NOTE: This was a story that I started but never
got round to finishing,
although I intended it as a prequel to
“A Thief’s Apprenticeship”. Midway through I became
dissatisfied with the whole
premise, and offered to
turn it over to anyone who
wanted it. Someone did.
You can read how Black
finished the story at The Circle:
http://www.thief-thecircle.com/fanworks/tales/35.asp
Meanwhile, feel free to read
on…
The sharp clicking of lockpicks in
the lock was deafeningly loud to Garrett, and he pressed himself further into
the scant cover that the shadows next to the doorway offered. Once again, he wished for the security
provided by his sword, or even the bow and its attendant arrows, whose use he
had now become proficient in. However,
the laws of the Keeper Order specified that no Acolyte should be armed while on
a mission. The aim, according to Keeper
Tyball, was to encourage the youths to use tools other then weapons to work
around problems. However, Garrett
privately thought that if those problems proved insurmountable, then a weapon
would be more desirable than an ability to move silently through shadows.
Thinking
this, Garrett looked at the hooded figure next to him. His teacher, Keeper Tyball, was bent over
the lock, working the tumblers with practised dexterity. His lockpicks were old, but the lock on the
door was even older. Eventually it
swung open, revealing darkness beyond.
Tyball stepped through the doorway from the shadowed street, and then a
third hooded figure stepped through the door.
Garrett followed him, shutting the door behind himself and standing
aside to allow Keeper Tyball to work the tumblers again so that the lock
clicked shut. The Keeper doctrine was
one of stealth – if it was known that there had been interference, then the
whole mission would have been for naught.
Tyball pushed on the handle to make sure the door was locked, and then
headed off down the darkened hallway.
Garrett and the hooded figure followed silently.
Garrett mentally pictured the map of the City Print Works in his
mind. If he recalled correctly, the
corridor led to a locked door, and from there to a stairway to the offices on
the floor above. However, he was not
confident in his recollection. There
had been scant time to memorise the drawings Keeper Tyball had brought to him
several days ago. At a time when the
rest of the Keeper Compound was in increasing disarray, the chances to memorise
several sheets of paper had been few and short. However, he had done his best, for he realised that this was
possibly his most important mission yet.
Ever since he had been taken in by the Keepers as a teenager, he
had been sent on errands. His early
life as a message runner and pickpocket had given him an education that most
other Acolytes did not have. The
Keepers drew most of their recruits from the City University, the City Library,
and other such institutions of learning.
A Keeper had to be well educated as well as Gifted, the ancient texts
and glyphs of the Keepers requiring translation before they could be read. Garrett had missed many of his lessons in
Keeper language and doctrine, preferring the physical challenges of the
training course the Compound possessed.
As a result, he was an exceptionally good Keeper, but not a Keeper
Scholar. To him the difference was
minimal, but others were loath to ignore the Gifted, but uneducated,
teenager. Now reaching manhood, he had
been assigned to Keeper Tyball as an apprentice, to learn from perhaps one of
the best Keepers.
Tyball had spoken with Garrett before they had left, explaining to
the mystified apprentice why he had memorised the maps to a print works. The Hammers were building a new temple over
the sole, hidden, entrance to the Keeper Compound. There was no other way in to the high-walled structure other than
through the tunnel and its disguised entrance.
Now that was threatened. The
Keeper doctrine specified minimal involvement wherever possible – sabotaging
the building effort would not work, and might even alert the Hammerites that
something was afoot. On the other hand,
altering the building plans would not arouse so much suspicion. Especially if the plans were not seen to
have been exchanged.
That was the theory, and would have worked if the Keepers who had
gone to exchange the plans had not found that the originals were printed on a
special paper, in special ink, in a manner that would be impossible to
forge. The only hope now was to find
where the plans had been printed, alter them, and then print a new set. Garrett had been sceptical of this plan,
believing that neither he nor his master possessed the skill needed to
flawlessly alter the plans. Then Keeper
Tyball had introduced the man who had then walked into Garrett’s small room.
The figure’s hood had been thrown back, to reveal the aged head of
an old man. A wrinkled face, with white
hair and eyes that were blank and watery.
The hands that had thrown back the hood were also old, curled with
arthritis and spotted with age. Garrett
secretly laughed at the old man. This
was who would forge the plans? However,
his humour disappeared as Keeper Tyball began to speak. The old man was the Document Keeper, a
shadowy figure who procured or made the letters or passes the Keepers used to
access forbidden areas. He was a
recluse, working in his vaulted room with his assistant forgers. Often, all that could be heard was the
scratch of quill on paper, or the quiet sound of the pens being dipped into the
ink wells. The Document Keeper was
extremely old. He had been alive when
the Barricades had gone up, when the Baron had died and had been succeeded by
his grandson.
The Document Keeper had then been a young Hammerite, newly
ordained and eager to carry out his duty.
On the fateful night that the events of the Cathedral had occurred, he
was patrolling the streets of the Old Quarter, on the watch for thieves or other
scum. Passing the Watchman’s Grave in
Market Street he had become aware of a low groaning behind him, which gradually
increased in volume. Turning around, he
was confronted with a zombie, a monstrosity of rotting flesh and tortured
groans that tottered on rotten legs, and had raised a rotting arm to strike at
him. He had dodged, and the zombie had
fallen forward with the force of its blow.
He had lifted his hammer, endowed with the Builder’s blessing, and
brought it down on the zombie’s head.
The monstrosity had groaned in pain, and then the mystical energies that
held it together dissolved, and the zombie had spattered across the street.
The Document Keeper had run blindly from the horror, stumbling
along streets that were now choked with fleeing people and the zombies that
herded them. Eventually he reached the
front-line of the Hammerite defence, where his brethren held off the zombies
with arrows of fire and holy water. He
had leapt over the barrier ahead of the clutches of a zombie, and had fallen to
the ground exhausted. However, the
numbers of Hammerites were decreasing, as the legions of the undead grew
larger. As Hammerites fell they became
sword-wielding zombies, who wielded their weapons as the zombies wielded their
arms. Hammerite priests became ghostly
apparitions, who threw skulls in a ghoulish mockery of their living opponents’
missiles.
However, suddenly the undead seemed to disappear and begin to
retreat. Pumped up with adrenaline, the
Document Keeper had rushed over the barricade and now began to pursue the
fleeing zombies. His brethren followed,
but at a slower pace. He began to draw
away from them, until eventually he was alone.
He stopped, and rested in a doorway.
Then, strangely, he became aware of shadows that were moving in the
night, shadows that began to assume the form of cloaked figures. Thinking that they were the undead, he had
launched himself at one of them, his hammer striking the figure on the head and
knocking it to the floor.
He was of aware of the other shadows that he sensed stopping, but
at that moment his brethren had arrived, and the shadows had stilled and could
be seen no more. They had carried that
unconscious, cloaked figure, to a nearby temple. There, a combination of the rack and the Inquisitor had made the
now unclothed figure talk. He belonged
to a sect known as the Keepers, who were tasked with keeping the forces of
nature and progress, of chaos and order in balance. They were attempting to seal the undead into the Cathedral, by
using the four Elemental Talismans they possessed to prevent the Cathedral
doors from ever being opened again. The
Keeper had yielded the location of the Talisman of Air, and had then died under
the ministrations of the Inquisitor.
Then the visits had started. The
Document Keeper had begun to see shadows that flitted about behind him, or
quiet footfalls when there was no one else present. Eventually they had left a note, asking him to meet with
them. He was Gifted, and would be a valuable
asset to the Keepers. A visit with them
to the vast library in the Keeper Compound had decided the matter, and the man
had been a Keeper ever since.
Shaking his head and returning himself to the present, Garrett
walked carefully, his ears alert to the sounds of others’ footsteps. Keeper Tyball carried on down the corridor,
until he reached the locked door at the end of it. Here he brought his lock-picks out of his cloak, and bent down to
his task. Garrett could hear the sharp
snick of the picks as they worked the tumblers. Eventually the lock clicked as the bolt slid back, and then
Tyball cautiously opened the door a crack.
Light spilled in, and a narrow line illuminated the bricks of the
corridor wall through which they had just travelled.
Tyball waited at the door for some time, listening for any
footsteps. Supposedly the place was not
guarded, but there was no need to take risks on so important a mission. When there was no sound, he eased the door
open, and slid out into the new corridor.
This was lit with torches that flickered in their holders, and created
dark shadows in the cracks of the stones that comprised the wall. The floor was wooden, the ceiling
plaster. There were wooden doors that
led off from the corridor, and a flight of wooden stairs at the end.
Keeper Tyball crept out of the doorway, and made his way towards
the stairs. Garrett followed him, the
Document Keeper close behind. The young
acolyte looked to his left, through an open door into the room beyond. It was sparse and crude, with rough
furniture and no decoration. It seemed
to be the office of a minor draftsman or clerk – certainly the bottles of ink
and sheets of paper belonged there.
However, both of his fellow Keepers passed it without a glance, and so
Garrett followed behind them, up the stairs and to the next storey.
Here the décor was grander and richer, with carpet on the floor
and electric lights suspended from the ceiling. With the power in the building off they were dark and blank. Eventually, Keeper Tyball halted, and
stepped towards a door. His hand went
to the handle, put it yielded to a downward force without any resistance, and
the door swung open. The room beyond was
that of a draftsman, with a large drawing board, rolls of tied paper and parchment,
and bottles of ink and boxes of quills.
In one corner hung an ink-stained apron, worn and discoloured.
The next one was more promising.
The room was the same size as the previous one, but a whole wall of this
place was covered in reinforced shelves, which held thick metal plates. Running all over the plates were delicate
lines, circles and figures, carved with intricate delicacy into the tarnished
metal. They were a bright gold to the
dirty, dull shine of the plates. The
Document Keeper at once headed for these, and began examining the designations
carved into the plates. Meanwhile,
Keeper Tyball went over to the other side of the room, to where several heavy,
steel desks were lined up. At the back
edge of each was a special stand. He
lifted up the lid of the central desk, and took from it a set of knives, and
other tools of the draughtsman’s trade.
He tested the edge of the blade of the finest knife with his finger, and
nodded in satisfaction as the metal cut through his glove with ease.
Silently, the Document Keeper motioned to Garrett, who went over
to the plate being indicated, and lifted it out of its shelf. Treading carefully, he brought it over to
the desk that had been prepared.
Supported by the other Keepers, he lay it down onto the stand, and then
stepped away. Keeper Tyball signed for
them to stay in the room, and then left, treading almost silently over the
wooden floor. The Document Keeper drew
a stool up to the desk and sat down. He
reached forth an aged hand for the tools Tyball had laid down, and felt each
one, checking the blades as the other Keeper had done.
Garrett became impatient, and began to move towards the door. So far, the expedition had gone smoothly,
boring him more than the endless lessons back at the Compound had. Even on the streets as a young boy he had
craved excitement. The Document Keeper
looked up at him, but made no move to arrest the acolyte’s passage. At the door Garrett looked up and down the
hallway, and then moved off towards the unexplored part of the building. As he crept he thought in his mind how to
explain himself to Tyball, when he went back.
Tyball was a fair tutor, but demanded obedience above all things. Garrett shrugged. He could just say that he was trying to find any useful information. The Keeper doctrine emphasised the need for
information to enable the Balance to be preserved – the vast library at the
Keeper Compound was evidence of this.
The floor yielded little, most of the documents appearing to be
kept in a single safe in the manager’s office.
He spent several minutes trying to open it, but was forced to desist
after nearly damaging the lock and bending his crude pick. However, he did manage to find one document
of value. It was in a drawer that had
not been locked, and was hanging open when he entered the room. He held it close to his eyes and read:
Cartinase
The Hammerite Order dost thank thee for
thine service in the drawing and printing of our building plans. As thou wast perhaps aware the recent events
with the Pagans in Eastport hath damaged our offices there to the point where
they are virtually unusable. We are
most grateful for thine provision of a draftsman to complete the plans that our
order rescued from the wreckage. As
thou art perhaps aware, it is most undesirable for us to have in existence a
man who doth know the intimate details of our glorious new temple. Thou wilst be adequately compensated for
thine loss if the man were to be found to be engaged in criminal
activities. Cragscleft is the only destination
for those who defy the word of the Master Builder.
As a reward for thy services, in addition to the handsome amount
that hast been paid to thee, we of the Order are prepared to consider with
favour any structural additions thou might consider necessary to thine
buildings. We wouldst be willing to
provide you with a number of our tamed burricks, or even a member of out order
as a consultant. To request such help,
all that thou needst to do is deliver thine request to the burrick stables in
Prisongate, or to me at our Cathedral.
Once again, we thank thee for thine
assistance.
The rest of the rooms of the floor were merely offices, with more
shelves of plates or rolls of parchment.
Garrett examined the first set of parchments he encountered, but upon
discovering that they were only building plans he did not examine any
more. Eventually he ended up back at
the room with the Document Keeper, and went through the door to find the man engaged
with scribing lines into a fresh plate.
Keeper Tyball stood over his shoulder, looking at the man’s work. At Garrett’s entry he jerked his head up
alertly, and the acolyte saw anger in his tutor’s eyes. However, Tyball said nothing. Instead he beckoned Garrett to follow him,
and then walked past him to the door.
They went along the hallway to a door that Garrett had tried, but found
locked. Tyball bent down and worked
away at the look with his lock picks, and eventually the mechanism in the door
clicked. The Keeper pushed the door
open, and then walked through. In the
room beyond there were stacked piles of unidentifiable machinery, while in the
corner there was an elevator shaft and a console. Tyball went over to the elevator shaft, and looked down it.
Garrett came and looked too.
The elevator was locked down at the bottom, and with the power off the
console that operated it were useless.
However, Tyball reached into he cloak and slipped his bow off of its
mounting. His other hand reached behind
his back and drew an arrow from the quiver.
Competently, he nocked the arrow into the bow, drew back the bowstring,
and took careful aim at the wooden ceiling of the shaft. He flicked the fingers holding the bowstring
forward, and the arrow sped away, immediately impacting into the wood. From the foot of the arrow uncoiled a rope,
which extended down into the shaft.
Only about 20 feet in length, the rope was long enough to allow Tyball
to jump onto it, and slide down the stone-lined shaft. Garrett followed, sliding down the rope and
landing with a loud clang on the metal elevator platform. Tyball whirled round in alarm, and his face
showed intense anger as Garrett crept hastily away from the platform. Then he froze, waiting for any indication that
the sound had been heard.
He waited for several minutes.
Then, when there was no reaction, he moved forward towards Garrett. Raising his hand, he caught the acolyte’s
wrist in an iron grip.
“What
do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his eyes hard and cold. “Do you not remember your training? Do you need me to guide you through the
training course again?” Garrett tried
to shrink back from his teacher’s anger, but the hand kept a tight grip on his
wrist. “Be very careful, Garrett.”
Tyball said, his voice softer but more menacing for it. “You may be a skilled acolyte, but you can
still go back to where you came from.”
The acolyte gulped, and opened his mouth to stammer an apology. However, Tyball turned round and walked
away, moving to a stone corridor lit with flickering torches at far
intervals. His anger at Garrett’s
performance was clear.
Garrett paused for a moment, and then walked hurriedly off to join
his tutor. He was not accustomed to
criticism – his poor upbringing had given him a burning ambition to succeed, to
make something of himself. He wanted to
escape the darkness and treachery of the City, the schemes and plots of the
Baron and the nobles and the City Wardens and the Keepers. The Keepers was a way out, a way for him to
escape from the streets. He sometimes
entertained notions of leaving the Keepers, and making a living for himself
with the talents he had learnt.
However, he thought to himself as he glided along, while he was still
making mistakes of this kind it might be better to remain with the Keepers.
Ahead of him, Keeper Tyball was bent at a lock, his picks clicking
as they worked it open. Eventually the
latch slid back, and the heavy wooden door was pushed open. Beyond was a mass of machinery, of pipes and
boilers and cogs and gears that lay silent and still. Belts of chains ran round wheels and disappeared into holes in
the ceiling, while the moss-covered walls seemed to have sprouted gauges and
meters that lay dim and quiet. Tyball
went over to a particular profusion of gauges on one of the walls, and worked
the levers there for several seconds.
Behind Garrett, the cogs and gears of the machines began to move,
rotating against each other as power was fed into the equipment behind
them. The belts began to move as the
wheels did, and the gauges on the walls became alive with the flickering of
needles against glass covers. A deep,
bass knocking filled the room, and the sound gradually decreased into a steady
hum as the individual knocks became quieter and merged into the general
sound. Power had been restored. Now the next task could begin.
The two Keepers returned to the lift, whose button was now
operational. From here the sound of the
generator was a low, barely audible hum.
Tyball stepped onto the lift and jumped onto the rope. Arms straining, he pulled himself
upwards. Garrett waited until he had
reached the top and jumped off the rope before he tried the ascent himself. Hand over hand, he clawed his way up the
elevator shaft, lifting himself off the floor.
At the top he jumped onto the floor, landing with a muted thud as his
feet came into contact with the floor.
Tyball was waiting at the door, and together they both walked back
to the room with the Document Keeper.
Garrett looked nervously at his tutor, wondering uneasily why he was so
silent. He had made a mistake he knew,
but he did not think that Tyball was right to treat him so.
Tyball leaned over the Document Keeper, and bent down to speak in
a low voice with him. Garrett stood at
the door, worried, and watched as the two other Keepers spoke in hushed
tones. Finally they both stood, and the
older Keeper picked up the metal plate.
New engraved on it were a profusion of fines lines and circles, with
delicate lettering and numbering. The
template had been completed.
The three Keepers left, the Document Keeper holding the
template. As they walked along the
corridor Garrett saw the old man beginning to stagger under the weight. He moved over to help him, but was dissuaded
from this by the tiniest shake of Tyball’s hooded head. Shortly afterwards the Document Keeper left,
moving off down a set of stairs Garrett had not noticed. Tyball walked on.
Eventually they came to a metal door, with the legend ‘Control
Room’ above the frame. Tyball produced
a metal key from one of his numerous pouches beneath his cloak, and slid it
into the lock. Upon turning the key the
lock clicked, and Tyball pushed the door open.
Together they went in.
The room was obviously a control room. There were two consoles of gauges, buttons and levers, and two
windows which looked out into a large room.
In this space was a complex array of machinery, with cogs and gears that
were now spinning, and moving belts that disappeared into the floor. There were large boxes which held ink and
paper, and the conveyor belt in the centre ran though all of the
machinery. As Garrett was looking at
this, he saw the Document Keeper walk slowly along with the precious template,
until he found ladder and began to climb onto the top of the machine with
it.
Behind Garrett, Tyball coughed.
Garrett spun round, and saw that his tutor had thrown his hood back to
expose his face. His eyes were still
hard but no longer cold, while his face was set in an expression of
disapproval.
“Garrett,” he said softly “I want to apologise for my words. They were uncalled for.” Garrett opened his mouth to speak, but
Tyball continued. “I believe you know
that you earned them, but it was not my position to say them. Anger disrupts the Balance, as does
sentiment. I should not have said
them. However, I need to know that you
understand your mistake. Are you aware
of what you did wrong?” Garrett,
amazed, could only nod. “Good, then it
is over,” said Tyball. “You have the
potential to be a good Keeper, if only your pride will let you accept
failure. Now, I have need of you. Stand by the window, and alert me as to the
Document Keeper’s signals.”
Garrett turned and walked to the window, and looked down. The Document Keeper had set up the template,
and had laid it down ready in the machine.
He looked up and waved at the acolyte, who turned to report it. However, he saw Tyball staring at the
machine, reading the labels by the levers and buttons to himself. Perceiving Garrett’s stare he looked up, and
then down again as his acolyte passed on the message.