Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Charlie staggered into Tibs under the strength of the wind as they exited the tavern. He let the impact throw him to the ground, then accepted the fighter's hand. He looked to the graying sky as he stood.

Charlie grinned as he looked up. "Told you we were due for a storm," he said over the howling wind.

Tibs had hoped for more warning. "Get Uzoma and what we need. I'll meet you at the merchant's!" He ran off.

As soon as bodies hid him from the fighter, Tibs turned into an alley and leaped for the roofs. No longer having to act like the wind hindered him, he ran into it to his destination. The skies turned so dark, as the rain started, that those who needed light to see could think it was full night.

The wind increased to the point Tibs sensed people sent to the ground with each burst, or sticking to the walls in hope of remaining standing. What he sensed of inside the buildings was frenzy. Shuttering of windows, barring of doors.

The target shop had the people rushing to the back of the warehouse, by which they exited. The doors were already barred, and the windows locked and shuttered.

By the time Charlie became visible, pushing through the wind, using the buildings for support, Tibs sensed no one in the building. He ran well behind the fighter before dropping to the ground, then followed him, acting like the wind was an impediment.

Uzoma, huddled in the mouth of the closest alley was who noticed him. "What took you so long?" he yelled over the wind and rain, startling Charlie, he'd walked past him.

"Got turned around! I don't know the city like the two of you!"

"You're in time," Charlie yelled. "I checked the shop's door, it's barricaded. That means there's no one inside."

"Only if the other doors are also barred," the archer replied. "We need to check."

"I'll take the door to the holding room," Tibs yelled. "You two check the doors on this side and take position after that."

"You really want to waste us as guard in this weather?" Charlie asked. "There's no one out here."

"I won't be able to see anything from the roofs," Uzoma added. "We'll be more useful going in with you."

"We aren't getting overconfident just because the weather is in our favor. If being lookout isn't going to work stick with Charlie and watch for anyone approaching from the street."

"What about the supply door opening onto the caravan ground?" Charlie asked.

He sensed it was barred. "Unless you can get to the gate, convince them to let you out in this weather, and be back before I've confirmed I can safely go in, we're going to have to hope they keep it barred unless they're receiving goods." He took the pack from the fighter, then ran out of the alley. He kept to the wall in case the people he sensed by the shuttered windows could make him out and might wonder how he moved with such ease. Then he was on the roof and crossing the building to the other side.

He waited until he sensed the two of them return and move to the corner of the building looking in on this alley before dropping. If they made him out, they'd see him starting to work after checking the side of the building.

He unhooked the metal bar attached to the oiled pack, and used it to pry the wooden beams off, using essence to pull the nails. Then he placed his picks in the lock, and used essence to pick it.

He 'fought' against the wind to open the door, then was inside, letting it slam behind him. The water puddle that entered with him stretched six paces already.

He lit the lamp and walked along the stored bolts, reading the cards naming who had bought them, looking for the name Cynta had used to place the orders days before. He'd learned early on that not needing light to see didn't mean he could make out small details, such as the letters on the thick paper attached to each section of the heavy shelves. When the ink was wet, he could sense that, and the quill left an indentation in the paper, but that was too faint to be able to tell from essence, and, while he'd known someone who could read the indentation by touch, Tibs couldn't.

The storm had arrived on time for this as well. She'd warned him that the merchant was growing impatient for the delay in picking up the order.

He found the bolts set aside for the tailor Cynta claimed to represent at the back of the room. He set the lamp on the opposite table and took the first of the oiled cloth out of the pack. He placed the wrapped bolt by the door, the first of four, and put his shoulder to the door. He realized the problem he thought he'd have, since the signal they'd planned for wouldn't be heard over the wind, was resolving itself by Charlie approaching the door. He waited until he was next to it before pushing it, fighting the wind, until the hand grabbed it.

He backed away, slipping in the water, and glared at the fighter. "Don't scare me like that!" Tibs stood. "You were supposed to stay there until I signaled."

Charlie fought to keep hold of the door. "I figured I wasn't going to hear anything. Uzoma's keeping watch."

"This is the first bolt, make sure the door's closed."

"Why? You're going to cause the roof to fall in, aren't you?

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A burst of wind made it past them, and the lamp went out. "Because I can't work in the dark."

"Well, every time I fight with it, the wind might win and ripe the door off its hinges."

Charlie had a point. The plan had been for each bolt to be taken to the alley in turn, then the lot carried to Herns. "Go get Uzoma. I'll bring the four bolts by the door, then you can take them to Herns while I finish the rest."

He lit the lamp as soon as the door was closed and returned to wrapping the other bolts. He was tying the cloth over the last bolt when the door leading to the warehouse opened.

"I told you I saw light under the door," a woman said. "One of them left a lamp burning in this storm. One badly shuttered window, and it tips over to burn—" She stared at him, who'd been too stunned by her arrival to consider hiding himself, or what he'd been doing. Now that he was aware of her, he sensed four more a few paces behind.

How had he missed their approach—

"Thief!" she let out, prompting him to move, but it was too late. The others rushed the door.

He punched her unconscious, then slammed the door shut on the one stepping through, adding essence to the wood to ensure he'd be sent back. He extinguished the lamps, pulled the door open, and quickly they were all unconscious.

Abyss, this was bad. The only good thing was that Charlie and Uzoma weren't at the door yet.

By their wet clothing, they were people who worked in the warehouse. Beyond not not having noticed them, he couldn't work out what they were doing here. What kind of unfinished work could cause them to return during this storm?

He sensed for the other two and they were, mercifully, still fighting the storm. He had time to figure out what to do about them. Even if she couldn't have seen enough of him to identify Tibs, their plan counted on the missing bolts being blamed on the weather caused damage. She could reveal this for the theft it was. He doubted a merchant who dealt with items of value would dismiss her claims just because she was a common worker. Especially with others to support her, once they woke up.

Could he buy their silence? Only that put him at their mercy. Demanding ever more coins or revealing the truth. He couldn't just leave the city, so that would become untenable in time, and take away what he needed to gain access to the university.

He cursed. What was he supposed to do? Kill them?

Bile rose, and he swallowed it; forced himself to breathe. First, he needed to deal with the approaching Charlie and Uzoma. The fighter would have no problem killing if he saw them when he opened the door. Tibs pulled her in the warehouse, closed the door, lit the lamp and finished with the bolt.

He was almost at the door with it when it opened, and wind and water stormed in.

"Is everything okay?" Uzoma asked. "I'd thought you'd be done, with how hard the wind made it on us."

"One of the bolt was stuck." He passed the archer the bolt he held while Charlie tied the other three together. "You two go deliver them," he said, when the fighter had his bundle over a shoulder. "I'll meet up with you at the tavern when I'm done."

"I thought we were stashing them in the alley until you were done," the archer said. "We can still wait—"

"No." Tibs snapped. "With this storm, the oil might get washed off the cloth. Get those to Herns as quickly as you can." He put his shoulder to the door and pushed. Then 'fought' with the wind to keep it from flying out of his grasp. "Move!"

Within steps, they'd be unable to see or hear anything, and Tibs closed the door. He rested his head on it, sensing them struggle to move. He banged his head.

Why? Why did they have to be here? Why did they have to come close enough to notice the lamp's light? Why had he even bothered lighting it again? He hadn't needed it to tie the bundles. It had only been to maintain the illusion he needed it.

"Fuck!" He didn't have the time to waste dealing with this. He had two other shops to rob under the cover of the storm.

He weakened the wooden beams supporting the roof, then filled the room with water. The ceiling fell in the water as he stepped into the warehouse. Slamming that door closed didn't give him the satisfaction he sought.

He released the water, hardening the wall to the warehouse, and weakening those to the outside. Its rushing sounds as it destroyed the wall and spilled the room's content into the street brought him the satisfaction a slamming door hadn't.

He contemplated the unconscious people.

The most expedient solution, and simplest, was to kill them. He'd make it quick; bleed them out while they were unconscious. Then purity would remove any evidence.

His hand shook before it reached his knife.

His stomach rebelled, and he threw up against the wall.

He'd only attempted to kill in cold blood once.

He'd felt justified, and anger had helped him carry through with the attempt. He'd believed the man had given the orders that led to so many of his friends and the people in his town dying.

The five at his feet had done nothing to him or anyone; only showed up at the worse time he could imagine.

This was why people believed in luck.

Could cause Tibs to believe in it, if he didn't know better. It was just randomness, combined with his lack of attention. Had he been too focused on the job? Too confident in the storm keeping everyone away? This was the price of his lapse.

Five witnesses. Five people who could undo his work.

At the very least, get the Master looking into this, and who might have been involved.

He had to protect his team, no matter the cost.

He took the knife out and dropped next to the woman. This was for the team, he reminded himself. They couldn't leave the city to avoid the Master's retribution. And for something like this, and the inability to punish Tibs, the Master wouldn't be kind to them.

He wasn't losing anyone, ever again.

His hand shook so hard as he brought the knife closer to her neck, he was afraid he'd cut her. But he couldn't risk his team's safety just because they weren't bad people.

Or maybe they were.

It wasn't like he knew them. Maybe doing this would also save countless—

He threw the knife away and stared at it.

Was he a coward for not being able to go through with this?

But if he had to tell himself they were people who deserved to be killed in cold blood, then he shouldn't do it.

He stood and grabbed the knife, returning it to its sheath.

This meant that along with everything else he had to do, he'd need to ensure this didn't fall back on his team. He doubted the Master would take long to enact his retribution. As soon as they woke up, they'd run out of the warehouse and tell the guards and one of them would work for the Master who…

He looked at the door leading to the water destroyed room, then warehouse.

What if they didn't wake up here?

Tibs had had times of confusions after blows to the head. Back before protecting it had become a reflex. That had left him unsure of the events around that time. Strong alcohol could do the same, but he didn't know how to have them believe they'd drank so much as to forget what they'd done. Using Corruption to create that effect was too dangerous.

He didn't know if having them wake up elsewhere would be enough, but he could stomach that uncertainly. If it wasn't? He was simply in the same situation he found himself now. And that was also something he could stomach.

He used disks of water to carry them through the storm and snuck them into a tavern's room, and than paid for it. He added tankards and glasses of alcohols, to help with the story they could tell themselves, then continued onto the next jobs.

He had valuable gems, clays and wood to acquire before the storm let out.