Self-Made Scoundrel (33 page)

The Two Fisted was busier than Derk thought it would be and he quickly ordered a beer, the barkeep narrowing his eyes, and then nodding as he recognized him. Derk raised his glass and smiled, feeling his tools pinch and press against the skin of his arm. “I never did come by for lunch,” Derk said.

“Maybe some other time, Lurk,” the keep said. “They’ve got some in the back if you wanted to try it.”

“I’ll probably do that,” Derk said, taking another sip of his drink. Someone else called the tender over and Derk took the opportunity to finish his beer and walk out the door, presumably to the fight. He guessed there was a staircase in the kitchen leading to the basement. For now, he would go down the street for three blocks, a left, then another left to the store. After it was done he would come back. Usually there would be a few matches so he wouldn’t miss the main event if he was quick.

Derk felt his heart race as he walked casually through the streets, ignoring the other people, ignoring the lamps being lit on the corners. He could smell the oil burning but kept his eyes on the dark corners of the street, trying to make out what was in the shadows. The nasal invitation of a woman with bells at her bosom drew a shake of his head so as not to seem out of place, but he pushed her and the rest of those on the streets away from him, ignoring them as he walked. Solitude pushed against him and he recalled the tools under his shirt sleeve and the dagger laying against his skin, warm.

The dyer’s lay ahead, the lamplight illuminating the street but still he kept his eyes averted from the bright lights. It was called ‘Red Rabbit,’ a red rabbit fur hanging down from the name board. Beside it was a fiber store specializing in thread for embroidery. He knew more about embroidery than he cared to, thanks to Gam. Gam would like a bit of dye. Derk wasn’t doing this just for himself, or even just for the recognition from the Cup. He would get something for Gam, and once he sold everything, something for Sindra. For all her dislike of his stealing, the priestess did like beautiful things.

These stores closed earlier than the others since most people did their daily shopping before evening meal, so the streets were emptier. The residences in this part of the town numbered less and were nice, with some shop owners living above their establishments. The embroidery shop owner lived above her shop, but the dyer didn’t. The space above the store was used to dry and prepare some of the rawer materials they received. The money was probably kept there as well.

Derk walked behind the building, looking around and listening for voices or animals. It was quiet and empty and dark, the lamplight having no effect back here. Derk stared up at the side of the building, looking around once more before he walked over, putting his weight on a crate to test it before climbing up onto it. He pulled his knife out, feeling his shirt pull out of his pants. He listened for a breath and then wedged his knife in the space between where the windows were latched closed. The hook lifted after a quick flick of his wrist, freeing the two sides from each other. The windows swung outward so he pulled them toward him, stowing his dagger in the back of his pants before he placed both arms in the window, trying to swing himself in without waving his legs around too much or losing his bearings. Below the window the floor seemed low and there was a table littered with plenty of things which could fall and break if he wasn’t careful.

He fell back onto the crate, careful not to make too much noise and listening again for another soul. A cat mewed off in the distance but Derk heard nothing else. Leaping up, he caught the ledge above the window where it had been set into the wall, getting a foot on the bottom of the sill and quickly maneuvering hand and weight so that he was perched in the window, like a dark bird with a yellow crown. He peered down at the table and slid down onto it from the window, testing its sturdiness before he put his entire weight on it, turning and closing the windows behind him.

The lamplight from outside poured through small windows close to the ceiling but the backroom was dark. He saw the staircase leading up to the airing room. Derk hopped down onto the stone floor, looking around at what was in the backroom out of habit more than out of interest. Packages of herbs and substances were stacked on another table, unlabeled, herbal and animalistic scents faint in the air.

He slid the lock picks from where they were strapped around his bicep, crouching down. A lock had been built into the floor and he saw the outline of the door, the metal ring used to pull it up. The floor creaked. Derk wondered why they just didn’t keep the pricier dyes upstairs. He yawned as he eased two picks into the keyhole. He felt almost disappointed as it clicked open easily, yielding to his gentle prodding. A grin crossed his face as he replaced the tools and opened the safe in the floor.

A few off-white packets were stacked in the hole in the ground. If everything was pulled out, the edge would have gone a bit past his ankles, if that. Derk picked them up and noticed words written on the packets, wondering what they said. Pulling a few out, he ventured into the front room, knowing the shuttered street level windows kept him from detection.

“Dried bog snake venom. Rockcrawl blossom, dried under the 3rd full moon. Marrowroot seed, grated.” No need to be picky. Derk tucked all of them away. He then looked behind the counter for a glass of fixer. It would make the colors brighter, though it itself didn’t lend any color to garments. He could cut the first three with more common and easily acquired items to make a good product at a good cost. It was stolen, so it was all profit but he could make more if he ‘had’ more. Gam would get the unadulterated stuff though, he would be sure of it.

A glint of metal caught Derk’s eye. He crept over and investigated, almost groaning out loud when he saw what it was. A key, probably for the trapdoor. Derk sighed. If he ever had a store it would be the least easy thing to break into, he told himself, pulling the key off the nail and going to close it. Before he could do it, he thought of the envelopes in the backroom, going back to retrieve several to carry out the newest part of his plan.

Derk set the key on the table and lifted their folds, bringing the envelopes to his nose. He opened the ones he had taken, already labeled. If it was brighter back here he could be clever and just take unlabeled stock. But the pen was right there…carefully he wrote the labels from the three stolen envelopes onto three of the ones from the backroom. After blowing on them to dry the ink he set them in the safe and closed it. His handwriting was nicer than whoever labeled the envelopes. He locked the safe before returning the key to the nail, pulling the bag he had tucked into his belt and stowing the fixer and three packets in there, securing it to himself. Now the number of envelopes in the safe matched what was there before. The man who ran the store might be more likely to think it was a mix up between his workers than a theft if things were mislabeled. Why not confuse them a bit?

Now to get out. The table under the window was not very stable. It moved when he put his weight to one side or the other, risking knocking things off. Even if he could steady it, he might kick something off which wasn’t his goal. And when he got up into the window there would be getting down. He would have to get out quickly and quietly.

The front room had a side window with a heavier latch, but the alley it opened into was dark. And he wouldn’t have to jump down from anything. Derk walked into the front room, opening the shutters and peering out into the street, listening. He then quickly opened the window and stepped over the sill, careful not to catch his pants on the apron. He then quickly reached in and pulled the shutters closed, his fingers wedged into the slats to fix them in place. The window panels were next, and he took the extra step of wiggling his fingers in and latching the hook so it would look as if no one had opened them.

Derk inhaled through his nose and blew out through his mouth, the Goddess Bead warm against his wrist. He brought the bracelet up and kissed the image, exiting the alley quickly but cautiously. If anyone saw him sneaking out it could raise suspicion but he wanted to get away as quickly as he could. A few street cleaners were out picking up debris, putting it into barrels. They didn’t seem to notice him so he walked down the street, back the way he came, his heart racing not with anticipation but excitement. He imagined the praise from Hock. Drink’s smirk of approval. Old Gam’s underhanded admiration. Jezlen’s indifference. And Sindra. How did she fit in? He wanted her. What was she to him? Next time he saw her he would get it sorted. Once he was in the Cup.

The streets grew busier the closer he got to the Two Fisted, the music he heard in the distance growing closer. Derk didn’t bother going into the front door but swung around to the back, making sure the dyes and fixer were secured. The back window was open, a bald man with a huge cleaver hacking at a bird carcass. “I heard you had some of midday meal still? Custard and greens?”

“You’re a bit late,” the big man said. The man’s arms suggested he did a bit more than hack at dead animals and he was missing a few teeth on the bottom. Derk fought the urge to take a step back and leaned over the back door.

“I’ve got money to pay,” he said. The cook smiled and walked over, opening the door and letting him in. Behind the pantry was a staircase, the sound of shouts and cheers coming through the hole. The big man looked Derk over, wiping his hands on his apron.

“I think someone is down there looking for you,” the big man said. “Forester type. You know a Forester?”

Derk’s brows furrowed. Jezlen? He wasn’t supposed to meet Jezlen till the next town. “I know of one,” Derk lied, just in case. “What’s he look like?”

“Like a hem chawing Forester, you know,” the big man guffawed. “Keep your eyes open. You going in or what?” He looked into the pantry and gestured. “I’ve got food to cook.”

Derk nodded and walked past the potatoes, beans and barley, stepping down the ladder into the lower room. The room was packed, barrels and ropes keeping the audience back from the fighting ring, a circle drawn on the floor in white powder. It was hot and it smelled like sweat and alcohol, a hint of blood tinging the stuffy air. The sound of every smack and punch and grunt was followed by the shouted commentary of the audience, pushing and jostling to get a better look. Derk tied his belt tighter and waved to the man behind the table.

“Lurk, I put a bet this morning on Sunny’s boy, one lunar.” The man looked over a ledger, a small knife used as a pointer.

“Just in time,” the old man said. “This fight’s almost over if you can’t tell.” A shout rang up, louder than before and Derk wondered how no one upstairs heard them, even with the band playing. Derk nodded and looked over the crowd, trying to figure out the best way to get to the front. In one corner of the room he could see Sunny’s boy, hair cut close to the scalp and skin shining with oil. Sunny stood to the side, towheaded and melancholy.

Derk pushed through the crowd, wondering where Jezlen was, if he was still around. At the same time he scanned the crowd for the other fighter and a good spot to watch the fight. A chorus of screams, curses and laughs went up as one of the fighters stumbled and fell.. Hands flew into the air and a man pushed into the middle to see if the man could keep going. People stomped the floor so loud Derk thought it’d make the ceiling fall in. In another corner he saw the boy kicked out of the military academy. His hair was a bit too long for a fight but his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. He looked angry. Very angry.

Across the ring Derk saw the dark face of Jezlen. They saw each other at the same time, the Forester’s eyes growing wide and his face dropping as their eyes met. Derk waved. He expected Jezlen to make a face and wave him over but to his surprise his friend just ducked his head and started pushing through the crowd. Derk started to make his way in his direction, finally walking around the push of people, waving as he saw the elf pop out of the crowd.

A shout dampened the words Jezlen called and Derk walked up to him, patting his own belt to make sure his belongings were all still there. If he hadn’t been so intent on finding Jezlen, a few more items might have made their way into his possession. But the look on Jezlen’s face drew Derk close “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Sindra-” Jezlen started but a scream from the crowd said the fight was over, the clang of a bell and a shout announcing the winner. Derk didn’t care. Jezlen put his arm on Derk’s back, turning them both away from the crowd.

“What about her?” Derk said.

“I went by her temple on my way up from the South,” Jezlen shouted. “To see her. She is dead.”

Derk pulled away from Jezlen. What? He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room along with the sound. “What?” he said, too quietly. “What?” Maybe he had misheard. The room was noisy. People were starting to push past him, bumping him. “Jez-”

“She is dead,” Jezlen said putting his mouth close to Derk’s ear. “I had to tell you.”

“What? HOW?” Derk grabbed Jezlen by the collar of his shirt. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach but he was still standing somehow. He needed to know. “HOW?”

“Let go of me!” Jezlen shouted, putting his hands on his chest. Someone saw the two of them and shouted in approval, a crowd starting to form around them. “Stop, people are staring!”

“If this is a joke-” Derk started.

“Why would I joke about this?!” Jezlen screamed.

“Punch him in the face!” someone suggested, drawing laughs and more shouts from the crowd. It knocked Derk out of his stupor and he let go of Jezlen, drawing boos and jeers from the crowd. He loosened his grip on his friend and Jezlen dropped his hands from him.

“Just a misunderstanding!” Derk said, draping an arm around Jezlen’s shoulders. “Just a matter of money!” he said, laughing it off. He could feel Jezlen tighten under his hold, the Forester not a fan of being touched. To appease the crowd and anger Jezlen more he reached over and ruffled his hair, waving till the crowd turned their attention back to the ring, leaving the pair of men to themselves.