Chapter Three: Promises and Premonitions

They didn't catch up with Caleb and Nott until later that night, and the two made no mention of where they'd been. It wasn't hard to have suspicions; Nott was dotting more than usual, and Caleb was wearing a leather bracelet which Molly had never seen before, though he had spotted several on display in the market today. No doubt Nott's attempt to show her gratitude, which she tended to do by nudging baubles into their packs or pockets. One day, after Molly put himself between a wounded Caleb and a mountain orc, he'd stuck a hand into his jacket only to come up with a vial of lavender bathing oil. He hadn't bought it himself, and while Jester was also known for gift giving, she wouldn't have done it anonymously. Later, Molly had met Nott's eyes and nodded. She nodded back, and that was all that had been said about it. The events of earlier that day, including Caleb's dramatic rescue, had no doubt awakened those same feelings of thankfulness in Nott, resulting in the new bracelet.

'Well, at least she didn't get caught, or we'd have heard about it,' he thought.

Caleb was quiet, though not more than usual. His presence at the table meant he'd mostly recovered from his unexpected bout in the spotlight. He was picking around the edges of his gloves, and Molly wondered if his hands hurt after calling up his fire. The way they blackened always looked painful, though as far as he knew, it left no lasting ill effect.

"I am sorry about today," Caleb said finally, and it was so shocking a thing that the whole table grew quiet. The picking at his gloves grew more intent. "It was not wise to reveal ourselves that way."

Fjord leaned in. "Nobody expects you not to defend yourself, Caleb. Sure, it wasn't ideal, but sometimes stuff like that can't be helped. We'll work around it."

"I do not think that man will forget my face," Caleb said regretfully.

"Who cares?" Beau said. "He's going to be too busy facing my fist in the arena to mess with our plans. Sure, he's an asshole, and you probably want to avoid running into him again, but I don't see how today's gonna be a problem for us."

"I hope you are right, Beauregard."

Mollymauk put a hand on the man's shoulder. Several versions of a joke rolled through his mind, but when initiating physical contact with Caleb, silence and a smile was often best. Nott cast him an approving look and nudged Caleb's plate under his hand, coaxing him into taking a reflexive bite. Jeez, what a mom she was. It killed him they hadn't picked up on that earlier.

"Everything stays the same," Fjord was saying, meanwhile. "Nott, do you think you'll have any trouble getting inside?"

"I'll need a closer look to know for sure. Maybe tomorrow I can do a little more casing?"

"I'll go with you," Yasha offered, which was probably a good idea. Yasha would keep Nott on track, and she would also be excellent back up.

Caleb seemed to agree. "In that case, I will remain at the warehouse we found. If you can get a window open, Frumpkin can go ahead of you. It will be safer, and perhaps it will let us narrow down our search."

After that, the members of the Mighty Nein settled into the evening. Jester spent a bit of time waltzing between partners, but ultimately she and Nott settled at a table with a group of people playing cards. Probably not a good idea, but Nott would let them know if Jester's coffers grew too low. Fjord and Beau had started a bluffing game, trading secrets in the form of boldfaced lies. Molly listened in on one particularly interesting whopper (Beau declaring she was part of a secret agency that intended to topple kingdoms), but ultimately his attention was drawn elsewhere. He winked at Yasha, who was nursing an ale in contented silence, and headed to a quiet corner where Caleb sat. Molly had expected the man to disappear upstairs, but apparently he was content to soak in the atmosphere, albeit with a modicum of distance.

Mollymauk scrapped up a chair, reclining with an audible groan and folding his arms behind his head. As a final flourish, he rested one booted foot on top of Caleb's knee. "Some day, huh?"

Caleb looked up from his reading, regarded Molly's boot with confusion, then dismissed it just as easily. Good. That meant he was relaxed. "Did you want something, Mollymauk?"

"Just some conversation."

"There are better conversational partners than me."

"Oh, I don't know." Molly drew out his words. "You're a pretty interesting guy, at least when one can coax you to use your words. Plus, I think you might have a gallant streak under that introverted veneer of yours. Who knew?"

Caleb shuddered, as if the very idea of gallantry was stressful. "You are mistaken."

"Things could have gotten out of hand today without you stepping in. Which, by the way, you weren't obliged to do. We were all there. But it was Nott, and you couldn't help coming to her rescue like a damned paladin, now could you?"

The man looked across the tavern toward the card game. Nott glanced up, and, even with the mask affixed, her smile reached her eyes. He offered the same in return – a gentle upturn of the lips, just noticeable to one who was paying attention and knew him well. "We look out for one another."

"True, but it doesn't change the fact that you were the big hero today. Did you see the kids?" When Caleb gave him a confused look, Molly elaborated. "Caught up to us afterward. They were like most street kids. Hungry-looking. Skittish and wanting to look tough. But they still chased after us to say thank you."

As he'd suspected, Caleb's eyes went momentarily distant as he traveled back over days of sparsity in Zemnian winters and his own bout of true homelessness in the days before the Mighty Nein. Nott had shared a little about that. Huddled in alleyways, cruel crownsguards. Hollow hunger that drove itchy fingers to increasingly risky ventures in search of bread. Cons they'd spun from wooden bowls and precious copper pieces in hopes of passing a single night somewhere less vulnerable than under a ceiling of stars. Caleb threaded his fingers through Frumpkin's fur, who gave a soft chirrup. "They were just children, roughhousing as children do. They meant no harm."

"No, they did not. Don't worry, though. Beau shoved enough coin in their hands to keep them from getting into trouble over an empty belly, at least for a while. And Fjord put the love-light in their eyes. I think they'll be okay. We might even see them at the fight."

Caleb made a humming sound in his throat. "You should tell Nott," he said. "It will make her feel good about what she did. She claims not to be brave – "

"Yeah, that's a bunch of malarkey."

"She has a valiant heart," Caleb agreed. "Despite thinking herself unworthy of one."

"Sounds like somebody else I know."

Caleb gave him a censorious look but must have decided there was no use arguing. Instead, he resumed petting his cat. "Was there something else on your mind?"

Before Molly could answer, a scuffle near the bar drew their eyes. Two individuals were locked in terse conversation. Molly and Caleb exchanged a look. Then Caleb flicked a finger, and Frumpkin hopped down. A hand settled over Mollymauk's wrist, then mist overtook Caleb's eyes, and he stared out, narrating quietly. "They are discussing the tournament. The dwarf insists they cannot wait to move the merchandise until afterward, but her companion is saying...he is saying he was not paid enough to risk that, and that – that someone, I cannot hear the name – cannot change their mind now. The dwarf is angry. I cannot hear –"

At the bar, the dwarf made an annoyed, final kind of jab into her companion's chest, and then she stalked off. Left alone at the bar, the man slumped in his seat. He gestured for another ale, drowned it in a long swig, wiped his mouth, and heading for the exit.

Caleb's fingers flexed, and he was back inside himself. "Ah. That was interesting."

"Sounds like our friends in high places have similar ideas about the tournament, using it to keep attention off of sensitive places."

"Yes, but they may have more in mind." Brushing his hands over his chin, Caleb sighed. "I do not cherish these trips for The Gentleman. They have a way of becoming...complicated."

Wasn't that the understatement of the year? "Still, it sounded like whatever it is they're planning won't go down for a couple of days. We should be good tomorrow. Besides, it's no hair off our nose if they want to move merchandise during the fight. We're here for information, that's all."

"I...I do not know. I have a feeling, a bad feeling. But that is foolish."

"No, no. Instincts are important. A wise person heeds them," Mollymauk said. There was a whisper in his own chest, a premonition. All of a sudden, he wasn't entirely sure of this situation himself. "What did you think of that Talisman character. Can Fjord take him?"

Caleb tensed. "I never liked sorcerers. They have much power, but take little responsibility for it."

Molly could understand where that was coming from, even if it did prickle a bit. His own abilities, much like a sorcerer's, weren't studied. Still, he liked to think that the price he paid to make use of them granted him a bit more humility and restraint than someone like Talisman. "Are you worried, after what happened? He did threaten you specifically."

Caleb gazed directly at him, and for a moment it reminded Molly of how he looked at Nott. It was brief but sincere, and in that moment, he said, "I will have to trust you to be my shield, ja?"

Molly felt a flutter in his chest. Responsibility. Was he ready for something like that? Yet, ready or not, here was Caleb – the cautious, cagey wizard who trusted no one – offering it to him with the same faith he exhibited when he pressed his hand to Molly's wrist and made himself blind. Resolved, Molly did what he did best. Accepted life as it was and laughed. He reached into his coat. "How do you feel about a reading? I'm getting rusty."

Caleb set aside his book. "I think, perhaps, I should give you a reading."

Molly's eyebrows flew into his hair. "Mister Caleb, you surprise me. I knew you were a man of many talents, but fortune telling?"

"You already know that Nott and I were conmen for a time," Caleb said. "Still, I freely admit that I lack the...let's call it theatricality that really sells the trick. Still. Let us see if I remember how this is done."

He shuffled the cards with deft hands. They whispered through his fingers, perhaps with less flare than they flew through Molly's, but still with the kind of mesmerizing quality that came from ease of use. Caleb had clearly handled playing cards before, many times. It put a smile on Molly's lips. Traveling with people was so much fun. Everyone was a puzzle, filled up inside with innumerable pieces to be fit together, one by one.

Caleb drew Molly's cards. He turned the first, the one which symbolized the past, the cause of his current situation. "The emperor, symbol of authority and control."

Molly chuckled. "That one isn't hard to interpret. Remember when we used to bust up manticore nests for quaint little villages just because we felt like it? Now look at where we are."

A grin negotiated with the corners of Caleb's mouth. "Perhaps you are right. Next." He flipped the card representing the present. This card spoke of a current problem, and Molly's playful mood died. Its rendered face seemed to leer at him, and he and his companion grew still. "The fool," Caleb said after a moment. "In its regular sense it may represent free spiritedness, but reversed, it speaks of recklessness and lack of consideration."

They both looked at the last card on the table. Part of Molly didn't want to reveal it, but that wasn't how the game was played. "Turn it," he said.

Caleb did, and a slice of ice went through Molly's heart. The eight of swords. Entrapment, binding, and despair. Caleb cleared his throat. "I don't really know what I am doing. When I did cold readings before, it was just to keep people's attention long enough for Nott to pick their pockets." He slid the three cards off the table, slipped them back into their box. "It is nothing."

It was true that the cards' qualities were more imbued by the user than any divine force that Molly knew of. Like Caleb, he had also mostly made interpretations. There was an art to it, and it was great theatre. However, there had been times, more times than he cared to admit, that it spoke to people. He thought it might be that a person saw in the cards what was lurking in their own heart. Worries. Intuitions. The reading merely brought them to the surface. Other times...

He plucked the deck out of Caleb's hand. "No use worrying about it. How about we play a different game? Ever heard of two truths and a lie?"

The almost-smile was back on Caleb's face. "It is as if you are trying to pull information out of me by disguising your ill intentions as a game."

"Me?" Molly pressed his chest, as though scandalized.

The wizard gave a small huff that could almost have been a chuckle. "You have chosen the wrong opponent, Mollymauk Tealeaf. I am an excellent liar."

"We'll see," Molly said.

The rest of the night was long and pleasant. Ale was drunk and games were played. The only slight damper was a pervasive sense of being watched that Molly felt as an itch on the back of his neck. Yet whenever he searched the spaces of the room, he never saw anything out of the ordinary. Eventually, he shrugged it off and simply ordered another tankard. When they finally turned in for the night, Molly laid on his back, relaxed and comfortably tipsy. The tarot card reading and the prickling feeling had all but faded under the buzz of alcohol and good company and the anticipation of what was to come.

As his mind wandered, he thought, 'Not a bad day. Though I supposed tomorrow the real work will begin.'

Like a watch that had been wound, the timeline for their mission began to tick down as the sun rose the following morning. A hasty breakfast was eaten, and then their three competitors – Beau, Fjord, and Yasha – showed up dutifully for the training exhibition, garnering a fair amount of attention. However, by the time the sun began to set, they relocated to an abandoned warehouse near the baron's manor. They'd been careful, and Molly felt reasonably sure they would go unseen under cover of darkness.

Everyone was in good spirits, but when it came time to separate, Nott grew restless. "Couldn't you just come with us, Caleb?"

"My friend, I do not have the ability to move silently as you do, and if Frumpkin is going, it's better I observe from here. He will be out of my range to command, but I have told him to obey you. Please allow him to take the risks. After all, Frumpkin can be brought back with a few sticks of incense and a handful of gold." He touched her chin. "You are much more valuable."

Nott melted; however, the knot of worry on her forehead didn't fade. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"Geez, Nott, what are we? Chopped liver?" Beau tapped her staff aggressively against the ground. "We'll be right here."

"Do you promise? He's very frail, and he doesn't have good survival skills. When he gets distracted, he runs into things, and one time he fell into a ditch because we were walking beside a bookstore, and..."

"Nott," Caleb sighed. "Despite your poor opinion of me, I am not going to fall into a ditch because I am out of your sight for a few hours. I will be fine."

Her grip on his hand intensified. "Do you promise?"

He squeezed back. "Verspreche. Now go with Molly and Yasha and be safe." He looked at the two them. "You will take care of her."

Yasha said, "Of course."

Jester blew them kisses. "Look really hard, Nott, so we can find those papers tomorrow and get out of here. Zadash has much better pastry shops, and last night I think my pillow was filled with rocks."

"I didn't think the beds were all that uncomfortable," Fjord commented.

"Fjord, you used to sleep in a stinky ship. I'm worried you don't really know what it's like to have nice things." Jester shrugged. "Maybe The Gentleman will give us a nice reward so we can afford to stay at The Pillow Trove again. It's not the best place, but it's a lot better than here or The Leaky Tap."

"What's wrong with The Leaky Tap?" Beau wanted to know.

Yasha gave Molly's arm a tug, and he, in turn, nudged Nott. As entertaining as this was, it was time to get this show on the road. Nott looked back once more, then let go. Caleb waved as they rounded the corner, and as they did, Molly's stomach gave an uneasy turn. Why did he suddenly feel like he was leaving disaster behind him?

The warehouse was dusky with disuse. There were remnants of what it used to be; shadows in the dust-caked floor where machines once sat, a certain smell of packing sawdust and raw textiles. At his nearest guess, Caleb thought it had probably been used to prepare shipments for export to other cities. Perhaps even by those they now hunted, though it was clear this space had gone unused for some time. Even the air felt stale. Now that the sun was almost down, very little light came in from outside, but dust motes still danced in the dying shafts of sun. It wasn't a very welcoming space, but it had a certain quiet that softened Caleb's shoulders. 'Like a library,' he thought. He'd always liked such places. He didn't mind holing up here at all.

"I am heading up to the second floor," he decided. "If you need anything, jostle me to get my attention."

Fjord clapped his shoulder, which was only a little painful. He had a good gauge on his strength, and was always conscientious. It was just that Caleb was a little bonier than he cared to admit. "Sounds like a plan. We'll hold down the fort."

"Even if it will be super boring," Jester complained. "The festival is much nicer than this place."

Caleb understood her feelings. His current companions were all doers. They found it hard to wait around while others carried out feats. As for himself, he would much rather be out of danger. It was one of the many reasons he loved his cat. As Frumpkin, he could go anywhere. Also, it was often the best way he could serve his friends. Like now. "If you need me to come back, I give you permission to poke me with your staff, Beauregard."

She gave the weapon a little twirl. "Now that's a good offer."

"Do not make me regret it."

He climbed the wooden stairs, which creaked under his weight. This floor was in an even more advanced state of disuse. He wound around stacks of discarded containers and broken furniture, motheaten rolls of burlap, and other detritus. All of it created a kind of shadowy alcove, which was exactly what he needed. Settling on the floor, he leaned against a wall and drew his legs loosely into a crossed position. Then he let go of his mortal body and stretched out to find a different conduit for sense and spirit. Frumpkin welcomed him, carving out a bright shape that he fit into like a perfectly tailored glove. He opened his eyes. They were glassy and blue.

Back in an abandoned warehouse, an all-but-abandoned body hunched against a wall, breathing.

Fjord stood for a long moment over their wizard companion. The man had taken on a lax expression, though there were minute twitches and small movements. At one point, his nose scrunched as though sniffing, and Fjord had to smile. On a human, it was a strange look. He seemed settled, tucked away here in the warehouse's upper floor, and should be secure for the operation. Not wanting to leave him alone without touching base, Fjord gave Caleb's shoulder a slow, reassuring squeeze: 'We're here.'

Caleb first tensed, then relaxed. "Fjord," he said in that uncanny way that never ceased to impress. How did he know them without eyes or ears? Was it the strength of his grip, the texture of his callouses, a certain smell? "Is all well?"

Fjord answered with another careful squeeze. "Everything's just fine," he said, even though he knew that only the movement and not the words would carry.

It seemed enough. Caleb nodded. "Frumpkin is separate from the others. I will let you know if anything important comes up."

Fjord made his way down the rickety stairs to where the others waited. Beau was playing with her staff, keeping it balanced on one finger. "Anything?"

"Not yet, and I suspect it will be a quiet night. They're just reconnoitering."

Jester groaned, throwing herself across a crate. "This is SO boring."

It had to have been the forty-third time Jester made this placative cry, and it was beginning to tax even Fjord's exhaustive stores of patience. Which isn't to say that he had no sympathy. This kind of stakeout was boring, but it didn't always make sense for the entire group to get involved, especially considering how visible he and Beau needed to be for the plan to go smoothly. If they were spotted near the baron's house, the whole mission could be a bust. It was risky enough just sending Yasha.

"We could be out there, enjoying the parade and dancing and rearranging all the merchandise in the vendor's carts." Jester gazed forlornly toward the not-so-distant celebration. It was everywhere, including outside the warehouse. If he concentrated, Fjord could even smell fried meat and hot buns on the air. Music, too. It had a good beat to it, the kind that reached him on a primal level. He cocked his head, listening.

Beau was the one who suggested it: "I don't see why we can't keep an eye on the place from the street. After all, won't it just make our alibi more believable if someone gets suspicious? You know, that everybody saw us soaking up the atmosphere?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Jester agreed immediately, "Oh, Beau, you are so smart. That's an absolutely great idea."

Fjord crossed his arms over his chest. "How will Caleb let us know what's happening if we're not here?"

Beau threw her head back. "Have you even seen the guy when he's like this? He's practically comatose. It's like having a lawn gnome. It just sits there and looks kind of creepy and makes you want to kick it over to see if it's alive."

Fjord stared. "You...never mind. I don't want to know. Look, we're supposed to keep an eye out for Caleb. We promised Nott, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course we'll look out for him. He'll be right here, hiding in the attic where no one will bother him. Besides, if he really needs to tell us something, he can just wake up and come get us. No big deal."

Jester leaned on his arm. "Please, Fjord?"

For a long moment, he withstood their pleading looks – Jester's so sweet it could give you cavities; Beau's narrowed in a way that threatened bodily harm – and then he broke. "Alright," he said. "Just for a half hour or so. Then we come back and check on him. And if he snaps out of it and gets mad, I'm not taking the blame."

"Of course not," Jester soothed. "I will tell him it was my fault. Beau and I, we kidnapped you."

"Yeah, and bought you an ale," Beau said. "You know. After the kidnapping thing."

An ale did sound pretty good. It had been a stressful few days. After his encounter with Talisman, Fjord had started having dreams of his childhood, back when his heritage had been such a burden to him that he committed an act of minor maiming to erase the appearance of his orcish half. Mostly, he'd been able to ignore the uneasiness that altercation had brought on, but in the quiet moments... He gave the loft another glance. The building seemed secure and still. The only movement came from a mouse darting across the far wall and the faint movement of a moth overhead. He relented. "Okay. A half an hour. I'm holding you to it."

Beau sloppily ran her fingers over her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die," she said, and Jester squealed, already digging around in her haversack.

"I'm going to paint boobs on everything."

Fjord passed the threshold, though not without a twist of guilt in his gut. But it was alright. Caleb was safe, and so were the others. A little merrymaking wouldn't hurt and might even help. Everything was fine.