Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Tibs looked into the theater through the open high shutters, keeping the rain from going in. He tried to see and sense anyone out of place, but he didn't know the people who were part of the theater well enough.

Neither Charlie nor Uzoma had been at the tavern they'd agreed to meet at. Which had to mean something had gone wrong. If they'd been captured, those who had done that now knew about the theater.

A look only told him people on the stage were acting out something, the many lights ensuring they were visible. Not if they were doing it the way actors would. There were people seated on the bottom benches, but too few to be an audience. But the weather could account for that. Looking at the back of their heads, from the top told him little, and he didn't sense any weapons on them, so…

He closed the shutter behind him and fell to the ground.

He sensed people in Herns's workshop, five of them. Maybe Charlie and Uzoma had been delayed there? Or maybe those who had captured them were waiting for the rest of the team to show up.

There was only one person in Ismael's workshop. While they both knew Tibs and Cynta would play nobles, neither Charlie nor Uzoma knew where they'd get the gems. She was the best place to start, and watching her react to the delivery would clue him in if anything was going on in the theater.

He kept to the wall, wrapped in a Darkness etching. No one in the theater had an element. The door to the hall was in near total darkness, so he entered it without drawing attention. The rooms leading to the workshop were empty of people. They'd be all the essence he sensed moving around the back, sides, and rafters. Doing what they did so the play could proceed.

Of being forced to.

There were people standing around among them. They didn't have weapons, but would they feel a need for them just to compel actors?

He reached Ismael's door and raised his hand to knock, noticing his dry sleeve. He drenched himself and had to time to remember something she'd said. He entered without knocking.

She sat at her table, as with every other of his visits. This time, she was painting a wooden sword's pommel. The blade already looked as if it was metal, the guard could be silver, and the handle she was painting leather brown, with paler cord wrapped over it in a criss-cross pattern. He'd seen the design before, but didn't remember where.

He stepped to the table and waited for her to acknowledge him, which she did by glancing up and returning to her work.

She stared at the heavy oiled bag he put on the table. "That's bigger than I expected."

He shrugged. "The storm gave me an opportunity. There should be enough in there to make the jewelry for our clothing, as well as everything you need for the crest."

She looked in and hurried to close the bag. "There's a king's ransom in gems in there."

"No one's going to notice they're gone."

While he'd been careful with the damage he'd caused to the specialty artisan shop, so as little got damaged by the water that made it through the storm damaged roof and into the storage area as he could, he hadn't felt inclined to be so generous with the jewelry shops.

He'd seen the people who shopped there, the merchants who owned them. He doubted they were nobles, but had the behavior down. With three shops selling gems side by side, he'd decided it made more sense for the storm's damage to be more widespread. It had let him pilfer more of them, and the rest would be found in the street's mud when the storm ended.

"You can cut the rest small enough to sell and help the theater."

"You can keep most of that. All I need is some of the platinum wire, along with the gold and silver one. As well as the clay and the wood for your crest." She looked in again and took out a green gem slightly larger than her thumb. "This will be enough to let me make the jewelry."

"You'll make better use of the rest."

Her reply was a suspicious stare.

He ignored it. "When can you have it done? Herns said that with his expected workload, he should have our party clothing done in three weeks."

"You hand him a little of what's in this bag and he'll be done in half the time."

"I don't want to disrupt the theater. And as I was reminded recently, this doesn't need to be rushed."

She looked at the crest on the wall. "I can have yours done in a few days. It'll be more waiting for the clay to dry once I've formed, etched and adding the other elements. Then I'll add the colors. The jewelry will take longer, but I'll be done before Herns."

Without another reason to stay, he headed back to the main room. She hadn't done anything out of character, but he needed to remind himself he didn't know if she left her workshop. She might not have had a reason to see the rest of the theater. She might not know it had been taken over.

He stepped into the stage room, ready to follow the wall again to reach the other door, but saw Charlie and Uzoma on the bottom bench, among the others, watching the play. The fighter pointed to the stage, whispered something, and Uzoma chuckled.

Had they been here the entire time, watching the play? He almost headed for them directly to let them know he didn't appreciate them not being where they were supposed to meet, but they weren't supposed to know about his visit with Ismael, so he walked around to the entrance door, drenched himself again, and headed through the seating, and then for the two of them.

"What are you two doing here?" he muttered angrily, doing his best not to disturb the others enjoying the show. "We were supposed to meet at the tavern."

"We figured we'd wait here for the storm to pass," Charlie said, distracted by the performance.

"And with how long it took you to come here," Uzoma said, "we'd have sat there for so long he'd have drank himself into a stupor."

"Causing the roof to collapse took more work than expected."

"We offered to help," the archer pointed out.

"It was more important to get the fabrics to Herns. Did he say anything about them?"

"No, just that we were disturbing him," Charlie said, studying the actors screaming at each other. "Something about having to be ready for the fire. What do you think they tell each other to get so angry?"

Tibs glanced at the stage. The man and woman looked ready to come to blows. He didn't initially get what the fighter was asking about, then remembered that while Charlie wasn't as stupid as he acted, he relied on strength more than his mind.

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"They're just acting at being angry. Where is Cynta? She also wasn't at the tavern."

"Really?" the fighter leaned forward, as if that would let him see and hear them better. "They look furious."

"She was with Herns when we delivered the fabrics," Uzoma said. "I don't know if she's still there."

With no need to hide anymore, he headed for the door, then the tailor's workshop.

The man was at the table, cutting fabrics. Cynta had a dress against her chest, looking at her reflection in a tall mirror.

"What do you think?" she asked, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

"I think you could look like a noble in that." The dress had layers of fine fabric.

Herns snorted.

"I'm thinking of asking Herns to make me one like it, but with the fabrics you got him."

Tibs shrugged. "If there's enough left once he made what we need, you're welcome to talk him into it. I don't have—"

"Enough left?" The tailor stared at him in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how much it's going to take to make what you asked?"

"Hopefully not more than what we got you," he replied, annoyed. "We can't get you more."

Herns's disbelief increased, and he looked at the four bolts on the floor, stacked before a row of hanging clothing. "Do you know anything about making clothing?"

"If I need something, I get it from a shop. If I need something fancy. I pay a tailor to make it for me. Looking like a noble is never something I aspire to."

"You brought me enough to make dozens of high noble clothing."

"Good."

Herns shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle and returned to his work.

Cynta placed the dress among others on a rack. "Herns will want us back in a few days."

"Four," the tailor said.

"To make sure the patterns fit us." She took his arm in hers. "Lets get the other two and go celebrate."

"Something quieter than last time."

She chuckled. "I don't think Charlie knows how to do anything quietly."

* * * * *

Tibs crouched at the edge of the roof, dressed in Fleet Finger's green and black, hood up, and half mask in place. Other than being too close to the edge, therefore in sight of anyone on the street who bothered looking up, he could be one of any thief looking over the selection of noble's homes as if it they were the best of food tempting him.

The surprised yell came. It was a beautiful day after the devastating storm, and looking up to admire the cloudless sky was common. He smiled at the person pointing, then more looked up and pointed, calling attention to him.

When the authoritative yell came, the people in the street moved out of the way of the men and women rushing in his direction. No city guards had armor this resplendent. He doubted the city bothered with this neighborhood, or that the nobles would let mere city guards in their streets.

He stood, spread his arms, then gave a bow. Fleet Fingers didn't care if he was seen. He didn't care that the nobles knew he was looking over their homes. That they knew one of them would be robbed soon.

It was what Tibs needed them to focus on. To wonder who would be the flamboyant thief's next victim. He needed Fleet Fingers to be on their minds anytime something went missing.

He wanted the character to take the blame for anything Tibs might need to take from them. So that once the job was over, all eyes would be on Fleet Fingers instead of his team.

He walked casually along the edge of the roof as the noble's mercenaries called to others, searched for ways to climb to him and give chase. He'd picked this lower building to make it easier on them, with the extensions at varying floor heights.

Not to make it easier for them to reach him, unless they were more agile in those heavy armor than they looked, but in explaining the way Fleet Fingers could suddenly find himself on the ground when they lost sight of him.

Which he did, then waited for them to round the corner before giving a mocking bow and running off.

Their metal armor made it easier to keep track of them, and they moved in more organized patterns. He sensed them spreading through the alleys.

Unlike the city, the nobles took threats on their possessions seriously.

They were blocking off more and more of the exits they could think of, tightening their net until they were certain they had him. Of course, they'd made the mistake of thinking of him as a common thief.

Fleet Fingers was someone out of bard's songs and, as he ran toward the three guards at the end of the alley, he was going to demonstrate it.

He couldn't go too far. Fleet Fingers had to be skilled, not someone with an element. Dealing with nobles, having adventurers be called in was unavoidable, but he wanted to delay that as much as possible.

He placed his hands on the guard who attempted the grapple, and it explained the leap his Air etching let him do. He landed behind the three and waved as he continued running.

He ran through the next group he encountered, and when they grabbed for him, the weakened stitches of his vest ripped and slid off the hardened water he'd etched under them. He stopped as they tripped over themselves, having expected a harder time, and made a show of looking at his now exposed deep green leathers.

"Can any of you recommend a decent tailor? Fleet Fingers can't seem to find one that makes clothing that stays on."

He side stepped the snarling woman who lunged at him.

"That must be no."

He ran.

Then he jumped over a group of them, stepping onto a crate that had been left by the wall, and an Air etching to propel him up. One caught his arm as he landed, but Lightning caused them to let go.

The groups became larger as they met up, and Tibs had fewer ways to go.

He used Earth to cause the man at the lead of the next group to trip, then propelled himself off the wall to jump over the rest as they tumbled on top of the first.

As best as he sensed, they now had all the alleys blocked and were closing in for the capture. So, it was time for him to make his exit.

He picked a wooden wall with enough handhold to explain the ease with which he climbed it. As with nearly every guard Tibs had dealt with, they'd forgotten the roofs could be a way to flee.

He looked down as some grabbed onto the wall, and other readied to help boosts associates up. "Fleet Fingers has found this most enjoyable, but he has places to be and…" he grinned, "houses to rob."

He walked away from the edge and their sight, and the guards spread around the house while those already trying to reach the roof kept at it. With no one watching, Tibs let go of restraint and was well away before the first one managed to climb all the way.

He was well out of the nobles' neighborhood by the time he dropped from the roof. The area was respectable, and the houses lower. He only needed to grab the edge of the roof to help him drop to the ground of the alley. He had a handful of his hood when he sensed a group of people break from the crowd and enter his alley.

By the metal buckles, they wore leathers. Not guards, since there were only three swords among the six of them. Knifes and clubs for the rest. There had been no hesitation in how they'd headed for the alley. They had intended to come here.

Tibs let go of the hood and turned to face them. They wore dark leathers. The kind Tibs would wear to slip in and out of places without being seen, but expecting to have to fight.

"This is an unexpected surprise," he said, smiling. "Fleet Fingers is honored, but he is too busy today. Is it possible to do this tomorrow? He has no plans then, and he is certain he can entertain you."

"Oh, we're doing this now," the man in the lead said. "We don't let just anyone work in this city. This is your last day."

Tibs affected surprise. "Fleet Fingers wasn't made aware requirements needed to be met. How many houses does he have to rob? In how many days? Will yours count?"

He'd known the Master's people would eventually catch up to Fleet Fingers. But he hadn't expected them to be so well organized. How many of the people sprawled in the alleys he'd jumped over, who he'd thought drunks, had actually been the Master's agents? A number of them, for them to have been able to get the word ahead and have people ready.

"You think we're a joke, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Fleet Fingers hadn't thought about you at all. He doesn't waste time on insignificant thugs."

The quality of their leathers meant they had money. Either successful thieves, or well paid by the Master to enforce his will. They'd know how to fight, but all they'd heard were stories. If they had witnessed Fleet Fingers in action, they wouldn't have brought only six.

Still, they probably thought six was enough to deal with the man they expected Fleet Fingers to be. This would help focus the Master's attention where Tibs wanted it.

He reached for the pommel and formed the sword as he pulled. A thin blade for quick slashes and jabs. One that made it easy to explain away how fleet the movements were.

He parried and slashed, dodged and jabbed. Deflected and elbowed. He moved easily among them, inflicting more pain that actual damage.

This was a message to the Master, not a massacre. A message in controlled application of injuries. A show that Fleet Fingers didn't consider them important enough to bother with anything serious.

Once they were on the ground writhing in pain, he put the tip of his sword on the ground and hand on the pommel as if it was a cane. "Fleet Fingers must say he isn't impressed. He has heard much of the Master's people and had expected better. Would saying that he would prefer not to have to do this again be a waste of his breath?" he sighed. "Do keep in mind that Fleet Fingers has more important things to do than an exercise like this. He might not be as understanding next time."

He sheathed the sword and headed for the road. He shed the hood and half mask, then cloak, and lost himself among the crowd.