| |
“Cool dagger, dude,” Gurk said.
“I might venture to say yours is rather impressive itself.” Josiah surveyed the three dead bodies on the blood-slick floor. The barber didn’t offer his gratitude often but, if there ever was an appropriate time, this was it. “Thank you for the help. I couldn’t’ve taken them on my own.”
Gurk grinned. “No problem, dude. I could tell they were up to no good.” His face turned serious. “Your parrot’s over there.” The young thief pointed toward one of the toppled customer chairs along the wall. “That big dude threw him pretty hard.” He paused. “I don’t think any chairs fell on him, so maybe he’s not dead?”
Hope hung in the wiry thief’s voice. That wasn’t expected, not based upon every half-goblin Josiah ever crossed paths with. While some were decent enough, showing concern for someone’s pet? And he stayed and fought when he didn’t have to. Josiah calculated the chance the half-goblin thief could’ve gotten out the front door while Stosh and Mustache Man were dealing with him. Better odds than staying and fighting, especially on the side of a total stranger. He was pretty sure the young thief was smart enough to recognize the escape alternative as well.
Josiah made his way over to Helga, thinking about the young thief. Maybe Gurk’s odds calculation determined fighting alongside the barber offered a better chance for survival. Maybe he didn’t want to be hunted down later.
Where did the young thief manage to conceal that nasty dagger? In his satchel? Without that weapon, it would be them lying dead on the hardwood floor.
Helga was alive and breathing. One wing was broken, that was obvious.
Josiah took a few deep breaths. Combat always got him wired up, a feeling he hated. He didn’t care for being on the edge of death in the least. That was a major reason why he threw in the towel on adventuring.
“She’s alive,” Josiah said, surprised he’d turned his back on the unfamiliar thief.
“Awesome.”
That word caught Josiah’s attention. He’d heard it used by locals over the years, but rarely. “Awesome indeed.”
After wiping his dagger off on Stosh’s sleeve, Gurk walked over and picked up his satchel from the floor. He stuffed the weapon in the satchel and then retrieved his belt holding his cutlass. “You healed yourself, and me,” he said, buckling his weapon back on. Then he reached for his bandoleer. “You all out of spells?”
Josiah stood, leaving Helga on the chair’s worn cushion. “Not quite.”
Gurk walked over and extended his hand. “I know I already told ya my name, and I know yours is Josiah the Barber.”
Josiah shook the young thief’s hand. “Just Josiah will do.”
Gurk’s grip was strong, despite the beating he’d taken. But it seemed like an inexperienced handshake, like it wasn’t something he did often, if ever. Common for half-goblins, who were generally standoffish.
“I ain’t sure exactly what those guys wanted, but you’re gonna have to do something with the bodies.” Gurk pointed toward the back doorway. “If you got a back door...wouldn’t open your shop again today and hide the bodies until tonight. Maybe in the closet, there...if it’s safe?”
Josiah smiled. “Thank you for the advice.”
Gurk rubbed his nose. “Seriously, dude. I’ll help, if you want, but right now we’re both not in any shape to do much hauling.” The half-goblin released a pointy-toothed grin. “My friend Jax can heal me up. You too, if you don’t have enough spells.”
When Josiah didn’t say anything right away, Gurk shrugged. “I wouldn’t ask him to help with the bodies. He’s sort of small—shorter than me—and probably shouldn’t get mixed up in thief stuff.” Gurk raised an eyebrow. “Which I’m guessing this was?”
“Is that why you came to my shop this morning?” Josiah briefly licked his teeth, then clenched his jaw while glancing down to the left. “Thief business?”
The appropriate response gesture wasn’t returned. Gurk didn’t know one of the opening signs, so the half-goblin wasn’t part of the local guild. He might not even be a thief. Just a warrior of some sort, one that favored a cutlass, and wasn’t properly trained with a dagger. Although he still managed to inflict notable damage upon Stosh and Mustache Man.
“Sort of,” Gurk said, “but maybe we can talk about that after...” He gestured to the bodies.
Josiah grabbed a folded towel off the counter and cleaned his dagger. After sheathing it, he retrieved and cleaned his stiletto. “Your gnome healer friend nearby?”
“No.” The young thief’s pointy-tooth smile turned to a frown. “I said my friend was small, but not a gnome.”
“I’ve seen you a couple of times in company with a gnome, so it was an assumption. Am I wrong?”
“Nah,” Gurk said. “Guess someone like me and a gnome would stand out.”
Josiah tipped his head from side to side, indicating agreement. “I have two spells, two Minor Cure Spells,” he said. “I will use one on you and one on me. That should put us in good enough shape to begin cleaning up. If you’re still willing.”
“What about your parrot?”
That question caught Josiah off guard. “Helga? She’ll survive until tomorrow morning.”
“I got a druid friend. I bet he’d heal your bird...companion?”
“No.” Josiah shook his head. “If you’re wondering, Helga isn’t a familiar.”
Gurk shrugged his shoulders and winced. The movement aggravated his injuries. Already the swelling and bruising from the pounding Stosh dealt out was showing on Gurk’s face. Probably the same with his ribs, shoulders and elsewhere. Bleeding from the sword strike to his head had stopped, mainly due to the Minor Cure Spell that brought the young thief back into the fight.
After Josiah expended his two healing spells—he still had a Hinder Poison and Cure Minor Disease Spell memorized—he said, “You seem to be a trustworthy fellow—”
Gurk interrupted the barber, saying, “You can count on me, dude.”
Josiah nodded. “We won’t store the bodies in the closet. There’s a better solution.” He looked around at the carnage while organizing his thoughts. The half-goblin, while ruthless and violent in combat, didn’t seem to have that cruel streak he’d come to expect from his kind. It could be this one was an outlier, or simply concealed it well because he wanted something. That would be revealed in time. “Once we have that taken care of and most of the mess cleaned up, we can send a runner to summon your healing friend? Unless you have some business that you might not be interested in, shall we say...others knowing?”
Gurk cocked his head. Then he smiled. “Nah, dude. It’s not like that.”
Josiah revealed the stone slab covered by thick wooden planks at the base of the stairwell leading up to his apartment. He showed Gurk how the slab could be slid aside using a lever to guide it onto a set of rollers beneath the floor.
The concealed trap door hid a twelve foot shaft that dropped into a tunnel. Years ago Josiah explored the passages and intersections to discover where they led. He didn’t go far; the network extended across a good part of the city. But, he might need to make an unnoticed escape someday, he figured, and knowing the local layout seemed wise.
The tunnels weren’t fun to travel in. Damp and cramped, being only five feet high at the arched apex and rarely more than three feet wide. Despite the occasional brickwork and timber shoring, the rippled stone walls and floor suggested magic played a major role in their construction. They weren’t nearly as old as the city, but the one running beneath his building had to be over a century old. Josiah sometimes wondered if there was a network of tunnels other than the one the local thieves’ guild used, or if the guild shared it. He wondered if the City Guard knew of the network, but intentionally turned their head to its existence. Josiah wasn’t nearly high up enough in the guild to be privy to such information. And asking a guard, at least one far enough up the chain to know anything, was like asking to be killed. If not by the guard, then by the guild.
Gurk didn’t ask any questions of Josiah, even as he climbed down the ladder anchored to the stone-walled shaft. He stood patiently at the shaft’s bottom while Josiah lowered the three bodies by rope, one at a time. The most the young thief appeared to do was take note of the tunnel’s size and the direction it ran, using what light the lantern offered and what his half-goblin eyes enabled.
In any case, the tunnel running beneath his stairwell’s landing was how guild members, on rare occasion even Black Venom himself, entered Josiah’s shop to make pickups and drop-offs in the Drop Room. Through the grapevine, he knew of the guild master’s infrequent visits.
The barber didn’t share such information with Gurk. Nor did he share that the guild would dispose of the bodies, and that he’d have to provide a verbal account, or report, to one of Black Venom’s lieutenants within the guild. Gurk’s name would be included, and his actions might benefit the young thief. On the other hand, the mention would also cause a closer watch to fall upon him, especially if there was a guild war brewing. Or maybe, based on what just happened in his shop, the war had already started.
After splitting the coins from the three intruders’ pockets, each getting four gold, eight silver, five copper, one bronze and two iron, they examined their fallen foes’ weapons. None appeared to be enchanted, but all were of decent quality. Josiah offered Gurk Mustache Man’s short sword, which was the most ornate. He planned to keep and discreetly sell Stosh’s mace and Stocky Guy’s short sword.
Gurk said he’d rather have the two mundane weapons instead of the fancier sword. Josiah agreed, having better connections to dispose of the distinctive weapon without leaving a trail back to him, should someone ever come looking.
They both lamented the ruining of Stocky Guy’s enchanted monocle used to locate traps. Either through the electrical discharge, or being dropped, or both, the delicate crystal had been shattered. The silver itself was scorched and bent, or warped, rendering it beyond repair. Whatever the reason for the magical item’s undoing, it was worth nothing more than its weight in silver, which wasn’t much. Josiah suggested that he drop what remained of the item, including the shattered bits, into a street alley. Someone would be certain to stumble across the ruined silver portion, and attempt to trade it for food or something of value. It would throw off anyone attempting to use a Trace Spell to locate the item and, if located, trace it back to the barber shop.
Gurk agreed. After that, he went right to mopping up the blood without complaint, even though his injuries were far from healed. Josiah decided the young thief had to be at least 2nd rank. Maybe higher.
After Josiah retrieved two fresh buckets of water, left on the porch by one of his child regulars, he asked Gurk, “How’d you get the jump, so to speak, on Stosh?”
“Stosh?” The young thief stopped mopping up the blood.
“The warrior with the mace,” Josiah said, placing the buckets on the floor and shutting the shop’s door again. “He was stumbling, like he was stepping on nails.”
“You knew him?”
“Not more than his name. I’d seen him around the past few weeks.”
The young thief hesitated, then said, “Used a Size Alter Spell on his boots.”
When Gurk didn’t add anything, Josiah nodded approval. An innovative use of the spell, however he managed to cast it. After another moment of silence, while they got back to cleaning, he said, “So, I imagine you didn’t come to see me to get a haircut. Or that wasn’t your main purpose.”
Gurk grinned. “Nope. I wanted to get my dagger, the one in my satchel, looked at by a magic user, maybe an enchanter. It might be cursed.”
Josiah looked up from toweling the blood splatters off his barber chair. His eyes widened. “Why would you suspect that?”
“When I hold it,” Gurk said, “it gives me a queasy feeling.”
“Queasy?” Josiah hadn’t heard that word in many years, and not from a half-goblin.
“Kind of twists my stomach.” Gurk’s face scrunched up as he tried to explain. “Makes me feel sort of shaky.”
Josiah was beyond feigning disinterest. “And why did you come to me?”
“Well-l-l,” Gurk said, dragging the word out. “I heard you might be someone with connections that could look into it...you know...discreetly.”
“And where did you hear this?”
“I’ve been staying, well, me and my friends, the gnome healer and druid and all, at the Glade House. Learned about you from someone there sometime back.”
While it was a reasonable answer, told in a reasonable manner, Josiah didn’t think that was the truth. At least not the whole truth. The Glade House, run by Mistress Lovelace—he’d learned years ago that she had some fae blood in her—had a lot of interesting people pass through. But very few who knew much about Josiah the Barber tended to stay there. Lovelace might have knowledge of Josiah’s connections, but she had her own network. She’d recommend someone among her people, Gurk being a thief, or not. Or maybe not. Their circles did have a small margin of crossover.
Rather than challenge Gurk’s assertion, Josiah just nodded. The goblin heritage flowing in the thief’s veins...such inheritance normally lent the ability for subtle linguistic deception. More accurately, lying.
“I know of someone who can do the job, if you have the coin.” The barber didn’t bother to say it’d require far more than they took from the intruders’ pockets. That would be plain insulting.
“Oh, I got it.” Gurk nodded his head. “If your dude’s reasonable.”
“She,” Josiah said, with a half-smile to show no concern over the mistaken assumption. “You can leave the dagger with me, along with payment, and I can have the curse, if any, identified, as well as any other magical properties the dagger might possess.”
Josiah was pretty sure the dagger held some enchantment, as it would explain the grievous wounds the weapon inflicted.
Gurk stopped mopping again and stood up straight. A nasty sneer crossed his face. “Do you think I’m some sorta stupid loser?” His right hand moved toward his cutlass’s grip. “’Cause I take that offer as an insult.”
Josiah shrugged and feigned unconcern as he wrung water from his towel. He might be able to take the young thief. Then again he might not. “Would you have respected me if I hadn’t tried taking advantage of you, being a relative stranger in town?”
The half-goblin frowned. “That’s how you want it? Don’t be surprised when I try cheating you. Catch me, and you got my respect. If not?” He nodded, showing his pointy teeth. “That’s the kind of working relationship you want?” He dropped the mop. “Got it.”
That caught Josiah off guard. This half-goblin thief didn’t fit the norm. Anyone with a Black alignment—maybe this one didn’t have an evil disposition.
“My mistake,” Josiah said. “It’s sort of an inside joke with guild members...which you’re not a part of, apparently.”
“No, dude, I’m not a guild member, and I ain’t looking for you to be my mentor or sponsor or anything.”
Josiah tossed the damp towel into a water-filled bowl. “You might consider affiliating yourself with the established guild in Three Hills City. Or get caught in between...”
“I didn’t think those dudes were rivals within the local guild.”
No sense trying to deny having guild affiliation after the conversation thus far. The young thief’s source probably shared that knowledge anyway. “That would be correct,” Josiah said.
Gurk shook his head in disapproval. “A guild that cheats among its members to assess respect?”
“A right of initiation, of sorts. You’ll see—if you...”
“I’ll let you know.” Gurk picked up the mop and put the damp head in the bucket and leaned the handle against the wall. “You still interested in connecting me with someone who can identify my dagger’s enchantment?”
“Sure,” Josiah replied, walking over toward the door. “Have thirty gold coins for the Ascertain Enchantment Spell, and five silver coins for me to arrange the introduction. You’ll have to negotiate for any Curse Barrier Spells that might be required.” He scratched his chin. “Be here at four-thirty?” Twenty gold was closer to standard price, but these were his business partners, or as close to those that he had. And with the possibility of a curse...
“Two silver,” Gurk said, “for the introduction. And I’ll negotiate with your man—I mean woman.”
“Two silver and four copper,” Josiah countered.
Gurk nodded and grinned.
The grin offered Josiah a small sense of relief. He’d nearly alienated the young thief, potentially driving him to support the encroaching guild. It was clear he could handle himself in a fight and had some street smarts.
The two men shook hands on the agreement. Josiah noted again, shaking hands wasn’t something the young thief felt at ease with.
“Be here around four-thirty,” Josiah confirmed. “I’ll be waiting on my porch.”
Gurk ran a quick eye over the barber. “You want my friend to heal you up? Could be back here in an hour.”
“Thank you for the offer,” Josiah said, “but I have a friend myself who can take care of me.” In truth, the barber didn’t want to be in debt to the half-goblin or his gnome, or druid companion. “But do get yourself taken care of.”
Josiah opened the door and Gurk stepped out onto the porch.
“See you later,” the young thief said before blending into the flow of mule-drawn carts and porters making their way up and down Mudrackle Street.
Josiah closed the door and locked it. Before re-opening his shop, he’d write and have a coded letter delivered. In it he’d request a guild representative visit his shop so he could share details of the attempted robbery, that the bodies in the tunnel would have to be taken care of, and someone would have to reset both the mechanical and magical aspects of the closet’s trap. After that he’d dispatch a runner to the local pawn shop and let Higslaff know that the services of his enchantress would be required later today. She should have both an Ascertain Enchantment and a Minor Curse Barrier Spell prepared. He didn’t think Sill Rochelle was high enough rank to cast a straight Curse Barrier, let alone a Major Curse Barrier Spell. Of course, she was new, working for the pawn shop, so he might be underestimating her skills.
Josiah also needed to consider bringing on a faux apprentice. Someone to provide more security as the impending guild conflict heated up. He hadn’t needed a fake apprentice in years. It was expensive, annoying, and more than likely necessary.
Before anything, however, he needed to send word to the Church of Apollo, to send an acolyte to cure both his wounds and those of his parrot.
He glanced over at the injured bird, resting on the customer chair, her left wing askew. “Done enough favors for that sun-worshiping church,” he said to Helga. “Time they return a little.”