Chapter 5 - No Rest for the Weary

[An Underlit Bar, Operations Center for Western Thieves Guild]

Robbere rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit he had picked up in recent times. His run of luck was non-existent. Some thieves spoke of close calls and near misses, but all of Robbere's stories had vastly different endings. It was amazing he'd managed to get away with his life up to now. And now to get an official summons with Lian's seal on it. His hands rubbed more furiously than before, the one scratched and dented ring on his finger rolling under his twitching fingers.

The booth he was led to was dark, but then most in this place were shadowed. This one was even darker than expected and well removed from any line of sight around it. The curtains were pushed aside and he ducked into the enclosed booth, not even nodding to the pretty young woman who had led him there. A single burning candle cast flickering light against the blood red curtains and let off a small stream of dark smoke. Robbere stared into the flames and tried to relax, but he still visibly jumped when a man slid into the booth with barely a whisper.

The man's face was shaded, his navy blue cloak of beautifully done stitchwork covered everything but his aged hands. A single ring adorned the hand nearest to Robbere. The ring was a skeletal head, but upon closer inspection appeared to be a skull with overly large fangs and a slightly stretched appearance. Robbere's hands twitched, that ring was worth a pretty penny. He could have sworn the man on the other side of the booth smiled at his nervous thought.

A deep grating voice spoke from beneath the cowl. Robbere once again jumped in his seat, making the leather beneath him creak as he settled back again. "I have a job for you."

Robbere looked up into the blackness of the cowl, but could see nothing. This was business, this he was pretty good at. "What business and how much will you pay?"

There was silence for a moment from the man across the table. "How about your life?" The question took Robbere by surprise, but he wasn't dull witted. He stood, pushing the table back slightly in his haste. A sharp pain hit him in the belly. His objections died with a gasp on his lips as the sharpest inch of a blackened stiletto pierced his gut. The man across the table has moved with a speed that defied Robbere's sight and the threat hanging above his head was made that much more real. He attempted to sit down, but the sharp metal held him in his half-standing position.

This time there was a harshness beneath the quiet, rough voice that spoke volumes. "I've just given you your life back. Deliver this message," the ringed hand pushed a generic envelope across the table, while the other hand held the blade in his skin, blood running down into his dirty pants. "Fail in this and its more than your life is worth." Robbere could only nod and gasp again as the point moved slightly.

The remainder of his instructions were clear enough. Seek out the man who called himself Accident. Deliver the message to him, whole and unopened. Fairly simple. The pain was that much more intense as the stiletto was pulled back into the man's sleeve. Robbere slid into the seat with a thunk, his blood flowing that much more for the weapon's removal. A glass of wine, that he barely noticed, was placed in front of him and a white napkin dropped into his lap. He held the napkin to his bleeding midriff and cursed his foul luck and not for the first time that day.

[Griffin]

The pair moved quickly away from the raging inferno that had once been a successful brothel. A large crowd had gathered from the neighborhood. A select few attempted a bucket brigade, passing forward containers half-filled with dirty water in an attempt to save the adjoining buildings, but most just stood back to watch the spectacle. Griffin heard one man comment on how the gods were finally casting their wrath down on the sinful whores. He snorted as he passed. He knew the man - a petty drug pusher.

They pushed their way through the crowds and finally paused down an alley half a block from the commotion.

"I think we need to sit down and consider our next move," he said. "I know of a place not far from here that we can use for a short time. I've used it before and it's fairly secure."

[Davian]

Pausing to catch his breath after the fight and sudden flight from the burning wreckage, Davian concentrated on stilling himself. Not easy when the muscles were clamboring for air and adrenalin was still pumping through your veins.

Davian looked at Griffin as he mentioned gathering their wits. Seemed a good next step. That was when he remembered Griffin's incident with the wererat. He took Griffin by the wrist and twisted, exposing the still oozing gash where the beast had drawn its claw. A frown passed Davian's face. He did not want to have to contend with a man he was being forced to work with turning into a deviant beast.

"Perhaps we should find some sort of healer as well."

[Griffin]

Griffin glanced down at his injured arm.

"Oh, smeg. I forgot all about that."

Stories of men being bitten by were-creatures and becoming infected - made all the more real by the events of the past two hours - clawed at his brain. What were the chances that he was infected? If he was, how long did he have? He pictured Regina is his mind. The ugly elongated rat snout. The feral gleam to her previously compassionate eyes. The lycanthropy had degraded her. Had changed her into a monster.

What would it do to him?

Panic threatened, but Griffin clamped down in control of his emotions. He tried to think this through. What could he do?

His thoughts flashed back to the sight of Elaneea's aura, split in twain by the taint. Perhaps that was the key. Perhaps that was how the lycanthropy worked, changing your aura - your essence - until you were something else, much the same way he altered his own aura when he went under cover. If this was the case, he had a fighting chance. He had control of his aura. He could force it to remain as it was. He could stop the splitting - he could prevent the change. If he was vigilant he could do it until a more permanent solution presented itself.

He had to.

Griffin realized that M'reaoux was staring at him. He gave what he hoped was a wry grin. It disturbed him that his fear level was so high he was unsure of his facial expression. That had never happened before. Then again, he'd never been injured by a were-creature before.

"It's just a scratch." He realized belatedly how unreassuring that was. "There's a competent herb woman not far from the safe house. We'll send for her."

[Davian]

Arching an eyebrow in Griffin's direction, he released the man's arm. He had no practical experience with such a wound, but he thought there might be more than myth in the stories of men being bitten or wounded and coming up into were-form themselves at the first full moon.

"Herb woman? I'd hope you know of a few stronger fixes than simple herbs. Perhaps there is a cleric or mage that you might consult?"

Putting his arm amiably around Griffin's shoulders, he guided the man back down the alleyway headed in the earlier indicated direction. He had noticed two roughshod men who had been walking by on the street pause and look at them. He did not want more trouble after the day's festivities.

As they turned the corner, he obviously pushed back his cloak exposing the blades at his hip, for the benefit of anyone watching. This city was not a nice place if miscreants were already out hunting in broad daylight.

[Griffin]

Griffin held back a snort at M'reaoux's words. "Simple herbs" was not a phrase he would use to describe Kelisharii's medicines. Well, he would see soon enough.

The guardsman wondered briefly at M'reaoux's sudden familiarity. An arm about the shoulders was definitely not the hunter's style. Then he saw the two heavies staring their way and understood. M'reaoux had assumed a "protective guardian" stance and Griffin decided to complement it. He slouched and bent his head forward, cutting his height by a good six inches. He adopted a slight limp in his left leg and leaned a bit into M'reaoux. This probably would have been a good enough act, but they were heading into an old stomping ground. Griffin would feel more secure if he fully adopted the persona he had worn back then. That decision made, he Altered himself.

If someone had asked him to describe the process, he would have told him it was a bit like molding clay. You pictured in your mind the way you wanted the finished sculpture to look and then you pushed a bit here and tweaked a bit there until what you ended up with was different from what you started with. In this manner he Altered his aura, and in turn, he altered his physical self. A red skin rash sprouted on his arms and hands and down his neck. His body odor changed dramatically to that of a sickly old man, many weeks abed. His fingers bent into claw-like caricatures of hands. His breath began to rattle in his chest and moments later a crackling wet cough escaped his lips. He spat a ball of phlegm onto the pavement.

He patted M'reaoux lightly on the arm. "Thank you sonny," he murmured in a high-pitched, raspy voice. "There's not many folks who'd be helpin' an old leper to his home."

He had watched the two heavies from the corner of his eye. He use of the word leper had produced the desired affect. They fled in a hurry.

Griffin pointed in the direction on the safehouse. "That way, Davie. Home we go."

[Davian]

Without pausing to look back, Davian attempted to herd Griffin along the way to avoid the gaze of the two roughs. He was very surprised when he felt Griffin start to limp and even more so when he felt the man's body shift as he moved along. Initially Davian thought it was one hell of an act, but after no more than a few slightly shorter paces, he came to realize that Griffin was doing much more than acting. The man's skin became peppered with welts, bruises, sores, and all sorts of other maladies.

The word leper made Davian pause slightly, but he continued on his now shortened stride, his arm about the now bent, old man's shoulders. He barely recognized Griffin, although somehow he 'felt' the same. Davian couldn't understand the feeling any more than the process by which the soldier had shifted his physical body. But then, he never really questioned his sixth sense in a fight, why start now.

[Robbere]

It had been only eight hours or so since the secretive message had been placed into his possession on charge of his life. The more he thought about that incident, the more he realized how stupid he had been. He wasn't positive who it was that had given him the name, but when he thought about dropping the envelope into the gutter along a dark side street, his stomach wrenched. He doubted, on reflection, that it was some noble with a task. They always paid.

Stubbing his toe on an uneven cobble, Robbere cursed fluidly and tugged his ratty jacket tigher about his scrawny shoulders. The wind was still tugging at the holes in the jacket, making him look like an unwashed knight's penant flapping in the breeze and he resented that. Grumbling aloud, and not even realizing it, he passed down the street searching for the place that some of his 'fellows' had snickered about and told him to try in his search. The name on the door was Merchant's Repaste, but they called it the best whorehouse this side of Newland over the sea. It was reputed to be dingy, dark, and to reek of cheap perfume and sweat but all of the women were blind. An odd arrangement, but one that worked well for many customers.

The smell of the place made him lift his head. It was just as described, except from this side all the refuse of many weeks lay in piles adding to the horrid aroma. Now this was more like it. He slipped into one of the multiple doors that was not out front and into a darkly lit waiting room about the size of a closet. The door opposite was closed, but he suspected that opening the entrance rang a bell someplace within. It was only a few moments before a rough man, wrapped in thick padded leather stepped in from the interior.

"You are not welcome here thief."

"Not much on propriety are you boss?" It was a crass response and Robbere thought belatedly good to keep the man talking and him inside, but not for long. The man just stood there, a grim look on his face, blocking the door. "I'm delivering a message for some top brass," he replied, his quick tongue stuttering a little. He started to reach into his coat, but the big man growled at him. "Its for Accident."

The bruiser showed no recognition of the name, but Robbere wasn't going to let the chance of seeing a little woman flesh slip by that easily. "I'll just take it straight to his room, he'd beat me if I didn't." Sucking it up and pushing forward with bravado, he ran square into the man's chest and felt the strong arms grab him. Struggling to slip past the man and into the interior, he failed to realize that he was being bound and not thrown from the building. "What?," he began only to have a wad of dirty cloth shoved into his throat. His struggles caused the twine about his wrists to dig deep and for the second time that day he felt blood running from his body.

[Davian]

The walk took longer than normal due to the limp Griffin affected, but he soon realized that they were walking into an unfamiliar part of town that was none too clean. No wonder he had adopted the look of an old man. Not only the look he noted, but the smell of unwashed body as well. He stifled his desire to cough and followed the directions that Griffin provided with his thin skinned and motley colored hand.

The safe house turned out to be nearer an old folks home from the apparent looks of the place. Old men, rags hanging from their bodies leaned against the walls and squatted along the porch. He noted that not all of them were as old as they appeared. Griffin certainly portrayed a much more believable figure. Two hooks, where a sign used to reside, hung unused and rusty above the door, which swung inward easily, if a bit noisily. Davian led Griffin to a bench, alongside a wall and let him slowly and meticulously seat himself.

A few moments later an older, stout woman in grey homesewn clothing appeared. The clothing barely contained her meaty arms, and her hair hung in messy white knots down her back. Her eyes were very alive and aware, even for her physical age. "Chester," the woman stated, her eyes lingering on Davian, but talking to Griffin. "Why, it's been regular ages since ya appeared on my doorstep. I certainly hope you been right good. I worried 'bout ya lots when ya vanished so sudden-like." Griffin waved a negligent, and aged hand in the air, but she continued like a storm cloud raging by in the sky. "I see ya got yaself a new protecter though. We could use his like around heer."

Davian smiled insincerely at the woman but wisely kept his mouth shut. This was Griffin's world he had entered and he wouldn't go fumbling about in it without learning more first.

[Griffin]

"Sorry it's been so long, Martha, ma dearie. Didn't mean to cause ya no worries."

He coughed heavily for about thirty seconds, then spat on the earth.

"That's a right nasty cough, ya've got there, Chester." Martha's eyes lingered on the greenish spittle on the ground. There was blood in it. "Yer not lookin' so good, boyo. Why don't ya come inside? Yer old room's empty. I'll run ya up a nice hot bath an ya can soak your tired old self. I'll even wash yer back."

Griffin raised an eyebrow as he stifled another cough. They had played this game often in the past. Martha knew that Griffin was nowhere near as old as he looked, knew in fact that he was with the Royal Guard, but that was all. He had never revealed his real identity to her, and he never would. She understood that, and accepted it, but it didn't keep her from trying to decipher all she could about him.

"I'll take that bath, and thank ye kindly for it. But I'm sure yer much too busy to be washing the back of an old fart like meself. Davie here will do it."

Griffin levered himself to his feet then coughed again, more violently this time. The spittle he produced was fully half blood. He leaned on M'reaoux for support.

"An maybe ye'd better fetch that young gypsy girl, Martha. I'm not feelin' so good."

While Martha hurried off to fill the bath, Griffin limped into the building.

"Come on, then Davie. The room's right down the hall."

[Davian]

The hostelry was moderately busy, not a bad accomplishment based on the outward appearance and the time of day. It did reek of unwashed bodies and stale food, but Davian didn't flinch at bad smells. He learned long ago to pay attention to, but not respond to his nose. He let the aged Griffin lean on his arm as they waddled their collective way down the hall to the room.

While they moved slowly, Davian went over the situation in his own head, and kept coming back to the conclusion that the proprietess must know him in some fashion. She acted not only like an old compatriot, but also as though there was more to Griffin. He'd have to ask about that, but not yet, not in public. He knew how to keep a screen in place, even if it wasn't magical in nature like Griffin's.

The room Griffin led him to was sparsely furnished with shutters in place of drapes and wooden furniture that looked solid enough for its lack of decoration. Davian stomped on the floor boards as he abandoned Griffin at the doorway, banged on wall panels, and generally inspected the place for gaps where sneaks could see what was going on inside. There was one curious place where the boards didn't sound right, perhaps it was termites? He doubted that in the middle of the city, but you never know. Instead of saying anything, he pointed at the spot, indicating that Griffin should check it out or let him know it was safe. The rest of the room was safe enough. Even the ceiling boards were thick and gummed between.

"So is this Martha another of your professional conquests? Err, contacts?" He grinned maliciously at Griffin as he closed the door with a solid thunk.

[Griffin]

Griffin was surprised at M'reaoux's joke. The hunter didn't seem to be the kind of person who just joked around. He had certainly been all business so far. Maybe this was a sign that he was warming up to having a partner. Griffin had to admit that the man knew how to handle himself. A grudging respect was growing here. Griffin decided to nurture it into a wary trust.

"Yes." The answer was intentionally vague.

Griffin sat himself down on the bed and began to work on his aura. His skin color improved almost immediately and his body stopped producing the foul odor that now permeated his clothing. The sores he could do nothing about in the short term, though he did stop their forming and hastened the healing process. They were a minor irritation that would go away in a day or so. As for the blood he had been coughing up....

He produced a clean handkerchief from a pocket and began dabbing at the inside of his cheek.

"It never ceases to amaze me how much blood is produced when you bite your cheek."

Griffin began removing his clothing.

"Martha is completely trustworthy - which is why we won't tell her anything. I'll take advantage of the bath, though. Heaven knows I need it now. Sorry to have put you through that bit of subterfuge, but I'd like to be able to use this place again in the future."

There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply, Martha swept in followed by a man carrying a wooden wash tub and several girls with buckets of hot water. The help took one look at the sores on Griffins arms and literally fell over themselves in their haste to fill the tub and leave.

"If yer sure ya don't need a good back scrub, I'll be on me way." Martha winked.

Griffin smiled and removed the remainder of his clothing. "Maybe later."

Martha scooped up the dirty clothes, conspicuously leaving a wide belt on the floor, then made for the door.

"Your stash is still where you left it," she said. Then she was gone.

Griffin filled the tub, then lowered himself into the steaming water.

"So, Davian, what do we do next?"

[Davian]

Davian took a seat, the simple wooden chair creaking with the sudden weight. He pushed the chair back on its legs, ignoring Griffin's bathing completely, as he listened carefully within the room and thought about where the go next. The sounds of sloshing water and scrubbing were the only sounds he could hear at the moment so he turned to look out of the small, dingy window.

"Just wondering if our message made it through to the local guild of thicks." He rocked a bit further back on the chair legs, causing the chair and the floorboards beneath to squeek slightly in protest. "I say we are in for a bit of a wait. There are many loose ends that need tying down, but we aren't a whole lot close to the answer we need."

Davian glanced over and noted Griffin was scrubbing at a spot where a sore had been. "That's a truly disgusting, but very effective trick you have there. Aside from that, what do you think? Should we stay put for a day?"

A subtle scuffing sound came from the behind a wallboard. Davian held out and waved his hand to show that Griffin should keep talking while he moved. The chair landed without a single bump or creak as Davian silently moved to the wall. He gave Griffin a short gesture indicating the wall, grinned, and slammed his foot through the board with a well-executed kick. A wail of pain erupted from inside the wall panel as Davian pulled his foot back into the room and glanced into the hole. He saw two feet scramble away through the wall gap, stumbling in their haste.

"They won't be using that little sneak-hole again for some time." He glanced at the hole and walked back to his chair, sitting again with a protest of poorly fitted wood and dowels.

[Griffin]

"That would be Enrique," Griffin said as he snatched up a towel and dried himself off. "He works for Martha as an errand boy. That passage there allows him in and out of the hostel without being seen.

"He's a harmless boy, really. Born deaf, so there's no chance of him overhearing anything. Smart as a whip, though. When he's a bit older I may just recruit him."

Griffin found a certain knot in one of the floorboards. He pushed it in and gave it a twist. The board popped up on a clever hinge and he pulled a well-wrapped bundle out of the hidden storage compartment. He opened the bundle to find everything as he had left it: brown woolen trousers, cream linen shirt with a russet tunic, dark brown wool cloak. There was a knock on the door as he began to pull on the clothing. He recognized the cadence and motioned to Davian to open it.

The woman who stepped in was a gypsy in all of the obvious ways. Her hair was long and black, bulled back from her face and braided with colorful ribbons. Her face was sharp and angular, her olive skin and wide brown eyes giving her a slightly exotic look. Her yellow dress was low cut and tight about her waist, emphasizing her bosom to good effect. Her skirts were full and flared at the bottom to reveal comely calves and dainty sandaled feet. Both finger and toenails were painted a brilliant red that matched the ruby on her lips.

She looked on appraisingly as Griffin pulled up his trousers.

"You don't look any worse for wear."

Griffin cinched the drawstring of his pants. "Hello, Kelisharii."

[Davian]

A frown hit his angular features as Griffin told him that the scuttling sound from behind the wall was nothing but a deaf boy running errands. Then again, if that deaf boy knew of the passages that didn't exist in this place, so might others. His frown vanished like smoke in a wind. Intelligent boys could make money at that sort of thing, spoken or not.

Davian was barely paying attention, wrapped up in his own mind trying to sort out his thoughts when the knock on the door brought him standing upright. This time the chair creaked slightly as he left it in a rush. Relaxing, Davian casually put his hand on his knife hilt, hidden behind the dusty cloth of his travel cloak. Griffin's wave to open the door was casual, which meant he must know the person. Davian released his knife hilt, and moved to open the door. He kept the open door between himself and the person who was bound to enter.

The gypsy woman who sauntered in was not anything Davian had expected. He barely managed to keep his face straight again. His raised eyebrow was all the question he formed. She seemed mostly unaware of his presence, although he figured she must know he was there and was acting otherwise. That or she was truly enamored by Griffin's naked legs.

Again taking the only course he knew to be acceptable, Davian wisely kept his mouth shut.

[Griffin]

"Nor do you. Thank you for coming so quickly."

Griffin gave the gypsy a kiss on both cheeks, which she returned enthusiastically, and nodded towards M'reaoux.

"This is Davian."

Kelisharii gave a small curtsey. Small bells somewhere on her person tinkled softly.

"Not that I haven't missed the pleasure of your company, Thaddeus, but why did you send for me?" she asked. She ran a finger down Griffin's chest, stopping briefly at the small marks still remaining from the boils. "You don't look all that injured. You should be able to heal these by the end of the day."

Griffin frowned. "It wasn't for those. Come, take a look at this."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and extended his right arm. Kelisharii took hold of his hand and turned the arm over, revealing a small gash on the forearm. She examined the wound in a methodical manner.

"Looks like something tore across your arm at an angle. It had a sharp point, but no edge...you can see how the flesh tore here rather than being cut. Still, it's rather shallow, not likely to even cause a scar. What caused it?"

"I was in a fight with a were-rat."

Kelisharii looked as if she had been slapped across the face. Griffin could see she would need a moment.

"Davian, why don't you go see if Martha can supply us with some fresh linens. These are a little musty for my tastes."

[Davian]

Davian stood still for a time, watching the gypsy woman's response and listening to the silence after Griffin's obvious dismissal. Deciding he could do nothing further to help out, he nodded. Grabbing his cloak from the bed, he gave the gypsy woman a nod and slid from the room, clunking the door shut behind him as he went. His distraction was obvious as his eerily silent footsteps took him toward the main hall of the hostel.

He barely managed to catch it, but he definitely did catch it. Davian's head snapped up from his silent contemplation of the boards as he entered the common room of the hostel. A giant of a man, heavily muscled and bald headed sat at the bar nursing a beer.

Sauntering up casually, Davian indicated he would have a beer as well. He took a seat, one space away from the large man. As his beer arrived, Davian took a sip and waited, hoping the man would continue his conversation with the woman behind the bar. A quick glance Davian's direction to make sure he wasn't prying or going to break her attention away again and the man continued.

"...so anywaze, that little ratfink," the woman busy scrubbing dirty glasses behind the counter snickered, she obviously knew this ratfink, "pokes his nose in and starts saying something about an accident. Even tries to pry his way past me. So, I grabs him, me and Metho took him down to the basement. You know the boss don't let trash in tha buildin. We was teachin him a what-to soes he wouldn't a come back in the future."

The man gave a crack toothed smile and the barmaid chuckled again. No love lost on the harsh realities of life with that woman. "That's when this slip a paper falls outta his pocket." Davian noted the unconscious touching of the man's pocket. "I canno read it, but Metho, he says it says somethin about an acceedent. We thunk we was in fer it then. Soes, we run it up ta tha boss. He don't care none." The man took another heavy swig of his beer, easily draining half in his excitement at relating the day's working news. "Anywaze, we stuck that little weasel up outside, nekkid with a note that Metho wrote hangin on his man-parts. Metho says he made that slip say 'No ratrinks!'." The big man gave raucous laugh.

"Gimme another beer," Davian interrupted the man's mirth to get the barmaid's attention. It earned him a glare from the giant doorman. When the drink arrived, Davian casually turned, as if the two weren't in conversation and asked them collectively, "Whereabouts can a man new to town find some entertainment for the evening?" He was hoping he guessed correctly based on the man's perfumy smell that he worked in a nearby cathouse.

"Ain't much on manners is ya?" The big man looked somewhat perturbed at the break in his conversation.

"Sorry, just new to town and lookin fer some fun," Davian replied. "Here, on me." He shoved the new beer toward the man who chugged down his remaining portion. The note in Davian's hand, acquired as the man was distracted with his drink felt like a high quality paper. And it was sealed with an elaborate wax mark. Very interesting.

"Chila's Place around the corner, thats where you will find yer fun."

"Many thanks, and sorry again about interrupting, I'll just mozy out to the porch for some air." Davian left with his half full, watery beer and headed out the front door.

Sitting in the rickety furniture facing the road, Davian examined the seal on the letter. Incredible detail. So, the local thieves guild was a rich one. Good. Opening the letter, he read its one line message. Easy enough, it gave a location and a simple password to gain him entrance into a thief hangout. He quickly shredded the letter with a gleamingly sharp knife concealed on his forearm and pressed the shreds through the porch floorboards.

Davian stood and stretched. Today was not the day to take on an entire nest of pickpockets and thieves. He would rest and tackle the issue on the morrow. Besides, he wanted to make certain that Griffin would be alright, he had come to realize how much easier this job would be with the man's help. Settling back into the chair, Davian reflected that Griffin would make a hell of a warrior if this infection took hold on him. If he could keep his sanity that was. He took another sip from his luke warm and watery beer and watched as the sun slowly dipped behind the line of buildings across the road.