Beneath the blinded window the citizens of Vanzograd passed by unbeknownst to Jalmar's presence. Not that that knowledge would change much. Only the most paranoid or naive would doubt that the exiles of over 15 years ago had died in that winter. And once this job was done that certainty would be unchanged.
His brooding was interrupted by a knocking sound, muffled knuckles on hardwood. The agreed-upon pattern. Their teachers would have called Kiira a romantic; it was the same pattern they had used since they had finished training.
A door opened on near noiseless hinges and Kiira stepped inside. The smell of warm stewed meat filled the dingy shop while Jalmar re-joined the others in the main room. The small abandoned store they had borrowed from their client for the duration of the job had been made to be lived in, with a second floor containing a bed and other furnishings. The ground floor was more cramped, low tables with shelves and cabinets taking up as much space as feasible for the storing and display of goods. The shades had used one of the cabinets for storing their more cumbersome or fragile equipment but otherwise kept their gear on their person.
There was the barest clink of ceramic on wood when Kiira set down the 2 large pies she had brought. One had a small slice missing but it should still be plenty to sate the hunger set by the night's work.
"With regards from our client." Kiira said while her knifework neatly divided the pies into generous slices.
"Regards to you or to us?" Matleena asked while she pulled up a chair.
"His words said us, but his eyes said me." Kiira answered in between chuckles and bites of food.
Jalmar dragged his own chair over with no comment. The night's work had left them all tired and hungry. They ate quickly and in silence. Kaleva cleared the table and maps and notes were rolled out, displaying the warehouses that were the target for their next job.
"Another crapshoot full of grain. How exciting." Kaleva muttered as they each pored over the pages. The young daughter of Ogmar Laine had inherited more of her mother's slurs than of her father's talent at alchemy.
"Maybe you should ask your father to arrange for a new team for you if this one is so dis-satisfactory." Kiira responded. The group had worked together on nearly every job for several years now. Kaleva always complained at some point.
"As if that old coot even listens to a word I say. Nah, just let me pick the next job." Kaleva said, clapping Kiira on the shoulder.
"And I presume we are using some other method than the glutton-beasts this time?" Matleena scratched at the stubble on his chin. Both him and Jalmar were putting off shaving till they could quit this city. To the older man's chagrin, Matleena had, potentially, a full head of hair and a faster-growing beard than he. He kept his hair short for jobs but had to do so with a scissor before they left their sanctuaries. Jalmar was just plain bald. Had been well before they had been sent into exile. His wife Reija had never seemed to mind. Looking back, he had never investigated what happened to her during the great quakes that had shook up the entire region and destroyed the tunnels and caves the Vaulters used to live in.
"And Jalmar. Jalmar? Jalmar!" A spike of pain. Kiira Soininen had brought him rudely out of his reminiscence with a jab to the shoulder. He simply responded with a sullen stare. His mood always soured when he thought back to when they had been exiled.
"No killing this time. I'll give you that the glutton-beasts should dispose of a corpse readily enough, but fire isn't as reliable."
"If you don't want anyone dead why did you bring me along?" He retorted.
Kiira snorted. "It's not like killing is your only skill, we all know that."
"It's just the one you most enjoy." Kaleva added with a chuckle.
Jalmar didn't respond, taking a drink from his water-skin.
Kiira called for attention with a sharp clap. "Now, to repeat; First we scout the place. patrol routes, layout, nearest fire-watch patrol. Then we use the powder from our blast charges to accelerate the fire inside the warehouse, making it look like a lantern broke," Kiira pointed to a general map of the city with 4 buildings marked with red paint, "Then we split up and hide in the safe-houses until it's safe to return." There were nods of understanding around the table. "Any final questions?"
Silence.
Kiira began rolling up the maps and charts. "Good. Get some rest. Come waking, we're back on the job."
Jalmar took special care to remove the knives from the sheaths on his limbs. He kept one on his chest and draped the enormous rainbow-shawl over himself to cover it. Shoulder-length gloves covered his arm-tattoos and a turban covered up the tattoos on his bald head. Slinging his sack of food and wares over his shoulder he left their little hideout through the hidden door and out through the embassy. Their client must be elsewhere for no-one to come in to check on the man walking through the house, consciously making an effort to step loudly. Jalmar didn't like the man and couldn't put his finger on why. Luckily Kiira was doing all the wrangling on this one.
Vanzograd was one of the first cities erected around the time of the devastating earthquakes that drove the Vaulters down from the mountains. From high vantage points it sprawled out before him like a titanium carpet, the massive industrial sectors belching out smoke from their furnaces. The residential districts were vast cross-sections, the houses large blocks with little in the way of external decoration. Droves of Vaulters walked along the cobbled streets under the sun that was dipping towards evening. The guards manning the fence-gate into the courtyard turned at the sound of the door closing. Jalmar strode forward confidently, grinning from ear to ear. The gate was opened so he could pass through, the guards pointedly ignoring him otherwise. He paused at the gate's threshold for a moment to identify a passer-by going in the direction he needed, hand reaching into his pack for a ware to hawk while he caught up to his chosen target.
His victim was in a hurry but so was Jalmar and he followed the man pace for pace. They had reached halfway to the warehouse before his target, whom Jalmar had learned was named Brogvil, threatened to call the guards on him. Jalmar gave Brogvil a ceramic bowl 'for his time' then left with a grin on his face before the man could respond. He purchased an early dinner from a stall and feigned interest in the city as he continued his winding route towards the warehouse.
While he sat on the curb finishing off the last bite of dinner, a pair in uniform rounded the corner he himself had just passed. A man and woman, the two were probably on patrol and hopefully in the district he needed to scout. The crew needed to know the patrol-routes but judging by the nearly-empty street he wouldn't be able to tail them effectively. Just as the patrol turned to look at him, he rose and advanced, a grin on his face, shawls and ceramics in hand.
"A most splendid day to you two!" He shouted with a far more boisterous tone than he would normally affect.
"Good day." The man replied with little pleasure. The woman started laughing.
Jalmar did not attempt to disguise that he was selling wares and not simply out enjoying the 'splendid day'. It was like a juggling act how cups and pieces of jewellery emerged from and disappeared into the sack. Like his first victim of the day the guards tried to shake him by walking faster but he was not dissuaded.
Throughout the whole time only the man had spoken. The woman had switched between smiles and outright laughter at her colleague's discomfort. But as he presented a shawl threaded with Dust she spoke up.
"Where do you live in the city, Mr Dohar?" Her tone was curious, but her body language told him she was trying very hard to appear casual.
"Ah, but the Embassy! Ambassador Malesaria believes there is much our Clans can learn from your folk so that we might thrive even in the dark winter that is to come."
Mentioning the ambassador seemed to throw the guards-woman off, if only ever so slightly. "And where is your Clan from, before you came to Vanzograd I mean."
"Our usual haunt is the Siriin Desert. It lies far to the east. It saddened our chief greatly when the last winter decimated the dunes and the island chain we called home." Jalmar replied, sniffing and wiping his eyes against mock tears.
"Huh," The guard replied, "You sound more like you come from Millowich or Laneyl, you know, the northern cities."
Jalmar smiled broadly. Kaleva would have called it a 'shit-eating grin'. "Aha! I have been into tunnels on account of my clan doing some trading with a tribe of driders. Spices and select furnishings. May haps I picked up some accent from the tunnel walls!" He replied while stifling laughter.
That defused the tension that had begun to build. With a little more cajoling Jalmar convinced the woman to purchase the colourful shawl that he had presented. With a farewell and a good day, the guards continued their patrol, leaving Jalmar alone in the street. He shook the coloured vest and threw the scarf around his neck again then continued on his way. He wandered the district closest to the warehouse while making careful notes of guard patrols and sources of water. Occasionally he would intercept passers-by and offer them wares from the sack on his back. Sourced from Ambassador Malesaria, they were of good quality but were otherwise typical Clanner street wares, colourful ceramics and clothes, carved wood and knick-knacks with the odd Dust inlay. He did make a few sales, despite not putting as much gusto into the sale as he knew an actual Clanner would. Sometimes it felt like you had to beat a Clanner with a stick to get them to go away.
He spent the whole day in that manner. Sometimes he would see one of the others, similarly hawking wares to keep the disguise up or walking nonchalantly up and down streets bordering the warehouse. It was similarly protected to the warehouse they had already hit, with 2 armed patrols circling the area. Lanterns burned through the whole day and through the night as well. One vital difference between this and their first target was that this was closer to a residential district and further from the walls. There were simply more civilians wandering about at any time of day, compared to the warehouse-and-workshop district of last time. They would have to time their approach carefully. If a passer-by reported seeing 4 black-clad strangers walking into the warehouse on the eve of it going up in flames the jig would be up. To a similar end he spent some time selling a colourful shawl to a woman crewing the nearest well. A timely fire-watch response could render their efforts for naught, so they would need to find a way to disable or delay the fire-watch. And per Kiira's request, without direct interference too. No knives in backs for this job.