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Higslaff and Josiah were friends. Well, more like longtime business acquaintances who frequently referred business to each other and lunched together on a weekly basis. Like Higslaff, Josiah was a member of the local thieves’ guild. Their lunches allowed them to exchange news and gossip, and ponder their occasional orders from the Guild Master.
The closest thing to a friend either man had.
The clomp of Higslaff’s boots on the weather-worn planks of the barber shop’s porch elicited the usual response from Helga, the barber’s gray parrot. “Customer, customer.”
Josiah was a lean man, a half head taller than the pawnshop owner. Josiah also had several summers on his friend.
After Higslaff entered, Josiah closed and locked the door to his shop.
The barber preferred browns, from his boots and breeches to his tunic, apron and leather cuffs. Like any good thief, Higslaff noted, as he always did, the outfit made sure the barber didn’t stand out. Didn’t look particularly dangerous. Higslaff knew otherwise. The sheathed dagger was enchanted, and the man had some skill and training as a thief. Not nearly as accomplished as Higslaff, who’d also done some training as a warrior in his youth. And he preferred the enchanted short sword on his hip to the dagger.
The pawnshop owner thought about his friend. He’d never asked, and Josiah had never shared. But, if he wasn’t mistaken, the barber carried some elven blood in his veins. Probably a grandparent’s, at most. Only a close and familiar eye might detect the slight point to the ears and higher than normal cheekbones. The man heavily displayed his human heritage, so very few might even guess at it.
Josiah was a thief, yes, but his main trade—besides barbering—was as a lay healer. Not one of any great accomplishment, but he was more competent in that trade than he was as a thief.
“I’ll get the tea in the back,” the barber said. “What’d you bring for lunch?”
From her high perch near the ceiling, Helga said, “Hot tea. Hot Tea.”
Despite what the parrot said, on this summer day, Josiah wouldn’t serve it hot. It had been steaming once, but was allowed to cool to room temperature.
While the barber went to the back room, Higslaff closed the shutters to the shop’s two windows. Their mesh screens kept bugs out while allowing air circulation. They also allowed conversations to be overheard. The magical light, housed in a small fixture in the ceiling, would be more than enough. The barber shop wasn’t a large place. A padded barber chair and headrest sat in front of the big mirror mounted above a counter. Several cabinets with shelves and drawers along the shop’s west wall held tools, spare towels and rags, and mundane ointments, oils and salves necessary for the barbering trade. A locked door that led to a closet—what used to be a drop room, until the recent guild war—was built into that wall.
Along the east wall sat four wooden chairs, each with a worn quilted seat pad. Higslaff dragged the customer chairs away from the wall. He arranged two into a makeshift table. The other two would serve their usual functions as seats during the meal.
Higslaff pointed to the tin pail resting on the floor. “Half a loaf of honey wheat bread, strawberry jam, and pickled goose eggs.”
Josiah grimaced, returning with two tin cups filled with peppermint tea. Each already had the customary teaspoon of brown sugar stirred in. They’d been meeting for lunch for many years, and Higslaff knew his friend didn’t care for pickled eggs. Thus, the familiar grimace. But the pawnshop owner favored their flavor and aftertaste. And it was his turn to bring lunch.
Josiah shared first, about Little Mitchie running afoul of a wererat in the tunnels at the south end of the city. He killed the rat, but suffered a bite. He took to the cage voluntarily, to await and see if he’d been infected.
If the rat did take hold in the apprentice thief’s blood, Black Venom might put him down. It depended on how much control over the rodent the human part maintained. Higslaff knew, that with time, a human normally gained ascendancy. But it could take time. And for a long-lived—or existing—undead creature, Black Venom held little patience for such things. With the guild’s war losses, the pawnshop owner gave better odds to the Guild Master having patience, if required.
They were halfway through the strawberry jam sandwiches when Higslaff changed the subject. “What’s your opinion of the young half-goblin thief, Gurk?” he asked. “And his associates?”
A half smile quirked across the barber’s left cheek, stuffed with a bit of his sandwich.
Higslaff leaned back. “Thinking on the busty elf whose legs are longer than mine by nearly half?” The last part was an exaggeration, but not by much.
Josiah nodded, conjuring her image in his mind’s eye. “Marigold,” he said. “She’s got the most symmetrical face I’ve ever seen.”
“Ha!” the pawnshop owner laughed and took a sip of his cooling tea. “Only a barber would notice that.” He picked up his pickled egg off the plate. “Why not her long waves of dark hair?”
Josiah lifted his cup of tea. “Because, my friend, symmetry is a key factor in beauty.”
Higslaff thought of a few choice comments, but wanted to direct the conversation back to his original question. “She’s not the adventuring party’s leader.”
The barber nodded in agreement and finished chewing his bite of sandwich.
Adventurers, Higslaff thought, and refrained from shaking his head.
The pawnshop owner divided people into three groups. Favored Souls, Mundane Souls, and Souls of Consequence. Most of the city was made up of Mundane Souls. On them the gods paid little heed or favor. Souls of Consequence, which he counted himself among their number. They were movers and shakers, and on rare occasion the gods took notice and meddled in their lives. But the Favored Souls. On those, the gods took notice. He’d witnessed what had to be divine intervention, to shift the odds or alter the actions of others. Sometimes against, but normally to the benefit of a Favored Soul.
Most adventurers were Favored Souls, and he didn’t much care to interact with them, unless necessary. How did he know about the gods’ intervention? Dealing with such parties in the past, he’d taken action, made deals that he never would’ve offered. He had no choice, like a marionette whose strings were being manipulated. More than once, one of the gods had worked their will through him, a mere Soul of Consequence.
Gurk’s party was made up of Favored Souls. Of that, Higslaff was confident.
The pawnshop owner set his cup of tea on the chair. He took a bite from his pickled egg and placed it on the plate next to his teacup. He was pretty certain that, years ago, Josiah had been a Favored Soul. Not only had his gut and instinct determined it, but he’d once overheard his friend refer to him as an NPC—whatever that was. But it was a term used exclusively by Favored Souls when referring to Mundane or Souls of Consequence.
For some reason, known only to the gods, Josiah had been demoted to a Soul of Consequence. But, having once been one of the more lofty, Higslaff recognized the unusual insights it often lent to his friend.
Higslaff leaned forward, toward his friend, making eye contact. “Can they be trusted?”
Josiah leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “The adventuring party’s leader, Lysine, is a druid and also trained as a warrior. I read him as cautious, but an honest individual. The party’s other warrior, Kalgore, is impulsive, with a mean streak. Sort of the opposite of the party’s gnome healer. He’s a tentative fellow.”
Higslaff nodded agreement with the assessments. “Most gnomes are. What about Gurk?”
“The half-goblin thief,” Josiah said. “Appears to have no intention of joining our guild. Or our opposition,” he quickly added. “He appears to be the most inquisitive and knowledgeable about the city. Sort of the opposite of the party’s magic user. Maybe it’s the elf blood in her, or that being such a beauty, life has been easier on her. But she tends to be on the naive side of the fence.”
Josiah reached down and picked up the pickled egg and took a small bite of it. “Why ask me about that party of adventurers. Didn’t they complete a job for you a couple weeks ago?”
Out of habit, Higslaff looked toward the door and listened. Then he leaned close. In a hushed voice he said, “Black Venom tasked me to retrieve a magical item that’ll assist in the guild war.”
“And you’re considering hiring Gurk and his party to retrieve it,” Josiah said. He knew better than to ask for details.
Higslaff lifted his traveling top hat, scratched his head and sighed. “It’ll require a journey. All my people I’d normally assign are engaged in important tasks. Or dead.”
“There aren’t many adventuring parties in the city at the moment,” Josiah said. “From what I can tell, Gurk’s party is limited in experience. But they’re resourceful.” He paused. “Whether they could be trusted with something sensitive?”
“Oh,” Higslaff said. “If I hire them, I’ll send Snix along—without their knowin’.”
Josiah was one of the few that knew about Snix, Higslaff’s homunculus. The barber-lay healer had accompanied the pawnshop owner to the wizard’s tower where the creature was formed using arcane craft and Higslaff’s blood. Higslaff wanted the healing spells on hand, in part for safety and in part to help ensure the reptilian creature bound to him had greater ability to endure damaging wounds and injuries.
Josiah set what remained of his pickled egg on the plate. His friend was very secretive about his minion, and rarely risked the creature. And was considering sending it on a journey. That told the barber much about the importance of what the Guild Master wanted done. The magical components and talent to create such a servant were both rare and costly.
“I learned something that’ll be a concern for you,” Josiah said. “While getting a haircut, Jax recounted part of an adventure, where he and his party explored a goblin lair in the Dark Heart Swamp. Learned in the storytelling that Lysine, the druid, wears an enchanted crystal around his neck that vibrates when a magical creature comes near. Familiars, undead...maybe a homunculus?”
“Good thing to know, my friend,” Higslaff said, his eyebrows arched in surprise, then momentary concern. That was an unanticipated complication. “The warning is much appreciated.”
Josiah smiled. “Sharing information for mutual benefit is what has allowed us to prosper.” He brushed a crumb from his chin. “I believe the adventuring party you’re considering would be reliable,” Josiah said, “if they believe they are being paid fairly for the mission.”
Higslaff glanced over at the locked door that once led to the clandestine drop room, where guild messages were exchanged. Closed after an attack on the barber shop, just before his pawnshop had been hit. “We’ve both been pinched in the coin pouch,” he said. “That’s where you come in.”
Josiah raised a skeptical eyebrow as his lean frame tensed.
“They like you far more than me,” Higslaff said. “Your part’ll be easy.” The pawnshop owner held up a placating hand, forestalling any concern. “The half-goblin thief and his party will be more pliable, and affordable, if they come to me for the job, rather than me seeking them out.”
Higslaff picked up and examined his half-eaten pickled egg. “You just need to let them know I have a job coming available.” He took another bite and savored the flavor. “And see to it that the druid and gnome healer are the ones that come inquiring about the job.”
Josiah sat a moment in thought, then nodded once in affirmation. “I can do it. I can get a message to Gurk through the Red Brick. He’s taken a fancy to the young serving girl that works there.”