Special thanks to 16DarkMignight80 for going over this chapter!
-K-
Bryn finally started giving me 'will you at least make a show of getting on with it?' looks on the seventh day since getting my armor and equipment squared away. He needn't have, since the seventh day was the day I planned to make my attack, having set the wards against fire on the bottom of the apiaries I didn't want burned last night, during the dark of the moon… well, the dark of one of them.
I'll tell you what, having two moons is awkward if you particularly want a dark night.
All I had to do was activate the wards, then light up the apiaries destined to burn. Unless Wylandriah royally fouled me—and I couldn't see her doing it, since mistakes would mean angry customers coming back to ruin her day and disrupt her studies even further—that part should go off well.
"Be safe," Sapphire whispered as I got out of bed shortly after midnight and began dressing.
"I will be," I said, then pulled her blanket a little higher over her shoulder. "Sleep tight."
She snorted, but said nothing more. It was enough to know she was worried; Sapphire rarely worries about anyone.
Delvin was still awake in the Ragged Flagon even if Vekel wasn't. "Finally on that, are you?" he asked.
"Timing is everything," I answered simply.
"True enough, that," Delvin agreed. "Don't get dead, yeah?"
"No problem. This is going to be great—I get to play with fire. They never let me play with fire back at Dreamtime," I answered with more enthusiasm then I felt.
Of everyone in the Guild, only Delvin didn't wince when I put my bubbly, slightly-silly face forward. He knew what it was and knew full well I would never do anything to intentionally mess up a job—especially an important one, my first important one—whatever I said that might hint at the contrary.
A wise, wise man, our Delvin.
"Well, go play with it over there," he pointed in the direction 'out of the Flagon' with a chuckle.
I laughed softly at this then hurried up and out of the Flagon and into the damp Riften night.
-K-
I'm a decent swimmer and had sense enough to pick the shortest distance between the shores of the lake and the edge of the Goldenglow Estate.
Still… that cold. Maybe I was just getting more and more aware of it, in spite of potions, the more time I spent in the water. I swear it wasn't this cold last night.
Up out of the lake and up to the apiaries I slithered, thinking calm, shadowy thoughts. I took a slow breath as I fished out my flint and steel. The plan was to use the flaming apiaries to draw off Goldenglow's security—if the bees go up, Goldenglow becomes… well, Smoking-Glow or Glow or just… well, ashes, really. Then, while they're distracted, I'll climb the side of the building and get into Aringoth's room through his window. He'll either be down here investigating the chaos or sound asleep and easy to burgle.
Best case scenario would be for him to be asleep, I pick him clean, his bruisers come get him when they notice the fire, he leaves, and I make it down to the basement unseen, unknown, to find that bill of sale and any other treasure he happens to be sitting on.
I'd wanted to leave him a little 'you've been hit!' note or trademark or something, but decided it lacked the necessary professionalism. I wanted to be professional about this, if only so that Guildmaster Grievous would appreciate Bryn's eye for talent and recognize that a cute little blonde isn't necessarily a dumb one.
I set fire to the chosen apiaries and returned to the water. It was harder to get into it the second time and I knew it would be an act of will to escape into the lake later. It was just so cold.
By the time I was ready to get out of the water, the guards noticed the smoke coming from the apiaries.
By the time I made it to the house, three of the apiaries were spectacularly aflame and the center of interest for anyone awake… though the fire hadn't spread anywhere it oughtn't.
I looked up at Aringoth's window, then found footholds and handholds up the side of the building. Slowly, carefully, with the stickiest of sticky feet, up I went. I'd brought a rope and hook in case there wasn't enough for hand- or foot-holds, but I didn't need them.
I levered myself up so I could see over Aringoth's windowsill, feet braced and muscles tense.
The Elf lay asleep in his big bed, hand to his mouth as though sucking his thumb, his forefinger hooked around his long nose. His other hand held onto his beard, making me think of an overgrown child with a security blanket. Oh, I wish I had a way to capture this on paper…
"Master Aringoth? Master Aringoth!"
Training prevented me from flinching, or worse letting go of my tenuous anchors to the wall and windowsill, in surprise, when a suddenly violent pounding came from the other side of Aringoth's door.
I ducked, hanging by my fingers, spider-like, while feet blindly sought, and found, new footholds. I was well braced long before my hands protested supporting all my weight like that.
I'd never have been able to do any of this while wearing those heavy boots Tonilia originally supplied me with.
"Yeep!" I nearly laughed as the Altmer squeaked, snorting as he woke up. "What?" he demanded, voice high pitched.
"Sir, the apiaries are on fire!"
The Altmer squeaked again, grabbed his sword from the stand by his bed (it was more of a knife, but I felt generous) and flew out of the room in his long, stripy nightshirt.
Still snickering to myself, I levered myself up onto the windowsill, bracing a hand against the eaves for balance, opened the window (which wasn't locked) and slipped in feet first, closing it softly behind me.
Aringoth left his key. He left it on his bedside table next to a mug that might have, at one time, contained hot milk.
Wow. This guy is something else. Long stripy nightshirt, (the matching nightcap had come off, I found it wedged between two pillows), and warm milk before bedtime? I took a glance at his bedside table, specifically the book on it. It was as wholesome and boring as everything else I'd seen of this fellow so far, being A Brief History of the Empire, Volume II.
I'm okay with nice guys but this guy is just boring!
I pocketed the key, nabbed a statuette that looked expensive (but probably wasn't) and slipped through the house, pausing here or there to snatch a token, mostly to say I'd done so. The place was devoid of guards, but I didn't want to linger—as soon as Aringoth got back to his room, he'd see the key and the gaudy little bee statue missing. Then would come the hue and cry.
Misers are like dragons… well… when you read about dragons, I have no idea if real dragons are this way. Anyway, they may not care much for the beautiful items they possess, but if one little stray piece goes missing, look out! That one missing item is always the most precious of the lot, and must be regained at all costs. Enter an angry (fictitious) dragon. Or (very real) miser.
As I went, I also snagged the biggest boiled crème treat I'd ever seen in my life and a bottle of wine as I made my way through the kitchen. I'm rather partial to pastries, and I've yet to meet a boiled crème treat I didn't like. Keerava's in particular are masterpieces of delicious.
Feet pounded discontentedly overhead as I reached the safe in the basement. I took a deep breath, used the key to open the safe and pulled everything out, stuffing all of it into my ditty bag. Apart from being enchanted to hold more than it should, apparently all the Guild's pouches, pockets, bags, and cases are enchanted to repel water so nothing inside can be damaged by an unanticipated dip.
I approved, when I found out. It would have been extremely embarrassing to return the papers that were wanted soaking wet and illegible. Or, worse, returned to a state of pulp.
Despite the sounds of people reentering the building, I shoved a few more close-to-hand items into my pouches so as not to come back looking like a 'bare minimum' kind of girl. Seven days was seven days and I kind of thought Bryn had hoped for something a little more timely, even if he was good enough not to push.
-K-
I slipped back into the Ragged Flagon, shivering and chattering uncontrollably, but happy as a bee in clover. Vekel was already up, buffing the bar as if preparing for the day. "Morning," he grunted.
Vekel isn't exactly talkative, so I took this as 'hello Kitty! It's a glorious morning, isn't it? Incidentally, I'm glad to see you not dead!'
"Morning! I have something for you." Because, of course, it pays to be friendly with the local barmen.
Vekel's eyes narrowed as I placed a dark bottle on bar. Its label read, in handwritten letters,
5 of 15
Black-Briar Honeywine
(Snowberry)
As he read the bottle his eyes grew very wide indeed. "Who did you kill to get this?" he demanded, picking the bottle reverently. "It's unobtainable."
"It was in Aringoth's cellar. I never heard of Black-Briar wine, so I thought—"
"It was a good thought," Vekel said, looking pleased. Then, he seemed to remember he was out in public and crunched his features into something less overjoyed.
The man takes his liquor seriously.
"You're soaked," he noted gruffly, fingers brushing my shoulder, then grazing my hair. That was certainly true: it had been easier to swim from Goldenglow into Riften and climb up onto the boardwalks of the canals than it would have been to get onto dry land (in the cold air) and beat feet back to Riften via the road.
Also, I didn't trust the guards not to wonder why I was all wet, when there was such a fuss going on at Goldenglow. They're crooked as a daedra's smile, but they can still count, and still add two and two.
"Get dried out and I'll let you have a hot drink. On the house." He stashed the Honeywine carefully beneath the bar as tenderly as a devoted father might put his favorite child to bed.
I grinned. "I will definitely take you up on that." Shivering, I made my way into the Guildhall. I changed into dry clothes.
Sapphire gave a small gasp and shivered.
With a frown, I pulled her blanket up again. Then, not sure if it was wise or even alright, I touched her hair the way my mother used to do for me when I had bad dreams. Her eyes opened halfway, but were lifeless. "You're back," she said. She wasn't really awake though, I could tell.
"I'm back. Safe and sound."
"Hn." She nodded, her eyelids falling shut again.
I finished dressing, then slithered deeper into the Guildhall.
Vekel wasn't the only one I had something for.
The bee statue was far too recognizable to do anything with and too pretty to melt down. I'm not a fan of bees in general so it would be silly for me to keep it. I don't have a desk, so I don't need a paperweight. However, I had the idea that playfully letting Bryn know his faith in me wasn't misplaced would be apropos.
It involved sneaking, as well as breaking and entering, but I'm a thief. As long as he doesn't wake up I'll be just fine.
Bryn did, predictably, sleep with his door locked. However, having seen the inside of that door, I knew it was just a simple push lock, needing only a knife blade to lift the bar so the door would open. I lifted the bar and eased the door open, careful not to let the lock fall and make a noise.
I was too late in remembering to do anything but pray that Tonilia wasn't in there, too.
Bryn was sound sleep—thankfully alone—breathing softly, facing the door, his back to the wall. Good choice. I slipped forward, placed the little golden bee statue on his bedside cabinet, then slipped out again, carefully lowering the lock back into place before giving a shudder partly of cold and partly of nerves. I almost sprinted back to the bar where Vekel had a hot drink all ready for me.
He also had a discourse about Black-Briar Honeywine (an abandoned endeavor of some fifty years ago) ready for me. I love to listen to people who are passionate about a hobby of theirs, even if I have no interest in that hobby myself. Also, since Vekel is usually so taciturn, I was happy to be around him now that he felt so chatty.
He also indicated that if I could find more—there were five or six individual runs that might or might not have survivors out there—he would pay through the nose for them.
Well, he didn't say it like that; he implied that he would be more than a little generous if I could find any samples from any of the other runs.
My first thought was that I should start by looking in the various Jarls' wine cellars. If anyone was going to have rare wines that no one else does, it's a Jarl(…Jarl-ess?), Count(ess), or whatever title a regional ruler uses, depending on the Province.
"You're planning to counterfeit them, aren't you?" I asked, sipping my drink—hot, spicy, and strongly alcoholic.
"It's only counterfeiting if I mean to pass them off as the real thing," he answered almost prissily, which (in conjunction with the alcohol) made me giggle. "I mean to have it under my own name, thank you."
"The Man's Honeywine. I like it," I answered, disappearing behind my drink.
"I'm going to have to start carrying Kitty-sized kid's glasses," Vekel grunted. "Two sips and your mind's gone. You never make it through the full flagon."
"In Hammerfell we call them 'shots,'" I said, holding up two fingers to indicate a small glass. "They're about this big and you try to drink as many as you can before you get utterly shitfaced. Or… try to drink more of them than the person drinking with you can. There was this one bar—the twins and I went—well, I went to drink they went to prowl, anyway… there was this bar, who had a barman—"
"How original."
"—and he would prowate… no. Pro-ate? Pro-rate—" I finally managed. Wow. Language, Kitty. It's not like you're speaking something foreign…
"You're drunk already?" Sapphire demanded.
"Buzzed!" Though whether I was volunteering the fact or correcting her, I'm not sure.
"How can you be drunk? It's not even breakfast time."
"It was cold," I answered. "So the guy would pro-whatever. The first shot was cheap-ish. And for each shot after, he increased how much it cost, you know, so people would eventually have to slow down the drunker they got. The twins were so mad at me—they had to carry me home giggling rather than be carried home giggling themselves slung over some man-mountain's shoulders. They shared everything, you know," I said firmly, tone hardly delicate in my insinuation.
Sapphire took my mug and finished it in one long pull.
"Hey!"
"You've had more than enough," she answered patronizingly.
I pouted at her, then ruined the pout by giggling. It's true. I can't argue it!
"Shots are about all she can handle," Vekel grumbled.
"Tell me about it. I've never seen such a lightweight," Sapphire said, shaking her head.
"Breakfast!" I cheered. "We need a community breakfast! Oh, I had a boiled crème treat on your behalf, Sapph—it was fantastic!"
-K-
Sapphire and I were still 'having breakfast' in the Ragged Flagon and playing blackjack as we did so. It was a fairly clean game, particularly since I was still a bit overly happy from Vekel's 'warm you up' drink.
"So, Kit-Cat." Sapphire had decided, this very morning, that Kit-Cat was what she intended to call me; it was short, she said, for Kitty the Cat-Burglar.
I was fine with that—she doesn't give anyone else nicknames, so I took it as a public exhibition of acceptance.
Bryn entered the Ragged Flagon and held up the bee statue in one hand. He didn't say anything, didn't look as though he was going to say anything… then again, he didn't need to.
"Do you like it? I thought you might," I grinned happily.
"Very nice, Kitty-lass. Thank you. I'm a little more interested in the bill of sale." His words were all business, but his tone was playful enough.
"The what?" I let my expression fall comically into blank non-comprehension, batting my eyes in pretended confusion, while enjoying the way absolute horror suffused Bryn's handsome face.
"The bill of sale you loony!" Sapphire hissed, also looking appalled as she smacked my shoulder.
"Oh. Oh, that. Of course I've got it." Giggling (though receiving a rather dirty look from a very relieved Bryn for my impishness), I withdrew the bill of sale from my hip bag and handed it over. Bryn, still looking disapproving, smacked me on the head with the folded paper.
I rolled out of my chair, tumbling expertly and making a show of getting 'hung up' on the rope railing that prevented anyone from tipping into the water.
"How'd you do it?" Vex asked, sounding disgusted as she came in—not from the sleeping quarters, but from Riften proper. Vex likes a morning swim.
"I set the apiaries on fire and climbed up the side of the building," I answered.
"The side of the building?" Vex asked.
Bryn's head shot up and I felt no small amount of amusement as he checked to make sure he heard me right.
"Uh-huh. Kind of like… this…" I walked over to the nearest wall, found hand- and foot-holds and began to scale up and over until I was behind the bar.
"This isn't a playground," Vekel grumped at me.
I continued until I could settle on the bar, knees drawn up to my chest.
"Free climbing, it's called in High Rock," I announced.
"Get your filthy boots off the bar!" Vekel barked, thumping said bar with a fist.
I hopped off, landing a crouch. "I'm off," I protested.
"In the head," Sapphire muttered into her mug.
I made a face at her and caught her ghost of a smile. "Anyway, a belated ta-dah!" With a flourish, I took a bow to nonexistent wild applause.
"I'll let Mercer know," Bryn said, clapping my shoulder.
"…I don't have to go, do I?" I asked, almost whining. I hated myself for doing it but I really, really didn't want to see Guildmaster Grouch when I was so happy and content. He'd ruin it, I'm sure.
"No, you don't have to if you don't want to. Don't worry, it's not like I'll steal the credit since you'll not be there to stop me," Bryn said in mock-seriousness, winking before he turned and left to show he really was only joking.
"Have it," I answered blankly, eliciting another round of laughs (stifled and otherwise) from the Flagon's early-morning patrons. I didn't see what was so funny: Guildmaster Gruesome obviously doesn't entertain a high enough opinion of his number two guy.
"You are the worst thief ever," Sapphire announced once I sat down.
"You swapped my cards, didn't you? I demand a reshuffle!"
"You're the one who turned your back. Play the hand you've got," Sapphire retorted, unabashed.
-K-
There were a variety of jobs for a young thief with lots of energy to do. I might still be considered the baby of the group, but I was in for having proved myself as a steady hand—and when Vex tried to play down the achievement of Goldenglow since I climbed the side of the building and maneuvered through an almost-empty house, I agreed with her.
This amiability only irritated her. It's hard to maintain sour grapes when someone isn't enthusiastic about how much better they are than you are.
Delvin and Vex sometimes handed out specific jobs—usually reworking someone's account ledger, or planting evidence somewhere like I did with Brand-Shei—but, generally speaking, the work of a thief was open-ended.
I wasn't the only one who liked traveling in company. While Sapphire was my favorite companion, Vipir was my second-favorite and not averse to making a trip a thieves' road trip with several stops en route there and back. Trips with him were always more lucrative than with the more goal-oriented Sapphire.
It was in this way that I got to see most of Skyrim—definitely all the capitals of the major Holds; there wasn't much of interest for a thief in the minor Holds, because I didn't like stealing from poor people.
Skyrim was a diverse Province, ranging from the green Falkreath, to the stony Markarth, the stately Solitude, temperate Whiterun, wintery Winterhold, and the perpetually iced-over Windhelm. Poor Dawnstar—it felt more like an afterthought than a Hold, and Morthal even more so.
Life fell into a comfortable routine: go out, come home—it was nice having a 'home' that stayed put—collect my earnings, rest a bit, and go back out. I liked the simplicity—although anyone who relies on stealth and sneaky fingers knows that 'simplicity' isn't the word to describe the job, just the routine.
All this travel meant I could start looking in on the Honorhall purchasers.
One purchaser had no children on or about her place, in spite of having purchased one boy. I cleaned her house out with extreme prejudice. It would be a slow process, bleeding the rich old dear into abject poverty. But I had the time… also, I probably ought to have checked so see if he was just gone or if he had grown up and moved out. I didn't think about that until after I was well on my way… hmm.
To my relief, the second buyer I was able to investigate turned out to be more than alright. Sarethi Farms, which was in the north-western part of the Hold, had purchased some six or eight children over the years—both sexes, but all Mer. As I'd learned from Constance, nearly everyone in the Hold knew Grelod was an awful old witch, and practically everyone in the Rift knew that Honorhall was no place for children. So Aduri Sarethi (and her sister, Avrusa—such a pretty name!) had gotten around the 'no adoptions' thing by buying up as many of the Mer orphans as she could. From what I could tell, the kids were brought up as farmers, so they were learning a useful trade. The kids themselves seemed okay when I stopped to talk to them, and the Sarethi sisters gave every impression of being decent women.
I hung around for a few nights to make sure untoward nothing happened outside of daylight hours, but found nothing.
It was enough to make me hope, very gently, that maybe, just maybe, things weren't quite as bad as I feared for all these outsourced orphans. Maybe others in Skyrim realized 'the system' and, for the good of the kids, played it.
-K-
"Good morning, Bryn!" I declared as I bounded up to the mercifully Guildmaster Frey free office space. He'd been gone of the better part of two weeks and the Guild hadn't missed a beat. It was my opinion that he should just keep doing whatever it was he was doing and not come back. We didn't need his grumpy face souring up the place. Bryn ran everything just fine.
"Hn."
I blinked at him. "…Bryn? Is everything alright? Is there anything I can do? Just tell me, if I can help—"
"Kitty."
I actually took a step back at his exasperated tone.
"I know you mean well, lass, but could you just…" He made a gesture indicating he was trying to reign in a Guildmaster Grievous bad temper, "…button it."
"I'm sorry." I felt the involuntary tears stinging my eyes. I know that I annoy the crap out of people sometimes and I usually get snarled at when I do. It doesn't mean anything because I accept that I can be a little irritating with all the cheerfulness and enthusiasm.
But Bryn has never complained or been annoyed by it. Mostly he treats it as something funny, or silly, something to be tolerated but not encouraged, being such an unusual trait. He'd never snapped at me before, and the sudden backlash of it—particularly the restraint he seemed to be exercising—stung like a slap.
"I am sorry," I squeaked before making a beeline for the exit.
I heard his sharp sigh, and the 'come back here, we'll talk it over' use of my name.
I didn't go back. I went to the only place I could think of, the place farthest from Riften.
Solitude. I'd steal something impressive and by the time I got back, that something would make whatever it was alright. It had to, since the apology hadn't worked.
-K-
I broke into the Blue Palace, because Castle Dour was full of people who hate cuteness, and therefore wouldn't care much for me at all. By that point, I'd convinced myself I'd simply caught Bryn on a bad day, and he hadn't been up to dealing with cheerful, perky me. It happens. Even Shamar the Strong-Man, who was like a father to me, sometimes found me tedious when I was in a great mood and he wasn't. So I didn't take the grumpiness or exasperation personally… at least, not after the first day or so.
It was as good an excuse as any, though, as good an encouragement as any, to try something a little more high profile than my usual filches. I was aiming for Jarl Elisif the Fair's personal jewelry box. Or one of them. I didn't know how much jewelry a woman in her position had.
I should say, in passing, that Jarl Elisif lived up to her name, being of fair coloring, and quite pretty after the fashion of Skyrim.
The Jarl's room was actually a large suite, and she had a small room off to the side where she dressed in the mornings. This room was also where she kept all her clothes and jewelry, meaning that once I closed the door between her sleeping personage and myself, I was locked up with gowns and jewels…
…and the things that go under. The thought only occurred to me because I always have thoughts of what I'd like to do to ruin Rolff Stone-Fist's day in the back of my head, and putting itching powder in his underclothes (assuming he wears any—I pray he does!) is at the top of my list. My plans with regards to him were rather juvenile, because no kid could possible carry them off, which meant the locals should be safe from any reciprocity.
So I opened the bureau to see what kind of underclothes a lady Jarl would wear.
The answer? It was something like the twins, Shayla and Sheila, would wear! They were delicate, and came in pretty colors. As I rummaged her dresser, all I could think was that no one would ever believe I actually contrived to go through a Jarl's underthings.
So I snatched a matched set, in a pale shade of pink, and added them to my loot bag. Only a Jarl could afford such fine fabric, or the expense of dyed color, or little silk decorative ribbons for garments that go unseen. Most people stick with basic, form-follows-function underclothes.
The array of jewelry was considerable. I left the most obvious stuff—the ones with the wolf of Solitude, for instance—and went after the ugliest, gaudiest pieces. The sort of stuff someone gives when they want to impress the recipient with how rich they are, or the designs that are commissioned to show the world how rich the commissioner is. The kind of stuff no one ever wears because it's ugly, heavy, and uncomfortable.
Solitude is the capital of Skyrim, and Elisif used to be the wife of the High King. Why that doesn't make her High Queen, instead of just Jarl, I don't entirely understand. But apparently, it doesn't, although clearly she kept the jewelry that should belong to the High King's wife.
Some of it was clearly foreign, given to previous queens (or wives of kings) in bygone decades… or even centuries. I recognized work from Morrowind and High Rock, even a few very old pieces that looked Elven but not in the Dunmer or Bosmer fashions. There were even a few crude pieces of strung semi-precious stones that made me think someone, sometime, had friends among the Orc tribes that are rumored to live scattered along the outskirts of Skyrim.
As I said, I stuck with the ugliest, gaudiest pieces. Pieces that people would complain about, but which the Jarl herself probably wouldn't care if she never saw again. Why? Because the pieces were probably so recognizable that the only way to fence them was to dismember them into jewels and settings, and melt the settings down. This was just to show I could do something high profile.
It would also help that, unless she noticed a set of her undergarments missing, the theft might go undetected for weeks or months. Plenty of time for me to get out of Solitude and back to Riften.
I also stopped by her wine cellar for a look. I found bottles two, six, seven and eight of Black-Briar Honeywine (Juniper). I left bottle two where it was, but took six through eight with me for Vekel.