by T L Ford
This outpouring ripped at her heart, but she was a thief and now a murderer. He wouldn't say the same if he knew. "Thank you. I'll think about it. Where is the next stop?"
"We're headed to Kirj. It's a temple town."
"Wouldn't Loren be closer? From the stars last night, it appeared you came north after me. I've heard their alcohol prices cannot be bested. Surely, rice and spices would be equally welcome as in Kirj."
"You know how to navigate from the stars?"
"Yes, I learned about them in school."
He smiled, genuinely delighted. "I didn't think they taught that."
"Merryweather is a fishing town, Sir. Most of the boys will grow up to be sailors, so it's always a good skill to have. I've also had some courses on the trade routes and how to profit by them." Well, more accurately, she'd had training on which towns had goods Merryweather needed and which were likely to buy Merryweather's fish, as well as which towns they traded with to keep up variety and relations.
He smiled. "Stopping at Loren will work. I'm glad you suggested it."
'Me, too,' Angela thought. The Guildmaster de Loren might be convinced to supply her for a future payment, although the cost would be high. De Loren occupied a spot on her Master's ally list, though he was certainly not as trustworthy as De Behr. Angela had no use whatsoever for Kirj.
* * * * *
Over the next several weeks, she altered most of the gowns such that they could be easily altered back, begged for heavy canvas and made some functional shoes, and tried very hard not to think about her recent nightmares, or be consumed by the overwhelming grief and desolation from the loss of her mother. She felt like an empty shell, which was preferable to the hatred she felt toward herself at killing those men - after all, not all of them could have been guilty, and which was even more preferable to the terrifying anger she felt when she thought about her mother's killer.
Her father's crew were polite and nice to her. She felt she didn't deserve to be treated so kindly, but she tried to respond pleasantly. Meals were especially painful, with the warm geniality only serving to make her feel even more out of place.
* * * * *
Angela awoke from yet another nightmare, crying and desolate, overwhelmingly lonely, and terrified. She pulled her knees up to her chest in a fetal ball and sobbed. She'd always known what to do before. She'd always known she could go home to her mother and be hugged and told she was loved. She'd always reasoned that her activities with the Thieves' Guild were necessary because they helped keep her mother from a profession she'd despise.
There was nothing, really, if she thought about it objectively, to go back for except the geas. Her Master would give her a home, no doubt, a place in the lair, and she'd no longer be bound to day-hours, but what was the point of it all now? Her soul was empty, missing a vital piece.
Angela heard a timid knock on the door. She blinked and wiped at her eyes. Then she sat up and pushed the small door open. Her father peered in. "Are you all right?" he whispered quietly to avoid waking the others in adjacent cabins.
She answered softly, "Yes. I was just thinking about my mother."
"Why don't we go up on deck where we can talk for a while? The fresh air will help."
Angela didn't feel like talking to this stranger who was her father, but she felt it would be rude not to.
He reached for her hand and helped her stand. Then he took her blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Angela followed him mutely to the foredeck where they both sat and leaned back against the rail and out of the brisk wind.
"I was only going to sail long enough to make enough money to retire on or to have my own trade ships working for me that I would sponsor but not sail," her father murmured. "I always meant to come back and settle with Amy."
"Many captains sail their entire lives without doing more than covering expenses," Angela said. She wasn't accusing, just sad.
"True, but I've been told I have a gift for business. Numbers and sums are very easy for me, as is trade." When she didn't comment, he apologized. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to your mother and you. It's a long story, but it wasn't anything I chose and there was no way I could have prevented it." He shrugged. He hesitated, and then not explaining, he finished with, "There are some bad people that should be avoided."
Angela winced. She was surely one of them.
Luckily, her father changed the subject. "I have some of the fortune I mean to have already. Tell me some stories about you. Did my wife keep sewing?"
For the next hour, Angela told him about their lives, leaving out any mention of the Guild, and focusing on the good things - shopping in the marketplace, sewing together, rare times they took a day to go for long walks picking wildflowers. While she briefly mentioned that sometimes they were very poor, she painted a bright picture that did not include going to bed hungry, or her mother's bleeding fingers from sewing so much that it damaged her skin, or the nights it was so cold that they took every scrap of cloth they owned and piled it around each other to keep warm.
That's how stories went when they were told. Sure, there might be some sad bits and trials, but in the end, the story was always happy. She dubbed this one 'The Story of How I Grew Up' and wondered if her own mother's stories had also left out the things that really mattered.
* * * * *
When the town of Loren finally came into view, the distraction was a blessed relief. They sailed up expertly, tying to the extremely long dock rather than anchoring and rowing in, for easier unloading and loading. Most of the towns directly on the coast that had harbors also had docks that extended far out into the water where the depth was enough to handle ships laden with goods. The farthest points were usually floating docks that connected to the more solid ones closer to shore. Stepping off Loren's floating dock, her father paid the docking fee to the dockmaster that had come out to greet them.
Matthew, the ship's doctor, was assigned as Angela's escort, and he took her to a respectable shoe shop in the merchant area and bought her shoes. While she thought she spotted at least one pickpocket, she did not see any of the guild's subtle communications and she would wait until evening's Court before making contact.
They walked through several other upscale shops, Matthew trying to please her by doing what he thought ladies liked to do, and Angela trying to please Matthew by seeming to enjoy it. When they returned to the ship, the only purchase was the shoes she now wore, and both were secretly relieved. She retired to her bunk to rest before dinner. She was unable to sneak off of the ship for two nights.
CHAPTER 4: Loren
The third night took entirely too long to arrive. Angela hid in her room, watching the fading light through her portal. She was dressed in the least frilly, most functional dress in the set. It was still not quite appropriate for a guildhall, but it would have to do. When the sun had been gone for at least an hour, she slipped out of her room and made her way as silently as possible to the deck. Two of her father's men stood near the plank that bridged over to the dock. She'd not be able to go that way unnoticed. She looked around and spotted a line that she could use to swing across and used that.
She hastily, but quietly, jogged off the pier and ducked into the first shadow available. She wandered, shadow to shadow, avoiding the various parties of drunken sailors and townsfolk, down several streets until she finally spotted the first Guild sign. The odd black mark directed the way to the guildhall's visitor entrance. She followed the marks and eventually found the hatchway entrance leading down. She dropped in, followed the torches, avoided the token traps, and arrived at the Guild's hall. This hall was a decently-sized room, built into the ground by digging and adding a wood ceiling with supports. It almost looked like the inside of a building.
She handed two coppers to the sentry and told him her name. He called out, "Angela Thomas, Merryweather!" as was proper. She smiled her thanks and made her way through the crowd to the receiving line and bowed awkwardly. It took a few minutes for t
he man on the throne to break off his conversation with the apprentice standing next to him and acknowledge her. Guildmaster de Loren was younger than her Master, but still had gray near his temples in his neatly trimmed hair. He was clean-shaven, wearing correctly fitted clothes - black pants, a bright white shirt, and a black leather vest with matching arm bracers. He was obviously well-muscled, with nicely broad shoulders. He wore a single, shining throwing dagger on his boot.
He finally finished his discussion and gazed over at her, leaning slightly forward. When he did, she said the formal greeting, "Guildmaster de Loren, my Master, the Guildmaster de Merryweather, sends you greetings."
"How is your Master?"
"He was well when I last saw him, as mean as ever," she smiled, delivering this Guild compliment, and ducked her head respectfully, wondering what was the best way to say 'loan me some coins and gear so I can get home'.
"I would like to hear more about your Master's health as well as whatever message he's sent for me, but not right now."
He waved a dismissal gesture at her and she almost blurted out her need but caught herself before making such a stupid mistake. She'd been dismissed, but told not to leave the hall. She bowed again and backed away.
Angela turned and looked around the room. The layout was similar to Merryweather's, although without a single familiar face. She made her way to the bar and set out a copper and was given a mug of whatever their cheapest beverage was. She sipped and found it a remarkably bitter ale, close to the worst swill she'd ever tasted. She held it and pretended to drink, thinking about what to do next. Out of sheer need not to stand around looking like a complete idiot, she decided to go watch the card games. She took her drink, declined the offer to be included in the game, and tried to concentrate well enough to follow the hands.
Asking for coins or gear was a remarkably bad idea, she realized. It would announce to all that she was both incompetent and that her Master had problems with his lair. She shouldn't have come, but now she must wait and must decide what to actually say when she was given the next interview. She saw the Guildmaster stand and leave through his private exit, followed by the apprentice he'd been talking with. She might not get a 'next interview', she reflected glumly, watching him depart. She didn't think she'd done anything wrong. Guildmaster de Loren was on the 'friend' list, where 'friend' meant someone who could be trusted until it wasn't profitable to do so.
She was still debating what to say when the apprentice appeared and requested she follow him. Not a request really. She set her still full drink on the table and followed him out of the room and into their private lair. The passages were well-lit with torches, but narrow. He led her through a maze, passing by a number of doors until he reached a specific one. He knocked, was acknowledged, and pushed it open. He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. She nodded to him and stepped in, her stomach twisting in uncertain fear. He closed the door behind her.
* * * * *
Guildmaster de Loren stood across the room, at a bookshelf, and studied the girl who entered hesitantly, but stealthily. She wore a ridiculously inappropriate and ugly dress. A true guildmember would never wear something so confining and impractical, however appropriate for someone pretending to be a lesser noblewoman of Rashesh. If she didn't stand with the stillness and easy confidence of a guildmember, he would have thought she was an impostor. The poor girl obviously was down on her luck.
"So tell me, Young Thief, how are you?" he said at last in the formal thieves' language. He glanced over to the shelf where several bottles and chalices were arranged neatly.
Fluently, in the same language, she replied, "I'm mean enough." In other words, just fine. "My Master did not have the opportunity to give me a direct message for you, but I'm sure he would he would want me to assure you of our continued support and alliance."
"I received two letters from your Master recently." He moved several bottles aside and chose one from the back. In the reflections on the bottles, he made sure she didn't move. This was a Guild apprentice, not some common wench, he reminded himself. Why had he dismissed his Dauphin? By all rumors, she was already equal in skill to Guildmaster de Merryweather, and some even said they'd never seen anyone better at knife throwing. He felt old and stiff.
Her mouth twitched in uncertainty and question, obviously thinking over several dozen questions. She murmured, "My Master likes to keep up correspondence."
He poured two drinks from the same bottle and brought them over. Not that the same bottle meant anything - the cup could have been pre-poisoned. He could also have slipped poison in after pouring. He nodded and passed her a drink. "He does seem to have a small problem though."
She bit her lip uncomfortably. He wished she'd stop drawing attention to her lips; it was distracting him. She answered vaguely, "I'll remedy that when I get back. Until then, he can certainly take care of himself."
De Loren nodded, pleased. One did not advertise any weakness in one's own den. That wasn't an official Guild law, but any Guildmaster worth his title wouldn't tolerate it.
She sniffed the drink and detected no poison. De Loren wasn't insulted at all. He was famous for his poison mastery and collection. He would have been more surprised if she hadn't checked it. She sipped his excellent wine and purred in appreciation.
"You would support him, then?" He observed her response intently.
She did not hesitate or seem unhappy or resentful. "He is my Master."
"Not geased?"
"Oh yes, geased, but even if I weren't, I'd still support him. I also have a personal debt to collect on." She sounded confident and skilled, but her eyes held a hint of innocently naive worry.
De Loren found himself wanting to touch her hair that lit golden in the firelight. She was certainly a beautiful creature, if younger than the women he normally sought out. "So what has your Master asked you to do when you visit other guildhalls? Surely he meant you to travel around and see some of them before this short detour?"
"I am prepared to demonstrate any Guild skill you would like to see. It's quite the tradition for apprentices, I'm told."
He stepped closer, into her space, the traditional test of character and a display of power. Then he suddenly wished he hadn't, because he could smell the soft fragrance of a rose soap mixed with some other spicy herb. Once so committed, though, he had no choice but to follow through. He walked around her.
Angela held perfectly still, waiting. She didn't even seem afraid of him at all, a point which De Loren found curious.
He smiled. "I see. Then let us obey the forms. How is your knife throwing?" He pulled the dagger from his boot and pressed it into her hand. "That cloth on the wall has a board behind it. Put the knife in the circle in the center."
Quickly she checked the dagger's balance. De Loren knew it was an excellent, evenly-weighted blade. She waited a moment, pretending to aim. De Loren raised his eyebrows. She threw and the dagger sunk in nicely, piercing the black in the exact center of the circle.
"Very nice." He retrieved the blade and re-sheathed it. He toasted her with his chalice and she returned the toast and sipped. He stepped closer. "Aren't you afraid of me? I'm a dangerous man."
She did not tremble, but she could not let the challenge go unanswered. "My Master is also dangerous. I'm used to being around dangerous people."
It was a logical explanation tied to a polite warning. If he harmed her, her Master would retaliate. De Loren grinned in appreciation.
"Reminds me a bit of home, I think." She shrugged. "Besides, our towns have much to profit from each other. It would not be favorable for either of us to cause disruption to that, which I deduce you have also concluded. I doubt you'd allow a private audience with a potential assassin."
He chuckled. "You are a delight! I can see why he keeps you around."
"I'm sure he only keeps me around to mend his clothes," she countered lightly and then winced at some private thought.
Puzzled, he observed, "Come now, you are the future
Dauphin de Merryweather, not his whore."
The blood drained from her face and she turned white. "Dauphin? No, I'm just his apprentice," she corrected.
He raised his eyebrow, searching her eyes and finding honesty. "You do not know? How is that possible?" He turned and went to his desk. He took two papers from his drawer and brought them back to her.
* * * * *
Angela took the papers. Both were heavy cotton, not tree-pulp, stone ground and rewoven into a strong mesh, from the same paper lot. Expensive paper, equally expensive ink. She saw the correct arrangements of authentication creases for Guildmaster de Loren on the one and some random creases on the other. A forgery! She studied the fake first. The ink was correct, as was the formal thieves' cant, but could have been written by any of the other apprentices. Surely Guildmaster de Loren had noticed? As she read, she realized if he hadn't, she'd be dead already.
"Guildmaster, one of my newer den members, Angela Thomas, a thin girl with blond hair, has stolen from me and fled. She may turn up in your hall. She is an accomplished deceiver. I will pay a sum of twenty gold for the return of her head. I wish to display it. I trust our future friendship that you will keep this matter private."
She then read the real one. Her Master's own rough handwriting.
"Guildmaster de Loren, I'm pleased to tell you that I have taken your advice and chosen my Dauphin - that girl I took as an apprentice. She is on a mission for me currently and may pass by your hall. Please see she has anything she needs. I plan to announce her appointment on her return. She is preparing for the mastery challenge at Siedes - feel free to hone her skills with some tests."
She handed them back, her hand shaking just the tiniest amount. "He hadn't told me. His enemies must be laughing themselves out of their thrones."
"So you can tell which is fake?"