Raith had been afraid the smell would be the worst part of the prison. To his great relief, cleaning spells were cheap and easy. More importantly, the guards didn’t want to put up with the stench of hundreds of unwashed prisoners and their filth.

  Sitting on a hard stone bench with his head in his hands, he realized instead that the worst part of the prison was the inescapable and constant sound of pain. Sobbing, screaming, arguing, and frenetic rants the lunatics narrated only to themselves. An endless aural assault. And he was stuck in a holding cell with the most egregious offenders. The Players of Shan.

  They. Never. Shut. Up.

  “Five more days! How are we to survive in here? What of my family!”

  The one speaking was slim, of medium height, and had somehow managed to keep his neatly trimmed hair and beard in pristine condition throughout his stint here. Every gesture he made came with an extra little flourish. Another man, similarly built but several inches shorter and hair tied back in a long blond ponytail, was a bit more sedate. But not much. It was a blessing only two of them had been incarcerated. He couldn’t imagine what the entire troupe would be like.

  “You don’t have a family, Gerald.”

  “Ah, but my fans are my family. How they must suffer in my absence. No playwright has ever penned a tragedy so desperate. So sublime. We must write this down the moment we are free from this unjust captivity.”

  “What of our fellow players? Are they not your family?”

  Gerard waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course.”

  Raith looked up and made the mistake of meeting the man’s eyes.

  “And you, sir. Such youth and beauty rotting away in this wretched hole. The injustice of it all is almost more than I can bear.”

  “Careful, Gerard. For all we know, he’s in here for murder.”

  The player recoiled and clutched his hands to his chest.

  “Is this true?”

  Raith shook his head vehemently.

  “I’m not a murderer.”

  Gerard relaxed. “I knew it. A face so fair is not capable of such villany. Shame on you, Figbert.”

  Figbert had the decency to look abashed.

  “You have my apologies, sir. Perhaps a proper introduction is in order.” He stood, placing one hand on his hip and stretching the other out before him. “I am Figbert the Magnificent. Player, bard, and lover of great renown.”

  The other man stepped next to him and struck the same pose.

  “And I am Gerard du Napier, the Player Resplendent. Performer to princes and paupers alike. Together we are.”

  They swept into graceful bows and spoke in unison.

  “The Players of Shan.”

  Two dazzling smiles and expectant looks followed. Raith wasn’t sure how to respond. He settled for briefly clapping with a confused half smile plastered across his face.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Gerard said. “A man of refined taste and impeccable character. I knew it from the moment I saw you. Now tell me, uh…”

  “Raith.”

  “Now tell me, Raith. What travesty of justice has imprisoned you with two humble actors such as ourselves?”

  Going into too much detail with these two didn’t seem wise for a number of reasons. Figbert sat back down and they looked at him with wide eyes.

  “I, uh, read a book.”

  Figbert leapt back to his feet.

  “Read a book?! The scandal! The outrage!” He thrust a finger into the air to emphasize his last point.

  Gerard placed the back of his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes.

  “I knew of this city’s corruption, but to see it first hand. Arrested for the crime of knowledge. What has this world become when a scholar cannot pursue his craft?”

  “Actually, I’m an adventurer.” Or would be soon if he didn’t rot in this prison for the next ten years.

  Gerad looked to Raith with eyebrows raised, then swept to the cell door to proclaim his next lines to the empty hallway.

  “Hear me now, oh prisoners of Beckhaven. This besmirchement of our comrade in despair, the famous and valiant scholar-adventurer Raith, shall not go unanswered. So swears…”

  A deep, rough voice from somewhere down the corridor interrupted his tirade.

  “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will cut off your fingers and eat them while you watch.”

  Gerard turned from the door, blinking rapidly.

  “Oh my.” He trudged to his length of stone bench, still fluttering his eyes, and sat down. “I suppose it is time we all get some rest. Wouldn’t you agree, Figbert?”

  “That seems like a splendid idea. Some quiet repose after all this dreadful excitement.”

  By some miracle of the Weavers, there was silence in Raith’s cell for the first time since he arrived. He took a long deep breath, and realized he had never really appreciated how important a quiet moment can be for peace of mind.

  He thought about trying to use [Distinguished Guest] on the cell door, but the prison surely had defenses against it. Besides, what if it worked? There was nowhere to go, and no way to relock the door if, by some miracle, his test was successful. The guards were not likely to be understanding about something like that.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Using [Recall Passage], he read over the pattern for his patterns for the hundredth time. A [Skill] from each class could be upgraded upon braiding, and this one was so much better than he’d expected. [Mnemonic Library]. Even the name was perfect, and he couldn’t wait to stitch it.

  The temptation to do it now was strong, but a random scream from another part of the prison cured him of that idea. Concentrating for that long would be impossible in this place, and he couldn’t afford to mess it up. So he waited. There was nothing to do but sit with his dread and hope that a bit of faerie’s luck might come his way.

  A rucus of pleading cries and creative insults indicated a guard was approaching. Everyone sat up and looked at the door as the sound of footsteps and jangling keys grew closer. The trays from their afternoon meals had been collected, and it was too early for dinner. Figbert and Gerard remained conspicuously silent. Raith suspected a lesson from the guards about being mouthy had been learned early in their stay.

  A grizzled face appeared in front of their cell.

  “Raith Quirric?”

  He raised his hand hesitantly.

  “That’s me.”

  Keys jangled in the lock, and after a metal thunk the door opened.

  “Come with me.”

  Raith didn’t get up.

  “What’s going on, sir?”

  Irritation briefly flitted across the guard’s face before resuming a bored expression.

  “I’ve been tasked with fetching you, inmate. Not answering questions. If you choose not to come, I will close this door, lock it, and you can hope the next guard will feel more chatty.”

  Raith glanced at Gerard and the man made a shooing gesture. Figbert nodded emphatically towards the door.

  “No, sir. I’m coming.” He looked towards his cell mates. “See you in a bit, I suppose.”

  “If you walk free of this horrid place, please tell our troupe that we endure and shall return to them soon.”

  Raith smiled and gave a small bow.

  “I will make special mention of your bravery in such adversity.”

  The two men beamed at this, although he doubted he would have a chance to follow through on his silly gesture.

  Leaving seemed a much shorter journey than getting in. Several people cried out for his help, and he wondered what exactly they thought he could do for them. Raith’s heart soared as they approached the door he’d come in through, but the guard took a right at the end of the corridor and led him several doors down before jangling his mess of keys again.

  Raith shielded his eyes, transitioning from the dim corridor into a small room brightly lit with glow stones. A sturdy wooden table lay between them, a door on the opposing wall. Sitting on the other side of the table was a severe, angular man wearing captain stripes on the lapels of his uniform. On top of the table sat a medium sized burlap bag and a neat stack of paperwork.

  “That will be all, officer.” The captain’s voice sounded as pinched as his face. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the uncomfortable looking chair on Raith’s side of the table.

  His escort closed the door behind him, and the lock clunked in the thick wooden frame. Raith obediently sat and opened his mouth to ask what was going on but was cut off.

  “Before we begin, I would like you to know something. After confiscating your ring, we read your pattern, as we do with all of our inmates.” He made sure Raith was meeting his eyes before continuing. “You are a [Thief]. Not only have you willfully chosen to weave this insidious class, you were caught red-handed, breaking into one of the most esteemed institutions on all of Tela.”

  Raith’s face burned with shame and anger in equal measure. All of his reasons came to the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. He didn’t owe this asshole an explanation for anything. Let him judge.

  “After seventeen years of service to this city, it is my opinion that this,” he gestured to the door behind Raith, “is exactly where you belong. I do not presume to know what motivated High Emissary Venton to drop the charges against you, but I will bet my stripes that we will see you right back in one of those cells sooner or later.” He scribbled a signature onto one of the papers in front of him, then turned it towards Raith along with the quill. “You will need to sign here for your belongings.”

  Raith looked dumbly at the paper, then back at the captain. His mouth worked itself open and closed several times while he processed the information.

  Why would the High Emissary drop the charges? He had never even met the man.

  “You’re setting me free?”

  “Please don’t prolong this with stupid questions. Sign the document. You will find your belongings in the bag. If anything is missing, I have another form here we must fill out.”

  Raith hurriedly scribbled his name on the paper and opened the sack. Inside was his money pouch, rope dart, partial healing potion, small utility dagger and his pattern masking ring.

  “There was a stone, as well.”

  “Ah yes. The wardstone enchanted solely to defeat alarm runes. That has been confiscated as contraband. As have your lockpicks.” The smugness with which he said it seemed a bit unnecessary.

  Raith wasn’t sure how the Thieves Guild would handle that he lost their magical item, and he didn’t want to find out.

  “It wasn’t mine and I need to return it.”

  The captain’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Not yours, you say? In that case, we’ll just return the burglary tool to its rightful thieving owner. Now what is their name so I can write it down?” He picked up the quill and looked at Raith expectantly.

  “Nevermind.”

  Willoughby is going to stab me for this.

  “I thought as much. Now, if nothing is missing there is other company I would prefer to keep.”

  After situating his gear, Raith was led out the door on the other side of the room. The relieved smile of freedom froze. Standing in the corner of the lobby, his parents turned their heads at his entrance. A cloud of anger passed over his mother’s face.

  “A [Thief]?” Everyone in the room turned at her words. The captain smirked as he shut the door and made his exit from the room.

  That dirty son of a harpy.

  They stormed over, and Raith backed up a step.

  “I’ve never stolen anything.”

  “Take off the ring.”

  “Listen, mom…”

  She held out her hand.

  “Off. Now.”

  He took off the pattern masking ring and gave it to her. Reaching into her belt pouch, she pulled out a silver and turquoise Necklace of Pattern Reading and slipped it over her head. She didn’t care for the gaudy piece, but it had been a gift and they were far too expensive to justify buying a new one.

  “So it’s true. Is that why your sister made you this ring?”

  Raith considered rolling Leah under the cart, but quickly dismissed the idea.

  “No. I told her it was to hide my skills for a tactical advantage in skirmishers.”

  He glanced at his dad, who stood with arms crossed and a stern expression.

  “Let me see the necklace.”

  His mother handed it over and his dad put it on, looking a bit ridiculous in the colorful jewelry. This did not seem like a good time to point that out. Dad’s eyes narrowed and then widened as he smiled.

  “You’ve been stitching the physical [Skills] like I taught you. Excellent, son. Nothing beats a reliable passive. That’s really going to pay off when you braid and can upgrade to the enhanced versions. The [Greater Skills] at third braid get really impressive.”

  Raith returned the smile.

  “It was good advice. I only stitched [Exigent Offense] because my weapon is so slow on the draw.”

  His dad looked serious and nodded in agreement.

  “That makes perfect sense. No [Lesser Strength]?”

  “The rope dart relies on momentum and tension, so strength is not a priority.”

  “You’re not wrong, but don’t discount the importance of strength when someone gets in close. It’s not always avoidable. Now don’t forget, you can probably upgrade [Lesser Agility] and [Speed] in your [Thief] class if you need to, but [Strength] and [Endurance] can only be stitched from [Warrior].”

  His mother was watching this back and forth with increasing agitation, and finally had enough.

  “Cyrus!” His mother emphasized the scolding with a firm whack on the shoulder.

  They both had the wisdom to cast their eyes down and looked properly admonished.

  “Sorry, Nala. I mean to say, we’re very disappointed in you, young man.”

  His mother nodded sharply, but then her eyes softened.

  “What if you’d been stuck in here and missed your uncle’s funeral rites tomorrow?”

  Raith’s face fell. With everything else going on, he’d forgotten completely about that. Glancing towards his father, he saw the smile had been replaced by a look of profound sadness.

  “I would feel horrible.” He met both of their eyes in turn. “I do feel horrible. I’m really sorry, guys.”

  “As well you should be. You’re far too old to be punished, although I have half a mind to beat you with a stick.” She handed back the pattern masking ring. “We will talk about this after we get home, and your father and I have had a chance to discuss things.”

  The long walk home was silent and miserable.