“Are you from the Red Desert, then?” Cyril asked. “I’ve read the people down there prefer a plain and simple fare.”
“I don’t know where I’m from.”
Cyril and Dagorat’s eyebrows rose.
“From what I’ve been told, my parents passed away when I was very young, about two or three. Brother Felix brought me to Farmstead Abbey and raised me there.”
“You mean you’ve been there your entire life?” Dagorat said. Liberon answered with a nod. Well, that explained why someone so young held the office of assistant librarian.
As Rindell approached, Dagorat slipped into his quiet servant demeanor. The innkeeper greeted them with a smile. “Good afternoon, Master Cyril.” He may have had his full staff running around, but when it came to Cyril, Rindell almost always served him personally.
“Good day, Rindell. Do you have any warm spiced wine?”
“Yes, Lilly and I made a few barrels last week.”
“Excellent. We’ll start with two glasses of spiced wine, a strong pot of tea, and some Easterlain Rabbit while we look over your menu.”
A group sitting at a large nearby table broke into song. Their neighbors kept the beat, slamming their hard leather mugs onto the table.
You can have a pint and your steak cooked right
At the Sword and Anvil Tavern
Have a glass of rye with your cottage pie
At the Sword and Anvil Tavern
Fine ale you’ll sip with your fish and chips
At the Sword and Anvil Tavern
The whole room let out a loud “Huzzah!” at the end of the song, and many raised a toast toward Rindell. He laughed in amused tolerance while Liberon gawked at the scene. Careful not to react, Dagorat maintained his role as the quiet servant. Between chuckles, Rindell repeated their order and left for the kitchen.
Liberon peered over toward the half-arch. “Is that a real Halfling in the kitchen?”
“Of course she’s a Halfling. That’s Miss Lilly,” Dagorat said.
Cyril pierced Dagorat with a fierce glare and hissed, “This is not a good idea.” He made a small gesture toward their companion. “He’s never experienced real life. Something terrible is bound to happen to him at the Guild.”
“He doesn’t have to do anything. Just stay quiet, listen, and then get out.”
“I can do it,” Liberon interjected with haughty confidence. “You talk as if I’m a fool.”
“I don’t think you foolish,” Cyril said in a soothing manner. “I think you wise for someone so young.”
The compliment made Liberon blush, but Cyril continued. “Wise in the ways of books, scrolls, and theology. But when it comes to the ways of the criminal world, you’re as innocent as a new-born babe.” He paused. “And so am I.”
Liberon gave a faint half-grin. “Well, you know what King Hladomir told Queen Etheldreda when she thought she was too old to start learning about the ways of The One.” Cyril leaned closer and the monk whispered, “The Guilsher caterpillar crawls in the dirt for many years before it becomes a Sovereign butterfly and soars to the skies.”
Dagorat offered a wisp of a smile. At least Liberon was optimistic. “We’ll help you soar, too, Scorpion.”
“Maybe it’ll be all right for an hour. Whether you hear anything or not, just stay one hour. Then you leave.” Cyril fidgeted with his fork. “Anything more than an hour in the Thieves’ Guild…”
“Quiet,” Dagorat said as Rindell approached, carrying a tray.
“Here we are! Two warm spiced wines, tea, and an Easterlain Rabbit.” Rindell placed the glasses in front of them, and set the fondue in the center of the table.
Cyril wafted the scent toward his nose. “What a lovely aroma. Please tender my compliments to Miss Lilly.”
Dagorat bit his lip to prevent a snort.
“I’ll be back to take your dinner orders.” Rindell hurried away, too busy for his usual banter tonight.
Just as well; they had a lot to discuss. Dagorat leaned toward Liberon. “All right, let’s lay out the rules for tonight. First, talk to nobody except the bartender. And don’t even talk to the bartender unless you’re ordering a drink.” Cyril dipped a chunk of toast into the rich melted cheese and grunted, content to let him take over. He continued, “Be polite with the bartender. You don’t want to start a fight or give anyone the wrong impression.”
“I don’t think he needs to be told about manners,” Cyril said. “Politeness seems to come naturally.” He slid a plate closer to the monk. “Try it.” Liberon drenched a piece of toast in the cheese and nibbled at it.
Dagorat refused to lose focus. “Find a place to sit that’ll let you see the whole room clearly. And don’t sit with your back to the door.”
“Mmm,” Liberon grunted. “Why do they call it Easterlain Rabbit?” He dipped another chunk of bread into the cheese and examined it. “There’s no rabbit in this.”
Cyril pointed to the fondue. “This dish is so named because Mentirians believe that Easterlains are so poor, they’d call bread and cheese a rabbit to pretend they had some meat.”
“Or, Easterlains are so dishonest, they’ll sell you bread and cheese when you’ve paid for a rabbit.” Dagorat rolled his eyes. “Are you two ready to listen?”
“I’ve been listening,” Liberon mumbled around a mouthful of food. “No conversation except for the bartender, be polite, get a seat with a view, don’t put my back to the door.”
“If someone speaks to you, just nod or smile, but don’t say anything rude.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“And no chugging ale with strangers.”
Cyril shook his head. “I’m worried. There’s always the possibility something unexpected will happen.”
“He’ll be all right.” Dagorat flipped his attention back to Liberon. “When we get back to the house, I’ll show you how to hide your money.”
They all reached for some toast wedges, dipped them and ate, quickly polishing off the appetizer. Not long afterward, Rindell came back over. “Well, gentlemen, have you decided on supper?”
“I’ll try the roast beef with Yelkshire pudding, and a cottage pie for my servant.”
“And what about you?” the owner asked Liberon.
“Perhaps I’ll try one of those cottage pies, too.”
“Excellent choices, gentlemen.” Rindell hurried away toward the kitchen.
Dagorat leaned forward. “Now, this is important. You may like your new name, but don’t go telling it to anyone in the Guild. Not even the bartender.”
Liberon tilted his head. “Why have an alias if I shouldn’t mention it?”
“Only use it if someone introduces themselves first. If a stranger doesn’t offer a name, then you shouldn’t either. Thieves tend to be very private and wary of new people. You’ll be watched. So you don’t want to be too forward.” Dagorat tapped his temple. “Almost forgot something else, too. Cyril, we’ll need a book and some coin purses.”
“Why?”
“He can’t just sit there at the bar, staring at everyone. Too suspicious.”
“You mean a copy of that despicable book, The Caravan Rogue.”
“Of course. It’s very popular among thieves.”
“And why the coin purses?” Liberon asked.
“Instead of tipping the bartender with coins, sometimes you’ll toss an empty coin purse into the small barrel on the bar. He can restring and sell them. It’s considered to be a very – ”
“Damn,” Cyril interrupted. He put his head down and used a hand to shield his face. “It’s Brother Felix. Get him out of here.”
Dagorat sprang up and moved toward the entrance. He approached Felix, put a hand on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, “Go outside.” Felix complied, and Dagorat followed until they got across the street.
Sweat dripped down the hefty monk’s face. “I ran most of the way here.”
“How did you know we were in the tavern?”
“You weren’t
at home. So I hoped you might be here. Cyril had mentioned how much he loves this place.”
“Coming here was a foolish thing to do. We can’t have a monk seen in public with a mage. Remember?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s important. I couldn’t secure passage to Easterly. The caravan master has to be the nastiest and most obnoxious creature I’ve ever met.” Felix rolled his eyes. “He saw how desperate I was and smiled. Like he took a sick pleasure in turning me away. Then he spit on the ground at my feet and pushed me aside.”
“Darius? He always acts like an angry orc.” Dagorat combed a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s too late to try again now. Tomorrow morning, go back and tell him it’s for Cyril. And make sure nobody overhears.”
Felix stared at him. “That horrid man is going to change his attitude simply at the mention of Cyril’s name? I don’t believe it.”
“Believe. We know a few embarrassing things about him.”
The monk wiped his face and gave a faint grin. “Oh, please tell me.”
Dagorat shook his head. “No. I can’t. People tell Cyril things because they trust his discretion. You know, like your Reconciliatory Seal thing.”
“It’ll be nice to watch him squirm.” Felix put his head down. “Sorry, I’m a brother of the Light and shouldn’t say such things.”
“Of course you should. But for now, go back to the abbey. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Felix waddled off, and Dagorat made his way back into the tavern. As he neared the table, Cyril’s voice became clear. “…and that is how Silberian eggs are properly prepared.” The mage stopped and offered him an inquisitive stare. In a low voice, he asked, “Well? What was he doing here?”
Dagorat slid back into his seat with a deadpan expression. “Couldn’t get passage on the caravan. He’ll return tomorrow and mention you to Darius.”
Cyril burst into laughter. “I suppose Darius was being his charming self?” Dagorat leaned his forehead on his hand as he started to snicker. This made Cyril laugh even louder. “I’d love to be there tomorrow to see the look on his face.” After their laughter subsided, Cyril took a large gulp of wine. “Let’s finish up and get home so we can complete the preparations for the evening.”
They finished up the last scraps of food and headed home through the still-crowded street. Dagorat called Liberon up to his room. He rummaged through the meager contents of his armoire for his sewing kit and some scraps of leather. There they were, under a blood-stained tunic from his days in Easterly.
“Take off your shirt and those boots.” He tossed a different shirt to Liberon, along with a small sack of coins. “I’m going to sew some small pockets under the collar, just big enough to hold four copper-jacks each.”
“Is that a lot?”
“There’ll be more.” Dagorat settled in a chair with the shirt, boots, leather and sewing kit, and got to work. “I’m going to make a pouch inside your boot as well.”
“Is all this necessary for a single hour in the Thieves’ Guild?”
“Yes. The moment you take money out of a purse you’ll give yourself away. A real rogue never stores his coins like that.”
“How do you know so much about the Guild? You said you can’t show your face there.”
“Back when we first came to Mentiria, I used to love the Guild. It was the only place where I felt comfortable. Then one night, I recognized someone from my past sitting at the bar. Since that day, I don’t dare walk in that place.”
Cyril stepped in with the spare purses and handed them over. One in particular showed exquisite craftsmanship, made of beautifully tanned white leather with an elegant embossed swan. The mage winced as Dagorat cut the strings. Dagorat admired it as he worked. “Save this one for last, and only if the bartender has been really generous with you.”
“Generous? I don’t understand. Are there not set sizes for the drinks?”
“If he gives you an ale in a mug this big,” Dagorat said, holding one hand about four inches over the other, “then he’s clipping your drink.” He spread his hands to twice the height. “This big and he’s being generous. Also, if he gives you a bite of food without being asked, he’s being generous despite the size of the ale.”
“This sounded easy at first,” Liberon said. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. “Now it’s becoming complicated.”
They lapsed into silence while Dagorat sewed. Once the shirt and boot were done, he slipped four copper-jacks into the collar’s new compartments and tossed it to the monk. “Put that back on and gimme your belt.” Liberon complied and Dagorat checked it over. Mentirian leatherworkers usually made coin slots inside belts. Anyone with wealth found them useful to guard against pickpockets. This particular one had five. “I need another silver-shield,” he said, holding an open palm toward Cyril.
“Very well.” Cyril gave up the coin. “I suppose you’ll need a golden-claw as well?
“No.” He placed the boot between Liberon and himself. “Copper-jacks in your collar, silver-shields in your belt, and…” Dagorat slipped his fingers inside his own boot and pulled out a shining coin. “A golden-claw in your boot.”
“Is it real?” Liberon said in amazement.
“Of course it’s real!” Cyril said. “Do you have any idea of the penalty for…oh, never mind.”
Liberon took the coin and examined it closely. “I’ve never seen one of these before.”
Dagorat and Cyril stared slack-jawed at each other. Cyril raised his eyes to the heavens and said, “We’re in trouble.”
CHAPTER 7
UNDER THE STOLEN KISS
LIBERON GRABBED THE FROTHY MUG set in front of him, chugged a hearty gulp, and leaned back in his chair. Per Dagorat’s instructions, he’d chosen a strategic spot which afforded him a good view of the entrance and the rest of the room. He could study and commit to memory the faces of anyone entering or leaving, and sat close enough to others to eavesdrop.
The bartender held out his hand. Liberon took a copper-jack from his collar and placed it into the awaiting palm. Then he removed a snipped coin purse from a pocket and dropped it into the bowl meant for tips. “Courtesy of a regal nobleman.”
“No. Don’t ever do that,” Dagorat said. “I told you to leave just a copper-jack for the first drink, not a fortune. Besides, the mere fact you have an expensive coin purse means you stole it.” He sighed at Liberon’s confused face. “If that ‘regal nobleman’ put out a bounty on you, the others would give you up for the reward. Remember, no details. Simply drop a coin purse in the bowl before you leave.”
Cyril stroked his goatee. “I think we’re overwhelming the lad.”
Dagorat released an exasperated breath. “Maybe you’re right.” He regained his composure and fixed his attention on Liberon. “Nobody is going to stand up and say something like, ‘Attention everyone, I just stole the Orb from the monastery.’ But most rogues do like to brag sometimes. Especially after a few ales.”
“Sit quietly in a corner with your book and your drink,” Cyril said.
“You’re listening for veiled comments. They’ll use words like ‘a job’ or ‘a deed’ when discussing a theft.”
Liberon cocked his head. “Clever.”
“And since you’re a stranger, you’re going to be studied by some of the regulars.” Dagorat put his hood on, stepped back from Liberon and faced the wall. “Go ahead, do something.”
The young monk put his hand on his chin and scanned the room. He fiddled with a small figurine on the table. Dagorat motioned for him to leave his seat. “Now watch this.” He sat in Liberon’s chair and imitated everything he had done.
“Impossible. You don’t have eyes behind your head,” Liberon said.
“No? How about on the side?” Dagorat pointed a finger at one of the slits in his cowl. “See? You can be watched and studied and never know it. So always assume there are eyes on you.”
“We do have an advantage,” Cyril said. “It’s the Summer Solstice. No do
ubt there will be many strangers in the Guild tonight.”
“Yes, that’ll be helpful,” Dagorat said. “You won’t stand out so much.”
“I think we’re done.” Cyril approached Liberon. “Try to relax, and on the way there, think about what we’ve told you.”
“It’s only for an hour, I think I’ll be fine,” Liberon said.
The three tossed on their cloaks and left the house. The streets had calmed, most of the celebrations having now moved into the taverns and music halls. They passed through Bister Square and continued east. Liberon kept his head bowed as if studying the paving stones in the street.
“What are you doing?” Dagorat asked.
“Looking for the mark,” Liberon said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“What mark?”
“Aren’t there special symbols carved into the stones pointing the way to the Thieves’ Guild?”
Dagorat rolled his eyes. “No. There aren’t any. Never were.”
“But I heard about it last year.”
“The Guild spread that rumor to embarrass the chief constable when he was trying to ‘clean up’ the city. He and his guards ended up raiding the wrong place and arrested some highly important nobles. Believe me, after the restitution he had to pay, he won’t think about going after the Thieves’ Guild ever again. I’ve heard that two of his officers were disgraced as well.”
The little group chuckled, then fell into silence. They rounded a corner and approached a tavern – a non-descript building which blended in with its neighbors. “And there it is.” Dagorat clapped Liberon on the back. “You know what to do. Stay calm and quiet. Nothing should go wrong.”
Liberon read the tavern’s sign. “The Stolen Kiss. Oh, I get it.”
“All Thieves’ Guilds have names like that. Now, when you’re done, remember to use the hidden Maple Street exit. We’ll be waiting there for you.”
“Scorpion” broke away and headed into the tavern. With unease, the two friends watched as he opened the door and stepped in. “Nothing to do now but wait,” Dagorat said.
“And worry,” Cyril added.
***
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