by G. R. Cooper
“Ready?” she asked. He nodded, returning her smile.
He moved through the door into the morning traffic and turned directly into a very large man. He looked up.
It was the guard. The guard who’d barred his entry into the town a few days earlier. The guard from whom Wulfgar had stolen. The guard who had spent a day in the stocks.
“Well, look who it is! The fuckin’ Highlander!” The man poked Wulfgar in the chest. Wulfgar didn’t remember the man being so large, but he was at least half a head taller and broader in the shoulders. The past several days of being one of the larger people in the city had reset his internal scale; he was now used to being bigger than everyone else, something that hadn’t been the case when he first entered the world.
“How’d you get into the city?” the guard asked, looking Wulfgar up and down, “and with a fine new set of clothes,” he spun Wulfgar around as effortlessly as if he was a child, “and with a nice new pig sticker to boot.”
The guard pulled Wulfgar’s blade, handing it to his partner.
“Now, where’d you get the money for all of this fine gear? Don’t tell me, a handful of Shepherd’s Piss is going for twenty gold these days. Is that it?” he snorted in laughter, spinning Wulfgar back to face him.
Lauren moved to intercede.
“I gave him the sword,” she said, “and bought him the clothes.”
“Did you now?” growled the guard. “Well, we can soon learn the truth of that.” He pushed her back out of the way, “We’ll have this one in front of the magicstrate.”
“Don’t you mean magistrate?” asked Wulfgar before he thought better of it.
“I mean what I said. The magicstrate will be able to get the truth from you. Never fear,” he then laughed, “Unless, of course, you have something to hide. Then, by all means, be my guest. Fear.”
Wulfgar was thrown into a cramped cell. He’d been dragged through the streets between the two guards, powerless to resist. Lauren had followed for a few seconds, then shouted.
“I’m going to get Snorri, to help!”
“Take Bear!”
“For sure!” she answered before turning toward the Gilded Pumpkin.
His two captors had dragged him in silence through the streets, until they’d entered an imposing building, up a long, wide, stone stairway and through a pair of doors, opened for them by liveried pike-men. They hadn’t bothered with anything like a formal charge or declaration, they didn’t stop to check him in, they simply continued to drag him down a long hallway, flanked on either side by cells, until they reached an open one and pushed Wulfgar into it. He fell to the floor, on his knees, as the guards slammed the door shut behind him. They turned, still without saying anything, and left the way that they’d come.
Still on the floor, Wulfgar turned to face the cell door and sat back, pulling his knees into his chest. He took in his surroundings. The cell was small. Long enough to stretch out in, but then narrow enough to reach out with both arms and grasp his left and right barred walls. The cage reached high in the cavernous room, almost to the ceiling ten meters above.
“What are you in for?” asked a quiet voice to his left.
Wulfgar turned to look. His new neighbor, squatting in the cell next to his, smiled at him.
“What are you in for?” he repeated.
Wulfgar shrugged, “Pissing off a guard, I guess.”
“And you couldn’t avoid him?”
“Avoid him?”
“Yeah, if you annoy a guard, just stay out of his way for five days or so. They’ll forget all about you.”
Wulfgar shook his head, “Nope,” he laughed, “I haven’t even been here that long.”
“Newby, eh?”
Wulfgar nodded, then thought.
“The thing is, though, I really think I am in some trouble. I stole four silvers from the guards a few days back, when I first got to town.”
“And you’re worried that the magicstrate will be able to find that out?” the man nodded, “And you’re right, he will. He’ll zap you with some magic and bippity-boppity-boo, you’ll tell him every law you’ve broken in the past week.”
“What then?”
“Jail, fines. The usual,” the man shrugged, “it’s par for the course in our profession.”
“Our?”
“Ain’t you a thief?”
Wulfgar shook his head, “Not really, I mean I stole, but I’m not a thief. Character-wise, that is.”
“You ain’t in the guild? The Thief’s Guild?”
Wulfgar shook his head.
The man looked shocked.
“Aw, shit, man. You can’t steal unless you’re in the Thief’s Guild. If you don’t have them pulling for you, god knows what the magicstrate will do to you.”
A cold sweat burst out all over Wulfgar’s body, and his stomach tightened in fear.
He suddenly realized that maybe not being able to shit his pants wasn’t exactly the worst thing.
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Wulfgar after a time. “Any way I can get out of this?”
The man looked up, spread his arms, “Nope. Not unless you can climb like a monkey.”
Wulfgar thought for a moment, smiled, then started digging through the small pouch, still hanging from his belt, and pulled out his last flower of Shepherd’s Piss. He said a silent prayer of thanks that the guards hadn’t removed anything except his knife, then pulled his mortar, pestle, water pouch and small glass jar out of his backpack. He looked up at his new neighbor and smiled. The man smiled back.
“Keep a watch out,” Wulfgar whispered as he pushed the flower into the mortar. The man stood, turned to face toward the entrance and backed up to the bars that served as the wall between them, blocking any view from the front of the building to Wulfgar. He began grinding the flower with the pestle. Once it was nothing but a paste, he scooped it into the glass beaker then filled it with water from his skin, then stirred the mixture with his finger.
“How long,” asked Wulfgar, “until they come for us?”
“Can’t say. Depends on how busy they are.”
Wulfgar nodded to the man’s back, then activated his climbing skill. An orange line appeared about two meters off the floor and wound its way up the bars to a window near the ceiling. He looked back down and drained half of the potion in one gulp. It tasted foul, but, thankfully, left no aftertaste after he’d swallowed it. He waited a few seconds, hoping that he’d drunk enough for the effects of the potion, called Scampering Goat, to increase his skill by ten levels.
He looked back up and activated Climbing once again. The same line was now green.
“Here,” he whispered, handing the potion through the bars, “drink this.”
The man took the vial and drained it, grimacing, in one gulp.
“What was that?”
Wulfgar smiled at the man - gulping a potion made by a stranger, no questions asked.
“Climbing potion. It’ll give you level ten for an hour.”
The man nodded, then looked up at the wall.
“Cooooool!”
Wulfgar smiled, he guessed that the man saw the route up.
“Is it green?”
“Yeah.”
“OK,” Wulfgar moved to the back of the cell, “Here’s the plan. I’ll go up and open up the window so we can get out. While I’m climbing, you keep an eye out and let me know if it looks like anyone is interested. Then I keep a watch while you climb.” He raised one eyebrow, questioningly.
“Sounds like a plan,” said the man, smiling, handing the glass jar back to Wulfgar, who began to put his potion making gear back in his pack then pulled it back on.
Wulfgar’s heart began pounding. He looked to the front of the building, and silently thanked his guards that they moved him into a cell at the rear of the vast room. He looked back up, then pulled himself off of the floor by leveraging himself into the angle between the bars and the brick wall.
“All clear?”
“Yup,�
�� his partner whispered, “I’ll hiss if it looks like anyone notices something.”
Wulfgar didn’t bother to answer, he just activated Stealth and began climbing. He used the fingers of his left hand, as well as his feet, to gain purchase on the bricks while using his right hand to reach high onto a bar in the cage. Pulling himself up on the bar, he quickly re-established his grip on the brick wall as he moved up. In this way, he was easily able to make his way up to the window sill.
The window was more a portal - an opening through to the outside that let in both fresh air and light - that was large enough for him to have walked through. He pulled himself over the ledge and, turning around, looked back down into the cells. He gave the thief a thumbs up, and the man returned it, before beginning climbing.
Wulfgar started to look up, to keep watch around the rest of the jail, when he was shocked into stillness.
The man, just as he was about to reach the wall, disappeared.
He was gone. One second he was there, the next he wasn’t.
Wulfgar felt panic rise and he was unsure of what to do. Did the man fall through some magical portal? Did he need rescuing? He was just about to begin the climb back down to investigate when the man’s face appeared in front of him.
Startled, Wulfgar moved back away from the ledge, giving the man room to come through.
After he’d joined Wulfgar on the roof, the man sat up, with his legs hanging over the eaves.
“Man, that Climbing thingy is useful. Gotta get me some of that,” he smiled as he leaned back against the dormer that protruded from the roof.
All at once, Wulfgar understood.
The man had used Stealth. That’s why he had seemed to disappear. He smiled, understanding what it was that others saw, or didn’t see, when he used the skill himself.
“What level Stealth are you?” he asked.
“Thirteen, baby!” the thief laughed, “and I’d guess you’re three or four.”
“Two. For now,” Wulfgar smiled.
The man nodded, then stood.
“I’m sure there’s lots of information we can exchange, but, we need to get moving,” he moved toward the front of the building a few steps then jumped off the side.
Wulfgar ran the few paces to where the man leapt from and looked down, concerned. The man looked up at him from the roof of the next building over, a few meters below. Wulfgar took a breath and jumped across the alleyway, landing next to him. He then followed as the man moved toward the front of the building, then dropped to a small balcony that stuck out into the narrow space between the building and the magicstrate’s.
“My home,” the man said, walking through an open door that led from the balcony into a sparsely furnished room, about the size of the average highway side motel crash pad, “I tended to have a lot of business with the magicstrate early on in my career, so I got a place close by and never really moved.”
He moved to a small chest at the foot of his bed, opened it and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, then tossed them to Wulfgar.
“Here,” he smiled closing the chest. “They really helped me early on. They give you level seven Stealth.”
Wulfgar looked down at them appraisingly. He looked back up at the man.
“But,” he continued, “that’s just a flat level seven. Not an increase of seven levels. Otherwise,” he laughed, “I’d still be wearing them. I passed needing them a while back and I suppose I could sell them for some good bread, but I kinda grew attached to them. So,” he raised one eyebrow, “this is just a loan. Capisce?”
“Got it. And thanks,” said Wulfgar, pulling on the first glove. It fit. “Like a glove,” thought Wulfgar. The black leather hugged his hand and extended back into a loose wrapping that stretched halfway up his forearm. It was tightened through three belts and buckles on the inside of his arm. He pulled them tight, fastening them, then pulled on the right hand glove.
Wulfgar read the item’s description.
Clandestine Gauntlets: Provides wearer level 7 Stealth. Does not stack with skill levels, but will stack with other Clandestine items. A full suit of Clandestine gear provides a +4 Stealth bonus in addition to the stacking effects. Rare. Item 2 of 4 for suit.
“Thanks,” he repeated, the looked up and smiled, “Now I’m all set. As soon as I get back the knife the guards took from me, I’ll be ready,” he held up his hands, “I’ll get them back to you the second that I reach level seven.”
“Or as soon as you die,” the man snorted. “They’re insured, by me. So that they would be on my person whenever I resurrected. That insurance is still in place, so if you croak, they’ll drop back into my pack.”
“You can insure your stuff?”
“Oh yeah. Through the bank. You can have it auto-withdraw from your account every time that you die. Saves having to rush off to find and loot your corpse just to get your stuff back.”
Wulfgar pondered that. It looked like he was going to need to open an account in the King’s Bank after all. But first, he needed a small nest egg.
“That reminds me,” Wulfgar said, “I’ve got a quest and a small group. Want to join?”
“I do need to get out of town a few days. At least long enough for the guards and magicstrate to forget that they want to see me.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think that it will take us to an island to the east. I’m guessing that it’ll take a few days.”
The man nodded and smiled, “Sure.”
“Great! The thing is, I have some friends who are probably looking for me. They’ll probably head into the magicstrate’s office, trying to help.”
“And with you not there, that could raise some questions,” the man nodded, thinking. “I can handle that. The Thief’s Guild sells disguise kits. They don’t last for too long, but they prevent any NPC’s from recognizing you.”
“Do you have one I could buy from you?”
He shook his head, “Nope. I mean, I do have some, but you have to be in the guild for it to work. I’ll go ahead and use one and get to your friends for you.”
“Great! Thanks. They’re easy to spot. A large dog,” the man raised his eyebrows, “a big Viking looking guy and a very cute blond in plate armor.”
“Define ‘cute’,” the man snorted, “because it sounds like the big warrior guy is just my type.”
Embarrassed by his assumptions, Wulfgar changed the subject.
“What’s your name? I’m Wulfgar.”
“Rydra,” the man smiled, holding out his hand to Wulfgar.
Wulfgar took the hand, shook it, then continued, “My friends should be somewhere between the magicstrate and the Gilded Pumpkin inn.”
Rydra nodded, “I know the place. I’ll find them.”
“Tell them to meet me at Narri’s.”
Wulfgar made sure he was leaning nonchalantly against the wall next to Narri’s office when his friends rounded the corner, examining his fingernails with a bored look on his face. He looked up as Bear bounded forward with a small bark, curling himself around Wulfgar’s legs.
“What kept you?” he yawned toward his friends, then asked “Impressed?”
“What?” snorted Snorri, “that you were able to climb out of a cage that hadn’t been designed with a roof?”
“And that you had to use a potion to do it?” added Lauren.
Wulfgar looked to Rydra, a pained look on his face.
“You told them?”
“Oh yeah, but what I didn’t tell them was this!” he reached into his cloak and pulled out Wulfgar’s blade. “I bagged it from behind the sergeant’s desk then split.”
“Now that’s impressive,” said Lauren. Snorri nodded agreement, and Rydra bowed.
“My disguise was fairly effective,” he admitted, “and they weren’t expecting a little old lady who asked about filing a missing person report to reach behind the desk and grab it when they turned around to get the proper paperwork. I took it, moved out the front door and began to back-trace toward the Gil
ded Pumpkin when I saw these folks just entering the square.”
“And what a surprise that was,” Lauren interjected, “when this old woman comes up and says ‘Wulfgar says to meet him at Narri’s’.”
“Which wasn’t a surprising as when the little old lady turned into a young black man,” laughed Snorri. Rydra joined him.
Snorri looked down at the thief, “So, did you choose to be black so that you could hide better in the shadows?”
Wulfgar groaned and Lauren elbowed Snorri, but Rydra laughed, “No, I didn’t choose to be black. My parents kind of chose it for me, you know, being black and all.”
“So you were black before?”
Lauren elbowed him again, “Please forgive our Snorri. He’s not exactly a diplomat.”
Rydra laughed again, “No worries,” he looked back up at Snorri, “Were you a blond giant before?”
“Hell no!” Snorri’s booming laugh filled the narrow street, “I was just a generic, average, white-bread guy from New York.”
“Me too,” added Wulfgar, “except the New York bit.”
“Me too!” squealed Lauren, “except for the generic, average guy part. What part of New York?”
“Long Island,” Snorri’s chest swelled.
Lauren scrunched her face, “Eww.”
Snorri’s face changed to reflect his derision, “Let me guess, Upstate?” then groaned at Lauren’s nod.
“Eww both of you,” Rydra said mimicking Lauren, “Manhattan’s where it’s at,” then laughed, “at least, that’s where I’m from.”
“Oh dear lord!” muttered Wulfgar effecting his best Charleston drawl, “I’m surrounded by yankees!”
Rydra laughed, then began to sing, “Across a hundred and tenth street, you can find it all in the street!”
Wulfgar nodded eagerly, “Bobby Womack!”
Rydra stopped and stared up at Wulfgar, a truly shocked look crossing his face.
“What?” asked Wulfgar, “can’t a generic, average, white-bread guy from Virginia like rhythm and blues? Besides, that was from the movie of the same name. Also, it was used again twenty-five years later by Tarantino.” He shrugged, “I used to work in a video store and I watched a lot of movies …”