This is a terrible idea.
He was going to do it anyway because sitting tight and doing nothing wasn’t really an option. It seemed appropriate to wait for nightfall to strike out.
With revelers already stumbling about, Raith took to the rooftops to move through the city. He easily scaled the side of a nearby dye warehouse, then used [Springheel] to help him to traverse the gaps between each building.
In the heart of the city, roof travel removed the constraint of ubiquitous walls he never noticed until he was free of them. Only the night sky around and a cool summer breeze on his face as he ran and leapt, joyful in the experience of his own athleticism.
He misjudged a particularly long drop and landed hard on the roof of a single story residence. A gruff male voice blasted out an open window in the house below.
“Fani, what was that? Get me my pants and my sword!”
Quickly putting some distance between himself and the wrath of the pantsless swordsman, Raith climbed back to the ground as he approached the canal. It was well lit and busy in the Merchant’s District along the water. Several restaurants were still serving food at outdoor tables, and a lively bard was busking on the walkway. Her cloak was a testament to the huecrafter’s skill, and he paused a moment to watch as the colors danced in time to the music she played.
Bright festivities transitioned back into night as he crossed the bridge to what many considered the wrong side of the canal. The Dyer’s District would have been shunted over here if not for the power of the Huecrafter’s Guild.
Immediately to the other side lay the Foundry, forges still cooling after a long day. There were no restaurants or taverns, and the streets were eerily quiet after leaving the revelers. Depending on their means, smiths did their drinking either back on the other side of the canal, or in the Butcher’s District.
Enchanted lights lined the main roads through the Foundry, keeping it well lit for security. A three guard patrol gave him a hard stare as they passed in opposite directions, but didn’t otherwise bother him. For all the nobles and merchants didn’t want to live near the noise of hammers, they were not ignorant of their substantial value and kept the area well patrolled.
Leather tanners marked the transition into the Butcher’s District, receiving their hides from the butchers and selling finished leather for armorers to craft. Raith heard the penned up animals before he smelled them, and something about the knowledge of their fate pulled his heartstrings.
His father had brought him here when he was little to see how the food made it to his plate. Watching the [Butcher] use a [Skill] to abruptly peel the hide from a cow carcass had given him nightmares for weeks. It took a lot of convincing to assure him that no one could use that [Skill] on a live person.
There were more drains along the street, to better wash away the grisly business of feeding a large city. He soon came through to the populated area of the district and his foreboding evaporated.
Taverns and restaurants lined a well lit street, interspersed with modest houses not too different from his own. Rich smells of woodsmoke and spices from the curing barns replaced the stench of animals and dried blood.
Bone carver shops and candlemakers were closed for the day, but the revelers were out in force. The celebration here was a smaller group of mostly locals, but more rowdy than the Merchant’s District along the canal. A table of seated musicians had a large group dancing outside one restaurant, and a competing tune floated out from a nearby tavern.
He rarely came to this part of the city except for a match, but smiled to notice that the people here seemed less self-conscious. The laughter a bit more free.
He also realized he had no idea where the Drunken Crow was.
“Excuse me,” he said to a woman about his age who was dancing nearby. “Can you tell me where the Drunken Crow is?”
She stopped, her face flushed with motion and alcohol, and gave him a wide smile. For the first time, he noticed she was quite pretty and started to feel embarrassed.
“I’ll tell you for a dance.”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I have a girlfriend.”
“And I’m not offering to lay you, am I? Just a dance.”
She held out a hand and batted her eyes.
Camellia won’t mind. We dance with other people all the time when we go out.
Raith took her hand, and they whisked off for an exhilarating dance amongst the crowd. He wound up dancing with several people, and they all whirled and stepped around the street. When the song ended, he was back across from the girl he began with, smiling and catching their breath.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it now? You’re quite a good dancer.”
“You as well. It was really quite lovely, but I need to meet someone at the Drunken Crow.”
Her smile fell away for the briefest moment before she recovered.
“Of course. We did have a deal, after all. I don’t know what business a graceful fellow like you has in a place like that, but it is clear at the end of Oak Street. Turn left four blocks up and follow it all the way down. Can’t miss it.”
Oak Street was quite a bit narrower and lit only by the light shining out of windows along the lane. Maybe he was being paranoid because he was meeting a thief, but Raith thought it looked like just the sort of road he might get mugged on. Not that he had much worth stealing, but he still felt better taking back to the roofs.
Running free with only the night sky above, [Subversive Reader] let him navigate the unlit district as though it were day. It had been his very first skill, which he wove to hide in bed and read when he was supposed to be sleeping. Now it let him see the curious sight of another figure running across the roofs in the distance.
They were too far away to make out any details, and Raith thought they hadn’t seen him yet. He slipped behind a chimney, counting on [Lesser Stealth] to keep him hidden, but the figure gave him an overhead wave and changed course directly towards him.
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If it hadn’t been for the wave, Raith would have fled. Watching this person move, he quickly realized it wouldn’t have done any good. The way they leapt and ran made Raith look like a drunken toddler. Not an iota of wasted height as they sprung from one building to the next, landing with a roll. Quick and graceful, like a splash of water, then up to do it again.
It looked like they were going to fall well short of a jump, but skipped across the sky like an aerial dancer. They executed a double flip as they joined Raith on his perch, landing without a whisper. Those flips were clearly just to impress. It worked.
How can I move like that? Show me the way!
The man in front of him was wearing expensive looking dark brown leather armor. He was about Raith’s height and build, tall, thin and athletic, but there the similarities ended. He was at least a decade older and, there was no other way to put it, the guy was incredibly handsome. Like a hero of legend from the story books. He stood with an effortless grace and greeted Raith with a smile that betrayed only confidence.
“Hail, fellow roof traveler. Do I know you?”
“No, I’m certain I would remember. I’m Raith.” He stuttered the words and felt foolish.
“Well met, Raith. I am Kieran,” he said with a graceful bow. “Would you perhaps be heading towards the Drunken Crow?”
“I am. How did you know that?”
“It’s the most likely destination for those of our talents. Allow me to treat you to a drink when you arrive. One roof traveler to another.”
Before Raith could reply, the man was off. He dove into the shadow of the chimney next to them and reappeared out of another two buildings over before continuing his graceful roof jumping. Following behind, he felt slow and clumsy.
New goal: learn about Kieran’s patterns.
The Drunken Crow was not at all what he expected. A meeting place for thieves suggested sinister men lurking in shadowy corners. Bloodstained floors and maybe a tense game of cards that threatened to erupt into violence when everyone was caught cheating.
What he found instead was quite normal. It was clean and well lit, with a few quiet tables of friendly conversations. There was a small stage that sat empty, and a sharp-eyed boy of no older than twelve was clearing away empty mugs and replacing them with full ones.
The most unexpected feature was the corvid behind the bar. It hadn’t occurred to him to take the name literally. The feathered folk rarely opted to leave their great rookeries in Ourania to live in the earthbound cities.
Nimble talons topped off a mug of ale and slid it across the bar to the server boy. Raith saw the black feathered wings the emerging from his back were severed at the first joint, ending in scarred stubs.
The boy bustled off to the customers, and Raith’s gaze followed him around the room for a moment. He was disappointed to find no sign of either Kieran or Willoughby. His best bet seemed to be the bartender.
“What can I do for you?” The voice was friendly, but came out in that eerie way corvids have of opening their beaks slightly and speaking clearly without lips.
“I came to speak with a Mr. Willoughby. Do happen to know where I might find him?”
The bartender jerked his head to the side, peering at him with one black eye.
“Seems you missed my meaning, young human. I meant, ‘what can I get you to drink or otherwise purchase from this business establishment’. Not, ‘what charitable services can I offer to every non-paying stranger who comes in off the street’.”
“Sorry. Do you have any wine?”
“Indeed we do. An Erithian white and a red from Celberry.”
He preferred the taste of red, but hated the way they stained his teeth.
“I’ll have the Erithian please.”
A few moments later, the wine sat in front of him in a delicate looking glass.
Must not get a lot of fights in here.
“Now that’s settled, they call me Woeful. What brings you to my humble establishment, young paying customer?”
“Pleasure to meet you, Woeful. I’m Raith, and I was told to meet a Mr. Willoughby here.”
“I have not heard of him. Please describe his appearance?”
“He's bald and, uh, not exactly conventionally handsome by some standards. Scar on his face. Bit of a gut.” It was impossible to read any hint of recognition on the corvid’s feathered face. “Goes by Willoughby the Sneak?”
“Oh, you mean Fat Wil. Just a moment.”
Woeful went over to a closed door that Raith had presumed led to a kitchen or something. A cloud of sweet smelling pipe smoke drifted out when the door was opened, and he could see stairs leading down.
“Wil! There’s someone here to see you.”
“Who is it?”
“Come see for yourself, you ugly fuck.”
Raith flinched at the language. He didn’t care about swearing, but it seemed a bit much for a public venue. No one else paid the slightest attention. A few moments later, a familiar face emerged from the basement. Willoughby's broad face broke into a smile.
“Raith, me lad. I did not expect to see you in here so soon. Or ever, I must admit.” He eased into a seat at the bar. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Woeful placed a mug of ale in front of Wil and politely busied himself cleaning glasses at the other end of the bar.
Now that he was sitting in front of the man, Raith realized he hadn’t thought through how to approach the issue.
I need your help breaking into the Order of the Loom’s library? Yeah, that’s weird.
He paused the world and deliberated for a while, discarding a series of stupid ideas before settling on the least bad option.
“Does the Thieves Guild help its members with jobs?”
“Well, that depends on the member, the job, and what you mean by help, doesn’t it? Members in good standing might receive a modicum of assistance when the situation warrants and the score is big enough to make it worthwhile.”
“How do I join?”
“Ah, now that’s a more straightforward answer. You can buy in or do a job.”
“How much is the buy in?”
“One thousand gold.”
“Knotted gods, one thousand?”
“We prefer to discourage frivolous hangers-on. Was a time when young nobles joined to aggravate their parents, but got cold feet when there was work to be done. All sorts of trouble there, as you might imagine.” He took a sip from his mug and leaned in a bit. Raith could smell the ale and pipe smoke on his breath, and had to make a conscious effort not to lean back away. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about what you need help with, and we can decide from there if joining the guild will be in both our interests.”
He already knows I’m after a book. What’s he going to do, tell the Order?
That seemed extremely unlikely, give this man’s profession. The Thieves Guild and the Order were not known for being aligned in any way. Quite the opposite.
“I found the book I was looking for when we met.” Wil nodded encouragingly. “It’s in the Rare and Priceless section of the Order’s library.”
Willoughby pursed his lips and leaned back, whistling softly.
“Well now, that presents a bit of a problem, doesn’t it? It’s against Guild law to steal from the Order. Angry Templars are bad for business, you see.”
Of course. Why wouldn’t this part be a complete shipwreck, too?
Raith drained the last of his wine and pushed himself away from the bar.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Willoughby. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Wil held up a hand.
“Hold on now, lad. We may still come to an arrangement. Woeful, get my friend here another glass of wine. On me.” He looked at Raith thoughtfully for a moment. “Information about the Order’s security measures comes our way from time to time. Ain’t nothing in the laws about holding on to it. Does that scholar class of yours have a way to memorize what you’ve read?”
People usually like to keep their classes and skills a private matter, but Raith couldn’t see the harm in divulging this one.
“[Recall Passage]. It lets me remember a couple of paragraphs at a time, with a short cooldown.”
“Perfect! It so happens there is a book in that section containing advanced patterns that would be very beneficial to our Guildmaster. The Order is not keen to let us have it, and has proven to be quite good at intercepting scholars we pay to ferret out those secrets.”
Willoughby looked around with mock conspiratorial caution and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.
“So technically, if you’re not a member of the Guild yet. And technically, you’re not actually stealing anything. I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” He gave an exaggerated wink. “You get our help and membership to the finest Guild in the three kingdoms. We get our patterns. What do you say?”
That actually sounded very reasonable. He wasn’t being asked to steal anything (or worse), which had been his main concern about taking a job from the guild.
“I believe we have an arrangement, Mr. Willoughby.”
He grabbed Willoughby’s outstretched hand, who returned a firm shake with a wide smile. ?“Thrilled to hear it, lad. Us cheaters need to stick together, don’t we?” He offered another exaggerated wink.
And that was all the time it took to begin questioning the wisdom of this decision.
