Her eyes sparkled amidst the waning rays of sunlight, as Gwenevere waited for twilight to fall over the land on that dismal Monday. She watched as dust motes wafted downward, before colliding into the sea of unfathomable debris that was Garrett's makeshift kitchen. It was an unfitting title for such a meager place, locked away almost discreetly within one of the upper rooms. Aside from a rusty old faucet which leaked rancid water, and cabinets filled with little more than various dusty cans and rat droppings, there was nothing to be found within that place. These long-forgotten foodstuffs were the only organic remains of the now-banished Hammerites. In that mindset, it was rather sad.
Sick with boredom, and having little else to do, Gwenevere picked up one of the tarnished platters to her right. She carefully polished away the dust with the hem of her cloak, and stared transfixed at her reflection for a moment. She wondered if she was in fact, attractive. Her handmaiden, Olaura, had always told Gwenevere that she was beautiful, while Simmons had openly likened her to a chaotic little savage. Gwenevere wondered, which of them had been correct. Perhaps in a sense, they both were.
She narrowed her eyes, craning her head back and forth as though trying to decipher the meaning of beauty and if it did indeed apply to her. In the past, the girl had never given such vanity much thought. But after what had happened on that previous morning with Garrett, Gwenevere was beginning to wonder if she should be. Did HE think she was attractive? And if not, was that why he was always treating her sourly? When she remembered how he'd recoiled from her touch in the belvedere, her heart began to ache and throb within her chest.
The flustered girl creature was so busy combing her fingers through her ruby mane and examining her features in the platter's reflective surface, that she didn't even hear the soft footfalls approaching.
"I was wondering how long it'd be before you started preening yourself," the thief's voice mocked from behind her.
Gwenevere whirled around, dropping the platter and emitting a loud gasp in the process. A large handful of her own hair occupied her right extremity, while the left was shakily clutching at her heart. Garrett squinted his eyes, raising an eyebrow at her surprise. She knew he lived here. So why had his sudden presence startled her so badly?
"You're jumpy this evening," he commented.
"I-I'm not, I—" she hesitated, pawing her bangs down over one of her eyes for no particular reason, save nervousness. "Is it really nighttime already?"
The haste with which she had inquired, served as the final piece of evidence needed to convince Garrett that his apprentice was hiding something from him. He ignored the question, staring right into her as he spoke.
"Gwenevere. What are you up to?"
Gwenevere's blush intensified until its hue rivaled that of her brilliant red hair.
"N-nothing, I—" she stumbled over her words, locking her legs at the ankles to prevent her feet from performing a similar action. Then, without even thinking, "—Garrett? Do you think I'm…pretty?"
Once again, the darkness of his world served as a most invaluable comrade. Had it not been for the sanctuary of his hood, and the mesmerizing spell of shadow, Garrett was sure she would have seen the sparse traces of pink as they teased the corners of his face. Once again, the shadows had granted Garrett anonymity when he needed it the most. The all-encompassing murk also gave him a moment in which to ponder—and bury—his true thoughts and conflicting emotions. Cynicism frothed to the surface, coating the criminal's tongue with acid once again.
"Why do girls like you care so much about whether or not men find you appealing?" he groaned, a hint of boredom in his tone.
"Girls like me?" Gwenevere blinked. "Are their others?"
A question meant in earnest, for she desperately desired to know.
"Unfortunately, it seems to be a very popular archetype to aspire to," Garrett sneered, watching as a mouse hurried across the kitchen's rafters. "Personally, I prefer girls with a bit more edge to them."
"Well, I can't help it that I'm smooth!" Gwenevere retorted, rubbing her hands over her cheeks. When she traced her fingers down past her throat and towards her chest, Garrett nearly spat as he hollered for her to stop.
"That's not what I meant!" he heaved. Gwenevere's hands thankfully dropped back down to the sides of her body, and Garrett took a moment to compose himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he continued, "forget it. I couldn't sleep, so as you may imagine, I'm beyond exhausted. Too exhausted to bother with your childish japes and random awkward questions. Let's just continue with basic training, alright?"
"Okay," Gwenevere peeped, unsure what had unnerved him so.
Garrett motioned for her to get to her feet, then beckoned her closer with his finger. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Gwenevere complied. Captivated by his command like a loyal hound, or a sparkling silver fish to a lure. Eyes luminous and wide, she trailed mindlessly into the darkness behind him. As always, the thief remained oblivious to the depths of her devotion.
Gwenevere pondered if he would even care, had he noticed. Would he see such gestures as endearing, or disquieting? The girl creature felt her heart plummet into her gut when she realized that it was most certainly the latter. And she had no idea why this bothered her so.
***
She followed him deeper into the dark recesses of the tower, the hum of gears and Garrett's soft footsteps her only guides as she journeyed through that black abyss. When she emerged into the low candlelight of the next area, Gwenevere let out a small squeak. Garrett stood just ahead, leering down at her with his blackjack in hand. For a moment, Gwenevere was sure he was going to whack her with it.
"You're…not gonna hit me with that, are you?" she asked, hopefully. Flames danced and glinted across the surface of Garrett's metal prosthetic as his eyes narrowed.
"Believe me, I've certainly thought about it…" he muttered, tapping the object against his gloved hand. "But that's not why I've brought you here."
Gwenevere stepped further into the room, taking a few moments to glance around at the various articles and equipment it held. Her heart nearly stopped when she noticed the still figures looming just behind Garrett. Something flashed within her eyes, as instinct switched on within her brain. Her pupils dilated, and she lunged. Garrett gasped as she darted past him, throwing herself at his unknown assailants with savage ferocity. She snarled and bit, a barrage of forbidden and wild curses exiting her mouth as strange gibberish. Garrett's jaw fell open, and he nearly dropped his blackjack.
"Gwenevere!" he shouted, halting the attacking girl forthwith. Gwenevere froze, her head snapping upwards to meet his fierce gaze. There was a strip of tawny cloth draped between her lips. The master thief blinked, baffled and wordless in response to what she had just done.
"Hmm?" she cocked her head before spitting out the strip of material. "Are you alright? Did they get'cha?"
Garrett continued to stare down at her, unsure what to make of the situation. Gwenevere blinked, her fingernails still digging into one of the training dummies that was pinned beneath her.
"Well?" she asked, emitting a little growl as she looked over at the other two figures. Garrett released a heavy sigh.
"I suppose the dummies aren't really necessary. Seems like I've got one too many as it is…" the thief murmured to himself, rubbing his thumb along the base of his blackjack. That always seemed to steady his nerves.
Slowly, Gwenevere began to regain at least some semblance of composure. Looking around at the smashed fabric mannequins, her expression grew sheepish. She sank to her belly, laying there in shame upon the dirty floorboards. She'd made yet another stupid mistake. These dummies weren't even alive, much less any sort of threat to Garrett. So why had her inborn protective instinct been triggered at all?
She wasn't given much time to consider, however. Garrett's abrasive words came once more, jarring her from her feeble and ashamed stupor.
"Gwenevere. Get up off the floor and come here!" he barked. And his girlish apprentice did just that.
She stood rigid, almost like a soldier. After her earlier bout of foolery, Gwenevere knew she couldn't afford any more mistakes that day. She hardly dared to even breathe, as her mentor proceeded to circle around her. Garrett glowered down at her through scathing, scrutinizing eyes, before coming to an abrupt halt directly in front of her.
"Hold out your hand," he ordered. Gwenevere blinked.
"And close my eyes?" she asked. Garrett raised an eyebrow at her unexpected inquiry.
"What?"
Again, Gwenevere felt herself blush. Clearly, the master thief was unfamiliar with the old gift-giving ritual, and its catchy rhyme. She resisted the urge to begin chewing her hair, choosing to shuffle her feet and wrench her hands instead.
"Nothing…" she peeped. Garrett sneered down at her, and sighed.
"Gwenevere?" he prompted. The girl creature looked up at him expectantly.
"What is it?" she asked. The thief gave her a knowing stare. Gwenevere's eyes went wide. "Oh!" she cried out, and immediately thrust out her hand. Garrett rolled his eyes, a miffed grimace adorning his rough features. Then, he set something spherical and quite light into his apprentice's offered palm.
Gwenevere resisted the urge to gasp as the warm leather of his glove graced her flesh. She was not nearly as successful when his fingers joined in, albeit fleetingly. Garrett's fingers were filthy; dry, torn skin caked with dirt and callouses. His nails were worn down, and the tips of his fingers were especially rough. All expected attributes from a lifetime of working with his hands. Yet, even still, the girl found his raw touch indescribably intoxicating. Ever since the other day in the belvedere, when he had so tactlessly grabbed her hand. Ever since then, Gwenevere had yearned for his touch.
Garrett did not notice her gasp, or if he had, it brought him no visible concern. He retracted his hand from Gwenevere's, but not before noticing just how soft and inexperienced her own hands were by comparison. The thief took a step back, and waited for her to observe just what he had left behind in her grasp.
Gwenevere stared down at the small round thing, as curious as she was clueless. It was the same size as Garrett's mechanical eye, but composed of dried clay instead of metal. A small cork was stuffed into a hole near the top. Ever inquisitive and eager to learn, Gwenevere attempted to pull it out.
"Stop!" Garrett's harsh words nearly caused her to drop the thing. "Don't take the cork out!"
"Huh? But why not? What's inside?" Gwenevere asked.
"Bellaviper spores," Garrett responded nonchalantly, "enough to render several men unconscious."
Gwenevere seized.
"Gee, are you ever NOT blunt?!" she screeched, holding the clay article tighter in her hand to prevent herself from accidentally dropping it. Garrett ignored her question.
"Today you'll be learning how to incapacitate your marks and potential threats which may stand between you and your loot," he began, taking note that his apprentice still looked mortified, "what you're holding, is a homemade spore grenade."
"A—WHAT?!" Gwenevere's face shifted in disbelief, her mouth contorting until it was wider and more expressive than Garrett had ever seen it before. He did not allow her antics to distract him for long, however. Acting as though nothing had been said, the master thief continued his lesson.
"The spores of the bellaviper flower possess a powerful debilitating effect when inhaled. Even a grenade this small is astonishingly toxic," he explained.
Gwenevere's eyes widened in fear.
"And you're just giving this to me?! Why?!"
"Because frankly, I trust you more with a grenade than with a blackjack or ether. Your stealth isn't very good yet, so I doubt you could get close enough to a target to apply either an ether cloth or a blow to the head. Tossing a small but effective grenade from the darkness, however, might be manageable for you, Gwenevere."
Gwenevere didn't fail to notice the concealed insult within his lecture. She looked down at the spore grenade in her hand again, and frowned with uncertainty.
"I'm… not very strong. Or good at throwing," she muttered.
"The thing weighs less than half a pound, Gwenevere. I don't think you'll be having much trouble with it," Garrett chastised. Pointing in the direction of the mangled training dummies, he issued his next command," now, give it a toss."
Gwenevere hesitated for a moment, with every intention of issuing another protest. But Garrett's firm glare stopped her. Gulping, she lifted her hand and gave it her best shot.
"Okay..."
When first he'd given her the grenade, Garrett hadn't counted on the girl's aim or momentum being anything exceptional. However, Gwenevere's aim was so terrible and clumsy, that she only managed to chuck the object a few feet in front of her. A cloud of sparkling purple spores puffed up from the shattered bits of clay and loam. Garrett recoiled, hastening to place his mask up over his mouth and nose. But it was already far too late. Garrett felt as a powerful dizziness overcame him, Gwenevere's concerned face spinning around him as his eyelids grew heavy.
"Oh, taff…" was all he managed to proclaim, before the thief's world went black.
***
The thief's eyes eased open to the sound of cranking gears gyrating somewhere overhead. Garrett groaned, cringing a little as something cool graced his forehead before gently caressing the side of his face. It felt...pleasant. He closed his eyes again, silently enjoying the sensation in what he perceived was, total solitude. That was, until he heard her voice.
"Oh, thank goodness! I thought I'd put you into a coma or something!" Gwenevere exclaimed, wiping her own forehead with the damp cloth.
Garrett's eyes grew wide and startled when he realized that she had been awake and tending to him the entire time. Had she seen the pleased smile on his face in response to the cool compress? He dreaded the very notion.
"Gwenevere!" he grunted, struggling to sit upright.
His head was propped up on one of the training dummies that his gregarious little apprentice had brutally decapitated. Garrett glanced at her, rubbing his forehead. She was sitting on her backside, legs tucked to either side of her slight form. There was a wooden bucket in her lap, the soft cloth draped over one side.
"How long was I out?" he groaned. Then, leering at her through one eye, "how long were YOU out?"
He was genuinely both surprised and impressed that green little Gwenevere had managed to pull herself from unconsciousness quicker than he had.
"Oh, silly!" Gwenevere giggled. "I wasn't out at all! But YOU were asleep for the last two hours. I tried singing to you, but that only seemed to make it worse. So then I propped your head back on the dummy, and got a bucket of water and a soft rag. That seemed to—"
"—Wait, just as second," Garrett held up his index finger whilst interrupting her, "did you just say that you weren't affected by the spore grenade?"
"Uh-uh," the girl creature shook her head. "Which I mean, is kinda weird. Usually, bellaviper flowers tickle my nose at least a little."
Garrett gaped at her. He had trained his body over the years for such misfortunate contingencies. After all, a thief could not afford to be rendered helpless by his own tools of the trade. Small doses of exposure to his gas arrows had made the thief immune to their noxious vapors over the last twenty or so years. Immunity, meaning that Garrett would stir much faster than usual. While it would usually take the average bluecoat two to four hours to revive from a gas attack, Garrett could usually awaken himself in ten minutes.
The problem was, waking up before his enemies discovered his unconscious body. This had—both fortunately and embarrassingly—only happened once. But instead of filling him with arrows or stab wounds, Garrett had been dragged off to Pavelock Prison. It was not his most favorable night in jail, and far from either his first or last.
Bellaviper spores were an ingredient he wasn't very familiar with. During his stint with the Pagans, one of their hunters had introduced Garrett to the plant. Ashwin had suggested that he could use the debilitating spores against Karras and his minions. It was an offer the thief gladly followed up on, given how low on cash he'd been at the time, and the plentiful nature of the flowers in question. But all the same, he wasn't immune to its spores the way he was to his gaseous arrows and bombs. Hence why it had taken him much, much longer to awaken-following Gwenevere's pathetic little toss. But the real question, was why she hadn't been affected at all.
"You mean to tell me that you didn't fall unconscious?" he asked, suspicion lacing his words. Gwenevere just shrugged.
"Maybe it's the nymph in me," she smiled, never taking her eyes off of him.
Suffice to say, Garrett began taking her outrageous claims a bit more seriously after that. The only way someone so inexperienced could ever endure such a potent attack, was if they were immune to such things from the start. A trait, which a wood nymph would undoubtedly possess. That, combined with the strange unintelligible gibberish she'd emitted earlier, and the savage, unprovoked way she'd attacked the training dummies, was beginning to paint a most disquieting portrait of the girl within his mind. Perhaps it was time to finally do a little research…
Getting to his feet, Garrett steadied himself with a deep, extended sigh. When he started walking away without so much as a thank you, Gwenevere jumped to her feet.
"Hey! Where are you going?" she squawked. Garrett halted, but refused to look at her.
"Out," he replied bluntly.
"But what about my training?" she asked.
Garrett reached into his knapsack and retrieved a small orange he'd planned on eating later that day. Glancing over his shoulder, he tossed it to Gwenevere. To his surprise, the clumsy girl actually caught it.
"In my opinion, anything round and light should suffice for now," he groused. "You can work on that toss of yours while I'm gone."
Gwenevere looked down at the bright fruit and licked her lips.
"Can I eat it when I'm done practicing?"
"Sure, why the hell not?" the thief muttered under his breath. "I'll swipe you a rubber ball or something on the way home…"
***
Fifteen years. He could hardly believe it had been that long. Nearly two decades had passed since anyone had walked these halls. The moon his only source of illumination, Garrett listened numbly as his boots tapped against the rustic wood, enjoying the hollow echo he made with each step. Rats nibbled book spines in the darkness, faint squeaks and the tearing of pages now dispersed with the rogue's footsteps.
In all honesty, he'd expected the old Keeper Library to be in a complete and hopeless state of disarray. What the thief found instead, was a forgotten sanctum, locked in a state of perpetual serenity. The air all around him was musty and bittersweet. Garrett glanced around every so often, running his fingers over the intricate railings, feeling as the dust came away at his touch. All of this undisturbed, silent serenity left him wondering how any of this was at all possible.
Following the activation of the Final Glyph, the compound's existence had been revealed to the general populous. Interest arose immediately. Garrett didn't recall much following his part in dissolving the secret order; at least, that particular sect. But there had been rumors. Talk of aspiring young reporters, and daring treasure hunters, both of which took an almost scholarly interest in the place. Political upheaval found the baron on all sides, demanding how and why he could allow what was essentially an order of spies to conduct their business within his fair city.
Fear and disorder consumed the locals, who couldn't help but wonder what else lurked unseen before their very eyes. Then one day, it all just stopped. No reason. No conclusion. The compound suddenly lost the interest of the masses, fading from their thoughts and eyes for the final time. It was almost as though a new glyph had been created, to cloister and preserve its proud history and all the invaluable secrets within. Or maybe, Garrett once thought, people really cared that little. Whatever the case, the compound was untouched and silent upon his return.
He hadn't explored too much, at least not yet. Garrett hadn't come back here for recreational purposes, after all. He'd come, to uncover the true identity of his newest—and hopefully last—apprentice. Tonight, he was going to find out whether her outrageous claims of dryad blood held any merit. The Keepers had books on everything. Finding a tome containing a satisfactory test would be a simple enough task. After obtaining several dusty and deplorable old tomes on the subject of wood sprites, Garrett reached for a candelabra laced with cobwebs, and struck a match. Then, pressing a finger against his lips, the thief opened the first book and began to read.
Growing up, he'd watched a myriad of Keepers drink from the knowledge contained in the many books found here. Most of these tomes had been classified as, 'lost', or, 'forbidden', by the outside world. Rumor and speculation perpetuated partially by the Hammerites. The rest, by mankind's own irrational bigotry and fear of that which he could not comprehend in his ignorance. In truth, most of these books were droll and uninspired. Conduits for rarified knowledge or hidden locations within the world. Biographies of long-dead men who had once upon a time played some part in the Keeper's numerous prophecies.
The thief wondered if, had their order survived, would his own lifetime be found dictated upon these shelves. Recounted with utmost mediocrity, of course. They'd started at least a summery dedicated to his deeds, and how they pertained to their precious fulfilled prophecies. But Garrett had never come across the finished copy. He figured it wouldn't hurt to at least peer around for it while he was here. If nothing else, it would be good for a laugh.
If he hadn't of been so unsettled by recent events, Garrett might have found humor in the irony of it all. As a boy, he'd watched the Keepers read from these very books. It wasn't as though the thief despised reading—far from it. But Garrett had always done so for pleasure, or for necessary information. Pointless research for the sake of it seemed superfluous to him. Wordy pages, their contents saturated with anecdotes and information which no normal individual would ever deem helpful. But now, with his own nose buried deep in a green leather volume documenting the particularities of wood nymphs, he finally understood. Keepers—or in his case, master thieves—weren't exactly normal people.
"Huh," he chuckled softly under his breath, eyes brimming with interest with as he slowly turned another page, "I need to check this place out more often."
The first book contained knowledge pertaining to all manner of forest spirits, from treebeasts to pixies. 'Flesh over Fern', was the title of the chapter pertaining to wood nymphs. Garrett smirked for a moment, commenting spryly within his mind how this seemed like a better name for a lewd novel, than an informative encyclopedia such as this. But as he continued to delve deeper into the chapter, the criminal felt a twinge of icy dread grip at his heart. The chapter was aptly named, as it mostly explored a wood nymph's ability to conceal her true form beneath a guise of human skin. His eyes grew even wider, as he continued to read. Memories of Viktoria and her Pagans sent a wave of penetrating unease down his spine, chilling the back of his neck.
Wood nymphs are incredibly quick to anger and hostile. They are also the most dangerous of the four known nymph species, second only to the fire nymph. In their true form, they have bark-like flesh similar to an aspen tree, ranging in hue from deep brown to light yellow. Their hair, which is more akin to animal fur in texture, is usually black, but documentation of other colors has been recorded. Their eyes are always green, except when enraged. Then, the wood nymph's eyes flash a frightening shade of red. Experts believe that this behavior is representative of the creature attempting to safeguard itself or its territory.
Garrett groaned. This might have been fascinating information to most, but for someone who'd lived in the vicinity of a wood nymph for the better part of one year, it was hardly riveting. He skimmed ahead, glancing over the anatomy, and skipping to the first paragraph referencing their human disguises.
The form a wood nymph decides to don for her disguise varies, and may not necessarily reflect her true features. Some wood nymphs are exceptionally vain, delighting in their natural appearance so much, that only their flesh will change in order to mirror that of humans.
"They got your number, Viktoria…" Garrett smirked.
While it is almost impossible to identify a wood nymph by sight alone, there are a few proven methods for uncovering their true natures. If you suspect that one of these creatures may be pursuing you, it is always best to take defensive action immediately. Fire usually works well, as do most poisons, as the wood nymph is a plant herself. However, if you are ever unsure about whether the voluptuous female in your life is a wood nymph, and you do not wish to commit murder, there are some physical signs to be mindful of.
"Here we go," Garrett spoke aloud, leaning in closer to the book. His mechanical eye began to whirr and buzz.
If she will allow you close enough, first try examining her teeth. A wood nymph's teeth are incredibly sharp; similar to those of a shark, only much smaller. Even whilst in human form, they can only shrink their fangs so much, and the tips of their canines will always be sharper than a true human's.
Garrett looked up from the book with a frown. He disliked the idea of getting that close to Gwenevere. Surely, there had to be another way. He continued to read:
Another tell, is their blood. Since it remains internal, a wood nymph cannot change the color of her blood, even whilst in human form. A wood nymph's blood is always a sappy yellowish green, darker if they are ill or poisoned.
Garrett scratched his head through his hood. He turned the page and continued reading. Somewhere outside, he heard an owl hoot. The next page he turned opened to a rather foreboding display. The first word, 'warning', was emboldened and written in red. Garrett smirked in mild amusement at the absurdity of it all when he observed the two skulls drawn on either side of the word.
WARNING! This last method is the most dangerous and could result in grievous bodily harm or death at the hands of a real wood nymph. Do not attempt this trial, unless you are incredibly skilled or hopelessly suicidal. And even then, there are better ways to die. But for those bold or foolish enough to continue, here are the instructions for procuring a sample of a wood nymph's blood:
Draw her close enough, and preferably distract her with a sweet or small animal before poking her. A small prick from a pin or letter opener should do.
Within twenty seconds or so, you should see a speck of green instead of red begin to ooze from her wound.
The thief's eyebrows raised. Now this, was promising information. Something he could actually use. Garrett pondered for a moment as to whether or not he should take the book back with him. But it was a rather large and weighty volume, and there were so many other, far more valuable objects to stuff his knapsack with.
***
The next day was a rainy one. Gwenevere sat at her favorite bend in the old stairway, hugging her knees to her chest. Her green eyes were wide with intrigue and awe, but Garrett didn't overlook the mild anxiety which caused her irises to glean every time a clap of thunder roared outside.
When he watched her like this, without her knowledge or consent, the girl did indeed seem feral. Garrett had seen more than his fair share of frightened young women; his unexpected intrusion was usually the cause of said distress. But Gwenevere wasn't shrieking with each boom, nor was she cupping her hands over her mouth to stifle such potential outcries. Instead, her motions were twitchy and uncertain, like a deer anxious of nearby predators.
Although he was far from an expert on the subject, Garrett did know enough about human women to denote that they did not act like that. The thief released a bitter sigh before easing outward from the shadows.
Okay. Let's get this over with…
Garrett approached Gwenevere, just as another thunderclap rocked the core of the clocktower. For just a moment, he thought he saw her ears perk up.
"Gwenevere?" he cleared his throat, as lightning illuminated his harsh features.
Gwenevere happened to look up and notice him at that precise moment. And this time, she did shriek like a common noble's girl. She hadn't meant to alarm him, but there was something quite formidable about the hooded man's figure when backlit by stark electricity. As she watched the surprise register upon his haggard visage, Gwenevere buried the bottom portion of her face into her knees. A soft pink blush lit up her cheeks, coiling soft coral hues around her vibrant fiery hair. Those incredibly large and luminous green eyes blinked, as the embarrassed girl creature stared feebly up at her gruff mentor.
"Oh. Hi, Garrett," she spoke in a meek whimper, her voice muffled by her knees and hair. Garrett raised an eyebrow at her.
"Hi," he crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "You busy?"
"Um, no," the young woman spoke in a nervous voice, allowing her eyes to fall away from his, "I'm just…kinda…afraid…"
"Uncover your mouth when you talk to me," the criminal ordered, "I can't understand you."
It was a lie to blanket his concern over her fear. Garrett could, in fact, understand her perfectly.
Gwenevere lifted her face from her legs and scrambled to her feet. She straightened her posture, looking alert and tucking her hands behind her back.
"Yes!" she took care to annunciate this time. "What do you wish of me, Garrett?"
The thief didn't bother to answer her. In his mind, any possible explanation would sound foolish at best. It would be better if he just went ahead and got the first test over with. Taking a few steps closer, his bi-colored eyes never left Gwenevere's soft pink lips. The idea of touching her still turned his insides into a squirming mess. His fingers balled into a tight fist, his heart throbbing within his chest like a profound metronome. He had to wonder why the prospect of prying open this girl's mouth instilled more trepidation within him than facing down a murderous hag, or cheating an entire thieves' guild.
Gwenevere tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming like a teasing cat's.
"Garrett?" she asked. But he didn't answer her.
When he was within a foot of her, close enough to grab her mouth without much difficulty, another clap of thunder bellowed overhead like the feverous battle cry of a fearsome celestial beast. Gwenevere's body tensed, her eyes frozen in terror like a deer caught in a hunter's torchlight.
For a moment, she was completely still. Then, before Garrett could even react, or think to try and take a look at her teeth, she let out a shrill little yip, and threw herself into her mentor's arms. The thief's entire body went rigid as she wrapped her arms tightly around his chest and mid back. With her eyes now squeezed tightly shut, and her face awash with tears of pent-up terror, she was in no position to notice the vibrant scarlet blush which dashed across Garrett's face like the lightning outside. The two remained in that precarious arrangement for only a few seconds at most. But to them, it felt like hours.
Garrett of course was the first to find his bearings. With a loud hiss, he grabbed the unsuspecting girl by the shoulders and shoved her off of him. Gwenevere just stared up at him, her mouth open and panting. Her face was now just as red as his had been but moments before, as she gradually began to realize what she had done.
"What do you think you're doing?!" her mentor demanded, his breathing heavy with discomfort.
"I don't know," the girl peeped with a shrug. Then, she gave the criminal an incredulous glare, "what are YOU doing?"
Garrett froze, looking down at her mouth again. Just how was he going to explain that away? Lightning flickered through the porcelain clockface, as a spark of cleverness found the recesses of his mind. Mustering up a look of sincere aggravation, the thief sneered down at his apprentice.
"Well, isn't it obvious?" he chastised. "I was testing your self-defense skills, Gwenevere!"
"Oh," the young woman appeared sheepish. Resisting the urge to chew her hair, she stuck both of her hands behind her back once again. Garrett's annoyed expression deepened, his brows furrowing a bit.
"Yeah, and you just failed miserably!" he scolded. "Taffing girl. You should never allow anyone that close to you when you don't even know what their intentions are!"
Gwenevere remained awestruck, her face wrought with confusion.
"I was just startled…" she began in a low, pitiful voice, "I didn't know you were testing me."
Garrett released a loud groan and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That's the point, Gwenevere. I needed to gauge how you'd react to a subconscious threat. Now I know: By hugging it."
"I'm sorry, Garrett," the young woman attempted her best apology, her eyes wide and her smile contagious to all but the most hardened of souls. And that included Garrett.
The thief glowered down at her in complete silence for a few seconds, before speaking again in a deadpan voice.
"Forget it. Just go to bed…"
***
Garrett sincerely hoped that Wednesday's training schedule would go smoother than the first two days. He should have assumed otherwise.
The thief stood slouched over the belvedere's stone parapet, elbows arched as he smoked. At least the rain had stopped. As always, Gwenevere remained stationary and eager as she awaited her daily instruction. Garrett finished his pipe, watching as the last of the smoke wafted lazily across the sky, waltzing in tandem with the leaden clouds. Then, and with a visible disinterest, he turned to face her.
"Ready?" he asked, not caring in the slightest if she was or not.
"Uh-huh!" Gwenevere nodded her head ridiculously fast, reminding Garrett of a bobbing jack-in-the-box.
"Okay," he spoke in a condescending voice, "gather your things. We're going out."
"Huh? Out where?" she asked.
"This tower is ill-equipped for training," the thief admitted dryly, "but recently, I've found a better location."
Gwenevere frowned as she hustled to stuff her necessary belongings down into her soft carrying bag, and tossed her navy cloak up over her head and shoulders. He was acting awfully cryptic today—more than usual.
"Right. So where is this, 'better' training location?" she asked in an almost suspicious voice.
Garrett glared at her, feeling as his mouth went dry. He hesitated for a few moments, his mind locked within a turbulent past which this young and innocent girl before him could not even begin to fathom. When Garrett did speak, his words had an ambiguous and absent quality to them.
"Where I grew up."
***
The chilly autumn winds tore through Garrett's warmer garments as he stood abreast Gwenevere, facing the great stone doors of the forgotten Keeper Compound. Their expressions couldn't have been more opposite from one another at that moment. The girl was ecstatic; her eyes glistening more than a noblewoman's jewelry box. The prospect of unknown locales and new adventures filled her with delight and possibility. Getting to train in the same place as her incredible mentor, made it even more exciting.
Garrett took one look at her eager little face and frowned. He shoved his frosty hands deeper into his pockets. Even with his thicker, fingered leather gloves, this weather was staggeringly oppressive. He pulled his facial mask up tighter around his mouth and nose, a soft yet disgruntled puff of icy mist exiting past his concealed lips. He remembered being exactly like her once. A very, very long time ago.
Gwenevere pranced and skipped in the snow, as she waited for Garrett to open the doors. She appeared oblivious of the cold, despite being dressed in little more than her navy hood and that repulsive frock Basso had given her.
"Garrett! Garrett!" she trilled, already near breathless from her overzealous bliss, "is this it? Is this the place?"
"Yes," the thief groaned, already regretting his decision to bring her here.
Gwenevere craned her neck upwards, gaping in spellbound wonder at the monolithic structure just beyond the leaden stone doors.
"Ooooh…" she marveled, her green eyes growing even wider.
While she was distracted, Garrett busied himself with uncovering the small entryway he'd found on his last visit to this place. Gwenevere watched him push away brush and rubble to reveal a small split in the masonwork. Once he was finished, the thief got up from his knees and motioned for Gwenevere to crawl past him.
"After you," he beckoned. Gwenevere blinked, slackjawed as she gawked up at him. Garrett frowned. "You got a problem, Gwenevere?"
"Why…are you being so nice to me?" she questioned.
Garrett's features grew bothered again.
"I'm not being nice, Gwenevere. I'm giving you an order," he covered, "get your taffing ass through that hole now!"
The girl creature let out a barely audible snicker.
"Yep! That's the Garrett I know," and apparently love, she thought silently to herself.
Feeling his menacing eyes upon her, Gwenevere crouched down and crawled through the rudimentary crevice. After looking around to be sure they weren't followed, Garrett went in after her.
The other side of the barricade made up the outer courtyard of the compound. Garrett stood, dusting away snow and dead leaves from his trousers. Gwenevere's exposed knees were now covered in a thin layer of slushy mud from her efforts. The thief shook his head, still having no clue as to why she wasn't freezing to death dressed like that.
"Aren't you cold?" he asked.
"Nah. I don't really get cold," Gwenevere shrugged. "Whenever it's blustery out, my body just gets a little sluggish, but that's really it."
"Huh, that doesn't seem to be much of a problem for you today," Garrett groused, noting how much energy she currently had.
"What?"
"Nothing," he grinned, looking up at the ancient looming structure before them. "So then, you were definitely lying when you told me you were cold that night up in the tower?"
"Of course I was!" Gwenevere admitted with a bout of merry laughter, "how else was I supposed to make you lower your guard? I wanted to see what was under that hood of yours—and preferably wear it again too!"
"Well, looks like you got your wish," the bitter criminal sighed. Flustered, he crossed his arms. The memory of that particular night still prompted several strange and uncomfortable feelings to well up inside of him. "Enough fooling around. Let's get started."
***
Breath caught somewhere in Gwenevere's curved throat as she entered the inside of the compound. Tall stone pillars framed this strange new area, giving it an ancient and scholarly layout. The room she was now in was hexagonal, an odd choice, and composed of three stories. Each of these levels were laden with shelves upon shelves of forgotten, dusty books. Some of the bookcases were even crumbling, their shelves cracked and misshapen beneath the weight of so many unread tomes. The girl indeed wondered, just how long had it been since any of them were read?
"Garrett? Where are we?" she asked.
Her mentor said nothing, instead directing his attention to a door emblazoned with the symbol of a key and a much larger keyhole. It was made entirely of metal, and seemed out of place when compared to the rest of the area. Moments later, Gwenevere found out why.
Concealed behind his back and cloak, the thief's lithe hand pressed against an inconspicuous brick in the room's foundation. The suspicious door then slid open with a rusty shriek, and Gwenevere let out a high-pitched sound all her own.
"Wow!" she marveled, both astonished and enchanted, "that's super AMAZING! How did you DO that, Garrett?!"
"I have my ways," the wily thief grinned, stroking the responsible trigger brick with the back of his hand where Gwenevere could not see. He then entered the newly-opened passage, motioning for her to follow. "Come on. This first room shouldn't be too tricky for you."
***
As they proceeded to traverse the first hallway, Gwenevere transformed from a mild annoyance, into a downright torrent of endless questions and migraines for Garrett. After inquiring about where Garrett's old room was located, and if the compound had indoor plumbing, she finally thought to ask something important.
"Say Garrett? What IS a Keyper anyway?"
"Cram it already," the thief rebuffed her.
"B-but I'm curious!" she whimpered, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Garrett glowered down at her with a look that would penetrate steel.
"It isn't important, alright? And furthermore, it has nothing to do with why you're here. If you put even half the effort you focus coming up with all these ridiculous questions on your training instead, then maybe you'd actually be making progress by now."
Gwenevere's cheeks fumed a deep, angry shade of red. She leered up at the smug criminal and stomped her foot. A resounding echo disrupted the preserved silence of that place for the first time in over fifteen years.
"I AM making progress!" she snapped, glaring up angrily at her mentor. Garrett glared right back at her, annoyed by her childish antics.
"Oh yeah? Then how about putting your money where your mouth is..."
The master thief's challenge initiated, Garrett slammed his fists against the concealed switch hidden along the stone walls of that first area. With a violent slam, a barred metal door came crashing down behind Gwenevere. Garrett made no point to hide his grin as he watched the startled girl leap to his side like a frightened cat. She stared at the barricade with wide eyes, and for a moment, he was almost sure she was going to attack the thing like she had the training dummies.
"What was that for?!" she squealed. Garrett wasn't sure if she was asking him, or the barred obstruction. So, he decided not to answer her.
The entire room was dark, save for the fading rays of sunlight that shimmered down through the many stained-glass windows. Gwenevere blinked, craning her head in wonder when she recognized the strange lock and key insignia from the other room. She wanted to ask Garrett so many questions about these mysterious 'Keypers', but she was afraid of being criticized again.
While she was lost to her pondering, Garrett took the opportunity to sneak across the shadowy room. Eventually, Gwenevere saw him on the other side.
"Hey! Wait for me!" she hollered, flooding the training room with her shrill voice. When she attempted to vault over the short wooden gate before her, Garrett reacted.
"Not so fast!" he yelled, surprising himself with how loud he was being. It was an awkward realization, to say the very least.
Flustered, the thief grumbled something under his breath before returning to relay his instructions to Gwenevere. She smiled up at him, hands tucked daintily behind her back.
"This first room will teach you the value of darkness, Gwenevere," he began, "even a ditzy girl like you must realize that being a vigilante will require you to remain unseen, right?"
"Right!" the girl nodded, adamant that she wouldn't fail such a simple test.
"Okay then. I'll be watching you. If you so much as step into the light, be prepared to redo the entire segment. Got it?"
"I'll be fine!" Gwenevere cheered, "both my nana and my mother already taught me how to do this!"
Garrett wasn't too surprised to hear that Gwenevere at least knew how to use shadows to her advantage. The girl had survived on her own for almost a week without being spotted by her father's bounty hunters. Obviously, the maid—or, 'nana', as Gwenevere had so affectionately referred to her—had some investment in setting the young woman free, and some ties to the underworld to boot. This much was evident from her knowledge of Basso; although Garrett supposed anyone who frequented the Crippled Burrick enough would know who Basso was, be they noble, lowlife, or otherwise.
What did pique his curiosity, was the mention of her mother. Garrett had a tough time picturing refined and high-strung Lady Simmons teaching her offspring stealth techniques of any kind. With his kidnap conspiracy gaining more relevance with each passing day, the thief had to wonder: Just who was Gwenevere's real mother? And why had she taught her daughter such skills?
"Fine. Get on with it then," he sneered, choosing to inquire about this mysterious roguish mother of hers at a later date.
Garrett returned to his perch atop the stone steps on the other side of the training room. He pressed yet another concealed switch, and the wooden gate swung open for Gwenevere.
"Ready when you are, princess," he called to her from across the dimly lit room.
Gwenevere took a deep breath to steady herself, her green eyes brimming with diligence and purpose. Garrett didn't think she was improving at all. She was determined to prove him wrong. Giving a determined and steadfast little nod, Gwenevere began her first test. Watched ardently from above by the man who'd acquiesced to become her mentor for the sake of gold he didn't even need.
He watched her through his whirring, critical mechanical eye. No mere shadow could ever hope to conceal her from its night vision feature. But what Garrett beheld, made him wish he'd refrained from watching her altogether.
She crept upon all fours, her movements more concentrated and cautious than anything Garrett had seen out of her prior. Keeping her body low to the ground and her extremities splayed, Gwenevere almost resembled a spider. As she scuttled about through the darkness, he could hear her nails scraping upon the stone tiles. It filled him with a deep, primordial dread; though he wasn't entirely sure why. Gwenevere had exhibited odd, downright bizarre behavior almost every day during the brief time he'd known her. Perhaps it was the sheer precision with which she traveled, the intent within her wild, hungry green eyes. This was only a test, yet Gwenevere was traversing the room with adamant purpose.
When she tapped his arm with her finger, the thief felt a chill traverse his body. He turned around to face his grinning charge and frowned.
"Not bad. I guess you weren't full of it when you said you knew how to do this," he commented.
Although Garrett indeed had to wonder why she'd been taught by the handmaiden and her mother to sneak about in that manner. Perhaps this really was just another one of the girl's odd quirks. But something about that conclusion didn't sit quite right in Garrett's mind.
"Yup!" the redhead trilled with visible pride, "told'ja I was improving!"
"I'll be the judge of that," Garrett snapped, "your movements are still just as loud and clumsy as the day I met you, Gwenevere. And that's gonna cause you real problems in the next room."
Gwenevere craned her head at this worrisome statement.
"Huh? Is the next room really that hard?"
"Only if you move like a taffing burrick with a fire arrow lodged up its ass…" Garrett muttered.
Gwenevere huffed, crossing her arms. A strand of soft red hair fell in front of her pouty face.
"Hmph! We'll see," she replied, before blowing the hair from her face. Garrett smirked, opening the door which led to the next hallway. He escorted her inside.
"After you then."