The Little Things
The
calloused hand of a middle-aged worker held a rough nail in place. A quick tap set the piece of iron in wood;
his hand slid away just as a big hammer-hit punched down flat. A rough sign hung overhead, Packing and Shipping.
“I don’t do a lot of packing in the middle of the night.”
“This is a special circumstance.”
“You’re not going to tell me any more than that?”
“You are packing away property that belongs to the king, to be shipped out first thing in the morning.”
“It’s stolen I take it?”
“Yes, by a common thief. However, this Leone could not elude our investigation.”
“You guys captured him?”
“Detained… for a while. When we explained the seriousness of the situation, he voluntarily decided to cooperate and gave us the name of his fence. We release him, moved up the ladder.”
#
A dark starlit chill flowed over the metropolis of Westgate, a grand city where even a meager dwelling stood as a three-story structure. Under the rising sun, the city overflowed with dark alleys; at night, those manmade valleys turned truly rancid. Leone snuck through the darkness, dagger in one hand. A voice called out from the pitch.
“Looks like you wandered down the wrong street, Leone.”
Leone shifted his feet for a moment, cycling between dark corners, looking for activity.
“We…” faint echoes of a dozen drawn blades ripple through the alley “…are going to insist that you fix the situation!”
Suddenly, a thuggish piece of muscle plowed over Leone. The rogue slammed against stone in pain. Clinks from his dagger bouncing off cobblestone filled the air. The brigand strongman gripped Leone’s body, pinning him against a wall--helpless. He tried to struggle, but to no avail.
For a minute, the darkness hung completely silent; Leone tried anything to gain an advantage in the grapple. An echoed metal scrape canceled all contention--someone picked up the dagger. In moments, a silhouette face appeared in the moonlight, a malnourished hand held Leone’s dagger overhead, reversed.
“So, you want to sell us out?”
“No, no, no. It’s just a small problem.”
“The kind or problem you can fix? Yes?”
“No, yes… I mean yes, yes. What’s the problem again?”
The dagger dove in at Leone’s face—the burly man’s immutable forearm suffocated any movement or struggle. The tip stopped just short of piercing flesh.
“Whatever it is, I’m your man.”
“You told them about us! The only reason your not bleeding out right now is, we still want the package, and I have a feeling you know where to find it.”
“They already packed it up; the crate is in dockhouse two.”
The dagger’s tip moved right up to Leone’s eye.
“Just so there is no misunderstanding… You are going to sneak in there and change the shipping label. Reroute it to our friend; my men will do the rest. Even if you pull this off without a hitch, you still owe me for the trouble. Any more lapses in your, allegiance, and I will cut you down on sight!”
The bull-faced muscleman released Leone; striking pings of metal-en-cobblestone muffled sounds of retreating footsteps. A single chilling statement echoed as the wake left by a passing ship--the tone carried an unmistakable air of finality.
“I hope your thieving skills are better than I’ve been told. Because the next time this happens, you will be spitting blood and not stuttering lies.”
#
At dusk, Ozzob set up a magical torch outside the house. The light flickered under the gentle breeze; a few feint shimmers helped to draw attention to the sign hanging at the doorside. Constructed of dark redwood and lettered in silver; the plaque incorporated several languages--advertising the sorcerer’s shop. Hanging from a nail about head high on the door, a less elaborate sign simply said ‘open’.
Inside the house, one wall of the common room stood as a mass of shelves built to all shapes and sizes. Each platform hosted a plethora of minor magical items. A man–-a foreigner by his looks–-browsed the shelves with giddiness; his demeanor, the same as a child confronted with a box of toys.
Ingrlo lumbered just a bit away. His posture adding a flavor of dryness to the volume of goods--he played the part of the wise and forgetful mage to perfection, something simple folk expected. The ruse allowed him to command more attention than perhaps he desired, but the money helped immensely.
The stranger removed a pair of boots from one shelf: black leather, laced silver strings, recessed blue inlays-–the product of a master artisan.
“Those are quite nice.” grunted Ingrlo with a deep throated voice.
“They are marvelous good sir. What do they… do?”
Ingrlo almost smiled, his customer had no idea what he was buying. With a solid reputation, he could score a robber-knights fortune off the commoners. However, that same reputation evolved from the praise of satisfied customers. Most take it in good faith that Ingrlo and his son kept honest at the forefront of there lives--the two are fair.
“They… Let me see them.” Ingrlo took the boots from the man and inspected them. He had a puzzled look as though he could not remember what wonder the boots worked.
“Ah yes, I remember. They allow you to stand on water.”
“That could prove very useful.” The man’s eyes were blank as he envisioned different scenarios where walking on water would be handy. After a few moments he asked, “Do they float always or do they only work when worn?”
Wheezing, “They do a little more than float.”
#
Darkness
drenched the
Leone waited, broad-faced in an open window on the highest floor of an inn; before renting the room, he threw his backpack on a nearby roof. The old sack nestled as a nondescript clump across the way. An empty pocket ment he rented the room for at least the night. He scanned the skyline of the town. A simple path stood out, across the common-house rooftops, right up to the export warehouse.
Locking the door to the hallway, Leone whispered to himself, “Hopefully no one will come up here to check on me.”
He casually turns around to scan the rest of the room; emptiness. Laying a stern eye on the open window, he softly said, “Grace of the gods be with me.”
Instantly, Leone broke into a full run speed. He took a flying leap through the window and landed firmly on the opposite roof, his boots appeared oversized and weighty--clearly not the best choice for a man in his reluctant profession. His face drained flush and a panic fills his eyes; clanks and scrapes filled the quiet street. The gravity-defying rogue slowly stood and made his way to the back edge of the roof.
Leone whispers, “Too loud… too loud, I can not be doing this. Stealing the thing the first time was bad enough. How did this business ever get so out of hand?”
Consumed by his thoughts, Leone slid down the incline of a roof and made a graceful, silent step to the next to retrieve his pack. With better than forty rooftops in his wake, Leone found himself at the peak of the last. He glanced back for a moment, unsure of having traveled the whole distance. Across the street, the export warehouse wore a cloak of silence--inactivity.
“At least twenty-five feet, that is one mighty long jump.”
Searching the contents of his bag, Leone produced a finely woven rope. He tied up one end, making a large loop. In a single swift throw, the lasso hooked to a protruding lip along the edge of the warehouse roof. He pulled hard and tied the rope taught.
Citing an old teacher, “A little tightrope walking is good for you. Bah!”
Leone then produces a spool of twine from his bag; he tied the free end of string to his belt and affixed the spool on the ledge with freedom to unwind. Wasting no time, the rogue made a brisk walk across the rope, touching down safely on the other side in seconds.
At street level, directly under the silent crossing, a guard patrolled by. Leone quickly unhooked the rope from the roof; freeing the end of twine from his belt, he retied the two back down on the same protruding lip—in the process, securing a quick-release for the rope for use during his eminent escape.
#
An
open book hovered silently in the air; Ozzob lay
underneath on his bed, reading. Each
page of the tome detailed a single angelic rune; a large symbol dominated over
simple writing that explained every detail of meaning. A single candle at the sorcerer’s bedside
added to the light spilling from the next room--the
His familiar, a pixie named Serphyn, carefully scribed pages for his biography. The pixie looked very much like a two-foot tall human, except for the wings—which, being partially translucent, held great beauty. She wore simple clothes–-a bright blue shirt and loose fitting green pants--and the exposed parts of her skin exuded a shimmering glow. A tiny bow and quiver rested nearby on the desk.
Busied by the work involved in transcribing the huge characters, Serphyn was oblivious to her surroundings. The pixie’s written words transmitted serenity and beauty…
#
For days, I tracked Keer’neen
as a favor to the owner of Sliverglade Inn. My quarry, a maniac and a fool, was a
desperate alchemist and long time wizard with transgressions against the wrong
people. He carefully concealed his trail
against normal men, but not against me.
I followed his tracks as a master seeker. Eventually the path led me to a concealed
cavern.
Standing outside at the breach, I did not
wish to let the mad man know I was coming; a pinch of stealth seemed in order. If I simply turned invisible, my footsteps
might have echo too loudly in the massive cavern, so I got a bit more inventive
with manifesting disguise.
With a clear image in my mind, I forced my
body into another shape. For a minute,
pain flooded my senses; my bones contorted and twisted. At some threshold, the mal-comfort receded,
and soon my transformation completed. I
slithered into the cavern as a natural inhabitant--a Boldblack
Snake from the underworld.
The creatures living in the cave shunned me
in this form, but Keer’neen was too thick in the
forehead to realize the truth. Every
living thing in the cavernous workroom acknowledged me the moment I
entered. The mad man sat behind a desk
mixing some cruel potion; he glanced at me, and then went back to work in
ignorance.
Above the desk, hanging from a long chain, a
small glittering birdcage with no door held something captive. I later found a pixie inside, she, being a
creature from another type of existence, realized my true nature and
stared at me with intensity.
I flanked Keer’Neen as I grew closer. Molding with the shadows by body slowly
reverted to normal form. A freestanding
torch lit my prey’s workplace; his working light source cast a huge shadow of me
on the blind wall at our backs.
Whenever I fully returned to normal, I could
tell that his tension level rose but I did not know if he simply neared a
delicate point in the work or feared me.
I sensed that he would strike with fury, he was seconds from lashing
out, and I could feel it… somehow. I
tried to speak to the part of him that might follow reason.
“Do not do this… It will only end… with your
death.”
Keer’Neen spun around and hurled a vial of cloudy
liquid at me. I tried to dodge, but the
projectile slapped my shoulder and exploded into flames. The inferno glanced away from my body, but
managed to scorch away cloth and expose skin near the impact point.
Tiny arcs of electricity jumped between my
fingers. Reaching up, I unleashed a
massive lightning bolt that struck the mad man on the chest, then another one,
and another after that. The man fell
lifeless to the ground with three huge scorch marks on his body.
For a minute, I sat and collected
myself. My concentration was only broken
at the sound a soft angelic voice.
“Thank you for saving me.”
#
Suddenly, a thump sound echoed from the bedroom. Serphyn lay down her pen and flew off to investigate. Ozzob slept motionless in his bed; the book now covered his face.
Serphyn spoke in a hushed voice. “One of these days he is going to suffa… suffa…” flustered with the commoners tongue, she blurted out, “quit breathing.”
#
The voice of judgment calculated, “These beings are truly unique, though for the weight of the predictions, they seem… insignificant.”