Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

The group's leader walked among the other shoppers in the market, making it easy for Tibs to follow her. She was dressed as someone of means, although not of extensive wealth, and while he had intended on learning nothing about her, or the others in her group, he'd found her man owned a shop when he followed her in and they kissed. She then proceeded to tell him about the rest of her plan for the day.

He had not followed her when she left the market. He didn't want to learn where she lived, and possibly find out her family was more extensive than her and her man. He only wanted to know the little he needed about her so he could help with their plans to make things easier for the city folks. She returned to the market by the caravan gate every few days, and that had been enough for him.

This time, as she engaged another shopper in conversation, who knew her, by the enthusiastic response, he slipped the piece of paper with the instructions between the folds of wrap around the parcels in her arms and continued on, getting only enough of their talk to work out it was about the pulp trade.

It had been over a week since he'd introduced himself, so time for another meeting.

That done, he headed for the library.

* * * * *

Tibs raised his head off the counter when the tankard slammed on it. He looked around, eyes unfocused, as a man handed over a copper and walked away with it. Tibs sensed him sit at a table with others.

he looked into the tankard he'd held onto while 'sleeping' and found it empty.

He raised it. "'Nother," he slurred.

"Coin?" the barkeep demanded, his tone no longer severe, the way it had been the first evenings Tibs had drank himself into a stupor at his counter. Then, he had doubt that someone like that could afford the ale he wanted, even if Tibs was dressed as one of the city's common workers. But he'd done this for eight days now and without fail, he had coins, so the man just demanded it ahead of time without adding opinion in the tone.

He sensed the essence in the ale, trying to work out how the interactions between Corruption and Wood played a part in getting people drunk. Corruption was the biggest influence, but with drinking as much as he had to, to play drunk, he'd realized that he still felt something once the Corruption was removed after six tankards or so. With Wood being the other significant element in the ale, it had to be it, but he couldn't work out how. So he now removed both, ending up with foul tasting water.

He arrived each evening, not long after the end-of-day bell sounded, and drank quickly until his head hit the counter. Then, his time would be spent fighting to remain awake enough to order his next drink and go through it. He wasn't the only one who drank too much in the tavern, but he was the only one who did so at the end of the bar. He also was the only one not to stagger home before the curfew sounded.

He'd expected the barkeep to question how it was Tibs always had copper for his ale, or how he could be back every day, since as drunk as he seemed, leaving after full dark, guards were sure to get him and throw him in a cell for a few days as a lesson.

But it seemed the man didn't care where people got their coins, and that avoiding guards was the drunk's own business.

He had expected her to show up already. The note had told her where to go, when to be there, and what to say to the barkeep on duty so he'd know to contact the Nimble Roamer, and to leave immediately without paying attention to the barkeep maintaining his role as to not draw attention to them.

It was close enough to the curfew bell he thought he'd have to be back when she entered the tavern.

"Barkeep," she said once she was at the bar, and continued before the man replied. "I need you to pass along a message. Tell Ardiel that the Turtine is in place, and ready for her to pickup."

"Who?" the man replied, but she was already heading for the door. "The what?" he called after her, but she didn't stop.

Tibs's smile hid in his arm. He didn't move. He continued drinking the way he always did, well into the night, then he staggered out and into the first alley, where he etched Darkness around him and went to the roofs to run to his lair.

* * * * *

He followed her to the same tailor's backroom two days after she gave the signal, as had been part of his instruction. This time, he waited until she was inside to slip in by the same window as before. The knife holder had a lantern up, shining as much light into the rafters as he could, but moving it so much all he did was create darker shadows. Tibs moved with them and dropped into a dark corner.

The man was so confident he knew how to catch Tibs's arrival he hadn't bothered lighting the rest of the storage room

"How long are we waiting?" the other woman, seated at the table with Amien and Stephen, asked.

"Until he comes," their leader replied, sitting.

"Are you sure he'd going to show up?" Amien asked. "The instructions he gave you didn't have a way to let him know where we'd meet."

"I'd like to see him sneak in," the knife holder said, still panning the light into the rafters.

"He found us before," she said. "He will again."

Tibs stepped to the edge of the light and bowed. "I said I would."

The knife holder had the light on him. "How did you get in?"

"Sneakily. Do you have an answer?"

"He's willing to work with you," the other woman said. "But he needs a demonstration of how far you're willing to go."

"A test?" he didn't have to fabricate the amusement in his voice. "To see if I am willing to go further than taking money right out from under the guards protecting it? I must say I am curious as to what he has in mind."

"In six days to a week," she said, "a caravan will arrive. Among the goods is a supply of weapons for the guards. Swords, polearms, and others. He wants you to make them vanish."

Tibs took time responding. It felt too extreme for the little they'd implied about this hidden leader. "Is he looking to declare war on the city?" he asked, making the dubiousness clear.

"I told you he'd know this isn't the right thing to do," their leader said, motioning in his direction. "He's all about subtly unsettling those who enforce power."

"You call stealing their money under their nose him being subtle?" Stephen said.

"Ah, but I have stolen nothing. No matter what those in power claim, I am simply a convenient patsy, so they don't have to take the blame for the pressure they are applying on their guards."

"You just said you'd taken their money."

"And if the city somehow finds themselves paying closer attention to the transport of the coins than they already are, I'll know who to ask as to why they are doing that." He let the tone be the threat.

"Can you make some of them disappear?" the contact woman asked, sounding worried. "We can't let the guards be better armed than they already are. More weapons just means they'll be more apt to use them when someone tries to resist."

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Fear made for an understandable motivation for something he felt was extreme. Although the group leader's reaction made him think there had been an aspect of testing if he'd be able to know what went against a long-term plan.

"If the goal is to see them unarmed," he said. "How about this? How about I replace those weapons with defective versions? Add to the impression that those in power are punishing the guards for not being able to do the job they require of them."

"You won't know what the weapons are until they get here."

"Then consider this me adding to my demonstration of commitment, by also showing you the extent of my resourcefulness."

Their leader looked at the contact woman.

"I don't have enough time to check with him," she answered the silent question.

"If he can't pull it off," Stephen said, "are we worse off than right now?"

"If he can't do it, he's going to sell us off to save his skin," the knife holder said.

The suspicion in the look their leader gave the man said that she, too, thought this was giving away more of the man's potential actions than what he expected the Roamer to do.

"I won't be caught."

"That's the kind of attitude that gets people killed," the knife holder said disdainfully.

"Only if they aren't as good as I am."

"How are we going to know it worked?" their leader asked.

With him 'replacing' them, just saying he was done wouldn't be enough. "I will arrange for a demonstration."

"I say we let him do it," Amien said. "If he screws it up, it's his neck on the line. At this point, I doubt the guards are going to let him live if they catch him, no matter how much of an example the city wants to make of him."

There was a sense of confidence in the statement Tibs wouldn't expect from someone making a supposition. The man looked strong enough to be a guard, and while Tibs hadn't seen the man move, there was a quiet alertness to him that contrasted with the knife holder's nervous searching. There had been no light on any of his words, and that was enough for Tibs to leave things as they were.

"Then, with your leave, I shall go and prepare."

"If I need to reach you," their leader said. "Do I do it the same way?"

"That will draw attention. I'll have a new place and message to use delivered to you."

The knife holder shone the lantern on Tibs. "Let's see you sneak out this time."

He chuckled. "What's the point? With you so intent on seeing me off, I'll just use the door." He took three steps in its direction, then the wind he etched coming from the open window was strong enough to extinguish the lantern. Tibs was in the rafters and out that window before a lamp was lit.

* * * * *

He stepped through the caravan gate among the others successful looking residents, and the guards wrote down all their descriptions. For this, he was dressed like them. A successful merchant going directly to the caravan so he could ensure that what he wanted would be available. His pouch was heavy with coins. Enough he could engage in early trade.

The caravan guards were on the side, the guard master addressing them before sending them to help the merchant move their wares. She was tall and carried herself like she was comfortable being obeyed.

He spoke with the merchants as they got ready, inquiring about their wares, and, when he came across a candy seller, asked to see what she stocked. She wasn't in a position to show him everything, with most still being in their crates, but she had spiced candies. He had to buy a box of them that would last him for the month, if he could be reasonable in eating them, since that was the only way she was willing to trade from her wagon.

He kept walking among them as the instructions for the caravan guards ended and they moved on to helping the merchants. He asked questions and looked over the wares as the transportation started.

He couldn't approach the wagons that held the weapons. The guards around them were not caravan guards. Tibs wondered how much conflict their presence had caused. From his experience, caravan guards didn't like 'outsiders' doing the work they considered theirs.

If he hadn't been able to sense the weapons, those guards would have told him where they were.

Tibs was confident that if he could weave essence, he'd be able to do something less notable with how the weapons would break. There was a flow in the essence that made them similar to how it flowed into people, although it didn't so much move, in objects, as simply was. Which was yet another thing that couldn't be when essence was involved. If he could weaken along that flow, he thought the breaks would look more real, when they happened.

Without that, he had to resort to simply pulling some of the wood and metal essence out of them. Even trying to make that uneven didn't work, as he couldn't control what happened to the essence there. The essence moved when he stopped, until it felt mostly the same.

He spoke with merchants, stepped out of the way as wares were moved, until he was done. Then he exited the coral with the merchants and guards, having to pause long enough for his description to be matched to what had been written.

He walked through the market, box under his arm, intent on leaving it, now that his work was done, when he sensed the muddling of essence.

How had she known he'd be here?

What was she still doing in the city? He didn't know how long the guards would keep her in a cell, but he expected them to throw her out for breaking their rules.

Did her teacher have that much clout?

When he saw her, knowing he should be heading in the opposite direction, he was surprised to see her alone. No one looked like they were her teacher; observing how she acted as she questioned—

She rubbed fabric between her fingers and looked at the merchant inquisitively. She didn't wear her metal-laden leathers, but clothing that had seen a lot of traveling.

He was making a mistake; he told himself, as he approached. Her teacher was hidden, skilled enough to escape Tibs's attention. She was the bait, meant to pull at his curiosity.

But he was curious and so long as he was careful, how could they know who he was?

"Do you have this in saffron?" she asked, as he stepped to the merchant's stall. She sounded younger than she looked; or just excited? Less the hunter that somehow tracked him here and more the girl she was. The stone was under her shirt, so he wouldn't be able to ask about it.

No one else had one.

Had her teacher given her the day to herself?

The merchant returned with an orange bolt of fabric and placed it before her. She looked at Tibs. "Are you looking for something specific? The more exotic fabrics aren't here yet, but I have a good selection of popular colors from the capital."

"Something that will survive children," he replied, taking a candy from the box and popping it in his mouth. "In green. My woman's decided it's time to cut them new clothing. Enough for four," he added, and his pursuer looked at him in surprise and didn't look away, even when Tibs raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry." Her fair skin turned pink, and she focused on the orange fabric.

"I expect it's alright. Although I am curious. Why the look?"

She didn't look up from the fabric. "You look young to have four little ones so active they'll damage clothing."

"Ah, thank you. The elements have been kind to me." He looked over the bolt the merchant presented him, testing the fabric's toughness. "If you don't mind me asking. Where are you from? I can't place the accent."

"Oh, from a lot of places. Me and my mom traveled a lot. She was a caravan guard. Although she stayed within Olvilon once I was old enough to move about."

He nodded his approval to the merchant, and she took the bolt to the table to the side. "And what brings you to our fair city?"

"I'm hunting a criminal."

He was surprised at the casual admission. He looked around. "And is your master close by?"

"My what?" she demanded.

He was surprised at the anger in her voice. "Your teacher?" Maybe they had different terms for the apprentice-master relationship in her kingdom.

"Why do you think I'd need one of those?" She demanded with enough heat they attracted looks.

"Forgive me," he said, unsure how to proceed. "It simply seems to me that unless the elements have been kinder to you than me, you are young to be hunting criminals on your own."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did my father send you?"

"Your father?" he asked, baffled.

"He told me exactly that," she replied, tone suspicious. "Even though he taught me everything I know." She sighed. "No, of course he didn't send you. Sorry. He's just so overprotective. I don't think he trusts that my mom taught me how to think." She smiled knowingly. "But I'm close to getting him. I'm the only one who's worked out what he's after."

He had to work at not showing his relief they'd return to something he knew how to deal with. "Money, obviously, as all criminals are."

"That's just so he can afford what he's after," she replied dismissively. "And he gives most of it away. He just keeps enough so he can get whatever papers he'll need made so he can enter the libraries and universities."

"A learned criminal?" he asked with a chuckle.

She shrugged. "Takes all kinds. I don't care why he does it. He's a criminal. I'm going to bring him in and show them I can do this."

The merchant handed him the fabric, wrapped in rough paper, and he paid for it. "Then, I wish you luck." He turned to leave.

"Luck's not a thing," she replied offhandedly, and continued while Tibs struggled not to show his surprise. "I'll take enough for a shirt. Is there someone here who does tailoring?"

He forced himself to keep walking. How rarely had he heard someone say that? There was no luck element, but even among runners, who knew that essence made everything that was in the world, they still called on luck.

Among people who didn't have an element? When he pointed out to them luck wasn't a thing, disbelief was always the response, then arguments about how he was wrong, bringing up incidents that were clearly them having planned well, or poorly, as examples.

She worked alone. Did so to prove herself to others. And knew enough about the elements to know there was no such things as luck. That and the stone could mean she had contacts among adventurers.

Maybe they were who she wanted to prove herself to? Maybe she wanted to convince them she was good enough to be a Runner? Whatever her reasons were, the worrying part was how much she had worked out about why he did what he did.

He was going to have to rethink his methods the next time he needed a library.