Deep within the hollow core of The City's monolithic clocktower, a trap door swung open. Dozens of rats raised their shaggy faces in unison, ruby pinprick eyes glistening in the darkness as another, far more hated creature of the night returned to his domain. Garrett's boots caused the ancient floorboards beneath him to squeak and moan, as he traversed the innermost area of his sanctum.
He'd explored the clocktower years prior, and although the structure had since been rebuilt, those predictable Hammers were still slaves to their rituals. And more importantly, their schematics. Garrett recalled the air duct, located high above the dreary roads of Stonemarket. It was still accessible after all these years. More importantly, it still fed directly into the clocktower.
They'd never bother to search the upper tiers for him, even if the Hammerites still had access to the place. Baron Northcrest had declared the tower a national monument, around eight or nine years back. Garrett couldn't be too bothered with remembering the details. Basso was the one who kept up with all that paltry trivia. All that mattered-and all the thief cared about-was that no one would ever find him up here.
After taking up residence seven years back, Garrett had since found other means of accessing the clocktower. The Hammerites had always been a crafty bunch, and by some twisted logic, the thief had always appreciated their passion for constructing trap doors and secret passages into their structures. Always made things just a little bit easier for him.
This, was by no means, a lofty apartment. But it was rent-free, reasonably safe, and since becoming a landmark, it no longer chimed. Something had gone wrong with the gearworks several months prior to the baron's decree. Of course, the Hammerites had adamantly petitioned Northcrest to grant them permission to correct the problem. The baron refused; stating that the bell tower in Dayport already did a sufficient job of keeping time. Suffice to say, it was no surprise why he wasn't the most popular regent with the order.
The thief came to a stop before an open window, his mind riddled with chaos and a deep disgust. The moon was bright that evening, although the city smog had snuffed out the delicate stars. Motes of dust stirred up from his stroll across the spacious room danced against the stark brilliance, whilst the thief studied the sky in contemplative silence. His predatory eyes flashed in the secluded darkness of his domain.
That kid. There was something...off, about her. Why would a noble give up everything they were, everything they had, to do what he did? Those who'd come before her-they never wanted any of that. They wanted to get away from their overbearing parents, from their mundane tasks and responsibilities. But to become a common, hard-working criminal? Not a chance. Even the dreamers amongst their kind had far too much pride for that.
So why then? Why would anyone chose such a path? Although he had since come to enjoy, and take great pride in his work, Garrett had never initially planned on becoming a thief. It wasn't as though he'd blissfully awoken one morning, and foolishly decided to throw away everything he had. He had very few memories of his childhood that weren't stained by bloodshed or anguish. But by far, the worst ones stemmed from the time he'd spent as an orphan on the city streets.
After what had transpired on that terrible night in late August, fate had decreed him little more than a fortunate waif, following the death of his parents. Fate-or, as the more pious would say, the Builder-had chosen to spare him. But even back in those adventurous and reckless days of his youth, the thief's cynical mind denounced such notions. In fact, they had become the cornerstone of Garrett's agnostic beliefs.
If the Builder had, indeed saved his life on that horrible day, then why hurtle him right back into the maw of unadulterated chaos and suffering? Why banish a young boy to the cold and repugnant streets of The City? To a place where death would have surely awaited, had Artemus not pried the lad free of its slithering clutches. No, if the Builder was such a 'good' god, then why take away his parents and siblings at all?
Garrett had long ago decided, that if there really was in fact a god-beyond the cloven beast he'd since slain-then that god decidedly abhorred him.
But that had all been such a long time ago. Nowadays, he rarely felt compelled to reflect on the matter at all. Let alone, his past.
Leaning against one of the dusty walls of his domain, Garrett allowed his sinewy form to slide down and find the floor. He began to ponder Basso's little arrangement again. He thought of the girl. Had he been a kinder man, Garrett would have found himself utterly embarrassed by the fact that he'd already forgotten her name. Again. It wasn't Gwendolyn-she'd as much told him that.
Garrett wet his lips, and turned his head to admire the countless treasures and valuables he had hoarded over the years. Rare gems, exquisite pieces of jewelry, and some treasures he'd kept merely to remind him of past conquests. Among these, was a pesky yet beautiful horn which seemed to follow him around quite a bit. The thief scoffed silently to himself, his grin a barely visible crescent. He'd given up on trying to sell that thing, choosing to just keep it amidst the collection instead.
"I really have gotten greedy over the years," he released a thirsty chuckle. "My, 'downfall' must be imminent by this point."
He mused dryly, recalling those odious yet palatial cursed statues he'd encountered so many years ago, whilst hunting for the fabled Talisman of Earth. The haunting premonition now lingering within his ears, Garrett pulled free the bulging coin purse that Basso had given him. His long fingers fished in and removed a single silver coin. The thief watched the currency shimmer in the moonlight, with the same enthusiasm any other man might exhibit whilst undressing a woman. But for Garrett at least, this, was truly his greatest thrill.
He began toying with the coin, guiding it over and under his slender digits.
"What won't I do for a payout nowadays?"
He flipped the coin, before effortlessly snagging it out of the air. Several years ago, that mentality might have begun to worry him. Garrett was a man who, until a year ago, had prided himself highly on his standards. His, seeming invulnerability to a female's charms, or the needs of the flesh. He took conscious efforts to separate both his personal life, and his work-though, only on rare occasions could he differentiate the two anymore. He was a man in his early forties by this point, after all. Often, when mortals reached the Autumn years of their existences, work became life, if there failed to be anything personal.
He thought of the ruby-haired girl again. The thief wondered if she'd managed to make it back to wherever she was staying without incident. It wasn't that he particularly cared-but all the same, it would be an added bonus for him if she failed to show up anymore. Dark thoughts snared at his mind like gnarled thorns, as the various ways a girl like that could find trouble and death bled their way into conscious thought. After picturing her skull being caved in by one of the Hammerites, Garrett forced himself to stop imagining. That image, was far too personal.
Shaking his head with a visible shudder, the thief frowned at his own disgust. It mattered not how she met her fate. The fact remained-Gweneth, didn't belong in his world.
Instead, the thief's mind returned to Basso, and Garrett began to ponder just what his mate was truthfully hoping to gain out of the girl. It wasn't an extra pair of hands-at least not where stealing was concerned. And the thief cringed when he began to imagine the other options. Of course, if the boxman were clever about it, he could always coerce the girl into selling out her folks, Garrett imagined. If Basso could somehow talk Gina into drawing out a map of her previous home, then perhaps she would be worth the trouble after all. But since when had Basso the Boxman EVER been clever?
Garrett decided, that if not Basso, then HE would be the one to try and persuade Gilda to draw up a little guide. Not that he'd be able to trust such a thing in its entirety, but the thief would at least be able to do his own research into the mysterious Simmons family manor from there. After all, Garrett still fully expected Gertrude to end up turning on him. And why shouldn't he? She was a noble, and a mage-both of which were completely untrustworthy in Garrett's opinion.
So much uncertainty and mystery surrounded that girl, and even one unanswered question was too many. Especially when dealing with the infamous Simmons family. Being among one of the most influential of all the noble families, they were also rumored to be extremely close to the baron himself. Their manor was the second largest in the city; a practical palace. Only the baron's own Northcrest Manor managed to dwarf it by comparison.
The master of the Simmons Manor, was Sir Vladimir Simmons. He had been a successful businessman long before he managed to befriend the baron, and he had always loved the more cut-throated and under the table aspects of industry. He was a sadistic man, who delighted in making other people's lives difficult. A true monster by any sense of the word. It was far from fantasy and rumor that he employed both assassins and mercenaries legally; a loophole that only one of the baron's closest friends could ever hope to pull off. The city had truly become a brutal place, but then again, it had never been the best place to live.
Then, there was the matter of the lord's abode. Even if daddy's angel drew him a map with flaws, there would still be value to be found in it, considering the sheer lack of information regarding the interior of the Simmon's family manor. No thief had ever managed to break through the numerous elaborate traps and barriers, and the few who'd managed to retrace their steps in time to flee, all returned to the underworld bearing horrific tales of methodical traps, and cruel mechanical devices.
Though far from his usual interest, Garrett had heard enough rumors to pique his curiosity. Grand rooms, laden with gold statues taller than church steeples. Each of these titans was reputed to fire curious beams from their eyes, whenever movement was detected. Floor traps lined with cruel spires, and even talk of a hall of fleet pendulums. While the thief wasn't sure how many of these rumors were actually true, the dangers of the estate were as transparent as glass.
Either Lord Simmons was insanely wealthy beyond measure-or he had one hellish secret to hide.
Garrett continued to gaze lazily up at the sky, bursting with the first drops of rain. What role did Master Simmon's audacious little daughter have to play in all this, if any?
Gwenevere reached the Crippled Burrick just after midnight, soaking wet and panting. Basso was there, going through some old crates and barrels. He seemed very anxious, though she couldn't be sure why. Removing the soaked outer cover from her frigid body, Gwenevere clutched the dripping cloak between her fingers. It was an object meant for show, after all-not for frolicking about in a violent Autumn rainstorm.
"Um...Basso?"
Basso shot up, nearly causing some loose pickle jars to clatter to the ground. He spun around, coming face to face with the young woman. That's when he happened to notice what she was wearing. Earlier that week, when she'd first come to him, the boxman had unabashedly taken more than a quick peek beneath that navy cloak she wore. But now, it was off of her lithe body completely, and what remained was little more than a celeste blue corset, and a very short skirt. Basso's jaw fell open, his eyes growing wide. This noble's girl, was wearing the garb of a common whore!
The material was obviously composed of either satin or silk, judging by how it lovingly clung to her curves due to its damp state. Silently licking the roof of his mouth, Basso fought to avert his eyes from Gwenevere's soaking body. When he caught sight of one of her nipples, he finally lost all composure.
"The hell are you wearin'?!" he blurted, the words slipping free of his tongue before he could think to wrangle them.
Gwenevere blinked before looking down at her outfit.
"Oh this?" she tugged playfully at the lace lining of her skirt. "Well, after I ran away, I was still wearing my old clothes. I wanted to blend in, so I snuck into a place full of beautiful low-class ladies. That's where I nabbed this-isn't it just the cutest?" she squealed.
"Uh...yep. Yep, itsa...it's cute...alright..." Basso wheezed, his voice weak and stammering.
"Ah, why thank you, kind sir!" Gwenevere nodded, giving the boxman a slight curtsey, and twirled around once.
Through heated cheeks and a very flustered groin, Basso watched her little display. There wasn't anything sexual about any of it-save for the nature of the clothing itself. The entire exhibit was more reminiscent of a child modeling a new dress for their adoring parents, rather than a grown woman trying to entice a man.
"Erm, kid?" he finally managed to ask, straightening his belt. Gwenevere ceased her little dance, and stared up at him.
"Yes?"
"Now, not that I'm complaining, mind you," the boxman began, keeping his eyes closed so as not to violate the girl any further. "But if ya wanted to blend in, why the taff would you steal somethin' like that?!"
"Oh, well I couldn't find any in teal. Teal's my favorite color, ya know! But just look at this pretty blue one I got!" the girl chirped back, completely missing the point of his criticism. Basso slapped his palm against his forehead.
"Yep. Yep, gotta love teal. Gotta love teal..." he cleared his throat. "Anywaaay...Did'ja need something?"
"Uh-huh! I got the medal for you!" Gwenevere nodded, feeling quite proud of herself.
"Ya did?" the shocked expression donning Basso's features was quickly overshadowed by a jovial pride. "Well, let's see it then, kiddo!"
Gwenevere searched the pockets of her soggy cloak, and produced one glittering medallion. Basso's eyes widened with glee.
"Excellent! Give it here!" he ordered, as exuberantly as a small child.
Reluctantly, Gwenevere did as she was bade. It felt a bit odd to be parting with her newly stolen prize. But this was what she had to do, in order to secure her place amongst Garrett and Basso. So part with it, she did. Basso swiped the medal, and examined it carefully under the low light. Gwenevere smiled as she watched his pensive, analytical expression soften.
"Yes! Yes, this is definitely one of the baron's honorary medallions of esteemed knighthood! This'll fetch a nice price indeed!" he proclaimed, before turning back to Gwenevere. With a rather idiotic-yet strangely endearing-smile, he held out his free hand to her.
Gwenevere craned her head at the offered extremity, biting her bottom lip in bewilderment. The boxman scratched his head.
"Um, ya shake it," he instructed. Gwenevere batted her eyelids up at him.
"Eh, okay..." she shrugged, and clutched the ratty hoodlum's hand with some visible hesitation.
Basso shook her hand, and Gwenevere's entire body wobbled from the unexpected motion. The boxman pulled away, an incredulous look finding his face. Just how out of touch was this girl? Even for a noble, this sort of behavior was...odd, to say the least.
Maybe the kid's a touch moonstruck, he reasoned with a smirk.
"Eh, anyway...great job kid!" he praised, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a nod. "You've shown us what you've got, and I approve! Stick with Garrett and me, and you'll be a master in no time!"
Gwenevere felt herself blush at the older man's gushing praise. Had she really done that well? Garrett certainly hadn't thought so.
"Thank you..." she peeped. Basso chuckled to himself, before looking around expectantly.
"You're a miracle worker Garrett!" he proclaimed, still laughing. But his joy receded, when he realized that his comrade was indeed, not there.
"Garrett?" Basso looked around, growing tense. Upon receiving no response yet again, the boxman's gleeful disposition shifted to slightly agitated.
"Damn it, sodding taffer...if you just did me like I think ya did..." he cursed, stomping past a very concerned Gwenevere, and poked his head around the corner into the dingy alleyway.
"Garrett!" he bellowed. But his only response was a few odd stares from the three vagrants huddled around a makeshift fire pit. Basso growled under his breath.
"Damn it..." Turning back to Gwenevere, he exhaled a long sigh, trying to vent his frustration.
"Is...is something wrong?" she asked softly. Basso began to chuckle again at her innocent question.
"Is something wrong, she asks...is something wrong..." he echoed in a strained, singsong voice. He then sighed hard, and looked up at the flustered redhead. "Did Garrett come here with you?" Gwenevere shook her head.
"N-no Mister Ba-"
"Just...Basso. No one's called me 'Mister' for who knows how long. It feels weird, ya know?" he smiled, appreciating the unexpected courtesy regardless of his embarrassed correction.
"Oh, ok. Basso," Gwenevere repeated, making a mental note of her new acquaintances preferred moniker.
"So, he just left ya hanging huh?" Basso crossed his arms, still smirking to hide his rage.
"Oh, it's ok! I don't mind. Garrett doesn't seem to like me very much," Gwenevere mused sheepishly. Basso lit up again with yet another flabbergasted expression.
"Doesn't like-" he shook his head. Did his mate honestly think that was any sort of excuse?!
Did Garrett honestly think that he could just walk away from their arrangement? Did he think it was fine to just leave this wanted runaway unattended? Basso released a flustered groan. Of course he taffing did. He was Garrett, after all.
"Yeah," Gwenevere frowned. "He called me...hopeless..."
"Aww, did he now?" Basso waddled over to the girl and clasped a heavy arm around her quaking shoulders. When she looked up questioningly at the gesture of friendship, the boxman grinned down at her.
"Basso?"
"You know what kid?" Basso began, sticking out a finger and tapping her little nose. "I'm gonna go and have a talk with him right now."
Gwenevere stared cross-eyed at the stubby digit, before Basso released his grip on her. He walked over to his desk, took out a small matchbox, and proceeded to jot something down upon it. The girl watched him with burgeoning intrigue, before the older man whistled for his magpie pet. Jenivere cawed, before responding to her master's call.
"Here sweetheart. Go on and take this to Garrett," Basso crooned, stroking the bird's glossy black feathers. The magpie pecked at the message once, before taking the matchbox up in her tiny talons and flying off with it. Gwenevere watched Jenivere glide against the ivory moon, before turning back to Basso with wide eyes.
"Wow! She really listens to you," the girl marveled.
"At least this Jenivere does," Basso chuckled, reclining back in his desk chair.
"Huh? What does that mean?" Gwenevere asked. The boxman sighed wistfully, before pulling his hat down over his eyes.
"It's a long story, kiddo. Maybe I'll tell it to ya someday..." he groaned, scratching his bulging stomach. "For now, let's just wait fer Ol' Garrett ta get my message, shall we?"