Tag Archives: Ross

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“When you said we were going someplace villainous, I didn’t think you were being funny,” Jasmine said, having to pitch her voice loudly above the shouting, pounding of feet, and general mayhem.

The Imperial Stock Exchange more closely resembled a sporting event of some kind than a place where money was counted and trade conducted. Wide-open in plan, it appeared to have been set up in a converted warehouse, with all its interesting features along the sides. No fewer than four dedicated telescroll towers bristled from the north edge of the building, their ground-level machinery and operators constantly pressed to keep up with business in their alcoves along that wall. The west wall was lit up by a huge magic mirror, quite possibly the largest of its kind in existence, upon which lists of inscrutable numbers and abbreviations glowed in blue and red, constantly moving, altering, and occasionally changing color back and forth. The other walls were heavily decorated: the triple-coin sigil of Verniselle was prominently and repeatedly displayed, as was the flag of the Tiraan Empire, a silver gryphon on a black field, represented in both its vertical and horizontal forms. There were also, closer to the floor, a goodly number of modern lightcaps, the sepia-toned portraits depicting mostly scenes from this very room.

It was both insanely crowded, and crowdedly insane. The floor teemed like an anthill in a state of perpetually recent kicking, most of the traders agitated well beyond the limits of socially acceptable behavior, filling the air with their shouting and the sharp smell of sweat. Beneath them, the floor was an icky morass of crumpled slips of paper, cigar butts, and spilled liquor. There were a good number of Vernisite clerics present, notably not only for their sigil badges and robes, but calmer bearing—calmer, and in many cases, visibly smug. Interestingly, the general press of stock traders were overwhelmingly male, while at least two in three of the clerics were women.

“Yeah, yeah, bankers are all crooked, I get it,” Tallie said breezily, likewise all but shouting to be heard. She grinned back at the others as she led them around the edge of the room. “Frankly there’s a couple of more subtle and more direct ways to get where we’re going, but I thought you guys oughta see this at least once. And no, this isn’t our final destination.”

“I could’ve done without this entirely,” Rasha said, edging closer to Jasmine and constantly eying the chaos around him; shouting, gesticulating men repeatedly pressed close to them, never quite accidentally clocking anyone with a careless fist or elbow, but that was likely only because the group was paying attention and moving out of the way. No one answered him; he’d spoken in a normal tone, which rendered his words basically inaudible.

At least Tallie didn’t dawdle. Their destination was a doorway in the back corner of the huge room; double-wide and with no doors to block the view, it revealed a broad spiral staircase of wrought iron descending straight down into a wide shaft cut into the floor. Two men were having a loud argument right outside; between the nigh-incoherent ferocity of their disagreement and the general noise, it was impossible to tell what it was even about, but the group hurried past them as quickly as possible. They seemed on the verge of coming to blows. Hidden inside the doorway, tucked just out of sight from the trading floor, a man and a woman were locked in a kiss in the corner, going about it with such passion they seemed unaware they were in a public place. Rasha ducked his head, flushing furiously as they passed the little scene. He was somewhat comforted by noting that both Jasmine and even Ross seemed uncomfortable as well, though Tallie, of course, only cheered at them in passing.

The cacophony of the trading floor followed them down the stairs, but the smaller room into which the staircase terminated was much quieter. It was a bar, and a middling expensive one to judge by the quality of its woodwork. Only middling due to the scuffs, scratches, and cigar burns which marred most of the surfaces, but still; the layout was discreet and its furnishings clearly meant to be classy, the bartender well-dressed and even the passing serving girl attired with a modesty which set the place apart from the cheaper set of pubs. Despite the early hour, it was more than hall-full, mostly with disheveled traders slouched over drinks—in some cases, whole bottles—wearing despondent expressions.

“They do the celebratory drinking up above,” Tallie said cheerfully as she led them through the room, ignoring a couple of filthy glares from sullen-looking men. “Anybody who comes down here in a good mood is usually buying a bottle to take back up top.”

“I’m still not seeing the villainy I was promised,” Jasmine noted.

“Patience, Jas, we’ll get there. Welcome to the Corral; we won’t be here long. Here we are!”

She had taken them straight through the bar to a door in the back, and immediately pulled this open, stepping through and gesturing the others after. They exchanged a round of dubious glances before following.

They were now in a public toilet. A nicely-appointed one, as toilets went, but still.

“I feel this is an appropriate time to mention,” Jasmine said, “that I don’t have a lot of patience for practical jokes.”

“Y’know, somehow, I sort of predicted that about you,” Tallie said with a grin, once again walking straight through and ignoring the rows of toilet stalls. She marched right up to the wall opposite the door and rapped sharply on it.

After a second’s pause, a framed ornithological print of a mallard suddenly slid aside, revealing a pair of suspiciously squinting eyes.

“Speak, friend, and enter,” said a male voice, muffled slightly by the intervening wall.

“Fortune is a harlot!” Tallie replied cheerfully.

The mallard slammed back into place. A second later, there was a muted click, and the entire wall swung away. Behind it, an enormously burly man in a suit that was clearly tailored to his bulky frame stepped back. In addition to being thick, he was hugely tall; he clearly had had to bend down to place his eyes in front of the hidden slot.

“Top o’ the evenin’, Scott!” Tallie said. “How they hangin’?”

“Ask me again when I’m not on watch,” he replied with a thin smile. She laughed and patted his arm in passing. Scott’s expression sobered as he studied the rest of them, but he made no move to impede their way, and after a moment, the other apprentices resumed following their guide.

The narrow space beyond the false wall led to another descending staircase, this one carved of stone. More noise and light filtered up from below, growing louder as they traveled downward. This was a longer staircase, carrying them down at least three stories.

“Gonna have to show restraint,” Ross grumbled. “Don’t wanna hafta climb this drunk.”

“That’s one reason to show restraint,” Jasmine agreed dryly.

The stairwell opened onto yet another loud, well-lit place, this one a fraction the size of the stock exchange above. Their group stopped just inside to stare around, Tallie grinning proudly, the rest in a kind of awe.

It was a circular room, roughly, arranged in three tiers. The thick stone column containing the staircase let out on the middle tier, which was the broadest; immediately to their right was a well-attended bar, with doors behind it probably leading into kitchens. This broad, circular space was laid out with tables and chairs, its inner ring marked by a wrought-iron rail ten feet tall; they were clearly serious about not letting anyone fall into the lower pit. Probably a wise precaution, considering the screeching, howling and crashing emanating from below, though between the angle and the cheering spectators ringing it, they couldn’t see what was going on down there. More tables were laid out around the upper tier, but they seemed to be more widely-spaced and attended by a better-dressed class of people than those down below.

“It’s a bar,” Rasha said finally, “under a smaller bar, under a stock exchange. Why?”

“And this is the Den!” Tallie threw her arms wide, grinning. “Get it? Because up above was the Corral.” Her grin faded slightly at their uncomprehending expressions. “You know. Bulls, bears?”

She got only three blank stares in response, and sighed, lowering her arms.

“I can see I’m gonna have to educate the hell out of you rubes. Anyway, yes, this is the Den, and yes, it’s a bar, but it’s not only that. This is one of Tiraas’s most active gambling dens!”

“I thought gambling was illegal in the Empire,” said Rasha, “and yes, I realized how dumb that was the moment I said it, no need to rub it in.”

“Very stringently regulated rather than illegal,” Jasmine said, her eyes roving constantly around the room. “The Empire doesn’t bother to police friendly betting. Anything organized or high-stakes isn’t allowed, which is why the Casino does such good business, being protected by a Pantheon cult. That’s the basics, anyway. I can’t say I ever cared enough about the Treasury laws to read the details.”

“More than I knew,” Ross grunted.

“Oh, but it’s not just gambling,” Tallie said with relish, again setting off into the fray and leaving them to straggle along behind her. “A place like this, which exists outside the rule of law, attracts all kinds of nasty folks! Mercenaries, bounty hunters, assassins! Lots of members of the Guild hang out here, as well as a good smattering of Imperial Intelligence agents.”

“Huh?” Rasha frowned. “Why would Imps… I mean, if the Empire knows about this, wouldn’t they just shut it down?”

“Some Emperors would’ve,” Ross said. “Sharidan’s too savvy. You shut this down, three more pop up elsewhere. He knows where it is, he can keep an eye on it.”

“Exactly,” Tallie said, giving the normally taciturn apprentice a look of surprise. “At any rate, that’s how it was explained to me when I was first brought here, and it makes perfect sense to me.”

“You come here often?” Rasha asked warily.

“This is my second time!” she said cheerily, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the ring; they had yet to find an unoccupied table. “Flora and Fauna brought me here when I was pretty new. Y’know…last week.”

“You keep mentioning those names,” he noted.

“They’re Sweet’s apprentices!” Tallie said. “Uh, that’s the Bishop. They’re good people.”

“I’ve spoken with them a few times,” Jasmine agreed. “They’re quite helpful.”

“Yeah, even a lot of the senior apprentices, the ones with sponsors, won’t waste their time on unskilled, no-rep nobodies like us,” said Tallie. “But those two are easygoing and usually willing to help out when they’re around. It makes sense, really; they’re Sweet’s apprentices. He’s all about building connections and relationships. Stand to reason he’d’ve taught ’em the same tactics. That’s what you’ll notice about sponsored apprentices, gang. When you get personal training from a ranking thief, you tend to pick up their general outlook and technique, even if you weren’t planning on it.”

“I’m increasingly curious about Grip and Pick,” Rasha commented.

“Recommend staying outta that,” said Ross.

Suddenly, Jasmine broke from the group, rushing over to the rail, where they had come abreast of a gap in the crowd. “Those are demons!” she exclaimed, clearly aghast.

The others moved over to join her, Rasha slipping in beside her while Tallie and Ross had to crane their heads around. He’d never seen a demon before, but he was willing to bet she was right. One of the things down there looked like a crab, with two sets of pincers and three stingers, plus a mouth full of fangs; the other resembled a gecko, except with armored plating, a barbed tail, and absurdly oversized dewclaws in place of sticky pads on its fingertips. Both were bigger than wolfhounds, and both were a mess of bloody scratches and chipped chitin. As they watched, the two combatants surged together again, clawing, biting, and stinging, accompanied by a round of cheers and catcalls from the onlookers.

“Oh, wow,” said Tallie. “Last time I was here they had gladiators. This doesn’t seem like a great idea.”

“That is a massive understatement,” Jasmine growled.

“C’mon.” Tallie tugged at her arm. “There’s a table; let’s grab it while we can.”

Jasmine allowed herself to be led away, scowling thunderously. A table had indeed opened up, and Tallie wasted no time in plopping herself into a seat, the others following suit more slowly, still clearly uncertain of their surroundings. Rasha felt slightly better at being ensconced in a place with people he more or less trusted, but the chaos, noise, and general atmosphere of the Den still did not agree with him. He was beginning to seriously question the wisdom of having come here. Maybe it was time to stop following Tallie into adventures…

“So, uh, who’s buyin’?” Ross asked.

Rasha blinked, then cringed. “I, um, don’t really have any…money,” he admitted.

“Wait,” said Jasmine. “Weren’t we supposed to get paid for doing that job of Pick’s? Does it matter that it went south?”

“That wasn’t our fault!” Rasha exclaimed.

“Hey, you’re right,” Tallie said, scowling suddenly. “If that asshole tries to stiff us on top of ditching us…”

“He’s got two more days,” Ross said in his basso rumble. “Three days from a job to make good on his word ‘cording to Guild custom. Then we can go to Style an’ she’ll beat it out of ‘im to pay us.”

“Good,” Tallie said, nodding with vicious satisfaction. “I almost hope he forgets.”

“Okay, that’ll be good in two days,” Rasha said nervously. “But, uh, for right now…”

“Relax, I can spot us a bottle,” Tallie said easily. “Got a little savings. You can pay me back when Pick coughs up.”

“What’s goin’ on up there?” Ross asked, nodding in the direction of the upper ring.

“Ah!” Tallie said with a grin, clearly relishing her role as deliverer of exposition. “Those are the gaming tables. High-stakes games, the kind the Empire doesn’t technically allow. That sorta thing they don’t really do in the Casino, either.”

“How come?” Rasha asked.

“Because it is a casino. The games there aren’t rigged, exactly, but they’re set up so that the house always has the advantage. Even the poker tables have at least one Guild member participating at all times. So the big shot high rollers only drop by now and again to circulate; anybody who wins too much from the Guild is made unwelcome. I hear the actual Sarasio Kid got kicked outta there not so long ago!”

“Isn’t he out in Sarasio?” Ross said, frowning.

Tallie shrugged. “It’s just what I heard.”

“Why are we here?” Jasmine asked, still peering around. She looked almost as tense as Rasha felt. “It’s…interesting, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not sure if I see the point.”

“You’re new,” Tallie said with friendly condescension. “Being Eserite isn’t just about being a thief, Jasmine. We’re rubbing elbows with the riffraff, scoffing at the law just to be in here, risking a pointless stabbing just to have a drink. We’re showing the world we do not give a shit! This is the life, my friends!”

“I think I’ve made a serious mistake,” Rasha mumbled.

At that moment, a girl in tight pants and an equally tight blouse which covered barely half her chest sashayed up to their table, an empty tray tucked under her arm. “What’ll it be, kids?”

“What’s good?” Tallie asked easily.

“Nothing,” the waitress said immediately, with a smile. “Nothing is good. The operative question is: how drunk are you planning to get?”

“Hm, on that subject…” Tallie shifted to point at Jasmine. “What can you recommend for our teetotaler friend here?”

The serving girl blinked, then tilted her head to one side. “Go home?”

Ross snorted a laugh, which he quickly smothered. Jasmine didn’t look offended, though; if anything, she seemed amused.

“Bottle of spiced rum,” Rasha said, earning a surprised look from Tallie.

“Comin’ atcha!” the waitress replied, tipping him a wink, and then strode off into the crowd, swaying her hips unnecessarily.

“So,” said Tallie, leaning back in her chair and turning to Jasmine. “Now we’re all here and can chat… Who was that elf?”

“Which elf?”

“Don’t give me that,” Tallie said disdainfully. “The elf. How many elves have we met?”

“Two,” Jasmine replied, arching an eyebrow. “That Legion squad at the fortress had two elves. You didn’t notice? It’s odd enough to see even one in a mostly-human army.”

Tallie straightened up, frowning. “What? No, I mean… The squad leader was an elf, the one who claimed she was also in the Guild. That was the only elf I saw.”

“One of the others, too,” Ross grunted. “Kept her helmet on, mostly. You had to look close.”

“Okay, so that is weird,” Tallie acknowledged, “but back on the subject, you still know which elf I meant. The one who was so surprised to see you she dropped her fucking weapon. I’m pretty sure the Legions train people not to do that. What gives? How do you know elves?”

Jasmine opened her mouth, then hesitated.

“Nobody has to share their history,” Rasha said, frowning. “It’s the Thieves’ Guild. It’s not hard to guess some of us are running from something, or just looking for a fresh start.”

“All right, that’s fair,” Tallie said with an easygoing shrug, again lounging back in her chair till it tipped up on two legs. “Just bein’ sociable, but you’re right, nobody’s gotta play show and tell. Me, though, I don’t mind. I’m circus folk, been traveling the whole Empire since I was born.”

“That sounds exciting,” Ross observed.

“It is,” she said in a grimmer tone. “Especially when the Vidians catch up with the troupe. They do not like performing artists who aren’t affiliated with their cult. Veskers, now, those are fine—they’re pretty awesome, actually. Bards never think they’re too good for anyone, and they love hanging around with fellow performers. Most of the cults, though, take their cue from the Vidians. And why not? He’s one of the Trinity. Of course, that’s all it takes for others to pick up on it. Anywhere we went, people would try to take advantage of us. And feel smug about it, because they’re just following a religious example. Feh.”

“Don’t the Imperial authorities protect people from that?” Jasmine asked.

Tallie shrugged, twisting her lips bitterly. “It depends on the authority. We had Sheriffs and Marshals both stand up for us and be the worst bullies, and everything in between. I’ll tell you what, though. When I was eleven, we were camped near a town in Mathenon Province, and a barn burned. Well, that was all it took, that an a Sheriff who was a fucking asshole. The whole troupe was arrested. The whole troupe. As if we had anything to gain from burning some poor bastard’s barn. Farmers may be rubes, but they work hard, and that’s not an easy life. We understood that, and never gave trouble to anybody who’d treat us fairly. But one barn goes up while we’re nearby, and bam, we all get crammed into the jail for arson. I wasn’t even the youngest.”

“Why?” Jasmine demanded, scowling. “What possible point could there be in that?”

“Sometimes it’s just about power,” Rasha said wearily. “For some people, that’s the only point they need.”

“Not that time, though,” Tallie sneered. “We had stuff. Animals, both to pull wagons and some exotic ones that performed. Tents. Carts, mundane and enchanted. Our take. A circus isn’t rich, but it has assets. For a crooked little back-country Sheriff, it was enough to be well worth seizing.”

She straightened up, folded her arms on the table, and smiled, a slow, malicious expression.

“Unfortunately for that particular shithead, there was a Guild thief passing through the town, who’d stopped to watch our show. While we were being rounded up, he was zipping back to Mathenon for more Guild members. A dozen of them descended on that little flyspeck village.” Her grin broadened. “I don’t exactly know what they did, but Sheriff Arseface was pale and practically gibbering when he came to let us out of our cells. The wagons had been rifled, clearly, we had to pack everything away properly, but not so much as a copper was missing. A dozen Eserites accompanied us to the edge of the province, just in case any of the local hicks were feeling vindictive; nobody tried anything. And the thieves were happy enough to answer questions from a curious kid. Well, that’s when I decided what I wanted to do with my life. The world is full of assholes who live to push around people like mine. I never realized until then that the world also had people who’d push back.”

She leaned back again, folding her arms with a satisfied expression. The others all nodded slowly, each wearing thoughtful expressions.

“There are true believers in every cult,” Jasmine said quietly. “But also abusers who see a religion as something to exploit. Probably more of those in the Guild than most faiths.”

“Sure, I know that,” Tallie said with a shrug. “But there are believers, and they do Eserion’s work, not just to line their pockets. There’s gonna be one more when I’m through.”

“Respect that,” Ross grunted, nodding to her.

Their waitress reappeared suddenly, the tray laden this time. She deftly set four glasses down, followed by a substantial bottle of amber liquid. “And here we are! I’ll warn you, this swill isn’t what you get back home,” she added, winking at Rasha. “The Den serves only the finest of rotgut, moonshine, and bottled hellfire. Hardly anybody ever goes blind, at least not while still on the premises.”

“Music to my ears!” Tallie sang, already reaching for the bottle, which in truth was more of a jug. Its label was crudely hand-drawn, apparently depicting a trident with the inscription The Storm Cares Not. “Money now, or later?”

“Actually, you’re settled up,” said the waitress, stepping back and tucking her tray under her arm again. “Next bottle you pay for in advance, and probably the one after that. We’re not exactly a trusting institution; you don’t get a tab until you show you’re good for it.”

“And yet we get a bottle on the house,” Jasmine said suspiciously.

“You’re new,” the girl replied, waggling her eyebrows. “The house is not that generous. Nah, somebody likes the look of one or more of you. One of the high-rollers spotted you this round. You get thirsty again, sing out!”

She sashayed off again with a toss of her hair, leaving the group to stare after her in confusion, then at their bottle of spiced rum.

“So,” Ross said after a moment, “when you were here before, you made some friends?”

“I…guess?” Tallie shrugged. “I mean, I get along with people, but not anybody in particular that I remember.”

“We’re at a table with two pretty girls,” Rasha observed. “Tables up there are full of rich guys who play poker for too much money. It was bound to happen.”

“Aw, you little sweet-talker, you,” Tallie cooed at him, fluttering her lashes. He hated himself for blushing, partly because he knew it would just encourage her.

“I think I see our admirer,” Ross mumbled, pointing with his forehead. The others turned to follow his gaze, just in time to see a teenage boy in an expensive-looking suit stroll up to them, the tigers eye set into his bolo tie flashing distractingly.

“Well, hey there,” he said with an amiable grin, strolling straight up to Jasmine. “Can’t say I was expecting—”

“Hi!” she interrupted loudly, thrusting out a hand at him. “My name’s Jasmine.”

The boy paused, blinking at her in surprise, then glanced down at her hand. After a moment of apparent confusion, he tentatively took it. “Okay. It’s good to…meet you?”

“Awwwww!” Tallie squealed. “He’s adorable! Look at his little suit! How old are you?”

“Tallie,” Rasha said sharply. “You are being incredibly condescending.”

Their benefactor glanced wryly at him; fortunately, he didn’t seem particularly offended, so much as resigned.

“Aw, but look!” Tallie said. “Look what a handsome little guy he is! Really, though, are you old enough to be in here? This is a bar. It’s pretty much the sketchiest bar in town.”

“It’s a sight worse’n that, to speak the plain truth,” the teenager replied.

“How about we’re polite to the guy who buys us drinks?” Ross said, giving Tallie a disapproving glower. “Good to meet you, and thanks for the bottle. I’m Ross.”

“Pleasure,” said the teen, tipping his hat to them. His gaze turned inquisitive, landing again on Jasmine. “Name’s Joe. So, uh…what brings you here?”

Jasmine winced, glancing quickly around at the others. “I’m really starting to wish I knew.”

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11 – 6

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Darius, growing increasingly frustrated, darted froward again, swinging at Jasmine’s head. During the last minute, he had quickly gotten over his hesitation to strike her; so far, his attempts to do so were proving fruitless.

She had begun by simply standing there, ignoring his taunts and imprecations to attack. When he finally stepped forward, launching a half-hearted jab at her head, she stepped back, avoiding it. The first minute of their duel followed that pattern, Darius growing bolder and more aggressive, without effect. Jasmine not only never struck back, she didn’t even trouble to adopt a fighting stance, keeping her hands folded behind her. She simply stepped smoothly backward and to either side, allowing Darius to chase her in a pointless circle.

The increasing jeers and commentary from the other assembled apprentices was clearly not improving Darius’s mood; his grin had collapsed entirely into a thunderous scowl. Grip, though, grinned like the cat who had eaten the canary, lounging against the wall off to the side and watching avidly. Beside her stood an older man in nondescript clothing, his face lined and hair silver-touched at the temples. Apart from nodding once to Grip in greeting, he had simply watched the fight impassively.

“All right, enough!” Darius exclaimed, coming to a stop and lowering his hands. “Are you about done screwing around? If you’re not gonna fight, we both have better things we could be doing.”

Jasmine raised one eyebrow. “If we’re not fighting… Why are you losing?”

There was a predictable outburst of hooting from the spectators at his. Darius rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Well,” he drawled, “I guess the smart thing to do here would be to walk away, since you’ve sunk to goading me. That’s just sad, Jasmine; we are all cheapened by this.”

“Are we done, then?” she asked calmly.

“Tell you what, cupcake, I’ll leave that up to you.” He slid back into a braced fighting stance, raising his fists. “I’m not gonna flail around while you show off your dancing skill. Either fight back, or we are done.”

She shrugged.

He darted forward a bit more carefully, aiming a jab at her face, which she slapped aside. Darius grinned in triumph, bouncing in place a couple of times, before feinting left and then attacking from the other side.

Jasmine ignored the bait, stepped neatly to the side and reached deftly past his attacking fist to tap him on the head with her palm.

Darius yowled in obvious pain and stumbled to the ground, clutching his ear.

A few of the onlookers let out exuberant cheers, but most of the watching apprentices fell silent, staring in various degrees of disbelief and concentration. Grip’s smile broadened further, but she offered nothing to the tumult.

Jasmine turned to face the crowd, waiting until the shouts died down somewhat before speaking in a tone clearly used to projecting.

“I’m assuming our goal here is not to go around killing and maiming people, right? Well, what you just saw was one of the fastest and easiest ways to put someone out of commission without doing them serious harm.” She glanced at Darius, who had made it back up to his knees, keeping his back to her for the moment, then turned back to the other apprentices and raised one hand. “Here, cup your hand slightly, and gently—gently!—tap yourself on the ear with the palm.”

She demonstrated, and several of the onlookers followed suit, though some stubbornly refrained and a few knowing expressions hinted that their owners already knew where this was going.

“That sensation you feel,” Jasmine continued, “is air being pushed into your ear canal by the impact. Do that harder and it will hit your eardrum with a lot of force, which causes pain, nausea, and loss of equilibrium, not to mention loss of hearing and sometimes blurred vision. Hard enough and you can rupture the eardrum entirely. Do this to someone and they are down. It’s painful and debilitating, but not permanent or excessively cruel—even a fully ruptured eardrum heals naturally in a few weeks, barring infection. And, of course, a quick potion or divine healing can fix it in moments. It’s a weak point all humanoids share, though the ears on lizardfolk are too hard to spot to be worthwhile. Even sturdier races, like dwarves or orcs, will be neutralized by this.

“The best time to do this,” she added, holding up a finger warningly, “is before a fight breaks out, to prevent it from happening. The ear is a small target, and you have to hit it at the right angle. If someone’s already watching for an attack, it’s harder; if you’re already moving around trying to hit one another, harder still. You really only stand a chance of using this in a fight if you’re already a lot better than the person you’re fighting.”

“Oh, nice. That’s a nice touch.” Darius straightened up and turned to glare at her, still clutching his ear. “Couldn’t resist getting in a last little shot, could you?”

“Oh,” Jasmine said, suddenly looking flustered, in a sharp contrast to her previous bearing. “Um, sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“I’ll tell you what, Jas,” he said curtly. “Congratulations on being good at fighting. Everybody here’s good at something. The point is to get along with people and gain new skills. You’re gonna have a hard time if you can’t resist taking the opportunity to be an asshole every time you show somebody up.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Whatever,” he snorted, turning on his heel and slouching away, but not before his parting comment was audible. “Bitch.”

“Leave it,” Grip ordered when Jasmine took a step in his direction. The enforcer strode forward, effortlessly scattering apprentices with a sharp gesture. “Do not waste your time on petulant jackasses. The boy was right about that much, though I suspect the irony was lost on him. A word in your ear, kid? This way.” She tilted her head toward the corner of the pit, pausing only to sweep a very sharp look around at the assembled onlookers. Those who hadn’t already got the hint immediately set off in search of something else to do.

“So, you’ve done this before,” Grip said as Jasmine followed her. They came to a stop next to the climbing bars, atop which Rasha and Tallie still sat. The enforcer was surely aware of their presence, but did not acknowledge them.

“I’ve had the benefit of training, yes,” Jasmine agreed warily.

“Well, the fighting, yeah,” Grip said with a knowing little smile. “But also teaching. That’s exactly the right approach to take around here—show people what you know, make yourself useful, earn respect. You’re off to a good start, kid. Now, let’s talk about what you did wrong.”

Jasmine folded her arms, eyebrows lowering. “I thought I handled him pretty well.”

“Once the actual fighting started, yeah, you owned him. Listen, girl, I am an enforcer, and a good one. Inflicting pain and fear in Eserion’s name is my job, my calling, and my faith. So pay attention when I tell you that your objective as a practitioner of the violent arts should be not to fight. You inflict exactly as much damage as you need to in order to get the results you want. Violence is a means to an end; violence being the end in and of itself is a symptom of a particular species of crazy that we don’t tolerate around here.”

“Excuse me,” Jasmine said in annoyance, “but as I just said, I chose the least—”

“Mouth shut,” Grip said flatly. “I am speaking. A corollary of this principle is that as much as an enforcer needs to be good at force, she also needs to be good at theater. You have to control every aspect of your interactions in order to gain the fear and respect you need. How you present yourself, what you say, is a lot more important in the long run than breaking elbows—or eardrums. As such, announcing that you’re a feminist who can be goaded into a fight as easily as that boy did is a serious mistake. I doubt most of those yahoos out there have the motive or the understanding to leverage that, but in other circumstances… You showed a weakness in front of a crowd. Don’t do that.”

“I see,” Jasmine murmured, still frowning, but now in thought. “Thank you. That’s good advice.”

“I wouldn’t waste everyone’s time saying it, otherwise,” Grip said with a humorless little grin. “That aside, good show, kid. I’m gonna be watching you with interest.”

She clapped the apprentice on the shoulder once, and then strode away without another word. As she passed the older man who’d been watching the fight with her, he smoothly fell into step at her side, and they disappeared through the door into the catacombs. Jasmine stood there, gazing after them with a pensive frown still in place.

At least, until Tallie landed on the floor beside her.

“That was Grip!” Tallie enthused, ignoring the way Jasmine started away from her and slipped momentarily into a fighting stance. “You lucky bitch, you!”

“I’d really prefer it if people didn’t call me that,” Jasmine said pointedly, relaxing. “I spoke to that woman once before, briefly. So, she’s an enforcer? Who was that man with her?”

“Oh, who cares?” Tallie said dismissively, while Rasha clambered more sedately down to join them. “It was Grip, Jasmine! And she talked to you! Hell, she took the time to teach you!”

“That’s what full Guild members do with apprentices, right? I guess I’m making some progress, then.”

“Grip,” Rasha said, frowning. “Actually, I remember that name. She was the one Pick trained under, right? Before she threw him back into the general pool?”

“Damn skippy!” Tallie exclaimed, patting him hard on the shoulder. “You’ve got sharp ears and a good memory, my little friend. Dang, everybody’s showing off their potential today.”

“Can we not call people little?” Rasha said irritably.

“That’s the whole point about Grip,” Tallie blustered on, ignoring him now. “She doesn’t do apprentices. Rarely has one, and she’s been even more standoffish than usual ever since Pick proved himself to be a prick. She’s only recently started visiting the pit to watch apprentices again, and this is the first time she’s ever paid attention to one person in particular! Holy damn, woman, I kind of want to kill you and steal your life now!”

“I, uh, don’t think it works like that,” Jasmine said warily. “Anyhow… She doesn’t really sound like the sort of person I’d want to apprentice under.”

“Are you daft?” Tallie exclaimed.

Jasmine shrugged. “It’s just… I already know fighting.”

“I’ll say,” Rasha commented.

“I came here to learn other ways of dealing with my problems,” Jasmine continued, “not to become a better fighter. And especially not to learn how to be a more…intimidating, fear-inspiring person like Grip seems to be. That isn’t the path I want to follow. I hope I’m not gonna have to turn her down or anything,” she added worriedly. “If she’s well-respected around here, that seems like it could cause me some problems…”

“Oh, not likely,” Tallie said dismissively. “I mean, people would think it was weird as hell, you refusing to apprentice under someone with that kind of rep, but Eserites are all about leaving folks alone to do their thing. As long as Style doesn’t think you’re not working or learning hard enough… Or, hell, maybe you’d gain enough cred from her just asking that you’d get a better offer!”

“Maybe,” Jasmine murmured, gazing absently at the wall.

“Anyway!” Tallie said, suddenly with a broad grin. “Let’s do something!”

“Uh, oh,” Rasha muttered.

She scowled at him. “What, uh oh? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’ve learned that when somebody says ‘let’s do something’ in that tone, I’m about to have a bad time.” Jasmine smiled at him in amusement.

“Oh, you kids and your…pooh-poohedness, pooh-poohing all my enthusiasm,” Tallie said, making a swatting gesture at him. “No, look, seriously, I think Jasmine’s debut calls for something celebratory, and we’re all here to get ourselves trained, right? Well, why choose between them when we can just do both?”

“Um, I’m not sure what needs celebrating, here,” Jasmine said. “I had one brief sparring match and an even briefer conversation with an enforcer.

“I’m curious what kind of training she means, though,” Rasha said.

“It sounds like an excuse to slack off,” Jasmine muttered.

“It is!” Tallie admitted cheerfully. “But, and I’m saying this in all seriousness, I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t see a real benefit. Training in the Guild is great, it’s necessary, but it’s also a preliminary sort of thing. Eserites are active out there in the world. So, I’m gonna do you the favor a senior apprentice did for me on my first day and show you one of the places we’re gonna need to get to know. That they have booze is just an added benefit!”

“I don’t drink,” said Jasmine.

They both stared at her.

“What do you mean, you don’t drink?” Tallie demanded.

“It isn’t a complex sentence, or subject,” Jasmine said in annoyance. “I do not ingest alcohol. Why is this such a big deal for everyone?”

“It’s a big deal because everyone drinks!” Tallie exclaimed.

“Everyone does not.” Jasmine folded her arms. “I don’t. And I’m hardly the only one.”

“Hey, what happened to letting people do their own thing?” Rasha said quietly.

Tallie heaved a sigh. “Out of the mouths of babes… All right, fine, but I hope you know there’s a serious interrogation coming your way, lady. With every new thing I learn about you, the mystery deepens. You’re like this big, improbable onion. Layer upon layer of new intrigues.”

“I suppose the metaphor fits,” Jasmine said, nodding. “Plus, if you cut me, I’ll make you cry.”

Rasha barked an unexpected laugh, stifling himself when Tallie scowled at him. “What? That was funny.”

“Thanks,” Jasmine said with a smile.

“Anyway!” Tallie said with a roll of her eyes. “Get yourselves together, guys, we’re taking a field trip. Since Grip chased everybody off from Jasmine and we’re all still messed up after our ridiculous adventure last night, it’s the perfect time for gwah!”

She jerked away from Ross, placing a hand on her chest and panting dramatically.

“What?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “You okay?”

“Damn it, don’t do that!” she snapped. “How did you do that? You’re like a buffalo; how the hell did you sneak up on us?”

He shrugged.

“Excuse me, but he snuck up on you,” Rasha said helpfully. “We saw him coming.”

“He just walked up,” Jasmine added. “Hi, Ross.”

“Jasmine.” He nodded to her before turning back to Tallie. “Can I come?”

“I—well, hell, sure.” She chuckled. “More the merrier, and I guess we’ve got as much of a history as we do with anyone else here. C’mon, kids, I’m going to open your eyes to a whole new world.”

“Um…” Rasha glanced around. “Should we…find Darius, first?”

Tallie sighed, shaking her head. “Rasha, we did one job with the guy.”

“One job,” Ross rumbled, “then jail, then cleaning duty.”

“Right, well, the point is, we’re not married to him. He’s off sulking after making an ass of himself with Jasmine. We’ll make other friends, Rasha, don’t get too attached.”

“Excuse me,” Jasmine interrupted, “but where, exactly, are you proposing to take us?”

Tallie winked. “To a place where all good thieves can congregate outside the sanctity of their Guild, to mix with the sort of people with whom they’ll need to do business. A place where we can make contacts, get anything money can buy, and generally do business.”

“For some reason,” Jasmine said with a sigh, “I can’t help assuming this is a place where we can get stabbed, and then get a nasty infection.”

“There, y’see?” Tallie grinned and slugged her on the shoulder. “I said you pick things up quick.”

“What kinda drinks to they have?” Ross asked.

“Plentiful, strong, and cheap!”

He nodded. “I’m in.”

Rasha remained silent, following along behind as the still-chattering Tallie led them up the stairs and toward the hall, unable to dislodge her last piece of advice from the forefront of his brain.

Who else would he be wiser not to get attached to? How long would it be before they realized they could do without him?

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11 – 4

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High Commander Rouvad was not in her office; her aide directed Principia to one of the temple’s basements. Hopefully the Commander was not expecting her on any particular schedule, because the trip to get there, after climbing to the top of the temple and then down below it, took a quarter of an hour at least.

It was perhaps fortunate that Principia had spent most of the walk practicing her control over her expression. When she entered the basement in question to find Commander Rouvad and Bishop Syrinx standing over a table of battlestaves, she revealed none of her considerable ire on her face.

“Ah, Sergeant,” Rouvad said as she marched up to them and saluted. “Finally. How did it go with the Eserites?”

“I left them in Sister Tianne’s custody, ma’am,” Principia reported. “On my recommendation she is having them thoroughly clean out the outpost’s stables prior to releasing them.”

“An interesting choice,” Basra commented. Principia did not even glance at her.

“I see,” Rouvad mused. “What was your reasoning, Locke?”

“Guild apprentices aren’t particularly dangerous and don’t know anything useful about the fully accredited thieves who are, ma’am. Having them prosecuted would serve no purpose and irritate Boss Tricks. The Sisterhood doesn’t have the prerogative to administer punishments for civil offenses like arms trafficking. The Guild itself, however, would discipline apprentices for a failure of that kind, unless the chief enforcer felt they’d already suffered for it. Putting them to work and then letting them go satisfied the needs of both cults to enforce discipline, averted a confrontation the Guild might take as provocative, and even nurtured some goodwill.”

“Good initiative,” Basra said mildly. “I believe handling relations with the Guild is my job, however.”

“I have heard no suggestion that your Grace’s work is anything less than exemplary at the political level,” Principia replied, still at attention. “My squad is tasked with cultivating interfaith connections, however. I think much of the Sisterhood’s hostility to the Guild is due to a misunderstanding of mindset, even more than doctrinal conflict. Avenists are all about rules; Eserites are all about connections. Showing them that we can be reasonable and forgiving opens the door to future cooperation.”

“Even when that forgiveness is clearly self-serving?” Basra asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Especially then, your Grace. Otherwise they would merely be suspicious.”

“At ease, Locke,” the High Commander interjected. “It sounds to me like you handled the situation well. How is your weapons development project proceeding?”

Principia didn’t blink at the abrupt change of topic. “I am still working on the sticking point I referenced in my last progress report, Commander. The metal of a lance head makes a poor firing surface. Metal is a magical retardant; it holds passive enchantments well but doesn’t want to transmit magic through it, and as an added complication conducts electricity very well. The avenue I am pursuing at the moment is to tinker with the alloy used, which is difficult as I’m not a metallurgist by any means. I’ve sent for research materials from Stavulheim and Yldiron.”

Rouvad raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been following your requisitions, and I don’t recall seeing anything like that.”

“No, ma’am, I made those purchases with my own funds. I’m reluctant to spend the Sisterhood’s money on what I’m not certain will bear fruit.”

Rouvad sighed and shook her head. “You’re picking up some of Nandi’s habits. Your concern for the Sisterhood’s coffers is noted, Locke, but henceforth I would prefer you requisitioned anything you needed through the official channels. Projects like this need thorough records, and reading requisitions enables me to keep abreast of your progress without wasting both our time asking questions.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The Commander turned to frown at the table of weapons, which Prinicipa took the opportunity to study. They had been heavily modified with large crystals at both ends and gold frameworks spiraling around the upper half of each. With the exception of one laid aside, whose framework was a tarnished gray and showed serious rust damage.

“It has probably occurred to you to wonder what the Silver Legion was doing interrupting a Guild arms meet,” Rouvad said. “This actually came from Bishop Syrinx, who was tipped off by Bishop Darling that what was taking place in that warehouse would be very important and of interest to us, specifically.”

“Eserites in general love to play pranks, especially on us,” Basra added. “Darling is too political to waste goodwill that way, though. He’s never led me astray before, so I presume that this was important.”

“Anything to add to that, Locke?” Rouvad asked.

“I concur with the Bishop’s assessment, Commander. I have not worked directly with Darling, but I know him and his reputation. He’s a bridge-builder.”

“Mm.” Rouvad nodded. “And that leaves us with our catch. There were three vendors present, according to our scouts; they all escaped, leaving a few hapless apprentices holding the bag. One was dealing in some orcish antiquities, and got out with his stock. That is potentially of cultural value to the Sisterhood, but a less likely prospect. The second had a selection of conventional weapons with illegal and nasty modification—again, not really the Sisterhood’s concern. Those we seized, and I am debating whether to simply destroy them or turn them over to the military police.”

“Why the uncertainty, ma’am?” Principia asked.

“Because,” Rouvad replied, “if we hand them off to the Empire, they will have questions if it later become necessary to give them these as well. Lord Vex wouldn’t be the least bit surprised at a major cult withholding evidence from him, but if I have to admit to it the loss of face could have practical consequences. And these, Locke, are why I called you here. The last Guild vendor had several crates of them, and was discussing a sale with two dwarves. At the moment it’s my assumption this is what Darling sent us to find.” She picked up the lone weapon with the tarnished metal and handed it to Principia. “What do you make of this?”

She accepted the staff and turned it over in her hand, examining every part of it carefully. “…well, at a glance, little more than you can see for yourself, ma’am. It’s a modified battlestaff. Why is this one different?”

“That one has been used,” Rouvad explained. “They all arrived in the same condition. We tested one, though, and after being fired four times it abruptly changed to that and stopped working.”

“How does it perform when fired?”

“It doesn’t. Or at least, it doesn’t appear to do anything. Here, watch.”

The Commander lifted the staff in a standard firing position, grasping the clicker and tucking the butt under her arm to aim; despite leading a military which used an older generation of weapons, she was clearly not new to handling modern firearms. She took aim at one of the target dummies standing against the wall of the basement chamber and squeezed the clicker.

The crystal at the end of the staff emitted a burst of golden light, which flashed across the room to splash against the dummy. It dissipated instantly, rocking the dummy slightly but having no significant effect.

Rouvad lowered the staff and set it aside, carefully putting it separate from the other, unfired models. “We’ve also tested it against shield charms, in case it’s some kind of shield-breaker. It did nothing to those, either. It seems likely that it is intended to do something specifically to a person, which is deeply disturbing and, of course, explains why Darling might find it necessary to tip us off about this. But there is no ethical way to test that, of course. Before we resort to such measures, I want to see what can be learned through analysis. Thoughts, Locke?”

“Well, first of all, I understand what happened to the broken one, now,” she said, still examining it. “This is liargold.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s an alchemical formulation of iron pyrite, also known as fool’s gold. Liargold, in addition to looking like real gold, also mimics its magical properties. Not for long, though, as actually putting magic on or through it damages its structure, until it reverts to plain, simple iron pyrite. In fact, if you see any object made from pyrite, it’s probably exhausted liargold; it’s not workable like more useful metals. These weapons are cheaply-made knockoffs, probably nothing more than proofs of concept. Also, ironically, more illegal than the modified wands. You need a license and Imperial oversight to work with liargold, since its primary use is, of course, counterfeiting coins. I surmise these devices require gold to work. Which… Yes, I can see why nobody wanted to shell out for a whole crate of them.”

“I had a feeling you were the person to ask about this,” Rouvad said in a mildly satisfied tone. “I am temporarily suspending your enchantment program, Locke. For the time being, you will instead direct your effort to these things. Figure out what they are, how they work, and what they are meant to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Principia said calmly. “Commander… Reverse-enchanting weapons is a completely different matter from designing new ones. My divinatory skills are minor and wholly inadequate to this task. I’ll need a dedicated scryer to work with.”

“We’ll get you one,” Rouvad said, then glanced at Basra. “For the time being, I want this kept quiet, at least until we know what we’re dealing with, here. In addition to figuring out what the devices themselves are, I want to know where they came from. You will both pursue that, from above and below, so to speak. I suspect Darling would have told you more if he intended to, Basra, but see if you can get anything more out of him.”

“Gladly, Commander.”

“And Sergeant, do likewise. Discretion is key, but I want you to dedicate your squad’s efforts to finding and following leads. This is now your primary mission; Captain Dijanerad will be informed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Principia said, saluting. Her gaze cut sideways for a second to Basra, who was now studying her through narrowed eyes.

“And furthermore,” Rouvad said sternly, “there will be an absolute maximum of zero infighting between you two. I am aware of your history; I was present for it. Given your respective mandates, this will not be the last time you will find yourselves working in proximity to one another, if not actively together. Your tasks call for you to be calculating, discreet, and above all, diplomatic. If either prove unable in that regard, I will find something for you to do which better suits your demonstrated level of maturity. Am I understood?”

“Of course.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She looked back and forth between them with an expression which would brook no nonsense. “Then you both know what you need to be working on. Locke, I know you’ve been out all night on assignment; go rest up with your squad.”

“Yes, ma’am. Commander, there’s something else. May I speak with you in private?”

Rouvad heaved a soft sigh, regarding her speculatively. “Well, I know you and I have no personal business, and as this is the first time I’m hearing of it, may I assume this pertains to your mission last night?”

“It—yes, ma’am, it’s an issue I became aware of at that time.”

“Well, Locke, that doesn’t quite qualify as infighting, but you are straining my tolerance. The Bishop has a right to be kept in the loop with regard to anything concerning our dealings with the Guild or the law. Spit it out.”

Basra folded her arms, keeping her expression neutral.

Principia did not indulge in even the slightest flicker of emotion on her own face. “Yes, ma’am. Trissiny Avelea was among the Eserite apprentices we apprehended and put to work last night.”

Rouvad raised her eyebrows, and turned to regard Basra, who shrugged.

“She either works fast, or isn’t the most quick-legged of thieves,” the Bishop said. “Both are in character, from what I understand, and I’d consider neither a failing.”

“And what did you do with Trissiny Avelea, Sergeant?” Rouvad asked quietly.

“Exactly as I did with the rest of them, Commander,” Principia replied. “No personal acknowledgment aside from a condescending put-down when she sassed me. I realize you have a low opinion of my background, but it’s prepared me well to recognize when someone is under cover and not blow it.”

“You have spoken with her in person, if I’m not mistaken?” Rouvad continued, her stare boring into Principia. “She knows who and what you are?”

“She knows.”

“All right.” The Commander shook her head. “I won’t trouble to remind you of the condition of your enlistment, since you clearly remember. Thank you for reporting this, but unless she appears to be in some danger, it’s not your concern or ours. And likely not even then. Hands of Avei are meant to be more resilient and adaptive than soldiers in general.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Principia glanced rapidly back and forth between them. “Commander, do I take this to mean you were already aware she was among the Guild?”

“Of course we were, Locke,” Rouvad said sardonically. “I am the mortal leader of this faith, and the Bishop is our official point of connection to the Church and the other cults. General Avelea does not go charging off to do whatever she likes without notifying her chain of command. I can only assume that results from Abbess Narnasia’s upbringing. It clearly isn’t genetic. Is that all, Locke?”

“What is she doing?”

“As soon as that is any concern of yours, Locke,” Rouvad said in a tone of quiet warning, “she’ll inform you. If there is nothing else, you have your orders. Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Principia saluted her, then turned and did the same to Basra. “Welcome home, your Grace.”

“Why, thank you, Sergeant Locke,” Basra said with a pleasant little smile.

Commander Rouvad heaved a sigh.

There were multiple ways in and out of the Thieves’ Guild headquarters, unsurprisingly. The first thing all who applied for an apprenticeship learned was that grubby apprentices were not to be found trooping through the Imperial Casino. On this night, the five bedraggled youths coming home as dawn was breaking chose a servant’s access in a side alley, and thus earned themselves another loud lecture to the effect that grubby apprentices were not to troop through the casino’s kitchens, either.

They did their best to ignore the stares of fellow apprentices and knowing grins of full Guild members as they passed through the underground corridors to the Guild proper. Fortunately, it was the best time of day for that, with most of those keeping normal business hours not about yet and most of the night crowd having turned in. The Thieves’ Guild never truly slept, though, and even apprentices weren’t kept to any schedule but their own. No matter what time of day one chose to straggle in, reeking, sweaty, and exhausted, there was certain to be an audience of some kind.

In this case, perhaps the worst one possible.

“What the hell happened to you losers?” Style demanded as soon as they’d descended the stairs into the central pit, planting fists on her hips to stare incredulously at them. “You look like you’ve been mucking out a stable.”

“We fought a dragon,” Tallie said challengingly.

“And then we rescued a princess!” Darius added.

“And then we mucked out a stable,” Jasmine said wearily.

“Hn. Coulda been a lot worse, I guess,” she said, folding her brawny arms. Today’s outfit was some kind of elaborate faux-clerical robe, embroidered with stylized animals along the hem and cuffs in a manner that resembled plains elf decoration. It was one of the more effeminate things she’d worn in recent memory, but somehow the burly enforcer managed to make the outfit seem martial. “If you didn’t turn up by tonight I was gonna go rattle Sweet’s cage to get you back from the Avenists.”

“Oh,” Tallie said, her shoulders slumping. “So…you know about last night.”

“Heard the news straight from Pick himself,” she said grimly. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. You kids are just about the rankest fucking amateurs we have in this joint; nobody would expect you to know how to pull off an escape from a smoke-bombed room. Did any of you even think to check your exits before setting up in there?”

They glanced uncertainly at each other.

“Uh huh,” Style said sourly. “And naturally, Pick didn’t bother to show you that trick, or ask if you knew it. That on top of dragging a bunch of apprentices into that and then ditching them for the Legion. Just when I thought that little fuckhead couldn’t possibly climb higher up my shit list, he found a way. Oy, what the hell is this?” Her piercing gaze fixed on Rasha, who took a nervous step backward in response, and she scowled heavily. “No, you may not have a pet.”

“This is Rasha,” Tallie explained. “He’s new.”

“New, my exquisitely sculpted ass. I know every apprentice studying here.”

“New,” Jasmine explained, “as in, literally just arrived and had a meal when we found out about the job. He doesn’t have a bunk yet.”

“Are you kidding me?” she demanded, brows lowering still further. “You mean to say this scrawny little shrimp set foot in my Guild and literally the first thing he did, even before finding a place to kip, was get his ass to work?”

She took two long strides forward, into the middle of their group, causing Tallie and Darius to peel away in alarm; Rasha tried to backpedal away from the oncoming enforcer, but was stopped by Jasmine and Ross, who held their ground right behind him. Style bent forward to clap him on the shoulder so hard his knees buckled, and grinned broadly.

“You, shorty, have got a future. I’m gonna be watching you with great interest.”

“Stop,” Rasha growled, “calling. Me. Small.”

It only occurred to him belatedly that snarling like a stray dog at someone who was not only highly-ranked in the Guild but clearly physically capable of breaking him in half wasn’t the wisest thing he had ever done, even after the events of the last day.

Style’s grin faded, replaced by a more pensive expression which seemed oddly out of place on her bluff features.

“Kid,” she said seriously, “you’re small. That’s not an insult, it’s a simple fact, and a pretty fucking obvious one. You’re here to learn to be a thief; being small is all kinds of useful if you learn how to use it—which you had better get your ass to work doing. Anybody who rags on you for your stature has shit between their ears, and when it starts to spill out their mouths, the correct thing to do is walk the fuck away and talk to someone less disgusting.”

Style stepped back, dragging a speculative stare across them, then wrinkled her nose. “All right…Rasha, was it? I know you’re half-dead on your feet, but you’re new, so you get the speech. Everyone gets the speech; if I have to repeat the speech to you, it’ll be while going about my daily tasks wearing your ass as a boot. So long as you’re staying in my apprentice barracks, you will be a model fucking citizen. You will respect the persons, the privacy, and the possessions of your fellow apprentices. You don’t steal anybody’s shit or mess with it at all, you don’t force any kind of attention on anybody who doesn’t want it, and you do not test the limits to see how far you can push the rules. The line is drawn wherever I fucking feel like drawing it on a given day, and if I think you’re probing at me, I’ll smack the stupid out of you on the spot. Also, the barracks is to remain spotlessly clean—by which I mean, if I happen to pass through and am in any way dissatisfied with its condition, I will kick the shit out of each and every person residing therein, either sequentially or concurrently, depending on how much time I happen to have for apprentice bullshit that day. Simple solution is you keep your own area clean with regular attention, and if you spot something needs cleaning, you do it instead of waiting for others to. Eserion’s service attracts selfish people by nature; by the time you graduate to full Guild membership, you will demonstrate, among other things, that you can respect your fellow thieves, your Guild, and its facilities. Any questions?”

“I grew up on ships,” Rasha said, folding his arms. “Clean and tidy I can do.”

“Good.” Style nodded once. “Now, all of you. I can clearly see you’re exhausted, but on the roster of things about which I give a shit, that is substantially below the condition and the smell of you. You will all go wash yourselves and your clothes before soiling my lovely barracks with your reeking carcasses. Rasha, your fellow miscreants will conduct you to the facilities, show you where everything is and how to work it. Then, just pick whatever bunk isn’t occupied and help your goddamn self. Clear?”

“It’s a little excessive, isn’t it?” Jasmine noted. “I mean, my last roommate liked to curse like a sailor, too, but she worked it into conversation. Organically. You seem to be trying too hard.”

“Uh…” Darius stared at her, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a rise outta me,” Style said dryly. “Because she was placed here by the gods specifically to be a thorn in my ass. Tell you what, Jasmine, I’m gonna refrain from clocking you because I find it a very positive development that you’re already picking up the habit of fighting with words instead of fists. Frankly, when you first showed up here, I didn’t think you had the necessary mental capacity. Now, either you learn quickly what fights are and are not worth picking, or you’ll end up picking your teeth out of the floorboards.”

“Uh, the floor’s stone,” Tallie said helpfully.

Style grinned broadly. “Yeah. That is what makes it an impressive party trick. Go get cleaned up, junior fuckups. You have a whole new day in which to make asses of yourselves ahead.”

The rest of the squad, including Casey, were in their bunks and apparently fully inert by the time Principia returned to the barracks. Nobody was even snoring, Merry having rolled onto her side already, which based on experience meant she’d been out for a while now. The arcane stove was active, but at its lowest setting, having very little work to do against the unseasonable warmth. She paused in the central aisle between beds to glance around at the others with a small smile, then set about unbuckling her armor.

Nandi’s blonde head appeared over the edge of the bunk above her own. “Anything interesting?” she asked in a bare whisper, soft enough the humans present would probably not have heard even had they been awake.

Principia shook her head, replying in the same tone. “In addition to a handful of Eserite guppies, the Legion seized some kind of experimental magical weapons, which are now our mission. I’m to figure out what makes ’em hum, while the squad tracks where they came from. And,” she added sourly, “we will be working parallel to our esteemed Bishop on this. She’s going to start from the top while we work from the bottom.”

“Hmm.” Nandi blinked languidly. She did not appear tired, which was no surprise. The Legions fed its soldiers well; both elves had enough energy stored in their auras to go for days without needing to rest, not that they tried to push it as a rule. “A matched set of risks and opportunities, that.”

“It occurred to me, yes.”

“Any notion where to start looking?”

“That is the problem,” Principia said with a sigh as she stowed away her armor and peeled off her underthings, reaching for her sleeping shift. The others had doubtless needed to wash up before getting into bunks; elves did not sweat much, and she found her own condition satisfactorily sanitary. “I’ve positioned myself rather poorly for this, Nandi. Keeping my distance from the Guild has left me with few useful contacts in the arms trade, especially here in Tiraas. I can’t go to Darling, because that’s what Syrinx is doing, and apart from not wanting to cross paths with her, I don’t want to tip him off that…well, any of it. Darling loves to be useful, but he files away every tidbit for future leverage, and I don’t need him planting any levers under my bum.”

“Well,” Nandi suggested, smiling as Principia climbed into her bunk, “we did just make some very junior acquaintances in the Guild, did we not? They probably don’t think the best of you right now, but surely a few of that handful were perceptive enough to see the trouble your decision kept them out of.”

“Guild apprentices won’t know anything useful that we could pursue,” she said dismissively, “aside from the very basics of who they were working for, and I’ll tie my ears in a bow if the Guild hadn’t covered those tracks before they even learned of this. Besides… There could be complications if the High Commander gets word of me trying to approach that particular group of apprentices.”

“One of them, anyway.”

Principia sighed. “Y’know, I never wondered, before, whether you were in the loop about that. Somehow, it surprises me not in the least.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” Nandi was now staring up at the ceiling, still speaking in he tiniest of whispers, which Principia had no trouble hearing in the quiet cabin. “Well. As any hunter could tell you, the solution is obvious. If we cannot stalk our quarry, we must entice it to come to us.”

“Go to sleep, Shahai. I’ll brief the squad in full later today.”

Nandi smiled serenely up at the ceiling. “Yes, ma’am.”

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11 – 3

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“Yeah!” Tallie jeered, rattling the cell door again. “Not so tough when somebody actually stands up to you, huh? Somebody oughta—”

While she spoke, Locke rapped her lance sharply with one boot to make it bounce on the stone floor, then deftly slipped a toe under it and kicked it upward into her hand, whereupon she set the tip against the cell door and raked it across the bars, making them ring obnoxiously. And vibrate, to judge by the way Tallie yelped and jerked backward, shaking her fingers.

“Here’s the situation in which you kids find yourselves,” the Sergeant said in a grimmer tone, raking her stare across them. “You flubbed a job and got nabbed. The Sisterhood has no interest in prosecuting illegal arms dealers—in fact, it’s a mystery to me why the Third Legion bothered to raid that meet in the first place. That means your next stop, according to standard operating procedures, is the military police, who are interested in illegal arms dealers.” She let that loom over them for a moment before continuing. “Now, you know and I know that you bumpkins don’t have anything worthwhile to tell them and you’re guilty of, at most, being accessories to whatever crimes were actually committed. It’s honestly a toss-up whether they’d bother to press charges, but they will work you over in the process of verifying that you’re just hapless know-nothing apprentice goobers.”

“That’s a little strong,” Rasha complained.

“But,” Locke said loudly. “I also know a lot about the type of people who seek to join the Thieves’ Guild, and what’s involved in the process. Unless your family’s Guild, you almost certainly are struggling with demons of your own—and I know none of you chuckleheads are legacies, or you’d be sponsored and not getting ditched in a warehouse by the only clown who’d take you on a job. Some of you, if not most of you, if not all of you, are going by assumed names.” She glanced rapidly from Jasmine to Ross to Tallie. “It’s a safe bet you all have good reason not to want the Empire digging into your business—and you’d better believe they would dig, for something like this. Dangerous or no, weapons traffic is a matter of connections. If you’re the only links they’ve got in that chain, they will find out whatever else you’re linked to. And then, once you got out of that, you would have to explain all this to Style. You know what a kind, understanding cream puff she is. I can’t say how much rep any of you kids have, but if you happen to be already in the doghouse, or just without enough established cred, being the reason Imperial Intelligence pays the Guild a visit would be enough by itself to get your butts bounced out into the street.”

The Sergeant fell silent, raised one eyebrow, and studied each of them in turn.

“What’s the alternative?” Darius asked in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

“Be with you in a moment,” she said, suddenly sounding cheerful again. “You just ruminate on that whilst I deal with some other business. So!” Locke paced slowly down the bars, coming to a stop near the end and turning to face Schwartz, who stood near the wall of the cell with his arms folded, scowling. “What’s your story?”

“I am Herschel Schwartz,” he announced, “fellow in good standing of the Emerald Collegium of the College of Salyrene. I have not broken any laws, my only interactions with the Silver Legions prior to tonight were rendering them aid, and I am exceedingly irate!”

“You tell ‘er!” Tallie crowed.

“SHUT UP!” everyone else shouted at her. She gaped around at them, blinking in awe.

“Herschel Schwartz.” Locke studied him closely, wearing a faint frown. “By that description, you sound like a rather upstanding fellow.”

“Thank you, I try.” Meesie, squeaking pompously, bounced from his shoulder to his head where she stood upright and folded her tiny arms.

“Would you care to explain,” Sergeant Locke asked mildly, “just what you were doing attending an illegal arms swap meet, Mr. Schwartz?”

He jutted his chin out mulishly, now refusing to meet her gaze. “…you’d laugh at me.”

“Schwartz,” Locke said pointedly, “you are in a cell. You are implicated in crimes of the sort that makes Imperial Intelligence open dossiers on people, and keep abreast of their movements for years thereafter. If you get out of this with nothing worse than being laughed at, you’ll be making out very well indeed.”

“Yes, I see your point,” he said sourly. “All right, fine. I was looking to meet and make connections with Eserites.”

“Well, it’s a right pleasure to meetcha!” Tallie said cheerfully. Meesie chittered amicably back at her.

Darius cleared his throat. “Is it too late to deny knowing her? In fact, I’m increasingly willing to testify that this whole thing was Tallie’s idea.”

“I don’t think that’d work,” Jasmine said, deadpan. “She’s met Tallie.”

“Oh, whose side are you on?” Tallie snapped.

“Children,” Locke said firmly. “Hush. And as for you, Schwartz. Any reason in particular you were wanting to connect with the Thieves’ Guild?”

He shrugged, again not meeting her stare. “Well, it’s not as if I’m the sort of person who ordinarily has such connections, is it? Honestly, I have no interest in weapons, illegal or otherwise—except, well, some of those modified wands were rather intriguing, even if arcane work isn’t my field of specialization… Ah, yes, but anyway. That meetup was the only thing I was able to find out about that I could attend, and I was sort of warned against just walking into the Imperial Casino and trying to chat people up. I was willing to buy a staff or something if that’s what it took to make friends, but fortunately for my pocketbook, the Legion interceded.”

“That’s all very interesting,” Locke said, “but it’s not really what I asked you, is it?”

“No, I suppose it’s not.” Finally he raised his eyes to hers, now staring challengingly. “But I do know that socializing with Eserites is not a crime, and in fact cannot be considered evidence of a crime according to established legal precedent. So unless you intend to see me charged with weapons trafficking, which you know won’t stick, I would like to leave now, please.”

“Hm,” Locke mused, and then shrugged. “Welp! You’re not wrong. And as I have been given discretion with regard to what’s done with you kittens, it seems I have the authority to release you.”

“Can you stop with the diminutive nicknames?” Rasha snapped.

“You’re free to go,” Locke continued to Schwartz, ignoring the Punaji boy. “I’ll ask your patience a few moments longer, with apologies; you’re all leaving that cell in just a few moments, toward one destination or another, and I’d just as soon not deal with the rigamarole of extracting one person while corralling the rest. After you’re out of there, though, I’d appreciate it if you’d stick around for a few minutes, Mr. Schwartz. I’d like to have a word with you in private.”

He sighed dramatically. “I’ve told you everything I know about all this, which is practically nothing. I don’t see what else you can possibly want from me!”

“Oh, no,” she said with amusement, “I don’t suspect you of anything but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I meant a personal conversation.”

“Then I understand even less,” he replied, frowning. “I’m pretty sure we’ve not met before—I’d remember a dark-haired elf.”

“We haven’t, no,” Locke said, now grinning openly. “But I’d like to chat a bit about another Mr. Schwartz I know, of whom you are the spitting image, minus about twenty years.”

He blinked. “You knew my father?”

Locke’s grin melted away. “…knew?”

“Oh.” Schwartz sighed. “Yes. He passed on six years ago. A carriage accident. Of all the ridiculous ways to go, after all he did in his life…”

“Hey, can you two maybe talk this out after—”

Darius broke off with a muffled curse as Ross swatted him upside the back of his head, sending him stumbling forward into the bars.

“Have some respect,” Ross grumbled disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Schwartz said awkwardly.

“No. No, I’m sorry.” Locke shook her head. “If I took better care of my relationships I wouldn’t be finding out about lost friends years after the fact… And this isn’t the first time, either. But yes, anyway, I do need to deal with the rest of these first, but…”

“Sure,” Schwartz agreed, looking generally more amenable now. “And yes, I’ll hang around a bit after you’re done.”

“Smashing. So!” Locke turned to the others, raising her eyebrows. “Thoughts?”

“You’re not accustomed to holding prisoners,” Jasmine said critically. “Keeping us in suspense is cheap drama, and the threat isn’t ominous enough to even make it effective. Do you just enjoy wasting everyone’s time?”

“Okay, not with her, either,” Darius announced. “In fact, I disavow any knowledge of all of these fuckers.”

“My, kitten’s got some claws on her,” Locke said dryly to Jasmine. “I bet all the other girls back in finishing school lived in absolute dread of you.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes to slits.

Rasha cleared his throat. “So, anyway, you were menacing us with threats of Intelligence and whoever Style is. Was there a better alternative?”

Locke boggled at him. “Whoever Style is?!”

Tallie cleared her throat. “He’s new. As in, first night. Hasn’t even got a bunk yet.”

“I’m having an interesting day,” Rasha grumbled.

“You poor bastard,” Locke said, shaking her head. “All right, here’s the deal. There are times when being caught between my various responsibilities is a hardship—but then there are times, like this one, where they all line up perfectly.” She began to pace slowly up and down in front of the bars. “I have a responsibility to the law, which is the least of my concerns here, because we all know you lot aren’t a threat to anyone except possibly yourselves. You might, it is true, become a threat one day if you stick with the Guild, but nobody rational prosecutes potential. I have a responsibility to the Silver Legions to do something with a gaggle of fairly-caught criminals. I could maybe just let you all go as an interfaith gesture of goodwill and justify that to my captain as part of my squad’s mandate—”

“Yes!” Tallie said, gripping the bars again and nodding eagerly. “Embrace the mandate!”

“But,” Locke continued, ignoring her, “there is also my responsibility as a member of the Thieves’ Guild to do something with a gaggle of fairly-caught screwups. So! I believe I know of a happy medium. One which meets all those objectives and gives you a valuable life lesson besides!”

“I hate valuable life lessons,” Tallie grumbled.

Locke stepped to one side and turned to regard those behind her with a sunny smile. The rest of her squad had been standing silently this whole time at parade rest; the Avenist cleric who’d accompanied them in watched the proceedings with interest from the sidelines, as did the sole Legionnaire who’d been left to guard the room.

“I asked your gracious host, Sister Tianne, if there was any significant work that needed doing around this facility—”

“Oh, come on!” Darius groaned.

“—and wouldn’t you know it! This temple has an attached stable, which is slated for renovation to house enchanted carriages rather than horses, the times being what they are. The budget being what it is, no actual workers have yet been contracted to do this, and as this particular temple is mostly a dedicated training facility and waypoint for the Legions on city duty, there aren’t enough permanent staff here to undertake a renovation themselves. So guess what!”

“I hate you,” Darius informed her.

Jasmine shrugged. “It sounds like honest work to me. And a fair enough consequence for tonight’s mess. Considering how this could have gone, I don’t see what your complaint is.”

“Jasmine,” he said in exasperation, “I did not join up with the bloody Thieves’ Guild because I wanted to do honest work!”

“You think thieves don’t work?” Ross asked.

“Everybody works,” Rasha added. “Don’t work, don’t eat.”

“Some of you,” Locke said with visible approval, “have a future in your chosen organization.”

“But it’s the middle of the night!” Tallie protested, again rattling the cell door.

“Oh, you’ve got some pressing appointment? A hot date?” Sergeant Locke arched an eyebrow. “Very well, it’s up to you. Since, if you’d rather not help the good Sister thoroughly clean out the stables, your next meeting will be with the military police. After all, nobody wants to keep them waiting.”

Tallie groaned and slumped forward, clonking her forehead against the bars.

“So,” Locke continued, “once you’re out of there, you’re out. You’ll answer to Sister Tianne until she is satisfied with your results—and Sister, be so kind as to be satisfied only when that place is spotless.”

“It goes without saying,” Tianne agreed.

“And in case any of you are thinking of bolting prematurely, let me just inform you that she will be sending me a full report of your performance, and if I find any complaints in it, they’ll go right to Style.”

“You don’t even know our names,” Darius huffed.

The Sergeant pointed to each of them in turn. “Gangly but hot wiseass, tiny Punaji, handsome yet poorly-dressed meathead, walking wall, deceptively dainty bruiser. Anybody wanna lay odds Style can’t figure out who you are?” She let them consider that for a moment before going on. “Come to a decision quickly, please, kids. I know you’re all eager to put this whole episode behind you, and poor Mr. Schwartz has been cooped up in there quite long enough.”

“Well, I can’t say this hasn’t been rather interesting,” Schwartz commented.

Tallie sighed and turned to face the others. “Well, whaddaya think, guys? Should we make a show of pretending to consider it to save face, or just go ahead and ask where the brooms are?”

“Oh, we’ll get to the brooms before the end of the night,” Sister Tianne said with a benign smile. “You’ll need to start with shovels.”

“I think,” said Rasha, “I’ve made some poor decisions recently.”

Casey was practically vibrating with eagerness as the downcast Eserite apprentices filed through the small temple’s courtyard en route to its attached stables.

“Are we going to stay and supervise this, Sarge?” Ephanie asked.

“No.” Principia shook her head. “They’re on the honor system now.”

“They’re Eserites,” Merry pointed out disdainfully.

“One,” said Principia, “they barely are. Two, they know the consequences of screwing this up; the point of the honor system in this case is to teach them some honor. And three, Lang, shut your hate hole, you dismal termagant, you. Avelea, keep everybody in line, please; the rest of you, stand in the courtyard here looking official until I’m back. You have my apologies for leaving you on the hook while I see to personal business, ladies. I’ll buy you all cocoa tomorrow.”

“That makes it all worth it!” Farah said with a broad smile.

“Sarge!” Casey finally burst out, the last of the apprentices having vanished into the stable. “That girl, the one with the dark hair—”

Principa’s finger was suddenly in her face. “No, Elwick.”

“But Farah and I met her, I’m sure it’s—”

“No, Elwick!” Principia repeated more loudly. “Drop it.”

“But I could see you recognized—”

“Elwick,” the sergeant snapped, “as soon as we’re back at base you will give me five laps of the parade ground at full run before removing your gear.” She took a step closer to the suddenly silent private, glaring. “And nothing that uninteresting, completely random Guild apprentice chooses to do is any of your business until and unless she tells you otherwise. I will not have to repeat any of this to you. Ever. Am I understood?”

Casey swallowed heavily. “Yes, ma’am.”

Principia held her gaze for a moment before withdrawing. “Good. Now I’m going to go have a quick word with Mr. Schwartz, and then we can be on our way back home.”

She nodded once to them, then turned and strode off into the temple proper, through the door Schwartz had earlier been shown by a resident priestess.

“Asking what the deal is with that apprentice is just gonna get me added to the shit list, isn’t it,” Merry said wryly.

Nandi Shahai glanced at her from behind her helmet, then at the door to the stables, and then after Principia, remaining silent.

Jasmine took the opportunity to glance at the sky as she pushed a wheelbarrow filled with the sludge and unspeakable smells of countless horses out to the courtyard, where she had been instructed to pile the refuse to be collected later and transported out of the city, there being ordinances about what could and could not be just tossed away in Tiraas. The island city had to regulate some things with exceeding care, lest people find themselves wading ankle-deep in pollution. It was hard to tell through the city’s omnipresent glow, but the sky didn’t appear to be lightening. What with one thing and another, she had completely lost track of time, but it was surely past midnight by now.

Straightening up after tipping the barrow over, she paused to scrub a sleeve over her sweaty forehead and glanced around the courtyard. Squad 391 were still present, lounging around at ease; clearly they didn’t find the apprentices to be much of a hazard or a responsibility. Not that she could blame them. In fact, one was leaning against the wall quite close by, which drew a second glance from her. The woman had her helmet off, revealing she was an elf. A blonde elf with horizontal ears, not another dark-haired wood elf, but still. There weren’t so many elves in the Legions altogether. It was quite odd to find two in such a small unit.

“Don’t take it as a rejection,” the elven Legionnaire said suddenly as Jasmine turned to push her wheelbarrow back inside for another load. “Locke’s enlistment was under the specific condition that she not go near you except at your invitation. She’s not overly fond of rules in general, but she can toe the line when necessary.”

Jasmine had paused, hands on her burden, to peer at the woman sidelong without turning to face her. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course. My mistake.”

She pushed the barrow another foot and a half before letting it come to a stop. “Your sergeant claims to be a member of the Guild.”

“It’s not a claim,” the soldier—a corporal, by her insignia—said with a smile. “The Legion knows her history and credentials quite well.”

“Are you sure she’s trustworthy?”

She cocked her head to the side in thought. “Complicated question, isn’t it? The chain of command seems to mostly find her a nuisance…but her own soldiers are quite loyal to her. I would say fiercely so, in some cases. That’s a particular type of officer who bears watching. In war and other dangerous times they have a way of saving us all; in more peaceful times, they cause the most horrendous trouble.”

Jasmine frowned slightly, then opened her mouth to speak again.

“Oi!” Tallie bellowed from within the stable. “Having a nice break out there?”

With a sigh, she picked up the wheelbarrow’s handles and pushed back into the stable.

Schwartz’s rented room wasn’t quite dark anymore by the time he got back to it. Not fully light, either—it was still before dawn—but even without flipping on the fairy lamp, he could see clearly by the pale glow of the windows. Well, good; one less thing to do. He was so tired…

He stepped in, shut and locked the door behind himself, and turned to make his way for the bed. He could afford an actual apartment but considered it wasteful; this small loft had all the space he needed for his books and magical supplies, and keeping a bed tucked into a far corner suited him just fine. Only halfway there did he realize someone was present, lounging in his armchair.

“Oh!” he said, stopping and blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you…”

“Good morning, Herschel,” Ami said sweetly. “How was your evening?”

“Ah, well, you know. Long. I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but it’s so late it’s early and I’m really—”

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

Despite her usually dulcet tones, Ami Talaari’s voice had been trained for power as well as precision; she could project at a porcelain-cracking volume in an enclosed space. He actually staggered backward, Meesie squealing and puffing up in alarm.

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” the bard raged, surging to her feet and stalking toward him. “The last thing I heard, you’d gone haring off to some godawful hole full of all manner of thugs, to make friends, of all the ludicrous things! And then you don’t come home all night? I thought you were dead! I pictured you being tortured! I feared you were in jail!”

“I was!” he protested.

Ami halted her advance, and blinked once, slowly. “Run that by me again?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it was jail in a legal sense,” he said. “The Silver Legion raided the warehouse and rounded up everybody who couldn’t escape—which was just me and some poor Eserite apprentices who hardly seemed to know what was happening. And they let me out, obviously, once things were sorted out, but… Yes, that did take up the bulk of the night, I’m afraid. Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be waiting up. Um…you don’t usually visit at…this hour. How long have you been sitting here?”

She waved that away. “Well, I suppose I can’t entirely blame that on you, then. Did you at least gain any contacts within the Guild?”

Schwartz stepped slowly forward and pulled over one of the chairs at the table, sinking down into it. “Well… Actually, it’s kind of a funny story.”

Ami arched an eyebrow superciliously, crossing her arms under her bosom, and Schwartz was pleased that he neither blushed nor lost eye contact; he must be getting used to her. It wasn’t even that he thought of her that way, really, but she did have a most impressive bust. And she accented it regularly and, he was sure, quite deliberately.

“I’m all ears.”

“You wouldn’t rather wait till later in the day?”

Somehow, that eyebrow rose even higher.

“Yes, right,” he sighed. “Well. It turns out the Legion sergeant in charge of all this is also a member of the Thieves’ Guild. And she knew my father. She said he helped her once with something important and she owed him, and since he’s gone now, she considered it her duty to help me out.”

“Wait. Stop.” Ami held up one hand peremptorily. “Did you really just tell me this Silver Legion sergeant is in the Thieves’ Guild? Is that allowed? Is it even possible?”

“I was rather curious about that, too,” he said frankly. “So were the apprentices. But she had a handful of troops following her, as well as the priestess in residence at the Avenist facility where they took us, and nobody contradicted her. And honestly, if anybody could’ve found the one Eserite Legionnaire in all the world to strike up a friendship with, it would’ve been my dad.”

Meesie squeaked rather mournfully, patting his ear. He reached up to scratch her head with a fingertip. She had only known Anton Schwartz briefly, but the elder Schwartz had been quite fond of the little elemental.

“So,” he went on, shrugging, “in a way, this ended up being a more perfect result than we could’ve hoped for. And now I am really indescribably tired…”

“Hmm.” Ami turned to frown out the window, placing herself in profile relative to him, and he sighed and shifted his own eyes to stare stubbornly at a bookcase. There was no way she didn’t do this on purpose. “Yes, that does sound good, doesn’t it? But also risky. If she’s in the Legion… That’s awfully close to Basra.”

“Yes,” he said wearily, “which is why it’s perfect as opposed to merely great.”

“You know,” she mused, a smile growing over her features, “I do believe you’re right. Very well, then! I shall forgive you for making me worry. We had better get planning on…”

She trailed off, having turned to face him. Schwartz was slumped forward in his chair, emitting a soft buzzing noise from his nose. Meesie climbed up onto his head and squeaked once, pointing one paw warningly at Ami.

The bard sighed and shook her head, but permitted herself a small, fond smile. “All right, then. Tomorrow. There’s time.”

“Good morning, Locke!”

Principia sighed, pausing to salute, the rest of her squad straggling to a halt to emulate her. They were ragged—not that it had been a particularly grueling night, just a very long one. She and Nandi were faring well, but drawing from stores of energy in the event of sleeplessness was an elven skill they weren’t able to share with the squad.

“Morning, Captain,” she said as Dijanerad approached. “You’re up early.”

“No, I’m not,” the captain replied with a smile. “On army time, this is business as usual. You’re out late.”

“Wasn’t my idea, ma’am,” Principia replied. “But it ended up being a good night’s work.”

“And I’m afraid it’s not done yet,” Dijanerad said, her expression growing grimmer. “The High Commander wants you, Locke. Soon as you were back, which is now.”

Principia drew in a deep breath and let it out through her nose. “What could she possibly need at this hour?”

“Well, gee, Locke, I don’t know. I bet if you ask her that, in exactly that tone, it’ll make a perfect ice-breaker.”

“I don’t know if I mention it often enough, Cap, but you’re my favorite.”

“That’s because I’m far too tolerant of your horseshit, and no, you don’t. Best get cracking, Locke. Patience is among Commander Rouvad’s many virtues, but…not so much with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Principia said, saluting again, and turned back to her squad. “Go get some rest, ladies. Except you, Elwick. Five laps. Move it.”

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11 – 2

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If any of the apprentices had been expecting an exciting and revelatory defiance of stereotype, the “job” let them down. It was a gathering of rough-looking characters dealing in dangerous-looking implements, in a half-cluttered warehouse which, to judge by the dust, had seen no legitimate use in months, in a shabby and somewhat scary part of the city. The whole thing could have come straight from a chapbook by someone whose only experience of Thieves’ Guild operations was other chapbooks.

“You sure it’s safe to be doin’ this around here?” Tallie huffed, watching over her shoulder as she backed through the alley door into the warehouse proper. Jasmine, holding the other end of the long crate they carried between them, remained silent and focused, and notably less out of breath. “Seems like a kinda dangerous part of town.”

“Child,” said Pick, who was two years older than they at the absolute most, “I realize you’re new blood, but you are still, in the broadest possible sense, Guild. We are what makes it a rough part of town. There are people in this world who won’t hesitate to take a shot at a follower of Eserion. None of them are the dregs huddling in this hole.”

Tallie preferred to save her breath, rather than talking. Under Pick’s direction, they set their crate down atop one of the other two, which were laid side-by-side in one corner of the warehouse, illuminated by a portable fairy lamp hung from a hook of indeterminate purpose attached to the nearby wall. Moments later, Ross followed them in, holding the final crate in his arms. They were about four feet long and one wide, and fairly flat, but absurdly heavy for their size; even Pick had stared with raised eyebrows when Ross uncomplainingly picked one up by himself.

The last of the apprentices Darius had found, he had a few weeks’ seniority on them, and was even quieter than Jasmine, communicating in monosyllables if that. Though not tall, Ross was a very beefy specimen, having an impressive paunch, but under the coating of fat his frame had a blocky shape which hinted at powerful muscle, and his silent hoisting of their cargo bore out the impression. His reddish hair was shaggy and almost shoulder-length, and a bushy beard hid most of his face, revealing only a round nose and sharp blue eyes in a florid complexion.

“People aren’t dregs just because they can’t afford a better place to live,” Jasmine said quietly, straightening up. She was clearly far stronger than her lanky frame suggested, to judge by the ease with which she’d handled her end of the crates. Tallie was still panting and slightly stooped.

“No,” Pick said curtly, “they can’t afford a better place to live because they’re dregs. It takes ambition and guts to move ahead in life; without those, you’ll be lucky to tread water. Most end up sinking. Here, if you’ve got enough free time to philosophize, make yourself useful. I see our buyers, so get those open.”

He tossed a crowbar at her—not aggressively, but abruptly. Jasmine snagged it out of the air without effort, giving him a sidelong look of disdain, but swiftly bent to start prying the lid off the last crate, which Ross had just set atop the pile.

Pick wore a black leather coat with a high collar that rose to the level of his eyes, and was dressed entirely in black beneath it. The ensemble managed to look somewhat dashing, and would perhaps have been quite striking on someone less reedy and sallow-faced. Turning his back on the apprentices, and thus not seeing the faces Tallie made at him, he strode away toward a pair of short, stocky figures in heavy brown cloaks, who were drifting in their direction.

“Wonder how many times a day he ‘accidentally’ gets called Prick,” Tallie muttered. Ross, standing with his arms folded, gave her a sidelong glance and a grunt, but his stolid expression relaxed into something very nearly approximating a smile. Jasmine didn’t look up from levering the top board off the crate she’d chosen; it was nailed down hard, and had to be pried off one end at a time, with some apparent difficulty. Tallie glanced at her, then shook her head. “We picked the bullshit job after all. Darius and Rasha get to enjoy the cool night air up on the roof…”

“It’s raining,” Ross grunted.

“It’s misting,” she corrected. “It’s not even a drizzle. It’s refreshing.”

He stroked his beard, then flicked his hand to one side, scattering droplets of water.

“And as soon as my lovely assistant gets that thing open, you can inspect your wares,” Pick was saying, leading the two buyers over to them. Both, upon closer inspection, had to be dwarves, despite the clearly obfuscatory cloaks. They were barely chest-high on Tallie, and twice as broad as the average human, but even the concealingly draped fabric couldn’t disguise their squarish physiques.

“We will, of course, need to inspect the contents of each case before finalizing a purchase,” one said, in a faint but noticeable Svennish accent. Jasmine, who had just finished prying the top loose and was setting aside the crowbar to pull it away entirely, paused, glanced at him, and sighed.

“Of course,” Pick agreed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “We have time to indulge you. In fact, you can keep the crowbar after you’re done using it.”

Both dwarves turned slightly to face him, the hoods concealing their faces somehow not blunting the displeasure in the gesture. Pick just smiled blandly.

“And how,” said the second dwarf, who spoke Tanglish as well as any Tiraan, “are we to be certain these devices perform as we were told?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Pick replied nonchalantly. “My entire instructions for this exchange consisted of the time, place, and agreed price. I’m not empowered to bargain with you even if I were inclined to. Which, I suspect, you know very well.”

Jasmine, meanwhile, had laid aside the crate’s top, and suddenly frowned in consternation. She reached into the opened crate and pulled out one of the objects it contained, incidentally mussing the bed of straw in which it was packed. It was a heavily augmented battlestaff of some kind; the clicker mechanism was obvious and familiar, but it had large crystals on either end, and its business end had a spiraling framework of what appeared to be gold set around it. “Where did this come from?” she demanded.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Pick snapped, whirling on her. “Kid, I get that you’re new, but this is a shady arms deal in a defunct warehouse. I should not have to explain that we don’t make inquiries. Especially that one!”

“If I may?” said the first, more accented dwarf, stepping forward and holding out a broad hand. Jasmine, still looking puzzled and displeased, went to meet him halfway, and handed over the enhanced staff.

“Holy shit, is that gold?” Tallie breathed. “No wonder those boxes are so damn heavy.”

“Seriously?” Pick exclaimed. “Omnu’s balls, what did I literally just finish saying to you?”

“Oh, pipe down, it was a rhetorical question.”

“A talkative bunch,” commented the dwarf not currently inspecting the staff. “Apprentices, then? How disappointing. We were given to understand that this matter would be professionally handled.”

“Oh, were you?” Pick said dryly, turning to face him. “Were you really? Or did you just hear that this was a Guild-sanctioned exchange and made assumptions? Perhaps just finding points to nitpick in the hope that I’ll offer you a bargain which I’ve already explained that I can’t? Yes, this job was handed off to a junior Guild member and a handful of apprentices. You may consider that a statement about the regard in which the Guild holds your opinion, and keep it in mind before you waste my time with any more complaints. If you want to buy the weapons, you know the price. In any other circumstance, I’m just as happy to pack them back up and leave. I get paid the same either way.”

“Oh, gods, please buy the damned things,” Tallie groaned. “I do not want to haul those back out to the cart.”

“Kid cease your—and you!” Pick broke off, pointing at Jasmine, who had pulled out a second staff from the crate and was studying it critically. “Unless you’re planning to make a purchase, desist fucking around with the merchandise! In fact, both of you, give the buyers some space. Go on, go play.”

He shooed them irritably away from their corner, leaving himself alone with the dwarves and Ross, who stood impassively by the crates with his burly arms folded. Tallie stuck her tongue out at Pick as she went, which he either didn’t notice or just didn’t acknowledge. Jasmine followed her without complaint, though her troubled frown remained in place.

“So, that was weird,” Tallie said pointedly. “What the hell are those things? You looked like you’ve seen ’em before.”

Jasmine continued frowning into the distance, appearing not to have heard. After a moment, though, she shook her head very slightly.

“Y’know,” Tallie remarked with a grin, “if you’re gonna act all mysterious it’s only going to make me more curious.”

At that, Jasmine blinked and turned to her. “…sorry? Was I being mysterious?”

“Slightly more than usual,” Tallie said solemnly.

This was clearly a bigger event than the pre-arranged sale they had been brought out for, though when Rasha and Darius had been sent to the roof, there were no other lookouts posted. Two other merchants had set up shop in the warehouse, and seemed to be doing more ambitious business than Pick. A scrawny fellow with an eyepatch and apparently permanent hunch stood behind a long, rough table laid out with various implements clearly derived from wands, in a number of unconventional and presumably illegal configurations. He dry-washed his hands almost constantly, even when speaking with prospective customers, of which he seemed to draw the lion’s share. It wasn’t exactly a busy market, only a few people being present at a time to examine the wares. This gathering was clearly no secret, but just as clearly was not widely known. Or, more likely, just had a highly specific clientele.

Tallie and Jasmine had wandered mostly by accident near the other merchant present, who seemed to be running the smallest and yet most expensive operation present. He was a well-fed, well-dressed man in his forties, and had only a single case open with three items displayed—a dagger, a tomahawk, and some kind of chain with a handle loosely coiled on a crimson velvet pillow. At the moment, he was haggling with his only apparent customer, an even more well-dressed man who bore himself with an aristocrat’s arrogance. Despite the fact that his offerings looked old and battered, this merchant had as many employees (counting himself) as items for sale: a burly man with tattooed arms exposed by his sleeveless vest stood near him, while a lean, hatchet-faced woman lounged against the wall behind the table on which his case lay, idly toying with a stiletto. The hulking bodyguard kept his attention fixed on the man talking with the boss, while the woman’s eyes darted constantly, examining everyone and every source of movement in the room, including Tallie and Jasmine.

“Ugh, what is that?” Tallie asked, wrinkling her nose and pointing to the coiled chain. “Looks like junk.”

“That’s an ak-tra,” Jasmine replied, leaning forward slightly to study.

“Issa wha?”

“An orcish weapon,” Jasmine explained. “Always rare, but unheard of since the Enchanter Wars. Entirely illegal in the Empire since long before then, but there are a few in museums in Viridill. See, every link in that chain has sharpened edges.”

“Holy shit,” Tallie said, eyes wide with sudden, gruesome delight. “That would make the most hideous wounds! And be hard as hell to use without slashing yourself to pieces…”

“Yes,” Jasmine agreed. “They were only used by… Well, what used to be called headhunters, though that refers to something difference after the Enchanter’s Bane, of course. For the most part, orcs heavily emphasized honor in battle, but they also were great believers in pain as a tool of both justice and education. When someone did something truly heinous against a clan, a headhunter would be called, specifically trained, equipped with highly specialized weapons like this one, imbued through fae rituals, and sent to punish the transgressor in the most painful way possible. One properly trained in the use of the ak-tra could inflict awful wounds by wielding it like a flail, but the proper technique of it was to wrap it around an opponent’s limbs and pull. It would saw through flesh, and then snap the bone with a final jerk. It needs some rather nasty fae craft to make it work right, but that left wounds that were hellishly difficult to heal. Highly prone to infection even if the victim didn’t bleed out immediately.”

“Where the shit do you learn this stuff?” Tallie breathed, apparently torn between horror and fascination.

“This one’s been heavily used, see?” Jasmine started to reach for the ak-tra, but the woman behind it suddenly stopped playing with her knife and cleared her throat loudly. Jasmine pulled back immediately, nodding at the guard before continuing her lecture. “See how worn those links are? The edges are basically impossible to sharpen; these weapons are meant to serve a single campaign, and that’s it. It’s seen a lot of action—look, some of them are worn almost through. People suffered horribly under those teeth. And yet…the headhunter’s mission of vengeance went unfulfilled, otherwise this would have been ceremonially destroyed afterward. Instead it fell into enemy hands, and eventually ended up here. This weapon must have an incredible story to tell.”

“Oh, I see,” the snooty potential buyer said loudly, looking down his nose at them. “Very good, you brought in a shill.”

“Upon my honor,” the merchant promised, grinning, “I’ve never seen this young lady before in my life. Though if I ever do again, I just may offer her a job.”

“Oh.” Jasmine looked suddenly self-conscious, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to interrupt…”

“Not at all, my dear, not at all,” the merchant said smoothly. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow historian of armaments. And his Lordship isn’t wrong; you make a most serviceable shill, even unwittingly. I’d be willing to pay good coin for your services.”

“Hmf,” the aristocrat said more thoughtfully, seeming mollified. “Well, even if I am being scammed, as I more than suspect, it’s almost worth it for the theater. Yes, I believe your asking price for the ak-tra is more reasonable than I first thought.”

“I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” the merchant replied with a broad smile.

“Now, now, we’ve not reached an understanding. Merely a more amicable bargaining position.”

“Why, of course, milord! It hardly behooves us to skip the fun part of the evening, now does it?”

“I say, that was rather fascinating!” said another voice from their other side; both girls whirled to find themselves confronted by a reedy young man with sandy hair and glasses, grinning delightedly at them. Most incongruously, he had some kind of pet on his shoulder, a little creature like a cross between a mouse and a ferret, scarlet red and, in the dimness of the warehouse, faintly glowing. “Where did you learn so much about orcs, if I may ask? It’s so dashedly hard to find reliable historical sources—what isn’t moldering away in Athan’Khar has been pretty well suppressed by the Empire.”

“The Sisters of Avei keep a lot of records,” Jasmine said absently, staring at his pet. “Especially in Viridill, where they fought the orcs regularly…”

“What is that thing?” Tallie demanded, gazing raptly at the rodent. “It’s adorable!”

“Ah! Well, she is rather fetching, isn’t she?” he said, seemingly well pleased with himself. “This is Meesie, my familiar. Don’t worry, she’s quite—Meesie, no!”

Despite his bark of horror and an abortive attempt to grab the little elemental, she had let out a shrill squeak and hurled herself forward, landing on Jasmine’s shoulder. The girl stumbled backward in surprise, prompting the female body guard to lunge forward between her and the weapons display, but Jasmine fortunately didn’t stagger that far. Even more fortunately, Meesie appeared quite delighted with her new acquaintance. She ran about in a circle on Jasmine’s shoulder, cheeping excitedly, then reared up on her hind legs, patting at Jasmine’s cheek with her forepaws.

“Gods’ books, I am so sorry!” the man blurted, reaching forward to grab the mouse. “I’ve never seen her do that, I never expected—terribly sorry! She doesn’t mean any harm, I swear, it’s just… I mean, she doesn’t usually like people without getting to know them. I’m sorry!”

“No harm done,” Jasmine said somewhat bemusedly, brushing at her shoulder, though the fire-mouse hadn’t left so much as a hair behind.

“Maybe you wanna invest in a leash?” Tallie suggested. Meesie sat upright on her owner’s palm and scolded her in high-pitched squeaks.

“All right, that’s enough,” said the female merchant’s guard in a gravelly voice which hinted at either a throat injury or a lifelong smoking habit. “You, poncy boy. If you’re here to buy, buy. Otherwise, clear out.”

“Oh, now, wait just a moment,” he said nervously, edging back from her and getting a firmer grip on his pet. “I was just—”

“Browsing, I know. I saw.” She took a menacing step forward. “This is not a kind of place where you browse, numbnuts. If you aren’t here for a good and specific reason involving a purchase, you’ve got no business here. Either buy something or fuck off, before we have to have a long conversation in the back about who told you about this gathering.”

“Hang on, now,” Jasmine protested.

“Where’s the back?” Tallie asked, looking around expressively. “This whole place is like an alley’s crusty drawers.”

Before the scene could degenerate further, there came a cry from outside, followed a second later by flashes of light visible through the warehouse’s windows. Instantly, most of those present burst into motion like startled cockroaches, shooting toward exits. None went for obvious ones, though; they bounded up piled crates to the windows, to a ladder leading to the roof, and toward the office at the back of the warehouse.

In near-perfect unison, two smoking bottles arced into the warehouse from its front and back doors. They shattered upon impact with the stone floor, emitting enormous gouts of smoke which billowed rapidly through the whole space. The rich marchant’s guards reacted fluidly, snapping shut the case and bolting with their patron, which was the last any of the apprentices could make out of them before visibility in the warehouse dropped to zero.

There were a few moments of blind chaos, begun by the pounding of numerous feet in heavy boots. Slamming, shouting, breaking objects and the abortive sounds of combat ensued. Not for long, though; the smoke didn’t last but a minute. By the time it cleared, the ruckus had been expertly pacified.

The other weapons display was smashed, and all three merchants—including Pick—were gone. There was no sign of the dwarves, either, but the soldiers who had burst in were now standing guard over his creates of modified staves. Ross was being held at lance point next to it; his expression was sullen, but he had his hands in the air.

Tallie, grunting and cursing, had been wrestled to her knees with both arms twisted behind her by armored soldiers. The man with the rat had been backed into a corner; he had his pet blazing and chittering furiously on one shoulder, while he held up a conjured fireball threateningly. Jasmine had been shoved against the wall and was being held there by two soldiers, while a third held a lance at her neck; both the troops clutching her were somewhat the worse for wear, one missing a helmet and the other with an apparently numb arm hanging at her side, her own lance lying on the floor at her feet.

Everywhere, bronze-armored women stood guard in tense postures, covering all avenues in and out of the building. All had their helmets on, with the further addition of scarves wound around the lower parts of their heads and goggles over their eyes.

As the smoke dissipated, another woman strode in, her boots clomping heavily on the floor. She came to a halt in the center of the room, turning in a slow circle to examine everything. She alone wasn’t wearing a helmet, leaving her dissatisfied expression bare for all to see.

“This is it?” she demanded. “Looks like all we caught were… Honestly, these are apprentices at most. I doubt they’re even proper street soldiers.”

“I’m not even with them!” the man with the mouse said shrilly. He was ignored.

“Think we have an enforcer here, Sarge,” said the helmetless woman gripping Jasmine, her face still mostly hidden by mask and goggles. “This one’s scrappy.”

“Just because you haven’t trained properly in augmented gear doesn’t mean I’m any more dangerous,” Jasmine spat.

“Now, you listen,” the soldier began menacingly, raising a fist.

“Button it,” snapped the sergeant. “I’ll not have you abusing prisoners, or letting yourself be goaded by Eserites. If you can’t control yourself better than that, soldier, this is not the unit for you. And you.” She pointed at the robed man. “Extinguish that immediately, and don’t even think about doing what you’re thinking about doing unless you want to multiply your problems exponentially. The lot of you,” she added grimly, turning her head to address them all, “are now in the custody of the Silver Legions.”

“This is the last time Rasha’s on lookout duty,” Darius snarled, pacing like a caged panther.

“You were a lookout too!” Rasha snapped back at him.

“I’m not the fuckhead they bowled right through!” the other apprentice retorted. “First thing I knew about this, you were on the ground and I was being tackled by the bitch coming from where you were supposed to be watching!”

“She was on me before I could react!” Rasha protested. “Naphthene’s tits, you think I’m blind? I was looking! It’s like she teleported in or something!”

“Silver Legionnaires don’t do that,” grumbled the magic-user trapped with them, who had introduced himself as Schwartz in the ride over in the armored carriage.

“How the fuck do you get snuck up on by someone in plate armor!” Darius roared.

“Will you settle your ass down?” Tallie shouted. “It is too small and too echoey for you to be shouting!”

“You’re shouting!”

“I AM NOT SHOUTING!”

“ENOUGH.”

They all froze, staring at Ross. For all his habitual silence, his voice had serious carrying power when he chose to employ it. Outside their cell, the sole remaining Legionnaire who’d been left to guard them simply lounged against the wall by the door, watching them but not seeming terribly interested.

The building to which they had been brought was clearly a lesser-used Avenist temple, only two stories tall and not at all large. It was built more like a tiny fortress than a place of worship, even apart from the cells in the basement. So far, after being deposited down here, they hadn’t been spoken to at all; their lone guard had only commented that “specialists” were being brought in to deal with them, and had refused to engage in any conversation thereafter.

“The soldiers who ambushed you,” Jasmine said after a moment of silence. “Were they actually in plate armor?”

Darius, suddenly, looked slightly guilty. “Well… I mean, not exactly…”

“Thought so,” she said, shaking her head. “The Legion uses scouts in light armor for that kind of work. An actual, trained Guild enforcer could probably have spotted light-armored Legion scouts scaling the building, but unless you’ve got a background in that kind of work, it’s not really fair to expect apprentices to see that coming. Don’t pick on Rasha just because he was closer to the point of attack. You wouldn’t have done any better.”

Darius rounded on her, clenching his fists. “Oh, what the hell do you know?”

“This and that,” she said dryly. “More than you think.”

“You do seem pretty knowledgeable about the Legions,” Schwartz observed.

Jasmine shrugged. “This whole thing is fishy. That was just an arms deal. That’s business for Imperial law enforcement. The Legions don’t generally care about things like that—their peacekeeping is basically just patrolling the streets and being seen. In fact, I don’t think Imperial Intelligence would appreciate them butting in.”

“Oy, buckethead!” Tallie grabbed the cell’s door, rattling it in its frame. “Anything to add to that?”

The soldier turned her head to study Tallie for a moment, then resumed her idle study of the wall.

At that moment, the door opened, and one of the Avenist priestesses apparently running this little temple entered, her head turned to speak over her shoulder to someone following as she walked.

“…appreciate you coming out at this hour, orders or no orders. This whole thing has been inconvenient for all of us.”

“Inconvenient for them,” Schwartz muttered, getting a commiserating grin from Tallie. Meesie burrowed down into his hair, squeaking irritably to herself.

“Not at all, Sister, it’s all part of the excitement of protecting and serving the big city,” said the first woman in after the priestess. One by one, a handful of Silver Legionnaires trooped in, most helmeted, though the leader was bare-headed. The rank and file all looked more or less the same in full armor, but the leader, at least, was definitely not part of the group which had arrested them. She was quite distinctive, being not only an elf, but one with coal-black hair pulled back in a tight braid. “Now, what’ve we got here?”

“Sergeant Tivraash is of the opinion these are just apprentices,” said the priestess, folding her hands at the waist and studying the prisoners coolly.

“I am not an apprentice!” Schwartz exclaimed. “I’m not even an Eserite! And I didn’t do anything!”

“He’s right on all counts, for the record,” Tallie added. “Boy’s not with us, didn’t so much as attempt to buy a sawed-off battlestaff, and seems like a perfectly pleasant fellow.”

“Thank you,” said Schwartz emphatically. Meesie chirped in agreement.

“Well, I’ll be the judge of all that,” said the elf, strolling forward and tapping the bars with the head of her lance. “I am Sergeant Locke, commander of Silver Legion squad 391, and just as charmed as hell to meet all of you ducklings. But, since we’re all…” She glanced at Schwartz and winked. “Well, mostly Guild, you can call me Keys.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Wait, what?” Rasha exclaimed.

“Bullshit,” Darius grunted, folding his arms.

“What am I missing?” Schwartz demanded.

“That sounds like a Guild tag,” Tallie explained. “This Silver Legionnaire is claiming to be a member of the Thieves’ Guild, which is even more ridiculous than it sounds, trust me.”

“Oh, but it’s true!” Locke said cheerfully. “Conventional, no. Useful? Very. You see, kids, my squad is part of an interfaith initiative the Legion is trying out. Which is great news for you, because it means I may be able to offer you a better deal than being handed over to the Imperial Army as would be standard policy in this situation. If, that is, your attitudes swiftly and significantly improve. Now, everybody front and center, let’s have a little chat. And yes, that means you in the back. C’mon, girl, skulking behind the big guy wouldn’t make you invisible even if I didn’t have elvish eyes. Step forward, chop chop. Don’t make me come in there and get you.”

Jasmine, upon the entry of the Legionnaires, had surreptitiously folded herself into a corner, where view of her was mostly blocked by Ross’s hulking form. At being directly addressed, though, she suddenly straightened up, stepped out and stalked right up to the bars, staring the elf down.

“Why don’t you try it, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Locke dropped her lance.

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