Jeff Crook: The Thieves’ Guild

Having positioned himself directly above the cage, the intruder kicked out from the wall and sailed outward like an acrobat or a flying squirrel. The trajectory of his fall took him beyond the edge of the cage. A little closer to the wall and he could have landed atop the cage, and he would have been skewered by its spikes. A little farther out, and he’d have gone for a swim in the reflecting pool. As it was, his outstretched fingertips brushed the upper bars of the cage before catching hold of the bottom rung and stopping his fall with arm-wrenching abruptness. The cage held his weight with barely a shudder. He dangled from it for a few moments as though catching his breath, then swung like a monkey along the underside of the cage until he reached the lock. A fish plopped somewhere in the pool, sending long ripples across the moonlit water.

Letting go with one hand and dangling from the other, he removed from a pouch at his belt a strange device. It was a tube of dull metal, no longer than his smallest finger and not much thicker. Small square plates of steel covered both ends. This he worked carefully into place between the body of the lock and its metal loop. Once it was in place, he gingerly squeezed the center of the tube. With a sharp clang, the lock burst open. Its fragments, as well as the lock-breaking mechanism, splashed into the water below. The intruder then slid back the bolt and let the bottom of the cage swing open. He climbed up inside it, then swung across and landed in the embrasure of the door.

A pair of wooden doors confronted him now, but these were not meant to keep out thieves, only the wind and rain. A thin-bladed dagger slipped between the boards followed by a sharp upward jerk and the bar was lifted. He opened one door wide enough to slip a hand inside to catch the bar, then slowly opened the door and dropped into the room beyond.

By some instinct or uncanny intuition, he recoiled instantly. With leopardlike reflexes, he caught the hand that guided the dagger aimed at his heart. Another blinding parry trapped the fist that would have shattered his teeth, and a lifted knee foiled the boot meant for his groin. He jerked his assailant into the moonlight in front of the doorway.

The figure was dressed much like himself, except that where he wore a full mask to hide his features, his assailant wore only a strip of cloth over the lower half of her face. A pair of dark flashing eyes glared at him from beneath her hood. She struggled a moment longer, silently, then grew still, her breath hissing sharply through her mask.

“You are hurting me,” she whispered venomously.

“You would have done much worse to me,” he answered.

“You surprised me,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I am a thief,” he said, “like yourself.”

“You are a thief, but you are nothing like me,” she spat.

“Ah, yes. You must be a Guild thief,” he sighed.

“Yes, and you are intruding upon Guild business, you freelance pig.”

He ignored the insult. Instead, he sniffed, testing the air for some elusive scent. He drew the daggered fist closer to his face. Suddenly, she jerked away, but he held her fast. He forced her wrist closer to his face until the point of the dagger tickled the thick muscular cord below his ear.

“The yellow Ergothian lotus, said to drive men mad with passion. In Palanthas, all know this perfume you wear, Lady Alynthia,” he whispered.

“And your mask cannot hide the fact that you are an elf,” she countered.

He stiffened as though insulted. “My name is Cael Ironstaff,” he said. “Is that the name of an elf?”

“Call yourself what you will,” she hissed. “After this night, the Guild will hunt you down like the dog you are. You will not escape us.”

“Why should I wish to escape you, Mistress Alynthia?” he answered. “I can think of nothing so desirable as being pursued by you.”

“Pig!” she almost shouted, her feet flailing at his knees and groin. He twisted her around and pinned her arms behind her back until she grew still, her chest heaving, breath hissing between clenched teeth.

“Do you have it?” he asked sternly.

“Do I have what?” she snarled over her shoulder.

“You know what I-”

He had not yet had time to take in his surroundings, and for that he was now heartily sorry. A door somewhere within the warehouselike chamber opened. A light spilled in, sending shadows leaping up the walls. He forced her down behind a crate, clapping one hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out while holding her tight with the other. For a moment, he felt her tense and struggle, but then slowly she seemed to relax against him. He felt the smooth curves of her flesh cupped into his own, and the warmth of her body sent a thrill though his limbs. The delicate perfume of the yellow Ergothian lotus began to drive him to distraction, despite the danger.

Then a whispered voice pierced the silence. “Captain Alynthia?” it inquired. “Are you here? Guards are approaching. We’d better- what the…?” The lookout had just spotted the open loft door.

Alynthia wormed herself free for a moment. “Over here,” she barked. “Slay me this…” her voice trailed off in a string of muffled curses.

He jerked her to her feet and stepped back until he stood in the loft door, keeping her between himself and the lookouts. Opposite him, a hook-nosed thief crouched half-hidden by a wooden crate, a dagger poised by his ear, ready for throwing. A second hid in the shadows by the open door, a small crossbow in his fist. Alynthia struggled and twisted until her mouth was again free.

“Slay him, you fools,” she ordered the lookouts, but they hesitated, afraid lest they strike their leader by mistake.

The intruder faced no such obstacle. With a deft twist, he pried the dagger from Alynthia’s grasp and sent it flying at the hook-nosed thief. Hook-nose ducked behind the crate only just in time, as the dagger whistled by his chin and buried itself in the eye of the thief by the door. He dropped like a poleaxed cow, dead before he bit the floor.

Freed from his grip, Alynthia spun around with fists clenched, but by some trick she found herself flying backwards through the air. She landed on her rear with a thump and slid across the polished floor, tumbling into Hook-nose who had just risen to launch his dagger. With a mocking laugh, the intruder stepped out of the loft and dropped from sight. Hook-nose rushed to the loft door and leaned out. He whistled in amazement.

“What is it?” Alynthia asked as she dusted herself off. “Did you get him?”

“No, Captain,” the thief admitted.

“Why not?”

“He’s not there.”

“What do you mean? He must be there. He’s in the water,” she said.

“There’s not a ripple, and I didn’t hear no splash,” the thief answered as he turned away. He sheathed his dagger with a snap. “He must be some kind of wizard.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “Well, at least he didn’t get the…” She slapped at her pockets, a strangled howl of rage rising in her throat.

Has anyone thought to question the owl?” the man asked as he knelt on the floor. A voluminous robe the color of driftwood hid his entire body, including his head. On the floor before him lay a congealing pool of dark blood.

“The owl?” the master of the house, Gaeord uth Wotan, asked nervously. He was a man unused to being afraid of anyone or anything, and he disliked the feeling. He fidgeted with the heavy gold chain dangling below his chin, and nervously ran a hand down the front of his blue silk pajamas.

“The owl by the door,” the man in the robes said. “The one given you by Amil of Sanction in exchange for certain, how shall we say, advantages in Palanthian pearl importation.”