Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Tibs had come across her in another office, while looking into the types of papers the university considered a referral.

There had been little of her behavior to notice. She'd fit in perfectly among the other merchants, waiting to reach a clerk, and then engaging them in pleasant banter, slipping in suggestions among the smiles.

It was that he'd picked up on.

Tibs couldn't play confidence games. He could take on a role and play it as required, unless it needed him to convince that whatever he needed was the other person's idea, which tended to be at the core of confidence games. He'd talked with enough of them, trying to workout how it went to learn that much.

In the end, he preferred the straightforwardness of stealing.

He'd followed her for days, trying to determine if she'd be good for his team. She was clearly skilled, having passed herself off as a merchant, a bureaucrat, as servant, and even, once, convinced a guard she was one of them, but off-duty. The last element he'd needed to confirm came when losing his own tail made him too late to keep the beating from happening.

It hadn't been severe, by what he'd observed of other beatings the Master's thugs give, but had left her bloody and in enough pain to limp away, once they were done reminding her what happened to those who didn't pay their dues to the master.

He'd learned enough of the con she was working that on this day, he was in the shop before her, dressed casually for the area, but with enough embellishments he could pass himself off as someone from the neighborhood's workers to one of the better off employer.

Right now, as she approached the houseware's shop, he played an indeterminate role, clearly well off enough to afford the well crafted wares on display, but he could also be someone's servant, here on their errand, and, to explain his extended stay, waffling about what he wanted.

She stepped in wearing a smile and showing no sign of the limp she'd gained the previous day, or the pain she had to be in, by the way her life essence was still off where they'd hit her.

"Judas!" she called, and the merchant's surprise turned to pleasure. "It is good to see you again." She stepped to the counter without looking around, making it clear she wasn't here to spend coins. "I have news about my client's offer."

"Edolie," he responded, smiling. "When you didn't show yesterday, I thought they might have had a change of heart."

Tibs had eavesdropped on enough conversations between her and people who were clearly not marks, even if he couldn't be sure they were friends, to be confident her name was Cynta.

She reached the counter. "Didn't my message reach you?"

He shook his head.

"Abyss. It'ss impossible to trust messengers anymore. The reason I missed it is that my client contacted me about new stock arriving ahead of schedule, and I needed to look it over. While there, vultures showed up to buy the entire stock far under its value, because they think they are the only ones interested in it. I was able to delay the answer, which puts you in a position of undercutting them, while still paying less than the merchandise's true value. I can even offer you more stock if you are interested."

Tibs only half-listed to the conversation, asking the apprentice question about the quality of the work, the materials used in the making of the goblet, its decorations. Their expression, and laughter, told him the haggle was in good humor, but each pressed the other hard.

He was pulled from listening to them, and the apprentice's explanations when he sensed wood approaching the shop. The shape made them clubs, with a strap of metal at the end for added weight. By what he sensed of the life essence, the clubs were at their back, hidden under cloaks of wood made fabric.

He didn't have much time, and it was possible they weren't heading for this shop. But the warning given yesterday had been clear as to what they'd do to her if she continued with her trade before paying what the Master demanded.

He sent the annoyed apprentice to fetch him a different set of goblets from the back. One inlaid with silver and gold, better fitting of his woman. As soon as the young man had his back to him stomping to the door, he removed the adornments to make his now clearly subservient role easier to believe.

"Forgiveness, Mistress Edolie," he said, making his still accented Forsterian thicker. "I have been sent with an urgent message."

She glanced at him, taking him in, in that short time and her expression turn annoyed. "What is this about?"

"Something has happened to the stock you were promised. I was told to let you know knives were involved."

The word was common enough no one listening ever thought about it, but among those of their illicit trade, it was a signal to be on alert. Also used to indicate they shared a similar trade. Not always a sign of trust, but he had to believe she was skilled enough at judging the situation to tell he wasn't the threat.

"Is something wrong?" the merchant asked, studying Tibs critically.

With a roll of the eyes she looked around and sighed. "Probably those vultures I mentioned." She looked at Tibs expectantly.

"I don't know anything about birds," he replied. "Only that they wanted you to hurry before they arrived."

She rubbed her face and locked green eyes on him. "I swear, it's impossible to get messengers to carry more than two words anymore." She sighed. "But if this is about your potential stock, I should see to it immediately. As soon as it's resolved, I'll be back. Then we will be able to finish our business." She looked at Tibs. "I'll even make sure this one delivers the message personally if there's to be more delays. Won't you?"

He inclined his head. "Yes, Mistress."

She motioned him to the door, and they exited as the thugs came in sight in the street. Tibs led her in the opposite direction. "They're behind us."

"I'm not blind," she replied.

"Tell me you can run, there's an alley and—"

"I can't, and clearly you don't know how to do this." She nudged him toward the crowd ahead, undoing the lace on her robe. She glanced at him. "When I tell you, remove your jerkin. Drape it over your arm, it just can't be on your back. It's too distinctive."

Tibs had picked it specifically because without the adornments it was rather plain.

They stepped into the crowd, and she took off the robe, exposing a simple dress. She turned it and its inside was far older and worn than the outside. She draped it over her shoulders and pulled a hood up he hadn't noticed. By the time she slouched and took his arm, he had his jerkin over the other.

"Help an aged woman get home, young man?" Her voice sounded as old as her trembling made her look; to anyone who didn't see her face.

They stepped out of the crowd and slowly headed for the side of the street. The three thugs pass them, searching ahead, and he led her away.

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"We're clear," he said when their essence was far enough all he had to go by was the clubs at their backs.

"At least you didn't look back," she whispered.

"I have done this before."

"You make a habit of rescuing old ladies?"

"No, of evading thugs and guards intent on administering a beating."

The glare told him she knew what he'd alluded to.

She straightened. "How about you explain yourself, now that we're safe? What is this about?"

"Keeping you from receiving another beating isn't enough?"

She glared again. "Don't sing me a song about how you did this out of the goodness of that little heart of yours. I sell lies for a living."

"Then think of this as a demonstration of why having a team working with you helps keep you from being beaten."

She rolled her green eyes. "Let me share a piece of information that's saved my hide more times than I can count at this point. Anytime a stranger found me and claimed to have gone through all that trouble to help me, they were lying. Without exception," she added as he opened his mouth. "Now, how about you tell me what you are really after?"

He closed it and kept it closed on all the ways he could try to make this to her advantage. "I need a team," he finally said. He couldn't be honest about everything, but enough to satisfy her. "One that's fine working without the Master's approval. What I'm after requires the kind of coins that come with having to do jobs, and they'll be big enough everyone on the team will have heavy purses by the time I'm done."

"The more people work with you, the more chances are one of them will betray you," she stated.

"How many coins would the Master have to give you to betray me?"

She spat. "That man can go burn in the abyss. This used to be a nice city for folks like us, before he set himself up as master of us all. He controls so much there's barely anything left for us to build a life and help our friends."

None of her words glowed.

"The people I have in mind think like you. And the Master, as well as the guards, will be busy dealing with someone else while we work."

Her expression turned speculative. "And what is it you expect me to do on this team of yours?"

He smiled. "What I saw you do so well, already."

She looked surprised. "Talk?"

He grinned. "Think."

She snorted. "So, what's your name?"

"Thibaud is what I'm going by here."

"Then, you can call me Cynta."

* * * * *

"Stop!" a woman yelled, her voice carrying authority he ignored. "By order of the King, stop!"

He kept running, his dark green cape flowing behind him.

He'd gathered the three guards after clumsily accosting and stealing the lower noble's coin purse. He'd have preferred a heavier one. More taken coins meant more outrage on the noble's part. More screaming. More stories being told. But he'd have needed a wealthier market for that, and this first act was designed to be performed within this one.

He loosened the cord on the purse as he stepped onto the barrel, without slowing.

After all, it didn't need to be only the noble who had stories.

He launched himself up, attracting stares, and threw the purse higher, with a small etching to cause its content to scatter over everyone.

"Rejoice!" he declared on landing, the people stepping away and getting a clear look at his leather masked upper face. "For Fleet Fingers now graces your city. Those in need will receive. Those who have will give, that they want to or not." He bowed to the guards trying to shove the people gathering the coins out of their way. "And those who endeavor to catch him will lose." He smiled at the chaos slowing them.

He gave a salute, turned and ran, another barrel helped him reach a roof, then he posed there for the guards to see, before running to the other end, where he waited until the first of them rounded the corner before dropping and letting them chase him.

He kept the guards at his heels, letting them think they would catch him. That they'd be able to parade him before the citizen and demonstrate that his claim had been a lie.

When the larger road came into view at the end of the alley, Tibs ran across, dodging people, horses and carts, and causing more to clamor after the green man. In the next alley, he climbed to another roof, ducking until he saw the lead guard pause in the middle of the road, scanning the roofline. He stood, made sure she saw him, then ran.

This was going to be fun. This city had smart guards.

* * * * *

Tibs leaned against the chimney, an etching of darkness helping the shadows hide him. He'd followed the man currently stringing his bow, three roofs over, for a few days now. The bow was different from the one he'd had the previous day, or this morning.

The Master had seen to it.

The price for the man not submitting to a previous beating he was to receive for not paying his dues. He'd instead sent the two back with broken arms and limps.

The destruction of that one item had rendered the man's weeks of planing useless. They had hurt him worse than if they had broken his body. He'd scrambled looking for a replacement, but no one would sell him even their worse bow. The Master had seen to it the merchants were terrified of defying him.

Which was why Tibs had caused the wagon to breakdown where it had, and how it had. The axle shattering and tipping it sideways. One of the ropes breaking and causing crates to slip off and land on the street, and one of the wooden crate breaking, scattering its content, a low bow sliding to the edge of an alley. Easily missed by the guards rushing to gather the spilled contents.

It hadn't been the alley the man had been standing in, but could be seen, if someone was attentive.

Tibs hadn't wanted to make it that easy on him. He'd turned this into a test to confirm more than how determined the man was to carry through with his plan, as well as how he'd pull it off.

The man hadn't hesitated. His eyes locked on the item, he navigated through the crowd, kicked it further in, and with it in hand, he'd kept moving.

The house the archer aimed it at was that of a middling noble family. They had interests in a variety of businesses, which gave them influence within the city, along with increasing their wealth.

He'd asked around, and nothing he'd found out pointed to some horrible going-ons, or act they had committed against this man to explain being targeted. They were nobles, so Tibs knew there would be something if he kept looking.

He wasn't interested in the man for his skill in archery, although he was curious as to what the point of the rope tied to the arrow was. As demonstrated by him seeing the bow, he wanted him for how observant he was, as well as how at ease he was with heights. Two useful things in a lookout.

The archer loosed the arrow and Tibs figured he'd missed when it missed the window's sill. He hadn't worked out what the man expected to do, but it was the only likely target, the only way into the house. There was the problem of the rope not being able to support a grown man's weight, or the fact that even if the shaft was more metal than wood, the head would pull out of the sill with nothing more than a solid tug.

The arrow almost touched the wall, passing between it and a thick pipe attached to it, then stopped and dropped. The man had grabbed the rope. He pulled until the arrow became stuck between the pipe and the wall.

The shot had been intentional. Tibs was impressed. The gap was hardly larger than the thickness of the arrow.

The archer wrapped the rope around his hand and pulled. He braced himself and pulled harder. The arrow held.

This explained the metal added to the shaft.

He tied the rope around the chimney until it was tight, then held on to it, lowering himself, then raising his feet until it, much to Tibs's surprise, held his weight.

There were other essences than wood in the fiber, including thin strands of metal. None of it had the feel of worked essence, but he didn't know how it could be so strong. Metal was fragile in thin strands.

He put his feet over the rope, then, hanging upside down, crossed the gap to the window. He was too high for the latch, which he resolved by crossing his feet, and using that to hold him to the rope, freeing his hands, and letting him reach the latch, shimming it undone, he grabbed the top of the window to enter.

While the man was inside, Tibs jumped to the roof and studied the rope. As he sensed it was woven fibers, roughly half wood, a quarters metal, and the rest something he couldn't identify visually. Even the metal was woven.

The archer exited the window sooner than Tibs expected, and he stepped into the shadows.

He hadn't cased the house, but he could sense the safe, a floor below, as well as the coins in them. There was constant motion in the corridor. Most nobles had their offices on the busiest floor, making it that much harder for someone to reach it unnoticed.

The archer hadn't gone there.

Tibs hadn't paid too much attention, but he was confident the man hadn't left the floor he'd entered. He returned along the rope, then untied it and lowered the arrow until it was out of sight before letting the rope go, to dangle against the building, difficult to see even knowing it was there.

Unstrung bow in hand, heavy purse at his belt, the man left the roof by the access into the building and went down.

Tibs took the faster way, and watched as the archer exited, crossed to an alley and made his way to the back of the house he'd targeted. When no one could see him, he hurried onto the yard, and to the wall, retrieving the arrow and rope, looping it around his arm. He waited until no one could see him again and left the yard, returning to the alley, where Tibs waited for him.

"I have a proposition for you," he said, stepping out of the shadow.

The man was against the wall, bow at his feet, hand against his chest. "Abyss. What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"No. But considering you didn't reach for a weapon, I could have. You need to work on that, considering who you have as an enemy."

The man retrieved the bow. "I don't need anyone's help."

Conscious of Cynta's words the previous days, Tibs said, "But I can use yours making sure the Master doesn't get in my way. And it's going to pay well."

The man's expression was dubious. So Tibs laid out the basics of what he was planning, and the man's smile told him when he was on board.