John Anderson - The Dungeoneers

“And engineering. Mechanical contraptions. What, like waterwheels? Catapults? Weaving looms?” Colm asked.

“More like locks, traps, and… more complicated locks.”

Colm leaned forward on his stool, catching the glint of moonlight in the man’s eye. Suddenly it dawned on him. “You’re a thief,” he whispered.

Finn raised a finger. “I prefer the title of rogue , if you don’t mind. If I were an out-and-out thief, I would be laughing my hindquarters off as I slipped into the darkness with all of your family’s valuables… though in this particular case,” he added, taking a long look at the cramped and boxy house, “I’d come away disappointed. No offense.”

A thief. No matter what he wanted to be called, it was clear that’s what he was. It explained the two missing fingers. And the disappearing coin. But he obviously wasn’t just any thief. Traps? Castles? Though his clothes were shoddy, the sword by his side looked finer than anything Colm had ever seen. But why would his father bring a man like this back from the magistrate’s? Was this stranger supposed to set Colm straight about the dangers and depravity of a life of stealing? If so, this Finn wasn’t a terribly good example. He seemed quite comfortable with himself. “So then what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for new apprentices, actually.”

“Apprentices?”

“Apprenti? I’m not sure how you say it. Individuals with certain… proclivities. Talents that often escape the attention of a more traditional education.”

Colm shook his head. “So you run a school for thieves… I mean, rogues,” he corrected.

“ I don’t run it. I’m just a member in fine standing. And it’s not a school. Schools are for learning to read and write, and I presume you already know how to do both of those.”

Colm nodded.

“Excellent, because there’s no time for learning your alphabet where I’m from. It’s not a school so much as an organization. And it’s not just for rogues. We train all kinds. Warriors. Clerics. Mages — ”

“Mages?” Colm interrupted. “You mean wizards ?”

“Wizards. Sorcerers. Spellcasters. Call them whatever you like. Personally I don’t associate with them more than I have to, but even I admit they have a certain value.”

Colm rubbed his eyes. At first he had thought this man was one of the magistrate’s lackeys, here to torture him or drag him away. Now he realized that Finn Argos was simply out of his mind. “Next thing you are going to tell me that you and your… apprentices… venture into caverns, fighting off trolls and unearthing chests of gold,” Colm scoffed. He waited for Finn to laugh along with him.

“Actually, most trolls don’t live in caves,” the man said thoughtfully. “They tend to dwell in swamps or forests. And nobody buries gold, really. It’s too hard to remember where you’ve put it. Much simpler to stick it in a vault and guard it with a hundred screaming, ax-wielding goblins.”

Colm took in the expression on the man’s face. Not a trace of a smile. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly so,” Finn replied.

Colm shook his head, bewildered. “And what exactly do you teach them? These apprentices of yours?”

“The only thing worth learning: how to get rich.” The rogue took the last swig from his cup, setting it on the porch beside him. “And how to share and work together and all that warm and fuzzy stuff. It’s a joint enterprise. We have to work together. It’s the only way any of us ever gets out alive.”

Finn Argos leaned back on his stool and cracked his knuckles. “And now we get to the part where you ask what this has to do with you and your little venture in the village square yesterday. You see, I was fortunate enough to be at the magistrate’s when your father arrived. I heard the conversation, and I offered a solution that seemed to satisfy all parties involved.”

“A solution?”

“Yes. I offered to pay off your financial obligation to those you wronged, including additional compensation to the magistrate for his leniency, all in return for an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” Colm could do nothing but echo the man’s words. Did this mean he wasn’t in trouble? That he wasn’t going to lose his hand? What had his father promised this man?

“A chance to get your coin back,” Finn said, again holding the piece of silver between his two fingers as if it had been there all along. “You see, Master Thwodin is always on the lookout for promising individuals, those he thinks might be a good fit for our program. Based on your performance yesterday, I’d say you have potential. Therefore, I propose we take a journey, you and I. Won’t take more than a day. I’ve already discussed it with your father, and I assume he is in the process of clearing it with your mother. One day, during which I challenge you to get this piece of silver. If you don’t, I will simply give it back to you and see you safely home.”

“And if I do?”

The man named Finn flashed his silver and gold teeth again. “If you do… let’s just say that someday there will probably be a story written about you.”

He made a flickering motion with his four fingers, and the coin disappeared again.

There was more. So much more. There were papers to sign. Logistics to be arranged. But most of it would have to wait. It all hinged on what Colm decided. He could either accompany this Finn Argos on his journey back to this castle of his and learn what the man had to offer, or he could go face the magistrate and accept whatever punishment the governing head of Felhaven chose to mete out. If he went with Finn, then all charges of thievery would be dropped. Colm could keep both of his hands, and the Candorly name would not be smirched. If he didn’t, Finn didn’t know what would happen.

Colm wasn’t sure what choice he had.

When Colm walked back into the house, he saw his mother had been crying. She came up to him and crushed him in her arms, squeezing over and over as if she were kneading dough. His father stood behind her, frowning.

“Where’s Mr. Argos?”

“He figured our quarters were a little cramped already. He said he would find a place to sleep for the night and then come back in the morning.”

Colm’s sisters huddled together in a bundle around the table. Celia was the first to look him in the eyes.

“What did he say?” she demanded. “What’s happening? Is he going to take you away?”

Colm considered telling them everything. That the stranger who appeared at their door was a thief who was not a thief. That there really were goblins and trolls and dungeons filled with chests of gold and many other things that they had heard about but never seen before. And that this rogue had promised to teach Colm how to get that gold.

But he could see in the bite of her lip, the color drained from her cheeks, she was worried enough. So instead he told them only what they wanted to hear. That everything had been taken care of. That they had nothing to worry about.

And that he would come back soon.

The next morning Colm woke up before everyone, including Elmira, who usually beat the sun to the start of day. He washed as best he could in the premorning gloom and put on his cleaner pair of pants and less-tattered shirt. He double knotted his laces and tucked his spare pair of socks into his pocket. He had no idea how far he was going or what the journey entailed, but it never hurt to have a change of socks. Then he lay in bed and waited for the house to stir.

He wondered if it wasn’t all a dream. The cloaked stranger coming to visit them last night, filling Colm’s head with stories, insisting he could repair the damage Colm had done. Even better, that he might someday make Colm rich. It sounded too good to be true, which, Colm had learned, meant not only that it was, but that the reality might bite him where he sat.