Chapter 7 - Trafficking with Thieves

Davian left the tavern a short while later, his meager belongings left behind in the room they had rented. He was assured they would remain safe there. He wasn't too terribly worried as it was mostly traveling junk. He discreetly patted the various tools of his trade that he had hidden about his person as he stepped from the porch and into the quiet darkness of the city that was busy falling asleep. The perfect time to find his way to a thief den.

The occassional clatter of rubbish as he wandered toward the heart of the city caught his ear, a soft swich of fur as a cat or rat skittered away from him, but little else. It was a quiet night overall. It actually took a couple of hours to spot an elusive shadow slip over the rim of a building and away. He wasted no time in following, jumping to easily catch the low rise of the building's roof. That was certainly one benefit to having his height. Even in the twenty seconds it took him to reach the rooftop, he had lost his quarry temporarily. A glance around showed little of consequence, aside from a single taller building almost lost in the dimness of the night. The moon would be up soon and that would likely call an end to the thieving populace's ramblings. His guess was a good one as he neared the taller building. The building appeared deserted, its windows missing, and random boards nailed within to prevent birds from living inside. A panel within a larger window closed as he watched, so he followed, keeping an eye out but not too concerned with chasing this thief. He just hoped the guy was on his way to something more than a hovel or cheap job. Either way, he would catch the guy and ask for directions.

The latch on the entry panel was smartly disguised to look like part of the cheap lumber slapped into the window. A good indication that Davian was headed in the right direction. A better indication came a second later as the sound of feet to either side of him drew him up short. Neither person made a sound, but both were obviously standing ready. Once his eyes had adjusted, Davian noted both were holding long daggers in his direction, but neither had said a word. Apparently they were waiting for him to announce himself or some such. A wise precaution.

Davian raised his hands to show they were empty. "I'm here to ask directions, nothing more." His comment must have been unusual, as both of the men flanking him tensed. They obviously didn't know him and would probably not react well.

"I've been sent..." He didn't finish the statement before both blades, acting on training came for him. Davian whipped around in a defensive spin, his cloak billowing out around him and interfering with the advance of the two who wanted his head. A tear sounded as his cloak tangled an oncoming blade. His foot whipped out from the mass of floating black cloth and nailed one of the assailants on the ankle, sending him toppling onto his side, a cry of agony barely supressed. Davian was impressed, they must be under strict orders to remain quiet, because that man's ankle was certainly broken. Letting his momentum carry him further into the entrance, he was suprised to feel a boot contact his shoulder and stop his momentum.

"Enough." The word was spoken with absolute authority, but with a distinctly feminine quietness. He heard the second blade wielder back up a step, but he could tell whoever it was hadn't lowered his blade. The guy who had been kicked was struggling to rise, lightly groaning as his weight hit the broken ankle.

"Who were you sent for?" The question was quietly spoken and demanded an answer.

Rising smoothly to his feet, he must have surpassed the woman by a good head and a half, but she gave no indication that she cared. "For? No one." He shook his cloak back into place on his shoulders.

He could play this game out and make certain he was in the right place. "They call me Accident." The man still holding his blade forward took a step back, earning a smirk from the woman in front of Davian.

"How do we know you are this Accident?"

Davian shrugged, he didn't care if they knew it or not. It earned a tight lipped smile from the woman. She smelled vaguely of lilac. She must be a damned good thief, lilac oil was one of the most costly of perfumes.

"Collar, help me escort our guest to the boss." She glanced at the man leaning against the wall breathing heavily. "You are still on duty." Obviously not a woman taken to mercy.

The old building was obviously not in poor repair on the inside. Constant traffic kept webs and dust to a minimum. The room where he was led was lit by flickering candles, kept in motion by the drafts in the building and by the handful of people that passed in and out of the space. Sitting in the center of the room, behind a ratty desk was a man of middling years. His gut protruded underneath the desk a bit. He had somehow become a coordinator for the thieving network and his desk job had been hard on his body. He glanced up at the unexpected arrivals, but finished what he was working on before acknowledging their presence.

"Aspia." The woman gave a slight nod of her head. "What is this?" He pushed his way back from the desk slightly. "And more still, why is it that you let him into this room armed?"

Aspia sniffed the air in the room. "Is that fear I smell Krall?" The man gave her a disgusted look that said otherwise, but still stood and waited for her to answer his initial question.

"Krall," she assumed a false formal air, "meet Accident." She performed a perfunctory bow and swept from the room, the guard from the entrance following in her scented wake. Krall glanced askew at the walls. Davian figured he must be hoping his own bodyguard was still awake.

"I'm not here to cause you any trouble. I am just here to ask directions."

His speaking didn't seem to put the man at ease, but he grunted and pulled out a piece of paper and a chalk pencil. "Pay attention, I'll only show you once and then this document is gone." Davian didn't justify the man with a response. After he had seen the location of the building and been given a passcode, Krall grinned as if an idea suddenly struck. "Go find that bitch Aspia and tell her that she's been reassigned babysitting duty. We must offer all courtesy to our guests." He gave Davian a short bow as if in dismissal and dropped the parchment into a basket that contained a small charcoal fire. It went up in smoke instantly. Good thing the room was drafty.

[Griffin]

Griffin exited the hostel out the back door with several of the older patrons who wished to avoid a potentially embarrassing confrontation with the law. He resumed his sickly old man persona and soon even those individuals he was with had chosen to be elsewhere. The stink concoction he had rubbed on his hands worked wonders.

Once he was several blocks from the hostel, Griffin rounded a corner and followed a shadowed alleyway until he reached the abandoned building. A squatter had taken residence on the first floor, but the guardsman paid the decrepit man little mind as he mounted the stairs to the second floor. Once alone, he used a specially prepared solvent to clean the stink ointment from his hands. He then proceeded to remove his make up and change his clothing, dressing once again in the comfortable woolen tunic and linen shirt he had changed into at the hostel while waiting for Kelisharii.

As he dressed, Griffin�s thoughts drifted to the vibrant gypsy with the gentle hands. Kelisharii had always been something of an enigma to him. She was gypsy in her looks, dress and mannerisms and followed most of the notable gypsy customs; yet she chose to remain in Almedea, rather than succumb to the wanderlust that so frequently overcame those of her kind. She was loyal to her family and friends � that was the gypsy way � but she was also loyal to the king as she had showed on countless occasions over the course of Griffin�s many missions. It had occurred to the guardsman that Kelisharii only offered her assistance to the crown because of her friendship him, but further reflection had always led him to discount that possibility. No true gypsy would have done some of the things Kelisharii had agreed to do with out a deep abiding love for the cause. They were too independent to tie themselves down to anything that would curtail their freedom. Logic led him to believe that her love for Almeda was paramount in her life � as out of character as that might be for a gypsy.

Griffin buckled on his sword belt. Its weight on his left hip was a comfort. So often in his line of work he was forced to forgo wearing the sword in favor of more practical weapons � those that were more easily hidden about his body. The silver dagger that had proven so useful in the confrontation with the were-creatures was one example of several he now secured on his person.

Better dressed now for quick travel, he gathered together his remaining things into a makeshift satchel and arranged it over his shoulder, then headed for the stairs.

Years of training kept his footsteps reflexively silent and senses active as he descended the stairs. Before he turned the corner, his alertness paid off. He caught the slightest hint of a whisper from the next room.

Griffin paused and considered his best course of action. He could continue forward and confront whatever awaited him. It might be nothing more than another squatter come to join a fellow for the night. Or it might be that the original squatter was a lookout who had reported his intrusion, in which case this was a trap. His second option was less risky. He could return upstairs and exit through the window, treading the Thieves' Highway until he could safely descend to the streets.

He found himself moving forward against both his instincts and his better judgment. He wasn't sure why. Maybe the possibility of being infected was making him reckless. Maybe the freedom from not having to maintain a particular undercover role brought out the guardsman in him.

Or maybe he was just in the mood for a fight.

Griffin continued his descent, consciously making his footfalls heavy now so as to mimic those of his elderly leper persona.

He turned the corner at the base of the stairs and walked through the open doorway into the foyer of the old house. Four men stood waiting for him. Two held knives. One brandished an iron-studded club. The squatter held a loaded crossbow.

His appearance as younger man, openly armed, clearly caused some confusion amongst the group. The man with the club turned to the squatter.

"You said he was an old man."

The squatter spit on the floor. "Was an old man what came in. Never said an old man would come out."

"Ah, then it isn't me you're looking for." Griffin moved as he spoke, striding towards the door with an air of supreme confidence.

The squatter snarled. "Stay where you be. Young man, old man, this arrow will spit you no matter which." He was sufficiently recovered to point the crossbow steadily in Griffin's direction.

Griffin took a moment to study the group. On closer reflection, the two knife holders weren't as old as he had first made them out to be. Patchy beard growth he had first taken as evidence of the pox he now saw was better attributed to an only recent familiarity with puberty. The man with the club was in his late thirties and while he outwardly looked to be the leader of the group, subtle shifts in his posture and mannerisms indicated that he often deferred to the squatter. The squatter himself had a graying beard and hair. Harsh lines about his face attested to the difficulty of life on the streets for the poor of Almeda. There was a certain resemblance between the four and Griffin realized that they were all related.

"Do you often rob your housemates?" He kept his tone deliberately cheerful.

The club man - Griffin dubbed him "Father" � scowled. "This house ain't yours. That makes you a trespasser. We deal harshly with trespassers."

"I see. So you'll kill me, THEN rob me. Very sensible of you. Murder isn't murder if you're protecting your property and since the authorities won't likely ask after a missing purse, you'll get off clean."

"Shut up you! Me dad's not a murderer�."

Father cut the boy off with a raised hand.

Griffin saw the fires burning in Father's eyes. The man didn't like being called a murderer and a thief, not because of the implied insult, but because he truly didn't picture himself this way. Griffin's outlook on the situation changed. He had been prepared to kill this lot. As a guardsman, it was his responsibility to see that Almeda was a safe place to be and sometimes that meant cleaning the streets of the riffraff. This family just didn't fit the bill. They weren't hardened criminals � they were trying to eek out an existence.

These were people he could use.

"We ain't murderers, and we ain't thieves. We're just protecting what's ours," Father said. "You get out and we'll forget this mess."

"I've got a better idea." Griffin reached a hand into a pocket. The squatter tensed, but Griffin ignored him, keeping his eyes locked with Father's. He pulled out a small pouch and tossed it to the man. "Here's my rental fee for usage of the property."

Father fumbled with the drawstrings, then peered inside. His eyes widened.

"There's a full gold sovereign's worth of coin in here."

"Aye. I don't want to be a bother to your family, but I could use a nice place like this to rest up in from time to time. The rental rate would be the same each visit."

Father squinted at him. "You ain't involved in nothing illegal, is you?"

"Nothing any more illegal than trespassing from time to time."

Father thought for a moment then motioned for the squatter to lower the crossbow. "Name's Morgan, Jed Morgan. This is me dad, Cooper. Them are Prentice and Simon. You can use the building as you please so long as you don't bother us none. There's a loose brick in the fireplace � in the future leave your payment in there."

Griffin affected a courtier's bow. "Many thanks to you, Jed Morgan. By your leave?"

The group parted and Griffin left by the door into the alleyway. That had not gone as he had expected. He had thought he would be wiping his blade clean about now and instead he had created the possibility of a future safe house here, maybe even a guard contact for the area. He smiled and shook his head. Stranger things had happened.

With a skip to his step, his worry over the impending arrival of the full moon abated for the time being, Griffin headed for the palace district.

[Davian]

Aspia led the way quickly and quietly through the building where Davian had met Thrall. She wasn't happy with the demand that she play the role of escort, that was obvious from the set of her shoulders and her lack of reply when Davian relayed the message. They marched on in silence, passing from building to alley, to tunnel, and back to another building. They saw almost no one. Amazing that the thief guild had such easy passage through this city, Davian thought to himself as they went on their way.

The map in his head, the one Krall had provided had taken him by way of the exposed streets, so he was unable to keep up with their general location as they moved along quickly. It wasn't until they emerged from one last ramshackle building that he recognized the feature of the capital building as a dark shape against a less dark night. This was not where his map had led him. Aspia had not changed her pace nor determination, so Davian held his peace and waited, following along in her scented wake. It was quite arousing, smelling her scent and the lilac for such a long time, but Davian securely locked that thought into the recesses of his mind. He had a job to do.

It was to a well appointed upper-middle class home to which Aspia finally led Davian. The deep hours of the morning quieted even the random barking of a dog in the distance and the moon had finally crept above the edge of the buildings, casting fitful shadows about the grounds. They passed through an iron gate that swung easily and quietly, its facade decorated with a fight scene of knights in full battle gear, their stallions breathing steam. The inner yard, protected behind walls of solid stone, was well appointed as well. A small fountain, water actually flowing through the mouth of a fish was the only sound, but Davian knew they were being watched. Aspia did not turn her head, nor did she flinch when two guards suddenly flanked them and gave silent escort. Both were exceedingly well armed and wore leather armor judging by the creak as they moved smoothly under the weight and restriction.

The candles in the hallway providing the only light, the door they were led to was nearly cloaked in the shadows. Its ancient panels glistening from oils used in its preservation. Barely noticeable were the tracings of runes that ran around its edges like spiderwebs. Davian's hackles rose slightly. He wasn't afraid of magic, but he certainly wasn't fond of it.

Aspia said a word, the guards standing resolutely nearby, ready to react if it was necessary. The door gave a slight sucking sound and she pressed it open. That was when Davian noticed the lack of handle or knob or lock. He repressed his curiousity and followed her into the room.

Aspia made a low bow, her flexible body bent at a perfect angle, parallel to the floor. Davian took note of everything within the room, the racks of maps and scrolls, the braziers that provided a lightly incensed smell and lackluster light, the bone derived desk in the center of the room, and most of all, the man who sat behind it. He wore dark clothing, making him appear to vanish if he sat very still behind the desk. His only adornment a bright silver ring on his finger, laying perfectly still on top of the desk, partially covering some papers.

"Asp, my daughter." The man rose with pure grace, his form tall and lanky, much like Davian's own. It seemed a formal greeting more than a personal one. "Thank you for bringing him here. I've been more curious about this man than you know. Is there aught else you need of me?"

Aspia had stood straight again, a curving smile gracing her hard face. She was quite striking. "Only permission to eliminate Krall in the most painful way." She sounded serious.

"Not yet. Not yet. Besides, do you want to find yourself chained to a less than desirable desk?" The grimace was enough of an answer. "This assignment is nearly through, bide your time." It was an answer and a dismissal. She turned without preamble and left the room. As she left, the door closed silently behind her.

The man pulled a seat over in front of his desk and resumed his place behind his own, indicating that Davian should seat himself in the proferred chair. There was a moment of silence, the man noting every detail.

"It is not often," he paused, "well, honestly, not in a decade have I seen another of the blood in this city."

That was the key Davian had been missing! This man was the exact same race as he was... that explained the lanky form and fluid grace. Davian likewise had not seen another of the Bae in at least two decades. It was common for them to go about in the wider world, wandering and learning as they went.

The man offered Davian a drink in a fine crystal tumbler. The smell reminded him strongly of home. Ghellian Root Wine. Incredible stuff, although most humans thought it tasted like medicine. The Bae understood its benefits and savored every rare sip. Davian picked up the tumbler, gave a silent salute to his host and without hesitation took a sip of the thick, honey-tinted wine. The flavor brought back memories long rested. Memories of his long youth, of playing in the trees of the forest, and of the others in his community bubbled to the surface. There weren�t many left in the world. The Bae were a secretive race that had only one true objective in this world. One left unspoken, but part of their heritage. His host remained silent as they both sat, sipping the precious liquid, memories flooding their brains of the past.

It was some time later when they were both aware of the quiet in the house again. His host smiled. "These people," he waved a general hand in the air, "call me Lian. My name is truly Tralian." A name held a whole host of meeting. It let others know where you came from as well as approximately what decade you were born into. This man was Davian�s senior by around 20 years and from a region across a small mountain range in their homeland. He had never visited the area.

"Davian." He gave a gracious smile to his host and placed the crystal back on the ivory desk quietly.

The man nodded, satisfied with the answer. "As you can see, I have made a bit of a home for myself here." He stroked the desk, the bone ivory gleaming in the faint light of the room. "But obviousities are quite useless now aren�t they?" Before Davian had a chance to reply, he continued, "we have a common issue I believe. The damned crawl about my city as if they own it, and more recently they have begun attempting to integrate themselves into the city governance. I cannot abide that." He noticed Davian�s grimace. "As you cannot.

"That is why I brought in the were-folk. They don�t know how they are suddenly in the running for offices and stations throughout the city, nor do they realize that I exist per se. I have integrated them into the thief�s guild across the city, who also doesn�t realize that I am pulling their strings. As you can see, I have been here a while." He gave a skeletal smile. "None of that concerns you overly much, but since you are working for another factor, I can only assume that you are working alongside the current human leadership." Davian nodded a positive response; this man was letting on to more information than he could believe, although they both knew Davian would not use it against him.

"That is just as well. It will help with the elimination of the damned and bring some normalcy back to my life." The man�s hands were clenched atop his desk now, the subject of vampires obviously causing him a degree of aggravation. Davian could understand.

It was some few millennia in the past, when the current species of humans were spreading like wildfire among the lands of this continent. The Bae had always been here as far as they knew. These new humans were different. Smaller, faster to reproduce, faster to die; they also brought a massive amount of change with them. In time lost, a few of Davian�s ancestors formed a cult group and used sorcery or the worship of something dark to transform themselves into a force to "deal with" these new humans. The vampires were born into darkness and hate and fed on fear and the flesh of humans. They were an abomination of the Bae, a mistake the Bae, in millennia since, were trying to correct. The original vampires, then called the Enforces, which in the language of the Bae were the Vamprel, had still not been found. Their influence currently spread about the continent, preying on humans as was their wont. No one knew if the original Bae turned dark were still alive or if they had passed on in time. The current thought was that they were indeed still alive, even though their compatriots were many thousands of years dead. Common belief also held that if one of those original were to be killed, so would all those who spawned from them revert and time would claim their bones.

But, in the meantime, most of the Bae still searched, eliminating those they found. Mostly those of small nature, unaware of their larger purpose, only feeding as desire and need took them. Perhaps Tralian knew more than he was letting on to. Perhaps that was why he had settled here, taken up the role of guildmaster and had his fingers in all the veins and arteries of the city. The Bae were not inherently evil, good, or otherwise. They served their own needs and kept out of each other�s business in general. So it would be here. Lian was feeding Davian this information in order to further his own ends, and the ends that they were trained to pursue since birth.

"One more piece of information. This brood war that is starting with the various factions� do not interfere with the were-beasts. There are reports from afar that our people are not so immune to their sting as we once were. It is now known to be a physical disease, something too small to be seen that passes from beast to human in a bite or scratch. But, we do not know how to stop its spread as of yet. Keep this on your person, it should keep them clear of you and give you indication that they are near." He handed Davian a medallion, its design intricate and entwined and the faint tingle that let him know it was magical was spreading down his fingers. "May your feet tread lightly."

"And your fingers be nimble always," Davian replied. It was a typical friendly parting among thieving friends and partners. The man began pulling sheafs of papers from a drawer in his desk. He was obviously going to relay no more information this night.

Davian turned to the door, which slowly opened of its own accord.

"Oh, you may use and work with Aspia as you will. Tend her well, she is one of my top agents and valuable to me." Davian nodded as the scent of lilac drifted to him from the hallway.