Disclaimer: I do not own the Character North. He belongs to William Joyce as well as Dreamwork's. Anything else is my creation.
Also a special thanks to northandhiscookies from tumblr for inspiring me with North's character. Alrighty then, happy reading!
It was quiet. This silence was not a comfortable one, oh no, it seemed to slither through the snowy town, tightening every lock, dimming every candle. A deep chill had crept down from the looming mountains, blanketing the houses in layers of frost and ice.
"It's like they know they've been infected by that sickness," Kustav muttered darkly, his eyes gesturing to the crescent peeks of the sleeping giants. He wrung his dry, cracking hands and absentmindedly fiddled with the many gold rings that adorned almost every finger. With it also woven into the details of his jacket and the buckles of his boots, he seemed to be covered in the precious metal. The only light in the room was the roaring fireplace, its flames hungrily licking the pinewood, leaving the room smelling rich and feeling far too warm. Many other residents of the village would have died for such a problem, but those were the perks of being the towns tax collector, as well as self appointed law maker he guessed. "Dmitri!" He barked. Instantly a man stepped out of the shadows. He was short, but bulky, and dressed in layers of furs, which only added to his stocky appearance.
"Yes boss," he croaked. His voice didn't seem to fit his demeanor; it was too high, almost feminine.
"Did you find him? The adventurer that so many of these towns people have been whispering about, don't know why they even bother, the traders that come in always have new stories of him, and it's no secret to what he does." Kustav huffed, but went back to pacing in front of the mantel, obsessively stroking the rings on his fingers now.
"Yes, we did, sir," the stalky man replied, "we've got wind from the last caravan that he'll be heading up from the south end; with the traders from the east no less."
Kustav stroked his short beard, humming lowly in thought. If the man they were looking for was sticking along side the eastern traders, then he was fairly sure he would not be persuaded by usual means, like money or gold. A man like that would need something of a higher value, but it was what that thing was, that had Kustav stuck. Small beads of perspiration started to appear on his bald head, making it shine in the light of the fire. "Did they say what his trading preferences were? Will he be bought with gold, money, weapons?" Kustav questioned, still pacing back and forth.
"Not quite sir, but someone did mention that he carried quite a few rare items on his person," Dmitri answered in his squeaky voice.
That's what Kustav was afraid to hear; a rare item. What could possibly be considered a rare item to this man? Kustav abruptly stopped his pacing in front of the mantel, his bushy brows shooting upward. He quickly strode to the bookshelf next to the mantel. It was stuffed with scrolls, parchment paper, skulls of small animals, and a plethora of printed books, most, first additions, all collecting a fine layer of dust.
"Sir?" Dmitri questioned. Only guessing what his master could be looking for, he continued, "you aren't thinking of giving him that are you? It's all urban legend after all, there's no guarantee that he'll take it – it's entirely a gamble!"
"This whole situation is a gamble Dmitri. I see no point in not using it, less out of our pockets anyway. And we've already lost too much from that thief to go around throwing out hefty rewards. Now where is it? Ah ha!" His fingers brushed over an aged scroll; one could tell from a single look that it was far older than anything else on the shelf.
"Sir, it's a piece of this village's history. The people will not be happy to know that you sold it off – to an outsider no less!"
"Dmitri, you truly are a fool, what these people don't know won't harm them, and besides, the only ones who know of this are you, me, and every crotchety old fool in this god forsaken town. Most of them will be long gone before winters end." Kustav growled. Why he had to deal with such stupidity was beyond him. He used one arm to clear off his cluttered desk that sat in the back of the room. Books, scrolls, inks wells, coins, and an assortment of gems tumbled to the floor.
"It's this village's history, you can't just go pawning it off to some stranger," Dmitri argued.
"I will not be made a fool of any longer!" Kustav slammed his fist down on the desk, rattling off a few more coins. "This town and I have suffered long enough under the hands of this so called thief, and you better learn to hold you tongue or I'll make sure you and that family of yours is left out on the streets!"
Dmitri's jaw stiffened and he shrank back from the harsh words. "Yes sir," he said, nodding. "I just don't understand why this thief can't be dealt with by our own men; why do we need to call in the help of this-this outsider?"
Kustav let out a long, deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "If this were any old thief I would have to agree with you – but it's not. We're dealing with none other then the Midnight Crow." Just saying the words out loud was making his blood boil, and it was a hard thing to swallow.
"The Midnight Crow, sir?" Dmitri asked, raising a brow in confusion.
Did this man really have no idea who the Midnight Crow was? "Are you deaf, blind, and stupid Dmitri?" he croaked, "This thief is known far and wide for stealing from some of the wealthiest and most powerful people and not only that, he has been known to steal from trading caravans. Many of these traders have avoided going to cities or towns that have even had a whisper of these robberies, and now this very town is facing this threat. If the next few caravans choose to not pass through here our village will be in danger of starvation. The mines have produced little enough this year to begin with."
"But how do we know it's the Midnight Crow sir? I mean, it's not like we don't have our fair share of scum and thieves – it's one of the main reasons no one crosses the mountain passes anymore." Well, that and the cold could kill you if you aren't careful.
This time Kustav didn't speak, but instead unbuttoned his front breast pocket and pulled something out. Sleek and as black as the night; a crow feather. "Last night in place of my priceless golden vase, I found this. It's the thief's calling card." As he said this, he threw the feather at the shorter man. It fluttered in the air for a second before the stalky man reached out and caught it. "This isn't the only incident though. Other residents have reported the theft of precious items and in their place these feathers are found; there's no doubt it's him." Kustav turned his eye back to the scroll on the table. He gently rolled it out to reveal an old looking map with his dry fingers. It showed the looming mountains that hovered over the small village; creeping down the mountains were twisting and winding rivers, many of which had ceased to exist, running dry or rerouted by the harsh winters that plagued the land. This was all trivial though; the real eye catching feature was what lay in the center of the map. Nestled in between the two mountains was a golden goblet. The map was written in the old language and in the right hand corner of the map was written the details of this hidden treasure, its powers, and just how to obtain it. Kustav was only able to make out a few words; danger, wealth, and south pass. Dmitri came up to his left, squinting in the dimly lit room as he gazed over the aged parchment.
"So, this is the famed Kamerovsky treasure map," the shorter man muttered. He took in the small, intricate details of it; the tiny unreadable names of the long forgotten trails and pathways, and the curious drawings of fabled beasts that stalked the forest and dwelled within the mountain caves. That's when Dmitri noticed something, although he couldn't make out even a lick of what the map was saying, he noticed the unmistakable image of a key below the hidden treasure. The key had a ring of light drawn around it, highlighting it's obvious importance. "Sir, even if this treasure is only a myth it looks like here that a key is required…and as far as I know, we don't posses such an item." Dmitri said raising an eyebrow in question.
"Use your head for once Dmitri, that key is our bargaining chip for this whole endeavor. Once he brings us the thief, the map and key is his, just let me do the talking. I don't need anymore-" Suddenly the door swung open, a blast of crushing cold wind shuddering through the room, the fire trembling, and the warm air sucked out all at once. A small boy stood in the doorway, nose red and panting, clearly out of breath.
"Uncle, Uncle! I found him! I found him!" the little boy shouted.
"Ivan! Shut the door this instant, and I told you to stay home with your mother! What are you thinking running off like that!" Dmitri scolded, pulling the boy in by his thick winter shawl and shutting the door closed with a bang. "Now, what do you mean you've found him?"
"The man, the man you and Mr. Yashvin were talking about," the boy said pointing to Kustav in the corner, who was now sporting a livid look.
"What is he doing here? I thought I told you to keep that little rat out of-", Thump, thump, thump. Three heavy knocks sounded on the door and the room went silent. Kustav shot Dmitri an unreadable look, and he took the child in his arms protectively in response, taking a few steps back.
"See I told you I found him." The little boy smiled, leaning his head up to look at his uncle who silenced him with a hush.
Kustav cleared his throat and straightened himself. With a firm and determined expression on his face he took four long strides to the door, yanking it open. He was not prepared for what he saw, for instead of being met with a face, he was greeted by a large, barrel chest, adorned in a flashing red coat. Taken aback, he stumbled back a few steps, he wasn't used to being the short one, for he had never met anyone taller then him, but this man cleared him by a good two and a half heads. Attached to the wide chest were broad shoulders, a thick neck, followed by a strong jaw. A dark short scruffy beard accented this, and set in a face that many women might call handsome was a crooked nose and very large, bright, blue eyes.
"Good evening gentlemen," the man gave them a crooked smile, "I hear you have a little … proposition for me."