by Hugo Huesca
“You think your Thief friend is on her way?” Alder asked Ed.
“I hope she is,” Ed said. He glanced out the window, which was now covered in frost. Snow piled on every corner of the streets, and a group of men and women were shoveling it out of the road. He recognized one of them as the Folly’s barkeep.
He had no way of knowing if Katalyn was still alive. Something told him that, had she been caught by Nicolai, he’d know. Undercity gave no signs of being under attack by a full-powered wraith. Torst must still be roaming the catacombs.
“We can’t remain here long,” Kes told them. “The Guild is certain to know our location by now. They won’t try anything in plain daylight, I hope, but that won’t stop them from having us followed.” Her hand caressed her scabbard, and her shield lay next to her chair, in case she’d have need of it.
Ed used a piece of bread to clean his plate of beans. He was worried enough that he forgot to gag at the moldy taste. If she doesn’t show, what are we to do? We can’t even sell the beer without her help.
The entrance’s doors opened and closed. Ed raised his head and recognized Katalyn’s brown, wavy hair as she strolled into the tavern. She was without her leather armor, dressed instead with a stylish white shirt made of cotton under a tight gambeson bodice that accentuated her figure. She wore a big fur coat over it all, long enough to go past her waist. Her trousers were wide-legged and furred, same as her boots, which were identical to Alder’s. In short, she looked like a pretty young woman and not a Thief, unlike most of the other Folly’s clientele, which spoke wonders about her thieving skills.
Her entrance earned a lot of stares. She recognized Ed and waved at him across the tavern with a warm smile. “Hey, you!” she called, and headed in his direction.
“Hey!” Ed said, returning the wave.
A blond man with a mousy mustache left his table quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself, especially Katalyn’s. Katalyn ignored him until he passed her by, then her arm flew toward him without uttering a single warning.
The man screamed in surprise as Katalyn grasped him by the neck and smashed his back against the table he had vacated, sending ale and fragments of clay everywhere. She pressed a knife against his neck.
There was a flurry of movement as the entire tavern hurried to draw their weapons.
“Kat,” pleaded the man. “It’s me, Kat—”
“Am I here, Berrick?” Katalyn said, almost hissing at him. Her knife didn’t leave the man’s neck.
“What?”
“Am I. Fucking. Here?” she repeated. “Is the Duke about to find out someone spotted me in this tavern shortly after you left?”
“I’m just a shoemaker,” Berrick whimpered. The knife drew a bead of blood when he squirmed against Katalyn’s grasp. Ed couldn’t help but stare, like a man watching a train-wreck in slow motion. “Just Berrick, your friendly neighborhood’s shoemaker—”
“Eat dung, asshole,” Katalyn told him. “Your character sheet puts Spy as your class, don’t you dare deny it.”
“It says Commoner,” someone helpfully said, before being shushed down by the rest of the tavern, including Kes. No one wanted to miss the show.
“It’s a figure of speech, asshole,” Katalyn said without looking at the heckler.
“Kat, Katy, please,” Berrick said. “You know me, I’m no spy. I worked for your father many times, he—”
“Ooh,” someone else said, “wrong argument, buddy.”
“He played the Torst card,” came another voice. “He shouldn’t have done that. You’d say that’s a Mind deficiency, right?”
“I think it’s a Spirit one. Because it was unwise, y’see?”
Berrick gulped.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said the first voice.
Katalyn withdrew the knife from Berrick’s neck, lay it carefully next to him, and proceeded to punch him so hard in the mouth that the back of his head smashed against the table and made the knife jump.
“Should we do something?” Alder asked.
“She has it under control,” Ed said as Katalyn punched Berrick again.
“I meant to help that poor guy.”
After a third punch that made flecks of blood stain the table, Katalyn grabbed the knife again and returned it to its place over the shoemaker’s neck. “Am I here, Berrick?” she asked.
“N-no,” Berrick stumbled.
“Are you sure? You don’t sound so confident.”
“Y-yes. I’m sure. You aren’t here.”
Carefully, Katalyn lowered her knife, pocketed it, and used a tablecloth to clean a bit of blood drooling over Berrick’s upper lip. “If I wasn’t here, who kicked your ass just now?”
Berrick looked around the tavern with pleading eyes, searching for someone to help him. When no help came, he sighed, and licked his bloody lips. “What ass-kicking? I was drunk and hit my head on my way out,” he said.
“Damn right you did.” Katalyn let go of him, and the snitch slid all the way down against the table, until his ass hit the floor. He scampered away to a corner of the tavern.
Katalyn wasn’t done, though. Two men and a woman stood when they saw that Berrick’s situation was over. They were dressed like normal commoners with linen shirts, furred coats, jackets, and wide trousers. But Ed recognized their boots as belonging to the Thieves Guild.
So this is why Katalyn pays so much attention to shoes, he thought.
She faced the three interlopers. “And you… Am I here, Pris?”
The woman, Pris, had her hands hidden behind her back. “Dunno, Kat. Are you going to try to take on the three of us like you did with the snitch?” Next to her, the other two thieves slid their hands slowly toward their waists. “I don’t think you have enough hands.”
“Alright,” Kes muttered. “That’s my cue.” She headed toward Katalyn. “Actually, she has more than enough. So listen to the lady, asshole.”
Many people, including Katalyn, chuckled at hearing her being called a lady, which soured Kes’ mood even further.
Pris scowled, and her friends’ hands froze in their path to their hidden weapons, but didn’t retreat. “So, what happens now? Can’t get all stabbity-stab in the Folly. You know the rules.” She nodded toward the bar.
Ed followed her gaze and noticed the barkeep calmly tossing and catching a small polished rock while observing the scene with poignant disinterest. The rock was carved with bright blue lines that formed a glyph, which was becoming very familiar to Ed. Fireball rune.
The rune looked out of place in the hands of the man, an overweight and short guy who had every inch of exposed skin covered by a carpet of coarse hair. His beard was as thick as a carpet and was just a few inches away from covering his face entirely.
“Take it outside,” said the barkeep, “and solve it like civilized assholes. Or don’t. I’m just itching for an excuse to change the furniture, anyway.” He snapped his fingers, and the rune disappeared in mid-air. He made a nonchalant flourish with his other hand, produced the rune, and tossed it again.
Pris and her Thieves moved their hands away from their weapons. Kes sighed and put away her sword.
“Know what, whatever is going on between you and Brondan is none of my business,” Pris told Katalyn. “Just keep the rest of the Guild out of it. If you’re hanging out with adventurers now, well, that’s your call, darling.” She sat down again and gestured at the barkeep. “Another round, Max. Put it on Kat’s tab, will you?”
Katalyn snorted, shrugged, and clapped Kes on the shoulder as a “thank you.” Together they went to Ed’s table. The Thief plopped down into an empty seat and put away her coat, earning obvious stares from Alder. The rest of the tavern hurried back to their own business: mostly drinking and trying their best to look mysterious in their own corners.
“So,” Katalyn cheerfully told Ed, “welcome to Undercity! The most exciting place in all of Starevos, swear to the gods!”
16
Chapter Sixteen
Ed and Katalyn exchanged updates and made sure that Alder and Kes were on the same page as they were. Katalyn had been on the down-low for a while, putting feelers through the Guild and all her contacts to try to find out anything concerning Brondan or Nicolai.
“It’s harder than it sounds,” she confided. “I can’t mention anything about the wraith or it’d cause a panic. Or worse, the Inquisition hears about it. Then we’re all fucked.”
From what little she had heard, Brondan was still hanging with the Thieves Guild, but showed himself little, and the Guild was beginning to suspect he was funneling their resources out and using them for his private enterprises… which was a kind way of saying he was stealing from them.
No one knew where Nicolai was, and the beggars that informed Katalyn refused to trod the streets like they used to—at least not around the port; someone was hunting them, and many that ventured out alone at night never returned to their hideouts and refuges. Katalyn had only begun looking into the disappearances, in case they were connected with the wraith and Nicolai, and then she had heard about Ed’s arrival in the Folly.
“I heard that Karmich has been nonstop about you,” Katalyn told Kes. “A ‘hot elf chick,’ end-quote, who kicked the ever-loving shit out of him.” The Thief pointed at her own ribcage. “He’s showing everyone the spot where you hit him with that power strike gambit.”
Kes shrugged, like a humble artist trying to act like her recent masterpiece wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Wasn’t that big a deal,” she said.
“Seems like you’ve an admirer,” Ed told her.
“Stranger things have happened,” said Kes. She sipped at her ale. “But I don’t think he’s my type.”
Then Ed told Katalyn about their encounter with Brondan at the causeway, about the part he hoped she’d play in selling Andreena’s beer, and the spiderling he had planted in Karmich’s armor. As he explained how he had kept the two spiderlings hidden inside his shirt, the other three people squirmed in their seats.
“Oh, c’mon,” he said when he saw their reactions. “We’ve been living with them for more than a month. It’s enough time to get used to them being around.”
“Still,” said Alder. “Yuck.”
Ed shook his head in playful exaggeration and tapped the table a couple times. The second spiderling timidly left its hidden place inside his sleeve and headed for his plate where it proceeded to feast on the leftovers. Katalyn’s eye twitched, and Alder moved a bit away from him.
“The plan is, if Karmich makes contact with Brondan at any point,” Ed said, “my spiderling will follow Brondan and find out where he’s hiding. With any luck, that leads us to Nicolai, and he leads us to your… um, to the wraith.”
“You can say ‘your father,’ ” Katalyn said. “I don’t have daddy issues, I just didn’t like the guy when he was alive, is all. Now that he’s dead, I like him even less.”
With a wisdom worthy of his fifteen points in Spirit, Ed chose to refrain from pointing out that she had just mentioned the very definition of daddy issues. The way I see it, everyone has some baggage, Ed thought. At least mine doesn’t involve an undead family member with a life-draining aura trying to drink my blood. It almost made his beef with Kharon seem tame by comparison.
Alder nodded a bit too energetically. Before their arrival into Undercity, Ed had gotten the others up to speed on Katalyn’s relation to Torst, and Torst’s relation to the war that had ravaged Starevos for five years and ended with the country under the heel of Heiliges.
All because Torst had feared aging so much that he chose to pact with the Dark, and because he had managed to kill a minor Heiligian prince and a duke.
It’s chilling to know that the actions of one crazy asshole can have such an effect on two countries. Maybe an entire world, Ed thought. He’d have loved to tell himself that it was an Ivalis thing, but he knew damn well it wasn’t. Maybe it’s a humanity thing. The same in all the worlds out there with people like Torst, Nicolai, and Ioan… maybe even people like me.
“More importantly,” Katalyn went on, oblivious of the dangerous waters that Ed was mentally treading, “assuming we find the wraith… What are we going to do to kill it?”
It was a welcome change of subject. “Silver weapons,” Ed said, and raised a finger to keep count. “A squad of kaftar armed with bows.” He raised another finger. “Blessed arrows coated with holy water.” Another two fingers. “Vitality potions, and runes.” He ran out of fingers, so he struck his open palm with his fist. “If we find the wraith before it finds us, that should be enough to take it out.”
Alder nodded again, but both Kes and Katalyn looked unsure. What else can we throw at it? Ed thought. The Haunt’s resources weren’t infinite. If the wraith and Nicolai did them all a favor and kept hiding for another month, then maybe they could better prepare themselves, but he couldn’t bank his strategy on his enemies making a mistake.
“You are forgetting about the life-draining aura,” said Katalyn. “That’s a wraith’s main power, and if we leave it unchecked, we risk disaster. What if Torst gets into the kaftar’s ranks and raises them as specters?”
Ed sighed and massaged his temples with his fingertips. That aura was enough to give any man nightmares. “Ideally, we’d shut it down somehow. Lavy may come up with a way—she’s the undead expert.” As soon as he returned to the dungeon, he’d visit her and brainstorm for ideas.
“Maybe a magic circle?” Alder suggested. “To keep the wraith standing in place. Warlocks use them all the time to talk with demons from the Netherworld. At least that’s what Chasan did.”
Katalyn’s ears perked up. “Warlock Chasan? Wasn’t he one of Kael Arpadel’s minions?” She gave a low, surprised whistle. “It seems I’m colliding with Dark celebrities here.”
“Don’t call our Bard a celebrity or he’ll believe you,” Kes said. Then she shook her head. “We can’t use a magic circle, since we have no way of getting the wraith inside. And Ed’s strategy involves many resources we don’t have at the moment. Like the kaftar. Or the silver. Or the money.” She counted each of them the same way Ed had.
“That’s where our alcohol plan comes in,” Ed said, and glanced at Katalyn. “If you can sell it.”
“I can sell anything… for a fee,” she said. She grinned at the other three and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “But business comes later. First, I want to see the loot you got from Karmich and the others.” She passed her hand all over the table to clean it of dirt. “Go on, don’t be shy. I bet you need help to figure out what you’ve got, anyway.”
Kes stared a question in Ed’s direction. He shrugged and took out his Thief’s belt. No sense in distrusting Katalyn at this point. Kes went along, and Alder followed suit.
Katalyn spread the items from the belts all over the table, ordering them by form and function. All the belts had similar contents, although some had more than others—due to use.
“These,” Katalyn said, her hand pointing at three leather cases, “are Thieves Guild official lockpicks. You don’t want to be caught with these by either the Watch or the Guild. And since you have no idea how to use them, I’ll happily buy them from you.” She searched her bag and took out two pink coins shaped like triangles, which she put under the three cases.
“Are you ripping us off?” Kes asked, her eyes narrowing. “Two vyfaras for expert-make lockpicks seems like a steal.”
Katalyn flashed her a grin and turned to Alder. “Alder, dear, tell me what class appears right under my name on my stats sheet.”
“It says Thief,” Alder said, in that dreamy tone that indicated he’d have done anything she asked of him.
“And what’s a Thief way of life?” she went on.
“They steal from people,” Alder said. He made it sound like praise, like Katalyn’s job was to feed and bathe orphans.
Katalyn nodded in approval. “Exactly! Of course I’m stealing from you guys!” She ta
pped the leather cases with her fingertip. “Stealing is what I do. But look at it this way; no one in the city is going to buy these lockpicks from you, because they’re thieving tools. You’d have to go to an unaligned fence, and you don’t know any. Hell, you may get stabbed just by asking around for one. You can’t sell the lockpicks, and you can’t use them, so your only options are throwing them in the canal or taking my two vyfaras and calling it a day.”
Kes exhaled with indignation. “So you’re saying we should be happy about you ripping us off?”
“That’s why I’m so good at my job,” Katalyn said, and gave her a thumbs up.
“You’re so smart,” Alder whispered, smiling to himself.
Ed chuckled and took the vyfaras. Being a Dungeon Lord, he wasn’t much concerned with locked doors. If he really wanted to get around one, he’d simply make a tunnel, or just have his drones eat it.
Next, Katalyn pointed at three pairs of slender hooks, each made of steel, and the three bundles of white cord under them. “These are part of a climbing kit,” she said. “They’re useful for climbing short, unsecured buildings.” She stared at a point above Ed and the other’s heads, the way Ivalians did when reading a character sheet. “My recommendation? Since neither of you has tumble, or acrobatics, or anything of the like… don’t use them. You’ll only cripple yourselves.” She offered a vyfara for each.
Kes and Alder accepted the offer, but Ed kept his, because it was simply too cool to sell.
“One minor healing potion,” Katalyn went on, pointing at one of two copper vials. “You obviously want to keep it, but know that it’s worth about ten vyfaras—yes, it’s expensive, but you’d be surprised how little you care about price while bleeding out…” She pointed at the other vial. “This is a minor agility potion. It’s used in case you have to make a run for it.”
Alder grabbed that vial and placed it on his side of the table. “I’m keeping this one,” he said. “Because I can combo it with my nimble feet.”