By the time Lucille's beautiful song woke me from my sleep, it was nearly sun-down: which gave me plenty of time to perform maintenance on The Lighthouse: something I've been putting off for quite some time, I will admit. After pulling on my boots and rolling the cramps from my joints after sleeping on the poor-excuse for a bed that badly needed replaced, I reapplied the charcoal to my eyes after visiting the small, closed-off restroom and walked across the circular room I had turned into my bedroom, lifted the trapdoor and descended the spiral, stone staircase: navigating the dizzying journey until I came to the door that led to my store room and grabbed my 'borrowed' toolbox and began making my rounds throughout the seven floors of The Lighthouse.
While the lantern room at the very top wasn't very big, there was still plenty to care for in this old, crumbling tower: mainly the Whale-oil lamp that kept boats and ships from crashing into my home and other such hazards that came with living so close to the sea. Pausing just long enough to let Lucille out of her cage to stretch her wings, I made quick mental notes of what needed cleaned tonight and what could wait until later before beginning my tedious tasks of repairing and cleaning. Reaching for the heavy, metal box, I dug out a rag and began cleaning the windows and oiling the hinges: deciding to save the sweeping and rug-beating for last, before tossing the rag back as I climbed up the rest of the spiral staircase until I came to the watch room above the kitchen: a wide-open room surrounded by windows on all sides that I had turned into my personal training room: complete with a small obstacle course and strategically-placed mannequins disguised as Watchmen of various Rank wielding multiple sorts of weaponry.
While I wasn't a Chemist by Trade, the large, wooden desk placed against the large windows next to the double doors that led to the small balcony was also where I designed my lethal and non-lethal equipment and tested out new ideas for future Jobs, and was where the majority of failures tended to happen until I got them right: to my chagrin. Shifting the box's heavy weight, I strode past the several mannequins, maze-like climbing walls, as well as the weighted bags on the floor and made my way further up the next flight of stairs and into the lantern room: feeling a peaceful smile stretch across my face as I took in the gold and red sunset as it began to disappear in the dark-blue void of the sea, glad that the clouds had decided not to completely blanket the sky for once.
'Alright, now to deal with you.' I thought with an exasperated sigh as I walked over to the massive, bronze lamp, filled to the brim with Whale-oil and already beginning to leak at the seams and make an insufferable mess across my once-cleaned stone floor. Biting back a growl of annoyance, I set the toolbox down and pulled out one of the smaller wrenches from its contents and got to work on tightening the screws and rivets that covered the lamp like a sickness: there had to be at least three-hundred of each on the damned thing. After an hour or so, I had tightened the last one: pleased that the leaking had finally stopped, but was left with the putrid, slippery mess that could cause me to fall and break something later on if I didn't deal with it now.
"You're more trouble than you're worth." I scowled, before crouching low and began the frustrating process of mopping up the mess with the black-stained mop I had placed against the wall for this exact purpose: glad I had enough experience in doing so without getting myself covered in the sleek, black sludge: it is NOT easy or pleasant to get out of cloth or leather, not to mention the smell will linger like a cloud for days on end: making it nearly impossible to do any sort of Job or Heist without being discovered, especially if they had Dogs with them. Glaring at the lamp, I made absolutely sure I had gotten the extra oil off of my hands before I lit a match from one of Basso's tinderboxes and carefully touched the tiny flame to the wick attached to the oil burner before closing the small, glass window: lighting the lamp and allowed the massive beam of light to hit the surrounding mirrors and stretch out into the darkening horizon, guiding the incoming ships to the harbor.
'Now, let's play nice, and not have to do this again, yeah?' I thought in relief: glad to see that it was working properly and was no longer leaking across my floor. Satisfied, I collected my toolbox and turned on my heel and descended the stairs and returned the heavy box back to my store room once again: this time leaving with a broom and rug-beater instead. Deciding to start from the bottom up: I followed the twisting, stone stairs even further down to the next level and entered the first floor, which I'd come to call the entrance room. Navigating the neatly-placed pieces of furniture, I set the rug-beater across the cushions of the small couch before leaning the broom against the wall. Once I had my hands free, I knelt to the floor and rolled up the large, red and white, oval-shaped rug and moved it towards the door. As soon as it was out of the way, I began the process of sweeping the old, smooth stone: not even phased by the absurd amount of dust that had collected over such a short period of time, making short work of the mess and swept it out the trapdoor and down to the bottom of The Lighthouse.
Once the floor was clean, I replaced the broom and opened the window before carrying the rug over to the now-open space and started beating the living-shit out of it: trying my hardest not to sneeze as the sea-breeze blew the cloud right back in my face, thankfully not back inside the room I had just cleaned. Placing the rug back where it belonged, I got to work on lighting the candles on the three small tables and single dresser where I kept spare clothing for when I needed to repair or clean my usual garb. Once the room was well-lit in the darkening night, I closed the window and retreated back up the stairs: repeating the cleaning process in the living room, bedroom and kitchen: I decided to wait to clean the rafters and store room another day: as sorting through that literal mess was a headache all its own, and I had no interest in dealing with it tonight.
Satisfied with the previous rooms, I made my way up to the watch room and opened the doors leading to the balcony before giving the floor the same treatment as the previous rooms: glad the rug in this room was already clean as I rolled it up and moved it out of the way before sending the dust out the doors and into the sea below. Replacing the rug where it belonged, I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a sigh of relief: glad my job was almost finished as I got to work on cleaning the large windows next, which was thankfully my last task until I decided to dust the rafters, sort through the store room and replace my food stores in the kitchen. "Really should get some curtains for these." I mused quietly as I finished the last one after another hour or so, making a mental note to keep my eye out for some nice ones the next time I browsed through the ships' cargo the next time I needed to replenish the necessities.
Once they were clean, I gave my back a much-needed stretch: groaning in pleasure at the multiple 'cracks' that echoed in the quiet space before I retreated back down the stairs and placed the broom and rug-beater back where they belonged before once-again returning back up to the watch room: pausing just long enough to fill a saucer full of water and pay some loving attention to Lucille before leaving her to her snacks and bath while I climbed the rest of the way back to the watch room. Contrary to what people might say if they knew where I was: I didn't just choose this place because of its remote location and easy access to first pickings from the ships: I also chose this place because of the utility it provided, walking the spiral staircase multiple times a day provided me with much-appreciated cardio: strengthening my legs and my stamina without having to leave my home: not like others I knew who had to take to The City for the same purpose.
Smirking at the thought of how jealous my fellow Thieves would be if they knew that little secret, I took generous amounts of dried herbs, spices and other dried plants from their hanging positions by one of the windows before having a seat at my desk-turned-workbench, lighting the candles and looked over the dozens of blueprints of potential equipment I had drawn and other papers containing recipes for new kinds of Powder Pouches I had in mind before neatly setting the majority of them aside: keeping a single one in view that contained an experimental recipe that would (hopefully) create a cloud of toxic dust that would paralyze those who inhaled it: rendering them unable to move or speak for up to several hours: leaving them unable to attack me or call for help until I was long-gone.
'Think I'll dye these…purple.' I decided with a satisfied 'nod' after a few moments' hesitation as I opened the drawers and pulled out the funnel, mortar and pestle and several measuring beakers I had lifted from the bag of an unsuspecting Plague Doctor, as well as a pair of thick, protective goggles: leather, bronze and just as hideous as any of Vittori's…'attractions', but I'd rather wear a pair of heavy, thick-lensed, hideous goggles then go blind by loose powder getting in my eyes: something I definitely couldn't afford in my profession. Pulling my mask up to prevent myself from breathing in any loose dust, I glanced over the recipe intently before following the experimental instructions: separating and placing the estimated amount of each specific item into the mortar and pestle: roughly grinding them down until they were nothing more than a collection of fine, sweet-smelling dust that had turned a curious shade of mint-green.
'Hmm…wonder if it was the Foxglove that did this, or perhaps the Hemlock? I'll need to research this more.' I thought: setting the heavy, stone tools down and jotted down notes, careful not to breathe in any of the mixture in case it turned out to be another failure: especially when such toxic plants were involved in its creation. Placing my silver pen back into its matching ink bottle, I placed the small, metal funnel into the glass, measuring beaker before carefully pouring the contents of the mortar into it: watching the dangerous powder fill the bottom of the beaker like sand until the last of it had entered its new container. As I placed the funnel aside, I lifted the beaker until it was level with my face: giving it a light shake to even out the amount and allow me to record the number on the side of the glass: only to very-nearly drop it as the sudden banging of my Alarm Bells scared me out of my skin.
I had one on each floor of The Lighthouse: rigged to go off if any of my traps had been triggered, and judging by the noise of the golden bells, surprised cry and muffled swearing coming from just outside my line of sight on the watch room's balcony: someone had been caught in one of my carefully-hidden Rope Snares that I had disguised as just another of the several, old ropes that had been out there for as long as I could remember. 'Good to know that they work.' I thought grimly as I quickly set my project down, pulled my goggles off and blew out the candles with a wave of my hand, crouching low to the floor and carefully slipped out the doors leading to the balcony without so much as a sound: grateful the constant roaring of the sea pounding against the rocks would've covered up any sound I would've made as I slipped through the pitch-dark shadows with the silence of a Ghost, taking the opposite way the trap was: as to gain the element of surprise from whoever had the audacity to stumble blindly into my home without so much as a warning: which wasn't an easy feat for one surrounded by windows.
'And here I thought I was going to get to enjoy a peaceful evening to myself.' I thought with a bitter glare as I rounded the bend and took in the sight of the large, dark shape furiously struggling to get free with no small amount of growls and impressive curses as it couldn't seem to reach the loop tied around its foot and continuously found itself hanging upside-down no matter how hard it tried to right itself: a sight that was no-doubt humiliating to whoever this was, especially if there were other witnesses besides myself to their plight. Judging by the depth of their muffled voice and body shape: the victim of my trap was a 'he'…a rather small-statured one…one that was looking more and more familiar the longer I studied his thrashing form, and it didn't take long to figure out who this was. 'No…fucking way.' I barely managed to think, not even realizing my jaw dropped as my eyebrows jumped to my hairline in utter shock: I couldn't believe it! Never in my life had I ever expected I would end up snagging a fellow Thief in one of my traps, especially not one with the skills or likes of…
"Garrett?" I called, stilling the thrashing figure immediately as I eased out of my halfway-crouched stance and cautiously approached the dark form that had gone eerily-still: feeling the hidden, hateful glare from across the balcony as I got close enough to see his features in the lantern's light. Even though upside-down, my assumptions proved true: making a traitorous smile start to spread across my hidden face as I took in The very-unamused Master Thief as he dangled helplessly by his right foot, several feet off the floor: hazel eyes meeting mine in a glare that contained all the hate in the world as he crossed his arms over his chest and gently swung from side-to-side in the gentle sea-breeze: tattered cape brushing the floor of the balcony like the tail of a lazy Cat.
As he scowled dangerously at me from beneath his mask, I decided I couldn't hold it in anymore as I imagined the look on his hidden face, before I threw my head back and burst out laughing: completely-ignoring the fact that I'd probably just sealed my own fate as I wiped the tears away just enough for me to see the murderous expression in his eyes: which was enough for me to pull myself together and control myself, with the exception of a few more traitorous giggles at his misfortune. 'I can't wait to tell Basso! Oh, he's going to faint!' I thought mischievously, completely unphased by the deep growl that escaped my fellow Thief's throat: something that probably should be concerning considering who it was, but I was enjoying this far too much to give a damn. 'If he was to kill me for this, I'd die happy.' I decided, feeling my shit-eating grin return with a vengeance as we met eyes again…and I just couldn't help myself: I was definitely NOT going to waste this opportunity, especially if it was my last.
"Shut. Up." he spat venomously, no doubt imagining all the creative ways he could end my life as I crossed my arms over my chest with a contented smirk: one he doubtlessly knew I had by now. "My my, that's not very polite: especially when you're the one trespassing. Let me guess: Basso told you where I was? He failed to mention my traps, I see: which begs the question now…how did I: manage to snag the best Thief in The City? Surely, someone like you would've figured out the dangers of visiting another Thief's abode uninvited? No doubt you knew of the ones inside: judging by your presence out here, so how exactly does someone of your skills manage to be strung up by a simple Rope Snare? Must be a nice jab to your well-earned pride: to know that The Nightingale has outsmarted you, Master Thief." I couldn't help but taunt, causing the hateful glare to increase tenfold to the point where the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood up at the unspoken threat, no…the unsaid promise.
'Gods, if looks could kill.' I thought, hiding my suddenly-nervous 'gulp' with an adjustment to my mask as he growled at me again before pulling a Sawtooth Arrow from the quiver on his back before trying once again to cut himself free with renewed vigor: not even bothering to hide his anger and frustration anymore as gravity worked against him and once-again forced him back into his original position: making me almost feel bad for designing the Snares that way. "Would you like some help? You seem to be struggling." I noted with a hidden grin, stating the obvious as he tried two more times with the same result: which no-doubt greatly added to his frustration. "I don't need your damned help, Girl. Fuck. Off." he snarled, making me raise an eyebrow at his coarse language towards me as he leaned upwards and tried again: and couldn't say I didn't deserve it, if I was being honest.
"Dear me, that's no way to speak to a Lady: and here I am trying to be nice: you DID trespass into my home for an unknown reason, after all. What would The Watch think if they patrolled by here and saw you strung up just for them like fresh Beef on a hook, I wonder? I don't think your pride or your reputation would be able to handle it, Garrett." I taunted back, causing the thrashing to still for a moment before starting up again at a much slower rate: he was beginning to tire, whether he was ready to admit it or not. "I can handle myself fine, pest! Now leave me be, before I put an arrow between your eyes." he threatened, and would no-doubt keep his word if he could actually reach and use his bow while upside-down, leaving me with a frown and glare of my own as I stared him in the eye.
"Now you listen here, I respect your title and reputation in this City greatly, Master Thief: but don't you DARE threaten me in my own home, you have no idea how lucky you are that it was merely a Rope Snare that caught you, instead of something that would've left your sorry arse in pieces. If you were a Watchman, I'd have cut that rope and allowed you to either drown in the sea, or be eaten by the Sharks in the Bay: whichever came first. Now, you can swallow your pride and either accept my help and allow me to get you down from there: or you can pass out from all the blood rushing to your head, which, judging by how red your face is turning: won't be long. Make your choice." I snarled back, stretching my right hand out to him with a venomous glare: one that was met with equal vehemence for several, long seconds as he gave a low, menacing growl from between clenched jaws before reluctantly stretching his larger hand out and met mine in a dull 'clap': gripping mine tightly as I leaned down and removed one of the twin daggers from within the lining of my boots: rolling my eyes as his flashed dangerously, tightening his grip as he tensed: ready to pull me over the edge of the railing while never taking his eyes from the lethal blade as it caught the lantern's light in a sinister gleam: showing both our reflections in a hazy, distorted image in the polished steel.
"Relax. If I wanted you dead, I would be aiming lower." I deadpanned, paying no mind to any of his further reactions as I stepped to his side and lifted my right foot, before using the lowest of the balcony's three metal railings as a step: lifting myself just high enough to allow the fang-shaped, curved blade to slice cleanly through the rope with a single, forceful stroke. As soon as he was free, we both subconsciously tightened our grip on one another with dual grunts of effort as the sudden presence of gravity tried to pull him down into the roaring sea and lethal rocks making up the cliffside The Lighthouse was perched upon. Planting my feet firmly into the stone floor, I slid into a sideways stance and tensed the muscles in my arm, legs and back and held fast: giving Garrett just enough time to grab the railing in his other hand and pull himself back to safety and away from the long drop to certain death below.
"There. I won't expect a 'thank you' since I know I won't get one, but I WILL accept an explanation for this…unexpected visit. No one just 'knows' where I am, so I assume Basso told you and I'd like to know why: what's so important that you just had to visit in person, when Basso could've just sent Jenivere?" I questioned, stepping away from him and crossed my arms over my chest: glaring at The Master Thief as his gaze met mine with an equal amount of annoyance. "It's pretty obvious when The Lighthouse still works as well as it does after being abandoned for years without a Keeper. If you were as smart as Basso says, then you'd know they don't light themselves, you're asking for trouble, keeping it lit." Garrett scoffed, pointing out the obvious flaw that would've normally had the place crawling with Watchmen several times over by now if they ever had the courage to come looking.
"Please. The people along the border are so superstitious and paranoid that they believe its haunted by vengeful Spirits after the Keeper's home had been washed away. If I didn't keep it lit, the incoming ships would never make it into the harbor: meaning no goods or supplies for anyone in The City. And with the exception of you, no one had ever dared investigate in the years I've lived here: and there's only one way up if you can't climb, and if people really are that stupid to come up that way: I truly wish them luck, let the Old Gods sort them out." I replied, waving my hand in a nonchalant fashion as Garrett narrowed his eyes for a moment before crossing his arms: appearing relaxed to the untrained eye, however, I knew he was anything but: to which I could relate if the roles were reversed, it was almost unheard of for Thieves to visit one another: especially in someone's hideaway where so much could go wrong for the visitor.
"You put too much faith in those traps of yours: one day, you'll regret it. One way up, means one way down: if they were to get smart and set this place ablaze, you'll end up trapping yourself." he warned, and was right to an extent: but I had several back-up plans and fail-safes just in case it would come to that point, I didn't choose to keep The Lighthouse running on a whim with no plans involved, after all. "Says the one who had been snagged in one: the placement for my traps has been carefully thought-out and executed after months of planning: even those with a highly-trained eye couldn't see or even find half of them. It comes with years of planning and observations: I'd wager I know the people down there better than they know themselves by now. So. What brings you here, Garrett? Surely, this isn't a 'friendly visit', if our less-than-pleasant first encounter in The Burrick is anything to go by. It must be important if Basso sent you all the way over here instead of Jenivere, and with no warning as well: you're lucky I didn't take you for a threat. Would be a shame if I had to tell Basso that The Master Thief had been reduced to Fish Food." I smirked, finding his immediate scowl and matching glare amusing as I subtly studied his form for any ill-intent as he doubtlessly did the same right back: paying especially-close attention to my hands, he wasn't stupid either: good to know.
"Basso's got a Job for us, has us paired up on a Double Heist: I'm here to go over plans and discuss our strategy." he said, making me raise an eyebrow in confusion, as Basso knew for a fact that I worked alone and did so flawlessly and without hardly any problems: so what made this one so different that he'd pair me up with The legendary Master Thief? 'Thanks for the warning, Basso.' I thought bitterly, turning to Garrett and giving him my full attention: all traces of playful sarcasm gone, it was time to talk Business. "This is the first I've heard of it, which is very unlike Basso: as he knows damn-well that I work alone. I'll be sure to give our 'Wonderful' Fence a piece of my mind for the lack of a heads up before we head out, but if he's got us paired together out of all the Thieves in The City: it must be one hell of a Job. Very well, Garrett, I'll bite: where are we going, and what are we stealing?" I questioned, keeping careful watch for any tell-tale sign of a lie, and though Garrett didn't seem the type to do so: the fact that Basso was pairing us up for a Job without even so much as a warning when we'd never worked with each other before sounded highly suspicious to me.
"He's still getting the details from the Client, don't know what we're Lifting other than there's two: one on each side of The Thief-Taker General's Mansion. Basso told me the Client wants us to get one item from his wife's chambers and another from The General's Office during his wife's upcoming Promotion Party, supposed to be a lot of High-End Attendees and even more Guards." he said, looking just as annoyed by the complete lack of information as I was, which didn't bode well for us: I never liked going in anywhere blind, especially when it came to The General. "And why on Earth would we go into that Manor without the slightest clue of what we're even looking for? I would sooner trust The Watch over an Amateur Client. Sounds like a set-up to me." I stated, apparently voicing both of our concerns, judging by the slight nod I received in reply: he was quick to catch onto my justified concerns: I'll give him that.
"Basso said you've been in there before, any good Thief knows never to return to the Scene of a Crime: and yet here you are, going back again. Why?" he questioned, no-doubt knowing that I was his best chance of getting inside and back out again with the most loot without being seen: so why was he asking if he already knew the answer? "Aside from being your best chance of getting through that literal Death Trap unseen? Basso knows I'm always up for sticking it to The General, been through there four times already and it's always fun to see his face turn purple afterwards: almost took him for a walking plum last time." I replied, hoping I didn't just imagine his eye twitch in amusement as he mulled over my answer. "You better hope your personal vendetta doesn't get us both killed, Nightingale." he growled, not even trying to hide the underlying threat in his voice: and I knew full-well neither of us trusted or even liked each other in the least, but were being forced to work together on a High-Risk Job and compromises had to be made to ensure its success.
"It's not my fault they replace their Artifacts and Heirlooms with higher quality ones every other week. And the Guards they hire aren't the smartest lot: how's a Thief to resist? Besides, Basso nags me like an old woman every time he wants some of The General's imported whiskey: supposed to be the best on the island, wonder how The Baron feels about that? No-doubt our Fence will ask for another bottle on the way out, he's been pining for it like an Urchin craves sweets." I mused, rolling my eyes good-naturedly at the deadpanned expression in Garrett's eyes: he was not amused by my answer. "Good to know you can't resist a Lure: how you haven't been caught by The Watch is beyond me, all it would take is a baited trap to put an end to The Nightingale: your namesake really does suit you." he grunted, making my jaws clench as I bristled, not liking what he was implying in the least: but would try my hardest to remember Basso's warning and play nice.
"And yet we're paired for a Job. So do us both a favor and 'kindly' shut-it, before you find yourself sent into the traps and Guards on purpose. Now then, I suppose I should show you the routes: I'd rather not risk my neck looking for you because you decided to get lost. The ships are coming in soon and I'd rather them not see us standing up here and call The Watch, come with me: if we're going to work together, there's something you should see." I said, turning on my heel and headed back inside the watch room: relighting the candles and filling the wide, circular room with warm, yellow light.
When it came down to it, I honestly didn't care if he followed me or not: Garrett could no-doubt handle himself based on his reputation, however, I was not willing to risk my life if any foolish mistakes were made. Judging by my lack of a companion inside The Lighthouse, it was obvious the feelings of trust were mutual: a fact that could either lead to an eventual fight, or kill us both. Either way, the tension was bound to snap: and I was definitely not looking forward to the moment it did, and judging by the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach: it was going to happen soon, and I got the sickening feeling that something was about to go very very wrong.