NOTE: This was an attempt to depart somewhat from the
usual pattern of fan fiction. It was
such an unusual premise that for a long time I tried to continue with it. However, I doubt it will ever be finished
now.
“I am
prepared to offer you the sum of 100,000…upon receipt of The Eye…”
Garrett leant back in the chair to consider Constantine’s
offer. The amount was tempting. 100,000 could buy an easy retirement; a
quiet house deep in the countryside, like Lampfire Hills, or maybe a
richly-appointed apartment somewhere in the better district of the City. In the short term, he could pay off his
outstanding debts, maybe even spread a bit more money about to pick up new
titbits of information.
But
even as he thought this, misgivings arose in his mind. There was something deeply…wrong…about
Constantine. He was rich, fairly
eccentric [if his mansion was anything to go by] and willing to pay top price
for the best. But his manner made
Garrett wary, and the thought that Constantine had been following him made him
uneasy. More than that, Constantine’s
mansion had seemed very…pagan. As did
his manner, and his desire for an “item” deep in the heart of the Closed Area,
by the Barricades didn’t fit with this persona he was trying to project. The whole job made Garrett feel uneasy, and
so he rose up out of his seat and deposited the glass on the table.
“I
don’t see how I can accept such an offer…mixing up with the Hammerites isn’t my
idea of fun. Maybe you should find
another ‘artist’ to obtain this item for you….”
“I
see…” Constantine spoke in a low voice, with a hint of anger that Garrett could
barely hear. The thief fancied he saw
the man’s eyes flash an angry red, while he was faintly aware that Viktoria’s
face had stiffened into an angry grimace.
“In
that case, Mr. Garrett, I’d appreciate your silence in this affair. Viktoria has her ways of ensuring that you
do. Goodbye, Mr. Garrett.”
Constantine
held out his hand to the thief, who shook it back, surprised at the strength of
the old man. He then turned to leave,
and saw Viktoria watching him. Her beautiful
face now seemed different – the beauty had turned into hateful beauty. She was lovely still, but the loveliness was
poisoned. She turned away without a
word. Garrett slipped past her to the
door, and opened it to leave.
“Remember,
Garrett,” she said as he stepped through “your silence”. He nodded, and moved off.
* * *
Garrett
slowly made his way back to his home in South Quarter, his mind in
turmoil. He cursed himself for having
lost perhaps his only chance to retire after one job, but also found himself
glad that he had not accepted the offer.
There was just something about Constantine… He thought to himself as he quickly slipped from shadow to shadow
in the darkened streets. Keeper beliefs
did not put much belief into extra-sensory perception. Concealment in shadows was a case of
physical skill rather than any sort of mental skill. But yet…Garrett had known several people who claimed that they
could wield natural magic. He wondered
if Constantine was such a person…perhaps even a Pagan magician of some
sort. Certainly it would make sense -
Viktoria was known to deal with exotic substances. Garrett thought amusedly that maybe Constantine was the Trickster
himself, a thought he dismissed with a quiet laugh.
Eventually
he came to a brightly lit crossroads – the alley he had been travelling along
intersected with a major road that was illuminated with a row of gas
lamps. He stopped in a shadow, and
cautiously peered along the road. There
seemed to be no sign of movement.
Suddenly there was a brief flicker of movement in the corner of his eye,
and he turned just in time to see a figure disappear into the darkness of a
shadow in the opposite alley. He
strained his eyes to see more, but could make nothing out.
Suddenly,
he heard the clink of metal on stone, and the soft rustle of clothing in the
wind. He risked a glance back and saw a
cloaked and hooded figure press himself into the shadows under an inn porch. The new arrival was nowhere near the calibre
of Garrett, who could see the inexperienced thief clearly. He took out his blackjack, just in case the
thief decided to move into his shadows, but the figure suddenly dashed over to
a shadow opposite Garrett in the alley.
Garrett could hear the man’s heavy breathing from here, and make out the
form of a sword and large pouch beneath the other’s cloak. He sunk further into the shadows, not even
making a sound.
The
stranger did as Garrett had done before – he looked along the road to check if
it was watched. Seeing nothing, the
stranger launched himself from the shadows and quickly scurried across the
brightly lit road.
The
arrow hit him in the chest as he ran, and its force knocked him backwards. His legs flew out from under him, and his
inertia caused him to fall forward onto the ground. He let out a great shout of pain that trailed off as his heart
gave up the unequal struggle, and his head fell down to hit the ground. Garrett stayed where he was, and watched the
action unfolding.
The
arrow had come from the mysterious shadow.
As the thief watched, two figures emerged. One was armed with a bow and arrow, the other carrying a sword. They walked over to the body. It was a strange walk, almost like that of a
monkey. Then Garrett realised with a
start that these figures were not human – they had tails that swung behind them
as they shambled towards the still corpse.
By the light of the gas lamps Garrett could see that their bodies were
covered in coarse, thick hair, and their faces more like those of apes or rats
than of a human. He silently offered up
a prayer to the Watchman for his good fortune, as the gross creatures stooped
over the body.
Garrett
leaned forward, and saw them kicking the body, and hissing to each other in a strange
tongue,
“…thinksie
Father Woodsie be pleased with us this night.
Sneaksie thiefsie not escape this time.
Takesie the sneaksie’s sword – Father Woodsie wants back what is his.”
“I
takes it now, and me shall leave the sneaksie for the rest of the
manfools. Let them think over what
happened – manfools will never suspect Father Woodsie. Come!”
The
two beasts shambled off into the shadows with the man’s sword, and Garrett
faintly heard the squeal of rusty metal; as if a sewer drain cover were being
opened. He slumped down against the
wall, praising even the Builder that he hadn’t been the first into that
street. The shock of his close escape
made his hands tremble violently. To be
killed by a guard was an accepted risk – dying at the hands of those…things…was
something he would wish on no one.
Still,
there was work to be done. Garrett
looked out again over the empty street, and, seeing no one, ran over to the
body. He saw immediately that the man
was dead – his blood was slowly pooling over the cobbles. Garrett quickly ran his hands over the man’s
cloak, searching for any valuables. He
quickly checked the pockets and seams, and collected a few loose coins there. He felt inside the dead thief’s cloak, and
smiled triumphantly. Those things hadn’t
taken the pouch hanging from the belt there.
Garrett quickly undid the pouch, and delightedly flicked one of the many
gold coins in there. About 1000 in gold
coins, and all for being in the right place at the right time. Or perhaps the wrong time. He kept looking for anything else, but the
man had nothing else. The only other
item on his belt was a scabbard, empty of the sword.
Garrett
was looking at this scabbard when suddenly a thought occurred to him. Something about a sword and ‘Father Woodsie’. He struggled to remember what the creature
had said, but his thoughts were interrupted by a shout from further down the
street. He turned his head, and saw a
Hammerite running towards him, his hammer raised and ready to strike. Garrett abandoned the body and sprinted for
the shelter of the nearest alley – fortunately the one that he had been
intending to take. He ran down its
narrow, foetid path, turning suddenly where the alley made abrupt changes of
direction. He could hear the sound of
the Hammerite running behind him, screaming of murder and rousing everyone in
the vicinity. Windows began to be flung
open as Garrett ran past.
Suddenly
a door was flung open ahead of him, and a man stepped out. He was carrying a short sword and wearing a
helmet, but the effect was spoilt by the nightshirt that he still wore. He took in the speeding thief and the
Hammerite running behind him, and decided he was probably safer inside. He moved to go back in, but Garrett was
going too fast to avoid him, and his shoulder slammed into the man. Both went down into the dirty alley, but
Garrett was able to roll back upright and keep running. The Hammer, sprinting behind him, was not so
nimble. He tripped over the fallen man,
and his massive weight slammed him into the street. There was a wet crack, and the sound of a massive sledgehammer
hitting the cobbles. Garrett grimaced
in misplaced sympathy, and ran on.
* * *
Sitting in his room later, he counted out his profits of the
night. Several neat stacks of gold
coins were arrayed on the table in front of him, and the equivalent of several
others lay in his pouch. Not enough to
retire on, not even enough to live on – but enough to pay the rent for the next
two weeks, and a few other sundry expenses.
And a new bolt for the door.
Garrett was taking no chances after what he’d seen tonight. His sword hung on a hook by the door; easily
accessible in the event of an emergency.
Its strange power caused it to almost blend in with the shadowed wall.
He looked at the sword, which triggered a sudden memory. One of those creatures – it had made a point
of finding and taking the man’s sword.
Almost as if he had been specifically ordered to take it. But Garrett had caught a glimpse of the sword
– it was a cheap, flimsy thing of no real value. As was Garrett’s old sword.
But his new one… A cold sweat
formed on his back, and his hair stood on end.
The creatures had been looking for his sword – and that arrow had been
intended for him alone. So someone was
out for him. Who was it that the beast
had said wanted it? Father
Woodsie? Garrett stood up and began to
pace his small room. He had heard that
phrase before – a long time before, back in his days with the keepers. Something to do with the Pagans.
He needed to find out who, or what, this Father Woodsie person
was. The sooner he could find him, the
sooner he could work out a way to avoid being caught at the wrong end of an
arrow. He’d need a large library, a
place sufficiently big enough to have a reference such as that. The Keeper library would, of course, have
reams of information. But Garrett
wasn’t too keen on looking up anything there.
After all, he’d abandoned the Keepers years ago to follow his own
path. It’d be humiliating to crawl back
now for help. Assuming they didn’t just
kill him first.
Apart from the Keeper library, there weren’t many other
options. The Hammerite library at
Prisongate was a possibility, but Garrett didn’t want to take his chances
there. His one infiltration several
months before hadn’t turned out too well – and the Hammers were sure to have
radically enhanced the situation there.
Besides, most of the books had been damaged and disordered in the great
riot there. Garrett grimaced in painful
remembrance.
Suddenly, he stopped as the obvious solution came to mind. The City University. A large campus spread around the City, the
University Library was located in Hightowne somewhere. A prestigious address that the University
had owned since its formation. The
place was perfect. Few guards, filled
with harmless academics and students, and likely to have many mentions of
Father Woodsie. Garrett smiled to
himself. He’d have the next day to
gather his equipment and maps, and then use the evening to find the required
information there. He’d his blackjack,
broadheads, water arrows and moss arrows – but no fire arrows, he thought to
himself wryly.
The guard walked silently past the shadowed alcove, neither
looking right nor left as he murmured to himself. On his head was a dull metal helmet, while under his surcoat he
wore a tunic of rusty chain mail that clinked and shook as he walked. He was armed with a sword.
Garrett waited until the man had
reached the end of the carpeted corridor and turned right before moving from
his hiding place. He silently walked
down the carpeted runner in the centre of the corridor, senses alert for any
sign of danger. He eventually reached
the end of the corridor, and there slid into a patch of shadow, in order to
watch both ways down the corridor. He
snorted softly in mild disgust. The
guards that defended this place were pathetic.
As an institution of learning the University had no security force of
its own. It contracted in a private
company of guards. Garrett had scouted
out the library the day earlier, and seen how ineffectual and amateur the
guards were. All they needed to do was
patrol around and frighten academics with their swords.
Seeing that there was no danger,
Garrett crept from his hiding place in the shadow, and silently continued on
his way down the corridor. Finding
another, smaller corridor leading off of it, he slipped into a convenient
shadow and consulted his map. This was
the corridor he wanted. He leant round,
took out his bow from his cloak, and nocked a water arrow to it. He drew back the bow, aimed carefully, and
finally let loose the arrow. It sped
away and extinguished the torch with a brief flash of smoke and sound. Smiling with satisfation, he moved away down
the smaller corridor.
* * *
Garrett crept up behind the
guard, a heavily built man who stood by a heavy, barred door. The guard leant against the wall beside it,
occasionally looking round. The chain
mail surrounding the helmet clinked as he did so – most of the guards had added
their own enhancements to their armour.
The thief silently crept up behind him, making sure to stay pressed
against the wall to avoid detection.
Finally he reached the guard, and crept up so that he was standing
directly behind him. Then, he struck.
He took a knife in his hand, and
suddenly wrapped his arm round the guard’s neck so that the blade touched on
his throat. His other arm slammed over
the guard’s mouth, taking the stunned man by surprise and preventing him from
crying out. Garrett leaned over and
whispered in the guard’s ear:
“One move or cry for help and
you die. Understand?”
The guard, stunned and
frightened, nodded, eyes flickering down to make sure he didn’t move his neck
into the blade. Then Garrett asked:
“Nod once if you’re called
Resputan”.
The man nodded once.
Garrett released his grip on the
man’s mouth, and took the blade away from his throat. The guard span round, and his eyes lit up as he saw the thief.
“Garrett, you taffer! I thought you’d got cold feet and bottled
out. I was getting ready to go in
without you!”
The thief smiled back at the
man, who had slapped him on the shoulder and flashed rotting teeth at him as he
said this.
“And make a mess like you did
last time?! Thanks but no thanks
Resputan – you just stay here and watch the door. You’ll get your share soon enough.”
“Ahhh, Garrett, the last time
you said that the City Guard nearly caught me.
You remember that time we…
“Resputan, let’s catch up when
we’re finished shall we? Now, have you
got the key?”
Resputan tossed a key at
Garrett, who tried it in the lock of the door.
It fitted perfectly. He twisted
it, and listened to the click as the tumblers moved and the bolt on the other
side of the door slid back. The thief
pushed it open, then turned to look at the grinning guard.
“Remember – if anyone comes,
knock twice on the door and try to delay them as much as possible”
Resputan nodded, and Garrett
slipped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. He locked it firmly, then started off down
the passage. He grinned. Resputan was an old childhood friend – the
only remaining one Garrett would still trust absolutely. They’d played as boys, and stolen together
as teenagers. Until Resputan had
decided to do a job without Garrett, and had nearly died as a result of a
guard’s swing. Garrett had gone back to
avenge himself on the guard, while Resputan had stood watch…and been there when
the City Guard had turned up. It had
been close. But it had shaken
Resputan’s nerve, and he never stole after that. Instead, he turned his expertise the other way and sought
employment as a guard. Garrett had
found out he worked for the same company that guarded the library, and it was a
simple matter to slip him a note in their own secret code.
Suddenly the passage ended, and
Garrett looked with satisfaction at the great hall revealed. He had reached the Pagan and Myth
Section. Acting on intuition, he had
guessed that the name Father Woodsie sounded Pagan, and it had been a simple matter
to ask Resputan to be guarding that particular door, and have the key ready.
The first thing to do was the
find the index. He crept around
silently, making sure no one was present, and then went to a great book lying
on a circular table in the very centre of the hall. It was the index. Garrett
rapidly turned the pages until he reached the F Section. His finger ran down the entries, but to no
avail. No Father Woodsie. Hissing through his teeth in annoyance, he
flipped through the book until he reached the W Section. Again he ran his finger down the column of
entries until, finally, he found “Woodsie, Father”. He bent over to study the entry.
Woodsie, Father
Noun, Pagan Title – “Father of
the Woods”
Reputedly informal, colloquial
title amongst Pagans for Woodsie Lord i.e. The Trickster
See “Woodise Lord” Entry for
further details.
References: Pagan Studies, H E
Gerturs; Woodsie Gods, J G Hertman; A Study of Mythological and Pagan Legends,
L L Lyer.
Garrett gasped. Father Woodsie was the Woodsie Lord! The Trickster! The fabled god of nature and chaos. And a deity who had sent…beasts…. to kill him. Garrett felt a cold sweat break out over his
back as the hairs on his neck stood on end.
A deity wanted him dead…and had very nearly succeeded. Did he know that Garrett was still
alive? As a god he must do. And that meant he was still after him.
Suddenly, a thought came to
Garrett that knocked the breath out of him.
Constantine…the desire for that gem…the sense of unease he had about
him…the pagan feeling Garrett had had about him…and his refusal of the
offer… Could Constantine actually BE
the Trickster? Garrett wanted not to
believe this, not to believe that he had shaken hands with a god, drunk his
liquor, and then turned down his offer, but a logical part of his mind was
telling him there was a probability this was so. He sank down to the floor, stunned.
Finally, after several minutes,
he roused himself. What could he
do? Constantine would keep hunting him
down until finally he was killed. He
needed a way to appease him, and maybe escape with his life. An idea came to him. Constantine had mentioned he wanted a
gemstone called “The Eye”. Perhaps if
Garrett got this gemstone and managed to get it to Constantine, his life would
be spared? He might even make some
money on it, enough to retire perhaps…
He dragged the index towards him
and flicked to the E Section. It was of
considerable size, but eventually Garrett tracked down the entry.
Eye, The
Noun, no Pagan/Mythological name
known
Fabled gemstone. Existence unproven, current owner unknown.
References: Lost Gemstones, K A
Retremarte; Of Gems and Legends, J A Barnest; A Detailed Study and
Consideration of Fabled Objects and Gemstones, with Special Reference to The
Eye, K L Hermandares; A Study of Mythological and Pagan Legends, L L Lyer;
Hammer and Pagan Tales and Myths, H A Joneste.
Garrett looked across the page
for the reference number of Hermandares’ book, which seemed to be the most
specific. Having found it, he moved off
towards the relevant aisle, snatching a pair of glasses foolishly left on the
table. He wasn’t in this for money –
but Resputan was.
* * *
Garrett pulled down the book
from the shelf, and carried it over to a reading table. He rapidly flipped through the book, until
eventually he came to K L Hermandares’ consideration of The Eye. He skimmed through it rapidly, pausing to
read important sections.
“…a fabled gemstone, never
proven to have existed, but with too much evidence to be dismissed as a figment
of the imagination. References to the
Eye feature in early Pagan writings, as noted by Lyer (1), ascribe the gem
fantastical powers of necromancy and anarchy…”
“…to be a large, cut gem of
unknown composition, but with a milky clarity.
Legend also holds it to be set in a decorative holder of some
significance, possessing three decorated prongs. The entire holder is supposedly decorated with gold. Who decorated it, or why, remains a
mystery…”
“…several theories of its
origin. Some have suggested Precursor
provenance, citing various pieces of evidence.
Gurtelsterte dismisses these conclusions (8), and instead affirms that
the Eye is probably of Pagan origin. He
bases these conclusions on evidence in Pagan texts, which say that the
Trickster was who commanded the gem cut and mounted, and then infused it with
Pagan powers…”
“…supposedly possesses the
powers of necromancy and anarchy.
Theorists have used these powers as an encompassing reason for the
prevalence of the undead in several sections of the City…”
“…suppressed Hammerite accounts
seem to affirm that the Hammerites discovered a gemstone capable of necromancy
and took it to the Hammerite Cathedral in what is now the Closed Area in order
to use it to their own ends. H G
Termenatre, in his foreword (12) to “The Collected Letters of the
Smith-In-Exile”, suggests that this gemstone, possibly the Eye itself, was
responsible ‘for the emergence of the undead…and remains there still,
controlling them.’ This conclusion,
though fanciful, has as much merit as any other observation put forward…”
Garrett put down the book, his
mind fired with what we had read. A
gemstone – capable of necromancy? With
Pagan origins? Why could Constantine
possibly want such a gem, except to wreak havoc upon the City? Garrett had no great regard for any other
inhabitants of the City, but this place was his home and his livelihood – and
what would happen to it if Constantine were to get his hands on the Eye? But what would happen to Garrett if he could
not appease Constantine?
He finally arose from the
volume, not knowing what to do or even what he could do. But he knew one thing for certain…it was
time to leave the library. He had what
he wanted, and the more time he spent here, the greater the chances of being
caught. He moved off towards the exit.
* * *
A gentle tap on Resputan’s
shoulder made him spin round in surprise.
His features changed from fright to happiness when he saw Garrett locking
the door to the place behind him.
“Thanks Resputan. I would say I owe you one, but I got this
for you instead”
The thief flicked the set of
expensive reading glasses to Resputan, who laughed in delight.
“Ahh, I knew you wouldn’t forget
me Garrett. Well, let’s be off then”
“What?”
“I’m coming with you
Garrett. Can’t stay here now that
you’ve been at work inside. Come
on…let’s go!”
Garrett followed Resputan, with
grave misgivings, as they crept down the corridor. He knew he should have left Resputan be, and gone another way,
but the man was an old friend. How
could he abandon him. Resputan glanced
around, then softly lept from one shadows to another. Garrett smiled – at least his friend still remembered how to be a
thief.
* * *
Suddenly the footsteps of the
guard grew louder, as the man took a path neither Resputan nor Garrett had
anticipated. The pair was forced into a
brightly lit corridor, with only a bare amount of shadow. They squeezed into the small patch of shadow
together, and waited with bated breath as the guard approached.
Garrett looked around this small
hiding place with mounting apprehension.
There was no way he and Resputan could hide here – the guard would see
them for sure. One of them would have
to move. He turned round to look at his
friend to tell him.
Unfortunately, Resputan had
reached the same conclusion. As Garrett
turned he heard his friend whisper;
“Sorry about this, Garrett…”
Resputan brought down his massive fist on Garrett’s head, dazing the thief and knocking him into the centre of the corridor, and in full view of the approaching guard. Resputan stepped over to him and launched another blow that spun the thief round and dropped him to the floor. As darkness began to close over Garrett, he heard Resputan’s triumphant cry to the other guard;
“I got him, I got him! He was about to kill me, and I got him! Captain Parsom’s gonna be giving me a bonus
for this. I caught the thief…!”
Garrett dropped his head to the floor in disbelief and anger, and
the darkness rushed in to devour him.
Note: What happens when
Garrett wakes up? He escapes from the
prison he’s been flung into, and takes his revenge on Resputan. There he finds that Resputan was hired to
kill him by Viktoria. This makes him
even more determined to find the Eye – he drops into the Haunted Cathedral, and
finds that others have been there before him.
It’s a race against time to get the Talismans before the other thieves
Constantine has hired, but eventually Garrett returns and gets the Eye. While he is deciding what to do with it
Constantine, now the Trickster, strikes; he steals the Eye and tears out one of
Garrett’s own to place in it. From
there the story returns to the true Thief storyline at ‘Escape’, leading the
Garrett’s revenge and the Trickster’s downfall.