Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Tibs was surprised when the muscular woman by the door simply nodded him onward before focusing on pulling the rope and raising the large bundle of something containing a lot of metal essence to a man in the rafters. He'd expected to have to justify his presence since Cynta wasn't with him.

Inside, it was similar. Those who noticed him, as he headed for the door in the wall, acknowledged him with a nod and went back to their work. Some were painting backdrops, others talking to each other in a way that felt like practicing, and a pair were sword fighting. One was skilled, the other not.

No one even asked where Cynta was.

The door to Ismael's workshop was closed, and Tibs knocked. When there was no answer, even if he sensed her at the table, he knocked again.

"Come in, Thibaud," she called.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked once inside.

"You knocked. Only people who aren't used to this place knock on my door. And you're the only visitor we get." She never looked away from the work of assembling colored crystals in an earring. "What can I help you with?"

"What would it take to turn the medallion into something—"

"It's called a crest," she said, opening a drawer.

"Turn the crest into something that can fool a noble?"

She took a blue crystal that could pass for a sapphire. "I can't make anything that would fool that family." She cut a length of thin metal wire from a spool.

"How about fooling another family? One that isn't in their circle? Below them in status?"

She looked up from her work and at him. Her expression remained unreadable. "Then all I can do is get the right material." She returned to her work. "Nothing I can help with when it comes to the enchantment on them."

"Enchantment?" He didn't know if his attempt as surprise fooled her, but she didn't react to it.

"Yeah. There's something on them that lets the city official know if it's authentic. Came about back when the nobles decided to make their own and started handing them off as payments for favors."

"And it tells everyone they're real?" That would be a problem.

"Only those who can pay someone who senses magic. There's no way even the nobles waste money on sorcerers for something that basic."

"So, low nobles have to trust what they see?" Neither of the guards at the university door had an element. That didn't mean no one there would, but he should be able to get in, at least.

"Yeah."

"What would you need to make one?"

"Which family do you need it to be from?"

"I don't have one in mind. I'm just curious."

She snorted.

"Sorry, force of habit. I don't have a specific one in mind. It needs to be below the high nobles, but high enough it would make sense they'd feel threatened by a recently arrived noble courting them."

"Is that noble the one you'll be playing?"

"No."

"Then it's that noble you want revenge on. Who are they?"

He shook his head. He needed to get to work on that, but he still had more important things to do.

She worked on the sapphire in silence. "The Atharan family would do."

"What would you need to make their crest?"

She shrugged. "Gold and silver, which you said you'd bring me for the jewelry. The clay and wood for that family comes from one specific merchant. He's careful about his stock. And like I said. I can't do anything about the enchantment."

"Where is that merchant's shop? I'll see just how careful he is."

* * * * *

"Herns," Tibs greeted the theater's tailor from the already open doorway. "You said that as a noble low on fund, I could walk around the city wearing something from your racks. Were you serious?"

"Were you?" the man replied, setting the cloth he'd mark with chalk aside.

"I might have to."

"You realize that if you interact with a noble, no matter how low they are, you will be the city's laughingstock."

"I'm thinking of interacting with common folks, the city's would-be nobles at most."

The man stared at him. "That's not going to help if word gets back to those nobles. You won't be able to keep that secret. Everyone at that party will know."

Tibs smiled. Without intending it, Herns had given him what could explain why he'd want to do this. "With everyone looking at me, making me the subject of their ridicule, they won't pay attention to the others." Herns only knew about Cynta being on his team. He didn't know how large it was, or if Tibs would be more than a decoy.

The tailor considered something. "Even in a situation like that, a noble wouldn't want it obvious the clothing's inferior quality. That means it would be cut to fit you exactly."

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"How long for you to do that?"

Herns shrugged. "Once you're measured, it's just about fitting the time among my other work. A few days. Maybe a week, since I have a number of costumes to make for the play."

Tibs removed his vest. "Measure me."

* * * * *

Nariss stared at him with incredulity. "Are you insane?"

"I'll pay you for the extra work."

"Paying me isn't the problem. You're already doing that enough. You're asking me to break the law."

"Forging travel papers isn't—"

"That isn't the same," the man snapped. "Those are just claiming you're from some kingdom no one here's ever heard of. Credential papers from the Atharan Family affect the people in this city. Do you have any idea what someone can do with those?"

Getting into the university was all he cared about, not that he thought it would make a difference. But he couldn't tell the man that. He also didn't have a way to link those papers to making the Master take the blame.

"So you won't do it?"

"I am not a criminal," Nariss stated.

Without him, Tibs would have to steal the papers. Not as problematic as stealing a crest would be, but now, he had to figure out the noble situation in the city.

* * * * *

The merchant's shop where Tibs needed to get the clay Ismael needed was smaller than he'd expected for a place that did business directly with the city. He was the shabbiest of the few customers, even dressed in the best clothing he could afford.

The shelves displayed only small amounts of the material sold, with a card explaining where they were from, along with prices Tibs couldn't believe anyone would be willing to pay for what were, when he got down to it, artisan's supplies. Slivers of woods from more kingdoms than Tibs knew existed. Crystals and metals, Earths and clays. Even waters and oils.

While he couldn't recreate any of the essences he sensed, this would be a good place to compare mixes of materials to see how close they came to the earths and clays, waters and oils.

He found the clay and wood Ismael needed. They were displayed under a case, and while the amounts were small, there was enough of each for her to make the crest, but their disappearances would be noticed. Knowing what to sense for, there was more in the back.

All he needed now was a way to get in, take some, and ensure no one realized it.

* * * * *

Tibs only needed a few days to find out where the Atharan family's home was. It would have been faster to ask around directly, but the Master's people were just about everywhere, and while most didn't seem to pay him any attention, a few didn't take their eyes off him. He could give them the slip, but it made interacting with people unnoticed in the open difficult.

He'd taken a few more days to identify them, and now, he followed one who had been out shopping. He'd seen her show the papers. Now he hoped to sense where she stored them once she was home. Nobles had too many papers for him to be able to take the time to search all of them for the correct ones. He also couldn't slip them out of her robe without her realizing they were missing at some point.

The house wasn't as large as the others in the neighborhood. He sensed her moving about inside, then in a room with a metal safe, and in they went.

That night, he was in without trouble, and avoided the servants on his way to the office. They either couldn't afford, or didn't think they needed guards.

The safe opened easily with some essence work, and he found the papers, along with crests. Five letters and five crests. One for each of the adults.

This meant he couldn't simply take one.

He studied the papers and inks. He'd known there was no enchantment on them, but hadn't been able to get a good sense of them among the crowd and her moving about. What he sensed of the ink reminded him of some in Nariss's bottles, so it would be of quality, as was the paper, but they were ordinary otherwise.

He couldn't take one and not have it be noticed. So he needed to manufacture a way to explain why it was gone. Or, better yet, ruined. He returned the papers and ensured everything was as they had before, then left to prepare things.

* * * * *

Exchanging the papers turned out to be the simpler part of the plan. The commotion wasn't his doing, and the chaos it caused distracted the Master's people as much as let Tibs slip a hand into the noble's vest.

Ensuring it was destroyed took more work. He knew where she was ultimately heading from overhearing her making the arrangement the day before, but he didn't know when she'd head there or which direction she'd approach the shop from. He paid people to park carts near it on each of the roads leading there.

She came from the road with the ale cart waiting for her. The wheel broke when Tibs willed it, and the barrels burst on impact, showering everyone close by. She was quick, but Tibs made sure was soaked. The lining of her vest was oiled, but the pocket with the papers was open. It would seem like an odd series of events, but when she pulled the drenched paper out and all she saw on it was running ink and paper breaking apart under the weight of the ale, there would be an explanation.

He walked away with the first item he needed safely tucked away in the hidden pocket of his vest.

* * * * *

Tibs looked up. The sky was without clouds. Had been so for days now. How could he go about creating a storm? From his reading, he knew it was about an imbalance between air and water essence, two elements he had. He also had lightning, so he could add that to make it more authentic. But he had no idea how to cause the imbalance he needed, well beyond his reach, to make the storm.

"Glaring at it isn't going to help," Charlie said.

"Do you know something that will?" Tibs replied. "Without that storm, we can't get the fabrics."

The fighter shrugged. "We aren't in a hurry, are we? You said your target wasn't leaving soon. Otherwise you'd just get ready to follow her and avoid dealing with the Master."

He didn't need to hurry for the job, but he wanted to get started on his research. He had the papers and clothing, but he needed the storm to cover up getting the clay and wood. What would work to explain the damaged fabric would work even better for the destroyed clay and missing wood.

"How often does it storm in this season?"

Charlie studied the sky. "Once in a while. We might be due for one, not that it looks like it." He smiled. "Come on. Let's get you something to drink, and a bard to listen to. It'll distract you from this."

"No bards," Tibs said, but followed the fighter.

Charlie laughed. "What is your problem with them?"

"I just don't care for what they sing; they just make up stuff."

"It's not like they're singing about you. What does it matter if what they sing is real or invented? Who here is going to travel to the Lands of Fosteir, and see if Darnis's adventuring band did, or didn't, defeat the Dungeon of Darkness. They're just fun to listen to."

Except that unless someone read books, bard were how people learned about the world. And somehow, in their songs, adventurers always did the right thing. They always helped and stood by those oppressed. Tibs had witnessed that was untrue more often than it was.

The tavern Charlie took him to was rowdy. People sang with the bard in a cacophony that made the words unrecognizable. At least he'd be able to enjoy his ale without the song distracting him.

The bard finished as the server placed tankards on their table and Charlie slipped her a coin with a smile.

Coins were thrown on the stage and the man there laughed, raising his lute over his head. "Let me parch my throat, and I'll sing you something I heard about when I traveled through Arteron." He headed to the bar.

"Isn't that where you're from?" Charlie asked. "What do you think he'll sing about?"

He shrugged.

He was through half of his ale when strings were plucked, and the room grew quiet. The tempo picked up, giving Tibs an impression of someone running.

"Let me tell you of a robber of quick feet," the bard sang quickly, "and faster fingers. Of laughter at nobles and guards. Let me tell you of the Night Runner."

For the first time Tibs could remember, he found himself paying attention. He was curious as to how the Night Runner's exploits had been transformed. Or if they had. After all, he had crafted the character, just as he did with Fleet Fingers, and all those he'd used in previous cities, right out of bard's songs.