glance, the leader drew his
sword, and shouted for his group to advance.
The two assailants, seeing themselves outnumbered and in danger, took to
their heels and fled through the labyrinth of the City. The captain and his men chased after them.
When the men had left, a door in the street slowly opened. A young woman’s face appeared, lined and
grey despite her age, but with sharp eyes and a firm mouth. She took in the scene with one glance, then
left the safety of the doorway and advanced towards the still form lying in the
road. She bent down to search his
pockets, and eventually withdrew a small iron key. She turned it over to look at it, and then pursed her lips in
annoyance. The key was unmarked, and
probably only the unconscious owner before her knew the location of the lock in
which it fitted. She stood still for a
moment, then turned around and ran back to the house. She emerged from it again with a companion, a tall man with dark
hair, and the same sharp eyes as the woman.
Together they walked to the body, hoisted it over their shoulders, and
carried it into the house. The door
closed after them on a silent street.
Garrett awoke with a start, and looked around him. He was lying in a small, stone room, with a
wooden floor and a plaster ceiling through which varnished beams
protruded. The room was lit with a
single torch which spluttered loudly and cast a dancing orange flame on the
other contents of the room. The
furniture was scarce: merely the bed he was lying on, some battered old chairs,
and some chests situated in a corner.
Garrett groaned and tried to sit up, but found he was tied to the bed
with ropes of strong cord. The knots
were tight and out-of-reach, and the cord was secured to holes bored in the
bed. He fell back onto the bundle of
rags that was acting as a pillow, and cast his mind back to what had
happened. He remembered the thugs who
had tried to kill him, the impact of the heavy boot that had knocked him
out. He was just trying to remember any
more than that when a woman walked into the room, carrying a tray of food.
‘Oh, so you’re awake are you?’, she said, in a light voice that
contrasted oddly with her lined face.
Garrett would have guessed her age to be fifty by her appearance, twenty
by her voice. She was a strange
contrast. Her small face was crinkled
by fine lines, that wound their way around her eyes and mouth. Her hair was a dusty grey, her skin the pale
grey of a city dweller who did not see the sun too often. However, her mouth was firm, and her eyes
possessed a sharpness that seemed to cut through whatever she looked at like a
knife.
‘Where….where am I?’ asked Garrett, with a mouth parched dry. She smiled and put down the tray of food,
which he could know see contained a portion of bread and cheese, and a tankard
of water. He twisted over to look at
them, and as he did a man came in. He
was tall, and well-built beneath his simple tunic. His face was like the women’s, grey and lined yet containing eyes
of remarkable clarity. His hands were
remarkable, long and slender like those of a musician, or someone else whose
employment requires extreme dexterity.
The
two talked under their breath for a moment, and then the man drew a short
club. The women came forward, and
loosened the bonds that held him. She
step quickly backwards as Garrett sat up and rubbed his wrists. She indicated the food on the tray that had
been set before him. Understanding her
intention, he eagerly devoured the food, washing it down with generous drafts
of the water. The man standing behind
her waited until he was done eating, and then hefted a club that had suddenly
appeared in his hands, whilst the woman retied that knots that bound Garrett to
the bed.
His leg still hurt abominably, and he could feel the splint that
held it straight. However, it was clear
that he would be unable to walk for several weeks, and only then with a crutch. The ropes were entirely unnecessary. However, the next day, when the woman came
in, the tray also carried a small vial.
The woman placed the tray down next to him again, and untied the ropes. Garrett reached out and took hold of the
tray, and picked up the vial. He opened
it to see a small amount of golden liquid, which seemed to sparkle as it caught
the light. It was fairy viscous,
clinging stubbornly to the cloth sides of the vial and moving sluggishly about
as Garrett rocked it to and fro. He
shrugged mentally, figuring that it was unlikely they would go to anything this
elaborate to kill him, and poured the contents down his throat. All at once, he felt a tingle in his broken
leg, that intensified into a wave of heat that grew hotter until finally it
stopped, and then disappeared.
Garrett opened his eyes, not realising he had closed them, and
then gasped in astonishment. The pain
from his leg had gone, and he found he could move it with ease. He started to get up, but the man hefted his
club, and Garrett decided against it.
He could see there was no way out, and that with no weapons he was no
match for the man. He sat up, slowly,
and opened his mouth to speak. However,
the question that was forming on his tongue was replaced by a gasp as the woman
held up her hand, and revealed his house key dangling from it. His expression of astonishment was then
replaced by fear as she held up a sword at him. Abruptly she thrust it out at him, stopping just before she hit
him. Garrett was now close enough to
see the blade, to see the nicks in it, to see the handle that looked
suspiciously like that of his own sword…
The woman laughed as he gazed up at her in surprise, a soft laugh
that spoke of the release of tension.
The man laughed to, but his vocal contribution was edged with a sinister
tone. He smiled, and walked out of the
room, to return several moments later with something else under a cloth. With the air of one performing a magical
trick, he whipped off the cloth drape to reveal a bottle of wine. In fact, the same bottle that Garrett had so
expertly stolen from the manor of Lord Tanner.
He had been meaning to sell it, even if it had meant getting less than
was possible, but somehow had never found the opportunity. He slumped back on the bed in despair. They now knew he was a thief, and something
in their eyes told him that the knowledge would have been better kept from
them. The man stooped and drew up a
chair a distance from the bed, and lowered himself into it. The woman stood behind him, still grasping
Garrett’s sword. Then the man began to
speak.
It turned out that their motives for helping him had been less
than kindness of spirit. They had the
key to his house, but no idea where it was.
They intended to nurse him to the point where he was able to speak, get
the location of what they thought might be a wealthy house, and them dump his
body in the sewer. However, one of the
man’s ‘contacts’ had dropped by, and recognised Garrett from an earlier
occasion. He pointed out his house, and
also told them that he was a thief, thought by some to be one of the brightest
prospects. Then the pair had had a
different idea. The man, it seemed, was
called Basso, and was a boxman by trade.
This accounted for his long, slender hands, which were perfectly suited
for the job of breaking open safes. He
was apparently quite accomplished in this field, and for some time had had his
eye on an enticing prospect in the City district of OldBridge. A wealthy merchant, whom his sister Sophia
worked for as a servant, had recently installed in his bedroom a brand new
safe, an event that coincided with a mysterious drop in the merchant’s
finances. Sophia was a trusted servant,
and could get Basso inside the building, but the trouble was that he would soon
be spotted and arrested, or worse. The
boxman had identified a point in the mansion where it would be possible to get
in with a bit of effort, but he needed someone to scout ahead for him, and
clear the path to the safe. This was
where Garrett came in.
Garrett opened his mouth to refuse, but sight of the woman hefting
the sword made him reconsider. He
realised that once he started they would use him until he was of no further
value, and then discard him. That was
an unattractive option, but there were few alternatives. If he rejected their offer his corpse would
probably end up in the sewers, but if he accepted an early death was almost
certain. He knew how these things
worked, and realised that no doubt Sophia had a certain scroll which the City
Guard would no doubt be delighted to have.
All Garrett’s possessions were in the house, as well as his secret stash
of savings, and the idea of having the Guard being able to follow his movements
was not attractive. Realising the
futility of refusing, he accepted.
This was the reason that Garrett found himself outside the
merchant’s house the next day at the dead of night. OldBridge was an ancient part of the City, probably one of the
original districts. The houses were
mostly made of wood, with few windows and small doors. Some had been repaired with stone, creating
a striking contrast to the yellow and brown plaster in which most of the
buildings were covered. A few
streetlights existed, mainly at crossroads.
They were of the original pattern, reputed to have been built during the
theoretical period of time when the Hammerites had controlled the City. They were waist high, a small light element
encased in a glass tube. This pattern was
repeated in the Old Quarter, and also in the Docks district, where the Bonehoard
was located. Rumour said that the
catacombs contained a set of Hammer tombs, presumably from when the Order had
ruled the City. However, such an event
was hidden in the mists of time, and although the Hammerites were now a big
influence, they still had little ultimate power compared to the Baron and his
City Council.
Basso whistled softly from the shadow in which he had hidden
himself, and Garrett sighed and got to work.
He had to admit that the boxman had chosen a good spot, with plenty of
shadow and a wooden roof in which to shoot a rope arrow. Rope arrows were hard to come by, and
expensive, but now they proved their worth as Garrett buried the arrow into the
soft wood. He jumped onto it, and
climbed steadily up. The roof belonged
to a wooden guardhouse, obviously erected after the construction of the main
wall that surrounded the home and gardens of the merchant. The thief reached the top of the rope, and
looked on the wall for a good landing spot.
He eventually found one, and made a flying leap for it. He landed softly, falling forward onto his
knees to muffle the sound of his shoes.
Sophia had said that the merchant only had guards at the front gate, but
Garrett was prepared to take no chances.
He stood up and looked over the battlements. A figure detached itself from the shadows, and ran for the
rope. He turned away satisfied, but
then a hint of red caught his eye. He turned
back round, and then swore softly as he saw what had arrested his
attention. A Hammerite night-watchman
was making the rounds, his lamp in one hand and his hammer in the other. Basso had not yet finished his ascent, and
if the guard saw him while he was still visible….
No sooner than Garrett thought this than it happened. The watchman abruptly stopped, and started
to peer in the direction of the rope.
He hefted his lamp higher, while Basso froze on the rope in an effort to
remain unseen. Garrett swore
again. It was vital to keep moving in
these situations, to make the man think he had only seen a rat or the moving of
a tree. The end came when suddenly the
Hammerite made out the form of a man on the rope. He shouted in alarm, and Basso made a desperate effort to ascend
the rope and get away. However, he
tugged on the rope too hard, and it parted from the arrow, the shaft
splintering with a clear crack as the knot at the end was pulled out. Basso fell the ten feet, landing with a
crash. He must have struck his head on
the pavement, for blood suddenly appeared and Basso made no effort to
move. Garrett could see his chest
rising and falling, but that was it.
The Hammerite moved in cautiously with his hammer, and prodded the prone
figure with it. Seeing that he posed no
immediate threat he drew a whistle from his pocket, and blew three blasts on it
that would have woken anyone in the immediate neighbourhood. Garrett didn’t wait to see what
happened. He dropped down from the
battlements into a shadow in the street, and ran off while the watchman turned
round to see what had caused that sound of metal hitting stone…
Garrett paused for breath in the shadow. Although in good shape the wild run from detection by the
Hammerites had tired him out, and his heavy clothes and equipment did not help
matters. He was dressed in his normal
cloak, with lighter clothes beneath, and his boots. His equipment was carried either in his quiver, the belt around
his waist, or in the small pockets on his cloak and clothes. For this mission Basso had visited Garrett’s
house earlier, after tying him to the bed, and had collected his sword,
blackjack and short-bow. He had also
managed to get hold of a small stock of broadhead arrows, water arrows, and a
single moss arrow. The arrows were
tucked safely on the quiver at his back, whilst the sword and blackjack hung
from his belt, and his bow was looped over his shoulder.
He looked up, and surveyed the street around him. He was still in OldBridge, but close to the
Docks, and the buildings around him showed the characteristic large doors of
warehouses. The structures were tall,
mostly made of stone, with tile roofs and wooden dormers that protruded from
them. Garrett sank into the shadow and
pondered his next move. Sophia would
almost certainly release details of Garrett’s home to the City Guard once he
and Basso didn’t return, and the sudden appearance of the night-watchman would
only reinforce the idea that Garrett had betrayed them. He couldn’t go back home, not only because
he didn’t have the key, but also because the Hammerites could be out looking
for Basso’s accomplice, and anyone out on the streets at this hour would surely
be dragged off to Cragscleft. The best
strategy would probably be to lay low for the next few months, until the fuss
had died down and the City Guard assumed that Garrett had disappeared from the
scene.
He glanced around, and then casually moved out of the shadow. He turned north, and began to make his way
further into OldBridge, where there was the best chance of finding a small
place to lie low. He had no money, but
the weapons in his quiver and on his belt were bound to fetch something. If he could sell them to a shopkeeper like
Farkus he would get even more, but he knew few, and was not particularly keen
to be seen by them. Some were probably
in the pay of the wardens or the City Guard, and it would defeat the whole
point of his selling them if he was recognised.
He made his way through the small back streets of OldBridge,
through small canyons of buildings that loomed up from a narrow street. He eventually came to a main thoroughfare,
and was about to cross it when he saw a flash of colour. He glanced over at its source, and saw a
gold coloured letter L on a green background of a banner. The L was stylised, decorated with delicate
curves which looped around the letter.
Garrett suddenly remembered the document he had found in Lord Tanner’s
secret room. Larnseng had mentioned
that he had a house in OldBridge, and this must be it. Garrett nearly crossed over the road, but a
sudden thought made him stop. He had
suspected that Larnseng was behind the assassination attempt, nothing else
could explain it. He had rejected
Ramirez’s offers of employment, but that was no reason for this measure of
violence. Larnseng must have been told
by Lord Tanner of the break-in, and then later finding the document
missing. It obviously had more value
that Garrett thought.
He glanced thoughtfully at the banner, and the large gatehouse
from which it was hung. He had no
money, and it was risky trying to sell his weapons to whoever gave him
shelter. However, if he broke into
Larnseng’s mansion then he could get enough loot sustain him, and also find out
what the crime warden was up to. The
idea had merit. Garrett was not tired,
and still fully awake. Dawn was still
far away, and most of the household would most likely be asleep, with only
minimum security.
He made up his mind, and quickly walked to the shadows next to the
gatehouse. The structure was typical of
the architecture found in this district, a tall ornate building with
crenulations at the top, and a mass of arrow slits in the walls. The gate was down, but on the battlements
there was a wooden shelter that would provide an excellent hold for Garrett’s
one remaining rope arrow. He snuck
underneath it, listening for sounds of movement. None came. He reached
back and pulled the arrow onto his quiver, then nocked it into the bowstring,
which he then drew back. He sighted the
bow, and then gently released it. The
arrow sped off, and impacted into the side of the shelter with a loud
thump. He looked around anxiously, but
nothing stirred. The rope that gave the
arrow its name uncoiled and hung down to the ground. Garrett walked over to it, and cautiously gave it a tug. It held.
He jumped onto it, and quickly ascended it until he had reached the
top. He pulled himself up onto the roof
of the shelter, and turned round and gently drew the arrow from the wood. No sense in leaving it there for someone to
see. He then turned to look at the
house. It had been originally built in
the style of the gatehouse, the vast fortress style that had characterised the
early districts, as if they still feared attack from the beasts in the
darkness, or rival cities. It was large,
with sheer sides that had small windows inset in the rough stonework. At the top were several guard towers, while
at the base the door to the house was flanked by two more. Round the back of the keep was a newer
building, made of brick and ornate stone that contrasted with the crudeness of
the older structure. The new extension
was smaller, but built in the modern style now fashionable, with large windows,
exposed wooden beams, and ornate gargoyles.
Unlike the other buildings of OldBridge the new structure had a steep
roof, covered in the slippery tiles that gave it its red colour. Most of the buildings in the district, and
that of the Old Quarter, had flat roofs, intended to serve as a guard position
in times of conflict. By the time that
the Barricades went up, to guard against the undead in that section of the
City, the style was beginning to change, but OldBridge had not seen many
renovations and most houses retained their flat roofs.
However, this was not what immediately drew Garrett’s
attention. He could see moving
silhouettes of guards on the roof, and also the shadows of men in the gardens
around the house as they passed in front of torches. The battlements appeared to be empty, but he could make out a set
of steps that led up to those that the guards’ patrol route appeared to be
close to. By his estimation, he could
make out two guards in the gardens and two on the roof. That could mean that there were at least ten
guards in a mansion that size, maybe more.
However, Garrett didn’t want to loot the mansion, just the study where
the letter, and Larnseng’s safe, was most likely to be.
He silently slid down from the roof of the shelter, onto the
battlements. He crept along the
walkway, keeping low to avoid being silhouetted against the moonlit sky, and
the glow of the street lamps. Reaching
the stairs, he paused, allowing the guard to pass, then crept down them. His feet made no noise as he gently trod on
the moss-covered steps. At the bottom
he turned left, and slid behind a bush, to wait for the next guard to
pass. He adopted a squatting position,
his hand inside his cloak, ready to draw a weapon if necessary. He pricked his ears, and faintly heard the
sound of the other guard, his footsteps inaudible on the soft grass of the
garden lawn. Garrett held in his
breath, and released it as a quiet sigh.
He picked himself up, then ran across the lawn to the side of the house,
his heart pounding, waiting to hear the astonished cry of a guard. However, none came, and he relaxed, melting
into the shadows of the wall. He looked
around, evaluating his next strategy.
There was no way he could climb into the windows of the original keep,
they were too small, but the new addition, with its large windows and exposed
beams presented a better opportunity.
Lights burned behind several of the large windows, but even as Garrett
watched one of them went out.
Making up his mind, he quietly crept towards the structure,
carefully ensuring to keep himself in shadow.
Whenever a guard passed he would stop, and wait anxiously in shadow by
the shrubbery until then soft sound of the footsteps had died. Eventually he reached the house, and slowly
knelt below one of the windows, behind a bush.
Cautiously he tried the handle of the window on the ground floor. It refused to budge. Clicking his tongue softly in dismay he cast
his eye around for another window.
Then, he saw the glint of metal coming from a place in the ground just
in front of the window. He crept over
it and stooped to look. Slowly, his
mouth contracted into a smile.
Concealed beneath the leaves was a trapdoor, its hinges and lock
glinting in the torchlight from the window.
Garrett placed his hand on the handle, and gave a slight tug. The door refused to budge. It was not rusted shut, but locked, and he
did not have the tools to attempt to open it.
He sighed and sat back on his haunches, considering his next move. Suddenly, the window above him became
ablaze, as someone walked into the room.
Garrett dove out of the line of sight, but slipped, and ended up lying
directly in the light of the window. He
stayed deathly still, not even daring to breathe. He heard footsteps on the floor of the room, footsteps that
became louder as their cause came closer to the window. The footsteps became louder, until finally
they stopped, just by the window. There
they paused, and Garrett waited fearfully as the silence grew, until suddenly
there was the wonderful sound of the footsteps leaving, diminishing in volume
as the person walked unhurriedly away.
Garrett relaxed, his heart trembling with fear and
exultation. He sat up, and looked back
to see what he had slipped on. It
appeared to be a path of grass, but a closer examination revealed that it had
slipped, and was revealing a patch of soil.
He pulled on the grass, and was surprised to see it move, and reveal a
small area of bare earth with a cloth-wrapped package in it. Curious, he took the package and opened it,
then grinned delightedly. Within the
oilskin there lay a key, the key to the trapdoor. He moved over to the trapdoor, inserted the key into the lock,
and turned it. There was a sharp click,
and the door sprung open on silent hinge.
Garrett waited for any reaction, but there was none. He returned the key to its hiding place,
then stepped through the doorway into the inky blackness. His feet found a ladder, and he climbed
down, ending up in a dimly lit basement.
There was no sound but that of the rats. Inset in the walls were unlit torches, and above them the ceiling
was stained black with soot. Scattered around
the basement were rotten boxes and barrels, their sides black with rot and
mould. There was a strange smell, not
just of decay, but also of death. It
seemed to impregnate every pore; even the walls seemed to emanate it. Garrett moved forward, each step with
growing unease. In the next room, he
found the source of the smell. Lying on
a rack in the middle of the room was Lord Tanner, his face distorted in agony,
his body still chained to the instrument.
He was dressed in a night-shirt that was stained with blood and
vomit. The rack was too, its metal
surface red with dried and crusted blood.
The rest of the room was similarly horrific. Against the one wall was an iron maiden,
against another a set of thumbscrews.
Standing against the third was a garrotte. All were stained in blood.
On the straw-covered stone floor were bones and bits of rotten flesh,
while mounted on another wall were human heads, their faces frozen forever in
agony. Garrett felt bile rising
up. This must be Larnseng’s torture
chamber, where he ‘dealt’ with those who had displeased him. Although not given to remorse, Garrett felt
slightly sorry that he had been the cause of Lord Tanner’s death at the hands
of Larnseng. However, business was
business, and so Garrett began looking for a way into the house proper. He doubted that a private room such as this
would have an obvious entrance, just in case a guard happened to walk in. It would most likely be somewhere private,
somewhere guards would not enter often, or even at all. Garrett smiled. Such a place would be Larnseng’s bedchamber.
He began a search around the room, looking for a way out and
presumably up. Finally he came across a
ladder, that stretched all of the way up to the roof of the house, or so it
seemed. He placed one foot on the
ladder, and started climbing ever upwards.
Every so often he would have to pause, lest the guard patrolling on the
other side of the wall hear him over the sound of the man’s footsteps. The torture chamber was probably soundproofed,
but the same could not be said about the space through which the ladder
ran. Finally he reached the top, and a
small platform. He hopped lightly onto
the platform, and looked around. Behind
him was a door, its hinges set into the stonework, and the actual door wood
painted to look like stone. Cautiously
he opened it, to find himself staring at the back of a richly decorated
tapestry.
Garrett cautiously took his knife and made a small incision in the
tapestry. He withdrew the knife, and
put his eye to the hole in the fabric.
Through it he saw that the tapestry hung in a fantastically ornate room,
decorated even more richly than the master bedroom at Lord Tanner’s
mansion. The silver birchwood, inlaid
with pearline and onyx, and the weirwood with copper embellishing and
ink-and-glaze cracquadare varnish, had been expertly combined to create a
stunning effect. The walls were covered
with expensive fabric wallpaper in a light cream colour, and the occasional tapestry
or painting also hung from the wall. A
door in the wall on the left was wooden, and decorated with ornate patterns, as
was the door opposite it. The floor was
made of black and gold tile, the ceiling decorated with sculpted plaster and
gold leaf, which formed intricate geometric patterns. From the ceiling hung
torches of brass, with ornate carvings.
None were lit, but instead light came from a candle by the bed. The furniture, made from the two woods, seemed
like oasis’s of beauty amid the desert of the floor, while the bed seemed like
a huge mountain.
However, it was the contents of the bed that drew Garrett’s
attention. In it was a middle-aged man,
thin and well-muscled. He snored
loudly, the bedclothes that stretched up to his beard rising and falling with
each breath. His beard was black, and
well trimmed in the current style, his hair the same. It could only be Larnseng.
Garrett was about to lift the tapestry and slip out when he heard
the muttering of a guard outside the room.
He sat back and listened. The
guard was moaning about his dinner, but in the few minutes that Garrett sat
there the guard never moved. He seemed
to be on a permanent station, and even as Garrett watched he opened the left
door and looked in. Satisfied that
there was no change, he withdrew his head.
Garrett considered the situation.
He would never be able to make his way silently across the room to the
right-hand door in the intervals between the guards checks, but the guard would
also notice a carpet of moss on the floor.
To creep across the floor would result in him being spotted by the light
of the candle, or even against the light colour of the silver birchwood and of
the wallpaper. A moss arrow would be easily seen against the distinctive colour
of the floor.
He considered this for a moment, and then made his decision. Slowly, as the guard’s head retreated once
more, Garrett slipped out from behind the tapestry, water arrow at the ready,
and let fly with it at the candle. The
arrow disintegrated when it reached it, scattering water that doused the
fire. There was a hiss, and also a
faint sound of shattering glass.
Garrett stepped back behind the tapestry and waited. The door opened again, and the guard put his
head in. immediately, he noticed the
candle, and looked around suspiciously.
Garrett remained still as the guard’s gaze swept over him. Finally the guard retreated, muttering to
himself about the quality of the candles these days.
Garrett slipped out from behind the tapestry, and shot a moss
arrow into the floor. It hit, and a carpet
of moss slowly spread out from the point of impact to coat the floor in
sound-deadening vegetation. He slowly
made his way over the floor to the right door.
Cautiously, he tried the handle.
The door opened silently, and he slipped in to Larnseng’s study. The room was relatively small, but the walls
were lined with shelves of books, all of them but the far one, which had an enormous tapestry covering most
of it. Against this wall was also a
desk, covered with parchments. Garrett
moved over to look at them. He picked
one up and held it close to his eyes.
I am delighted at your wish to acquire the ‘Grimworth and de
Perrin’ antiques business that I currently control. I am aware of your taste for rare antiques, and can assure you
that the business has connections that enable them to obtain the most precious
of collectibles.
The
business occupies several floors of the old Hammerite chapel in Dayport. There are 15 employees, with several more
freelancers. The building possesses exceptional
security, with thick metal doors, electric lights, and complicated locks to
deter thieves. There also exists a
large safe for the valuables of the business, which can only be opened remotely
from a different room. The building is
patrolled by my own toughboys, but regretfully you will have to supply your own
if you do decide to purchase.
The
typical annual income of the business is 26,000, and its annual expenditure is
20,000. The resultant profit is, as I
am sure you are aware, very dear to me, and so I am only prepared to offer the
business to you for 16,000, or several of your gambling dens in OldBridge. Please be assured that this is the lowest
price I can offer, and that the business would be a marvellous acquisition for
you.
Ramirez
Garrett put down the parchment, and thought over its
contents. Larnseng wanted ‘Grimworth
and de Perrin’, but why had he ordered Lord Tanner to steal from them? He shrugged, and picked up another parchment
Warden
Larnseng
In
reply to your letter, I am afraid that I must confess that we have been
experiencing problems with the security of the business. This is a minor matter, and the arrangements
being made will certainly render the theft unrepeatable.
However,
I am prepared to offer you a discount on the business, in light of the recent
events that have transpired. The price
for the business is now 11,000. Please
may I assure you that this does not reflect my lack of faith in the security of
the business, but rather my desire to ensure that you do not feel cheated by
the deal.
Once
again, let me assure you that such a thing can never happen again, and that I
am still convinced that the business will be your most profitable purchase.
Ramirez
Garrett put down the parchment in silent admiration. Larnseng was being cunning, driving down the
price of the antiques business.
Suddenly, the letter at Lord Tanner’s mansion made sense. Of course Larnseng did not want the Downwinders
to know that they were cheating their own boss, or that they were robbing from
their boss’s business! That must be why
Larnseng was so desperate to get rid of him: if Garrett told Ramirez, Larnseng
could face war.
Garrett now knew Larnseng’s plans, but was determined not to leave
the mansion without some sort of material reward for his efforts. He glanced around the room, wondering what
there was that he could carry away easily.
Nothing sprang to mind. He was
just about to leave when the tapestry glinted.
He looked at it more closely. It
was woven in gold thread, a practice that had died out many years before. Garrett thought for a moment, then took his
knife and cut away the centre of the tapestry, an area rich with gold. However, the hole also revealed metal behind
the cloth, not wallpaper. He cut off
more of the tapestry, then smiled at what he saw. Larnseng may have thought himself clever to hide it behind the
tapestry, but it was not too clever a place for Garrett.
The safe seemed to have no lock, so Garrett tried to move it. It refused to budge. He cast his eye around for a switch, but
couldn’t see anything remotely resembling one.
Disappointed, he turned away, and began to search the shelves for
valuable books. Being an antique collector,
Larnseng would surely have something valuable on his book shelf. Garrett decided on a book, with a gold leaf
cover, and placed his hand on it to pull it out. However, instead of sliding out the book hinged over. And the safe opened. He smiled, amazed at his good fortune, and
took a look at the contents. There,
nestled in fabric, was a miniature silver birchwood treasure box, the smaller
version of the one famously owned by the ‘Grimworth and de Perrin’ antiques
business. He carefully removed it from its resting place, and wrapped the
fabric around it. However, that would
not totally cushion it, so he used the tapestry piece and the parchments from
the desk to make it totally safe.
Garrett left the way he came, and on his way back considered what
to do about Larnseng. He wanted the man
dead, for having tried to kill him, but he didn’t want to do it in a way that
would make him a target. He smiled
wickedly to himself as the idea came to him.
Garrett stood in the shadows across the street from the
entrance. The massive gate was lit by
several torches, with flames that guttered as a biting wind swept down the wide
street. The gatehouse into which the
metal portcullis was built was made of massive blocks of cut stone, cheap stone
brought into the City on the backs of burricks from the quarries outside of the
City. The stone was good only for
building, and poor quality building at that.
However, when the Department of Public Works had built the power
maintenance station, they were more concerned with cost than quality. Besides that, Lord Whitsimmon had bribed the
Baron to order the department to use the stone from the noble’s quarries, both
in the building of the public buildings and in the construction of the
Barricades. The Baron had been won over
by the bulging purse of Lord Whitsimmon and the smaller purse of the
Department, and that was why it was now possible to climb the walls of the
Barricades by using the crumbling stonework for footholds.
The gate was not only guarded by the lights portcullis,
however. A guard, in the uniform of the
City Guard, stood outside the building, his bow held in numbed fingers. Every so often he would lift his fingers to
his mouth and blow on them, forcing warmth into the clammy skin. His woollen surcoat protected him from the
cold, and also from the attentions of the Hammers and the real City Guard. For the man in front of the building was a
thief, a member of the Downwinders Thieves’ Guild. And the building he was protecting was not just a power
maintenance station, but also the Guild’s hideout.
The Guild had made their lair in the tunnels and conduits that the
maintenance station was supposed to serve.
The machines that the Hammers made were solid and dependable, and rarely
broke down. There was not much call for
the access tunnels and storage rooms, and gradually they had been taken over by
the filth of the City. Engineers dared
not go down into the tunnels, for fear of what lurked there. Those that were bold enough to brave the
poisonous spiders were often found missing their heads, as a warning from the
thieves to others.
However, the Downwinders were moving, transferring their base to a
better set of tunnels, a series of sewer caverns hidden below the surface. Garrett had found this out, along with other
useful information, from a beggar who made his home outside the maintenance
station, and had seen him casing the joint.
Issyt had been a member of the Guild, until they’d kicked him out for
having sticky fingers. However, he
still hung around, just in case they decided to take him back on. It was he who had betrayed his comrades to
Garrett, in return for his lucky Hand of Glory. The Hand was a relic Garrett had picked up, long ago during his
childhood. It was of value to him, but
he had decided that getting revenge on Larnseng was worth losing it. Besides, he could always get it back later.
Issyt was also going to deliver a map of the tunnels and conduits
below the station, but fate and the Hammers had interceded. A Hammerite night watchman had picked up
Issyt during one of the recent anti-crime sweeps, and carried him away as
Garrett watched, infuriated, from the shadows.
Issyt’s bundle had been left behind, but it neither contained the Hand
of Glory or the maps. The Watchman, it
seemed, had been looking the other way this time.
Garrett considered his options.
Taking out the guard would be best, but was liable to leave a body
around that he might have trouble hiding.
He had not had time to check over the rest of the place, and knew only
of this one entrance. However, if the
guard remained then opening the door might prove difficult. The sole lockpick Garrett possessed was 3
feet long, and only worked, noisily, on wooden doors. He thought what to do with increasing desperation, but it was the
arrival of a lone man who opened another option. The man was dressed as a merchant, but was acting more like a
drunk. He swayed from side to side, and
seemed to tack into the wind in the manner of a ship. He sung raucously, slurring his words, and pausing to lift the
bottle to his lips. Garrett
smiled. It was perfect.
He unslung his bow, and carefully drew a gas arrow from his
quiver. The gas arrow was in his quiver
courtesy of a thief who had decided that Garrett’s temporary lodgings would
make a fine target. The fight had been
quick and one-sided, Garrett’s ambush from behind the door catching the thief
off-guard and unawares. The thief had
been carrying an assortment of weaponry, most of it expensive and rare. Garrett had used one of the fire arrows to
conceal the evidence of his crime, and had had to use the other on the landlord
who came after him as the building began to burn. The tenement had been made of stone, but the resulting
conflagration removed all traces of the lodger at the top floor.
Garrett’s choice of the gas arrow for this task was purely
mercenary. Although a conventional
broadhead would do the job, and attract the guard’s attention better, the death
would probably attract the attention of others. At a crucial point such as this, he did not want the Downwinders
made wary by the death at their doorstep, and the inquiries that would
follow. By using the gas arrow, he
could attract the guard’s attention, but no other person’s. People who saw the unconscious drunk would
just assume that he had passed out. And
besides, the merchant might prove a source of income at a later stage. It was best to leave all options open.
Sure enough, the abrupt unconsciousness of the drunk caught the
guard’s attention. He slowly walked
over to the body in the gutter, slowly enough to allow Garrett to lift the key
from his belt. Suddenly, he realised
with horror that for the part few minutes the wind had died down, and the air
had been still. Sure enough, as the
guard approached the body he suddenly gasped, turned around, and was stepping
forward as the gas took hold and silenced him as effectively as it had the
drunkard. Garrett winced. The situation had become worse. However, there was nothing for it but to
make the best of a bad job.
He moved towards the two bodies, drawing his cloak around his
mouth as he did. Although he would have
been happy to see the guard in a cell in Cragscleft, he didn’t want to end up
in the cell opposite. He took a deep
breath, and then ran over to the body, his boots loud on the cobbles. He hoisted the guard onto his shoulder, and
then ran to the entrance of the maintenance station. He deposited the body on the floor, and then knelt by it. His skilled hands ran swiftly through the
pockets and seams of the clothing, picking out small coins and the sutlers'
wares. Then he moved the body, propping
it against the wall so that it looked as if the man had fallen asleep. He stepped back to admire the effect, and
then returned to the body of the merchant.
Taking no chances, he hoisted it onto his shoulders, and moved back to
the guards body. He dropped the
merchant on the floor, and took the bottle from the hand of the drunk and
placed it in the hand of the guard. Now
at least nothing looked suspicious.
Garrett reached into his cloak, and drew from it the key he had
lifted from the guard’s belt minutes earlier.
Stepping over the bodies, he went up to the door, and after a quick
glance around, inserted the key into the lock on the portcullis. He gave it a twist, releasing the
counterweight, and drawing the portcullis up.
It screeched as it went, the tracks coated in the rust that evidenced
the decay in importance of the maintenance station. He winced, and looked around quickly. However, nothing stirred, and the streets were as silent as they
had been before. Garrett looked into
the inky blackness of the entrance hall.
It was made of the same stone as the outside, the walls stained white
from water, and black from the smoke of the industries around the district.
Cautiously, he stepped forward, and into the darkness. He was in his element here, a creature of
the shadow, a student of the best.
Where other people feared the dark he welcomed it, wrapping it in a cloak
around himself. The dark released
primitive emotions, made people restless and fearful, and made those who took
advantage of it the most skilful men alive.
He paused inside, and then turned around. An open portcullis would attract attention, but so would closing
it. In the end, he left it open. It was always best to have a quick way
out.
He strode forward carefully, his mind alert, his ears strained to hear the faintest sound. His boots clicked on the s