Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

Guards were how the people in charge kept control of the city, so they were who Tibs needed to undermine. Undermining them to the citizens would be done through the Nimble Roamer, showing they weren't particularly competent. But he also needed to turn the guard against their employer, and that would be done by taking away the coins used to pay them.

He couldn't go for the tax money. The city rulers would lay the blame at the feet of the city folks. There would also be too much money in those coffers for one theft to do anything. He'd be at it for years before the effect showed.

What he had to do was take the coins after they were assigned as payment for the guards, but before they received them.

There were too many guards for them to go to the city offices to receive their pay. Bags were sent to each of the thirty-four guardhouses throughout the city, where the guards assigned there received their coins. He couldn't wait until they reached the guardhouses, since the distribution started immediately, and there would be too many people. He also couldn't take them at the city offices. The number of bags made that impractical, and all the guards that would escort the clerks carrying them to their destination would be present.

That left while they were in motion.

They'd be escorted, but in a busy city like Torleris, distractions would be simple to arrange, especially now that he had Fever.

What he couldn't do was make a show of taking the coins. It couldn't be possible for anyone to know something had happened until they started paying the guards. That eliminated nearly every easy method he had access to. He couldn't dissipate the essence that made up the coins. The Nimble Roamer couldn't drop in and take them. And there needed to be something in the bag to be handed to the guard. Something that could be a message by itself.

One that couldn't be ignored even as he couldn't get to all the bags.

One that didn't say we've been robbed. But said, you aren't worth much; you aren't worth as much as those other guards over there, which still received silver as their pay, while you only deserve copper.

Guards were paid every ninth day. It left him time for his research.

Getting into the library might not be as simple as walking it, it rarely was. Even showing scholarly credentials might not be enough, considering how controlled everything was. But a scholar arriving from the platform—no, that wouldn't work. Unlike cities where that was the main way people with money traveled, it was too rare here to go unnoticed, or easily to checked.

It would have to be by caravan, and that was only slightly more complicated to make appear true. A newly arrived scholar couldn't be expected to know how the city worked.

His first step consisted of building his scholar's wardrobe.

Not all scholars dressed well, but those who traveled had coins, and often needed their status as scholars on display for ease of access. They didn't go for needless displays of wealth, the way nobles did, since even great scholars didn't have coins to waste on that, but the fabrics would be made to survive travels while still being fine and comfortable. The satchel sturdy. The inkpot and quill case, resistant to breakage. It was the rare scholar Tibs had encountered who could afford magic as protection for their tools, but they would spend much of their coins on making sure they were protected.

Those coins came from nobles' pockets as they wandered away from their neighborhoods. With so many guards everywhere, the work was more difficult, but Tibs had time and the ability to sense where the guards stood by the metal in their armor and weapons.

Getting the needed clothing also took time. Until that point, every piece of clothing he'd acquired made him one of the common folks, and he couldn't step into a shop as one of them and ask for good quality clothing. He couldn't even claim to be the servant of someone requesting those clothes, as they wouldn't use common folks.

He had to gradually increase the quality of what he wore until his apparent station justified the clothing he wanted.

Stealing them had been an option, but the city's merchants were as much victims of the city's rulers as the common folks, and those catering to the nobles would need a team to rob, and he was done with teams for now.

Having the clothes adjusted to fit him was simple. Those of wealth who hired servants to buy their clothing weren't interested in then tagging along to be fitted. They either hired a tailor to come fit them, or found a servant who matched them in body to be the fitting dummy.

It took two weeks to expand his wardrobe until he could fit in any circles up to, with the right attitude, the low nobles.

When he wasn't busy building his wardrobe, he inquired about the caravans and studied the transportation platform in the hopes he could work out a way to still use it as his explanation. Those were always easier when it came to justifying things like not speaking the local language properly. It wasn't like travelers in other cities could know of the harsh measures in this one, could they?

He was able to converse with some of the Attendants when they left their buildings to eat at a tavern and learned that a warning had been sent out to all other platforms about the city's measures. It didn't keep everyone away, but those who arrived then had to explain themselves to the guards stationed at the platform. Those who couldn't were sent back. The Attendant had no choice in the matter.

The caravan was easier.

He found a caravan master amicable to receiving coins in exchange for claiming the scholar had indeed traveled with her, should she be asked, and from there, he found a shadowed corner he made darker with an etching and upgraded his look to that of the scholar he'd be.

He mixed in with the people shopping, buying paper, ink and quills to add to his case, before heading for the main road.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Where do you think you're going?" a guard demanded, then added, after looking Tibs over, "sir." The level of respect was markedly higher from when he'd been accosted as a caravan guard.

"To your library." He smiled. "I'm told it's good, and I wish to take a rest from traveling for a time."

The man looked him over and seemed to debate his decision. "No one told us one of you was traveling here."

"I am going to Brokentia," Tibs answered. "Their university does extensive research—" He stopped as the man's annoyance rose. "But I didn't realize how exhausting traveling was, and some reading will do me good."

"You're leaving with the caravan?"

"I … hadn't decided? More traveling is not appealing at this time."

More silent debating. "Vorkos," he called to another guard, and she joined them. "Take this scholar to intake so they can decide if they want to let him stay."

Tibs didn't protest. A scholar might, even if the caravan master had told them how the city was. Scholars could be arrogant in their belief intellect granted them privilege.

The office was two blocks away, a small room with three bored looking clerks. The one the guard placed him before looked at him, sighed, and took paper and quill.

"Name?"

"Tiobard, of Harshelen."

"Kingdom or city?"

"City. It is in the kingdom of Ophlatinan."

"Reason for visiting the library?"

"Rest and relaxation?"

The look said that wasn't acceptable.

"I am conducting research on the forest of the kingdoms, their wildlife, the people who depend on them for their survival, the way one affects the other."

"There aren't any forest close to here."

"But people travel here from them. I am hoping that information will have been tabulated and is available." The clerk didn't look as bored by the use of scholarly words as Tibs hoped, carefully writing down what had to be their equivalent in Fritir, the local language. He made out similarities to Itranir, but not enough to let him work out how it worked.

"Duration of your stay?"

"I don't know."

"That's not acceptable. If you're looking to stay indefinitely, that's—"

"No, I will be moving on. I simply don't know how long my research will take."

The clerk wasn't pleased. "I'm marking you as leaving in one month. If you plan on staying longer than that, return here and we'll see if we'll allow it." While the clerk wrote, Tibs studied the paper. Some words were already on it, probably identifying the page as being something the city recognized. The essence in the page felt much the same as any other. A general mix of Wood, with some Water, Air, Metal, Earth and other elements. It lacked the uniformity of papers make specifically for a city, the way it had been in Brokentia.

Recreating them with the changes he needed would be simple enough with an understanding of the language.

The clerk added a stamp in a dark ink that had nothing unusual about it to his sense, then handed the page to Tibs. "Keep this with you. If asked, present it. If you lose it, return here so I can confirm who you are and I will reissue another permit. You will be charged for that one."

"I will be careful with it, thank you."

* * * * *

He studied the page more carefully once back in his attic. The numbers would be easy to change, since those worked the same across nearly every kingdom Tibs had traveled to. He could write them the way the clerk had, after using wood essence to let the dried ink fall through the page.

He wasn't sure if he'd have to change any of the words. Hopefully, the library wouldn't be too particular about a scholar taking longer to do his research. Might even encourage it, if they charged him for the privilege.

If he needed to write an extensive new form, he could cut the parts that needed to be the same, like the words at the top and the stamp, and 'heal' them onto a different page. The same way he repaired his clothing, putting the broken seams together, then adding Wood essence, or Fever, for those made of animal material, until the gap was bridged and the strands reattached.

He didn't entirely understand how it worked, since he didn't have to etch anything. And what he'd read didn't make much sense to him. The scholar who wrote about it talked about the material knowing what they should be so that when the right essence was added, it used that to fix itself.

That sounded too much like they thought the essence was…alive, that the item wanted to be whole.

It worked, and Tibs was content with that.

* * * * *

Along with learning the written words, so he could make changes to his form if needed, getting all the pieces of clothing he'd need, and getting coppers, by using a silver anytime he bought a candy, learning the route the clerks took as they delivered the coins to the guardhouses, and studying who, among the city folks, looked ripe to act on their dislike for the city's ruler, Tibs put on appearances as the Nimble Roamer.

He interrupted guards in the process of abusing their positions. Outsmarted them in public ways and even fought them at times, showing any who watched they weren't all that skilled. The guards seemed to comprise mainly people who enjoyed displaying the power their position gave them.

So much for the training the city supposedly gave to all its guards.

After a full month, Tibs had enough copper to exchange three of the bags heading to the guards, and had decided on which routes to target. They were far enough through the city, word wouldn't reach them in time, and they traveled along busy roads.

The clerk was surrounded by six guards, but not the common ones patrolling the streets. Their armors were more metal than leather, and with fewer indications they'd seen combat. The people in them carried themselves with an air of authority Tibs couldn't know was deserved, unless he took them on, and that was not part of the plan.

The clerk held the leather bag in his arms like the heavy thing it was. The mouth was sewed shut with a leather cord that ended in a complicated knot that marked it as the official payment bag. Without his ability to sense Fever, he would have had to find one such knot and undo it to work out how it had been tied. That would have meant finding a way inside the city's offices, then figuring out where they were kept and getting into one of those rooms and being alone long enough to learn the knot.

Even with having the element, he'd had a difficult time with most of that. Too many items with the same essence blended together at a distance, and people had enough Fever in them it made telling them and things like leather bags apart difficult when there were as many of them as the city office had, so he had had to find excuses to make his way into those offices to better sense and recreate the knots.

Tibs's bag was under his shirt, held against his body to give him a burly appearance, instead of giving him a noticeable bulge. He didn't feel its weight because he held it in place with essence.

He paced the group, keeping his distance, as did everyone, and sensed ahead. He'd brought his sense in so he could tell people and animal apart. Tibs prepared the Fever etching as the large animal attached to the cart filled with large clay jars entered his sense.

It was safe, as far as his test with weaker versions on smaller animals had shown, only creating a sharp pain without causing damage. It made people curse, and animals…

Tibs sent it at the bull's hindquarter, and it bucked, kicking the cart. Tibs weakened the wood essence, and it broke, sending jars falling. An Earth etching at those ensured they sent shards flying on breaking against the road. They spilled a thick liquid he hadn't realized they contained.

The group hurried away, shoving themselves against the people, of which Tibs was now one. He collided with the clerk, sending a weaker version of the etching into his arms.

As the bag of silver coins fell, Tibs let his drop, bumping into the man again. The bag of silver didn't reach the ground while the copper one did.

The clerk hurried to grab it, looking around for anyone who might show interest as the guards formed up and pushed everyone away. Tibs moved with the push, then slipped into an unguarded alley and made it to an unwatched section of roofs. Covered in an etching, he ran for the next bag of copper so he could rob another city clerk.