Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this chapter!
-K-
I was sitting in a corner of Candlehearth, so as not to draw too much attention.
Unfortunately, a table over sat this… this fellow… and his cohort. Neither of them seemed particularly bright. They made the drinks taste bad, and their increasingly drunken shouting made my head ring unpleasantly.
I can go unnoticed if I want to. It's a matter of being quiet, and hiding behind my flagon. From that position, I noticed a lot of people looked uncomfortable, as if they expected this drunk to get rowdy and cause a scene.
What? Do the Windhelm city watch not handle drunk and disorderly, too?
It should be noted that the drinks at Candlehearth were nowhere near as good as the ones Vekel offers. The food was better, though. Poor Vekel. I begin to suspect he's quite the brew-master, but he's not a gifted cook… hence why you don't really get food at the Flagon.
Anyway, this fellow—his hat was the weirdest, most disgusting-looking piece of headgear I'd seen in months; like he caught, killed, and skinned some poor small defenseless woodland creature while it was frolicking, then slapped it on his head to prove how tough he was—and his cohort started the evening griping and moaning about I didn't really care what. It was their conversation, nothing to do with me; neither do I enjoy listening to people I don't know bellyache. I might show more patience for someone I care about, but these two? Nah.
But the drunker they got, the louder they got, until I couldn't even hear the bard playing with such great effort to be heard. And the louder they got, the more abusive in their speech they got. They were bitching about the Dunmer. About what in particular? Nothing more than the fact of their existence. So the more abusive their language got, the more nervous everyone else seemed to get.
It was not a pleasant atmosphere, which was a pity because, as I said, these two toughs were making the food taste bad. And making my head ring with all their unnecessary noise.
There's a sort of stigma to being part of a travelling circus. You're considered a shady element if you go wandering alone or with a few friends, usually because you're from out of town and might never need come back. Apparently, this means you might have no reason not to mind your manners, since you'll probably never come back. People give you the stink-eye, or even point-blank warn you against causing trouble. As a result, I learned to cautiously extend the benefit of the doubt to others. So to hear these two men so loudly spitting out slurs and invectives, or making insinuations… well. Sometimes, I just can't keep my big mouth shut.
In a well-ordered city, their access to liquor would have stopped after the third or so mug. But in Windhelm, it didn't. It just kept flowing, and apparently would, as long as one or the other of them could stagger up to the bar. Elda, it seemed, wasn't so whatever that she'd run their liquor over to them if they were too drunk to get it themselves.
I got to my feet and headed up to the bar, where Elda, the elderly proprietress, was working. She seemed to be determined to ignore the noise and fuss, in hopes that it would stay just noise and fuss.
"Who's the loudmouth?" I asked, gesturing to the fellow as I worked my jaw until my ears popped and crackled. Wow. Fellow's loud!
"That's Rolff Stone-Fist, the Jarl's housecarl's brother," she answered.
"Is that an excuse for him to be definitely drunk and disorderly?"
Elda sighed, giving me the pitying kind of look one gives a nice girl who doesn't know anything about anything locally. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Why? He's someone's brother. So what?"
Elda sighed. "It's not worth the hassle. He'll be done soon and get a move on."
I glanced at this Rolff fellow. "And the fetcher with him?"
"Angrenor Once-Honored—though you'd be well-advised not to make any fusses," Elda said firmly. "As I said, Rolff's brother is Jarl Ulfric's housecarl—his closest advisor and bodyguard."
"And he doesn't object to his brother acting like a clown?"
The noise in the room dropped a little, as those nearest to me suddenly paid attention to their drinks. This drop in noise—if Rolff hadn't been so loud—might have actually let him hear a little of the conversation going on at the bar.
"I think you'd better move along, dear," Elda said kindly… but firmly. "I don't want trouble."
"Me move along? Not him," I blinked owlishly.
"Take a pasty on the house," she added, fetching one of the hot pastry-wrapped meat and vegetable concoctions so popular in eating houses. She wrapped it in a linen kerchief and offered it to me. "But do come again."
I studied the old woman for a long moment, then nodded slowly. I didn't want to cause her trouble, though I seemed on the road to doing so.
I didn't want to cause Elda trouble. Old lady, working an inn and tavern? She's got a lot on her plate. She clearly works hard.
I did want to cause some trouble for Rolff, though. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, right?
"How long do you think he's going to be here drinking?" I asked in an undertone.
Elda shrugged. "He never passes out from it, if that's what you're asking. No, he'll stagger off into the streets later tonight, drunk as a lord, and shouting to wake the dead," she answered, censorious over such excesses.
Good. Maybe I can plant this ring back where it belongs, then catch him up and make a little mischief. It'll be my good deed for the day. I try to do those, in spite of my increasingly larcenous ways… a girl's gotta have standards, you know? Things she won't stoop to.
-K-
Stashing the ring? Easy.
Not getting caught? Also pretty easy.
Finding the drunken Rolff and his staggering associate? So easy it doesn't even count as an objective.
I returned the kerchief to Elda at Candlehearth, assured myself that Rolff was still there (and still drunk to the metaphorical gills) then withdrew to wait for him to leave the establishment.
Even if Elda, elderly woman that she is, was intimidated by this Rolff fellow, I wondered why the city watch wouldn't arrest him on principle, if he likes staggering through the streets and making a lot of noise. People get up early, or so the story goes, and if he's raving like a lunatic, he'll wake up and scare any children that happen to be around—that's unseemly behavior no matter who you are. I have trouble imagining all this being tolerated, even if he is someone's brother.
The reason, I discovered to my disappointment, that Rolff wasn't dumped in a cooler cell to sleep off his debauches and excesses was because he didn't raise his ruckus in the central or western portions of Windhelm. He staggered into the Grey Quarter to spew his venom. This did lead some credence to the Dunmer's assertion about Windhelm's unsavory attitudes.
Tell you what. If I was a single woman living in one of those houses Rolff staggered past, I'd be afraid. He sounded drunk enough not to care what he did, and had the security of knowing the guards wouldn't do anything about anything he did. Who's to say—so I would think—he'd respect a locked door?
I actually saw two guardsmen make note of him enter the Grey Quarter… and hastily turn the other way so as not to be bothered with him.
It was more than I could handle. That this fellow was given such privileges as to harass decent, hardworking, law-abiding (shame on me, I know) people… it was more than I could bear. I might be a budding professional thief, but there are a lot of things I wouldn't stoop to doing.
So I slipped into the Grey Quarter and scaled the nearest building, unheard, unseen.
That's one of the things I learned mostly on my own: how to climb with what Shamar the Strong-Man called 'sticky feet' the outside of a building, or any surface that provides ample foot and handholds. I might be skinny, but I'm strong enough. Crouching low and crossing the rooftops, I finally got into a position behind Rolff and his flunky as they staggered up the street. By now, their obscenities were no longer accompanied by drunken laughter.
Settling so I wouldn't be immediately visible against the sky, I opened one of the pouches on my belt, which was full of small river stones. Coiled on top was my favorite sling, which I hooked onto the middle finger of my left hand—I'm right-handed for some things, like writing, but left-handed for others, like using a sling—pinching the other end of the braided cord between my thumb and forefinger. Carefully, I loaded a stone into the cradle, holding several more ready in my right hand.
I don't think I could kill anyone. But I can definitely leave some bruises. And unless he really keeps his brains in his bottom, I don't need to worry about damaging anything but his pride. Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow, after all.
I began to twirl the sling, sighting on Rolff's mammoth-sized bottom—I'd say it was pretty impossible to miss, as targets go, even in the dark!—then let the stone go.
Rolff bellowed like a wounded mammoth and whipped around to take the next stone to the belly.
A sling stone can do—so I've been assured—a lot of damage if used properly. But they can also be used for non-lethal applications.
My position didn't stay perfect for long, but drunkenness and the confusion of the mind accompanying it allowed me to follow Rolff and his friend all the way along the main street that leads through the Grey Quarter, pelting them both with bruising stones.
I hope they can't sit down with any comfort for a week.
They nearly ran over the sam city watchmen who ignored their entrance into the Grey Quarter. The drunken harangue Rolff treated them to couldn't have been pleasant. Nevertheless—and if I'd been a watchwoman and had to listen to that tirade, I wouldn't have been so lenient; I wouldn't care if the one delivering it was related to Emperor Titus Mede II!—Rolff was not arrested for his drunkenness or belligerence towards the city watchmen.
The next time I'm in Windhelm, I'll visit his house, armed with itching powder. The bastard can't fight what he can't see, after all, and he hasn't heard the last of me. I'm going to have some fun with this fetcher. I'll just have to be careful so innocent people don't pay for it. I wouldn't want that.
The city watch did venture into the Grey Quarter looking for Rolff's assailant, but they didn't find me. Nor could they tell the difference between my little sling stones and the detritus of a badly-maintained street.
I felt like the very Grey Fox as I slithered off into the night.
-K-
Felimal began work on my armor as soon as we were both up the next morning. We discussed what I wanted, what I needed, and then I changed into it. Felimal immediately began dissecting the thick leather garments, while talking to me about what he would need to make something completely custom. He also wrote down a bucket-load of measurements, so he wouldn't need me to stay for the whole process.
"—you'll want a softer leather, I think. This is so thick to help protect you from the cold, and for a bigger frame it would not be so restrictive."
"How are you going to resize it?"
"For someone as small as you are, probably with laces here," he drew a line up my spine, "and here," he drew lines down my ribs.
Not being ticklish, I didn't flinch.
"You'll need some kind of garment under this modified set—or under the one I'm drafting for you," he continued, handing me several metal hoops. "These are the grommets I'd use to run the laces through—it's what I'm going to do here, too. You'll need someone to help you with the final fitting, but once it's fit, it's fit, unless you gain or lose weight."
"Sounds good." I couldn't even imagine what this thing was going to look like once it was done. "You don't do shoes too, do you?"
"No, I don't. But there are plenty of cobblers who can supply you with whatever you're looking for," Felimal answered, removing the cuirass with its chalked marks and flopping it on his workbench.
"Is it better for me to wait for you to finish, or should I have you send it to Riften?" I asked.
Felimal paused, then regarded me speculatively. "I heard rumor that Rolff Stone-Fist ran into some unusual trouble last night."
"Who?" I blinked owlishly, kneeling to pet the cat—who went by the name of Helbis—who wandered over to rub her shoulders against my ankle.
In spite of my name, I don't really trust cats. I'm not fond of them. I don't hate them or anything, but I'm not sure I could live with one. Still, Helbis was soft, pleasant to touch, and always glad of a little attention.
Felimal studied me, as if trying to figure out whether I was playing dumb or not. He must not have come to a conclusive answer. "I suppose I can send it to Riften—for a little extra. Where should it go?"
"The Bee and Barb, for Kitty, care of Talen-Jei."
"Write it down over there," he waved vaguely to his workbench.
I wandered over, found a sheet of paper, and wrote down the necessary information.
"You're free to go. It'll follow along in a few days. Thank you for your business," Felimal said briskly.
"I'll be back, eventually, to discuss a fully custom outfit."
"I'll look forward to it." I couldn't tell if he believed me or not.
-K-
Back in Riften, having settled up with Tonilia, I skidded to a halt in the doorway of Bryn's private room. Mercer, Bryn, and Delvin all had private rooms. Perks of being pillars of the Guild, I suppose.
The door to Bryn's room was ajar, which meant he was in there and not occupied with anything requiring privacy, so I almost bounced up to it and pushed it open. "Knock-knock! Hey Bryn! I got the Guild's cut—Oblivion's Teeth!" I couldn't stop the words from coming out as my mind came screeching to a halt.
Bryn sat on the edge of his bed, clearly just up for the morning, stripped to the waist, his shirt on the mattress beside him.
It wasn't the shirtless state that distracted me. Well, not that in and of itself.
"Hm?" Bryn looked over his shoulder, then realized I was staring at the mess of scars across his uncovered back. "Oh, that. She had a good arm for such a withered old bitch."
It was highly uncommon for Bryn to throw profanities at any woman. I won't call him a gentleman (he's the number two of the Thieves' Guild, after all—'gentleman' would damage his reputation) but he's usually softer in his rudeness than he would be with another man.
"Who?" I asked numbly. The bag of gold which was the payout from Tonilia was suddenly too heavy in my hand.
"Grelod the Kind. Used to run Honorhall." Then, when it was apparent I didn't know what that meant, "Local orphanage. Try to open your eyes, Kitty-lass. It's still there." He indicated the general direction of the place. "Big sign on the front and all."
I tried to focus on the blue tattoo on his left shoulder, the Shadowmark—and it was gutsy beyond belief—for 'The Guild.' But the scars kept calling my eyes back. "She ran the orphanage and did that?" I demanded, stepping in and, when he didn't tell me to get lost, tiptoeing over him. "To you?"
The idea was appalling. The more I learn about Skyrim, the more I don't think I like it here! First Windhelm with their egocentrism—and that's being polite—now an orphanage that beats their children! What's next, a vampire Jarl sucking on his unsuspecting people's necks?!
"Kitty-lass. I know this is hard for you, but don't get so worked up."
I resisted the urge to run thief-light fingers over the ridges. No one, no one should ever be allowed to beat a child like that. I moved to take a knee in front of him and was relieved to see his expression was the same as it always was: pleasant and unconcerned about anything but Guild business.
Only, startled by the scars, I noticed another set on the wrist I could see. It was a darkened, ugly thing and I knew, deep down, it had to be a matched pair. "Please tell me you got these in prison." I said, resting delicate fingers on his wrist before looking back up at him.
He shrugged, his tone full of 'if it makes you feel better, I'll lie.' "Of course, I got them in prison."
I closed my eyes, biting the inside of my lip.
"It's not the worst that could have happened," Bryn said bracingly, shifting to the side so he could stand up without giving me a face-full. "Believe me."
"Is it so wrong to care? Or to be bothered when my guild-mates suffer?" I asked the bedframe.
"If it steals that smile of yours, then yes. Don't bother with it. Everyone suffers and you know it," he responded, tone businesslike as I got up and sat down on the edge of the bed, catching my heels on the frame.
Yes, I know it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't bother me when I find out about it—I haven't had time to get used to the fact and it's hard to imagine anyone doing something like that to Bryn.
"Up you get," Bryn noted a moment later, taking me under the arms to pull me to my feet. I'm small enough, he can do that without a lot of effort. "Come, now, Kitty-lass. Give me a smile. I don't want to be haunted by that frowny-face of yours." He freed one hand and used a thumb to smudge one corner of my mouth upwards.
"I'm not a little girl, Bryn," I declared with as much dignity as I could manage.
"Oh, yes you are. You're absolutely tiny," he answered, eyes glittering.
I grinned at this, a genuine grin that made him withdraw the finger distorting the line of my mouth. "I'm not tiny; you Nords are just too big. How can you sneak and swipe when you're so big?" I danced back from the swipe he answered my comment with. "And slow!"
"I'm not chasing you 'round this room, Kitty-lass," he remarked indulgently.
I mothballed the cute response 'why not? It might be fun.' He's taken, and I'm not that kind of thief. Even if I thought I could manage that sort of filching, I wouldn't do it. "Aw. It's good exercise, it'd be a good warm-up," I said, immediately dropping into an approximation of a fighter's stance, hopping about and brandishing my fists as if ready to jab out with one or the other of them.
"A warm up, eh? Warm up for what?" he accented the tease with a grin that was almost a leer, but he shrugged his thin linen shirt on and buckled his leather cuirass over it.
I laughed at this, the brightest carol I could dig out of my soul. Anything to blot out memory of those thick, bands of scarring and the 'frowny face' threatening to return if I slowed down in my antics.
It was then that I realized that my antics were what kept me afloat and as long as I could keep them up—run fast enough, so to speak—my troubles and hurts couldn't catch up with me. Trip, though… and they'd be all over me like ants on honey.
"No 'eep' for me today?" he asked.
"Nope. No 'eep' for you." Because he's not going to cross Tonilia. I don't need to say 'eep!'
"I suppose I'll make do," he declared, shoulder his backpack.
Wait. He's leaving?
"Take the Guild cut to Delvin. Keep busy. Try not to annoy everyone else," he directed, pausing long enough to block the half-hearted jab I made at him before ruffling my hair into static.
People—it's not just Bryn—have a thing about short hair and cute girls. They can't not ruffle it up.
There was only one thing to say: "Will do!"
-K-
"That's not going to protect you very well," Sapphire declared disapprovingly as I unwrapped my modified guild armor, freshly sent from Felimal in Windhelm.
The side-by-side bedlam jobs had been fun, but I'd lost spectacularly. To my surprise, Sapphire waived her rights to my share—the terms being 'to the winner goes the loser's share.' I think she really does like me. I'm glad.
"If I need lots of protection, I'm in the wrong place," I declared, shimmying into the thinner leather of the breeches and bending over. The material permitted the movement without discomfort. I made a note that when I replaced this getup, I wanted glove leather breeches.
Vipir walked in, whistling at me as he did so.
"You know how to make a girl with no ass feel better, Vipir!" I called cheerfully, transferring my weight to my hands and slowly bringing myself into a handstand.
"Always glad to oblige, honey!" he responded, dropping onto the foot of my bed with an answering grin. He likes to flirt, but I have no reason to think he's serious. Oh, he wouldn't say 'no' if the opportunity arose, but he doesn't expect anything to come of his antics.
He's cute like a puppy that way.
"Hey. Girls only," Sapphire snapped, scooting away from him. She maintains a special dislike of Vipir, though she wouldn't say why. I think it's because she likes him marginally more than she liked most men and it… wrong-foots her… her history being what it was. Either that, or his flirting sets off all kinds of warning bells for her, so she hisses and growls to protect herself from the remotest possibility of trouble. Either or. I pretend not to notice. "Get lost."
"It's true. I have no chest, and no ass, but this isn't a peep show." Not that this meant much—the guildhall wasn't built for privacy. The most I could get would be to turn around and face a wall. I slowly folded myself into a position that made Vipir wince and Sapphire pull a face that clearly asked what I'd done to screw up my backbone.
Vipir stuck out his tongue at us, but got up and turned his back, sitting down on the chest at the foot on my bed and stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Better?"
"Infinitely. You're such a gentleman," I teased, regaining my feet and checking the fit of my new clothes.
"I am, I really am," he answered, cocking his head.
Next came the light ankle boots, with their straps and buckles, meant to be cinched in for that perfect fit. These I had made locally, by a Nord called Betna, who loved the idea of something delicate and feminine, as opposed to the heavy work boots she's used to.
I glanced at the bedpost nearest to me, then hopped onto the mattress, then up onto the post with a foot-change and balanced neatly, then moved to the one across from it and leaned over until my chin was down by my ankle, the other foot up in the air for balance.
"It makes me sick to watch you do that," Sapphire declared, shaking her head. She didn't sound sickened, though.
"I love watching her do that. It'd break every bone in my body, but damn!" Vipir snickered, turning to watch.
"You both know how to make a girl feel appreciated," I announced, dismounting the post easily. The breeches shifted and moved silently and comfortably as I did, the light boots didn't interfere with my ability to 'see with my feet' the way my guild boots had. The original boots lay in the chest at the foot of my bed. Supposedly, I was the only person who would ever mess with anything in there.
I suspected this would be true only if I didn't count 'casual investigations, where everything was put back.' It was a rule that guild members didn't steal from one another, but looking through someone else's stuff was… not technically a violation of the rule. I'd bet good coin that once I was here long enough to be 'part of the Guild' the investigations of my stuff would stop. I just had to earn that respect, first.
Over the long-sleeved tunic I now wore, I shrugged the modified (Tonilia called it mutilated) jerkin on. The sleeves had been removed, as they posed one of the biggest problems, being too stiff for acrobatics. Felimal had scraped the leather to be thinner, then used goodness only knew what process to give it some extra softness and give. It didn't feel quite so new, though it wasn't fully broken in. Still, it was well on its way to being a comfortable, functional garment.
I buckled the jerkin on. "Sapphire, can you do my laces?" I asked, turning to give her my back.
She got up and did so, tugging the garment snug, then knotting and tucking the ends. Once laced in, the garment properly snug, I nodded at the fit, adjusting the belts in their new placements. I don't need the garment cinched around my waist, since I do a great deal of flexing and bending. It actually fastens snug with straps above and beneath the bust—not that I have much of one—and with the laced-cinch in the back. The fit was almost like that of a second (thicker) skin.
If this is what Felimal can do with something I bring in, I can't wait to see what he can do when working from the ground up. Time to start saving coins!
"Alright, I think I'm good." I turned a lazy handspring, then slipped into a split and rested my chin on my shin. "Ta-dah!"
"And Mercer didn't change his mind about Goldenglow?" Sapphire asked, resuming her spot on the bed.
"Nope. I swear, that man goes through life like someone spit in his every meal. It's not natural," I announced, shifting my weight to my arms and going through a few more slow contortions, feeling my muscles stretch and pull. Limberness is something that requires maintenance. "Any suggestions?"
"Don't get spotted?" Vipir suggested pertly.
"Helpful, thanks," I answered.
"Don't get dead?" Sapphire suggested.
"I knew you'd gotten fond of me," I grinned at her.
She snorted and rolled her eyes, but a slight turn up at the corner of her mouth said I had the right of it, even if anyone else would only hear sarcasm and see dismissal.