Author's Note: This is something of a companion story to my long, ongoing fic Death's Favored Daughter, but it shouldn't spoil anything significant from there and stands up fine on its own. It's basically a series of somewhat connected heist stories about Imoen's adventures away from the main party. I have four chapters planned, though I might add one or two more after that if I can think of a good story to make out of other thief-themed quests.

And any sorts of reviews are welcome!

Now You See Me...

1 – Rat Catching Cat Burglars

Thieves' Cant.

Really it's just a fancy way of saying 'slang.' Special words and phrases that are used in the criminal underworld to pass on information to those in the know and leave the lawmen scratching their heads. Imoen had her doubts as to how secret and ahead of the authorities the language really was though. After all she had picked up enough of the barmy bark from a musty tome back in Candlekeep called 'Can't You Speak the Cant?' to follow. Or at least she thought she understood when she first met an in-the-flesh thief who started laying the cant on thick.

That thief was a skuzzy-looking fellow with a thick Iraeboran accent who approached her companions in the back of the Baldur's Gate Thieves' Guild. What were they doing in the ramshackle guildhall? Well, that's a long and boring story. Suffice it to say they were invited, and after a long chat with the head of the guild (a wiry old fellow with sharp eyes that looked ready to pierce you at any moment,) while they were making their way out of the building this jolly guy with a worn, dirty face sauntered up to them.

With a wry grin the man started ribbing the newcomers, saying he'd expected new sneakmen and not some stub-foot rank-riders likely to bungle the first score they come across. Ashura had just silently glared at the man (silently glaring was her default reaction to anyone,) and Viconia had asked "Can this imbecile not even speak the common tongue of surfacers?"

Imoen couldn't resist though. She ended up bragging that she had as much skill at the 'cross-trade' and the 'windey-turn' as he; give her a chance and she'd prove it. They had exchanged a few verbal jibs and jabs, one thing led to another and soon she had agreed to prove her knack at the cross-trade that eve at a 'cozy manse aside the Splurging Sturgeon where we'll snatch some honey and swag.'

Translation: 'Help us rob some house by an inn tonight.'

As they left the thieves' house Imoen realized that making a date to meet a shifty rogue that evening in a dark corner of town may not have been the wisest of choices, and for quite a number of reasons. It didn't help that when they had made their introductions he had told her that his name was Narlen Darkwalk. (Now there's a sirname to be proud of!) Still, he had given her the impression that proving herself on a little heist would put her in the good graces of the Thieves' Guild; a plus if they were going to be living in this city for a while and she felt the urge to snatch anything shiny later. She had heard stories about big city guilds not taking kindly to 'freelancers.'

So when the sun vanished well behind the sturdy city walls of the Gate and the twilight shadows deepened a bit Imoen suited up and set out from the Elfsong Tavern, taking the unfamiliar streets with a brisk pace and cautiously darting eyes. She didn't exactly have an appropriate outfit for burglary, but that was probably for the best. Walking down the street dressed all in black with a hooded mask was likely a good way to draw the eyes of the Flaming Fist guards. Instead she wore a simple grey raincloak with a hood that she could pull up over her short auburn hair in a pinch, a tunic of muted violet, dark purple trousers and her trusty boots. At her belt hung a small, neat pouch filled with her tools: lockpicks, probes and assorted alchemical powders. Beside that pouch rested an identical bag full of something nearly as important as the thieves' kit: spell components.

On the other side of Imoen's hip sat her dagger, and over her shoulder she carried her shortbow, a small quiver of arrows resting beneath her cloak. The bow was probably a bit conspicuous, but it had come in handy way too many times in the past few months for her to just leave it behind in her room. Maybe this city would prove different, but it seemed like the wide world outside of Candlekeep was filled to the brim with monsters and crazy people just waiting to jump you.

This was only her second night in Baldur's Gate, but old geographies and guidebooks had given her a passing knowledge of the city's layout. The Splurging Sturgeon was supposedly a block down from the Blushing Mermaid, a seedy tavern Volo had talked of extensively in his guide to the Sword Coast. And both taverns should be in the…uh…northeast corner of town. Easy enough.

Of course after a few minutes following the ever-curving cobblestone streets she was hopelessly lost. What direction was northeast even? How could she tell with the sun gone? She ended up asking around for directions, and a helpful laborer eventually pointed her in the right direction and gave her some street names after some predictably lewd comments. From there she made her way beneath the street lamps to the north, trying not to marvel at the towering palace on her left, then swung a hard right at Spire Street into a more shabby section of town.

The Sturgeon was a clean-looking little establishment in the otherwise dingy northeast corner of the city. Walking towards the place she got the accusing-eye from a few beggars after ignoring their calls, as well as wary looks from some local prostitutes minding their streets. Well, at least I didn't agree to meet Narlen in a dark alley. There was no one in front of the tavern itself, so Imoen sat down on the front steps and waited a while with her knees knocked together and her eyes scanning the darkness.

A little time passed and she began to lament that they hadn't actually agreed on a time to meet besides 'tonight.'

'A bell after sunset' or 'three bells before middark' or something would have probably made this less awkward. Wait a sec; did he say 'we link aside the Splurging Sturgeon' or 'astride the Splurging Sturgeon'? Was I supposed to climb onto the roof? Surely not.

It felt like an hour but it had probably been a tenth of that when Narlen stepped out of a nearby shadow and approached her. He just sort of seemed to materialize, and perhaps he had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to seem fashionably late.

The thief would not have been a particularly handsome man with the best of grooming, and his wild, greasy hair, stubbly and dirt-cakes cheeks and lazy eye didn't help matters there. Looking at Imoen his mouth split into a bright smile, displaying surprisingly pearly and straight teeth. "So ya did 'ave the sand to show up. I wasn't sure."

"Pfft!" Imoen scoffed as she stood up and straightened her clothes. "I've got plenty of that sand stuff. Just show me the mark and I'll show you the pocket-stuffings."

"We'll go a lil' easier than that for yer initiation tonight," Narlen said. "And don't you go off on me 'bout a lack of action. A good sneak-girl knows that a night without event is a good night in this trade. Speakin' o' which," he pointed towards the bow hanging off Imoen's shoulder, "ya planning on doing some archery practice?"

"Nope," Imoen replied with a shake of her head, "but archery targets have this habit of sneaking up on me."

The thief shrugged. "I wouldn't advise such a conspicuous weapon but so long's ya keep the arrows in their quiver I spose' it won't do any harm."

"They won't leave the quiver unless it's really really necessary," she promised.

That seemed agreeable to Mr. Darkwalk, who turned, gestured and well...started walking through the dark. They stuck to the shadow of the Sturgeon as he led the way to a broad townhouse just north of the inn. Imoen easily followed through the darkness. Nothing quite as handy as a ring of infravision for a night like this.

As they went Narlen whispered over his shoulder. "We're liberating the home o' a high up noble's mistress tonight. He keeps a big portion of his bank there, and we have it on good authority that she'll be out for the eve. Me and me lad Rededge will be doing the liberating, but we need you ta keep yer peepers on the street and give a holler if ya catch a skeg of the watch. We're tryin' ta time this venture between shifts, but them flaming cloaks are a sharp lot so you never know."

There was already another man –grim faced and blonde with soft black clothes- perched on the stoop of the townhouse. Rededge, Imoen presumed. He silently rose to his feet and pointed at the door as they approached. Narlen gestured towards his eyes, then to Imoen, and finally to the street, before quietly opening the door, propping it wide and slipping inside with his companion.

Imoen did as she was instructed, turning to watch the street. Leaving the door open seemed dangerous, but she guessed they were planning to liberate some stuff that required two men to carry. The propped-up wheelbarrow near the stoop pointed to that as well.

Empty street so far, she thought after a tense minute passed by. Hrm. This is a little conspicuous. Maybe I should find a hiding-

But by then it was too late. Before she could even think of slipping into the shadows an armored man with the sigil of the Flaming Fist emblazoned on his surcoat rounded the corner of the Sturgeon, immediately noticed Imoen and started marching purposefully in her direction, the plates of his heavy armor clinking as he went.

"Rather late to be out practicing archery, young lady," the guardsman noted. "Or what are you doing exactly? Skulking out here in the dark." His eyes shifted to the open door of the townhouse and narrowed dangerously. "Not to mention that Mistress Tivana is away till the end of the tenday. You open her door?" His hand had slipped down to the hilt of his sword and he was closing fast.

"Oh, it's uh…all completely innocent," Imoen tried to be reassuring. "You see," her hands raised into a surrendering gesture, then began to slowly whirl round and round, "novos ishis thrayss." She drew the syllables out, emphasizing her languid, circular gestures with each word. The Flaming Fist guard's eyes followed her motions drowsily and his scowl relaxed until his mouth went a little slack. When Imoen's gestures stopped there was a dazed look in the man's eyes, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well you see," Imoen continued with a bit more confidence, "we're a team of rat catchers. Tivana hired us to clear her cellar out while she was away." She tapped the bow at her shoulder. "This is for stopping any of the buggers that slip out the door."

"Rat...catchers?" the guard mumbled. "At night?"

"Well of course," Imoen said with a sour look on her face. "We don't want to go carrying the piles of dead rodents out in broad daylight now do we? It'll upset the neighborhood." She leaned forward and gave the guard a conspiratory whisper. "Some of the things are over two feet long. Scary stuff. Don't want the neighbors talking eh?"

The guard nodded sleepily. "I suppose not. Wouldn't want the Sturgeon's owners to see any of that."

"Nope," Imoen said with a shake of her head. "Now was there anything else you wanted officer?"

He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. Keep up the good work young lady." He swayed a bit as he walked off down the street, muttering something about two-foot rats.

Whew. Nothing like a bad lie reinforced by a good charm spell. Imoen had been a little uncomfortable learning enchantments at first, after several bad experiences being charmed herself. Watching Xan talk his way out of some dangerous situations that would have otherwise ended in violence had changed her mind a bit though. The potential for abuse with mind-magic was unpleasant to think about, but on the flipside enchantments and illusions seemed to often be the best ways to avoid killing, and over the past few months Imoen had seen more than enough death.

A few moments later Narlen cautiously peeked out through the doorway. "Saw ya chatting with the Fist," he whispered. "Did you actually manage to..?"

"Send him away? Yup. It's clear if you hurry."

The thief nodded and a moment later he and Rededge maneuvered out through the doorway, lugging a big wooden chest between them. They righted the wheelbarrow, plopped the chest inside with a clink that spoke of coins, and took off fast as they could, sticking to shadows and back-alleys Imoen had not noticed on her journey there. Somehow they managed to avoid the streetlamps all the way to the ramshackle collection of buildings that housed the Thieves' Guild.

As they walked Narlen muttered. "Dangerous thing lass, trying to talk yer way through the law. I'm guessing from yer lack of armor and all yer pouches that you've some spells to fling about, but even then what you did's dancing way too close to the leafless tree fer my tastes."

Imoen gave him a skeptical look. "The leafless tree? I don't think they hang people for what we did tonight."

"True," Narlen admitted while inclining his head and guiding the wheelbarrow from the front, "but ya should think o' any close brush with 'em as a brush with the leafless tree. The law's an inconsistent and dangerous thing to cross. Specially fer a pretty lass such as yerself. Maybe Tymora'll smile on you and you'll get caught by a chivalrous guard who'll let you off with a stern lecture. But it might just be Beshaba's night, and the lawman'll be a nasty piece of work with ideas 'bout what to do with that plump arse of yers by way of punishment. Just sayin' a den o'guards can be just as jacksome as a den o'thieves. Best not to chance it and avoid 'em all I say."

Ack. Now there was an unpleasant thought that hadn't occurred to her. Without thinking Imoen's hand went to her pouch of spell components, fingertips tapping the spot where an eyelash incased in a bit of gum was stored. Hopefully if she ever met some guards and things really got dicey the invisibility spell she kept ready would give her breathing room to escape.

Now you see me, now you don't.

As they rocked the wagon through a side-door and entered the relative safety of the den of thieves Narlen tapped the chest and grinned. Once more it clinked and rattled. "Enough grim talk though," he said. "Time to split our share of swag and honey."

Honey. Imoen remembered that one from the thieves' cant guide as well. Honey means money. One of those rhyming things.

Now that Imoen was good and initiated Narlen had a more challenging job for her the next night. She was going to do the footwork and snatching of a 'right pretty prize' while Rededge watched the street. The prize itself was a rare, multihued gem called a rogue stone that had recently been acquired by a smuggler and fence who worked outside the guild. Narlen had explained that the smuggler thought himself beneath their notice, but they had actually been waiting for him to come into possession of something truly valuable before they hopped in and robbed him blind.

This time Imoen thought to get Mr. Darkwalk to commit to an exact time for the meet up: outside the Blade and Stars Inn an hour into moondark. The rogue even surprised her by being punctual. Their target was a house just down the block from the inn: a wide, impressive building with three stories and a series of tiered, slanted roofs.

"Now, one fly in the ointment," Narlen whispered as they approached the house, "is that the berk often has some sort of pirate-tough guarding the lower floor. You wouldn't happen to have a sandman-spell in that bag o'tricks huh?"

"A sleeping spell?" Imoen whispered back. "Afraid not." She looked up at the house. "There is something though, if'n you want to trust the upper floor to me."

"If ya think ya can…"

"I know it," Imoen said with a grin as she handed the other thief her bow. "Hold this." Looking about and seeing no one else on the street she carefully stalked over to the smooth white wall of the house. She rubbed her fingerless gloves together and whispered an incantation before pressing her palms to the wall. They adhered to the bricks easily enough, and quiet as she could she began to scuttle up and around the lip of the first rooftop. The various stories weren't terribly high up, and the tarred roof was easy enough to walk on. She probably could have climbed it all without the spell, but sticking to the walls made it easier. Not to mention that if she got spotted and had to flee along rooftops her magic-sticky-hands would help a lot.

The windows on the third story were latched, but a thin wire-tool fixed that easily enough. Ever-so-careful not to make the metal clink she lifted and set the latch down before silently pulling the glass back, giving herself just enough space to crawl through. The large room she found herself in next was pitch-black, but the red glow of its single occupant's bodyhead was enough to light the way for Imoen. The man was laying flat on his back in a nest of tangled sheets, softly snoring.

Now if I were a rogue stone where would I be? She guessed that the sleeping man was the smuggler, so he'd probably keep his precious gem close. There was very little carpeting in the room but Imoen's soft boots made no sound as she carefully crept towards the bed. There was a nightstand nearby with a wide, prominent drawer.

When she bent down and gave the drawer a careful tug she found that it was locked. Promising. There was even some sort of string attached to the nightstand that would be tugged if she opened it. Even more promising. A slice of her dagger and the trap-trigger fell away harmlessly. Next she brandished her lockpicks and started probing and turning the mechanism. It wasn't long before she heard a rewarding click.

"Hmm…wha…what?" the man in the nearby bed muttered, half-asleep. "Is…is someone there?"

Imoen froze. The man was stirring now, sheets rustling. She had to do something! "Me…meow," she managed. Her best on-the-spot cat impression, and it wasn't much of one.

It seemed to have the desired effect though. "Oh. Damn cat," the man muttered and rolled over onto his side, facing away.

Letting out as silent a breath as she could Imoen carefully pulled the drawer open. Mask be praised! There it was, rolling a little on a piece of felt in the nightstand. The gem was about the size and shape of a glass eye, but it sparkled with a rainbow of flickering colors that seemed to come from a light within. Supposedly rogue stones were somehow tied to wild magic, and though the gems could do little on their own they made valuable spell components. Reaching in Imoen carefully wrapped her fingers around the stone.

"Wait," the man muttered again, "I don't…I don't have a cat."

Once again Imoen went completely still and rigid, ice water flooding her veins. "I'm a stray," she found herself carefully whispering. "Now go back to sleep. Shhh."

"Oh…a stray," he mumbled. "Makes sense. G'night kitty." With that he rolled onto his stomach.

Snatching the gem up Imoen went to the window with as much haste as she dared and climbed out. Upside-down with her hair and cloak hanging before her she lizard-crawled her way to the ground, righted herself and pulled the gem from her pocket, showing it off briefly to Narlen.

The thief gave a slight nod of approval before he gestured for her to follow and they made their way down damp cobble streets through the sleeping city.

"So I said: I'm a stray. Now go back to sleep."

"Ye did not," Narlen said with a disbelieving chuckle. "No bleedin' way."

"Absolutely true!" Imoen protested. "I thought I was going to need a spell, but he just told me 'G'night kitty' and went back to sleep."

"No jack-jabbin' way!" Narlen laughed again, the wine in his clay cup sloshing around.

"I've seen stranger things on burglary jobs," Black Lily -the guild fence- said with a shrug. To celebrate the rogue stone heist they had procured a bottle of her 'Special Reserve' and were enjoying it in a backroom of the thieves' house. Lily had insisted on having a cup if they were going to open the bottle, and since she was going to be the one to find a good buyer for the gem it was probably best to stay on her good side.

"Such as?" Rededge asked mater-of-factly as he sipped from his own cup. The wine was delectably flowery.

Black Lily cocked her round, moon-shaped face in thought for a moment before replying. "One time I thought I'd been found out when this woman in a nightgown came shambling towards me. The first thing I think to do is step aside, and she just walks right by without a glance. I figured she was sleepwalking." She pursed her lips. "Well, that or she was a zombie. It was a wizard's house I was skulking through, so you never know."

She took another sip of wine. "Now, this other time," she went on, "I did get found out. I had slipped all quiet into this room only to hear a muffled sound. I look over at the bed and there's this man laying there looking right at me. Of course he can't do much cause he's buck-naked with a gag in his mouth and his wrists and ankles are tied to the bedpost. I figured someone had beaten me to robbing the place, but looking back there were still plenty of gems in the house. So I figure maybe he had just been playing a kinky game with someone I had the fortune of not bumping into."

"Alright," Rededge said, "now I know you're making that one up."

"Why ever would you think that?" Black Lily asked innocently.

"Because I've heard Voleta tell the exact same story."

"She must have stolen that tale from me then," Black Lily replied, completely unfazed and smiling.

Gotta' remember to never play liar's dice with her, Imoen thought to herself. A den of thieving liars. Well, at least they were friendly. "So am I really a 'member in good standing' like ya said?" Imoen asked the others. "There aren't any extra formalities I need to go through?"

That got a chuckle out of Narlen. "Formalities? You should know us better'n that by now. Just know that ye 'ave our pass to work the city, so long as you don't pilfer it dry, you buy and sell yer goods through Lily and pay the monthly tax if you're in town."

"Aw. No special guild tattoo?"

All three rogues chuckled at that. "Now that would be a singular bad idea," Narlen said. "Can ya imagine? Moment the Fist figures out what the ink means they have the key to tellin' every guild member apart from the petty street thugs. No thanks. Leave the inkin' to pirate gangs and the like I say."

"If you really want a commemorative tattoo," Black Lily added, "there's always plenty of artists with stalls in the Wide this time of year. Many of them even go above and beyond simple tattoos too. There're magic beauticians that can change your appearance, which is pretty useful in our line of work."

"Of course the nobles use their services more than us," Rededge added. "Highborn women love their fancy bespelled hairdos. Change your hair color, raise it up in a manner that defies gravity, all that."

Now there was a thought. Maybe Imoen could get one of those wizards to turn her hair purple. Or maybe pink. "So I spose' the choice of tattoo is up to me."

"How about a portrait of Darkwalk's handsome mug?" Black Lily suggested. "Smiling from the small of your back with a twinkle in his one good eye."

"Aye," Rededge added, "to commemorate a night to remember."

"Well," Imoen mused, "if I'm commemorating tonight, how about a cat?"

"Haha," Narlen barked. "A cat fer our newest cat burglar!" Their cups clinked together and the wine went down as the rogues celebrated their well-earned prize.

Author's Note: Narlen Darkwalk's cant in this story is a combination of Planescape slang, stuff Narlen says in the game and things I made up.

Also credit where it's due: the title of this story was inspired by ilmatar-art's amazing fanart picture of Imoen called "Now you see me, now you don't." I know that phrase is something Imoen says when she uses stealth in Baldur's Gate II but my working title for this story was Baldur's Gate Nights before I saw that picture and the title clicked.