Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

"Thibaud of Arteron," the older man said, walking around Tibs. "You have certainly made arranging this meeting…interesting."

"That was never my intention."

Tibs's intention had been to ensure it never happened. Losing the tails had been simple enough, he'd expected to manage it until he was done and had moved onto another city. Unfortunately, he'd come across Aldero the guard in a crowded marketplace and froze.

He hadn't visited his house for a few days, since the coins he'd left there the last time would see them through until the next guards' payday, and walking had still been difficult for the man. Even now, the guard leaned against a wall, attempting to look casual, but his skin was clammy.

Which might have been caused by noticing his attacker.

Tibs tried to decide what to do in that instant of locked-eyes. Go apologize for what he'd done? Explain how, ultimately, it was the guard's own fault for first trying to beat a poor street thief just attempting to survive? Beg forgiveness? Tell him he was the one who'd helped him survive these weeks, that he'd made amends enough and owed the man nothing?

He'd turned away, deciding that nothing he could say would help anyone, and had walked into his tail.

The older man smirked. "I have no doubt you didn't want this to happen. But you kept picking pockets after you were warned. You entered a house uninvited by its owners, or me. As you see, nothing in my city escapes my notice."

Tibs shrugged. He figured that if that were true, the man would be angrier about the team he was building. Or the fact there had been more than one house.

"I stayed out of that gang's neighborhood. Made sure there were no gangs in the neighborhoods I picked pockets from. I figured that in a city this large, there are enough of them for everyone to enjoy."

Now that the meeting was taking place, he didn't want to antagonize the man referred to as the Master, but he had no intention of being cowed by a title, or acting like he was. "As for the house. I didn't think anyone in this part of the city cared what happened to the nobles; no matter how low they are."

The man's demeanor and appearance made Tibs confident he was from the Street. The wariness in the eyes, the glancing about for threats, even with as powerful as he was. It had taken Tibs years to shed those reflexes, so he could act like someone of higher standing. The man's confidence was born of someone who had clawed his way to his position, not conned himself there.

The man eyed him severely. "There is a balance to this city. You'd know that, if you'd bothered coming to me before you went about upsetting people."

"Nobles," Tibs corrected.

"And some of my people," he replied severely.

Again, Tibs shrugged. "I'll be more careful of whose pockets I put my fingers into next time."

"No. You will not steal from anyone." The man locked eyes with Tibs. "If you want to work in this city, you'll do so with the crew I assign you to."

The snort was unbidden, but not unwelcome. "I don't work with someone else's crew. If I need one, I'll make my own. I'm sure there's a neighborhood you don't have a gang in we can settle in."

"No." The word was sharp. "I decide who works where. And that determines whose crew you are on."

"What if you're too late?" Tibs asked casually; both to annoy the man and test if the lack of earlier comment had been intentional. "What if I already have a crew?"

The old man snorted. "I'd know if you'd approached anyone."

No light on the words. It meant Tibs had succeeded in keeping away from anyone who had his description. It couldn't last, but he only had one teammate left to recruit. Considering how much of a threat the Master was to this one, too, they'd be discreet. But it meant he'd have to be more careful in approaching anyone who'd make him what he'd need to enter the library.

There was nothing boastful about the man's intention to keep track of Tibs.

"Look." He made his tone conciliatory. "I'm only here for a few weeks. I'm not settling. I have a very specific target. I make them pay, then I'm gone. I doubt you'll care what trouble befalls them."

"Befalls who?" the man demanded.

"You'll know once I'm done. I've been planning for too long to risk her finding out now."

The man got into Tibs's space. "You aren't doing anything until you tell me who you're going after."

Tibs motioned to the others in the room. "You know that's a bad idea." They'd kept to the walls, but the man's enforcers couldn't be ignored.

"I trust them with my life."

Tibs smiled. "But do you trust them with your secrets?"

"Of course." The words were bright, but caused a few of the enforcers to straighten with pride.

"Good for you." Making the words mocking came easily. "I've been betrayed too often by those I trusted. Those proclaiming they were mine. Those whose best interest I kept in mind." He made the smile nasty. "Never again."

"Then be warned, Thibaud of Arteron. Act against my orders, and there will be consequences."

"I'm not going to be any trouble for you!" He threw his arms up in an act of frustration. "All I want is for her to pay for—" he snapped his mouth shut, as if only now noticing the man's hungry interest. He quickly covered the worry with determination and glared at the man, whose expression turned gentle.

"And I want to help you," the old man replied, the glowing words as gentle. "That's my role here. To see to it that everyone under my care gets what they are after. But I need to know what that is, so I can mitigate the fallout." He waited, expression patient, but Tibs remained defiantly silent. "Then I can't help you. I'm sorry." The last two words glowed brighter than the previous ones.

"You don't understand," he said through teeth gritted in anger.

"I do." This time, there was no light on the gentle words. "You aren't the only one who's been betrayed. But that doesn't mean I can let you endanger my people. If you won't let me help you, I can't let you act. It is that simple of a choice."

Tibs glared, and the man locked his gentle gaze with him. Tibs looked away angrily. "Fine," he snapped. "Then I'll just follow her when she leaves this abyss cursed city." He turned and headed for the door.

The men on each side stepped to keep him from reaching it.

He glared, but stopped out of sword reach.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Remember my warning, Thibaud. In my city, you steal only if I allow it."

"I heard you," he growled. "Now tell them to get out of my way so I can go find a tavern with decent beer."

The silence stretched. He sensed the old man move, then the two thugs stepped aside. He left, still stomping well after most of the people the old man sent to follow him were gone. He found a tavern and drank enough bad tasting beer to explain his stumbling away to the lone tail he had left and made his way to the room Thibaud had paid for.

When he dropped onto the bed, it was with a grin.

* * * * *

The darkness etching Tibs maintained around him ensured he stepped unnoticed among the well-dressed people attending the large gathering. The gathering had something to do with convincing the king to lessen the tariffs on some alcohol from a kingdom they were at odds with.

Tibs had no interest in that, but to have any hopes of convincing the king meant going through their agent of commerce. That meant pooling enough money so one of them saw things these merchants' way.

The noble behind the meeting was also of interest to him.

Lord Rastmyre of Kanterion wasn't the highest of the city's nobles; Tibs's listening had told him, not even close to that, but he had aspirations. His family was important in Kanterion, and he planned on making it so here, too.

That meant he was prone to making his displays larger than they needed to be. Such as displaying all the coins, bars, and promises on a table for all to see, and to shame those who hadn't given as much as their fellows.

Talk of that plan was what had put Tibs on the man. On making this Fleet Fingers' next public display of disruption.

All that money made him wish he still had his old armor, with the hidden pouch that could take in so much more that its size led to believe. With it, he could take all of it. There was enough there that, even after distributing most to those who needed it, he'd have enough to pay for all he needed to enter the university and do his research.

Without that, all he had was a lone bag to fill with the coins, so he wouldn't have much left to dedicate to that.

He couldn't hand bars or promises to the people in need, and no one would be willing to convert them after news of this theft spread. At least, not without also alerting the Master who wouldn't be pleased. Tibs wanted him angry, but didn't need to make it easy on the man when it came to locating the culprit.

But this wasn't for him; it was for the city's unfortunate.

And to put on a performance that would make people talk about Fleet Fingers.

He disrupted the light essence from the stones suspended from the ceiling in what, he expected, was meant to be an attractive display, on top of providing illumination. The flicker caused people to look up and around.

Away from the table.

He plunged the room into darkness and used metal essence to pull the coins in the bag. He slipped a promise into his jerkin as he jumped onto the table. Heavy bag over his shoulder; he let the light return.

The merchants and nobles looked around, and Tibs cleared his throat.

"Wealthy of Brokentia," he proclaimed, only his smile exposed by the mast. "I thank you, and the one day great Lord Rastmyre, for this oh so welcoming table you arranged for me." He looked at the wealth at his feet. "You shouldn't have, I mean it. Fleet Fingers doesn't deserve such generosity." He bounced the bag against his back, making the coins clink together. "But what kind of guest would he be if he turned down such a gift?"

"Guards!" someone finally yelled. "Get that thief!"

"Now," he said, his tone offended, while the guards overcame their surprise. "There's no need to be hurtful. Fleet Fingers is no lowly thief. He is a…facilitator of currency movement." He smiled as the guards pushed the wealthy out of their way to reach him. "And now, it seems he must leave."

He jumped, an air etching under his feet, letting him clear the first guard to reach the table, as well as the others, and landed in the still vacant space behind them. He couldn't be too obvious with his use of essence, but Fleet Fingers was a character out of Bard songs, so he needed to push things somewhat.

The first was a metal etching throughout the coins to make them light enough they didn't rip the bag open as he landed and made his escape something no bard would need to exaggerate in the telling.

He slipped past a guard, an etching of water causing the attempted grab to slide over his arm. He used the act to explain the spin that led to him facing a woman with a surprisingly large chest when he stopped it. "I hope you don't mind," he said, beaming, taking the colorful brooch at her neckline. "Red isn't your color. Although, it suits that angry blush nicely."

Gemmed brooch in hand, Tibs ran for the door, ducking under the nobles' clumsy attempt to grab him, then under the two guards who vacated their post by the door to rush him, with an etching of water on his knee and lower leg to let him slide on the floor. He stood and turned, unlocking the door they had been smart enough to lock before trying to stop him.

"This has been a most wonderful affair. Fleet Fingers promises to praise those who arranged it as he spends these newly acquired coins. Do not hesitate to invite him to more such gatherings." He gave a bow, stepping aside the guard who tried to grab him, pulled the door open, to a surprised call and someone else proclaiming they had locked it, and ran down the corridor.

Bells rang and, before he made it halfway to the door leading outside the building, men and women burst out of a room close to said door. They were rougher looking than the guards. A mix of noble and merchant's personal guards.

They covered the distance faster than he expected, but easily dealt with that by placing a foot on the wooden wall, an etching to ensure it had traction, and pushed himself up and forward. He did the same when his foot landed on the other wall and, in this manner, with a hand on the ceiling to keep his head from hitting it, he 'walked' over the guards. He returned to the floor once behind them and paused before the door, turning to smile as they untangled themselves of the mess trying to turn while others ran into them had caused.

"While brief, Fleet Fingers thanks you for the added exercise. Be sure to let your masters know of your valiant attempt. I have no doubt they will be impressed."

He shouldered the door open and quickly lost himself among the alleys, and then the roofs.

* * * * *

Tibs caught up to the last member of his team exactly in the situation he expected to find him in. Cornered at the end of an alley by four thugs.

"Now, fellows," the muscular man said, hands up placatingly. "I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. There's no need for this to turn violent, is there?"

The man's clothing had seen better day, an entire lifetime ago, possibly. His hide pants were cut, ripped, and bloodied in so many places Tibs had no idea how he hadn't found something better to replace them with. The shirt was more thread holding pieces of fabric together.

The only thing keeping Tibs from stepping in was the grin on his future teammate's face.

"You've been warned to stay out of the fights," the woman said.

"Which fight? You should be able to tell I've been in a lot of them."

"The ones you were told to stay out of." She rushed him, bringing the club down. He barely moved as he raised a hand and deflected the strike to the side. He then kneed her in the stomach.

"Look. I really don't want to—" He ducked under the man's punch and struck him in the chest twice with an open palm, causing his attacker to stagger back. "Surely we can be reasonable about this?"

He looked at the arms that were now wrapped around his chest. "Really?" He slammed his head back into that woman's face and she let go, hand going to her bleeding nose. "I really don't want to fight." The words were so bright. Not that anyone seeing that grin would believe them. "How about I just—"

"Get him," the first woman yelled, getting to her feet.

The four other thugs Tibs had sensed lying in wait in the alleys stepped out of them.

The grin faltered. "Okay. This is going to be…interesting." Instead of raising his fist, he altered how he stood.

Tibs stepped out of his alley, then added earth under the broad armor, causing him to lumber toward the fight. He couldn't afford to let him get too injured, and he'd seen enough to confirm the unusual way he fought was effective in more than arranged fights.

He was ready to make his offer.

He grabbed the thug's arm before he brought the club down on the distracted fighter.

"What?" he turned to face Tibs. "Who—"

Tibs slammed an Earth reinforced fist in the man's chest that sent him on his back. He wasn't worrying about displaying more strength than usual. He had to match how he looked. The earth filling the armor kept it from flopping about as he moved. His hair was bunched in the helmet with the faceplate down, letting them only see his brown eyes, and soot covered beard.

He grabbed another thug and threw her into a wall.

He let the club hit him in the side of the head, then took staggering steps to the side. He shook it, as if to clear it, but had his arm up in time to block the attack. He punched the thug in the face hard enough he was more interested in holding it then attacking again. He turned in time to watch his future teammate send the last of his opponent to the ground by tripping her over the leg he'd placed behind hers and shoving hard.

He wasn't sure how that had come about, but she didn't get up.

The fighter looked at Tibs and smiled. "I definitely appreciate the help, but you might have gotten yourself involved in something you shouldn't have. These people aren't going to like anyone who helps me."

He shrugged.

The fighter offered him his hand. "Seeing how you saved me a lot of pain. I'm Charlie."

Tibs looked at the groaning thugs on the ground, two of which glared at him hatefully. He deepened his voice. "I'm the Brute."

Charlie grinned. "You certainly are. How about we get out of here before enough of them can stand and have another go at us?" He didn't wait for Tibs's answer before heading out of the alley.