FLHTH Session 05 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Wherein Mistakes Are Made, Lessons Are Learned

Threesday, First Hand of Readying, EE237

Tándir of Great Harbor

Folkestone's Landing, Wirost

Saafiyah returned sometime that evening while I slept, letting herself in despite my locking of the apartment door. She settled on the couch for the night, pulling the blanket over herself. I woke at some point in the late morning, the sky outside hardly grey with the first rays of the sun. I left her sleeping soundly, unwilling to wake her. Somehow I was not surprised by her uninvited, unwelcome presence. Yet I was somehow not angered by her audacity, either. I left for my morning breakfast at the nearby Spinning Coin Tavern, one of the best in the Soul Market, leaving her behind and somehow trusting her, despite her inclination towards thievery.

The common room was empty when I returned, the blanket laying haphazardly in a ball at one end of the couch. She was gone again. No, the door to my study stood wide open.

Anger surged through me as I looked into my study. The doors to my weapon closet were wide open and the accursed kerlish gutter rat was lifting a barely transparent vial from one of the small wooden cases stored within. Anger mixed with fear and I pounced upon her.

I grabbed the girl's wrist painfully hard, fingers digging into the point on the inside of her wrist, shocking her. I could see the fear in her eyes as she looked up at me in surprise. Her fingers opened and the small glass vial fell to the wooden floorboards. Unbroken, it rolled away. I stared at her with anger burning in my eyes. Beside her my study's closet doors were open, the lock unable to keep the skilled guttersnipe out. One of my lockpicking tools lay on the desk nearby, obviously filched from my backpack sometime the night before. An array of weapons from daggers to swords to crossbows hung from pegs within the closet, and the contents of several shelves were out of place. Most noticeably, a small finely carved wooden box lay open, exposing the handful of glass vials contained within.

My grip on Saafiyah's wrist eased but I grasped her by the shoulders.

"Don't ever touch my things again, ever. Do you hear me?" I said, shaking her almost violently. Iuna's mercy, the accursed girl could have killed herself had I not caught her in time; had her curiosity gotten the best of her and she had uncapped the vial and touched its contents. I noticed tears welling in her fear filled eyes and, with deep shame, realized I'd scared her so badly her bladder had released, the bitter odor assaulting my nose. The fog of anger and fear that had gripped me when I saw her with the vial in hand, examining it, fled me almost immediately. She was trembling in my arms as I carried her to the wash room. "Stay here," I commanded before leaving to fetch the water needed to fill the wooden basin that could be used as a tub. It took several trips up and down the two flights of stairs before there was enough water in the basin for her to bathe properly. "Wash yourself, girl," I instructed. I waited until she had shed her soiled clothing, picked them up and turned to leave. "I'll be back soon," I informed her as I pulled the curtain across the doorway separating my chambers from the small wash room.

She did not respond. I wondered if she might be in a catatonic state as I stepped into the kitchen and stuffed her clothes into a burlap sack for disposal. Pausing and pulling her soiled breeches back out I hefted them a few times. Searching the many small pockets sewn into the breeches, a typical modification made by pickpockets to their clothing, I frowned when I pulled out my antique gnomish puzzlebox. It was small, but almost priceless given the fate that had befallen the gnomes over the past several hundred years. I shook my head with renewed anger. Tossing her breeches back in the sack I threw it over my shoulder and left. There were plenty of vendors of clothing in the Soul Market, and countless refuse disposal carts. I didn't like what I was feeling. Shame was an unfamiliar emotion. How had I forgotten that those poisons had been locked away and that I had allowed an insatiably curious and stubborn guttersnipe to sleep in my apartment? The mistake on my part was unforgivable.  And how the hell had she gotten into the locked cabinet? The lock used to secure it was of the highest quality, one that even I, with my honed skill, had a difficult time of releasing without the proper key.

I tossed the clothes away. My first stop was Trelbar Crestwood's curio shop, to collect the statue of Axsyn that Saafiyah had pilfered several hands back. The morbidly obese bearded man sat on his stool behind the counter of his shop puffing on a pipe, the smoke casting a putrid smelling haze throughout the shop. Trelbar had been one of the pre-eminent fences in Folkestone's Landing long before i head ever sat foot on Wirostian soil, and his reputation for dealing fairly with the criminal element had only grown in the decade I had called the city my home. There was no doubt that Trelbar would have recognized the value of the statue the moment he had laid eyes on it and chances were it would have taken him some time to move it from his inventory of stolen goods. Or so I hoped as I nodded to the portly man and stepped to the counter.

"Tándir," he greeted me. "Well met, friend."

We were not friends. Though there were always some grey areas where the criminal element of the city and my own unique skillset overlapped, I tended to despise cutpurses, pickpockets and burglars. Theft for the sake of theft and the accumulation of wealth was a foreign concept to me. Murder for the sake of righting a wrong, and perhaps profiting in the doing so, was an altogether different thing in my mind. Still, Trelbar and myself had crossed paths on multiple occasions. I was a collector of artwork and antiquities, of books and scrolls, things which Trelbar often had in abundance or could readily acquire for the right prices. And there were times, of course, when I would return home from a job with a little something extra in my pack, jewelry and the like, which were of no use to me but of some value to others.

"Well met, Trelbar," I responded before cutting to the heart of the matter rather than engaging the fence in small talk. "I am told that a gutter rat brought you a statue of Axsyn some hands back. A piece of art for which you paid a paltry six Stags."

I laid out six silver Stags on the counter before him, then added an additional two.

His eyes took in the eight Stags before him, scoffed quietly at the insulting offer. "I'm sorry, my friend, but that would not be sufficient. I know of the piece you speak of, but I'm afraid it is reserved for a buyer at the moment. For a considerably greater amount that you are offering."

"I wouldn't take less than a Dwarf for it, of course," I agreed.

"You would make a fine merchant, Tándir. Perhaps a greedy merchant, but a fine merchant nonetheless. Ninety Dragons is the price I agreed upon."

I inclined my head towards the eight Stags still laid out on the counter. "That remains my offer."

Trelbar's eyes widened in understanding a moment later. "Je! It is yours?"

"It is, yes."

"I am sorry, truly, Tándir of Great Harbor," he effused. I believed him, though still not pleased by the words that followed. "I cannot back out of the deal I have made. Business, you understand? An agreement must be honored, always. But I would be pleased to turn over the proceeds, minus the six Stags of course, to compensate you for your loss."

I liked Trelbar. He had not become the greatest fence in Folkestone's Landing by developing a reputation of treating his clients poorly, or dealing with them dishonestly. I felt for the man and the tough situation that he had just found himself placed into, but I had my own concepts of right and wrong. "Trelbar, it would be unfortunate if it became known that you had dealt so unfairly with a customer. I am sure you knew the value of the art piece when it was first presented to you, or had at least an inkling of its potential value. Yet you handed over only six Stags. I am offering you an opportunity to turn a profit, small profit certainly, but a profit nonetheless. The alternative, of course, is that the guild catches wind of this rumor. It may not affect you too badly, but I know how important your reputation is to you."

Trelbar sighed and the eight Stags disappeared. "Of course," he said, sounding hurt. "Please wait for one moment and I shall return."

The fat shopkeep returned a short while later, unwrapping the finely carved and painted statue of Axsyn, setting it down upon the counter in front of me for a moment before wrapping it once again in the soft cloth and handing it to me. It was a tight fit but I managed to secure the statue in the larger of my two belt pouches for the journey home.

"My apologies, Tándir, for the inconvenience," Trelbar effused. "I will let my buyer know that the piece is no longer available."

"The inconvenience has been rectified," I said. "I may find myself in the market for some additional pieces of art in the near future, and as you know I prefer to do business with those with a reputation of honesty in their dealings."

"I would be welcome to show you my current collection, of course, when you have time."

"Well wishes, Trelbar," I said as I left Trelbar's Curio Shop.

My next stop was the stall of Lefreha Yamurude, an excellent clothier who I had commissioned several articles of clothing from in the past. Although she catered to all tastes she was especially well known among certain circles for finely crafted tear away clothing used by pickpockets, burglars, thieves and assassins such as myself to make quick changes of appearance. The kerlish guttersnipe back in my apartment had no need of such clothing, but Lefreha only displayed more traditional clothing at her Soul Market stall and I distinctly remembered from my last visit that some of it had included clothing for children. Besides, I preferred doing business with those I already knew and trusted.

Lefreha was not present at her stall that afternoon, it being tended by her apprentice, a young lass by the name of Sahri. I did my best to describe Saafiyah's stature, size and build and Sahri was more than happy to heap a few garments into my arms and then add to them with a few more just for good measure, and surely, extra coin. I finally told Lefreha's apprentice that enough was enough, handed her the coins required as payment, and meandered through the crowd back towards the apartment.

I found the kerl perched on the edge of the couch with the travel blanket from my bedroll kit wrapped tightly around her. She looked calm, hair wet, cute. I was about to apologize again for frightening her so terribly when she smiled.

"Sorry," she said, this time as if she actually meant it. "I shouldn't have snooped."

I dropped the pile of new clothes on the empty space beside her and spoke gently. "Saafiyah, I'm sorry I scared you. But, and this is important, you should never touch a substance or weapon in my study unless you know what it is and what you're doing. That was poison, deadly poison, that you had in your hand earlier. You could have killed yourself."

"I know. Sorry."

She looked down, her hands busy sorting through the bundle of clothing. A smile blossomed as she pulled out a new pair of breeches. "Nice." She laid them on the couch and started fishing again, frowning at the dress I had allowed Sahri to add to the pile in my arms against my better judgement, knowing that it was not something that Saafiyah was likely to be interested in. She tossed it to the side in favor of a simple tunic with a few odd pockets. Her foot wraps would have to suffice for another day or two until I could get to a leatherworker and have a new pair of boots made for her feet.

Saafiyah looked up at me, blushing slightly over the pile of gifts beside her. "Thanks, Tándir. I'd better go get dressed."  Gathering up the clothes, she shuffled awkwardly down the hall and disappeared into my solar.

The sight of bruises, already dark purple, ringing her small wrist made me flush with shame, again.

FLHTH Session 04 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Wherein a Street Urchin Gets Under My Skin Upon My Return to Folkestone's Landing

Twosday, First Hand of Readying, EE237

Tándir of Great Harbor

Folkestone's Landing, Wirost

I'd returned to Folkestone's Landing three turnings of the hand later. "Thank you," I said to the lad tending the stable where I boarded Stormlight, tossing him a handful of Dragons for the next month's boarding fees, arranging for delivery of my travel bags to my home, picked up my trusty leather backpack and entered the Soul Market. Little had changed in the three hands since I'd last been home.  The same familiar sights, smells and sounds were a welcome relief from the stockyards of Penrith's Point where I had had a very private conversation with a traveling storyteller and bard that had raised the ire of someone wealthy enough to afford my services and with the connections to contract said services.

Dodging around shoppers and tourists I wondered why I had accepted this last contact. I certainly didn't need the extra coin. It did enhance my reputation, of course, but was that even necessary anymore? I had a pretty good, if low, profile reputation. Bastion had always seen to that. I decided to inquire with Bastion the next time we talked. As the primary front man for my serivces he'd know if we still needed for me to take the odd local jobs.

"You're back. Where did you go?" she said, this time not even trying to cut the strings of my purse, just suddenly walking beside me. When I didn't reply she added, "What's your name?"

Pausing, looking past her olive-green eyes, I saw she was back to being filthy, her dark hair a disaster, face smudged. I could detect a sour odor rising from her as well. "You need a bath."

"Thanks," she said, pocketing the few Stags that I offered. "What's your name?"

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I asked. "Like a public bath?"

"Nope. What's your name? Are you ashamed of it? Is it Nulvog? Or Godaf?" she asked with apparent interest. "It's Uw, isn't it?"

"What's yours?" I asked. Now why did I ask that? I didn't need or want to know her name.

"Saafiyah. But I prefer Thistle. What's yours?"

She followed me up the stairs and crowded me when I unlocked the door to the apartment above the shop and, with no hesitation at all, strolled in. I was unaware at that point that Saafiyah had just decided to permanently move into my life.

"I did not invite you in," I told her with a frown, holding the door open for her to leave. She strolled around the main room ignoring me.

"I know."

With a sigh I shut the door. "And that reminds me. Where in Aesis' beard is my statue?"

Saafiyah bounced her rear down on the sitting couch as if testing it. "I sold it."

"To whom?"

"Trelbar."

Damn. That scumbag? "I'll go see him tomorrow. How much?"

"Six Stags."

It was worth a small fortune. Trelbar had ripped the girl off and I had no doubt he had known that when he'd handed over the coins to her. Trelbar was going to get a personal visit from me at which point he and I would have a conversation about a fence treating his clients fairly so that all involved profited.

Thirsty and now pissed off, I headed to the cupboard and grabbed an unopened jug of River Valley ale, Saafiyah following close behind. She didn't make a sound but I could tell nonetheless; a rank odor followed me. "You stink," I told her, before frowning and sitting down the ale. It had become stale in my absence.

"I know."

"So go wash yourself."

Opening the balcony doors off the main room, I stretched, bent, and leaned on the railing, watching the fascinating canvas of life that was the Soul Market. It was the oldest and busiest market amongst the the seven islands that made up the Mystshroud Chain, and certainly the most famous. With its narrow alleys, its frenetic activity, is miasma of aromas and the vitality it exuded every day it was likely second to only the King's Market of Great Harbour in all the known world. From the balcony I could see beyond the energy of the market to the waterfront district where a half dozen seafaring galleys were in port. Beyond, at sea, more ships waited at anchor for their turns to load or unload their precious cargos before sailing for Great Harbor or the major ports of the other islands. The view never failed to help me feel alive, even if just a bit. It always defied my belief to realize that only three hundred cycles previously Wirost had been untamed and ruled by tribal kobolds and orcs, humanoid races whose freedom was now on the brink of extinction.

Glancing over my shoulder I was pleased to see no sign of Saafiyah. Good. She'd finally got the message and left. What was with the child, anyway? I pulled over a chair and sat in the late afternoon shade. I filled the pipe I carried with me, lit it with a flint and steel striker. That first deep inhalation felt wonderful. I could almost feel the effects of the Iuna leaf residue, so named after the Goddess of Medicine, Healing and Mercy. I closed my eyes for a moment, embracing the calming effects of the tobacco. It was good to be home.

As I usually did, my mind went back over this most recent contract, searching for any flaws. Had I left a clue? Had I left traces that would reveal the storyteller's death as anything but an accident? If I had, I couldn't see it. The life I'd chosen, was really quite a lonesome profession. It required dispassion, cold calculation and distance from the world. I had always believed it had suited me rather well after my experiences in Great Harbor before I had fled to the Mystshroud Islands and eventually settled in Folkestone's Landing. I quite liked the odd hours and the new challenge that every contract provided. I liked the change in scenery that my work afforded me, as well. I had spent the first half of my life hardly ever stepping outside of the district I had been born in back in Great Harbor. Since my flight to the Mystshrouds I had traveled extensively, perhaps even more extensively than the wealthy aristocrats of my native land. While there were times between jobs that sometimes stretched for months, I didn't find them boring in the slightest. It allowed me to temporarily retire, as it were, and refine my craft. There were so many interesting ways of killing. In fact, I didn't think my victims quite appreciated the skill, respect and poetic justice I paid to them, selecting a mode of death most suited to their personalities or transgressions.

Dallen Holybrook, the recently deceased middle-aged and crooked bard who had cheated at games of chance one-too-many times, was a fastidious dresser and obsessive about his neatness and cleanliness. It was appropriate that he drown while bathing in the public bath of the inn I had finally caught up to him at. Of course, heart attacks do happen at odd times; at least those induced by the forced introduction of a heavy dose of Aislimare root into the system. But, had I covered myself? It was always the question that I returned to after completing a job.

Movement broke my chain of thought. The tobacco in my pipe had long since been exhausted and I realized that I had been lost in my own thoughts long enough that the sun was low in the sky. Saafiyah emerged onto the balcony wearing on of my baggy traveling shirts. She'd obviously been going through my things and I had been so involved in my own thoughts I hadn't even heard her return, hadn't heard the sound of my apartment door opening behind me. Was she really that good? More worrisome, was I becoming that oblivious to my surroundings?

"Better, yes?" she asked.

Her hair was still damp and for the first time I noticed it wasn't dirt-coloured at all. Saafiyah had rich dark burgundy hair that glinted with coppery gold strands in the late afternoon sunlight. She seemed to clean up into a diffferent girl altogether. The guttersnipe was gone, and I had no doubt that she was going to be a stunning image of of beauty one day when she grew up. I was still quite sure, based on her small stature, she was around eight cycles into her life, yet she talked as if she were older. Was it being on the stree tthat did it? I tried to remember what I had been like at her age, in her circumstances, fending for myself on the streets of the more disreputable districts of Great Harbor before the old man had taken me under his wing, provided a roof over my head, meals for my belly and nourishment for my mind in the form of alchemical instruction. Still, even then I was older than eight.

"That's my shirt that you're wearing."

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?" Now, exactly why did I ask that question? Was I trying to appear stupid? She got it from my solar. "I mean, why did you get it?" No, that's not really what I meant either, so I tried again. "I mean, where are your clothes and who told you you could take something that does not belong to you?"

She stood, leaning back, elbows on the black iron balcony railing, olive-green eyes studying me. "Are you done yet or do you have more?" she asked, smiling at me. It looked like she was mocking my articulateness.

"I'm not done by a long shot, kerl," I insisted, using the term that denoted a female of no standing or class in society. Kerl, and it's male gender variant "dern" were most often used in derogatory reference to slave stock.

My barb did not seem to faze her. "You did. You told me to go wash."

"Hmm. I don't remember saying anything about helping yourself to my clothing."

"You didn't tell me not to," she rationalized, pausing before adding, "Sorry?" with that enigmatic smile. I was absolutely convinced she had not one ounce of sorry in her; not one ounce.

I scoffed and shook my head.

"I went to the bath house on Gold Street," she began explaining.

"Gilded Flowers," I said. I had been there many times over the years. Like most public baths in the Soul Market it was staffed almost entirely by slave stock and offered numerous amenities besides the baths. It was also quite expensive. I frowned and felt for my coin purse only to find that it was not at my belt. I extended my hand, palm open.

The girl simply smiled as she reached behind her neck and untied the string before pulling the purse from beneath my shirt. "I had my clothes washed while I cleaned up but they hadn't dried yet and it was getting late," she continued to explain as she dropped my coin purse into my outstretched hand. "I couldn't very well run around in wet clothes, now could I? So I came back and borrowed one of your shirts while my clothes dry on the couch. You didn't say I couldn't."

While I paused to think up a rejoinder, Saafiyah left the balcony. She returned a moment later with two clay mugs. "Here," she said, handing me one. "Your ale was stale so I bought a flagon for you on the way back."

"Thanks." It wasn't until I'd taken my first drink from the mug that I realized she was now helping herself to my drinks, too. And ale, at that.

I was not impressed. I even found her wet, washed clothes hanging off of the back and sides of my couch. I realized, with a sigh, that she wasn't going anywhere until her clothes dried out. Grabbing them I took them to the balcony to dry faster.

An hour later she inhaled a meal that I had sent her to the market to fetch, packing away more than I could have consumed in two meals. I didn't feel guilty in the slightest when I pushed the re-dressed, bathed and over-fed guttersnipe out my front door. "Go home," I instructed. "And please stay there," I added before closing the door behind her.

Standing on the balcony, leaning on the railing with a freshly filled mug of ale in hand, watching locals and traveling merchants moving below, I enjoyed the peace. Saafiyah had kept up a running conversation despite my not answering her at all. She wasn't put off in the slightest that I wasn't participating; that I had barely registered her presence except when I had sent her to fetch dinner. Draining the ale, I wondered where she lived. Then I wondered why I was even interested in the answer to such a question? Why would I care? I didn't, I decided with a nod.

Sleep came easily.

I woke up suddenly. Normally, I'm exceptionally observant. Somehow, as I slept, I picked up on a small detail that niggled at my mind. I hated niggles. From my perch on the balcony I hadn't seen the girl leave the building. I should have seen her. Was she hiding in the building? Where? Somehow I wouldn't put it past her to wait for night before trying to slip back into my apartment. Slipping on my breeches I started out. Until I confirmed she'd left, I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I absolutely hated niggles. Like loose teeth I could never let them go, pushing and probing despite the discomfort they brought.

It wasn't hard to find her. All I did was open the apartment door. Saafiyah was curled up in the hall, sleeping on the old wooden floor, head on crossed arms. Something in my chest shifted. I didn't like the feeling, it was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I couldn't let her sleep there, even knowing that it was probably better than anywhere else she would have found to bed down for the night. Frowning, I picked her up gently. I was surprised when she didn't wake as I moved her to the couch and laid her down. Given the talents she had displayed thus far, I would have expected her to stir awake at the sound of my door opening. Leaving the common room, I paused, turned, looked at her and, with a sigh, fetched a blanket and pillow.

With a light blanket covering her I finally found sleep. My final thought was that come morning I'd need to have a stern talk with the kerl.

I woke to the smell of fresh bread. After a brief bout of confusion I remembered I had an unwelcome guest. Once dressed I found her with a pile of bread, smothered in butter. Butter smeared one of her cheeks and a half empty jug of goat's milk sat on the table in front of her.

"I fetched breakfast, Tándir," she said, stating what was already obvious while nodding at the loaf of bread.

Her olive-green eyes followed me as I tore a section of the bread off and ate. Munching, crumbs fell from her mouth to the table. I was not impressed by her table manners.

"Saafiyah, where do you live?"

"Here and there."

I knew, of course, that she was a street child, a guttersnipe, a gutter rat or any of a number of similarly derogatory terms; like most kids living on their wits she showed an abnormal confidence. Over our morning meal she happily chatted away, interrogating me, learning nothing yet seemingly satisfied. She managed to talk about everything but herself, deflecting my own questions with ease. I didn't push. When I filled a mug with the last of the ale she had brought the night before and retired to the balcony to warm myself in the morning sun it finally registered.

"Hey! How did you know my name is Tándir?" I asked over my shoulder. Getting no answer, I rose and went to find her. What was she doing now?

She was gone.

FLHTH Session 02 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Wherein a Street Urchin Returns

Foursday, Third Hand of Fireseek, EE237

Tándir of Great Harbor

Folkestone's Landing, Wirost

"Ah! Tándir of Great Harbor!"

Bastion Bodiou and I had a working partnership; he was the front man, the contact for potential clients, working out of his modest apothecary shop only a few streets down from my apartment in the heart of the Soul Market. It provided a layer of protection for me from clients, victims and the Wirostian courts, and it only cost me thirty percent, a reasonable expense given the value I placed upon my own life. I was not overly fond of his connection with the Folkestone's Landing thieves' guild, but a better fixer there was not. He had always dealt more than fairly with me. It had been three days since my return to Folkestone's Landing and it was time to collect my payment.

Today Bastion looked uncharacteristically upset.

I waited until he dispatched his young errand boy on a seemingly important delivery of incense. "What gives, Bastion?" I asked as soon as the youth had exited the shop. "We've been paid, haven't we?"

"Oh yes, of course! Don't worry, I have always given you your due, haven't I?" As he spoke his hands worked under the counter, accessing the hidden compartment I knew to be there in which he stored the funds that had nothing whatsoever to do with his legitimate business front.

"You look upset, Bastion."

His hands returned to the countertop, sweeping out to the sides and leaving in their wake seven platinum Dwarves. He smiled briefly, nodding towards the gleaming coins to confirm that they were my payment.

"There's been some rumbling out of Southport," Bastion spoke as I collected the seven coins. "It seems that our client was a bit less truthful about your last target than we thought."

"What are you talking about?" I asked as I deposited the coins into my newly strung coin purse. It was Bastion's job to get the details of my contracts right.

"If I'm hearing correctly, the disagreement between the client and Tadeu Cavalcanti had nothing to do with money, but something about the client's niece being defiled. She was apparently quite friendly with the late Tadeu, if you get my meaning."

"By Aulla! You're supposed to get these things right!" I had strict rules, very strict rules. I only accepted work that were themselves evil, rotten, dirty. And one of the rules was to never get in the middle of family disagreements; they were no-win situations.

"Yes, my sincere apologies, Tandir," Bastion replied. I believed the man. In the ten years I had worked with him since arriving in Folkestone's Landing he had never once given me cause to doubt his honesty in our dealings. "These things, as unfortunate as it may be, do happen sometimes. But there is more, my friend. There are rumours circulating in Southport that Tadeu's people are actively trying to discover the identity of his killer, so keep your head down. They can't possibly know that it was you, but, just to be safe please be extra cautious."

I took a deep breath. Bastion was the only one who knew of my line of work. "Okay. Send a runner if there are any developments," I ordered.

"Yes, my friend, I shall do that. Don't worry."

I turned and left, seven platinum Dwarves richer. And despite Bastion's assurances I found myself worrying.

The girl cut my purse halfway between Bastion's shop and my apartment. She was very subtle. In fact, if it wasn't for a slight brush as she tried to slip away I might have missed it entirely, my attention distracted by the scent of delicious spicy chicken. She was very, very good, and I had come close to losing the seven Dwarves I had deposited into the purse only a few minutes earlier. Nevertheless, she was still dangling from my hand again, smiling at me, her eyes twinkling as she handed me a handful of coins without my even asking.

"Sorry?" she offered with a smile and a shrug that suggested she haboured no regrets at the theft.

I said nothing; just stared.

She sighed and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a handful of silver Stags, gold Dragons and a single platinum Dwarf. Her eyes became large as saucers as she spotted the gleaming platinum coin, something she had likely never laid her eyes upon. I noticed she'd cleaned herself a bit with the few coins I'd given her yesterday. Her face was quite pretty for a child, but she still stunk of the streets.

Giving her a Stag and a few Crowns, I told her to feed herself, suggested a bath, released her and left, continuing on my way.

I was deeply impressed on her third try a week later. I'd seen her this time and not being an idiot I watched her surreptitiously as she made her approach. This time I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet, she was once again dangling from my hand, staring at me with those eyes, smiling.

"Sorry?" she offered, her hand holding my purse out to me.

This was becoming tiresome. I appreciated her skill, but couldn't she pick some other sap? "Go find some other mark," I told her after she'd returned my money. She took the proffered coins, stuffed them into a rear pocket of her grimy loose fitting breeches and proceeded to follow me into my apartment building.

"What do you do?" she asked, running to keep up with me.

"Go away, child."

"Have you lived here long? You're not from here are you? What's your name?"

"Go. Shoo."

She didn't, following me up the wooden stairs to the third floor, our steps echoing in the hall. Fumbling at the door, I managed to unlock it and enter, kicking it closed behind me. Damn she was a pest; talented, but a pest regardless.

"Nice apartment."

I almost jumped out of my skin. She was wandering through the living room staring at the furniture. By Kirana, how did she get in? I hadn't heard her enter even though she had been right behind me. Never mind. "Get out," I ordered, opening the door, pointing and frowning.

"Well wishes." She smiled as she left.

Pausing, the door partially closed, I realized I recognized that enigmatic smile. By Kirana, again! She'd disappeared by the time I ran down the stairs. Back in my apartment I identified the missing ebony wood statuette, an intricately carved and painted likeness of Axsyn, the God of Life and Death. It was a possession that I was very fond of, even if I myself did not pay homage to Axsyn. It was also worth a tidy sum of Dragons to the right buyer.