Tools of a thief, p.1
Tools of a Thief, page 1
Tools of a Thief
D. Hale Rambo
Copyright © 2021 D. Hale Rambo
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.
ISBN: 978-1-7361281-0-7 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-7361281-1-4 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020925933
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Fiercewood Press
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Chapter 1
Zizy’s light-booted feet carried her quickly inside the winehouse. She strode up to the wooden bar, stood on the tips of her boots, and ordered a drink, then stared in dismay at the few king coins left in her purse. She was nearly out of money, out of options, and regrettably, almost out of time. She had to get out of this town and fast. If she didn’t, she’d have to face Emba—again. When her drink arrived, she took a large gulp and sighed, rolling her tired shoulders to relax them. Drinking had always helped to calm her nerves. Well, when it wasn’t dulling them at the sloppy, mistaken end of a night. She started breathing normally again halfway through the bitter contents of the glass, choking just a bit as she drank rapidly.
Looking around the winehouse, Zizy noticed an attractive, chubby Brixan woman staring at her. The woman raised her mug, nodding a greeting. She was drinking alone with a large dusty-brown leather book. Her curly dark hair and deep brown pebble-colored skin were set off by her large green eyes and skewed black-rimmed glasses. She wore a short scarlet dress that Zizy thought was well suited to her. Zizy smiled and turned away quickly, not offering an invitation to talk. Back when she’d first arrived in the city of Shaw, she would’ve taken the time to wink at this woman. To entice her with conversation and perhaps earn herself a kiss or just a drink or two.
But today she needed to focus. Distractions were everywhere. There were more than a few pleasures to be found in a nation like Shawia, and Zizy had enjoyed getting tangled in them. Most of the time. The Brix were quiet folks for the most part. She found it easy to mix among them when she needed to blend in. As long as she kept her ruby-colored curls over her ears, her brown cloak hood up, and a shy smile pasted on her lips, she was alright. The dark and earthen colored clothes she had purloined from a clothesline helped her blend in with the Brix. They were only a foot or two taller than her, but she could often pass for someone’s errant child if anyone noticed a tugged belt or a loose king coin here or there. The thought made her smirk. She hadn’t been a child, or had their carefree innocence, for some time.
To see another group so differently shaded had been a shocking but pleasant surprise for Zizy. Being ruby colored, though brighter than the earth-, stone- and sea-toned Brix, meant almost nothing here, covered from head to toe as she often was. She counted herself lucky that the spellwork gate she had made her way through hadn’t been linked to Camdene, a newly militant nation whose worship of the second-age deity, War, had started to cause some concern on the continent as of late. Camdene seemed to have decided their petty infighting days were over and looked outward to the rest of the continent.
No, being out of place had been middle on her list of concerns. Ending up in the Dragon’s Roost Mountain or under a sea, drowning, had a bit higher preoccupation in her mind when she’d forced her way through the old spellwork gate. Being caught by Emba had been number one.
She drained her drink and asked for a suggestion on the next, winking at the tender—old habits die hard—before agreeing to it. She sipped, enjoying the fine fruity wine, a better drink than she’d ever come across at home in Zumi. She wondered why wine hadn’t made its way across the mountains to her home, noticed she was procrastinating, and then rolled her shoulders again. She surveyed the room, assessing her next move.
In the corner, beyond the attractive woman, was a couple dressed in more rugged work clothes, their heads bent down as they talked quietly. At the bar were several older Brixan men, some with long brown beards, big bellies, and clay-colored skin, others with dusty sea-blue skin, their beards the color of seafoam. The men seemed to be enjoying the spirit of the afternoon, having clearly plucked off work early.
Near the door was a human man, out of place in the winehouse this far south. He was pale cream, tall, and well dressed in fitted traveling clothes. He picked at bits of his food, twirling it on his fork before letting it slip back on his plate. Looking disdainfully around the winehouse, he turned to a simply dressed man, another tall human, though pink skinned—a servant of some sort, Zizy guessed—and mumbled something, jerking his hand in the direction of the curly-haired book reader. The servant gave a polite smile while the stranger laughed, pleased with himself. He noticed Zizy watching and glared at her.
Zizy schooled her face to show no emotion, practiced in the art of pretending to have none, and turned back to the bar. It seemed to her a new option had presented itself to get the money she needed to leave town. Zizy nodded to the tender, paid, and jumped down to the floor.
Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she hiccupped, smiling at the men on the stools. Making her way toward the door, she acted as though she was putting change back in her pouch and dropped a few kings, the gold twinkling on the ground. She heard the men get off their stools and pad up behind her.
An older Brixan man called out, “Here now, miss. You’ve dropped some kings. You’ll be missing those.”
But Zizy, dagger ready beneath her sleeve, ignored him and continued walking.
She stumbled forward and bumped into the well-dressed human, cutting his purse in the process. She then swayed toward his servant in a practiced, distracting manner. Zizy gasped, pretending to look contrite, but before she could get out a word, the man bounded up out of his seat, hitting his head on the ceiling. He winced and strode toward her.
“Drunken idiot,” he yelled. “Watch where you’re going. And get your filthy hands away from me.” He dusted himself off vigorously. The servant, lips tight either from annoyance or hidden mirth, brought out a brush and started swiping at the man’s jacket. The well-dressed human looked at her again, and his face screwed up in confusion. “Are you a child?”
Zizy, thinking fast, started to cry. She moved away from the humans toward the door. The older Brixan men ran up to her, trying to console her and pressing the gold kings she dropped into her hands. She smiled tearfully at them, thanked them for being so helpful, said she really, really meant it, and then turned and ran out of the winehouse.
Once outside, she quickly stuffed the kings in a pouch on her hip, along with the heavy purse she had taken from the human. She pulled out darkened glasses and pushed them over her eyes, wincing at the warm sunlight, and walked briskly down the street until she found a dead-end alley. Slipping into it she swiftly pulled out a small embroidered black cloth and muttered, “Make this trick real, keep me concealed.” The blue sigils of her spellwork burned brightly on the cotton square. Zizy felt herself being tugged into the Hylo, the realm of spellwork that surrounds all things mundane. The cotton square faded away as Zizy vanished from sight.
“Where’d you go?” came a rich voice behind her. “How’d you do that?”
Zizy turned around, the edges of her vision a fuzzy, shrouded mess when she was in the Hylo, almost too blurry see the brown-skinned curly-haired woman from before standing behind her. Zizy held her breath. How had she not noticed the woman following her? Cursing internally, she took a step back.
The woman reached up and poked forward perilously close to Zizy’s nose. She almost made contact, and Zizy stumbled backward, unable to hold back a gasp.
The woman inhaled sharply before laughing. “So you are still here. That’s clever.” She waved her hand in the air again. Zizy took a few hurried steps back toward the end of the alley as the woman reached out again. Turning to and fro she said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you. That was rude of me. Please don’t go away. Are you still there?”
A yell sounded down the street. Expletives loud and loose exited the winehouse as the door flung open with a hard thwack. Looking cautiously at the woman, Zizy began tiptoeing past her. Her light boots and soft footing made no discernable noise.
“You’re a gnome, aren’t you?” the woman said. “You’ve come a long way over the mountains to pick pockets and drink wine.” Delight rang clear in her deep voice.
Zizy pursed her lips. How long had this woman been looking at her? Not many people could tell the difference between her pointed ears and their round ones under heavy hair and cloak. She’d have to be more careful in the future.
“I’ve never met a gnome before,” the woman continued. ”And I suppose I might not be meeting one now, actually. I thought that was clever, what you did back there. Not particularly nice, but very clever.” Zizy kept moving but smirked to herself. “If anyone comes by, I’ll look silly talking to myself in this alley. If you’re still here, I’d like to get to talk to you.”
The bell igerent yelling was coming closer now. Zizy had to hope it was just the humans to sneak her way around. What she wouldn’t give for boots like the ones back home. Sure, there’d be tiny puffs of ruby-colored steam coming from an invisible source, but she’d be so fast she’d be a blur to them.
“You can find me, or follow me, to the library next door.” The woman motioned to the tall brick building on the other side of the alleyway. “Either way . . .” She cocked her head to the side, her eyes roaming the empty space around her. “I’m Laysa.”
Zizy watched Laysa’s face for a moment, noticing the soft crinkles at her eyes and her spirited air. She was intrigued by her but wary. No one had sought her out like this before. She continued to creep past Laysa toward the exit of the alley. She could see indistinct shapes hurrying down the street as she got closer.
“The little brat has to be out here somewhere. She couldn’t have gotten far,” the man said.
She squinted her eyes to judge the distance between them. If she could dart out now and run the direction he was coming from, he’d be too hurried and mad to hear her. She stretched, preparing to run. Suddenly, the man’s indistinct shape became clearer. More focused. Her vision sharpened completely, and she felt tugged, vulnerable and visible, from the Hylo. Crap.
Laysa coughed. “If you need some help, I do know a shortcut.”
Zizy looked up into Laysa’s astonished face and raised an eyebrow. “For how much?” Her luck had gotten pressed rather quickly, and while the woman was interesting and good-looking, Zizy wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some sort of trap.
“Just a few answers to a few questions,” Laysa said.
“Suspicious,” she replied, backing quickly into the alley. She looked at the woman to see if she had caused her invisibility to drop away, but Zizy saw nothing of spellwork materials on her.
They heard footsteps pounding toward them. “What do you have to lose?” Laysa said, moving toward a wooden door set into the brickwork of the library.
“You lead the way,” Zizy said, and slowly put her hand on the dagger handle underneath her cloak.
Laysa winked and pulled out a key. “In here.”
Zizy followed her in, and Laysa locked the door quickly behind them. After they heard a clatter of footsteps outside, the handle jiggled, and loud cursing came from the other side. “She must’ve kept on down the street. Hurry, go.” Someone mumbled a reply, and then the footsteps ran away.
Zizy breathed a sigh of relief and tucked her sunglasses back into her cloak. Inside the small dark room, she could see wooden shelves lining the wall and crates on the floor.
“This is the delivery area,” Laysa said. “The door is always locked but, luckily, by me.” She lit a candle and held it aloft. “Welcome to the library.”
They walked out of the small entrance, cluttered with crates and books, into a large wooden tower. Zizy’s mouth opened wide, and her head swiveled up. Impressive. “This is an awful lot of text for one person.”
Laysa chuckled, her laughter a smooth, warm blanket that Zizy found relaxing. “The library is where we keep most of the things we want to preserve. Its architecture is supposedly reminiscent of the original Libraries, the ones created by the first-age deity, Noble Endurance, that stood before the Shattering. Brix contribute from all over our nation, There’s only one other like it in all of Shawia.” She smiled wide and moved close to Zizy. A delicious heat emanated between them as Zizy noticed the candlelight dancing in the sea of Laysa’s green eyes. Zizy sidestepped away awkwardly. Unphased, Laysa beckoned her forward and walked farther into the room.
The curved walls went up three floors, higher than it had looked from outside. A spiral staircase ran along the inner wall. Light came in through inset glass. Swirls and patterns of vines and leaves were burned into different levels of the ceiling, making a sort of ringed decoration until they reached the peak at the top. Zizy had passed this building with no cares before, and she found she couldn’t reconcile the outside moments with this quiet one inside. Zizy shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks for helping me out back there. You didn’t need to do that.” She swallowed. “So, you said you had questions?”
Laysa nodded and shrugged. “I always have questions. Here, sit please.” She motioned to a plush pink velvet armchair.
The fuss outside, long past them, made the silence feel deeper to Zizy. She felt Laysa’s scrutiny and tried to relax her shoulders. She sat in the soft chair. Once she was firmly planted, her worries abruptly faded away, and she felt loose and light. She yawned. All that running must have caught up to her.
“Why were you stealing?” Laysa said, sitting across from Zizy in a less ornate chair. She crossed her ankles and relaxed back.
Zizy waved her hand, shooing away the question. She put on a practiced air of politeness. “Stealing is a particularly harsh word. I simply needed the funds more than he did, and I helped him help me. I didn’t take more than I needed or more than he could part with.”
Laysa cocked her head, giving Zizy an appraising look.
“Besides,” Zizy continued, “he was acting like a jerk and needed to be taken down a notch.” Don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself.
“Why do you need funds?”
“To travel.”
“Where are you going?”
“North.”
“North?”
Zizy nodded. Capping the questions would’ve been smart. Laysa’s eyes lit up with each answer. Zizy decided to end this conversation quickly and be on her way. “Why are you so interested?”
“I’ve never met a gnome. Or a thief.”
Zizy raised her eyebrows and made to get up. “I—”
“I’m not trying to offend you,” Laysa said hurriedly. “Sometimes I’m too blunt for my own good. But I meant I’ve never met anyone like you before. And then you disappeared! I’ve never seen magic like that. I’m just curious as to how you got the Divine Consul to answer you so quickly.”
Zizy shrugged with an indifferent air. “Just regular ol’ Orison magic,” she lied. She knew better than to discuss spellwork with someone who wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t forbidden in these parts, as far as she could see, but relatively unknown. And what was unknown could be scary to people of ignorance.
Laysa pursed her lips and looked directly at Zizy, who looked back at her nonchalantly, trying not to smile. She suspected Laysa was anything but ignorant, which made her distracting.
“You spend all your time here?” Zizy motioned to the room, changing the subject. She picked at the chair threads, but they were stubbornly resistant to her nails. She glanced around. There wasn’t a layer of dust on anything. Things were stacked and sorted neatly on their shelves. It reminded her in a way of research rooms. Less workspace and less clutter though. How could anyone get anything done in a place like this? If any gnome worth their tools had space like this in or above the Vault, the connected underground caverns all gnome cities had started in, you could be sure it would’ve been filled with, well, everything.
Laysa nodded. “As much as I can. I’ve been working here for over a year or so now. The Librarian lets me live above, and I manage the ins and outs. In the meantime, I read. If you want, I can show you around. Maybe take a tour of the upstairs?” she said smoothly with a lowered voice and the beginning of a grin.
There was that heat again. Zizy groaned internally. She would’ve liked to continue their rapid-fire discussion. Maybe even get around to doing more than talking. But she’d already dawdled enough here. She made appreciative noises and rose from the chair. “Well, I should be getting on—”
“Wait. Can you teach me?” Laysa interrupted.
“Teach you?” said Zizy, confused. She began moving toward the large ornate door she presumed was the main entrance.
“The magic you did back in the alley?”
Zizy turned and looked at her carefully. Did Orisons teach here in Shawia? That didn’t make a lot of sense. No one could really teach something granted by the Divine Consul. Could they? She couldn’t remember what little she had learned over the last months out here. “I don’t know if I have a lot of time to teach,” she said slowly. “I won’t be in town much longer.”
