Tag Archives: Tallie

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Glory’s solarium was a beautiful room, far bigger than the small parlor in which she had received Jasmine previously. Perched on the top floor of her townhouse, it had a wall almost entirely of glass, looking out over the city and supported only by stone columns. Above, this changed into an angled glass roof, so that half the ceiling was a single skylight. The floor plan was open, with a large fireplace at one end surrounded by cozy chairs, and other seats and tables scattered about with artful randomness. In the center of the long side wall there was a raised dais, upon which sat a grand pianoforte.

This was clearly the space in which the lady of the house held her famous parties.

“Do you play?” Glory asked as she casually performed a soft prelude on the keys.

“Not…that,” Jasmine replied, standing a little stiffly off to one side. “I have an ocarina. I’m…not even very good at that. Only been practicing a while; I have a bard friend who showed me the basics.”

“I have only been practicing for a while,” Glory corrected with a smile. “Remember, diction is all part of the presentation, and thus another weapon in your arsenal. Suit your style to your surroundings. Talking like a back-alley shoulderthumper in a place like this is making a belligerent statement which I don’t believe you intend.”

“I…sorry,” Jasmine said warily. “Thank you for the advice.”

“I certainly cannot fault your sense of respect,” Glory said, glancing up at her while continuing to play. “If you can find the time and access to an instrument, I really would suggest taking up the pianoforte. Harpsichords are easier to come across, but so much of the benefit to this instrument is in the fine control it teaches you, as you must vary the pressure of keystrokes in addition to placing them precisely. So many professions render our hands either nimble or strong, one trait at the expense of the other. A pianist, if so motivated, could pick your pocket or throttle you.”

“Well, I can certainly see the utility of both.”

“I perceive,” Glory said softly, her eyes on the keys, “that you know the gist of what I asked you here to say.”

“Grip was kind enough to explain the basics,” Jasmine said more stiffly. It was later in the day than she had come the last time; no hour was specified in the invitation, but she did remember that Glory preferred to receive visitors earlier in the morning. Well, what with one thing and another, she was feeling somewhat mulish, and had chosen to prioritize research at the Temple, arriving here an hour before noon. Now she got to see the courtesan in her full armor, as it were: a formal and surprisingly modest silk gown of deep midnight blue, decorated tastefully with seed pearls and silver thread. Her hair alone was a work of art held in place by mother-of-pearl combs.

“Ah, Grip,” Glory murmured. “An old acquaintance of mine. I cannot say we are friends, but we find one another mutually useful to know. Enough to be worth the extra measure of politeness that averts an otherwise inevitable clash of personalities.” She paused, bringing the piece to a soft conclusion, and then carefully pulled the lid down over the keys. She did not, however, immediately turn on the bench to face her guest. “It was Grip who directed my attention to certain…facts. Regarding the current Hand of Avei.”

“I’ll just bet she did,” Jasmine said flatly.

Finally, Glory swiveled around to gaze up at her. “Of course you understand, this necessarily colors my thinking. I mean an apprenticeship to be a long-term relationship; it simply will not do to enter it with someone whom I know plans to leave the Guild after a fairly short time. By the same token…I cannot imagine you are too terribly disappointed by this.”

“You…are correct,” Jasmine said, choosing her words with great care. “I was definitely flattered by your consideration and I certainly mean no disrespect. But I don’t think this would have worked out, anyway.”

“And yet, you came to see me, as I asked,” Glory observed. “Twice.”

“I hardly think it’s useful or right to be rude to people. At least, not without a good reason.”

The thief smiled, stood from the bench, and approached her. To Jasmine’s surprise, Glory took both her hands and held them; after a moment’s stiff hesitation, she allowed it, and did not pull back.

“That said,” Glory said quietly, gazing at her eyes, “I think what you are doing is possibly the best piece of news I have lived to hear. You’ve had a rather sheltered upbringing, have you not? For the rest of us at large in the world, at least those who make it our business to keep abreast of events, the state of things has been quite troubling for some time. First the lack of paladins, and then the sudden appearance of two, along with hints from the gods that these are meant to be a change. Then, when paladins in the past have always been sent straight into the fray, as it were, these two are hidden away to receive an adventurer’s education from none other than Arachne Tellwyrn. And most recently, a Vidian paladin—and a demonblood, at that. The world is tilting away beneath us.” A broad, seemingly genuine smile blossomed across her features. “I took it as an extremely optimistic sign that Trissiny Avelea’s first public act was to intervene on behalf of a district full of drow and various half-bloods. And then, even better, to launch her initiative with the Silver Missions.”

She paused, studying Jasmine’s face.

“And now this.”

Jasmine shrugged self-consciously, finally pulling her hands away. “I suppose it must seem very optimistic to an Eserite, me seeking training from the Guild…”

“I have to say that would not have occurred to me,” Glory replied, stepping back to grant her some space. “It would have been just as well, I think, had the Hand of Avei sought teaching from, say, the Veskers or Izarites. What matters is that you recognize that there is more than one way to view the world, and to act within it. Very few people of any age manage to take heed of that fact, and fewer still who are of a religious bent. You will only be the second of your calling from any faith; I had thought Laressa of Anteraas an anomaly, as did most historians and theologians. This… Fills me with hope for the world.”

To Jasmine’s surprise, she curtsied deeply, lowering her head in a gesture that seemed almost discordantly deferential on this proud woman.

“I will reaffirm and strengthen my previous offer…Jasmine. First, you have my assurance that no secrets or plans of yours will reach any other ears from my lips. My home is available to you, should you need anything—and I want you to know that you have at least one friend in Tiraas. If there is any way I can be of help to you, just ask.”

Jasmine drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying to force some of her tension out with it. “I appreciate that very much. Especially after my conversation with Grip… I’m afraid she had rather the opposite intention.”

“Oh?” Glory’s gaze sharpened.

“Well,” Jasmine said sourly, “to cut a long story short, she’s blackmailing me. Grip wants me to be her apprentice, and if I don’t go along with it, she’s going to reveal who I am to the whole Guild.”

“Hm. Hmmmm.” Glory folded her hands demurely at her waist, a gesture which contrasted with the suddenly predatory cast of her eyes, even as they drifted sideways in deep thought. “How very interesting.”

She stepped down from the dais, beckoning Jasmine with a gesture, and led the way to a pair of gilded chairs by the wall of windows, flanking a small table.

“The important thing you should understand about Grip,” Glory began as she seated herself, “is that she is a creature of principle, odd as that may seem. Whatever she is up to, she believes it to be in the best interests of Eserion and the Thieves’ Guild. If you cannot see how she arrived at that conclusion, then you understand what you must learn in order to grasp her plot.”

“Plot?” Jasmine asked, sitting down as well. “You think there’s more to this?”

“Perhaps, but not necessarily. I cannot immediately divine her intent, as I don’t truly know her mind that well. We are opposites in many ways, you understand; I work with the gentlest touch possible and heavily favor honey over vinegar in enticing my prey. Grip acts through force and fear. I am not so self-absorbed as to impugn her intelligence, however. A brutal thug does not rise to the prominence she has; she has a clear knack for making plans, and seeing them put into effect.”

“I said as much to her at the time,” Jasmine said disgustedly. “I can’t see the sense in this. Unless she’s trying to make an enemy of me…”

“I cannot imagine how that would benefit her, either,” Glory mused. “I suppose if she harbors some antipathy toward the Sisters of Avei, antagonizing you and driving you off would be a good way to drive a wedge between the two cults. That’s unlikely, though. Enforcers with that kind of grudge seldom last long, and as you have surely been told before, the Guild feels no institutional hostility toward the Sisterhood. No…I suspect this is about her, and about you.”

She leaned forward, eyes intent upon Jasmine’s face. “And I can share one insight that may help you unravel her intentions. If she is truly seeking to have a hand in forming your skills, she doesn’t truly want you to submit to blackmail. No enforcer—no Eserite of any kind—submits to anything.”

“You think she’s trying to provoke a reaction,” Jasmine said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps. Or to gauge the depth of your understanding when under pressure. Whatever the specific goal, I do think she is testing you—brutally, perhaps, but that’s how Grip does everything. And I don’t think she means you any real harm. Such would not be characteristic of her.”

“I appreciate the insight very much,” Jasmine replied. “Maybe if I can suss out what she wants I can deal with her and not bring this whole thing down around my ears.”

“Let me give a piece of advice,” Glory said with a thin smile. “You seem to have fallen into the trap of relating to Grip as an apprentice to a fully vetted member of the Guild. That may be true, but that is a fleeting circumstance. In more absolute terms… She is a fearsome creature of power and menace. You are everything she is, at least twice over.”

Jasmine’s eyebrows lowered. “I didn’t come here to learn more about intimidating and assaulting people. That’s not what my calling is about.”

For an extended moment, Glory just stared at her. Then the thief drummed her manicured nails on the table once, before leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap.

“It occurs to me,” she mused, “that growing up in a temple as you did, under the strictest Avenist tradition, you may have a perspective that doesn’t quite match that of the general public.”

“How so?”

“When Grip looks upon the Hand of Avei,” said Glory, “she sees, in essence, a kindred spirit. An enforcer. That is what most of the world sees, Jasmine. And for a good many people, it will be all they see.”

“It’s an aspect of the calling, certainly,” Jasmine agreed. “But not the whole or even the half of it. A paladin is a protector, an icon of principle.”

Glory’s expression now was thoughtful, and even a little worried. “Jasmine… What did you learn of Tarsha of Mathenon? Or Sharai the Hammer?”

Jasmine frowned at the apparent change of topic, but answered. “Plenty. Tarsha was a Hand of Avei who lived three centuries ago; she put an end to the last major plague of undeath by personally standing against the undead hordes and wiping them out before they could spread out of N’Jendo. Sharai was thought to be a demigoddess, perhaps an actual daughter of Avei; she fought in the Third Hellwar and thereafter was a major player in the War of the Scions. She actually followed one of Elilial’s generals into Hell to destroy him, and made it back alive.”

“Tarsha,” Glory said quietly, “wiped out the undead plague by wiping out everyone who had it. Not those who had perished of it and risen. Everyone. In fact, in an age when there was no alchemical or divinatory means of testing for infection, she took the extreme measure of destroying everyone exposed. The woman single-handedly depopulated an entire region of N’Jendo. Whole villages. Men, women, children. The sick, the healthy…everyone. Her actions undoubtedly saved the world. They involved her chasing down fleeing villagers on her divine mount to trample or behead them, though.”

Jasmine had stiffened, her fists clutching the fabric of her trousers. “That isn’t—”

“What you were taught?” Glory smiled sadly. “Sharai the Hammer caused the War of the Scions by executing the demigod son of Sorash, and then his mother, the god’s consort, in an action which set the followers of the two gods of war against each other. Sorash was never going to defeat Avei in any kind of prolonged conflict; he was a god of violence and conquest, while she was the goddess of strategic war. But Sharai did not consider diplomacy, or even strategy; she saw a demigod getting above himself as nothing but a monster, and killed him. When his mother inevitably came after her, she killed her, too, apparently without a thought for the magnitude of the insults she was committing against Sorash in Avei’s name. When that ended as it inevitably did, she not only never sought diplomatic solutions, but never allowed them. Her scorched earth tactics and no-quarter terms were holdovers from the Hellwar, when she had fought demons, not fellow Pantheon worshipers. The Hammer’s decimation of Sorash’s cult is now understood as the primary reason the Black Wreath exists today. The Third Hellwar itself was a front for Elilial to bolster and expand her cult; with the demons pushed back, the Sorashi and Avenists alike had been at work seeking out and purging them. By turning those cults against each other, she gave them the time they needed to go to ground and establish bases of power. Huge swaths of the continent were ravaged in the War of the Scions, and no one has since managed to completely dislodge the Wreath from this world.”

Jasmine was staring at her in frozen horror, now; Glory just shook her head, looking weary and saddened.

“I meant it when I said it brought me hope, seeing Avei’s new paladin showing restraint and compassion. Even Laressa of Anteraas banked on the reputation of her predecessors to terrorize people into backing down from her. We know from the writings she left that she did it to avoid violence, and that she agonized over it. But she did it, nonetheless. She understood something that I think the Sisterhood, in its idealism, failed to teach you.”

Glory leaned forward, her gaze intent. There was compassion and empathy in her eyes, but she did not shrink from laying out the hard truth.

“People fear the Hand of Avei.”

“Hey! There you are!”

Jasmine paused in descending the steps into the Pit, raising an eyebrow at Tallie, who was waving almost frantically as she crossed toward the stairs. Darius, Ross, and Rasha all followed her more sedately.

“Here I am,” she agreed, resuming her descent. “Something up?”

“Yup! Stop, no more coming downstairs; now you’re here, we need to go.”

She stopped, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“Apparently there’s a development,” Ross grumbled. “More dwarves. She says—”

“Ha bip bip bip!” Tallie said loudly, cutting him off. She met Jasmine halfway up the stone staircase, taking her by the arm. “Come on, I wanna get this shit done with as quickly as possible. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

“On the way where?” Jasmine demanded, but allowed herself to be pulled back up the steps. Behind them, the boys had hastened their stride, and caught up by the time they reached the top level.

“We’re going to get some answers!” Tallie said with a kind of grim exultation. “And for that, apparently, we have to go to a magic shop in Glass Alley.”

“A magic—wait, where?” Jasmine glanced helplessly back at the others; Darius rolled his eyes and Ross shrugged, while Rasha just looked tired and frustrated. “What’s Glass Alley?”

Glass Alley was the worst place in Tiraas, apparently.

A sad little cluster of tenements and the seediest of shops crammed right under the shadow of the city’s wall, it was among the poorest districts, as those nearest the walls usually were. Unlike Lor’naris and the Glums, it at least wasn’t built into an old quarry, but the three- and four-story structures crammed haphazardly together made for a lack of natural light, certainly not helped by the fact that the city-installed street lights tended not to last long here. Even now, at midday, it was dim. The district itself was of average size, but anomalous in that its central thoroughfare was a winding street that twisted back and forth all the way through, rather than one matching the curve of the circular outer wall, as most cross-streets in Tiraas were.

It was also filthy, run-down, and not a safe place to be after dark. Or before dark. At any time at all, really.

Tallie had explained all this with a kind of dark glee after she explained to Jasmine what had happened to the rest of the group that morning.

“I see,” Jasmine said grimly, looking around as they turned into the Alley itself. The street wasn’t broad, and the buildings were crammed together and towering on both sides; it was very much like stepping into a narrow canyon. The fact that its erratic curve hid what was only a dozen yards ahead did not help the place’s sullen aspect. “And do you know where in this place the shop in question is?”

“It’ll pretty much have to be on the main street,” Darius said cheerfully, strolling right in as if he owned the place; the others, having paused to consider Glass Alley carefully, now followed. “All the shops are; everything down side alleys is either places people live or the kind of shit even we don’t want to stumble across.”

“What’s that mean, even we?” Ross muttered.

“Means we’re thieves, Ross,” Tallie said, turning to wink at him. “We’re the trash and riffraff of this city. Get used to it.”

“We are going to get beaten, mugged, and left to die,” Rasha mumbled, hunching in on himself and huddling close to Jasmine.

They were, indeed, getting some very speculative looks indeed from those they passed. Glass Alley’s inhabitants were uniformly poorly dressed, dirty, and frequently showing scars. Not a one of them appeared to be engaged in anything constructive; those out on the street were just standing, sitting, or lounging in the mouths of tiny alleyways. It wasn’t hard to imagine they were waiting for prey.

“Oy, cut that shit out,” Darius said, scowling back at him. “We’re Guild, here; nobody’s gonna try it on with us.”

“Place like this, dunno how much that counts for,” Ross growled.

“All the more reason to straighten up, Rasha,” Darius said pointedly. “It’s instinctive. It’s primal. If you act like a victim, somebody’ll step up and make you one.”

“Well, there’s five of us, anyway,” Tallie said, seemingly unconcerned. Behind her, Rasha made an effort to relax his posture, though his eyes still darted rapidly about at every little movement. “We may have to beat somebody down in order to get left alone, though.”

“’We’ means me, doesn’t it,” Jasmine said resignedly.

Tallie grinned at her. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“Anybody else notice a lack of signs?” Ross said.

He was right; most of the storefronts they passed had boards over their windows. Some of those had fairly crude logos painted on them, but for the most part, the establishments here didn’t bother to identify themselves.

“That,” said Darius, “means everybody looking to do business here knows what they’re after.”

“And that the business in question isn’t wise to advertise,” Jasmine added with less cheer.

“That, too,” he said brightly.

“So our plan’s just to…wander up and down until we happen across this place?” Rasha demanded. “When we probably won’t even know what it is from looking?”

That brought them all up short. They had already progressed far enough into the district that the broader thoroughfare on which they had approached was lost to sight around the curve.

“I guess we’ll just have to ask for directions,” Tallie said.

In unison, the others turned their heads to look around. Half a dozen people were within eyeshot, all of them filthy, ragged, and staring hungrily at the apprentices. Nearest was a lean woman with tousled red hair, working on a bottle of whiskey; she was notably less dirty than everyone else in the vicinity. Catching Tallie’s eye, she smirked, raised her bottle as if in a toast, and had another pull. Based on the level of liquid left, she’d been working on it for a while already.

“Think I’ve found a flaw in your plan,” said Ross.

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11 – 16

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“Will you relax?” Tallie said with open amusement. “You look like you’re walking to your execution.”

“Sorry,” Rasha said automatically, not relaxing. It wasn’t as if he could just do so on command.

“Hey, man, your personal welfare aside, there’s a strategic issue at play, here,” Darius remarked. “You go walking up to a potential mark looking like you’re terrified of getting arrested, and what do you think is gonna happen?”

“Well, I’m sorry!” he snapped. “I’ll get used to it; this is my first time out, after all. It’s not like I’ve ever stolen anything before!”

“Stolen?” The two elves were walking at the head of the group; Fauna turned to raise an eyebrow at them. “You’re not about to steal anything, either.”

“Uh, what?” Tallie asked. “I thought were were gonna be out practicing.”

“Practicing, yes, but not stealing,” said Flora. “Picking a pocket is the smallest kind of job, but it’s still a job.”

“And nobody here is a fully ranked member of the Thieves’ Guild,” added Fauna.

“Which means us pulling an actual job is asking for an ass-kicking.”

“You don’t do jobs without the supervision of an actual Guild member. I’m positive you guys have been told that.”

“Well, yeah,” said Darius, “but I thought that’s the reason we were out with you, who are actually just apprentices like us so now I get it and I feel pretty dumb. It’s a warm, comfortable feeling.”

“Good,” said Tallie kindly. “The first step in solving your problems is admitting that you’re dumb.”

“I only said it so you couldn’t,” he retorted with a grin. “Seriously, though, what are we doing out here if we’re not gonna be actually stealing anything? Practicing what, I guess is the question.”

“There’s a lot that goes into rifling pockets beyond the actual doing,” Flora replied. “You’ve got teachers, fellow apprentices, and pocket dummies back at the Guild to practice that; we’re going to be experiencing the factors that involve being out in the environment.”

“Putting them together,” Fauna added, “will, as we said, be done under the proper supervision.”

“To begin with,” said Flora, “target acquisition. Here we are.”

They came to a stop and moved adroitly to the side around a corner, where both elves leaned casually against the nearby wall. It was a smooth and well-practiced maneuver, and would probably have been quite unobtrusive had they not been elves, not to mention one being garbed in ostentatious black leather and the other in a dramatic cloak. Still, the other three apprentices clustered together on the sidewalk corner, doubtless looking even more consciously out of place.

The street they had been following was a minor one, but a straight avenue which formed one of the “spokes” radiating out from the center of the city toward the walls (though that particular street didn’t happen to connect with either). Only a few of the buildings they had passed had doors or storefronts facing it; for the most part, it was used as a route between other streets. Its traffic thus moved more swiftly than that on the street onto which they now stepped, but it was altogether less crowded. This street curved away toward the northwest, vanishing out of sight a few dozen yards ahead, and was thronged by pedestrians, the only vehicles in sight being enchanted carriages parked and serving as stalls or food trucks. In fact, even the storefronts here were partly obscured in many cases by vendor stands. This was a shopping district—and, to judge by the general shabbiness of both the stores and shoppers, a far from upscale one.

“First step in finding a target,” Fauna murmured just loudly enough for them to hear, “is to go where they are. Places like this are good starting points when you’re new.”

“Your more upscale shopping districts have richer marks and better hunting,” said Flora, “but that’s a higher-stakes game. Those folks have a general attitude that they shouldn’t have to suffer inconveniences such as thieves, and the police tend to support that view.”

“On the other hand,” Fauna continued, “poorer districts have the opposite problem. Easy pickings, but often not even worth the picking.”

“Do they always do this?” Rasha muttered. “It’s like watching a vaudeville show.”

“Nah,” Tallie said easily. “Vaudeville’s more fast-paced, and both of ’em would’ve fallen down by this point. Tandem-talk is just a schtick. Positively Vesker, even Vidian.”

The elves chose to ignore the byplay. “Once you’ve settled on your hunting grounds,” said Flora, “then you start looking for targets. Take your time, stroll around, browse. It is not a race.”

“Haste makes you clumsy.”

“Clumsy gets your ass nabbed.”

“Slow and easy, breathe deeply, make yourself relax.”

“If you’re too stressed, you’re going to make the kinds of mistakes you can’t afford.”

Tallie and Darius turned and looked pointedly at Rasha, who sighed.

“Look around,” Fauna urged. “Who jumps out at you first?”

There was a pause, in which the three apprentices edged closer to the wall, beside the senior two, getting out of the way of foot traffic while they studied their surroundings. The group drew pointed looks from passersby, and all but the most distracted made a deliberate effort to keep out of arm’s reach of them. A couple even crossed the street after eyeballing them once. Whether anyone suspected them of being thieves was an open question, but at the very least, they were a gang of somewhat scruffy-looking youths, led by two oddly-dressed elves. Any city-dweller would instinctively avoid them.

The very avoidance gave them a good vantage from which to study people, though.

“There—” Rasha started to point as he spoke, but broke off when Flora slapped his hand down.

“Don’t do that, dumbass,” she said in an affectionately amused tone that took some of the sting out of the words. “When you’re stalking or just looking for a mark, don’t ever, ever let on that you’re paying them any attention.”

“Uh, right,” he said sheepishly, rubbing his wrist. “That’s…basic common sense, sorry.”

“You’re new,” Fauna said kindly. “Sometime we’ll have to tell you some of the dumbshit moves we pulled in our first week of training.”

“Let’s not,” Flora demurred, grimacing. “Who were you looking at, Rasha?”

“Well—look, he’s almost out of sight now. The guy in the nice coat, holding the package, see? Looks like he already has money, and he’s been shopping. Might have better stuff in his pockets than just coin.”

“Hey, well spotted,” Fauna said approvingly.

“I saw him too,” Darius said with ostentatious hauteur. “I just wanted to give you the chance to speak up.”

“Shut up, Darius,” Flora ordered without heat. “However, Rasha, don’t try to steal from that guy. That’s Lacquer, one of the best at this particular business. Some Guild thieves will generously take the time to break your fingers if you try robbing ’em. That one will simply report you to Style.”

All five of them winced in unison.

“Wait, so he’s Guild?” Tallie said in tones of fascination. “Huh. He looks so posh!”

“Voices low,” Fauna reminded her. “This is somebody’s cover we’re talking about; that’s the next best thing to sacred. Professional courtesy, at the very least.”

“And yes,” Flora added, “I trust you can imagine why looking a little fancier than the general run of the crowd would be useful in this game?”

“Nobody’s gonna be watching for him to be after their purse,” Rasha mused, nodding.

“It’d make you a mark for other pickpockets,” Darius added, “but then again, if any who may be operating know you…”

“The package is a nice touch,” Tallie said, grinning. “Wonder what he bought.”

“Guys like that serve a purpose beyond making their own rent money,” said Fauna. “Non-Guild thieves do exist, and places like this are where they’re most likely to start out. A big part of why the Guild is tolerated by polite society is that we keep a firm lid on that shit. Lacquer does cut purse strings, yes, but he’s also a kind of patrolling enforcer.”

“And so the marks come to him,” Darius noted with a grin. “Damn, that’s a good racket.”

“Man knows his business,” Flora agreed. “Anyhow, Rasha shows good instincts. You’ll get to know faces and tags with time, kids; don’t stress about that too much at this juncture. For now, signs of wealth are a good first indication.”

“There are others,” said Fauna. “You’ll be doing a fair amount of people-watching on excursions like this, and you’ll develop instincts concerning who can and should be targeted. People’s body language can tell you a lot.”

“Such as?” Rasha asked.

“How alert they may be,” Flora replied. “Whether they’re likely to fight, or call for help.”

“But ‘go for the rich ones’ sounds like a generally good plan to me,” Darius said blithely. “They’re the assholes who deserve it, aside from having the money.”

Flora and Fauna exchanged a long look.

“What?” Darius asked, peering back and forth between them.

“Yeah, what?” Tallie added a little belligerently. “Is he wrong?”

“Yes,” Fauna replied firmly. “The short answer is ‘yes.’”

“The longer answer,” added Flora, “is that you’re skating close to some thin ice with that kind of talk.”

“The Guild’s philosophies do predispose us to target people with wealth and power, because those are often the ones who need to be taken down.”

“But ‘often’ isn’t ‘necessarily.’ Start to think the rich invariably deserve a takedown because they’re rich, and you’re in the realm of class warfare. That gets…messy.”

“Have you two had a lot of interactions with rich people?” Tallie demanded, folding her arms. “Because growing up as I did, those were always the ones who picked on little guys like us. And got away with it.”

“In point of fact, we have,” said Fauna. “Working under Sweet, we get to meet all kinds of people.”

“That’s our bias, by the way,” Flora added. “Apprenticing under a sponsor inevitably means you get heavily trained in their methods, and pick up at least some of their worldview. Sweet’s view on the rich is that they’re exactly as likely to be abusive toward others as anyone else, but having resources just means a greater chance of pulling it off without repercussions.”

“Wealth,” Fauna said firmly, “is not evil. Correlation is not causation.”

“The best advice we can share is that you should never get caught up in what other people deserve. There’s really no way you can know; that’s a very big question.”

“Jobs are jobs, and the Guild isn’t in the business of crusading. When we go after someone to administer much-needed humility, it’s for a specific reason, owing to something they’ve done.”

“Not something they are, or have.”

“Hnh,” Tallie grunted, looking dissatisfied.

“Well, how’s about you go first,” Fauna suggested with a sly little grin. She shifted, scanning the slowly passing crowd. It was nearing the lunch hour, and business in the market street was increasingly brisk, to the point that even their little bubble of privacy was diminishing as the press of people meant no one had time to give them especial attention. “All right, don’t stare. Across the street, about six yards north. Guy in a suit and a coat more appropriate for a typical Tiraan winter than what’s actually happening.”

“I see him,” Tallie said, leaning back against the building and stuffing her hands in her pockets. Her eyes cut sideways to fix on the target Fauna designated, though she kept her head shifted slightly the other way.

“All right, first trial,” Flora said in a lightly conversational tone. “You’re to go up—boys, stop gawking at the mark!—go up and touch his coat, just above the pocket.”

“Just touch,” added Fauna, “without drawing his attention. Don’t put your fingers in, and above all do not take anything.”

“Really, that’s it?” Tallie said condescendingly. “You call that a trial?”

“Crawl before you run, kid,” Flora retorted in the same tone. “Go on, get moving. He’s getting away.”

The designated mark, indeed, had finished acquiring a portable meat pastry from the stall and was heading off up the street. Tallie paused only to wink at her group before setting off at a long-legged lope. A few yards up, she crossed the avenue to the other side, and began closing in on her target from behind.

The two elves straightened up and started moving, leaving the boys to trail along in their wake; they kept to an idle, dawdling pace, seemingly peering at stalls and window displays as they passed, and only glancing at Tallie’s progress occasionally and surreptitiously. Rasha and Darius, after exchanging a look, tried to follow their example. To judge by some of the looks shopkeepers gave them, they weren’t entirely successful.

Tallie had begun rooting around in her pockets as she approached her mark, muttering to herself and scowling. Making a show of clear distraction, she brushed against the man in passing by. He halted in bringing the pastry to his mouth to give her an annoyed look; she offered a quick apology and a little smile before pushing on ahead.

A few more yards up the street, sighing loudly in frustration, she stopped in the mouth of an alley and took off her jacket, growling and carefully going through its pockets. The mark gave her a disdainful look as he passed.

Just after he did, Tallie “found” what she’d been looking for—a comb—and paused to straighten out her hair, which didn’t particularly need it. Then she continued on her way at a much more languorous pace.

Another half-block along, she stopped in the mouth of another alley, where the rest crossed the street to meet her.

“Not bad!” Fauna said, clapping her on the back. “Good routine! Most people on their first try don’t think to have a cover; getting close to someone is much easier if you provide a reason they won’t question.”

“I note nobody mentioned that before sending her off,” Darius commented.

“Well, the point is to see what you kids know,” Flora replied with a unrepentant grin. “What’s the use in just telling you beforehand?”

“Yeah, well,” Tallie said with clearly false modesty, “I can’t say I’ve ever tried stealing before, but I know a thing or two about looking more harmless than I am.”

“Ahh,” Darius said sagely. “So only half the things I’ve heard about circus folk are true.”

“Darius, one of these days I’m gonna stab you right in the nuts.”

“You know, honeybunch, you don’t have to keep making up these violent pretexts. If you wanna get your hands on my nuts, all you’ve gotta do is ask nicely.”

“Shh,” Fauna said curtly. “Trouble.” She and Flora had both gone suddenly, rigidly alert.

Before the junior apprentices could get a good start at looking around, the man in the expensive coat came stomping right up to them, pastry dangling forgotten from his hand.

“All right, what did you take?!” he demanded, glaring at Tallie.

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Excuse you?”

“I know what you did!” he snapped. “You’d better hand it over before I go for the guards!”

“Whoah, now, wait a second,” Darius said nervously. “There’s no need for—”

“No, no, this is fine,” Tallie said, folding her arms and glaring at her erstwhile mark. “I don’t know what crawled up your butt today, but check your pockets. Go on, check thoroughly. If you come up with anything missing, I’ll let you search mine. Otherwise, I’m gonna want an apology.”

“Don’t give me that,” he retorted. “You kids are thieves!”

“You accuse everybody you meet of being thieves?” Rasha demanded. He glanced quickly at the two elves; oddly, only the three human apprentices seemed to be trying to deflect their accuser. Flora and Fauna were standing like statues against the wall.

“Is there a problem here, ladies and gentlemen?”

All of them turned to face the new arrival, a man wearing an Imperial Army uniform and a no-nonsense expession.

“Yes!” barked the man with the pastry. “This little wench stole my—um—”

“As I was about to say, officer,” Tallie drawled, “this character just walked up and started throwing around wild accusations. I’ve yet to hear exactly what it is he thinks I stole.”

“I see,” said the guard, turning to study the man in question. “Sir, are you missing any possessions?”

“I—she brushed up against me! She did it quite deliberately!”

“That’s as may be, sir, but it’s not what I asked you,” the guard replied. “If something of yours has been stolen, we can address that. If you’re just going to complain about people brushing against you close to noon in a crowded shopping district, I’ll have to ask you to stop creating a scene.”

That brought the complainer up short. There was an extended silence while they all watched him shuffle awkwardly through his own pockets, keeping the grease-stained fingers of his left hand well out of it. After checking and finding his coin purse and a few other personal items, he finally stopped, looking sheepish.

“I…well, I guess I was mistaken.”

“Uh huh,” Tallie said pointedly. “Now, about that apology?”

The guard cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing else, sir, please move along.”

“Hey,” Tallie protested, while the well-dressed man hurried away up the street with his head down. “I wasn’t done with that guy!”

“Yes, you were,” the guard retorted firmly. “Are you kids apprentices with the Thieves’ Guild?”

They all froze, looking to the two elves for guidance. Flora and Fauna were both watching a point across the street.

“What if we are?”

“You can’t prove that!”

“There’s no law against—”

All three of them tried to answer at once, then broke off, wincing.

“I see,” the guard said dryly.

“Don’t avoid that question,” Flora ordered. “Being in the Guild is not illegal, and denying it is just suspicious.”

“Sorry,” Fauna added to the guard. “They’re new.”

“Uh huh,” he said, plainly unamused. “Regardless, I think you should move along, now. You’ve had enough fun here for one day.”

“Hey,” Rasha snapped, balling his fists. “We weren’t doing—”

“Shut it!” Flora barked. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

“As soon as the guards are involved, playtime is over,” Fauna said just as firmly. “Don’t argue with them, and there is zero valid reason for you to be making fists in a policeman’s presence. Simmer down.”

“Come on,” Flora ordered, straightening up and beckoning them curtly. “Do as the nice man says.”

The patrolman continued to watch them closely as the elves led them away up the street; this time, they were also followed by the gazes of nearly everyone in earshot. Fair or no, it appeared their practice had indeed been cut short, and not because the guard had told them so.

“Okay, what the hell just happened?” Tallie hissed. “I know that guy didn’t feel me touch his coat—he’d have said something at the time if he did!”

“You’re right,” Fauna said curtly. “You did fine. But we heard someone tell him that we were Guild—same voice that fetched the guard while that guy was approaching us.”

“And systematically informed every shopkeeper in a ring around us while we were dealing with that,” said Flora. “And there he is.”

This time, she made no bones about blatantly pointing.

Directly across the street from them stood a dwarf with a neatly-trimmed reddish beard, wearing a dapper suit. Seeing the elf pointing, he turned to face them directly, offered a knowing smile and politely tipped his hat to them. Then he turned and strolled away up a nearby alley.

“Follow him!” Fauna barked.

Instantly, both elves took off at a run, which carried them out of the way nearly before an outcry could develop at the sight—and aside from the inherent spectacle of elves moving at high speed, Flora’s billowing cloak tended to catch attention. They were swiftly gone, however, each vanishing into another small alley up and down the street, respectively.

“Oh, hell yes,” Tallie growled, stalking off after the dwarf as directed. Darius and Rasha followed, equally grim-faced.

Their quarry was not far away. Despite having a head start on them, he had been stopped just a few yards up the alley. Flora and Fauna had already converged there, but were hanging back; it was not they who had intercepted the dwarf and held his attention.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, his Svennish accent faint but distinct. “You appear to be blocking the path.”

“Yes,” the Silver Legionnaire standing in front of him said curtly. “And you appear to be meddling in things that don’t concern you.”

Flora and Fauna, standing behind the Legionnaire, exchanged a look, their expressions openly confused.

“Young lady, I haven’t the slightest idea what—”

He broke off as she raised her lance, aiming the tip directly at his face.

“We could play that game, but you’d win,” the young woman snapped, “so I’m not going to. You are making life difficult for these apprentices in an effort to put pressure on them to comply with your demands. You then led them into this alley and allowed them to intercept you so you could make your demands in privacy.”

“That’s quite a tale,” he said calmly. “I don’t suppose you have anything resembling evidence to back that up?”

“Shut up,” she retorted. “We’re not doing this. You are going to back down, and think carefully about how I intercepted both them and you on such short notice. You must be pretty confident to risk the ire of the Thieves’ Guild, but no matter who you work for, you don’t want to have both the Guild and the Sisterhood after you. The last political entity to get caught between them was the Tiraan Empire, in a little tiff called the Enchanter Wars. I assume you know how that ended?”

“Are you threatening me?” The dwarf sounded merely curious.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, stepping forward and forcing him to retreat, or get poked in the nose with her weapon. “Now I am. Clear your ass out of here while it’s only got one hole in it.”

“I hardly think this conduct is befitting a Silver Legionnaire,” the dwarf said, moving no further. “I wonder what your superiors would say?”

At that, the soldier grinned, broadly and very unpleasantly. “Well, don’t wonder. Go learn for yourself. I’m Private Covrin, personal aide to Bishop Syrinx. Right now I’m going to let you leave here and drop this little gambit, but if you push me, I’ll go right to the Bishop with this. And by this time tomorrow, you’ll have the full strength of the Guild, the Sisterhood, and Imperial Intelligence pursuing every aspect of your business. Possibly the Veskers, Salyrites, and whoever else owes her Grace a favor, just for shits and giggles. Is that what you want? All those people…examining you?”

They locked eyes, both ignoring the thieves standing around looking on.

Then, oddly, the dwarf cracked a smile. He took another step back, then bowed slightly to her, doffing his hat. “Well. What an intriguing day this has turned out to be. I’ll bid you all good afternoon, then.” He turned and made his way back toward the alley entrance, having to stop after only three steps. “Excuse me, please.”

Tallie, standing at the head of the trio, folded her arms and stared down her nose at him.

“Let him through,” Flora said quietly.

Tallie sneered, but edged aside. Darius snorted and leaned against the alley wall, out of the way; Rasha just curled his lip and refused to budge, forcing the dwarf to edge around him.

Silence reigned until he was out of the alley and around the corner.

“Well, this just gets more and more interesting,” Fauna said pointedly, staring at Covrin. “Not that we don’t appreciate the help, but…”

“But you’ll be wanting to know what the hell is going on here,” the soldier replied distractedly, her attention on the other three. “This group is missing some people.”

“So, uh.” Tallie cocked her head to one side. “You’re with Locke’s squad, then?”

“No,” Covrin said heatedly, then moderated her tone. “No. Let’s put aside the question of me for a moment. In your position, I’d be wondering just how that dwarf managed to be on you so quickly. You haven’t been away from the Casino that long; the Guild is heavily warded against arcane scrying, and it patrols its environs too well for anyone to safely set up watchers at its entrances. So how’d he find you?”

“How did you?” Rasha demanded.

“The same way, I expect,” Covrin replied with a cold little smile. “In Glass Alley there’s a magic shop called the Finder’s Fee. The answers you need most immediately are there; look for a Guild member with the tag Sparkler who works there. I suggest you gather the rest of your group, first, and maybe don’t wander off by yourselves any further. I don’t know who those dwarves are, exactly, but they’re a capable group. You don’t need them picking you off one by one.”

“Why the hell do you kids have dwarves after you?!” Flora exclaimed.

“It’s, uh…” Tallie winced, glancing aside at the boys. “Complicated.”

“Well, no shit,” Fauna said acidly.

“Right now,” said Rasha, “I’m most curious about how you come into this, Private Covrin.”

“Any organization the size of the Sisterhood of Avei,” she replied, “has factions, agendas, schisms… People mistreating power and undercutting each other. All systems are corrupt, or so I hear.” She gave that a moment to sink in before continuing. “Whatever other problems you guys have, you’ve had the bad luck to be caught up in an internal Sisterhood power struggle. Locke is a shifty one who never does anything with only one agenda. And Bishop Syrinx is dangerous in a way that even your trainers probably don’t want to cross. I’ve got a feeling you two may know a little bit about that already,” she added, turning toward Flora and Fauna.

The elves folded their arms and narrowed their eyes at her in perfect unison.

“Still waiting to hear your part in this,” Tallie prompted.

Covrin turned back to face them, her eyes intent and suddenly almost fervent. “I can help you know what’s going on, who’s attempting what, and why. Right now you’re acting blind. If you know who the players are, though, you can play them. Or at least, keep them from playing you. Which you’d better believe they are doing right now.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Darius asked with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Later,” Covrin said curtly. “Get your friends, go to Glass Alley, find out how you’re being tracked. That’s my offer of good faith. When you know I’m good for it… Maybe I’ll have a favor to ask in return. But don’t take too long about this. None of you are any use to me if you get knifed in alley or carried off by dwarves.”

She turned, paused at the sight of the two elves, then shoved roughly between them. Neither made any attempt to inhibit her, just turning to watch her go with eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

Covrin did not turn to look back as she vanished into the dimness beyond, but her voice carried nonetheless.

“Watch your backs.”

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11 – 15

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The layout of the Thieves’ Guild underground headquarters was, unsurprisingly, confusing. Aside from the central complex around the Pit, where things were mostly laid out in a sensible fashion, the whole network was a confusion of oddly-angled tunnels, stairwells, meandering halls, hidden nooks, side rooms, and obfuscatory features in general. No room except the smallest and some not open to the public had only one entry, and there were abundant quiet spots for assignations of all kinds. It was all very useful for many of the purposes of its inhabitants. On the downside, for those not yet used to the place, it was very easy to get lost.

At least it provided means of avoiding the more crowded areas, if one were so inclined. Thus, it was an even nastier shock than it would otherwise have been when Jasmine emerged from the less-used back entrance to the dormitory toilets to find Grip lounging against the wall right outside.

“Morning!” the enforcer said with a bright smile.

Jasmine forced herself to relax, aware that her instinctively combative pose had given away her tension. With that out of the bag, she didn’t attempt to feign disinterest, folding her arms and scowling.

“Well. You’re up early.”

“Yes, I was,” Grip agreed, idly tossing a dagger in the air and catching it, “but that was hours ago. It’s past breakfast.”

“Somehow I assumed you’d be the type to be out all night and asleep—oh, excuse me, mysteriously absent till afternoon.”

“Then we’ve learned something about making assumptions, haven’t we?” Grip replied, grinning.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s the Guild,” she said with a shrug. “I’m a thief. I’m allowed.”

“You know what I mean,” Jasmine snapped. “And now you’re just trying to irritate me.”

“Yes, I am, and it’s working.” She pointed the dagger at her, expression now serious. “Don’t just experience the encounter, examine it. What exactly am I doing that gets under your skin? Why is it working? How can you counter this next time? What’s my motivation, here?”

“Let’s start simpler. What are you doing lurking outside the apprentices’ toilets?”

“Enforcement is about control, and control is about manipulation. You can’t maintain control through brute force, you’d be drowning in enemies before you could build a power base. It’s little things, theatrical touches and ways of getting under people’s skin that does the trick. Keeping people off-balance is more effective than keeping them afraid. For instance.” She smirked, lifting one eyebrow. “One of the most powerful things you can do to emphasize to someone that you are the one in control is to just show up in places where they think you won’t. Places where they feel safe, that should be out of bounds.”

“And so, toilets,” Jasmine said sourly.

“Toilets, hospital rooms, workplaces… For all the stories about leg-breaking—and we enforcers spread most of those ourselves—we get much better mileage out of embarrassment. Somebody owes money? Threaten them, and they may panic, or just do something dumb. But having shady characters like me turn up at their office, or finding me sitting in their kitchen making polite conversation with the little missus when they get home, or sitting next to them at temple services….? That is how you lean on someone.”

“Hm,” Jasmine said noncommittally. “Well, since you’re here, I have questions.”

Grip straightened up, twirling the dagger to rest with its blade against her forearm, and made it vanish inside her jacket with alarming deftness. “Shoot.”

“What happened with you and Randy?”

“What have you heard?”

“That you tossed him out for shaking down shopkeepers.”

“That’s the long and the short of it, yes,” Grip said, her expression openly annoyed for the first time. “He also got caught doing it by Sweet’s apprentices, which was humiliating—as much for me as for him. Insult upon injury. Was that all you wanted to know?”

“Of course not. I have a personal interest in understanding what you look for in an apprentice. I don’t really see the connection between myself and him. And if there is one, well, that’s a little distressing.”

The enforcer smiled, briefly, but in real amusement, before her expression sobered again. “Randy had—has, rather—hunger. The drive to make more of himself, to succeed, to fight the world. It’s a very Eserite thing. He’s one of those who’s always felt wronged, shortchanged; the world owes him something and he means to collect.” She shook her head, grimacing bitterly. “That we can’t have, it makes people do the most appalling bullshit. Prompted in the right way, though, it can be refined into a less narcissistic, more reasonable drive, the thing good Eserites need. A lust to equalize, turn the tables, bring the mighty down to our level and look them in the eye when they realize what’s happened. And I thought I was making progress with him, I really did. He was… Well. What his personal hobbies revealed was that he was playing me. Playing along, acting like he was absorbing the philosophies along with my tactics and know-how.” Her eyes narrowed to furious slits. “I’m not some thug, nor do I associate with riffraff, and I sure as hell don’t train that kind of scum. Eserion gives us a purpose, and it’s not to line our pockets. I failed Randy, apparently. Worse, he proved he wasn’t going to change. After that, aside from the insult to me, I could never trust that I was training an Eserite, and not just a thief. That was it for him.”

“I see,” Jasmine said slowly.

“Anyway, don’t worry too much about the resemblance,” Grip said, suddenly much more nonchalant. “I don’t have a type. I rarely pick a protege, and only when I spot somebody who I think needs my personal coaching. You have very little in common with Randy.”

“Glad to hear that, anyway.”

“Don’t be,” Grip said flatly. “It was a neutral statement, not a compliment or insult. He’s him, and you’re you. He failed. You still might. Do not get cocky.”

Jasmine tilted her head back, meeting the enforcer’s stare without hesitation. “I have advantages he definitely lacks.”

Grip smiled humorlessly. “And this is why you need me, in part.”

“That’s the other thing I was going to ask. What in the world do you want with me?”

The thief tilted her head, permitting herself a small smile which even looked deliberate. “If you understood my reasons, you wouldn’t need my help. If you were yet in a position to understand, I’d explain it. Some things you have to learn through experience.”

“Uh huh,” Jasmine said skeptically. “Well, this has been interesting—”

“You are on a schedule, you know,” Grip said pointedly.

“Yes, I am,” she retorted. “Right now I have to go deal with Glory again, followed by other things which are no business of yours. And in the slightly longer term, between all that and you I am reconsidering this whole project. You can threaten me with exposure if you like; while I’m debating whether I actually need to be here, that’s nothing more than helping me make up my mind. If I do decide to stay, we’ll talk. But not right now.”

“I’ll tell you what, kid,” the enforcer said, smiling again. “I’m going to grant you a few days’ leeway, because this right here is a valuable lesson. Learning how to weasel out of pursuit and delay the inevitable is a crucial skill for a thief, but not as much as learning the limits of how long you can get away with that. So here you go: learn the limits.” She winked. “And thus, you’re studying under me, whether you want to or not. Think about what I did, and try it yourself. Talk to you real soon, Jasmine.”

She turned and strolled away, leaving Jasmine standing alone in the corridor, staring after her.

After another moment’s contemplation, Jasmine turned and cut back through the toilets and the barracks into the Pit. The route she had started to take was roundabout and three times as long, and…well, there was no point, now.

“Heeeey, there she is!” called the first person she particularly wanted to see, after she’d exchanged nods with a few other apprentices. Tallie waved with her customary exuberance. “Missed you at breakfast, Jas!”

“Oddly enough I don’t have much of an appetite,” she replied, strolling over to join Tallie and Rasha by the pickpocketing dummies. “What’s the plan for today, guys?”

“Ross left early, too,” Rasha said quietly. “Apparently he’s got a lesson and some personal time with an actual Guild member.”

“Stands to reason, he’s been here twice as long as us,” Tallie said airily. “Good on him! We’re just waiting for oh look here he comes now.”

“Discussing who you’d all like to shag?” Darius asked, swaggering up to the group. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. Morning, ladies.” He grinned broadly at Rasha, who narrowed his eyes.

“You need a new routine, Darius,” Tallie retorted. “That smug cocky guy schtick of yours is way overplayed. Try something original, something your own! Like the friggin’ pox.”

“Hey, don’t joke,” Darius said solemnly. “My uncle died of the frigginpox.”

“Are you sure?” Rasha snapped. “Maybe it was just embarrassment at being related to you.”

“Ooh, and the littlest Punaji tries his best!” Darius grinned down at him. “Not at your quickest first thing in the morning, are you?”

“Before this devolves any further,” Jasmine said pointedly, “you made it sound like you’ve got a plan for today?”

“Hell yeah!” Tallie crowed. “We’re meeting the elf twins preeeeetty much any time now, I dunno where they are. But they’re taking us out actually pickpocketing!”

“In…a group?” Jasmine raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like a good way to court far too much attention.”

“Hey, Fauna and Flora know what they’re doing, generally speaking,” Darius said with a shrug.

“And it’s Flora and Fauna,” Tallie corrected. “How many times I gotta tell you?”

“As many as it takes before that starts making a difference, you daffy bimbo.”

“Anyhow,” Rasha added, “we’re getting a chance to practice what we learned yesterday.”

“Oh…that sounds pretty good, actually,” said Jasmine with a sigh. “Wish I could come, but I’ve got to go dance to Glory’s tune again. It’s less of an honor this time, since I’ve been forewarned that this is the let-down speech.”

“Oh, ouch,” Tallie said, wincing sympathetically. “Not her type after all, huh?”

“And that’s just the start of the day,” Jasmine said dourly.

“Well, hey, don’t feel bad,” Darius replied cheerfully, slapping her on the shoulder. “You weren’t around to get the teaching, so it’s not like you could’ve come, anyway!”

“My, aren’t you a charmer,” Tallie said, scowling at him. “We could teach her what we know on the spot, y’know, and I bet the elves know a lot more than any of us, anyhow. No need to be a dick.”

“It’s a having a dick thing,” Darius said seriously. “Rasha, tell her.”

“Whoah!” Rasha protested. “I have and want nothing to do with you and dicks!”

“Hmm.” Darius made a show of stroking his chin in thought. “I feel I should be able to run with that. There’s a good burn in there, I can sense it, but there are hazards. A lot of the directions I could take it would make me sound pretty gay.”

“How about—” Tallie broke off as Rasha’s finger was thrust into her face.

“Don’t help him! And if you don’t want to sound gay, Darius, try talking a little bit less about dicks.”

“And he recovers from his earlier fumble!” Darius crowed, beaming. “Anyhow, where the hell are those girls? Just like a pair of elves to be shiftless and unreliable. Boom!” He whirled, pointing both fingers behind him. Another passing apprentice, finding herself in his sights, paused to give him a contemptuous once-over before continuing on her way. Darius sighed and turned back to them. “Well, shit, I thought for sure they’d be right behind me if I started bad-mouthing ’em.”

“Nice, boy,” said Flora from directly above them. “Real attractive.”

“And it might’ve worked, if only you were apprenticing with the Veskers,” Fauna added archly.

Both elves were perched nimbly on the edge of the Pit. Half of it was railed, a fairly new addition which had apparently been abandoned partway through, leaving the rest of its surface borders as a constant falling hazard. Flora and Fauna, doubtless to emphasize their agility, had chosen to balance on the iron bannister, sitting as casually as if in easy chairs.

“Ladies!” Darius cried, waving exuberantly up at them. “May I just say you’re looking extra svelte today? And not just because I have a perfect view of your legs from here.”

“Do we really wanna help him?” Flora asked her counterpart.

“Eh, he might as well come along,” Fauna replied with a shrug. “I kinda like the others.”

As if on some inaudible cue, both hopped forward plummeting down to land nimbly beside the other apprentices. Flora’s characteristic cloak billowed very dramatically at her descent.

“So, you coming along today, Jasmine?” Flora asked with a broad grin.

“I’m afraid I have to go oh what am I doing, I know you heard our whole conversation.”

“Dammit!” Fauna huffed irritably, flipping a doubloon to Flora, who caught it with a gleeful cackle. “You had to pick today to start learning?”

“Yeah, I’m increasingly okay with how this has panned out,” Jasmine said dryly.

“Well, cats and kittens, we are burning daylight,” Tallie added. “C’mon, ladies and Rasha, let’s get a move on. See you this afternoon, Jas?”

“Or tonight. It depends on how long I get tied up today.”

“Try not to do that,” Flora advised.

“And if you do, make sure you establish a safe word,” Fauna added.

Jasmine blinked. “…what?”

“Isn’t she precious?” Flora cackled, turning to go with a wide sweep of her cloak.

“I swear, one of these days you’re gonna hit somebody important with that damn thing…”

“Didja see what I did there?” Tallie asked Darius, grinning and prodding him on the shoulder. “Ladies and Rasha, I said. See, the implication—”

“Yes, yes, thank you for defending my honor, Tallie,” Rasha said, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, they’re leaving us behind. Bye, Jasmine.”

The records room at the Silver Legion’s complex in the Temple of Avei was a fairly public space; one needed reason and at least a minimal level of clearance to be there, but such reasons did occur consistently in the normal course of the day. Ordinarily, women would be coming and going through the well-lit archives to retrieve, deposit, or copy files on a regular basis.

It was quiet, now, and empty, and she had to force herself not to rush in her efforts, as rushing led to sloppiness. She was keenly aware, however, that her presence was the reason no one else was in here. She hadn’t left orders not to be disturbed, but had had to identify herself in order to gain access, and…apparently, one thing had led to another.

An hour into her search, though, she was at least making progress. Hopefully the disruption her presence must be causing the Legion’s ordinary functions was minor and easily remedied. Surely if anything important came up that necessitated access to the files, whoever needed it wouldn’t hesitate?

She looked up in mild surprise when the door to the long filing room finally opened, then straightened fully, setting down her folder and blinking. “Oh! Commander! I’m sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing you…”

High Commander Rouvad smiled faintly, pulling the door shut behind her. “Not in the least, I’m glad of the excuse to take a break. Disconcerting, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?”

“Not having to salute,” Rouvad said, her smile widening as she approached. “You’ve got a look I recognize, not knowing quite what to do with your hands. It was awkward enough for me, and I got to this position after long years of making smaller steps. Don’t repeat this, but I still feel uncomfortable, not saluting a General. Somehow I never quite imagined myself as the woman in charge; it still feels like I’m watching somebody else play a role, some days.”

“I…um, I see.” Awkwardly, she relaxed her tense posture. “For the record, I didn’t tell them not to disturb me in here.”

“Yes, I know,” Rouvad said, shaking her head ruefully. “That would be Sergeant Pinitar’s work. A stickler for respect toward the faith’s persons of importance, and quite a fan of yours, incidentally. Don’t worry, you’re not disrupting the Sisterhood’s affairs unduly. I did leave orders that we not be disturbed, though. If it’s not something extremely personal, I can probably help you find what you’re looking for a lot quicker, Trissiny.”

For a moment, she considered insisting on the name. Principia hadn’t been the first to emphasize that while she was Jasmine, she was Jasmine; a convincing deception began with deceiving oneself, on some level. It had been a favorite theme of Tricks’s, when he was initially coaching her in this role. Just for a moment, though. That conversation would be, at best, a distraction, and probably achieve nothing productive.

“I spoke with Principia Locke recently,” she said instead.

Rouvad nodded. “I just learned of that this morning, in fact. Sergeant Locke credits your help with much of her progress on her current mission.”

She drummed her fingers once on the file atop the cabinet directly in front of her. “I’m not trying to get her or her squad in trouble, here.”

“Allow me to lay that worry to rest,” Rouvad said seriously. “A certain amount of politicking is inevitable in any organization the size of the Sisterhood. I have no choice but to engage in it, myself. But among my personal priorities as a commander is to protect my troops from that as much as possible. If Locke has done something that deserves reprimand, she’ll get it. If not, I will not see her put upon in service to anyone’s agenda. I’m afraid,” she added with a sigh, “I have not always managed to shield Squad 391 from that as well as I should have; Locke and her soldiers are already more suspicious of the chain of command than I like to see in a unit, but I can’t blame them for it. Restoring that trust is something of a priority right now.”

“I see,” Jasmine murmured. “Well, perhaps that’s a good lead-in for what I was looking for. When we talked, Locke mentioned someone highly placed in the Sisterhood trying to murder her, and apparently her whole squad.”

“Oh, did she,” Rouvad said flatly. “Might I ask how that came up in conversation?”

“I asked her to see me to gain her insights on my own project; she certainly knows a great deal about being Eserite, and apparently has managed to learn something about integrating the two faiths without dissonance. We were discussing that, and I expressed an opinion that the Guild was inherently somewhat more corruptible than the Sisterhood. That was part of her rejoinder.”

“Hm.” Rouvad turned to lean backward against the file cabinet, folding her arms. “For what it’s worth, her point is well-taken. The Sisterhood is more corruptible by nature, just because it is more structured. Predatory people can exist in almost any environment, and they tend to thrive in the military. Where there are rules, those rules can be exploited. The comparative chaos of the Guild’s structure counters that to a point. Coupled, of course, with its inherent opposition to the abuse of structures.”

“All systems are corrupt,” Jasmine muttered.

“Yes, so they tell me,” Rouvad said dryly. “You know, Locke is a Legionnaire, now. Anything Legion-relevant that you want her to tell you, you can order her to.”

“Yes, I know. As does she. She asked me not to, said she doesn’t want to stir up more politics.” Jasmine shook her head. “And yes, I am aware that she fed me just enough information to help me find what I need, especially since it’s an accusation I can’t just let go. All while covering her own butt. I’m not blind.”

“Avei wouldn’t have picked you if you were obtuse,” Rouvad stated, “despite what I suspect some of those thieves have been telling you. And don’t underestimate Locke. It wasn’t just a matter of protecting herself; by making you dig up your own information, she arranged for you to be more invested in it. That’s a vitally important piece of mortal nature you need to be aware of, Trissiny. It’s why organizations have intense initiation rites, part of why basic training in any military is so brutal. People value something much more if they’ve had to work for it.”

Jasmine sighed. “Forgive me, Commander, but I’ve just come from a singularly unpleasant encounter with a person who breaks elbows for a living and seems to want to teach me to follow the same path. I’m a little sour on the subject of manipulating people at the moment.”

Rouvad cracked a faint, wry grin. “I know that feeling, too. I’m sorry to have to say this, General Avelea, but you’d better get over it. These are the methods by which you keep your troops in order.”

“I know, I know. I’m coping. I was always taught that Avei disapproves of lies, though.”

“That’s Narnasia’s voice talking, not Avei’s. War is deception.”

“Yes, I’m getting quite the education in that as we speak. But since you’re here and offered…?”

The Commander clenched her jaw for a moment, looking away. “Well. Loath as I am to drag you into politics, that’s probably just wishful thinking on my part. Locke may have exaggerated slightly; it wasn’t a murder attempt, so much as a plot to discredit her squad which could have resulted in their injury or death. I have to acknowledge that from their perspective, the difference is just quibbling.”

“She also claimed the person responsible is still in a position of authority,” Jasmine said, hearing her own voice climb in incredulous disapproval. “This really happened? And that’s true?”

Rouvad nodded slowly, turning her head again to meet her eyes. “Yes, Bishop Syrinx is now reinstated to her position.”

For a moment, she could only stare. “…the Bishop?”

“Have you met Basra Syrinx, Trissiny?”

“Once. It was… Well, surprising. She struck me as quite clever.”

“Oh, isn’t that the truth,” Rouvad said in a surprisingly sour tone.

“I don’t mean to be pushy, Commander, but I think I need to insist on a full explanation of this.”

“It’s not pushy,” Rouvad replied immediately. “You’re entitled to know, by virtue of rank alone. I wasn’t keeping it from you, Trissiny, but by default I don’t inform you of the Legions’ doings unless you are specifically involved. But, yes, since you are, now… Well, to begin with, have you ever heard the phrase ‘social pathology?’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I… Actually, I think I have, but only in passing. During one of Professor Tellwyrn’s lectures, I think. I can’t recall specifically what the context was.”

“Well, by that description it could refer to almost anything, but that’s the term used by dwarven mind-scholars. Actually, the elves have a word for it as well, but personally I find the dwarven perspective more useful. Admirably scientific people, the dwarves; their research is all conducted very rationally and well-documented. Social pathology is a condition from which Basra Syrinx suffers.”

“It certainly doesn’t sound pleasant,” Jasmine said pointedly. “I doubt it would even if I didn’t know it was relevant to her attacking her own soldiers.”

“It’s a congenital disorder of the brain,” Rouvad continued. “It causes the victim to have a very limited range of emotions and predisposes them toward certain characteristic traits: egotism, obsessiveness, aggression. The most important fact of it, though, is that it leaves the sufferer unable to form emotional connections to other people—to anything, really.” She paused, frowning at the wall and clearly not seeing it. “How to put this… Well, to you and I, a person, a puppy, and a chair are three qualitatively different kinds of things. They demand different responses and types of treatment. Syrinx lives in a world inhabited entirely by chairs…some of which cut in front of her in line and chew up her shoes.”

Jasmine stared at her in dawning horror, her mind racing ahead to being grasping the full implications. “And…this…person… Is the Bishop of our faith?!”

Again, the Commander heaved a heavy sigh. “This is where it gets difficult, Trissiny—especially for me. It’s another thing you really should have been made aware of before now, as both militaries and the Thieves’ Guild attract people like this. It’s not a common condition, but the studies I’ve read from Svenheim estimate as many as one in a hundred humans and elves have it, and only slightly fewer dwarves. Personally, I would love to throw Basra bloody Syrinx out of the Legions and the cult entirely; dealing with her is a constant strain on my patience and belief in the basic good of the world.”

“And yet she’s still Bishop.”

Rouvad nodded, grim-faced. “Because… For what, exactly, would we be punishing her? You can’t condemn someone for being mad, you can only deal with their actions as necessary. It’s a disease, and it’s not her fault she has it. Understand how someone with a brain like that sees the world, Trissiny. It’s not remarkable that she turned on a squad who personally irritated her, so much that she doesn’t do such things every day. Yes, we have to hold Syrinx accountable for her actions, but punishment is simply not effective on her. She is by all evidence an upstanding citizen and a highly productive member of the Sisterhood, all without being capable of anything you or I would understand as morality.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Because she’s found her own way to live by the dictates of our faith, and society at large. Basra isn’t able to love, or truly to care, but she understands cause and effect and has a sense of her own self-interest. However she does it, she toes the line. When she steps out of line I have to deal with that—but I have to do so keeping in mind what causes her to act as she does, and what methods are necessary to rein her in. They are rarely the same ones that would work on a normal person. Honestly, I’m never sure how well I do at managing her. It’s uncharitable of me, but I can never shake the suspicion that she’s up to things out of my sight far worse than anything she’s ever been accused of.”

“Like trying to murder a squad of Legionnaires?” Jasmine snapped.

“The files on that are classified,” Rouvad replied, “and thus not here. However, I’m going to have them pulled and copied and made available to you. You deserve to know all the facts. I handled that as best I could, Trissiny, but it wasn’t so simple as Locke doubtless made it sound. Do me the favor of knowing everything you can before taking a side.”

“That’s…fair,” she said somewhat grudgingly.

“There is also the matter to consider that Basra Syrinx is a priestess of Avei,” Rouvad added pointedly. “It’s the single greatest reason I extend to her as much tolerance as I do, followed shortly by the fact that her very disability makes her a shrewd and extremely valuable political agent. But in order to call upon Avei’s power, she requires the goddess’s approval.”

“Clerics have acted poorly in the past,” Jasmine pointed out.

“Indeed, yes, but there is always a line which, when crossed, cuts you off from a deity’s auspices. They don’t watch everything all the time, Trissiny, but they see when their power is called upon. So long as Basra has continued access to the light of the gods…I extend to her a little trust. Because I am trusting in Avei.”

A momentary silence fell. Jasmine nodded slowly in comprehension, and reluctant acceptance.

Rouvad studied her face thoughtfully, then sighed again. “Well, that is as good a segue as any. On a very similar note, I want Principia Locke in my Legions about as much as I want Basra Syrinx, and I tolerate her for similar reason. When she applied to enlist, I was inclined to show her the door.” She shook her head. “I was overruled.”

“Overruled? But you’re the High Commander, who could—” She broke off, eyes widening.

Rouvad nodded. “Locke is here because, for whatever reason, Avei wants her. I think you should know that, if you’re going to try dealing with the woman.”

Jasmine bit her lip. “Commander… What do you think of Principia?”

“She’s trouble,” Rouvad said immediately. “But… And I’m surprised to find myself saying this… Not more trouble than she’s worth. She is a lousy soldier and probably always will be…but I have never been able to fault her effort, or her apparent care for the women she leads. And they have the highest opinion of her, including one whose opinion I, personally, value highly. For now… Just as with Syrinx, I’m trusting that Avei knows what she is doing.”

The Commander and the paladin sat in silence for another moment, and then Jasmine heaved a sigh. “Well. I guess I should be glad somebody does.”

Rouvad grinned. “It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

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They both shifted at the sound of steps on the stairs, turning to see who was descending; it was clearly only a single pair of feet. The boots which appeared were not Silver Legion issue.

Ephanie remained in place, keeping her expression blank, as the girl in the trench coat descended, glancing at the two of them with curiosity but no sign of unease.

Casey, though, after a moment’s hesitation, came fully to attention and saluted.

Jasmine’s eyes cut back to her. She did not pause in descending, though after a bare moment, she nodded almost imperceptibly and continued on her way.

There was still no sound from above. Either Locke was remaining behind for the time being, or for whatever reason had gone for the other stairs. Ephanie waited until the Eserite apprentice was out of sight around the corner before turning and speaking pointedly to Casey.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, private?”

“I…yes,” Casey replied. “But with all respect, corporal, I think for the moment I had better not.”

Ephanie pursed her lips and drew in a deep breath through her nose. “Elwick… I realize it’s easy to take Sergeant Locke for a fool, but we all know who’s the reason Bishop Syrinx didn’t manage to get us drummed out of the Legion and/or killed. Chain of command aside, if she tells you to butt out of something, you had better do it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Casey said simply, indulging in one quick glance down the hall in the direction Jasmine had gone. “I know.”

“Well,” Tallie said archly, “look who’s back. Young lady, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Not really,” Jasmine replied, sliding onto the bench next to them with her tray. “Aside from dinner time. Hey, guys. How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” Ross rumbled. “Got some training.”

“We stayed in,” Rasha added, wincing. “Which was very beneficial for those of us who woke up wishing we were dead.”

“Yeah,” Tallie said, giving him a pointed look. “Next time we go drinking I’ll make sure you get water and food in you. It helps the next morning.”

“Appreciate you looking out for me,” he said wryly. “How ’bout if I’m dumb enough to do that again…don’t let me?”

She snorted and jostled his shoulder with her own. “Anyway, yeah, turns out we’ve managed to build up a little cred, what with one thing and another. Couple senior apprentices showed us a few tricks for picking pockets and cutting strings, and an actual Guild member gave us a lock-picking lesson. Shifty guy named Fingers.” She wrinkled her nose. “I could really go two ways about that tag, but he was good with the locks and didn’t pinch my butt, so I figure he’s okay.”

“Ever wonder about tags?” Ross asked, staring pensively at the forkful of potato he had just speared. “Can’t be the only Eserite ever tagged Fingers. Be surprised if he’s the only one alive now.”

“We’ll have to ask Lore about that,” Tallie said dismissively.

“Sounds like a good day,” Jasmine said after swallowing a bite of bland fish. “Can I beg a lesson from you guys?”

“Trade you for some sparring tips,” Rasha said quickly.

“Deal.”

“Okaaaaay.” Tallie pushed her tray to the side and planted her elbows rudely on the table, staring at Jasmine with her eyebrows raised. “Now you tell us about your day.”

“Hear you got some face time with a veteran thief with serious cred,” Ross added.

Frowning reflectively, Jasmine nodded. “Yeah… Two, actually. This morning I was…well, summoned is a good word. Summoned by someone named Glory.”

“Glory?” Tallie gasped. “The Glory? The one and only?”

“Uh…yes?”

“That’s amazing! Who the hell is Glory?”

Jasmine grinned in spite of herself. “Well…she’s…interesting.”

“Tells us a lot,” Ross noted.

“Shush.” Tallie reached across the table to flick his forehead. “Not everybody’s a semi-bard.”

“Glory’s a…the word she used is ‘courtesan.’ She’s in the information trade. Seemed…well, rich, if nothing else.”

“What’d she want with you?” Tallie demanded.

“She’s looking for an apprentice.”

“Holy shit!” Rasha sat bolt upright. “You actually got a sponsor?”

“No, no,” Jasmine said hastily. “It was more of an initial interview. She’s looking for someone and people have mentioned I’m along the lines of what she wants, but it wasn’t like she’d decided already. We’ve never met before, after all. It was…a strange conversation. Kind of illuminating, but she honestly made me sort of uncomfortable.”

“Well, ch’yeah, if she’s a hooker,” Tallie said.

“Courtesan,” Jasmine corrected. “She was extremely clear on the difference. And actually it seems like a significant one.”

“Whatever,” Tallie grunted, waving away her objection. “Point is, for someone raised Avenist, meeting a hooooookourtesan has gotta be uncomfortable.”

Jasmine stared at her. “How did you know I was raised Avenist?”

“You may not have noticed the presence of lesser mortals around you,” Tallie said dryly, “but you had that scrap with Silence and the ensuing conversation out in damn well public. And honestly it explains a lot. Nobody your age has a right to be such a badass unless you were getting drilled with a sword right out of the cradle.”

“Huh,” Rasha said, studying her speculatively now. “What brings you here, then? Get fed up with Avei?”

Jasmine shrugged uncomfortably, spearing another bite of food. “I have no problems with Avei. The Sisterhood, though…has issues.” She stuffed vegetables in her mouth and began chewing stubbornly, eyes on her plate.

“Must’ve been a hell of an interview, to take all day,” Tallie mused.

Jasmine looked up at her, sighed softly through her nose, finished chewing, and swallowed.

“Well. After that, I looked up and asked Principia Locke to speak with me.”

“Uh huh,” Tallie replied, raising an eyebrow. “The infamous Eserite Legionnaire elf who you won’t tell us how she knows you enough to freak out when she found you in a cell.”

“She’s my mother.”

The apprentice dining hall was rowdy and cheerful as always, but for a few moments in their little corner, it was dead silent.

“Wait…what?” Rasha finally exclaimed.

“We don’t really…talk,” Jasmine said, staring at her food. “It’s not a close relationship. Okay, honestly, it’s not a relationship. I didn’t even know she’d joined the Legions and I still can’t wrap my head around that. But…she was nearby, and I’m learning to do this Eserite thing, and I was kind of turned around and apprehensive after seeing Glory, so I figured…” She shrugged. “Well. Couldn’t hurt to get some tips. I mean, she pretty clearly has insight on belonging to the same two cults I do, if…you know, in reverse.”

“Wait, so you’re a half-elf?” Ross frowned, peering at her through narrowed eyes. “Hm. Actually I can sorta see it.”

“Well, thanks,” Jasmine said sardonically.

“I guess she must be kind of a good Eserite after all, then,” Tallie mused. “She was pretty clearly shocked when she saw you in that cell, but she recovered fast, and didn’t show a hint for the rest of the night. Hmm. Might be someone who’s worth knowing, for apprentices.”

“She really is the most awful person,” Jasmine said sourly. “She just took off right after I was born, and I didn’t see her for eighteen years. That doesn’t just go away. But…” She sighed, and shrugged. “Whatever her reasons…she has them, I guess. People don’t just do random things, and I’m learning that everybody thinks they’re justified in whatever they do. And she is trying to get to know me, now, though I can’t help being suspicious of her motives.”

“Sounds like you should be,” Rasha commented. She gave him a quick little smile.

“I think being suspicious of everyone’s motives is good policy around here,” said Ross.

“Yeah,” Jasmine agreed. “Besides, I have to wonder if I have any right to criticize other people’s actions. We’ve all screwed up.”

“That’s true for everybody,” Tallie said cheerfully.

“Probably truer than most for anybody apprenticing in this cult,” added Rasha.

“Oh!” Tallie suddenly slapped the table with her palm. “I just remembered. HEY! DARIUS!”

The last was spoken over her shoulder at full volume. Across the aisle, Darius turned around on his own bench, raising an eyebrow.

“This had better be the start of either a food fight or a blowjob, ganglepants.”

“You’re an asshole,” Tallie replied, grinning.

“Yes, I know. It’s all part of my charm. Whatcha need?”

“Get over here, I’m not gonna yell everything across the damn room.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he said sarcastically. “Because that would be uncouth and disrespectful to everyone else in here who doesn’t care about your nonsense.”

“Less sass, more hustle!”

“This isn’t going to stop until I get up and haul my ass over there, is it.”

“Aw, see? Next time somebody tells me you’re as dumb as a block of wood, I can actually contradict them! I mean, probably won’t, but I can.”

Darius sighed dramatically and swiveled fully around, swinging his legs over the bench, and stood. “Ugh, fine. Someone’s a fast learner; you’ve got a long and fruitful career ahead of you as a blackmailer.”

“Thought Style said not to go into blackmail,” Ross said, frowning. “She said blackmailers usually end up murdered.”

“Well, yes,” Darius replied easily, ambling up to them. “I’m guilty of a spot of wishful thinking now and again.”

“Good of you to join us,” Tallie said cheerfully. “Just wanted to let you know, I cornered Style this morning. After she finished calling me cusswords in three languages, I brought up Pick. Fucker’s actually skipped town entirely.”

“Son of a bitch,” Darius spat, suddenly looking genuinely angry. “That sniveling little shitstain! Okay, new rule: next time I come up with a job offer, punch me in the nuts.”

“Done and done,” Rasha promised.

“Oh, but that’s not the good part,” Tallie said, now grinning insanely. “Style was under the impression Pick had already paid us. Now we get our compensation straight out of Guild funds, and the Guild will be compensated by Pick.”

“How’s he gonna compensate the Guild?” Ross asked. “’side from being gone, he didn’t seem to be much of a high roller, and the Legion killed his deal.”

“That’s his problem!” If anything, Tallie’s grin widened. “Because in addition to paying us, he’ll be paying wages for the Guild enforcers send to gather him up.”

“Ahhh.” Darius smiled beatifically. “So by ‘compensation,’ you meant ‘all his money plus one point five kneecaps.’”

“If he’s lucky!”

“I do love a happy ending,” he said, beaming.

“Strange that he would run,” Jasmine commented. “It seems like Guild members, of all people, would know not to try that.”

“Eh, there’s probably a story in there,” Tallie said without interest. “More going on. I really don’t care; we get our money and I’m done with the fucker.”

“Hey, Darius,” Jasmine added. “I, um. I wanted to apologize for being a jerk yesterday. I really wasn’t trying to pick on you, it’s just… Well, I guess I’m a little thoughtless and kind of a show-off. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, water under the bridge,” Darius said easily, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Now I have ammunition to use next time I fuck up and would rather you didn’t tie me in a knot, now that I know that’s a possibility.”

“That’s actually harder than you think,” Jasmine said seriously. “People aren’t really flexible in the right way.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re not being creepy,” he replied, winking. “Theoretically. I assume. Looking forward to testing that theory. Catch you kids later.”

Pausing only to playfully swat Tallie’s head, he turned and strolled off back to his own dinner.

“Well, that’s kind of a relief,” Jasmine said, spearing another bite of fish. “Good to put that behind us”

“Uh huh,” Tallie said skeptically. “You cling to that optimism, girl.”

Squad One, in preparation for their afternoon’s excursion, had gotten dinner early enough that they’d had to get travel rations from the kitchen. By this point in the evening, the actual meal was still being served, though just barely; the kitchen staff were already wiping down one of the long rows of tables in the mess. Given the Ninth Cohort’s current deployment, very few squads actually ate on the same schedule, aside from breakfast. Fortunately, the person Casey was looking for happened to be present.

“Sergeant Aumbe, you speak elvish, right?” she asked, plopping into a seat opposite her target.

“And hello to you, too, Elwick.” Lontli Aumbe was a sturdily-built, broad-faced woman with skin a deep shade of mahogany, her hair trimmed close to her head in a much shorter style than even the other Legionnaires usually adopted. She was currently working her way through a bowl of the simple, hearty stew which was a staple in the Legion mess, and wearing a customarily wry expression. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say fluently, but I picked up as much as I could while we were stationed at Fort Vaspian. Wasn’t much to do at that posting, and it seemed worthwhile.”

“Wait…Vaspian?” Casey blinked. “Isn’t that the fortress across the entrance to Tar’naris? I thought it was an Imperial base?”

“It is. Used to do cooperative duty with the Silver Legions, until Queen Arkasia asked us to leave. The Third was the last Silver Legion to be stationed there.”

“…she asked the Legions to leave? And they just did it?”

“Apparently,” Aumbe said with a faint grin, idly toying with her spoon, “the Tiraan in general are alien enough to Narisians that she’s not too worried about cultural assimilation. But our army of badass warrior women is enough like the drow ideal there was apparently some concern about Narisian warriors running away to join. Arkasia doesn’t want that, and apparently the High Commander doesn’t either. She shifted us away. Now the Second Legion patrols Viridill, but they don’t actually fortify the tunnel anymore.”

“Huh,” Casey said thoughtfully.

“History’s interesting,” Aumbe commented. “Something tells me it’s not what you’re curious about, though.”

“Oh! Well, I…” Casey shrugged awkwardly. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, if you speak the drow language. Sorry, I just assumed.”

“It’s the same language,” the sergeant pointed out. “The Narisian dialect has some extra grammar for its different levels of formality, and they pronounce their vowels differently, but basically? Same language. Y’know, Elwick, if you need something translated, there are two actual elves in your squad.”

“Yes, I know,” Casey said with a sigh. “They’re sort of why I’m asking.”

Aumbe grunted in amusement. “Ah. They like to talk behind your back to your face?”

“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” she said hastily. “But Locke and Shahai enjoy their little jokes. And especially with Locke… Well, sometimes I like feeling like the smart one in the room for a change. Anyway, it’s not important, if I decide I care enough I can always go to a Nemitite temple and look it up. I just wondered if you happened to know what the elvish word for mimosa is.”

“Sorry, kid.” Sergeant Aumbe scooped up another spoonful of stew. “I don’t even know what that is in Tanglish.”

“Oh. It’s a tree.” Casey wilted slightly even as she spoke. “It has leaves like ferns, and the cutest pink poofy flowers in the spring…”

“Oh! You mean a silk tree!” Aumbe set down her spoon, finally beginning to look interested. “Beautiful things, they’ve got one on the grounds of the Temple of Izara. One of the few things I like about being posted there. Sorry, though, the names of trees aren’t really the kind of thing you learn from the underground elves.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Casey said, grimacing and moving to get back up. “Well, thanks anyway!”

“Hang on, though,” Aumbe said. “The thing about elvish is they don’t like making up new words for stuff; when they want to describe something, they build a word out of other words that basically tells you exactly what it is. That’s why elvish is full of those stupidly long words with all the apostrophes. Like, the names of specific species of stuff is just the kind of thing and a descriptor.”

“So…if it’s a silk tree, it’d just be the elvish for literally silk tree?”

“Probably.” Aumbe shrugged and took a bite of her stew, chewing thoughtfully for a long moment before swallowing. “Let’s see. ‘Tree’ is tris, that’s an easy one. The Tanglish word actually comes from that. ‘Silk’ is trickier.”

“How so?”

“Well, I know a word for silk in elvish, but it refers to the spider silk they have in Tar’naris. Whenever the drow talked about, you know, normal silk, they used the Tanglish word. Elvish doesn’t really change quickly, being spoken by immortals, and silk comes from the North. Y’know, Sifan, Sheng-la, Ang Khon. They don’t even have elves in Sifan, and I dunno about the others.”

“I see,” Casey mused. “Well…what’s the word for spider silk?”

“Sini.”

“Hm. So, sini tris.” She kept her features schooled, but a prickle ran down her spine.

“Nah.” Aumbe shook her head and finished chewing another bite. “Nah, they put the words in the other order, and an apostrophe in there that’s pronounced as the tiniest hesitation. I actually never got the hang of that part. But, more or less, ‘silk tree’ would be tris’sini. Assuming, of course, that’s what they actually call it, which…they probably don’t.”

“Of course, of course,” Casey said, nodding. “Well, I appreciate it anyhow. It’s probably not important; sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

“No worries.” Suddenly, the sergeant frowned, holding her spoon suspended halfway back to the bowl. “Hm. That’s almost exactly the paladin’s name.”

“You’re right, it is,” Casey said innocently. “You’d think I’d have caught that! I met her once, you know.”

“Yes, Elwick.” Aumbe rolled her eyes. “We have all heard the story.”

“It’s a good story,” she said defensively.

“Sure it is, kid,” the sergeant replied, grinning. “She sounds like a good one. I mean, aside from the obvious that Avei wouldn’t pick a bad one. I’m sure it’s a coincidence, though. No reason to think I put the word together right, and anyway, what kind of sadistic moron would name their kid Silk Tree?”

“Well, she is half elf,” Casey pointed out. “Who knows?”

Aumbe grunted and finished spooning up another helping of stew. “That’d be kind of interesting if it’s true. But it doesn’t really matter; paladins aren’t any of our business. Why’d you want to know about the word, anyway?”

“Well, if I’m interpreting the conversation right, there are a couple of those trees in the Arboretum that they keep blooming through the winter. So…wow, that was even less important than I thought,” she added ruefully.

“Uh huh. Word of advice, kid?” Aumbe pointed the spoon at her. “Take some time to learn that language. Learning languages is just generally a good thing to do, and maybe it’d put a stop to you being the butt of the joke.”

“Or at least, I could join in and make someone else the butt.” Grinning, Casey stood up from the table. “Thanks, sergeant.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

She held it together until she was back out in the courtyard, and then had to pause, staring wide-eyed at nothing.

“Holy shit.”

Immediately, Casey got her features back under control, and continued making her slow way in the general direction of Squad One’s cabin. Inwardly, though, her mind was racing. Her early childhood training remained in effect, both at keeping her true thoughts hidden, and her father’s lessons in recalling precise details. Project back to the moment, see every aspect of the environment, remember the exact words used. Conversations from the past flickered through her head, one after the other.

I have a daughter about your age.

Why else would Avei choose a half-elf as her paladin?

Kid doesn’t talk to me…

Holy shit, Locke.

And on the heels of astonishment came, reflexively, more analysis. Ephanie was right; Locke did like to play the fool, and she did it well. Casey, at least, was schooled enough in cunning that she never let herself forget her sergeant was two and a half centuries old, and a veteran Eserite. She had been the driving force behind their outmaneuvering of Syrinx, and was the cornerstone of their hopes of doing it again.

Casey was well aware that the odds of her having penetrated one of Locke’s deceptions by pure happenstance were slim. Once she considered that fact, other points of data clicked neatly into place. There was really no reason for Locke to have dropped that tidbit about having a daughter; she had actually never shared anything else about her personal life. And considering her origins, her admission into the Legions had almost certainly come with some prohibition against seeking out Trissiny. Had Casey been in Rouvad’s place, she’d have laid down that rule.

No. She was following a trail of breadcrumbs. Being manipulated, in truth, but she wasn’t the least bit offended by that. Manipulation was a valid way of relating to people—if you didn’t want to hurt them, at least—and she could see the restraints Locke must be working under.

Besides…

The Silver Legions had put her under the guidance of a murderous, molesting lunatic, who was now back in authority after having had a disgustingly gentle slap on her knuckles. It had almost gotten them all killed by dragon-hating activists. It seemed her tenure here had been nothing but long stretches of useless waiting around, interspersed with mortal peril in pursuit of spurious nonsense.

On the other hand, Principia Locke had fought tooth and nail behind the scenes to keep them safe, emptying her own funds to get them better gear than the Legions would provide—which had saved their lives. Trissiny Avelea had taken the time to reassure a nervous cadet whom someone of her rank could just as easily have viewed as nothing more than furniture. She had gently shut down the racist comments of one of her own priestesses, and launched reforms to reach out to the women the Sisterhood had failed to protect.

If it came down to the Legions versus her sergeant or her paladin, Casey already knew whose side she was on. Especially now that she knew how connected they were.

Which was not to say she understood everything going on, here. There were clearly multiple layers to this; it was not time to act rashly. Or to act at all.

But she would watch carefully, and wait. When either of them needed her, she would be ready.

“Hey, Jasmine!” Grip said with incongruous cheer. “Let’s take a walk.”

Jasmine stopped, glancing back at the others. Tallie rolled her eyes, then made a shooing gesture; Rasha just looked nervous. Ross, as usual, seemed pensive and maybe a little sleepy.

“Okay,” she said with a soft sigh. Grip was already walking away at a respectable pace, forcing her to hasten to catch up. “What’s on your mind?”

“Stuff,” the thief said lightly, stepping through the doorway into the catacombs.

Jasmine hesitated slightly before following.

The corridors of the Guild’s headquarters were a stark contrast to the Casino above, being ancient, worn, and rough-cut, and lit mostly by torches rather than modern fairy lights. Despite the warnings she’d been given about the Catacombs, they appeared to be basically more of the same, at least so far. Jasmine immediately decided, though, not to follow Grip in here past the point she was sure she could remember the way out.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. Grip took the first left turn, and then the second, and then stopped. Far from trying to get her lost, this was obviously a position chosen so that she could find her way back unescorted. It was also quite private; she couldn’t hear the noise of the Pit at all.

“So…stuff?” she prompted after a long moment in which the thief just stared at her through narrowed eyes.

Grip folded her arms. “I have a message from Glory. She’ll want you to visit her again to explain herself. As soon as possible, which means tomorrow morning. You do not want to keep Glory waiting. The long at the short of it, though, is she’s decided not to extend an offer of apprenticeship.”

“I…see,” Jasmine said, finding herself oddly disappointed. Which was absurd; she’d had no intention of taking on a proper apprenticeship here, especially to someone like Glory. “Well. Thank you.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that,” Grip went on, still watching her with hawklike intensity. “Glory and I do chat, and I happened to share with her some insights I’ve had recently. For example, that Jasmine Darnassy was the last Hand of Avei. The one thought everyone would be the last, until the new one popped up.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Jasmine said, keeping her tone light. “And Yasmeen Aldarasi is the crown princess of Calderaas. Same name, different dialect.”

“Mm hm.” Grip’s mouth twisted in what looked ominously like a smirk. “Common knowledge. Not exactly secret, but not as widely known except to those who’ve gone well out of their way to find out, is that Trissiny Avelea is strangely absent from the campus of the Unseen University this semester.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wait,” Jasmine said. “Did you say Unseen—”

“Glory,” Grip interrupted, “thinks, rather justifiably, that it doesn’t suit her interests to take on an apprentice who is probably going to leave the cult entirely within a very short time. I’m certain the rejection is in no way personal. She seemed quite taken with you.”

“I…” Jasmine swallowed. “Well. That’s… I’m not really sure—”

“Just stop,” Grip said curtly. “Kid, you are a terrible liar when caught off guard. I don’t know how long you thought you were going to pull this off; that’s clearly the first thing we’ll need to work on.”

“We?”

“I’m not really of the same opinion as Glory,” Grip said with a cold smile. “I think you’d make a fantastic apprentice. So, what say we start first thing in the morning?”

“Ah.” Jasmine paused, gathering her thoughts as quickly as she could. “Well. That’s extremely flattering, but with all respect to your chosen path, I’m really not hear to learn more about using force…”

“Well, let me make this easier for you,” Grip said, her smile widening and growing even less reassuring. “That was not a request.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “I beg your pardon?

“You obviously didn’t do this on your own talents alone,” Grip mused, still studying her face intently. “The Boss is in on it. I’m betting Sweet, too. And Style; Tricks doesn’t so much as scratch his butt without consulting her, especially with regard to apprentices. So no, I’m not going to go blow your little charade for the specific reason that that would clearly piss off the whole uppermost level of the Guild.”

“Well, then—”

“So, when the lid is blown off your charade, you can be assured there won’t be a trace of evidence connecting it to me.” The thief grinned broadly. “Let me be plain: if you’re going to stay here, it’s going to be as my personal pupil. Period. I’m sure even you know better than to think you’ll be able to accomplish jack shit in this place once everybody knows who you are.”

She had come in here off guard and been pushed further off it with every step of this conversation, but now, the familiar heat of anger speared through her. With it came clarity, and the restoration of her confidence.

“I think someone is getting way ahead of herself,” Jasmine said icily. “Leaving aside the question of why you’d want an apprentice who’s going to be gone very soon…” She took one very deliberate step forward, fists clenched at her sides. “You’re clearly not planning carefully, if you think blackmailing me is a good idea.”

“Well, that’s the difference between us, Jasmine,” Grip replied with a slow, sly smile. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Take a little time to consider your situation. A very little time. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Without another word, she turned and strolled off back the way they had come, whistling.

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11 – 10

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It had ended up being a fairly early night by the time they all got back to the Guild. Between that and the previous night’s disruptions, she had slept early and well, and been awake at her habitually early hour. In fact, by the time she made it to the mess hall, they were only just beginning to serve breakfast, and so some minutes later, she was stepping into the pit, fed and ready to begin the day, at an hour when hardly anyone was about and most of the other apprentices were still sound asleep.

“Jasmine.”

She stopped and turned. Pacing toward her was the older man who had been with Grip the day before, studying her through slightly narrowed eyes. Graying hair and the lines of his face alone betrayed his age; he was straight-backed and trim of build, with an incisive gaze set currently in a pensive expression.

In each hand, he carried a stick about a yard long; as soon as she turned to him, he tossed one in her direction, which she caught reflexively.

“Spar with me.”

“I—”

Before she could squeeze out a second word, he surged forward, stick upraised, and instinct took over. She deflected his probing strike, then the next, and then directly blocked the third to test the strength of his blows.

It was considerable.

His sharp, contemplative expression never changed as he continued pressing her. The pattern he established was immediately familiar; he was testing her abilities, probing her defenses, gauging the speed of her reflexes and the precision of her movements. Jasmine, mindful of her place as an apprentice in the Guild, endured this patiently for a few rounds, allowing him to push her backward, before suddenly striking out more aggressively.

At that, even as he gave ground under her assault, the man permitted himself a slight smile.

Attempting to probe him in return was unsatisfying, to say the least; his every movement was precise as dwarven machinery, evading and deflecting each attack with exactly the force it demanded and no more. She sensed immediately that this was an opponent whose martial skill outstripped hers by far, even when he was refraining from demonstrating it. This kind of pure, unharried control in the face of her efforts reminded her of sparring with the Avenist blademasters who had trained her initially, and more recently with Professor Ezzaniel.

Then, he abruptly switched to attack again, pressing harder than before—so hard she was suddenly forced to seriously exert herself. His strikes remained eerily perfect in placement, but they came faster, and from unexpected angles, and hit harder to boot. She swiftly realized that meeting him head-on was a losing strategy, and switched to evasion. Still he came, forcing her to spin aside ever more rapidly.

Without warning, his entire body surged forward following what she had initially mistaken for an exploratory prod at her defenses, and her answering evasion allowed him to slip behind her. She spun, then spun again—it was as if he had disappeared.

No—he was behind her, and stayed there no matter how she twisted to face him again. Then, as she finally bounded forward to gain distance, he was suddenly there again; his stick came down on hers from above with numbing force, sending it clattering to the ground, and an instant later it halted an inch from her eyes, the strike that would have bowled her over backward reined in at the last possible instant.

Jasmine stared at the shaft of wood from far too close, only now becoming aware that she was breathing heavily and sweating. She took one careful step backward, and he lowered his weapon at the same moment.

“So,” she said cautiously, “you’ve done this before.”

At that, he favored her with a small smile, then lowered his fighting stick to his side and bowed from the waist. “I am Silence.”

She returned the gesture. “Jasmine. But you seem to know that.”

“One of my old pupils identified you to me. Suggested I should examine the level of your skill.”

“Grip?”

He nodded once, again studying her consideringly. “What an interesting life you have led.”

“I beg your pardon?” She frowned, unable to keep the wariness out of her voice.

“You are very good for one your age,” he replied, still contemplating her in perfect calm. “The Eagle Style is distinctively recognizable; even Grip said you were clearly trained in it, though yesterday, what I saw you demonstrate against that boy was a classic Sun Style evasive pattern. That is the intriguing blend I see in you. Intensive training in the martial art of the Sisterhood, but with the most unlikely additions. Omnist fighting, but you also employ a Narisian saber form when evading, and those lunges are distinct to Punaji fencing—power and the illusion of wildness, remaining under perfect control.”

“Yes. Well.” She absentmindedly shifted backward half a step. “I suppose I had a rather privileged upbringing; I’ve only begun to really appreciate that since coming here. I had teachers from all over—”

“No.” He contradicted her flatly, but without ire or aggression. “You were trained in the Eagle Style alone, and trained to incredible competence. The rest are mere tidbits in comparison, things you have picked up here and there as you encountered them. It is most unusual to see someone so young who has so mastered the Eagle Style’s dueling form; almost all of what is taught to the Legions and the girls raised in Avei’s monasteries is phalanx fighting. There are plenty of blademasters among the Sisterhood, of course, but they are older women who have studied it in their own time. In this day and age, single combat is little more than a performance art, having scarce application in war.”

“That is…creepy,” she said frankly.

At this, he smiled again. “It’s little more than a parlor trick, in truth. It is said that fighting styles are as individual as faces; I happen to have devoted my life to them, and to their understanding. It is not boasting to say that few others would perceive in your attacks what I do. Hardly anyone has a need. There are many paths in Eserion’s service, and I have found mine chiefly as a teacher of the martial arts.”

“I see,” she said carefully. “Then I thank you for the lesson.”

Silence studied her mutely for a moment longer, then stepped forward, producing a small envelope from a pocket of his coat and extending it to her. “This is an invitation for you, from Glory. She wished me to offer it if I judged your level of skill commensurate with her needs.”

Jasmine frowned at the envelope, making no move to accept it. “Who is Glory?”

“A thief,” he replied, still holding it patiently out to her. “One who commands immense respect, both in the Guild and in the city at large. She does not have the power, explicitly, to give orders to me or even to you. But a request from Glory is one you would be well advised to take with the utmost seriousness.”

Finally, she reached out to take the envelope from him. “All…right. Thank you.”

“Her address is written within,” Silence said. “She will be available for you to visit any time before noon today.”

He bowed to her once more, then took two steps back before turning and climbing the stairs to the upper level, where he vanished from sight.

Jasmine frowned at the envelope in her hand, turning it over, and only after a close inspection opened it to study the scented sheet of parchment within. After a moment, she made her own way toward the steps, barely paying attention to her path as she read and re-read the missive.

Thus distracted, she paid no mind to the very few apprentices and senior thieves currently present in the pit, though all of them were now watching her closely. Including Tallie, who leaned in the doorway to the dormitory with her arms folded, studying Jasmine through narrowed eyes.

Glory’s address was in a row of large townhouses in a very expensive district, where Jasmine’s clearly secondhand coat drew contemptuous looks and a number of outright sneers, which she ignored. She did have to pause in front of the gate to peer upward at the house, and then double-check the address on the invitation. This place was bigger than Bishop Darling’s house, and its front garden was not only twice the size but looked like it would have been lavish if it were not midwinter; the desiccated state of the shrubbery and the lack of snow to obscure it were unfortunate.

She passed through the gate, crossed the path as quickly as possible, and rang the bell. No sense beating around the dried-up bush.

After a very short span of time, the door opened inward, revealing an expressionless blond man in his thirties, wearing a suit identical to that which she remembered seeing on Darling’s Butler, Price.

“Good day,” he said, the two words a masterpiece of pronunciation. Just the faintest upnote in the phrase, coupled with an infinitesimal movement of his left eyebrow, subtly challenged her prerogative to be here. The effect was unmistakeable, and yet went nowhere near crossing a line which would have justified any complaint on her part.

Butlers.

“Good morning,” she replied, proffering the violet-scented invitation. “My name is Jasmine; Glory asked me to come.”

“Of course,” the Butler said, smoothly stepping back and opening the door for her. “You are expected. Please, come in.”

“Thank you.”

She tried not to gawk, but couldn’t help peering around in fascination as the Butler led her across a marble-floored entrance hall, up a curved staircase with gilded bannisters, through a short hallway draped with crimson velvet hangings, and into a sunny little sitting room. The décor in this place was…striking. Expensive, yes, which was hardly surprising given the size and location of the house, but in terms of taste it ran heavily to reds and golds, dark woods, and golden marble. Cases of worn-looking books were interspersed with equally well-used weapons both hanging on walls and displayed behind glass. If she had to put a word to the overall aesthetic, it would be “masculine.” That is, until she reached the little sitting room on the second floor, which was done in shades of blue and mauve that really seemed they should have clashed but did not, accented by touches of lace and oil paintings depicting mostly pastoral scenes.

The Butler showed her to a seat in a dainty armchair and bowed out of the room, assuring her the mistress of the house would be with her presently. Upon his departure, she drummed her fingers on her knees, peering about with a sensation just short of nervousness. More than anything, she was curious about this Glory, but the house itself made her feel keenly out of place.

Luckily, she was not kept waiting long before the door opposite the one through which she had entered opened, and her hostess stepped in.

“Ah, the famous Jasmine!” Glory said with a broad yet sly smile, and Jasmine began to have a sinking feeling about this. Glory was a strikingly beautiful woman who could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty, and at first glance appeared just to have awakened. At any rate, her dark hair hung unstyled down her back, and she wore a brocaded robe over…apparently nothing. Upon closer inspection, however, Jasmine noted that the hair in question was freshly washed and had been brushed to a luminous sheen, the robe was artfully opened at the neck to display a generous hint of cleavage that couldn’t possibly be so pert without hidden support, and her lovely features showed subtle but clear cosmetics. Also, upon Glory’s arrival, the same scent of violets which suffused Jasmine’s invitation wafted into the room.

“I don’t know about that,” Jasmine said diplomatically, rising politely to greet her hostess. “It’s a mystery to me why anybody seems to know who I am.”

“And is that not intriguing?” Glory replied in a tone which could have been accurately characterized as a purr. She stepped forward, offering her hand in a position that left Jasmine no clear option except to take it gently and lay a kiss on her wrist, like a courtier in a chapbook.

She let a beat of confusion pass before sliding her own hand under Glory’s, gently wrapping her fingers around the woman’s wrist in a warrior’s handshake, and delicately yet firmly turning their grasped hands to a more normal orientation. Rude, possibly. She was aware that she lacked understanding of the etiquette at play here, and equally aware that she was being baited. Better to make it plain up front that she wasn’t going to play along. If that resulted in a quick expulsion from the house, well, she didn’t really know why she was here in the first place.

Glory, if anything, seemed mightily amused by Jasmine’s little display, and made a point of dragging her fingertips flirtatiously along her wrist when disengaging from the handshake.

“Please, sit down, be comfortable,” she said pleasantly, suiting the words by lowering herself smoothly into a similar chair opposite the small serving table from Jasmine’s.

“Thank you for inviting me over,” Jasmine said carefully, seating herself again. “I apologize if I seem…blunt…but I am really not educated for, ah…high society. I mean no disrespect. And I’m puzzled as to why you wished to speak to me at all.”

“Well, my dear, etiquette is what it is,” Glory said idly, lounging back in her armchair and daintily crossing her legs, the pose subtly suggestive without being too bold. “A long list of little customs which must be memorized to be observed. Overrated, I think. Blunt or no, you show respect and consideration in your manner, and that counts for far more in my estimation.” She paused, smiling with that same bare hint of mischief, before continuing. “As for why you are here… Tell me, what have you heard about me?”

“Nothing,” Jasmine said honestly. “Only your name, and that only this morning. From Silence, who I had also never heard of before.”

“I see.” For some reason, this answer seemed to amuse and delight her hostess. “Well! I am Tamisin Dinara Sharvineh, also known in Eserion’s service as Glory, and if I might be forgiven for flattering myself, a somewhat unusual creature. You are doubtless acquainted with some of the more common paths we Eserites tend to tread as we rise through the Guild. The con artists, the enforcers, the sneak-thieves, the purse-cutters. There are as many variations on these themes as there are people to practice them; ours is a faith which firmly discourages blind adherence to custom. Beyond that, though, many choose to find more unique ways of living Eserion’s faith. Silence is one; Lore, who I shall presume you have met by this point, is another. Such as they are a vital part of the Guild’s structure. Others dwell more on the outskirts of the Eserite sphere, no less esteemed or important for being unique. I am one of those.”

“Is that so?” Jasmine said politely.

Glory’s smile widened almost imperceptibly. “I am… Well, as a concept the profession has largely disappeared from civilized society, thanks chiefly to the influence of Izara and her priests. The most applicable word would be ‘courtesan.’”

Jasmine opened her mouth, then shut it after a moment, failing to find a single safe thing to say in response. She was keenly aware of the flush rising in her cheeks, especially under Glory’s knowing smile.

“From what I understand,” she murmured, “you must have been raised by Avenists, to have drilled in their combat styles as much as Grip and Silence believe you have. Tell me… Would that be Jasmine Avelea, or are you simply the daughter of devout parents with means?”

“Excuse me,” Jasmine said, finding somewhat safer footing in rejection, “but with all due respect, I am not interested in discussing my personal history.”

“Oh, but of course,” Glory said languidly, waving a hand—whose fingers, Jasmine noted for the first time, had their nails immaculately painted. For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t even midmorning. “You must pardon me—I am inquisitive by nature, but you will find I do not in the least lack respect for privacy. It is a vital trait in my profession, after all. But I have brought you here to explore possible answers to intriguing questions. And I can only imagine you must have several of your own.”

“I…” Jasmine had to pause to clear her throat, which seemed to amuse Glory. Her annoyance at that helped to ground her. “Frankly, I don’t understand what that has to do with stealing.”

“Stealing is a means to an end, Jasmine,” Glory said. “Nobody steals just to steal; those who claim they do are in it for the rush, for the thrill. Eserion is the patron of thieves in much the way Avei is looked to by lawyers, judges, and police. Not because the deity is of those things, but because their defining concept encompasses them. Eserion, young lady, can be best understood as the god of defiance.”

“I see,” Jasmine mused, frowning. “That’s…hm. I appreciate the insight; I haven’t had the chance to learn much actual Eserite theology yet. But, um…my question stands.”

“Oh?” Glory raised one immaculate eyebrow, sculpted as much by brush and pencil as by genetics. “I suspect you have made some erroneous assumptions. I am certainly not a whore; I do not rent my body, or my attention. It is through less direct and more powerful means that I accumulated all this.” She gestured idly around the tastefully expensive sitting room. “Try to understand the mindset of the very rich, and very powerful. Almost anything they want, they can buy, or take. It diminishes the value of having; human beings are meant to work, to earn. We take sadly little pleasure in pleasures that cost us nothing, and so much of the misery of acquisition is rooted in everyone’s failure to understand this. Were I for sale, well…what would be the point of me? Anyone wanting sex can simply walk into a temple of Izara—or, if they have somehow offended even the Izarites, go to a brothel. A few such do manage to exist.”

She straightened up slowly, leaning toward Jasmine in a way that displayed more of her cleavage, though her now-serious expression was arresting enough to hold her guest’s gaze. The same might not have been true of someone interested in ogling another woman’s bosom, but Jasmine was, in spite of herself, now too interested in Glory’s explanation to think on such things.

“Men and women do not come here looking to buy my affection. Oh, they bring me gifts, this is true. Lavish gifts, generally, though even that does not fund the lion’s share of my lifestyle. I operate a kind of…salon, here. It is a lively establishment, most evenings, where I hold court among the rich, the bored, the powerful…the lonely. We discuss all manner of things. Art, history, enchantment, politics, war… I am fully conversant in all the topics that are bandied about in the halls of the Palace itself.” She smiled coyly, somehow not losing the intensity of her gaze to it. “It is a rather less restrictive environment, of course. All of my guests are free to let their hair down—not enough that my home embraces bawdiness, but enough to grant them a tantalizing liberty they are denied in more acceptable settings. And I, of course, rule my tiny kingdom with just the right touch of flirtation, the merest hint of sensuality, to keep them intrigued, and always coming back. Each relationship is a thing I cultivate carefully, and with sincere appreciation for the individual which whom I share it.”

She shrugged disarmingly, now shifting to lean against the arm of her chair in a way that dramatically emphasized the long curve of her waist and hip. “And many do manage to spend a night, here and there, in my arms. Not all—perhaps not even most. The promise, the possibility, is always there, however. That is what keeps them intrigued by me. Anything else in this world they can reach out and take at a whim. They cannot buy me, however. To have me, they must earn me. And so they spend countless hours and fortunes in my company. That which must be sought, charmed, quested for, is so much more valuable than that which can be merely bought. No one feels cheated, or is cheated, by dancing in my circle, even if they never attain the ultimate prize.”

“I…see,” Jasmine murmured, well aware that her posture was visibly stiff and uncomfortable.

“Perhaps you are beginning to,” Glory said, again with that sly smile. “You are still overburdened by the hang-ups disguised as morals your upbringing inflicted upon you.”

“Is it worth it?” Jasmine asked quietly.

Glory’s expression immediately sobered. “For me? More than worth it. I would not suggest this life to anyone who did not have the inclination. I love it all, though. The conversation, the politics. The games, the emotions, the people. And yes, the love, both physical and otherwise. It is for each person to discover how they are best served by their sexuality; I am immensely gratified by sharing myself with a variety of Tiraas’s most fascinating people. I rather suspect that you would not be. Many wouldn’t.”

“I’m still not sure I understand, though. How is this stealing or defiance?”

Glory shook her head, smiling again. “Child, the most powerful people in the Empire circulate through my home, my life, and my bed. They do it by talking, and by competing for my affection. My true trade is in secrets, and in favors. Nothing happens in this city that I cannot learn just by asking; there is very little that I cannot cause to happen by whispering the right words in the right ears. It’s an influence that must be wielded with the utmost subtlety; nothing would destroy all I have built faster than overreaching. But provided I don’t get greedy—which I do not—I am positioned to provide that which the Guild needs most of all.”

She shifted again, back to her original pose, leaning back in the armchair and smiling knowingly.

“Opportunity.”

“I see,” Jasmine said again. “I…actually begin to think that I do.”

“Yes, you would not be here if my friends thought you too dense to grasp it,” Glory said pleasantly.

“Why am I here, though? You said it yourself; this kind of thing is not for me. And I’m definitely not the sort of person who can contribute to your…enterprise.”

“Ah, so now we come to it,” Glory said solemnly. “The truth is, Jasmine, I am looking for an apprentice.”

Jasmine shot to her feet before realizing she was going to. “I will never—”

“Sit down.”

She obeyed instantly, reflexively. Glory had neither raised her voice nor roughened her tone, but there was in it the absolute conviction that she would obeyed which Jasmine had been taught from the cradle to respect.

“Dear girl,” Glory said, shaking her head, “of course you’re not the type to pursue my path in life. I told you as much; I really don’t see it in you. Besides, the nature of a Guild apprenticeship isn’t just in following a sponsor’s footsteps; it matters how you fit into your sponsor’s life and career while you are there. It would utterly wreck my methods to have someone around who served as competition. No… I need very specific things in an apprentice, and I have had my friends in the Guild keeping their eyes open for a likely prospect. You are the first such who has been brought to my attention. I am, you see, exceedingly particular.”

“Why me?” Jasmine asked warily.

“What I require,” Glory explained, “is a counterpoint. Someone calm and decorous where I am vivacious and flirtatious. Someone martial and dangerous where I am soft and pleasing—and as able and willing to demonstrate his or her skills as I am my own. Someone who can contribute, converse intelligently and be a positive presence in my salon. And finally—and this is most important—someone who will benefit from my teaching.”

She straightened, for the first time assuming a simple, upright posture, regarding Jasmine with a serious expression.

“Someone who needs to learn what I can teach them about subtlety, careful influence, and the uses of a light touch. I am, here, making my most presumptuous guess yet, but… That is the thing you came to the Guild to learn, no?”

Slowly, Jasmine nodded.

Glory nodded in return. “What made you break with the faith of Avei?”

“I haven’t.”

“Oh?”

“I…” She glanced away. “It’s a little difficult to… The truth is, I am something of a brute. I’ve realized it fairly recently. I still value Avei’s principles, but it’s becoming more and more clear to me that you just can’t get anywhere in the modern world with the attitude that every problem is an evil to vanquish. The Sisterhood are right about a lot of things…but they aren’t right about everything. I came to the Guild to learn other ways of… Of acting, but also of understanding.”

Glory’s answering smile was simple and honest in a way that none of her previous expressions had been. “It may be that you are exactly what I seek. And that I am what you seek.”

Jasmine shrugged, slumping back into her own chair. “I, um… Maybe. The thought is so weird to me I’m having a hard time looking at it objectively.”

Her hostess smiled in pure, friendly amusement. “Well, let me pose a question to you, Jasmine. What is your greatest passion in life?”

“Justice,” she said immediately.

Glory nodded. “And why is that?”

Jasmine gaped at her. “I—that—well. I mean, it’s justice?”

“That is your upbringing talking.” Glory pointed a manicured finger at her. “In fact, I have known a good many people in my time who were driven by a passion for justice. Interestingly, most were either Avenists or Eserites. And every one of them, without exception, could tell me exactly the thing which ignited that passion within them. In every case, it was a painful encounter with injustice which left them compelled to seek out and destroy that monster wherever it lurked. You, though? You are following a path laid out for you by those who came before. And that will lead you nowhere.”

“Just because I haven’t suffered the way others have doesn’t mean I’m not sincere,” Jasmine said irritably.

“Sincerity isn’t passion,” Glory retorted. “Oh, don’t mistake me, you need a lot more than passion to get ahead in life. There’s a great deal of skill and technique that goes into building a meaningful existence. But without passion? Without something that drives you? You have no place to begin. Unless you are driven from within, you will be driven from without—either by the randomness of the world, or by clever people who would exploit you for their own gain. What drives you, Jasmine? Forget Avei, forget Eserion, discard all systems and ideologies. What is the thing inside you that burns, that pushes you forward to make a better world, and a better you?”

Jasmine stared at her, not even aware that her mouth was slightly open.

Glory studied her thoughtfully for a few long seconds before speaking again.

“I will have to think on this, Jasmine. I suggest you do as well. You…intrigue me. I see possibility here. But…whether it is the possibility we both need, I am not yet sure. Are you?”

Jasmine swallowed heavily. “I’m…less sure of everything than I was when I walked in here.”

Glory’s answering smile was sympathetic. “I don’t say this to many people, but… Whether or not we decide to proceed together, my door is open to you, whenever you need it. Best that you visit me in the mornings; something tells me that without specific coaching, you would mix poorly with the guests who are usually to be found in my home in the evenings. But when you have a need, you may come to me. I think that, whatever else befalls, you and I can help one another.

“For now, though, I thank you for this extremely enlightening visit, and must bid you good day. The preparations for my night’s work are more involved than you would perhaps believe.”

Outside the opulent townhouse, she came to a stop just past the gate, staring at the rich houses across the street and not seeing them.

Passion? Nothing in her early upbringing had covered that. If anything, Avei’s faith encouraged comprehension, restraint, discipline. Avenist fanatics existed—she had recently shared a campus with one—but there weren’t many and they tended not to get far in the cult. Most Avenists found them rather uncomfortable to be around.

Passion was no part of her University education either. Tellwyrn’s program emphasized rationality even more heavily than the Sisterhood did, and with even less patience for foolishness.

But…

Something was tickling at the back of her mind. Something which seemed connected to her increasing frustration with this whole enterprise, but also to her hope for what she wanted to achieve. This was another piece of the puzzle… But it suggested more pieces which were still out of her reach.

How to connect all this? She couldn’t figure a way to make the disparate fragments of her understanding fit together. If anything, her slow education in the ways of the Eserites was only pulling it all apart.

She had an idea, of course, how to proceed, but…

“Miss? Are you lost?”

Jasmine snapped back out of her inner world, finding herself confronted by an Army patrolman. He stood directly in front of her, his face and posture neither aggressive nor sympathetic. All at once, she remembered that in her casual clothing and slightly scruffy longcoat, she did not in any way look like the sort of person who had any business standing around in a neighborhood like this.

“Actually, yes,” she said, suddenly seizing on an idea. “Can you direct me to the Imperial botanical gardens? The sheltered one, in the glass dome. I was sent in this direction but I can’t even see a building like that over the houses…”

“I’m afraid you’re extremely turned around, miss,” the officer said, lifting his eyebrows. His tone didn’t quite express suspicion, but hinted that he wasn’t buying this story. “That’s in the northeast quadrant of the city, very near the center. You’re in the southwest and about four blocks too far toward the walls.”

She sighed heavily and rubbed at her forehead. “That’s just…fantastic. Really. Ugh… I’m sorry to be a bother, but if it’s not too much trouble… What’s the best way to get there you can suggest for someone with the Empire’s worst sense of direction? I started out from the old spice market and…”

At that, he smiled, if only very faintly. “Well, it’s actually fairly simple; if you’re new to the city, I wouldn’t try getting directly from one point to another. The trick is always to start at Imperial Square, which is right in the center. You can find it from anywhere, and you can get anywhere from it. In this case, you’d just take the northeast street out of the square, and the gardens will be barely a block along on your right.”

“Thank you,” she said feelingly. “Really, that’s good advice. Always from the Square, right. And from here, that is, uh…” She stood on tiptoe, craning her neck.

“That way, miss,” he said, pointing up the street to her right. “This avenue is leveled out, but if you look around you can usually manage to see the general slope of the city. Imperial Square is always uphill. When you run out of uphill to go, you’re there.”

“Thanks so much, officer, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, bowing to him.

“Ma’am,” he replied politely, nodding in return. At least he seemed less suspicious now.

She set off in the direction he had indicated. All that had mostly been to avoid a confrontation, and she was sort of proud of herself for coming up with it on the spur of the moment. She was already thinking more like a thief. The idea itself, though…

Well, it was probably a bad idea. But it was the only one she had at the moment, and it certainly wouldn’t be the worst one she’d ever had.

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“Well, this place and others like it,” Joe said in response to Tallie’s last question. He had integrated himself quite smoothly into the group, aided by the byplay which occurred upon his statement that he didn’t drink. Jasmine had taken that opportunity to carefully dance around an “I told you so,” and Joe had slipped into a seat next to her. “It’s more’n a mite different from playin’ in a frontier town like I grew up in.”

“Bet a lot of things are different,” Ross grunted.

“Ain’t that the plain truth,” Joe said fervently. “Out there, ain’t more’n a few card sharps to go around, and they’re spread out across whole provinces. ‘Less one came to town, I never had anybody of my own caliber to play against, so the winnings were smaller but more consistent. Here? No shortage o’ high-rollers to compete with, once I found out where they like to hang. Means I don’t win nearly as much, ‘less I wanna try cheatin’, which is a good way to get yourself blackballed. Still, I do okay. The pots are bigger, an’ I take enough of ’em to pay my bills.”

“I’ll say!” Tallie replied, waggling her eyebrows. “I mean, just look at that suit! You’re so snazzy!”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“Is there an actual living in that?” Jasmine asked.

Joe shrugged. “If you’ve got a gift for it, there can be. Wouldn’t mind tryin’ my hand at somethin’ that gave a little more back to society, but it ain’t like I’ve got any better trade. All I know is poker and shootin’.” He frowned, eyes growing distant. “Same goes. There’s money in that if you’re good at it, but… Card sharping maybe ain’t the most honorable pursuit, but I’ll never kill anybody for such a dumb reason as money.”

“Killed a lot of people?” Ross asked after a pregnant pause.

Joe grunted and folded his arms. “One’s far too many.”

“Well, I think that’s just fabulous,” Tallie enthused. “This is the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. To our new friend, the littlest card shark!” She raised her glass in a toast. Joe gave her a flat look which hinted at the progressive decay of his patience.

“Sorry about Tallie,” said Rasha, pouring himself a second glass of rum. “She’s very sweet and a little abrasive. I haven’t decided if that should be ‘and’ or ‘but.’”

“Whose side are you on?” Tallie asked, affronted.

“Right now, I am on rum’s side.” He drained half his glass in one gulp.

“Slow down,” Jasmine suggested. “We have all evening.”

“I’m fine,” Rasha grunted. “This isn’t as strong as the stuff I was raised on.”

“We gotta go up four flights of stairs to leave,” said Ross. “Nobody wants to carry you.”

“I said I’m fine!”

“Rasha knows his business,” Tallie said, reaching across the table to pat his arm.

“So, you guys are with the Guild?” Joe said, glancing around the table at him. His inquisitive look settled on Jasmine, who didn’t meet it.

“Well, we’re just apprenticing at the moment,” Tallie said airily. “But hell yes we’re with them! You are looking at the four greatest future thieves ever to roll out of that casino!”

“There’s a colloquialism about counting unhatched chickens that I think applies here,” Jasmine commented.

“Oh, you, always naysaying.” Tallie flapped a hand at her face and had another drink of her rum. “You’ve gotta have confidence! Say it like you believe it, until you believe it, and then keep on believing it until it’s true! It’s all in setting the right goals—set ’em high enough, and the sky’s the goddamn limit!”

“Maybe there’s a little more to success than setting goals?” Jasmine said, her eyes on Rasha, who was pouring a third glass of rum.

“Jasmine, I like you and all, but you’ve gotta stop being the voice of reason. It cramps my style. Hey, why do we say ‘goddamn,’ anyway? Doesn’t that kind of imply only a single god? Wouldn’t ‘godsdamn’ make more sense?”

“Phonetically awkward and theologically inaccurate,” said Ross. “’Goddamn’ rolls off the tongue. Last consonant of the first word is the same sound as the first consonant of the second, so they chain together easily into a single word. I’ve heard ‘godsdamn,’ but it’s just harder to say.”

“Hm, yeah, you’re right,” Tallie agreed, rolling her mouth as if examining the flavor of the word. “Slower, and kind of awkward.”

“Also,” he continued, idly toying with his half-full glass, “notions like the Universal Church as an actual center of worship don’t date back much further than the Reconstruction. For most people, for most of history, there was only one god, or at least only one that mattered to each person.” He paused, blinked, and frowned; everyone at the table was staring at him. “What?”

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one sitting,” Jasmine explained.

“Oh.” He shrugged. “Stuff like that’s interesting to me. Trained with the Veskers for a while. Might still be there if I wasn’t so interested in stuff like the etymology of cussing.”

“To cussing, dammit!” Rasha said loudly, lifting his own glass.

“TO CUSSING!” Tallie roared, following suit.

“Did…they throw you out?” Jasmine asked hesitantly. “I mean, not to pry. You don’t have to answer.”

“Nah, I don’t mind,” Ross said with a shrug. “There’s room for weirdos with the bards; they don’t really throw you out. But if you’re into stuff they don’t think is appropriate… Well, bards are real good at making you uncomfortable without crossing any lines.”

“Really, they were that upset about your study of cussing?” Tallie asked, grinning broadly.

“Eh.” He shrugged again. “Really didn’t get bad till I talked with my language tutor about my hobby. Historical figures with names that turn real embarrassing in Tanglish.”

“Like who?” Tallie demanded avidly.

“Horsebutt the Enemy, for one,” Jasmine said dryly.

“Nah, Stalweiss honor names don’t really count,” Ross said, straightening up and putting his glass aside. He looked more animated than they’d yet seen him. “That’s just a different culture’s ideas what makes for an impressive portmanteau. Horsebutt, for example, makes perfect sense if you’ve been around horses; you’d know damn well which end of the horse not to mess with.”

Tallie burst out laughing so hard she nearly spilled her rum. Ross carried on despite that.

“It’s mostly orcish heroes, though there’s a few others in other human cultures. But the orcs are where the real gold is at. Like Warlord Buddux, or Slobbernock the Wise. That one’s old enough he might’ve been apocryphal. Modern orcish tends to go for shorter names.”

Tallie, by this point, was laughing so hard she was having trouble staying in her chair; even Joe and Jasmine were grinning in amusement. Ross didn’t go as far, but his expression was more relaxed than usual. He clearly enjoyed the attention.

“Yeah, well, the bards didn’t find it as funny,” he admitted with a shrug. “Bards’re big on respecting culture and language. Wasn’t like they were mean to me, I just… Y’know, didn’t feel I fit in, exactly. So, trying something else, here.”

“To the etymology of cussing!” Tallie crowed, lifting a glass which she didn’t appear to have noticed was now empty.

“And gaining new outlooks,” Jasmine agreed more soberly, nodding at Ross.

“Think it’s funny?” Rasha asked more quietly. “Laughing at people because they’re different?”

“It’s kinda mean,” Ross agreed frankly. “Not arguing that. But these people are long dead. And they didn’t think of themselves as what the names sound like to us. Just phonetic coincidence. That’s what makes it interesting to me.”

“It’s just a bit of fun, Rasha,” Tallie said cheerfully. “Nobody’s being wronged.”

He grunted, topping off his glass and raising it to his lips.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jasmine asked mildly, reaching across the table to slide the jug of rum out of his reach. Rasha either didn’t notice or didn’t react to this, polishing off his fourth glass of ale and thunking it back down onto the table, whereupon he stared accusingly at it.

“I’m s’posed to be,” he said bitterly. “That’s the whole point of all this, right? New place, new life, new…everything.”

“New skills, new friends, new connections,” Tallie agreed, still chipper but now not as exuberant, seeming to have caught some of his mood. “C’mon, Rasha, you’ve been here two days. This stuff takes time to do!”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Rasha asked in a plaintive whisper, clutching his empty glass in both hands and staring into it. “I can’t keep going like… I can’t. I’m here to become somebody who’s… Who doesn’t have to…”

“Take anybody’s crap,” Ross rumbled, nodding. “That’s what Eserion’s about.”

“Don’t care about anybody,” Rasha said, his lip trembling. “I’m sick of my crap.”

“Rasha,” Jasmine said gently, scooting closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m wrong.” Tears began to slide down his face, his thin shoulders shaking slightly. “I don’t fit, and I feel wrong all the time, like I’m not supposed to even be like this. I’m the wrong…wrong person, and life, and…” He squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing the back of his sleeve across them.

“Okay, this is the most insensitive thing I’ve ever said, an’ I’ll apologize to him when he sobers up enough to appreciate it,” said Joe, glancing casually around at their surroundings. “But this really ain’t the place to break out cryin’. Some o’ the folk in here are just watchin’ for an excuse to jump on anything they see as weakness.”

The others followed suit, surreptitiously peering at the Den. Its noise and crowd seemed to be working in their favor; nobody appeared to have noticed Rasha’s inebriated breakdown, or to be paying them any attention at all.

“Yeah, so,” Ross mumbled, pushing back his chair. “This was fun, let’s do it again sometime. Good time to head home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine agreed, rising smoothly and laying a hand on Rasha’s shoulder. “C’mon, Rasha, let’s move out.”

Despite the lack of any direct opposition, not one of them questioned Joe’s warning. New they might be to the Thieves’ Guild proper, but they were all people who knew how the rougher element thought, and behaved. Rarely would anyone else seek out the service of Eserion.

“Now, see here!” Schwartz exclaimed. “We are not in league with—um. That is, I mean… Basra who?”

“Herschel,” Principia said kindly, “hush.”

“Please,” Ami muttered.

“A good number of times in my life,” Principia began, “in fact, just about every time I found myself in a helpless position at the mercy of someone I didn’t like, they took the opportunity to make a speech about how much cleverer they were than I. Okay, not every time, but enough to notice a pattern. It is wholly obnoxious, but it looked like fun, so I’m gonna try it. Besides, you kids clearly need to be taken down a peg right now, for your own good.”

She folded her hands on the table and smiled pleasantly, keeping her body subtly angled to include both Schwartz and Ami in the conversation. Only the bard was physically hemmed into the booth by her presence; Schwartz could have simply stood up and left, but he just scowled sullenly, making no move toward the aisle.

“The last time I saw Ami, here, she was quite literally up to her neck and beyond in Basra’s schemes. Now, I realize you’re a Vesker, Ami dear, and not subordinate to her. Also I understood you were informed of exactly what she nearly did to you, and anyway, you no doubt have a life of your own. Just seeing you again doesn’t necessarily form any connection to the Bishop. However.” She turned her focus to Schwartz, who swallowed heavily. “Making the assumption of Basra’s place in this explains everything so very perfectly that I’m going to have to run with it.”

She rested an elbow on the table to point at him. “You, you claim, have an enemy—someone keeping your would-be turtledove in an abused position. My gods, Herschel, you’re talking about Jenell Covrin? I would never go so far as to claim anyone deserves the kind of shit she’s getting from Syrinx, but that girl could benefit from a few sharp slaps across the mouth in general.”

“Hey!” he barked. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head about—”

“And that’s confirmation,” Principia said smugly, cutting him off; he immediately looked abashed. Ami rolled her eyes. “So, you’ve linked up with Ami, here, another individual who’s suffered from Basra’s excesses, and the two of you are building a base from which to take her down. Oh, she’s a rotten piece who absolutely needs to go, but you can’t deny that for both of you there’s an element of personal revenge in this. Have I left out anything important?”

Again, she folded her hands, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Schwartz and Ami exchanged a look, and then the bard sighed.

“Well, you seem to have covered the basics,” she said snidely. “Are you pleased with yourself?”

“You know, that is rather satisfying,” Principia mused. “I begin to see why all the villains in bards’ tales do it. I must start outwitting people more often. All right, you two, while I’m the last person who will ever argue in favor of Basra bloody Syrinx getting to wander around at liberty, doing whatever the hell she likes, I am strongly tempted to nip this thing in the bud right here. Largely because I can handle her, and I very, very much doubt that you two can. What I’m entirely confident of is your own belief that you’re capable of slaying the monster and rescuing the princess. You are, respectively, in love and attached to a faith which thinks the world runs on narrative. And you’re both barely out of your teens, which makes you invincible in your own minds.”

“My, she’s a condescending one,” Ami said archly. “Even for an elf.”

“Jenell is not a princess,” Schwartz muttered, “and she doesn’t need rescuing. She needs…backup.”

“Hm.” Principia drummed her fingers on the table. “That, at least, is evidence of some sense on your part. Jenell is somewhat trapped in her situation, but not because she has no possible exits. I’ve offered her one myself, and it wasn’t even the best option available to her. No, she’s there for the same reason you two are doing this foolishness; she wants to be the hero who brings down the villain. Well, there’s a lesson with that: heroes and villains aren’t a thing, and acting this way usually ends up with you firmly in your enemy’s clutches. Much like she is now. Right now, I am heavily inclined to go right to both your cults and tell them you’re plotting against the Avenist Bishop, just to get you two safely collared and out of harm’s way.”

“Are you quite done?” Ami demanded.

“No.” Principia sighed and shook her head. “Omnu’s balls, I’m starting to sound like Arachne. Damned Legions, making an officer of me… All right, listen. I have two questions, and the answers may—may, I say—prompt me to change my mind. I want to hear how you two got hooked up together in the first place, and I want to know who it is who’s been telling you,” she fixed a gimlet stare on Schwartz, “to befriend Eserites in preparation for taking on a creature like Basra.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because that’s very good advice. If you’ve been getting guidance from someone who knows what they’re talking about and is trustworthy… Well, that’s significant. So spit it out. Or shall I go straight from here to Bishop Throale’s office?”

Schwartz drew in a long, slow breath, his shoulders rising with tension, and then let it out carefully, most of the ire fading from his face.

“Abbess Narnasia Darnassy told me to seek out the Eserites,” he said finally. “She also told me to go to an elven grove and ask what anth’auwa means, which I’ve done, and to prepare myself with magic to combat a divine casters. Which…I am working on.”

Principia gazed thoughtfully at him for a long moment, then slowly leaned back against the wall of the booth.

“Narnasia,” she mused. “Yes…I can see it. She wouldn’t be fooled by Syrinx. And she doesn’t suffer evil for political advantage like Rouvad is willing to. All right, consider me…tentatively interested. I still have another question, if you’ll recall.”

“Well,” Ami said, tossing her head, “since that one calls for a story, I believe I shall take over from here, Herschel. If you’ve no objection?”

“Oh, by all means,” he said, waving a hand wearily. “Be my guest. I’m a little surprised you’re that willing to trust her, though.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she chided. “She has enough figured out on her own that it hardly matters, after all. And anyway, this isn’t an entirely unexpected development.” A feline little smile tugged at the corners of her sculpted lips, and she glanced coyly at Principia. “After all, we’re due an ally and mentor. It’s about that time in the story.”

“Oh, gods,” Principia groaned. “You kids are so dead.”

“Well!” Ami said, her tone suddenly airy and bright. “You know some of the lead-in, so I shall cut to the proverbial chase. It began for us in a townhouse in Vrin Shai…”

A place like the Den naturally had multiple bolt-holes; all of its entrances and exits were admirably discreet, and fortunately, Joe knew most of them. The group exited by a path which provided a somewhat gentler climb (albeit a longer and more roundabout one), and a less public exit than the one through the floor of the Stock Exchange. When they emerged into the alley behind the Exchange, the sky had darkened; at this time of year, night fell early, and despite the unseasonable warmth the air was sharp.

“All right, gimme a sec,” Ross said, carefully leaning Rasha against the wall. Jasmine and Tallie had both helped pull and push the drunken Punaji along, but Ross had taken on most of the effort. Rasha, who was sober enough to stand, but not to move consistently in any direction, had objected so loudly to Joe touching him that their new acquaintance had quickly backed off and not offered a second time.

“’m fine, gerroff me,” Rasha growled, trying to shove at Ross and succeeding only in tipping himself sideways. Tallie, fortunately, was hovering close enough to catch him.

“You were asking me why I don’t drink?” Jasmine said wryly to her. Tallie gave her a look, but didn’t reply.

“Gonna be a fun walk back to the Guild,” Ross grumbled. “Least it’s clean here. The hell kind of alley is this?”

“A discreet one,” said Joe. “Lots of junk piled at either end, with just enough space to slip through, but we ain’t the only people to make use of this exit. C’mon, it’s just gonna get colder from here, an’ it’ll probably rain before too much longer.”

“Doesn’t really look like rain,” Jasmine said, peering upward. The stars were invisible thanks to the city’s light pollution, but the sky didn’t appear to be overcast for once.

“It’s Tiraas,” Joe said pointedly. “It’s always gonna rain, unless it sleets instead.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Rasha said tearfully, now leaning against Ross’s huge shoulder. “I runed th’whole night…” Ross sighed and patted him heavily on the head.

“No, you didn’t,” Tallie said. “Although, for future reference, we’re gonna have to limit your drinking. Can’t believe we let you down four glasses of that stuff. You’ve got the body mass of a starved squirrel, boy.”

“Don’ call me small!” Rasha flared up, flailing his arms so ineffectually it was impossible to tell what he was actually trying to do. “I’m not a boy! I’m not gay!”

Ross, again holding him upright, rolled his eyes.

“Alternatively,” Tallie mused, “we could let him finish getting drunk enough to go nice and unconscious. That might be easier. Did anybody think to grab the jug?”

“Easier for you, maybe,” Ross grumbled. “Something tells me you won’t be the one carrying him.”

“Good evening.”

All of them reflexively went still, even Rasha. Ross pressed him back against the wall with one hand, shifting his body in front of the smaller boy; Tallie and Jasmine both widened their stances, and Joe carefully shifted one side of his coat, his hand hovering near the wand holstered on his right hip.

Four figures had materialized out of the surrounding dimness, two from each direction. None were any taller than Jasmine’s shoulder, all where broad and blocky, and all were covered from head to foot in obscuring brown robes that appeared almost clerical. The one who had spoken was on their left, and moved a half-step in front of his nearby companion, continuing in a light Svennish accent.

“I hope the night finds you well,” he said politely. “We wish to have a brief conversation with you.”

“This isn’t the best time,” Tallie said warily, glancing back and forth. The two pairs of dwarves simply stood, the only menace being their obscuring costumes and the fact that they were completely cutting off the exits. They could get back into the Den, probably, but not without turning their backs on the dwarves to finagle the hidden doorway; it wasn’t even visible from this side, having swung shut behind them. “We’re taking our friend home. He’s had a couple too many, as you can see.”

“I think we c’n take ’em!” Rasha blurted, trying to stumble forward. Ross planted a broad hand in the center of his chest and shoved him back against the wall.

“Oh, this need not take long,” the lead dwarf said pleasantly. “You were present last night when an exchange of goods was disrupted by the Silver Legions. We require information regarding that.”

“We don’t have any,” Jasmine said evenly. “We’re just apprentices. We were just keeping watch and carrying boxes.”

“That is, of course, possible,” he said, his shrouded head bobbing once in a nod. “It is also possible that, in keeping with your thief-cult’s general pattern of behavior, you are lying. Either for specific reason or from a general desire to be troublesome.”

“Well, maybe we are and maybe we aren’t,” Tallie snapped. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re done here. Excuse us, we need to leave.”

“Excuse us,” the dwarf replied, still politely, “but we will have to insist.”

As one, all four of them took a step forward, markedly shrinking the space between them and the apprentices.

Joe, in response, paced forward to stand next to Jasmine, facing the dwarves on the left while she faced the others.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled, “I haven’t the faintest idea what this is about; I’m clearly just in the wrong place at the wrong time, here. What I do know is that you have no idea the gravity of the mistake you’re makin’. Now, kindly step aside so we can leave.”

“Young man,” the speaker replied, “there is absolutely no reason this cannot be a perfectly civil exchange. If, however, you are determined not to meet us halfway, I will remind you all that no one knows where you are, and you are none of you important enough to your Guild that they will expend much effort to find you. Now, then—”

He broke off and tried to jerk back when Joe’s wands came up, but not fast enough. The beams of white light were almost blinding in the darkness of the alley, though they flashed for only a second. In that time, the other dwarves surged forward, producing cudgels and long daggers from within their robes, only to stop when Joe shifted his stance to point one wand in each direction, covering both groups.

The first dwarf was now clutching the remains of his robe, which had been neatly sliced along his outline by the wand beams and was trying to fall off him in pieces.

“Pardon my lack o’ manners in not tippin’ my hat, but as you can see, my hands are occupied,” Joe said grimly. “Name’s Joseph P. Jenkins, from Sarasio. You mighta heard o’ me.”

“Hooooo-leeee shit,” Tallie whispered, gaping at him.

The dwarf had given up on his robe, letting it fall to reveal a well-tailored suit covering his stocky frame; he contented himself with clutching the remains of the hood over his head, managing to mostly obscure his features, aside from a reddish beard trimmed just above his collarbone.

“You are a long way from Sarasio, young man,” he said curtly, “and have thrust your wands into matters well above your head. We are not here alone, and our disappearance will be noted—and responded to, swiftly and severely.”

“This is gettin’ to be oddly traditional,” Joe muttered. “Every good-sized city I visit, I end up shootin’ some nitwit in an alley. Buster, you’re standin’ here threatening members of the Thieves’ Guild. That does not say to me that you represent a particularly savvy organization.”

“And you are completely backwards in your thinking,” Jasmine added grimly, “if you believe the Guild won’t react to the disappearance of apprentices. Eserion’s people aren’t in it to steal; we’re training to humble the abusive, the powerful.”

“Damn right,” Tallie added, stepping forward. “You go picking on the Guild’s younglings, and there won’t be a place on this earth for you to hide.”

“Well,” the dwarf said in apparent calm, “that being the case, it does appear to be against our interests to let you leave here, doesn’t it?”

He shifted one hand to his belt; Joe’s wand snapped to cover him, but an instant later his fingers touched the shielding charm attached to the buckle, and a sphere of blue light flashed into being around him. The others immediately followed suit, the bubbles of arcane energy fizzing and crackling where they touched one another.

“All right,” Joe murmured, “gotta say, this could be trouble. I can burn through those shields, but not quickly, an’ takin’ on four dwarves hand-to-hand ain’t a winnin’ move.” He eased backward into Jasmine’s line of view and gave her a pointed look.

She sighed heavily, and clenched her jaw. “Understood.”

Before she could say or do anything further, however, the pounding of multiple booted feet sounded from their right. The dwarves on that side moved in an obviously well-trained pattern, one keeping his face to the apprentices while the other shifted to his back, facing that way.

Three Silver Legionnaires approached out of the darkness, un-helmeted but in armor. Four yards away, the elf in their center barked, “Form line!” Instantly, they shifted to a crouch, shields forward and lances aimed. It was a trifling size for a phalanx, but did effectively block the whole alley. And it was, after all, a shield wall bristling with spearheads.

“You,” the elf announced in a ringing voice, “will immediately deactivate those shields, turn, and depart this scene. You will do this to avoid the bloodshed which will ensue if we are forced to take you into custody.”

A beat of silence followed. The dwarves’ leader, still holding his severed hood, shifted his head minutely, studying the apprentices, Joe, and the Legionnaires. In the next moment, however, he took a step back, bowed politely, and touched his belt again. His shield flickered off, followed by those of his comrades.

“A pleasant evening to you all,” he said courteously. “We will continue this discussion another time. It is my fervent hope we can do so on the politest of terms.”

He and the dwarf beside him began backing away; the other two edged along the wall in front of the apprentices, urged by the continuing advance of the Legionnaires. Once both groups met up, they turned and departed as rapidly as they could without breaking into unseemly haste.

“Holy shit,” Tallie breathed, “I can’t believe I’m glad to see Legionnaires, after last night. And holy shit!” she added to Joe. “You’re the freakin’ Sarasio Kid!”

He sighed. “Miss Tallie, I was hangin’ around in the roughest dive in this city, clearly too young to be drinkin’, an’ dressed in a suit that cost more’n the places most of those galoots live. And yet, nobody even thought too hard about hasslin’ me. You didn’t happen to wonder why? No disrespect intended, but based on the Eserites I’ve known, you may wanna start talkin’ a little less and thinkin’ a lot more if you mean to advance in their ranks.”

“Wow,” she muttered. “I guess I’ll just shut up, then.”

“Stand at ease,” the elf said, and the Legionnaires straightened, lowering their shields and weapons.

“Hey,” said Ross, frowning, “you’re the ones who arrested us.”

“Thin’ we c’n take um,” Rasha burbled, slumped against his shoulder.

“Actually, a different squad arrested us,” said Jasmine, studying the soldiers closely. “These were from the squad who came to hand out punishment. What was it? Interfaith initiative? I’m finding it a challenge to believe that you just happened to be patrolling this alley at this time.”

“As well you should,” said the elf. “I am Corporal Shahai, and we’ve been looking for you. I believe you should consider how it was those dwarves managed to find you.”

“How did you manage to find us?” Tallie demanded.

“Persistence, luck, and elven hearing,” Shahai replied with a thin smile. “They, whoever they are, have only one of those advantages, and I am extremely suspicious of luck. Odd enough that we should have it in such quantity; that they should as well defies belief. That group is extremely well connected, and it would seem, extremely curious about those weapons they were attempting to buy.”

“Let me guess,” Tallie said slowly.

Shahai nodded. “The Sisterhood currently has custody of them, and are likewise very curious. It has proved impossible to tell, so far, what they do. Our squad hoped you could shed some light on the subject.”

“Not tellin’ you nuthin’!” Rasha blustered, pointing off to her right.

“Rasha, go to sleep,” Ross said wearily.

“We’re not tellin’ you nothin’!” Tallie added, pointing dramatically at Shahai.

“Tallie, shut up!” Ross exclaimed in exasperation. “Ma’am…uh, I mean, sergeant.”

“Corporal,” she corrected with smile.

“Right. Well, we don’t know anything about what those were, but we need to look up the guy who set up the trade and lean on him for our own reasons. We’ll find out what we can, and be glad to tell you whatever we learn.”

“What!” Tallie squawked.

“Connections,” Jasmine said quietly. “Not just in the Guild. Right?” She turned to fix Tallie with a firm stare. “We’re supposed to be building connections. Do you really not see how allies in the Silver Legions could be incredibly useful to us? In general, but also, apparently, right now. They aren’t the only interested party who thinks we know something about those staves.”

“And the other party are a lot less friendly,” Ross added in a low rumble.

“I…well…oh, fine,” she huffed, folding her arms. “I guess. I’m still watchin’ you, though!” She leveled an accusing finger at Shahai.

“Noted,” the corporal said mildly. “Your willingness to help is greatly appreciated; I have limited authority, but I’m confident our sergeant will fully reciprocate.”

“Is she actually in the Guild?” Ross asked, frowning.

“Yes, she actually is, and that creates complications when it comes to dealing with Eserites. You may not see her directly very much, but Sergeant Locke has our implicit trust. You can find us most of the time at the Third Legion barracks behind the Temple of Avei. How can we reach you, at need?”

“Uh…” Ross turned to the others. “That’s a good question. How can they reach us?”

“We can leave word at the Casino that any Legionnaires who come asking for us have legit business,” said Tallie, still looking miffed. “I dunno how much weight our say-so has, though. Something tells me the average thief’s urge to mess with the Legions weighs more.”

“It might generally be better if you wait for us to contact you,” Jasmine said wryly.

“So noted,” Shahai replied in the same tone.

“And corporal,” Jasmine added, “try firing one of those staves at a divine shield.”

Shahai fixed her with a sharp stare, and after a moment, nodded slowly. “Very well. I will pass that along to Sergeant Locke. Thank you, Ms…?”

“Jasmine.”

“Ah.” The elf nodded again. “Well met. With that, perhaps you would allow us to escort you out of this alley? I doubt you will be accosted again on the well-lit main streets, but…”

“That is an excellent point,” said Ross, picking Rasha up bodily and hoisting him over his shoulder.

“I dun’ need one!” the Punaji burbled ineffectually.

“Hey, uh…” Tallie turned hesitantly to Joe. “Those creeps know who you are now, too. Will you be okay? I mean, I know, that sounds kinda silly, you bein’ the Sarasio Kid and all…”

“Not silly at all,” Joe murmured. “The more complicated a situation, the less likely you can just shoot your way out of it. But I’m not without friends of my own. Tell you what, though, I believe I may just pay y’all a visit here pretty soon.” He glanced at Corporal Shahai. “Both groups.”

“You would be welcome,” she said with a smile.

As the motley group straggled back up the alley toward the busy street beyond, Nandi half-turned for a moment to look back and up.

Perched in a windowsill of the Exchange overlooking the alley, Grip grinned widely and waggled her fingers at her. Nandi turned without acknowledgment and continued on her way.

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11 – 8

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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 – 5

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He woke near noon, despite only having managed a few hours of sleep. Quite apart from his body’s determination that daytime was for activity, he was in an unfamiliar place in which he had yet to manage to feel safe, much less at home. Only exhaustion had brought sleep at all, and couldn’t hold it long.

Rasha opened his eyes, feeling the confusion of dreams fade away as he stared at the distant stone ceiling. The barracks, or dormitory (he’d heard it called both), was certainly not cramped. High ceilings aside, he had what felt to him like a very generous allotment of personal space. His modest bunk, a simple wooden-framed affair with a thing mattress and worn but good blankets, had a chest at its foot and a stool beside it, and was framed on all four sides by privacy curtains. Three were lashed into place, with the forth able to slide open to reveal the central aisle of the…barracksatory? Whatever it was called, it was roomier and more private than accommodations on any ship he’d ever bunked down in, even with the unfiltered sounds of his fellow would-be thieves all around him.

Somehow, he’d expected it to be different here. At that moment, lying there staring at the ceiling, he didn’t know why.

It was there, the crushing feeling of hopelessness that dogged him whenever he stopped to let it. Who was he kidding? A new start, a new life, a new career… None of his would make a new him.

Rasha drew in a deep, fortifying breath and forced himself to straighten up. He’d been down this road many, many times; he knew the drill. It would get better when he started moving. For a while, at least.

Maybe it would be better overall, too. Whatever else he could say about the previous night, it had kept him too busy to welter in his own inadequacy.

His clothes were still hanging on the bedposts, undisturbed. Perhaps Style’s warnings were taken to heart by the other apprentices, though he wasn’t about to trust a bunch of thieves-in-training not to pilfer his things. Fortunately, he had no things, aside from the clothes on his back—which, after being washed, had been unwearably soaked, forcing him to wrap himself in his blankets for security despite the fact the barracks (dormitory?) was kept quite warm by arcane heating ranges at both ends. Both Tallie and Jasmine had tried to loan him nightshirts, but he’d fended them off. He wasn’t about to pile wearing girls’ clothes onto his insecurities. Bathing in the men’s washroom had been enough of a nightmare, for all that Ross and Darius had sought their own corners, likewise disinclined to be social while nude. Thank the gods for small blessings.

They were dry, a couple of damp patches aside, and he dressed himself as quickly as possible, then poked his head out.

There were soft sounds of conversation and vague rustles here and there, but he could see no one. Actually, the dormitory was a lot quieter at this hour than it had been at dawn, when people were starting to get up. Rasha peeked up and down the aisle, uncertain what he was supposed to do with himself now.

The rumbling in his stomach decided him.

He passed through the pit as quickly as possible. It was extremely alive, with people everywhere talking, standing around, and practicing various thiefly arts. Rasha kept his head down and made a beeline straight for the dining room, ignoring everyone and certain everyone was staring at him with condescending judgment.

It was all in his head, he knew that. This didn’t make it feel any less real.

The dining hall was busy, too, but fortunately nobody was looking at him when he came in. Everyone was clustered around one end of one of the rows of tables, at the far side of the hall near the kitchens. Rasha paused in the doorway, studying this, before slipping around to the side of the long room farthest from the crowd and going in search of food.

It was an arrangement he knew well from various galleys. A single cook behind the windows presided over various pots and pans of food, which he ladled out onto the tray and plate Rasha collected from stacks of them at one end. The man was distracted to the point of dismissive, watching the cluster of apprentices nearby, which suited Rasha just fine. He also poured himself a cup of tea from the pot at the end of the window, and then found himself holding a laden tray and in need of a place to sit.

His instinct was to get as far from the crowd as possible. Experience had taught him that people would notice that, and some would choose to take it personally. The happy medium would be to slide as surreptitiously as possible onto a bench at the very edge of the gathering.

They were nearly all apprentices, or so Rasha assumed; they were older teenagers and younger adults. The focus of the group was unquestionably on a man who looked to be a fit fifty or so, with graying hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache, who was perched on the very corner of the long table, telling a story.

While Rasha considered this, he caught Jasmine’s eye. She, apparently a person after his own heart, was lurking at the periphery. Seeing that he’d noticed her, she smiled and patted the empty place beside her.

Well. It was at the edge, and after all, she at least was someone he knew. He rather liked Jasmine. She was quiet, and pretty, and impressive. Also, Tallie was right across from her, and while Tallie could be overwhelming, he’d already developed a fondness for her, too. Perhaps jail and forced labor had that effect on a group.

He made himself smile back, and came forward to climb onto the bench beside Jasmine. “Morning. Or afternoon. I’ve lost track.”

“Just past noon,” Jasmine said.

“Oh, hey, Rasha!” Tallie said cheerfully. Both of them were just finishing off their lunches. “Welcome back to the land of the living. I dunno about you, but I’m gonna be a log tonight. A few hours of beauty rest just does not cut it.”

He gave her a smile before glancing down at the other end of the table. “What’s all this?”

“That’s Lore,” Jasmine replied, spearing a forkful of potatoes.

“Um. What’s lore?”

“Him.” Tallie pointed with her spoon. “Lore. That’s his tag; he’s a priest. This being an actual cult, there actually are priests, believe it or not! And he’s pretty much the top-ranking one, except for maybe the Bishop. He’s also the resident expert on Eserite philosophy, and the guy who’ll be teaching it to us. You pay attention to him; you don’t get tagged into the Guild proper until he says you’re fit for it.”

“Hm.” Rasha paused to tuck into his meal. It was just like the night before: bland, but filling. He was already getting nostalgic for the spicy food back home. His sister Amrit made the best curry… “Does anyone else think this is a weird system?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said emphatically, drawing a grin from him against his will.

“Weird how?” Tallie asked.

“Well, it’s…” He shrugged. “There’s no teachers. Apprentices just do whatever, and… Of the people who seem to be dedicated to looking after us, it’s just these two, right? Lore and Style?” He raised his eyebrows. “The chief enforcer and the chief priest?”

“Who told you Style was chief enforcer?” Tallie asked, frowning. “Last night you didn’t even know who she was.”

“Darius loves to talk.”

“Oh. Yeah, he does.” She grinned, spooning up the last of her carrots. “Almost as much as me.”

“Rasha has a point, though,” Jasmine mused. “These are basically top people in the guild. Apprentices are kind of…at the bottom. Seems odd that they’re the only ones who have a dedicated responsibility for us.”

“All systems are corrupt!” Tallie said cheerfully around a mouthful, prompting both of them to avert their eyes. “Makes perfect sense to me the Eserites’d have a pretty unique system. Eh?”

Rasha coughed, forking up another bite of potatoes. “So, um, anyway. After lunch. What do we…do?”

“Whatever we like,” Jasmine said quietly. “No one tries to organize your activities. But we’re expected to be consistently working toward improving our skills, trying to either get a sponsor or go straight for full Guild membership. Style pulls people aside for a talk if she thinks they aren’t working hard enough.”

“Like I say, good system,” Tallie opined. “The Guild doesn’t need people who stand around waiting to be told what to do. You gotta be a self-starter, have your own motivation!”

“I’m kind of amazed how Style knows what everyone’s up to,” Jasmine murmured. “I only actually see her once in a while, mostly just passing through if she’s not grabbing somebody for one of her little talks. But she does seem to have her thumb on everyone’s pulse.”

“Okay, then.” Rasha drew in a deep breath, let it out, and had a sip of tea. “Training. How’s that work?”

“Well, you wanna learn something, you get somebody to teach you,” Tallie said, again gesticulating with her silverware. “Anybody, really. You can learn from the other apprentices—most sponsored ones don’t live here in the Guild, but they come for training themselves, and the ones with seniority are the closest thing to dedicated teachers. Just cos they don’t have enough status to be turning up their noses at a fellow apprentice who asks for help.”

“Just because their sponsors would land on them if they did that,” Jasmine added. “Isn’t that more or less what happened to Pick?”

“He was doing a little worse than that, but yeah, basically,” Tallie agreed. “Point is, Rasha, you’ve gotta be mindful of reputation and credibility. How much you have, and how much others have. Makes a difference who you can approach and how seriously they have to take you, or who’s likely to approach you, either to give or to ask for help.”

“Ugh.” He rubbed his forehead. “So if you’re not the most social person, this is basically a nightmare.”

“Basically,” Jasmine said dourly.

“Oh, don’t listen to her,” Tallie snorted, pointing accusingly at Jasmine. “This one’s definitely not a people person, but she does okay. A good start is to head out into the pit and demonstrate what you’ve got! Try stuff out, do what other people are doing. It draws attention; people will admire what you do right, and correct you where you’re wrong.”

“That’s true,” Jasmine acknowledged. “I’m not much of a social person, but so far I seem to get by on work ethic. Haven’t really had any proper training except from a couple of the senior sponsored apprentices.”

“Flora and Fauna,” Tallie added, nodding. “The Bishop’s. You’ll like them, Rash.”

“It’s Rasha,” he emphasized.

“Uh, yeah.” She winced. “In hindsight, I can see why it would be.”

“So,” he murmured, toying with a forkful of potato. “Just go out there and…do things. All right.”

“Finish your meal first,” Jasmine advised.

“Oh, believe me,” he assured her, “that wasn’t in question.”

What he could do…

Looking around the pit, where apprentices were working at dummies, sparring, climbing walls, and doing several things whose purpose he couldn’t guess, Rasha felt another moment of profound helplessness. What could he do that would impress anyone here?

Then his eyes fell on the balance bars. They were clearly designed for climbing, being built up in an asymmetrical, complex formation that rose over three yards high, made of smooth-sanded wood darkened by countless hands and joined together with metal fastenings.

He was making his way toward them before he could talk himself out of it again. Somewhat to his surprise, Tallie and Jasmine followed along. It was mildly encouraging that they didn’t have much more idea what to do than he; with them being his primary source of information, he tended to forget they had only been around a few days, themselves.

“Thieves need to climb,” he said, a smile breaking unbidden across his features.

“Well, yes,” Jasmine said behind him. “I suppose that’s—whoah!”

It wasn’t like rigging. The texture, the arrangement, the inflexibility of the bars… But it was grasping, swinging, pulling, knowing the weight of his body, feeling the inertia and gravity as he swam through them. Rasha hopped upward once to grab the lowest bar, and in seconds had bounded nimbly up through the whole arrangement to perch smugly atop it.

He had to grin in sudden pride when his performance was rewarded by cheers and wolf whistles from others about the room. They quickly returned to their own business—these folks had surely seen a lot of more impressive things—but for a few moments, he was the center of attention…and approbation. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Rasha decided on the spot he needed more of it.

“Hey, not bad!” Tallie called, grinning up at him. “Not bad at all. Lemme have a go!”

Twenty seconds later, she was beside him. Her technique for climbing was very different than his; she swung her body in wide arcs, with graceful flourishes of whatever limb was not currently needed to hold herself in place. It was an inefficient method, but an undeniably beautiful one, and Rasha found himself curious where she’d learned to climb.

He was also uncomfortably aware of how her performance accentuated the long lines of her body.

“Impressive!” he said, hoping his skin was dark enough to hide his blush. His sisters were never fooled, but people of Stalweiss stock, he’d found, often couldn’t spot faint changes in coloration, not when their own faces turned bright pink at the slightest thing. “That’s…wow, I’ve never seen anyone climb like that.”

“Why, thank you,” she said, batting her eyes and simpering.

Rasha cleared his throat. “Um, well. I suppose there’s no mystery about me; just a wharf rat, used to scaling the rigging. I was dancing on ropes before I could walk.”

“Circus rat, here!” she said cheerfully, hopping upward and throwing herself into a somersault. She landed with one hand grasping the bar on which they both sat, and slowly straightened her body out above them, free arm and legs all pointing in different directions, balancing on her palm. “The point is not to get anywhere in a hurry, but to look good while you’re getting!”

“Mission accomplished,” he mumbled.

Tallie turned her head to grin and wink at him upside-down, and he had to drop his own gaze.

“There she is!”

He craned his neck to look below, where a slim blonde woman dressed in black was striding across the pit floor toward Jasmine, grinning.

“Oh!” Tallie swiftly re-folded herself to sit beside him on the top bar. “That’s Grip!”

“Grip… Oh, Randy’s master?”

“Ex-sponsor, yeah. She is not somebody you wanna cross.” She nudged him with an elbow, grinning eagerly at the scene below, where the senior thief had cornered and engaged Jasmine in conversation. “You’ll wanna watch this. Grip was around two days ago, Jas’s first appearance here. She got baited into sparring with one of the other apprentices.” Her grin grew hugely. “Flattened him. Just completely demolished, and didn’t even get bruised. I swear her hair wasn’t mussed. Yeah, Grip’s an enforcer; she saw that, and I had a feeling she’d be back to see some more.”

“I see,” he mused.

Tallie gave him an irritated glance. “What, that’s it? You’re supposed to express disbelief. How can a little slip of a thing like Jasmine be so dangerous?”

“It actually is really surprising,” he agreed, “but this isn’t when I’m learning of it. You remember last night, when we were all literally blind and it still took three Silver Legionnaires to pin her down?”

“Oh,” she said sullenly. “Yeah, I guess so. Fair enough.”

The conversation below had progressed while they were talking, culminating in Grip turning to the other nearby apprentices and asking for volunteers, while Jasmine stood aside, looking uncomfortable.

“Oh, all right,” Darius said, pushing forward through the crowd and trying for a show of reluctance, which was ruined by his broad grin. “I guess I can have a go. But just promise you won’t cry, Jas. I hate to see a pretty lady all mussed.”

Instantly, Jasmine’s posture shifted, reluctance and uncertainty vanishing as she turned to face him.

“All right,” she said quietly. “I promise.”

“He’s not very bright, is he?” Rasha whispered.

“No,” Tallie replied, grinning insanely. “No, he is not.”

“Ah, there they are,” Principia said as Casey and Farah entered the cabin. “Finally. Front and center, ladies, we’re waiting on you.” Indeed, the rest of the squad were clustered around the arcane heater at the end in which they slept, all but Principia herself sitting on their bunks. “We’ve got new marching orders straight from the High Commander. This is the big one, girls: an actual mission, something important to the Sisterhood’s interests, and a chance for us to prove our worth. We will not mess this up. I hope you enjoyed your last hour of normal duty shifts in a while, because once I’ve briefed you, we are off to the races.”

“Um, before that,” Farah said nervously. “We have something to report.”

Beside her, Casey sighed, looking resigned.

“Well?” Principia said impatiently. “Out with it, then.”

“It’s, um…” Farah shuffled her booted feet. “Well, Sarge, you remember the mystery of the jackass cadet who kept signing out prayer rooms under the name I. P. Standing?”

“Oh, no,” Nandi whispered.

Principia glanced at her, then fixed her stare back on Farah. “Vaguely, sure. What of it?”

“Well,” Farah said, “the good news is, today we caught her red-handed.” Casey edged subtly away from her.

“And the bad news?” Principia demanded.

Farah cringed, hunching her shoulders as if trying to withdraw her head into her breastplate like a turtle. “Colonel Standing would like a word with you, ma’am. At your earliest convenience.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Ephanie’s eyes widened in horror and Nandi closed hers. Then Merry burst out laughing so hard she almost immediately rolled off her bunk.

“You remember telling Farah to be more assertive?” Casey added helpfully. “Well, she’s been working on it.” Farah shot her a filthy look.

“Well, isn’t that the fuckin’ cherry on top,” Principia said sourly. “Thank you so much, Szaravid.”

“Sorry, Sarge,” Farah said miserably.

“Elwick,” the sergeant added, “walk over to Lang, and if she’s still on the floor by the time you get there, stomp on her organs. Everybody else, just…sit down and sort yourselves out. This is important.”

Merry was still grinning half a minute later when they had all assembled and arranged themselves under their sergeant’s now-irritated stare, but even she managed to mostly compose herself. Nandi sat cross-legged on her own top bunk; the others spread out on the bottom ones, waiting expectantly.

“Much as we need more warm bodies around here,” Principia mused, “I do rather like the coziness. After all the shouting and drilling, it’s nice to be a group of people and not the armored golems the bronze demands of us. Needless to say, as always, you are none of you to carry tales of how I do things up the chain of command.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused, most smiling.

“All right, to business.” Principia nodded once. “What we caught last night was the tail end of a bigger and more important operation. Rounding up a handful of Eserite apprentices, in addition to being a completely useless thing to do, was not the point. That raid was prompted by a tip from relatively high in the Guild itself, and its point was to seize the weapons being traded in that warehouse. I didn’t bring any to show you, because they’re to stay locked in the main temple at Commander Rouvad’s orders, but what we found are modified battlestaves of strange design and uncertain purpose. They are capped at both ends with large crystals and incorporate some kind of gold superstructure. When fired, they produce a slightly diffuse beam of yellow light which exerts a mild kinetic force on a target and no other visible effect. It is useless against energy shields. In short, the Legion has apprehended strange weapons that someone in the Thieves Guild felt it was important that we know about. We can’t tell what they are, or what they’re supposed to do, or where they come from.”

She let that sink in for a moment, panning her stare around the squad. “And it is now our job to answer those questions.”

“How?” Merry asked.

“In several ways,” Principia said, beginning to pace up and down. She only had room to make about three steps at a time before having to turn. “First, I’m to examine the devices themselves to figure out their purpose; the High Commander has suspended my weapons research until this is done. Second, this squad is to track the origins of the weapons, and try to learn about their provenance.”

“Once again,” said Merry, “how?”

“I’ve been mulling that,” Principia said seriously. “And I’ll come to it in a moment. First, though, there’s another thing you need to know. What I said about this being an important test of the squad’s mandate is true, but the stakes are higher than that. Commander Rouvad has tasked Bishop Syrinx with the same objectives; she is to pursue the matter through political channels. The Church, the Eserite Bishop, and whatever else she can manage.”

“Holy shit,” Casey breathed. “It’s…a race, then.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Elwick,” Principia said grimly. “In addition to doing our actual jobs, we’ll need to carefully manage our situation relative to Syrinx. Yes, this is a chance to pull ahead and prove ourselves more useful than she, which is a step toward the important goal of validating the Commander’s trust in this squad and making Syrinx herself redundant. However, she is not unaware of our stake in this, and if we start to show her up too badly… Well, you all know how restrained dear Basra is when she feels threatened.”

“She just got back from being punished for that,” Ephanie objected. “Surely she won’t lash out again.”

“She is likely to be more careful right now than she otherwise might, for exactly that reason,” Principia agreed, “but never forget that Basra’s calculations are just that. She had no personal restraint or regard for anyone but herself; only self-interest keeps her in check. This is going to be tricky, ladies.”

“Okay,” Casey said, frowning but slowly nodding. “What’s your plan, then, Sarge?”

“To begin with, leave Syrinx to me,” Principia said firmly. “If she approaches any of you in any way, report to me immediately and in detail. Aside from that, just keep clear of her.”

“Always a good policy,” Merry noted.

The sergeant nodded to her. “With that said, there’s the matter of how to actually begin tracking these weapons. The leads are few and the trail cold, ladies; this isn’t going to be an easy job. Maybe not a possible one. But we’re going to do what we can, using the very thing this squad was formed to foster: our connections with other cults.”

They glanced around at each other in confusion.

“Well,” Farah said doubtfully, “I guess one of Nemitoth’s libraries might be able to help identify the enchantments used on those weapons…”

“Yes, true, but that’s not what I meant,” said Principia. “I’m referring to the connections we have formed as a squad.”

“That pretty much is just Bishop Darling, isn’t it?” said Merry.

Principia grinned. “Think more recently. Very recently.”

“Oh, no,” Merry groaned.

“Oh, yes, Lang. We’re going to split into two teams for phase one of this. The first group will consist of Shahai, Elwick, and Szaravid. You will locate those Guild apprentices we met last night, cultivate friendships, and get them to tell you whatever it is they know. Do not treat them as a disposable information source, either. Useless as apprentices are, they won’t be apprentices forever. Not everyone who applies to the Guild makes it all the way—not even most. But we won’t waste a potential connection.”

“Why us, though?” Casey objected. “I mean, all due respect, Sarge, but wouldn’t you be a better choice to deal with the Guild?”

“I do have the knowledge and experience, this is true,” Principia agreed. “And for exactly that reason, I’ll be coaching you on what to say, what to do, and how to proceed. Carefully. But by the same token, I have my own reputation among the Guild, and my presence would be…complicating. Trust me when I say it’s best I remain at a circumspect distance from them for now. But I chose you three by process of elimination. Avelea radiates discipline and dignity even when out of uniform; among Eserites, that’s tantamount to tattooing ‘kick me’ on you forehead. And Lang…” She turned a critical look on Merry, who grinned puckishly. “Honestly, Lang, I could see you either making the best of friends with Eserites, or the worst of enemies, depending on how the conversation went. I’m reluctant to flip that coin when either heads or tails could end with you getting shanked.”

“Your concern for my welfare touches me, Sarge.”

“Yes, yes. Passive-aggressive jab at my leadership, obligatory rejoinder about my boots touching you, and we move on. We three, Lang, Avelea, and I, are going to pursue the other lead we’ve gained lately.” She grinned. “It’s a weak one, but he was on the scene—and given what we’re looking into, building a tie to the Salyrites will be all kind of useful. So while you guys are dancing with thieves, we’re going to look up our new friend Mr. Schwartz.”

“Question.” Farah raised a hand. “Don’t all of these people…um, sort of hate us right now?”

“I thought Schwartz seemed pretty mild-mannered,” Ephanie commented.

“Yes,” Farah said dryly, “but you don’t have to deal with the Eserites.”

“Well, I think you overestimate the level of hostility we’ll meet, Szaravid,” said Principia. “Hate is a very strong word. But yes, there may be some ill feeling. In that case, you will simply have to employ charm and persuasion.”

“And,” Farah said hesitantly, “what if I don’t…have charm and persuasion?”

“Then,” Principia said, “I guess you’re back to being assertive, aren’t you?”

Merry let out a long sigh and leaned back against the frame of her bunk. “Oh, yeah. This is gonna work.”

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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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