The moonlit homestead was a perfect target, after things were set in order. He was flighty and reactive in everything but takes, and he knew it. Something remembered from a long gone mentor in a long gone place full of sharp ends. Too soon and too bloody. The good was tainted with the bad, drunken nights where he and the other rats felt the kings of their underground world seared red with choking noises as lungs filled with crimson.
He shut his eyes, as if it might blacken the memories out, but in truth it only made their details become sharper. How often had the blade in the side been held by his own hand? How often in retaliation and how much more often to head off potential betrayal? Lifeless green eyes above a gleaming smile, two of her front teeth missing from a wayward fist in a bar fight only a month ago. Forgiving, even as he knelt over her-
His eyes opened wide, pupils dilating to catch every sliver of light from the moon and stars as he made his way forward, a crouching run that kept him behind shrubs and dog houses. The hounds would be no trouble, if the roots he’d kneaded into their evening meal had anything to say about it. He’d already tallied the cost of these against the potential score, and a grimace rose to his lips. A small price to pay to keep from having to slaughter the lot of them, or for keeping teeth from his legs if he made a slip. He liked animals, and they him, but no hound would be silent if a man was caught skittering about on the front lawn.
The window he’d selected was on a second floor, an office. The best of places to start, and unlikely to be visited by servants so late. Masters and lords distrusted such, always sure the flinching fingers would come from within instead of without. Tonight he’d remind a certain Baron of Redridge why it paid to be wary of both. The wall would be difficult to scale, for most. But there was a reason he’d been called the Spider a lifetime ago. It had only been three years. He shut the memories away again as he began to climb. To many it would have seemed a sheer wall of stone and ivy, but to his fingertips and toes, it was a challenge. He rose like an arachnid, four limbs spiriting him up. It might’ve looked too quick, to reckless, but his system was fool proof. Settle a hand and a foot before reached for the next hold, always two points of contact. In case These elden Stones decided tonight was the night they would crumble.
The final leap to the window sill was a gamble. No matter how much the thief- and he was a thief tonight, had looked through his spyglass, none could ever know if termites infested the wood. Still, he threw himself, heaved into the air and swinging gently as his hands gripped the ornate carving. That would be the baron’s downfall. Polished wood held less appeal to termites, so Saphery had seen. Or maybe it was luck. He clung with a hand, his other reaching for a metal bar slid down his pant leg. A full crowbar would have been too much. The pointed edge was jammed between window and sill, and he levered with ever increasing strength. One wrong press, one extra half-pound of weight, and the window might shatter. An entire week of preparation out the window, literally, and an entire new target.
Finally, the metal hook gave, it’s foundations peeling from the wood and rising as the thief levered. He missed the old days, where another would hang beside him to take the bar. His wrist and arm ached from the combined weight of himself and his tools, without mentioning the tons of nerves that blossomed in his stomach as the wrenching of the window split the night. It had not been loud, but even a pin dropping would have sounded like cannon fire. He held his breath, counting to a hundred before pulling himself up.
The office was more a study, and the study was not the richest that Saphery had ever seen. Maps and globes told of travel, and the missives upon the desk from foreign dignitaries spoke of work as an emissary. At least from what he could scan. It was good. Emissaries were given gifts to take joke to their lords, and he did not know a noble who didn’t take cuts from their better’s coffers. The Duke of these mountains should be thanking him for this reminder. How could you report the loss of gold you yourself had stolen? The Spider would have laughed if he had any to share the joke with. Then he was off, sticky fingers snatching items from the desk.
An ornate pen, it’s metals of gold and it’s wood a rich mahogany. A few gold pieces, but nothing too great. A purse, a heft of it guessing at a filling of coins. Some gold, surely, but likely a majority of silver. This was placed into his chest pocket, tucked tight. There would be no jingling in his escape. The drawers came next, and there was little else in difference. A pair of rubies, square cut. These he stuffed into his mouth. A few stray coins of copper and silver, one of gold, all disappearing into his many pockets. All of these were a pittance, though. The real take, he knew, must be somewhere else.
His eyes scoured the study, looking through the glass cases that ringed the place. Skulls from many places, stones of various type but no quality to him. “Explorer’s.” He muttered through the gems in his mouth. They only ever took things of libraries and museums. A fence wouldn’t care for a dusty tome, and any who would might ask too many questions. His hands moved anyway, nabbing small coins with holes in them. Maybe pandaren or zandalari. He never cared to find out. Gold was gold.
On his eyes swept until he came upon a dresser. The final search, he surmised, as he heard the aggravated shouts of dog handlers, finding their pooches snoozing when they were most needed. The doors were opened swiftly, smoothly, offering only a single freak that was fit to wake the dead. At least, he thought so. Within was exactly what he’d been seeking.
On one side was a mannequin hand, each of its fingers sporting a more colorful and gem encrusted ring than the last never before had he seen such… fool work. Had he ever owned something so expensive, it would never leave his person. The thief worked quickly, snapping off all fingers except the middle, and only sliding the ring off that. A small gift for the owner. On the other side was a more worrisome find. A Sabre, long and curved. Clearly ornamental, it’s hilt layered with rubies and sapphires like pustules on the plagued. He could not steal an entire sword, nor could he fence it. These things were oft one of a kind.
But he could not leave it, either. So out it came, unsheathed loudly. Outside the curses had turned to shouts and warnings. Torches had been lit. He should have been gone by now, before the sentry’s body had gone cold. He’d left him slumped at his station, asleep to the untrained eye. Only when one shook him, cursed him for laziness, would they find his eyes open in a mask of horror, his neck cleanly cut, and his front covered in quickly drying red stains. The shouts had woken the house, servants rushing about to their places and guards flooding rooms, kicking doors down. They were a mere four from the study, and the Spider could not possible have worked his hands faster.
The pommel was unscrewing, slowly but steadily. After breaking the deal it loudly squealed against the handle before the stieg could pop it off and dig it into a pocket. Two doors away, he could hear their shouts better now and none of it sounded good for his health. It never did, now that he thought about it. He could not help the adrenaline induced giggles escaping him as his sweaty fingers tugged and tugged at the bejeweled handle. Almost… one door away… almost…
The handle popped free just as boots planted against the door, and disappeared just in time for the oak to be smashed open. Men in gambesons appeared, their blades and cudgels held out and ready. There was only the briefest pause before the first spoke, only getting the first breath of a word out.
His order finished as a cry as the blade of the Sabre buried itself in his wrist. Thrown from across the room with deadly accuracy. Saphery the Spider paused only speak, memories of scores from long past forcing the words from his dry throat.
“Thanks for having me.” It had been ‘us’ not three years back. What had happened?
The Spider threw himself from the window, falling the full story to roll to his feet. Small, thin blades appeared in in his hands as his dash began. Stupid, he’d been stupid. The sentry shouldn’t have been there, he should have taken an extra day to-
A guard appeared from a corner, brandishing his cudgel and swinging a vertical blow that would have assuredly put Saphery in a ward, dribbling spit down his chin. Instead, the thief twisted, taking the man’s wrist and arm. He got too close for swinging, the blades he held between each finger punching twice into his armpit, and a third time up under his chin. The guard slumped, the scents of beard oil and perfume upon his neck. Somewhere, a scullery maid had lost her partner for midnight cuddles and kisses.
-an extra day to map out the guard’s movements better. But he could not have taken an extra day. The hungering had began, and one dose would surely lead to another very soon. His ankle ached, surely a sign that he’d landed wrong. Everything about the job had been sloppy. Hindsight saw crystal clear, as the Viper had said.
The final vault over the stone wall was tricky, requiring almost three steps straight up before a handhold could be found. Surely a blade would be sunk into his back before he made the first two. So he turned, whipping his cloaks into a flurry about him. He spun and spun, choosing targets as they came to pause, wondering at this strange dance. The first stepped forward, a hand extended and curses on his lips, only to find one of those small blades lodged in his hand.
He reeled back as another started forward, this one’s short sword arcing to split Saphery in two. The dance of cloaks continued, and two more blades found their homes in his eyes.
It was then that they backed, none aware of where the next blade might sprout. Now was as good a time as Saphery would get. Abruptly, the dance stopped, and he took five long strides before leaping, scrabbling up the stone wall before thrusting upwards.
He caught the edge by two fingertips a hand, but it was enough. Enough to turn to a hand, enough to launch himself over and to the soft grass. He fled into the night, breathing heavily but oddly alive. Nothing made him feel this alive, made his blood rush and his heart pound. Maybe he’d visit a brothel? With his luck he could likely turn these coins into twice as much of he went diving before the blood ran cold. Then there was Sinthelyss, the dealer. A whole other pleasure, if he could pay for it. It was looking to be a good week for Saphery.
