The Thief and the Wild

For my sisters, who are old enough to read this.

For my niece and nephew, who will be old enough in maybe fifteen years.

1

Have I ever told y’all about the strangest job I ever did?

Oh, here we go, you’re thinking. Some fella in a seedy bar in New Alms is wanting to tell me about a job he did. I’ve been here before and I know what’s coming. Whatever the job was, I’d bet all the water in the bayou it was something illegal.

And of course you’d be right to think that. This city ain’t exactly known for its upstanding citizenry. New Alms is the ass-end of civilization, perched on the southernmost tip of the Peninsula, out of sight and out of mind for respectable folks. It’d be easier to list the jobs here that aren’t illegal, I should think.

But don’t you worry. I ain’t here to spin some sordid tale of murder or kidnappings or anything of that nature. No, my friends, those sorts of jobs were never very much my style.

Jackson Balor’s the name, and I was sitting not far from here when a man came strutting through that very door, marched right up to me, and said: I’ve heard tell that you’re the finest thief in the city.

Well it was a mighty flattering thing for him to call me that, but truth is I couldn’t say for certain if I actually was the finest thief in the city or not. New Alms is a city of thieves, ain’t it? I could’ve been the finest one, sure, or there could’ve been thieves finer still, and besides my Granny—rest her soul—always did tell me to never be too prideful. Lord Cerenis frowns on the prideful, she used to say.

Still, this man who’d come up to me? He was dressed in these cheap clothes that were too clean to have been anything but a recent purchase, and he had on a hooded cloak that was bundled tight round his head. My eyes dropped to his boots and sure enough, they was a bit too shiny and pristine for him to have spent any significant time in the Muck Quarter. So I reckoned that what I had here was a wealthy client—or at least a representative of one—who was trying hard to remain incognito.

My Granny might’ve raised me to be humble, but she also didn’t raise me to be a fool. And as far as I’m concerned, when a man dressed like that comes up to you in a bar and says he’s heard that you’re the finest thief in the city, there ain’t but one thing you should say to him in response:

That I am.

The confirmation that I was indeed Jackson Balor, allegedly the finest thief in the city, seemed to calm the man—which was peculiar cuz I hadn’t even noticed he was stressed in the first place. He’d hid it so well that it weren’t even noticeable til he relaxed a bit, and then the difference was so obvious you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d never seen it in the first place.

I have a job for you, the man told me, which I’d already figured out on account of his whole demeanor. While he took a seat for himself on the stool beside me, I studied him. His hair looked to be clean and well-cut, and it was that sort of sandy color where you’re not sure if you should call it brown or blond. And he had these gray eyes that kept darting all over the place like he expected to get jumped at any moment—rich folks always expect they’re about to be jumped whenever they come to slum it down here with the rest of us. He kept his hood bound around him, especially round his neck, and wore long loose sleeves and gloves. In fact, it looked like his head was the only part of him that wasn’t covered up.

It’s a dangerous job, the man went on after ordering a glass of whiskey. He held it in front of him but didn’t take a sip. And it’s vital that I have your absolute discretion.

Of course, I told him. But I don’t work for cheap.

Naturally. He relaxed a bit again, in that peculiar way of his where I didn’t even realize he was stiff til I saw the change. I guess talking money was familiar and comfortable territory for a rich fella like him. I am prepared to offer you three thousand Crowns; half up front and half upon completion of the job.

Now the first rule of negotiating is to never look too impressed by the first figure, but I don’t think it’d shock anyone to tell y’all how hard that was for me. By Perdition, my rent was fifty Crowns a month and that was most of my living expenses right there! This fella was offering me, frankly, more money than I knew what to do with, and it was a struggle not to just stare at him like an idiot when he said that.

But again, my Granny didn’t raise no fool. I stayed as cool as I could manage, and I decided to see how far I could push Mister Moneybags here. So I told him: I’ll do it for five thousand.

Honestly, I was half-expecting him to laugh in my face, or maybe to get all indignant and storm out, or maybe just call me an imbecile, or something. Instead, he simply smiled.

Four thousand, he said. That’s my final offer.

’Course I accepted. Haggling’s all fine and dandy, but you don’t want to push your luck too much when a man’s waving that kind of coin around. I was feeling pretty good about myself, but I was also starting to get a bit scared, because if a man’s willing to pay a thief four thousand Crowns for something, it’s because he either has one doozy of a job lined up for him or he’s just plain stupid—and neither of those is a great possibility to consider when you’re a professional filcher like myself.

A professional’s what I was though, and like a professional I kept my cool and heard him out. And so two nights later, I was quite a few Crowns richer and hanging by my fingers off the wall of Lady Imogen Lugh’s lavish manor grounds.

Lady Lugh was a relative newcomer to the city, having only moved in and established herself about five years previous. Her place wasn’t really in the best part of town for this sort of nocturnal work, neither. It was down near the West Docks, not far from the bayou, where the air gets thick with bugs and the cries and moans of the sundry beasts who make their homes out there in the wild. Those bug lamps they’ve installed every few feet down there help a bit with one of those problems, but the extra light creates a whole new problem for folks like myself.

But one thing I can say about New Alms is that it ain’t lacking in nooks and crannies to hide in. There was this little spot along the manor’s outer wall where the street got real thin because they’d built some big office building a bit too close to it. Really, it felt more like an alley than an actual street, and I can’t imagine carriage traffic ever passed through it. But the bug lamps was scarce along that little stretch, and it made for a great little pocket of darkness for me to ply my trade in.

I was there and climbing up the wall as soon as I figured the streets were clear, which didn’t take long at all at that time of night. It never ceases to amaze me just how few police patrols there are in the wealthier parts of the city. It’s like they think rich folks are never up to no good or something.

Shows what they know, right?

Now, when I’m out on the job, I always dress for the occasion. What you wanna do is wear dark colors—but keep actual black to a minimum, alright? Black stands out against all but the deepest shadows something fierce, and if you’re ever in the deepest shadows it ain’t gonna matter what you’re wearing anyhow. Personally I always preferred very dark grays and browns. They just blend in better with the natural shades and hues of the city, in my experience. I always keep my hood up, too, and I’ve got a scarf that goes over my nose and mouth so only my eyes are visible.

As for my gloves, I got myself this real nice pair. Paid decent coin to get them specially treated so they’d grip real good. Only drawback is that they’re black, but I suppose that was alright. I said you gotta keep blacks to a minimum, right, and the only black on my person being my gloves absolutely counted as a minimum, far as I was concerned. Man who did the chemical treatment was a real nice fella too, and his prices were more than reasonable. If any of y’all are interested in pair, I’d be happy to give you his address, though I can’t say for certain if he’s still there nowadays.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh, right.

So there I was, hanging off the wall surrounding Lady Imogen Lugh’s illustrious home. The perimeter of her grounds was marked by an eight-foot-tall brick barrier, so it weren’t too difficult to run and jump and grab onto the top. Climbing the rest of the way was also no issue, cuz the top of the wall was adorned with these evenly spaced iron spikes which I’m sure were meant to keep people like me out, but instead made for some right convenient handholds.

All I needed to do was grab and lift, and if I had any issues lifting myself I just needed to use my feet to walk my way up the wall. Soon enough I was all huddled up at the top of the structure, which I imagine would’ve looked mighty strange to anyone who happened to pass by. My hands were on the shafts of those spikes, and my boots was planted on the narrow ledge beside them. My knees were all bent and my back was arched forward in a sort of curled-up crouch, like I was doing my best impression of some manner of beetle.

This next part was a tricky bit. The spikes might’ve made for some lovely handholds, but they was also two feet long with points as sharp as the Wild God’s own horns, which made the prospect of getting over them without also losing my balance, falling down, and breaking my neck a bit difficult.

But I’m Jackson Balor, the finest thief in all of New Alms—according my client at least. And I wouldn’t’ve put myself in this position if I didn’t have a plan. See, the dark narrow street was but one benefit to my chosen point of entry. The other benefit was the cypress tree that grew on the other side of the wall, whose branches extended over the top of it and looked more than sturdy enough to support a grown man’s weight, at least for a moment or two.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the thought of someone passing by at that moment didn’t even bother me none. Odds were that I’d just blend in with the clumps of needles all around me.

One hand firmly on a spike, I grabbed the sturdiest branch in reach. I held it for balance as I stood, and then I grabbed another branch and lifted my feet over the spikes below me. Soon enough, I’d hooked myself over the branches, and I was climbing my way over to the center of the tree.

I reached the trunk, then paused. Our bodies are heavy things, and tree branches tend to bend and shake when heavy things are moving on them. I waited til it stopped shaking, then peeked out through the greenery to examine the manor grounds below.

Can’t say I was all that impressed. You seen one noble’s manor, you seen them all. They love their sloping roofs and their pillars along balconies. This particular manor had one or two flourishes that made it stand out, I suppose—I noticed a few towers, all classical and castle-like. But it was mostly just more of the same. I also didn’t notice any lights on in the windows, which was good news for me.

Less good though was the glow I could see coming round the corner. The wall was only a few feet from the manor itself, and the tree was almost up against the wall, leaving space for a narrow side path below its branches. If I’d wanted, I could’ve shimmied down a branch and gone through a window—but I didn’t. My client had been clear about where the loot was, and heading inside the manor at this point would’ve just complicated things.

I needed to stay still anyway. The glow coming round the corner of the manor was getting brighter, and as I watched it I saw three figures walk into sight. They were guards. Two carried lanterns in their hands, and they each had a sword hanging from their sides. That was all well and good and expected, but the third guard gave me pause. He had this funny looking stick in his hands. A crystal had been fitted on the end of it, and there were all these copper wires running down the sides. The end opposite the crystal was carved like the handle of a crossbow, with a trigger and everything.

Nowadays they ain’t such an unusual sight, but at the time I had never seen an arcblaster in person before. Sure, I’d heard of them—fancy new weapons cooked up by the Cerenites over in their viarc labs—but they was still pretty new, and Lady Imogen must’ve spent a small fortune outfitting even one of her guards with that sort of cutting edge equipment.

Faced with this threat, I did the only a thing a rational man could do in my situation: I held my breath and froze. I sat crouched in that tree as stiff and still as a board, doing my best to stay as calm and unobtrusive as possible. The human eye tends to be drawn to movement, if you didn’t know, so if you’re fixing to be all stealthy and sneaky-like, you need to learn to be patient and still.

And that’s what I was putting into practice. I was still as a statue up there in that tree, silently praying to the Civilized God himself that I’d blend into the shadows and the guards wouldn’t notice me. There was a small sword strapped to my side, but I’d never had cause to use it before, and I knew damn well that it wouldn’t protect me at all if that fella with the arcblaster starting shooting his weapon off.

But I had one more thing going for me: folks don’t usually go around looking up above them. If you’re hiding out above a man’s head, then nine times out of ten he’s gonna walk right on past without ever realizing you’re there.

That don’t apply if a man’s distant, of course. Cuz then the high up stuff is in his field of vision. So I had to stay still and hope the tree provided me enough cover. I watched the guards approach, and it was only when they was directly under me that I let myself relax a little.

Quiet night, one of the lantern-holding guards noted as they passed under the tree. They were all wearing leather coats and black boots, and they had black caps on their heads.

It’s always a quiet night, replied the guard with the arcblaster. Don’t know why Miss Lugh bothered buying this thing.

If you don’t want it, we can trade, said the other lantern-holder.

Mister Arcblaster scoffed at that. By Perdition we will!

By then they’d walked right on by me. I turned my head and peeked out around the tree trunk, waited til they was turning the next corner, and then hopped down into the grass below. I landed in a crouch, then crept on after them.

Most folks don’t usually have much reason to look behind themselves neither, unless you give them one. That’s why I figured it was safer for me to follow those fellas, rather than try creeping round the other way and risk getting caught by a different patrol. Well, that and the fact they was headed for the back of the manor, and that happened to be my destination as well. I followed them round the corner to the big garden back there.

Y’all ain’t never seen a garden til you seen a rich folk’s garden. I’ve pilfered from many a noble in my day, and I seen all sorts of gardens, each more elaborately arranged than the last, but let me just say that I ain’t never seen one quite like Lady Lugh’s. The ground was all carved up and filled with water, making all these little ponds and streams. Machinery was installed here and there to pump the water and keep it flowing, but it’d been covered up with sod and vines and flowers to disguise it. There was wooden bridges crisscrossing the waterways, and stone paths connecting the bridges, and all sorts of bushes and plants growing wild and free betwixt them.

’Tweren’t much like any other gardens I knew of. Rich folks—civilized folks—tend to like things to be orderly, with everything in a neat little row and not even a single leaf out of place. By contrast, Lady Lugh’s garden was this wild and chaotic mess of a thing, with all the plants growing about however which way they pleased. Even the pathways through the garden didn’t seem to follow any set pattern.

The guards didn’t bother with heading into that garden. Truth be told, they seemed to give the fixture as wide a berth as they could, like they was nervous about it. I suppose I can’t really blame them for that—I was pretty nervous too seeing that garden. My Granny raised me to respect Cerenis and treasure his gift of civilization, like any good god-fearing sort, and that crazy garden reminded me too much the dangerous wilds he lifted mankind out of for my comfort.

My trio of guards cut through the garden exactly once, when they crossed over the path connecting that greater wild thing to the manor’s solarium. There the plants were slightly more ordered, with little flower beds planted neatly beside the intersection of the pathways. That was a bit of a comforting sight for me, seeing as the solarium also happened to be my destination.

Pardon me. I don’t believe I’ve mentioned what it was I’d been hired to steal, have I? Please excuse my poor form, fellas. It’s been a right long day, and sometimes I have difficulty getting all my thoughts in order.

See, my client was interested in a very particular mask. He told me that it was an old relic—one of those really ancient pagan pieces from before Cerenis graced humanity with the light of order. Despite its age, the mask was well-preserved, and it was therefore worth quite a bit of coin to anyone who knew its true historic value.

He’d stressed that last bit a mite more than he strictly needed. I reckon he thought I’d be tempted to steal such a high-value item for myself, and figured I’d be smart enough to know that not a single fence in New Alms would have the know-how to recognize the mask’s true worth. But he didn’t need to worry about that. Like I been saying, I’m a professional, and even if I wasn’t, I sure would’ve been willing to be one for four-thousand Crowns.

So while the guards continued walking the manor’s perimeter and rounded the next corner out of sight, I crept my way over to the solarium’s back door and gave the handle a try. I wasn’t too surprised to find it locked, though I’d be lying if I said it weren’t a bit disappointing. My job would’ve been so much easier if folks forgot to lock their doors every now and then. But luckily situations like this were exactly why we invented lockpicks, and I pulled my set from my pouch and got to work.

Funny little things, locks. You just see a keyhole on the outside, but on the inside there’s all these itty-bitty pins, and how it’s supposed to work is that the key pushes those pins into their proper place and then a-click and you’re good. But when you ain’t got the key, and instead all you got is some picks, then what you instead gotta do is jiggle the little metal stick around in there and listen and feel for the little clicks the pins make when they slide into place. Then once they’re all lined up right and proper, you can apply a bit of pressure and turn the thing.

One last click, and the way is open.

Lady Lugh’s lock was a simple one to pick, but I reckon most locks seem simple when you’ve been picking them since you was a kid. I was just sliding the final pin into place when I saw something out of the corner of my eye—a glow of lantern light, coming round the side of the house.

Turns out there’d been a second patrol after all, and now they was making their way over to me. I probably had a few seconds at most before the guards’d be right on top of me, and I weren’t too eager to get myself all chopped to bits by swords or shot to pieces by an arcblaster—or even worse: removed from the premises, which would have been a right embarrassing thing to happen to a professional thief like yours truly.

But did I panic? No I did not. I’d been doing this far too long to panic just cuz some guard might see me. I kept myself calm and I kept my hand steady, and I turned that lock and opened up that door and slipped myself inside. Closing the door as gently as possible, I heard the soft click of the latch right as the lantern light was washing its way over the back garden and seeping in through the crack along the floor. I crouched down behind that door as quiet as a mouse, and I watched the light as it passed by the windows of the solarium.

There’s quite a lot of windows in a solarium, in case y’all didn’t know. Not sure how familiar y’all happen to be with upper class architecture, but having lots of windows is sort of the defining feature of solariums.

Once this second patrol had passed me by, I relaxed a bit and stood up. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness about as well as they could, and I could make out enough of what was in the room with me that all that relaxation I just did was immediately undone.

That garden outside was a wild thing, sure, but it weren’t nothing compared to the garden Lady Imogen Lugh was keeping inside her home.

First off, it was huge. I’d known it was big seeing it from the outside, but the inside was so big I had trouble wrapping my head around how it could fit. It was bigger than any solarium had any right to be, and the air was warm and thick with humidity.

There was another pond in here, and the surface of the water was covered in algae and lily pads and moss and all sorts of other kinds of green. The vegetation was so thick it took me a moment to even realize a pond was there at all. Thorny bushes lined the edges of the solarium, and leafy vines crept up from them along the walls and windows. More vines hung like snakes from above, and I thought I could catch glimpses of various critters moving up and down them, but it was too dark to be sure.

None of that was the first thing I noticed about that big glass room, though. No, the first thing I noticed was the fact that there was a great big tree in the center of it, growing straight out of a small island in the center of that pond and looming large over everything else. The vines were in fact hanging from its branches, and though I couldn’t tell what sorts of leaves it had, I was damn sure I could see movement up there in its foliage, and I shuddered to think of what sorts of creatures might make their nests there.

By this