Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

"What do you mean, our celebration?" Tibs demanded. "All this is so we'll be invited to one of their celebrations."

"And how do you think that happens?" Cynta replied, smiling.

He threw his hands up. "How should I know? Nobles are always celebrating something. It's how they impress each other."

"And we need to impress them first. We are the new arrivals. We need to give them a reason to want to be around us if we don't want them to shun us for the strangers we are."

"And we do that by playing their games?" he demanded in disbelief.

"Exactly," she answered with pride.

He felt like banging his head against the wall. At least, that would be one pain under his control.

The jiggling of a key in the door's lock put him on alert. He hadn't locked it. There came muttering on the other side as servants walked by the person at the door. Once they were alone, the door opened and the man in colorful clothing that had ordered him inside entered.

"How did it go, Gerald?" Cynta asked.

"Pretty good," the man answered, without any of the haughtiness he'd used on Tibs or the rest of the crowd. "I've only glanced at the letters of introductions, but I think I saw all the minor noble names."

"What?" Tibs looked for her to the man. "What letters of introductions? We were the ones who sent those out. And who are you?"

"I," the man said, straightening, and his face turning into the mask of barely contained disdain from before, "am Archebald. Personal man-servant to the illustrious Lady Rabiria, and that man of hers." He sneered as he took in Tibs. "Not that simple folks like you could ever understand the importance of her Ladyship."

"She called you Gerald." Tibs's confusion tempered the rising anger.

"Well, of course," he said, his posture that of someone ordinary. "It's my name. And it's good to actually meet you, Thibaud. I'm grateful for what you did for us."

He looked at Cynta, hoping she'd have an explanation.

"He's with the theater. Don't you remember seeing him on stage?"

He looked the man over again and tried to place him as someone from the stage, not that he'd paid them any attention.

Gerald smiled. "What you gave Ismael has already helped alleviate some of the pressures we've felt. So it is an honor to help you in this endeavor."

"Nobles always have personal servants to handle the specifics of their business, like intercepting other nobles' servants trying to ingratiate their masters to us," she said.

Tibs rubbed his temple. "I thought we weren't wealthy enough to have all the noble's trappings." Why was a simple job becoming so complicated? Better question. Why was this abyss cursed university so strict on who could enter it he'd been forced to set all of this in motion?

"Oh, we are. If anyone bothers looking into who Archebald is, they'll find out he's actually Gerald. Putting on air is something actors excel at. Hence why we hired one of them, instead of a properly trained personal-servant."

"Doesn't that go against convincing them we're just like them?" He raised a hand to keep her from answering, already feeling the headache forming. "Never mind. I'll go along with it. It's going to be easier than trying to understand any of this."

She beamed. "And that is why the Lady Rabiria loves her man so. He understands who has the money in the relationship."

"It's not going to make it easy to act pleasant to her," Tibs said. "Let alone having the nobles believe we have a loving relationship."

Gerald took in Cynta and smiled. "I don't see how that can be difficult."

Tibs rolled his eyes. "It's going to be quite an act I'm pulling off."

Realization dawned on the man. "I see." Fortunately, he didn't elaborate or ask questions. He could believe whatever he wanted, so long as he didn't tell Tibs about it.

"I'm guessing that everything needed for that celebration you say we need is already being arranged?" He unhooked the plain-looking bag from his belt. "I have money left from negotiation with the caravan master."

She smiled. "More money is always good."

Gerald took it, weighing it in a hand as he looked at her. "How authentic are you going for?"

"As authentic as a pair of money strapped nobles can afford to go. We need to impress, but we can't have them think we're flush with coins."

"I'll check with Mitchell," Gerald said, then exited the room.

"They know everything there is to know about the city's tastes," Cynta explained. "At the theater, they make sure the sets look authentic, while not bringing them to ruin."

"What do you need me to do, then?"

She took his arm in hers. "You, my dear man, get to go waste the day with those books you are so fond of, until it's time for you to be a true noble."

*

Tibs dearly wished he could make the large warehouse room cooler, sitting against the wall and doing his best not to move, and not smell of whatever pungent items had been in it before.

The storage had been leased by a merchant Cynta created, and the crates containing their costumes moved in over the previous days as part of more crate, filled with things the theater didn't need currently, waiting for the caravan that was contracted to take them. The four of them had sneaked in under cover of the night and had settled to wait for Elanor's caravan to arrive.

Sleeping had been manageable in the smelly, stuffy air, but with the sun rising, the heat had increased and without the same protection from Fire as he had with the other elements; it was becoming uncomfortable. Storage set to keep the things stored in them from spoiling, therefore being comfortable, was too expensive to justify.

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The situation could be alleviated slightly with open doors, but that would invite people to look in.

"You realize," Charlie said, "that we're going to be sweating even more once we put this getup on, right?" His and Uzoma's costumes straggled the line between offering protection and being decorations, giving them nearly as many layers as what Tibs and Cynta would wear.

"It's early enough one of you can sneak out and get a bucket of water," Cynta offered.

"I'm already wet," the fighter replied. "Putting on more water isn't going to help. We need to open a door."

"Not until we exit," Tibs said.

He could keep himself comfortable, but that would require an etching to keep the heat off him, and it would be odd that he was the only one not affected by the uncomfortable situation. "And it will be just as hot for the nobles in their wagons. They will have dressed before leaving in the morning."

"How much longer are we going to be in here?" Uzoma asked.

Tibs shrugged. "We'll know when they get here." They had been scheduled to arrive with the sun only a finger's width above the walls, but they were only now entering his range. "The best thing you can do until we hear them and have to put on our costume is to be still and rest."

*

Tibs was hot and uncomfortable under all the fine fabrics.

Putting them on had been a chore. The heat and Charlie's incessant complaining hadn't helped. He'd almost snapped at the fighter a few times.

But now they were ready for their entrance.

The caravan had stopped in the coral, and people were exiting their wagons. All that was needed was a distraction to ensure everyone looked away from their door. It came in the form of a crate of metal cookware toppling off a wagon and shattering on hitting the ground. The noise was audible even behind the closed door.

"Finally," Charlie muttered, pushing the door open. "Any longer and I was stepping out, anyway."

Everyone close had moved to help gather the merchant's items. Those not helping were busy with their own wagons, except for one, standing on his wagon's driver's bench, looking around, scanning in open worry.

He was the Metal adventurer Tibs had sensed when speaking with Elanor. Only he was dressed as an Urbiran merchant, in light clothing that would reveal any armor he wore under. The strips of fabric wrapped over his head had slipped down, hiding his metal gray eyes from view.

Did the guild give adventurers work that called for them to pass themselves off as merchants? Bards sang of them hiding who they were as part of their adventures, but never as something as mundane as a merchant.

He'd sensed Tibs pulling the crate off the wagon, but hadn't pinpointed where the essence had come from.

He couldn't sense Tibs, since he wasn't channeling Metal, so of no concern for the moment, but he'd have to make the time to check why the man was here.

"Focus," Cynta whispered, and Tibs looked ahead. The gate approached, and the crowd thickened.

Charlie and Uzoma moved anyone dressed in less than noble clothing out of their way. They'd explained to the two that, short of hurting them, they were to be as brusque as needed to make space. Nobles didn't stand and wait for people to get out of their way.

No one on this side of the gate was a noble.

"Rabiria Hollomeir and her man," Charlie announced, as if they were no more than merchants.

"It's Lady," Cynta corrected haughtily, and Charlie shrugged. He handed the papers to the clerk. The show was to reinforce their lack of money. They hadn't been able to afford the kind of escort who would treat them with the respect nobles desired. Charlie was to be almost belligerent in his interaction with them, while Uzoma wouldn't manage to care about anything these nobles did anymore.

The clerk scanned the papers, made notes on his board, and handed them back, the act the extent of him officially allowing them to enter.

Cynta took Tibs's arm in hers and leaned in, smiling. "We're being watched," she whispered.

He returned the smile, leaning into her ear, and whispered back. "And not just by the nobles." Five thieves watched them from an alley's shadows.

Neither was unexpected, since their arrival had been announced, but he hoped it wasn't an indication the Master was on to what they were doing. There had been no signs they'd been found out, but this meant they'd have to be more careful.

Now that they were in the city, Charlie and Uzoma didn't have to push anyone. The people here knew how to behave around nobles. And once they were away from the throng of people. Their two guards couldn't refuse those who did approach.

Representatives from the noble families introduced themselves to the Lady. The names Tibs recognized were from the lower and middle nobles. Cynta had given him all of them to memorize, but only some had stuck. This had felt more painful than what he remembered of learning his letters.

The high nobles wouldn't bother with the streets to make their introductions, she'd explained. There would be a celebration for them to do that at. She'd smiled when he'd pointed out they hadn't invited all of them.

"And that," she'd replied, "is why they will all be there."

*

Tibs walked through the market dressed as a commoner. Even if the celebration was yet to be put on, the last two days had been busy with more low and middle nobles coming to the house for introductions. Tibs had been present for all of them, but today, after the third such visit, Lord Tieran Hollomeir had claimed to be exhausted and in need of rest, then retired to his and the Lady's chambers. Cynta had laughed his departure away, hinting that his tiredness was due to the little sleep they'd had the previous night.

The low noble's chuckles had made it clear what they thought the two of them had kept busy with. Sneaking to the roof had been easy, even without the use of essence. The lady and lord's bedroom's balcony didn't have neighbors looking on to it.

Now, Tibs headed for the metal ware merchant to find out why he was in this city.

The men had a booth with metal ware hanging from the walls and ceiling, enough Tibs couldn't see the wooden wall behind them. He gave parting words in Urbiran to the woman who left with a cooking pot. Tibs hadn't had reasons to learn it, but had met a few from that kingdom and they'd explained the words to mean 'may the sands be cool under your feet.' A saying given to those they wished for good things to happen after they parted.

Tibs stepped to the counter, and when the man turned to him, he openly stared. The metal gray eyes were there for all to see. Tibs had thought the low strips of fabric obscuring them had been intentional, but now?

"And how may Lianas of Robretia be of service to you, young man," he greeted him with an accent nearly too thick to be understood.

"Your eyes," he said, putting awe in the words.

The merchant smiled and bowed, a hand going to his forehead. "I have been blessed by an element, and my eyes mark me as such." He motioned to the wares. "It has made me adept at working the metal that makes these, so I promise that while not expensive, these will be the best you can find."

"Do you have knives with the pots?" Tibs asked, looking them over. If the man was on a job for the guild that required him playing at being a merchant, he had to be a rogue.

"Ah, no. Wares for the cooks and bakers are all I make. There is a merchant seven booths further along that will have those, and they are of good quality." He smiled at Tibs stare. "The element has blessed me with the ability to know the quality of other's work in metal."

Could he really be a merchant? At his rank, Tibs had no way to know how old the man really was. He wasn't centuries old, that would show for someone in the Epsilon range, but he could easily be decades older than he looked. The only people Tibs had encountered with an element, but who weren't part of the guild or hired themselves off for a lot of coins were those with barely a trace of one.

"How did you become blessed?" he asked, trying to come up with a way to confirm the man was with the guild.

The smile fell slightly. "Through hardship and darkness, my young man. No blessing comes easy. Many tried, but I was one of the few who was strong enough to receive one."

"But you do magic. That's what the elements give, right?"

"The elements give a tool for us to use as we desire." He touched a pan lovingly. "I desired to make. So once freed, I made." The smile returned fully. "And now I travel and make what people need."

"Freed?"

"What do you need that this humble merchant can offer?" The man was done indulging his questions.

Tibs walked away. Had he really managed to pay off all the guild had charged for his training and running a dungeon and walked away to become someone who made and sold metal ware? He knew most people joined the guild willingly, paid for the privilege. But other than the nobles, the guild quickly shouldered so much debt onto them they had no choice but to work for them. The guild trained people to enjoy the power they had, the riches they got with that power.

And that man had walked away from that?

Hadn't Tibs?

But he had his revenge.

And the man had his making.

Tibs looked over his shoulder and the man was joyfully explaining something about the metal bowl in his hand to a mother with a child in her arms.

Maybe after everything they had to go through to escape the guild, some people only wanted the quiet of an ordinary life after all.