“Your terms are more than fair, lad. I was always more of a lover than a fighter, anyway. Please know I had to try.”
While Raith sincerely doubted this man’s predilection as a lover, at least he did as instructed. He obediently took a seat while leaking profusely from his eyes and nose, allowing arms and legs to be firmly secured with a length of rope from the drapes.
When Raith was satisfied the man was sufficiently bound, he poured a few drops of healing potion on the injured foot. Not enough to heal it completely, but it stopped the bleeding.
The thief winced as the pain of the wound was revisited in reverse, flesh and muscle wrenching back together. After a moment, the pained tension left his broad, scarred face. He leaned back into the chair and looked thoughtfully at Raith.
“Healing potions don’t come cheap. Not sure I would have done the same for you, were our roles reversed.”
“Then lucky for me, they’re not. I’m going to find something to wipe off this damnable powder.”
He thought about grabbing the bedding, but immediately reconsidered.
I don’t want whatever is on those sheets on my face. The clothes in the dresser are probably well laundered.
“I played Quick for the Butcher’s District back in my day.” The thief offered conversationally from behind him.
Raith turned from the dresser with a couple of shirts he’d dug out. Incredulity must have been obvious even through his teary, bloodshot eyes, because the man glanced down at the paunch on his midsection.
“I didn’t always have this belly, I’ll have you know. It’s easy to let exercise fall by the wayside when you have a few good [Skills] to lean on. You’ll find out when you're my age.”
A bottle of clear liquid sat on the bedside table. Raith grabbed it and was just about to splash some on his face before noticing the smell of liquor.
Locating another pitcher at the bar in the sitting area, he double then triple checked it was actually water before washing off as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but would do until he could get to a bath. He then went over to tend to the thief.
“It’s an honorable thing you're doing, cleaning me off like this. Don’t often see that these days. What’s your name, lad?”
He already knows what district I live in and that I play net for their skirmisher team. If he really wants my name, he won’t have to work hard for it.
“Raith, sir.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Raith. You can stop with the ‘sir’ nonsense. I’m no knight. Call me Willoughby. Also known as Willoughby the Sneak. Or, less frequently, Willoughby the Grim.”
“I’m going to go find my book, Mr. Willoughby. Before I leave the house, I will come back here and set you loose. You can steal whatever you’d like after I’m gone.”
“I shall patiently await your return, young Raith.”
A deep red carpet lined the center of the hallway outside of the bedroom. It stretched in both directions, with dark wooden walls and blandly pleasant paintings throughout. At each end was a set of stairs going down to the first floor. He listened carefully in case someone had slipped back into the house, but there was only silence.
He began with the room on his left, finding the door unlocked. An ornate wooden desk dominated the center, its surface a mess of loose paper and inkstains. A bookshelf adorned an entire wall and Raith was excited at the chance he had lucked out with the first room he came to.
The myriad books proved to be accounting ledgers. The few that were not contained instructions on how to properly keep accounting ledgers. The papers on the desk were missives to merchants and nobles regarding business transactions. They might have been of some value for espionage or blackmail, but the last thing in the world Raith wanted was to involve himself in someone else’s schemes. The entire reason for this venture was to achieve the freedom of an adventurer and avoid exactly such entanglements.
He found a wall safe hidden behind a painting opposite the bookshelf, but it appeared too small to hold any books inside so he left it alone. He exited the room, not at all disappointed to leave the careful reading of A Comparative Guide to Dwarven and Cyclopian Smithing Valuations for another day.
The next several doors proved to be children’s bedrooms. As he worked his way back, the room directly across from his starting point gave him a hopeful flutter in his chest.
The decorations were subtly feminine. A fine painting depicted both Weavers at their Loom, spinning the Tapestry of the world. On the dresser sat a gnomish clock, clicking and whirring its precise accounting of each passing moment. Raith wondered how anyone could sleep with such a racket.
A functional and well used desk sat near the fireplace. It was a picture of tidiness and organization in contrast to the one in the study. On the wall behind the desk was another bookshelf, but this one contained books on history and geography in several different languages. A section in the center of the bookshelf was protected by a framed glass case. These looked much, much older than the ones outside the case, and were primarily on braiding class and skill patterns. Right there on the bottom left was the book he sought.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Yes!
He grabbed the handle to open the door, but it was locked.
Shit!
A quick search of the desk and bedside tables did not produce a key. It would still be another 30 minutes before he could use [Distinguished Guest] again. Pulling out his lockpicks, it only took a few moments to realize this was a really good lock. He might get it open if he had all day, but the house wasn’t likely to stay empty much longer. If he’d spent more time practicing instead of relying on a skill he wouldn't be in this mess.
Shit, shit, shit. Maybe I can convince Willoughby to help.
Running back across the hall, his heart fell into his stomach to find the chair empty, surrounded by a scattering of loose rope.
“You’re looking a bit frayed, if you don’t mind me saying. Did you find that book of yours?”
Raith jumped and turned to see Willoughby near the bed. He had pulled a large lockbox from underneath the bed and was sorting through its contents. Most of it was tossed casually onto the floor, with an occasional item making its way into the loot bag.
“Would you please unlock a bookcase for me?”
“Sounds like you have quite the dilemma, lad. What’s in it for me?”
Raith thought for a moment.
“I found a hidden safe. I will show you where it is if you open the bookcase.”
“Fair enough. Show me the way to this very important book.”
They hurried back across the hall. Raith gestured at the locked case, stepping aside to make room for Willoughby.
“Is it trapped?” The thief asked without touching the surface of the case.
“I have no idea. I don’t really know anything about traps.”
“Well, if this is the sort of thing you do for fun, it would behoove you to become acquainted with them.”
The thief pulled out a palm-sized crystal and peered through it at the case.
“Not trapped.” The thief placed his ear near the case and tapped it in several spots before examining the lock. “Did you try to break the glass?”
“I didn’t think of it. I was hoping to have the visit undetected.”
“Let me assure you, this visit will be detected. But it doesn’t matter anyway.” He rapped the glass soundly, startling Raith. “Glass-steel. It’s just steel, really. Only it’'s been enchanted so you can see through it. Can you imagine a knight prancing about in armor made of this?”
Willoughby laughed loudly at his own joke while producing a set of lockpicks far more sophisticated than the simple set Raith’s. He carefully selected one of the jagged metal bars and an L-shaped piece. Within two seconds of inserting them, the lock clicked open.
“A simple task. Now, show me the location of this safe.”
Raith quickly sidled forward and opened the case, reverently taking out the book he sought. Ancient Patterns: An Inquiry Into Braids Lost to Time, by Theranel Moonspring.
“You read Elvish?” Willoughby asked, peering at the book over his shoulder.
Nodding, Raith carefully opened the first page. It depicted a beautifully detailed map of the continent centuries before the kingdoms of men. The mountains and the god towers the only features unchanged. He admired the artistic cartography for a moment before turning the page.
“I don’t wish to stand here whilst you read an entire book. Where’s this safe at?”
“Please, I’ll only be a minute.”
Willoughby open his mouth to protest, but Raith activated his skill.
[Life in Staccato]
As the world went on hold, Raith had all the time he required to read the open pages before him. He dropped the skill only long enough to quickly turn the page and immediately reactivate it.
With each momentary resumption of time, less than a syllable of whatever Willoughby was trying to say reached Raith’s ears. It was far too disjointed between the long minutes of reading to make out the words, so he ignored them.
Nearly two-thirds of the way through the book, he found the relevant passage:
“If the words of a vile cyclops might be trusted, Galath Stone-eye’s Lexicon of Exalted Patterns details the pattern of an extremely rare Amethyst level Scholar [Skill] which provides a type of mental library. Fortunately, the esteemed gnome Ezra Wisehook further remarked on this pattern, stating she had observed its use….”
Raith dropped his skill in order to get the full gratification of cursing out loud.
“Fuck!”
Elves used a gemstone system to describe the braid levels, and Amethyst referred to the first braid. The book was definitely talking about the right pattern. It just wasn’t there.
“So you’re a [Speed Reader], eh? Some sort of scholar class to add spice to the rogue.”
“Something like that.”
He wasn’t about to tell this stranger he was godlaced with a [Divine Skill]. If anyone outside his family found out about that, he was doomed.
“Scholar, Rogue, Warrior, then? They say hybrids are all the rage with kids now. Not back in my day. Specialization was the thing. A man wanted to succeed, he needed at least two classes of the same sort to really max things out.” He thrust his chin in the air and popped the collar on his drab tunic. “I’m all [Rogue] myself. As you could see during our unfortunate trouble back there, there are some downsides in a tussle. But it’s served me well enough.”
Unlike most people with the education and resources to do so, Raith had not really planned his class and braid advancement with a specific goal. He’d impulsively chosen each class for entirely different reasons and was trying to make the best of it.
“Hybrids like me, with three different classes, still aren’t very popular. Two of the same and then a third different one is what most people do.”
The thief nodded sagely.
“There’s a problem with your book, then?”
“I thought it would have the pattern I need to braid. Instead, it’s just pointing me to another book.”
Willoughby placed a hand over his heart and cast his eyes downwards.
“You have my deepest sympathies. Now about that safe.” The last part had a slightly warning tone.
“Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Raith led the way back down the hallway and into the study. He stepped up to the painting and pulled it aside, gesturing dramatically at the hidden safe.
“Your hidden safe is behind a thrice-damned painting? You got the better part of our little bargain, lad.”
“Sorry, Mr. Willoughby. If that will be all, please excuse me. I intend to check out the other books in that case and be on my way.”
“Before you run off, may I propose a solution to your problem?”
“I don’t suppose you know much about ancient tomes?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It sounds like you’re looking for a bit of guidance on the next braid. Like any respectable guild, the Thieves Guild holds the secrets to many patterns of our trade. Were you to join us, I’m certain we can find skills and classes that will suit you.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I intend to join the Adventurer’s Guild. You know the saying ‘We all dance on the strings of gods and kings’? Well, that will not be me. And as an adventurer, I will be free of them all.”
“To chart your own course is a noble goal, worthy of the Weaver’s Gifts. That is precisely why I joined the Thieves Guild. You’re a strange lad, but a decent sort, I think. Keep us in mind if your plan doesn’t work out. Stop by the Drunken Crow in the Butcher’s District and ask for me by name.”
“Thank you again, Mr. Willoughby. Good luck with your thieving.”
Raith nodded and took his leave, not intending to ever see this man again. He knew exactly where he had to go next for the information he required. What he didn’t know was how much it would cost him.
