Rich Wulf - Voyage of the Mourning Dawn

Seren stepped past the dog, eager to find what she sought and leave before the dog reconsidered its treachery. She drew a scrap of paper from her pocket and glanced at the illustration as she scanned the shelves. The paper bore an illustration of a small journal with a black cover, emblazoned with the House Cannith gorgon crest above the image of an albatross in flight. Seren scowled in irritation as she looked at the countless books that lined the shelves. The house’s owner had a reputation for being indolent and lazy; he was not known as a scholar. She had thought one book would be easy to find in his house. Now she realized she might search all night and never find the right one. She tested the nearest bookcase, hoping against hope that they were the false vanity books that many nobility favored. They were genuine enough, unfortunately, and focused on a variety of eclectic subjects from magic to history to music and even exotic cooking. All looked well read. She would never find the book she wanted before the guildmaster returned to find his broken window, missing cake, and the small river of rainwater she’d leaked on his floor.

As she stepped back to give the bookcases a better look, Seren stumbled over a book discarded on the floor. She glanced down to see the gorgon and albatross looking back at her impassively. Seren blinked in disbelief. She looked back at the dog. It only watched her with soulful black eyes, nose buried between furry paws, mourning the untimely demise of the cake. Rather than dwell upon her uncanny luck, Seren snatched the book and tucked it into the sack at her belt.

The study door no doubt bore wards like the window, but fortunately it had been left open. Seren hurried out and down the stairs, tiptoeing with a silent grace. To her right, she could see the two men. Jamus stood near the door, playing the part of the lost and confused old man as he apologized repeatedly, stroking his long white beard with one hand. The guildmaster, apparently tired of the crazed beggar’s floundering, had snatched the marble bag and was now picking up the marbles himself.

“Here, take the accursed things, and do not drop them again or you shall return to the orphans without them.”

“Are you certain you found them all?” Jamus asked, blinking foolishly. “I think I saw one roll under the clock in the corner …”

“Then here!” The man snapped. He rummaged in his pocket and held out a handful of silver. “To pay for your lost marbles.”

Jamus opened his mouth to demur again, but his sharp eyes focused squarely upon Seren in the shadows of the stair. He gave a slight nod and reached for the bag and coins, clasping the guildmaster’s hands with both of his own in a gesture of exaggerated gratitude. Seren made her way to the back door and quietly unlocked the latch.

“I thank you, Master d’Cannith,” Jamus said, bowing repeatedly as he clasped the man’s hands. “The orphans thank you as well.”

“Yes, the orphans,” she heard the other man growl as she slipped out into the alley. “Give them my regards. Now go!”

Closing the door gently, Seren broke into a sprint. Darting between the puddles and strewn garbage of the alleys, she stopped at a particular abandoned house after several minutes of running. Looking back to make certain she wasn’t followed, she pulled a loose board aside and stepped through the wall. The interior was lit by a single candle. An older gentleman dressed in a sleek black jacket and trousers reclined on a tattered couch. A long white beard lay discarded on the floor. He toyed with a pair of painted glass marbles, rolling them between his fingers idly.

“Did you find the book?” he asked, looking up at her with a faint grin.

She stared at Jamus. “How did you get here first?”

“I should ask why it took you so long,” he said, though his smile took the barb off his words. He fell to a fit of coughing for several seconds and then looked up at her with a forced grin. “So. Find the book?”

Seren nodded, patting the bag at her hip. She picked up her cloak from where she had left it folded on the floor earlier in the evening and began using it as an improvised towel, drying herself as best she could.

“May I see it?” Jamus asked.

“After you tell me why you left me up on that ledge in the rain for so long.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to keep climbing when the storm began,” Jamus said. “I thought you would come back down and we’d try another day.”

She shrugged. “Can’t turn back once you start or you’ll never finish,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “I underestimated your stubbornness, as always. It is your second most endearing and maddening trait.”

“Second?” she said. “What is the first?”

“Your infuriating willingness to speak your mind,” he said. “You remind me a great deal of my daughter. I suppose before you give me the book I shall be subject to another lecture on my questionable wisdom of undertaking this mission.”

Seren folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “I did the job, Jamus, but my opinion stands,” she said. “I don’t think it’s smart to cross the dragonmarked houses. I don’t care what the pay is. It’s going to be trouble.”

“Afraid of magic, Seren?” he asked. Jamus rose from his couch and walked toward her. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“You taught me to respect power,” Seren said. “The Canniths are powerful. If they find out what we’ve done …”

“They simply won’t care,” Jamus said. He rested one hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with the expression of a parent soothing a frightened child. “Dalan d’Cannith has a checkered past. He may be a local guildmaster, but he is not particularly liked or respected among his family. His power is limited outside of Wroat. Our payment for this job will place us far beyond his grasp.”

Seren’s eyes widened. “We’re leaving Wroat?” she asked, excited. “You never told me that.”

Jamus nodded, though he glanced away as another fit of coughing shook his spare figure. “I didn’t want to distract you before the job,” he said. “Our employer guaranteed future opportunities beyond the city when she gave me our advance.”

“There’s an advance?” she asked with a small grin. Jamus hadn’t mentioned that either. “Where’s my share?”

The old thief smiled. “Right here,” he said, tossing her the bag of marbles. She caught it in one hand and favored him with a sour look. “No worries, Seren, you’ll be paid when we deliver. Only the most difficult part remains.”

“The most difficult part?” she said, bewildered. “What can be more difficult than what we’ve just done?”

“Don’t ask that question,” Jamus said with a chuckle. “Never ask that question, lest it be answered sooner than you’d like.”

“I’m serious, Jamus,” she said. “What else is left? We already have the book. All we need to do is deliver it. Are you afraid the Watch will find us, or do you not trust our employer?”

“I never trust my employer,” Jamus said. “Anyone who enters our line of work, as a client or a professional, is untrustworthy by definition.”

“But we trust each other,” she said. “Don’t we?”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then made his way toward the door. “Only because we both have something to gain,” he said. “Ours is a relationship of mutual benefit, teacher and student. Trust is born from mutual benefit. We trust our employer because we are offered payment in return for our services … mutual benefit-but we do not trust foolishly.”

“So what do we do if our employer decides there’s greater benefit in not paying us?” she asked. “What then?”