Calvin brought the filled venom jar to an apothecary the next morning to commission an antivenom. Jars of animal parts and hangings of herbs lined the walls, filling the place with the smell of a fancy swamp kitchen.

  He put the jar on the counter and summarized the venom’s effects. “I need as many doses of antivenom as possible, all in individual vials for easy administration. Topical application is best, but oral is acceptable.”

  The apothecary was a stooped, elderly woman with cloud-like hair. She lifted the jar with thin, knobbly hands, inspecting the venom skeptically. “And you want this when?”

  “Within the week.”

  She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Impossible. I’d need at least a month to even find a working formula.”

  Calvin poured some gold coins onto the counter, easily double her usual rate. “Will that help you work faster?”

  She eyed the gold, counting greedily. “Perhaps I can cut it down to three weeks.”

  Calvin shook his head. “Make it one week. You get this up front, and I’ll give you the same amount again when you deliver, plus a silver for each dose.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Done.” She scooped up the gold and stuffed it into her pockets.

  Calvin pointed a finger. “Remember: one week. If it’s not done, the deal’s off.”

  She nodded. “It will be my only priority.”

  Calvin nodded and left for the thieves’ den. It was time for him to meet with the interested rogues. He slipped into the bookstore, rapped the rhythm in the corner, and slid through the secret door. Terry ambushed him with a hug before leading him down the stairs.

  “I’m so pumped for this, Chet,” Terry said. “You will let me come, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, come on, Chester. You’ve got to let me come. The other day you were acting as if I should be trying to get in on jobs. Well, let me in on this one.”

  “It’s going to be dangerous, Terry.”

  “Then I can prove my mettle to the guys! They’re excited, too, by the way. Bert actually called the job ‘intriguing.’ Think of that! He’s never intrigued!”

  Three thieves waited at the table downstairs. Bert, cynical and sneaky, sat on the right. On the left was Lloyd, a genius with daggers and the fastest lockpick Calvin had ever met.

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  The one in the center was a halfling with a scar across his left cheek. His name was Finzor Cinderflow. He’d been high in the ranks when Calvin had seen him last. Now, it looked like he’d risen to den leader. He sat on the back of his chair, resting his feet on the table. “Chester Nimblehawk,” he said. “Long time no see. We thought you were dead.”

  “Chester is dead. I’m Calvin now.”

  The corner of Finzor’s mouth curled up. “Fugitive, eh? Consider me impressed. That noble didn’t forgive you, then?”

  “Not yet.”

  Finzor snorted. “So this job is part of that, then? A penance?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Are you even getting paid?”

  Calvin smiled. “I won’t personally get any gold from it, but you will if you join me.”

  Finzor smiled. “At least you still know what matters. Now,” he waved the job notice, “what didn’t you include here? Spill the goods. What exactly is this job?”

  Calvin took a seat and laid out nearly everything he knew about the job. They needed to get in, kill Waska, and get out. The object was to collapse the cult, so killing lesser cultists and finding treasure were secondary. Calvin’s employer would pay them for success whether or not they liberated any Hark’akuy treasure.

  The only thing Calvin kept back was any mention of Tikray. Instead, he let them assume he was employed by the noble who’d captured him all that time ago.

  “I’ve already captured one of their cultists, and he’s close to cracking. Soon, we’ll have the location of the base, the number of guards and such, and Waska’s routines. Planning will be more precise once we have that information, but as it is, we know there will be too many cultists between the entrance and Waska for us to handle with brute force alone. I don’t think pure stealth will suffice, either. We’ll need to mix in some trickery to succeed.”

  Finzor smirked. “Well, if this ‘Calvin’ is anything like the Nimblehawk I knew, you’ve already got some of those tricks up your sleeve. Spill.”

  Calvin grinned. “You might think I’m crazy.”

  “Too late for that. Go on.”

  Calvin laid out his plan. The human thieves gawked at him, and Finzor looked like he was holding back incredulous laughter. Calvin smiled. “Crazier than you expected, eh?”

  “Aye, you got me.” Finzor brushed a tear from one eye. “A plan that insane is the only thing that could make me pass up a job with these figures.” He waved the notice again, which listed the commission for the job at around what Finzor could make in four months. “But if anyone can make it work, it’s Chester Nimblehawk. Have you got what he had, Calvin?”

  “All that and more.”

  “Then I’m in.”

  Finzor’s enthusiasm gave the other two confidence, and they joined as well. “Perfect,” Calvin said. “I’ll be back next week. We’ll have the details ironed out by then.” He turned to leave and came face to face with Terry, his huge eyes pleading.

  “Can I come, too, Chet?”

  Calvin drooped a little. His stomach squirmed. He didn’t want to put Terry in the danger of this job, and he couldn’t afford the sentimentality that having him on the crew would bring. But he couldn’t deny the request without hurting the image he’d put up for the other thieves. They’d think the job was more dangerous than he was letting on, or they’d think excluding Terry was out of character for Chester Nimblehawk.

  “Yes, Terry, you can come.” Calvin pushed past Terry’s beaming face and hoped to Talkus that his emotions wouldn’t get in the way of the job.