The Vengekeep Prophecies

by Brian Farrey

  I actually lunged at him, chin quivering. He took a step back, fists raised for a scrape. But I didn’t get very far. Aubrin snagged my belt and stopped me.

  Unfazed, Maloch chuckled. “Have a good year, savior.” Then he turned and lumbered away.

  I stared down at my boots awkwardly. “Thanks,” I said to Aubrin, then turned to Callie. “Good thing she held me back. I would hate to have gotten blood on his fist with my face.”

  Callie shook her head. “He’s got to be the rudest garfluk I’ve ever met.”

  “Rude?” I asked. “He’d be so disappointed. That was Maloch at his most charming.”

  We talked in the park until sundown. Aubrin and I walked Callie to her house and she made me promise to start her thievery lessons soon. I was less eager to get a promise from her for my tree-climbing lesson.

  When Aubrin and I got home, I went straight to my room and shut the door. I took a deep breath to clear my head. The smell of the old books on the shelves that lined my bedroom walls usually comforted me. Not tonight, though. Navigating around the collection of clay pots on the floor, where I grew the twelve essential plants for my pouches, I sank down onto my bed in the corner.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Maloch. We used to be best friends. Then, two years ago, his father caught me trying to teach Maloch to pick a lock and forbade us to see each other. After that, whenever I ran into him, Maloch treated me worse and worse. Ma said not to let it get me down, that a true friend would have stuck by me no matter what.

  Truth is: it still got me down.

  Much of what he’d said had already been on my mind. Aubrin’s pickpocketing skills branded her a chip off the Grimjinx block. I hadn’t even mastered picking an Armbruster 1 lock. Every year it became clearer: I really wasn’t a very good thief.

  It was well after midnight before I stopped brooding, slipped into my nightclothes, and crawled into bed. I heard a knock at the door and looked up as my grandmother stepped into my room, lips clenched around a juicy blackdrupe.

  “Oya,” she said softly, wiping the excess juice from the corners of her mouth.

  “Oya,” I said, trying not to sound as pathetic as I felt.

  She pulled up a chair to sit next to me.

  “You’ve been hiding away a long time up here,” she whispered. “Usually means something’s on your mind. Care to tell your old nanni about it?”

  I didn’t know what to say so I just blurted, “Nanni, is the family ashamed of me?”

  Nanni leaned forward into the moonlight, and I saw her pale eyebrows furrow. “Now, why would you think that?”

  I looked away. “Something Maloch said today.”

  “Maloch? Are you two friends again?”

  I grunted. “Friends? Hardly.”

  Nanni clicked her tongue. “Happens from time to time. The friends you used to rely on change without you knowing it. Same thing happened to your da. He had a friend growing up: Edilman Jaxter. You were named for him, you know.”

  I nodded. Ma and Da didn’t talk about Edilman Jaxter much, only to remind me every so often that I was named for him.

  Nanni shook her head, a warm grin spreading across her face. “They were inseparable. Your da, a skilled burglar; Edilman, a master of disguise. Oh, the cons they pulled in their day. When your ma joined up, the three of them were positively unstoppable.”

  “So what happened?”

  Nanni’s face fell. “People grow apart, Jaxter. It happened to your father and Edilman. It happened to you and Maloch. And maybe it’s for the best.”

  She took my hand and gently pulled me from my bed. “I think I know what’s really on your mind. Come here.”

  She led me out to the hall and to her bedroom, where a lantern lit the room with fuzzy orange light. She sat me down on her bed, then pulled a thick, leather-bound book from under the mattress. I knew it well, from its frayed, brown edges to the tarnished bronze letters across the front that read GRIMJINX. Our family album.

  She opened the cover. A haphazard series of lines and finely scrawled names lay across the first two pages: the Grimjinx family tree. There was my great-great-great grandmother Ioni Grimjinx, who masterminded the ransacking of the par-Dwarves’ underwater cities. And my too-many-greats-to-mention uncle Vaster Grimjinx, who bilked the town-state of Annora into paying him a fee to rid the town of ghosts … ghosts he created with some simple parlor tricks. The tree went all the way back to the first Grimjinx, Corenus, who created our clan’s unfortunate-sounding surname under the theory that a family who sounded cursed would be above suspicion in any theft.

  That theory lasted an entire generation. After that, all the Five Provinces knew our family was far from unlucky when it came to thievery.

  As the oldest living Grimjinx, Nanni was in charge of protecting this log of our heritage. The remainder of the book’s pages were filled with centuries of accounts of my ancestors’ greatest cons and heists, all written in a special code known only to our family, so as not to incriminate anyone. Since I was old enough to hold the massive book on my own, I’d spent days poring over those pages, dreaming of the day my own exploits would be cataloged for future Grimjinx thieves to see.

  Nowadays, though, it seemed unlikely.

  “It can be quite a legacy to live up to,” Nanni said, her arm around my shoulders. “Every Grimjinx had a unique talent that they worked hard to perfect. But no matter how great the heist, the one thing that eluded everyone was the ability to run a scam where magic defenses were involved. You’re the first to beat that. Thanks to all those books you read, we can beat almost any magical defense. You’ve got smarts, Jaxter. The things you learn in books will outshine all of us someday, you mark my words.”

  I stared at the family tree and nodded. She walked me back to my room and I had to admit I felt better. Zoc Maloch.

  I crawled back into my bed as Nanni laid a finger aside her nose. “In fact, we’ll be needing you up bright and early in the morning. Plans are afoot....”

  I brightened. “The Lek vaults?”

  She pursed her lips. “Not quite. That needs a mite more planning. Let’s just say that we’ll be in a better position to raid the vaults after tomorrow. You in?”

  She touched her temple and I did the same. “Always.”

  Nanni returned to her room as I nestled into bed. I was moments away from falling asleep when I suddenly realized: she hadn’t really answered my question, whether or not the family was ashamed of me. She’d danced around it. I stayed awake the rest of the night, wondering exactly what that meant.

  4

  The Incident at Brassbell Promenade

  “Think twice about the con, not the mark.”

  —Ancient par-Goblin proverb

  Every weekend, Brassbell Promenade came to life with the town-state’s biggest outdoor market. Crowds of people moved from cart to booth to get the freshest produce and best bargains. The Promenade got its name from the ancient wooden water tower located in its center. Years ago, on the hottest summer days, the Castellan would order the stateguard to climb the tower and pull the release chain. Water would come pouring out from the side of the massive wooden drum at the top of the tower and down a metal slide, showering the Promenade. The stateguard then rang the brass bell on the drum’s underbelly to alert the nearby children, who would run screaming across the cobblestones to play in the downpour. Nowadays, the tower was too unstable to be climbed.

  Every weekend, Nanni and Aubrin came to the Promenade to sell breadbowls filled with singemeat stew to the marketgoers. Despite our family’s reputation, they never failed to bring in customers. Some people bought stew to encourage us to earn an honest living. Others most likely decided that if a Grimjinx was going to take their money, they might as well get Nanni’s famous singemeat stew in exchange. At the end of each day, Nanni and Aubrin brought home a few bronzemerks … and tons of information on Lek, whose butcher shop was conveniently located across the Promenade from Nanni’s stand.

  As usual, Nan
ni and Aubrin arrived at the crack of dawn with the other merchants to set up shop. By midday, the market bustled with activity. It was around this time that I arrived, backpack over my shoulder, making my way through the thick crowd until I reached the base of the water tower. I leaned against one of the tower’s three legs. It gave a shudder and a creak. I grimaced, hoping that my own clumsiness didn’t bring the whole thing down on top of me in the middle of the operation.

  From my vantage point, I could glance left and see Nanni and Aubrin, doling out their stew with smiles and humble thanks. Not far from them, I spotted Maloch and one of the stateguards, who’d no doubt been assigned to keep a discreet eye on Nanni and make sure she wasn’t bilking anyone. They were doing a lousy job of being discreet.

  Shaking my head, I turned to the right, where I had a perfect view of Lek’s butcher shop. Lek stood behind his counter, chopping away at a side of meat with an enormous knife. His workers scrambled, filling orders from the customers who choked the entry way.

  Moments later, I saw Da appear on the corner of Lek’s shop. He looked over a featherless gekbeak, as if trying to decide if it had enough meat for dinner. He sent only a scant glance my way, touching his temple to signal me that he was in place.

  Over at the singemeat stew table, sales had slowed. Nanni stoked the fire beneath her kettle as Aubrin added a tub full of vegetables to the bubbling stew. I waited until Nanni looked directly at me and I touched my temple. Nanni touched hers in return and I saw her say something to Aubrin. My sister casually reached over and threw the small satchel of winkroot I’d given her onto the fire.

  After a moment, I heard a low pop and suddenly great columns of thick, black smoke began to billow out from under the kettle. Nanni stepped back, her eyes widening.

  “Whoo!” she screamed, like a demented gekbeak. “Whoo!” She flailed her arms and ran in place, her panicked cries drawing curious stares. Soon, everyone was noticing. The smoke had grown so heavy that it consumed Nanni’s tiny stand.

  Heads turned. The din of conversation became alarmed shouts. One man came at Nanni from behind, either to calm her or get her away from the encroaching smoke. But Nanni stood her ground and became more frenzied.

  The merchants near Nanni came over with buckets of water, waving at the smoke to determine just where the fire was. It grew harder and harder to see Nanni or anyone on that side of the Promenade. As more people gathered, I caught a flash of red hair and knew Aubrin was weaving her way through the crowds, helping herself to whatever wasn’t firmly attached.

  The customers at the butcher shop had cleared out, turning their attention to the scene Nanni was making. Da feigned interest but he was really watching Lek, who’d stopped chopping meat to gawk at the fuss with an intense stare. As Lek stepped away from his shop to join the onlookers, Da made his move, disappearing behind Lek’s counter.

  Over the years, everyone in the family had taken turns spying on Lek. We could fill books about his every habit, every quirk. We knew he ate sanguibeast steak the first of every month. We knew his favorite color was yellow. And we knew he kept the key to his vault on a ring behind the meat counter.

  Honestly, if someone that wealthy was going to make it so easy for us, he was practically begging to be robbed.

  The smoke continued to envelop the crowd, and I knew that Nanni must have thrown the second satchel of winkroot onto the fire. The people closest to Nanni’s stand were gagging and backing away, their curiosity turning to fear that this was something more than a boiled-over kettle. Da was running out of time. I looked back at the butcher shop and saw his fist shoot up in the air, thumb raised and wiggling. The signal for “I need you now.”

  Head low, I moved against the gathering throngs toward the butcher shop. I ducked behind the counter, where I found Da on his knees. He’d snagged a big, roughly hewn key that could only be used on a vault door. In his other hand, he held a large block of wax. His face had gone red as he tried pressing the key into the wax.

  “It won’t budge,” he grunted. “I can’t make the impression.”

  “Lemme see,” I said, taking the key and holding it up to the light. No protective sigils were engraved on it. Good. My blue paste couldn’t beat those. It was probably a low-level, no-clone spell. And that was beatable.

  I consulted the Formulary and found an easy solution. Palming the key, I reached into my back hip pouch and grabbed a handful of ground roxpepper seeds. I sprinkled the dust liberally on both sides of the key and handed it back to Da.

  “Try it now,” I said.

  This time, when he pressed the key into the wax, it sank in deep, making a perfect impression. He wiped the key clean, slid it back on the ring, and handed the wax block to me. I had to get the block to Ma, stationed just around the corner from the Promenade, where she was waiting to take the wax imprint so she could forge a perfect copy of the key later.

  Separately, Da and I each crawled out from behind the counter and melted back into the crowd. The smoke had all but vanished now. Nanni was thanking everyone loudly for their help. I hid the wax block in my backpack and moved toward the water tower, aiming for the opposite corner of the Promenade.

  A low rumble sounded. Everyone stopped. Vengekeep was no stranger to tremors. It had been centuries since the town had felt a full-on earthquake, but still, everyone stopped when they heard that familiar rumble and felt the pavement below their feet shift.

  Just as business was about to resume, a louder roar sounded; and this time, the cobblestoned paving buckled, sending dozens of people sprawling to the ground. More than a mere tremor, the ground continued to shake. I staggered to the base of the water tower and grabbed its leg to steady myself. People around me murmured that it would pass.

  It didn’t. The shaking grew worse. Some of the booths began to collapse. Nanni’s stand fell apart, sending breadbowls rolling everywhere. Small children cried out and I suddenly thought of Aubrin. Looking around, I picked her out near the blade merchant’s stand. Her eyes were on Nanni, who wiggled her thumb. Aubrin obeyed, running as fast as she could to Nanni. Together, Nanni and Aubrin fled the Promenade.

  A thunderous crack filled the air. I turned in the direction of the noise and found a lightning-shaped fissure splitting the cobblestones near Lek’s shop. People gasped and staggered to get away from the opening maw. Da, just about to leave the Promenade himself, stopped to watch the crack grow.

  As quickly as it had come, the rumbling and shaking stopped. Everyone in the Promenade paused. Just then, a burbling sound spat from the fissure. I caught Da’s eye and we both stared at the newly formed crack, where an eerie red glow rose from below. A moment later, thick molten rock oozed up and out of the crack, moving slowly across the upheaved stones. As the lava spread, bubbles began to rise across its surface. The bubbles expanded, refusing to pop. Instead, the lava began climbing straight up into the air and branching out … taking form.

  The first of the lava flows, inching toward a small flower stand, reared up, sprouting legs, arms, and a head. The glowing crimson goo burst into flames as the living fire creature stepped forward, igniting the flowers with a wave of its misshapen hand. I searched for Maloch and his pal from the stateguard, hoping they would take action or sound an alarm. But they had disappeared with the fleeing mob. I looked to Da, whose eyes had fixed on another finger of lava spewing from the crack, crawling toward Lek’s shop, sprouting limbs as it moved.

  By now, people were screaming and tearing away from the Promenade in any direction that would take them far from the approaching lava beasts. The fiery creatures shambled slowly, scorching anything in their path. I watched as a third and finally a fourth figure emerged from the growing molten pool.

  We had a strong instinct for self-preservation, us Grimjinxes. No matter the con, we knew that fleeing a desperate situation was always the easiest and most sound solution. With that in mind, I planned my exit. But with a manic mob behind me and the lava creatures before me, my options were severely limited. A tric
kle of water from the tower overhead reminded me I had only one sensible option at this point: going up. With a quick prayer to any deity willing to help me overcome my clumsiness just once, I scrambled up the ladder to the water tower’s underbelly.

  I only almost fell to my death twice. A record.

  Atop the high platform beneath the water drum, I could see that Nanni and Aubrin had joined Ma at a safe distance while the rest of the crowd ran past. I scanned the neighboring streets, hoping for a sign of the fire brigade or stateguard or anyone else capable of helping. Nothing.

  Unsure what to do, I peered through the hazy, hot air that rose from the lava and saw Da, trapped in a corner. The fissure had cut him off from all escape routes. It was around this time that the lava creatures noticed him as well. They stopped their slow, wanton destruction and turned toward my father.

  I gripped the platform’s rail. “Da!” I cried, hoping he could hear me over the crowd’s screams. Reaching up, I took hold of the silver chain that released the water. Unfortunately, the slide from which the water would flow was pointed in the wrong direction and wouldn’t go anywhere near the lava.

  I stepped forward. The decrepit tower creaked and trembled under my meager weight. Staying up there much longer wasn’t a good idea. Looking down, I examined the metal struts that crisscrossed to link the tower’s three thin legs. The struts themselves were rusty and each time I moved, the bolts securing them to the legs shook. I got an idea. And I hated it.

  Da had backed as far as he could go into the corner. Smoke began to cloud my view of him. All I could see were the creatures advancing on my helpless father. After another quick prayer, I descended the ladder until I was next to a loose strut. Wrapping my arms and legs around it, I shimmied down to the point where it connected to the tower’s leg. The leg’s rotted wood barely held the bolts. Standing at the juncture of leg and strut, I started jumping.

  With each stomp, the tower squeaked and shuddered. Chunks of wood dropped to the ground far below as the rusty struts whined. Gripping the tower leg, I thrust myself up as high as I could go, yelling, “Yah!”