THIEF

THIEF

PATHS OF BALANCE

Episode 1: The First Disciple Arrives

Music, laughter, and wine filled the City streets on this day, the one day of the year the peasantry actually appreciated and respected the lords and nobles of The City. Nobility Day was originally conceived as a gesture of thanks toward the Baron and the banks for establishing and maintaining the upper classes' extravagant lifestyles, but it inevitably became a City-wide festival for those of all financial and social standing to partake at the nobility's expense, and, after the most recent hard times befallen The City, one of the few means of entertainment left for the vast majority of citizens to enjoy. Feasts were provided on tables spanning the length of an entire marketplace, banners of The City's nobility displayed their master's crest and colors in every window in their district, and the guard forces of each house matched skills with each other in contests of archery, swordsmanship, strength and speed, as the working class population stood on, contentedly sipping a cup of wine and cheering on the house of their favorite lord. Street vendors still hawked their wares, though they called for business with bouncy jubilation, rather than the usual trepidation that a lack of profit would mean an inability to feed their families. Even the City Watch patrolled the event with a vibrant happiness and greeted revelers with a smile. While most in The City took Nobility Day as a time to escape the tension of daily life and fear of crime and hardship in a time and place of physical danger and financial trouble, pliers of one substantial trade saw it as an opportunity for quite lucrative business.

The boy leaned on the base of the great statue, and gazed upwards at his source of inspiration. Before every robbery, he drew his strength and courage from this controversial statue. Some considered him a hero, having saved The City on at least two occasions. He was especially popular among the lower classes, with the many stories circulating about his escapades inside the homes of the wealthy, resulting in a "redistribution" of wealth. For this reason, he was despised by the majority of the nobility, who regarded him as nothing more than a common thief. Lord Bafford was particularly known for his hatred of him, and had lobbied before the City Council to have the statue torn down. While the statue remained standing, one alteration was made upon request by the Baron and at the protest of no one. In his outstretched hand, lay the remnants of a gear, the only part of the icon remaining still cemented to the palm. The statue was meant to commemorate his role in bringing about the Metal Age, but once The City learned the truth about the Mechanists, they were all too eager to erase this part of their history. To the delight of the nobility, the statue itself almost did come down for this reason, but once rumors surfaced that he was responsible for stopping the demented plans, just as he had defeated their enemies a year earlier, it was allowed to stay. The boy took one last look at him and moved toward the crowd.

The boy could not enjoy Nobility Day the way most of The City's inhabitants did. As large as they were, the feasts still accommodated a limited number of people, and even sleeping on the streets all night, he could not find a place at the table, and even if he could, he could not risk a previous victim or City Watch officer recognizing him. Though vendors lowered prices for the day, food in the market still cost money, something he did not have. There was time still for the boy to walk away with a full belly, but first he must walk away with a full purse. Luckily, today provided the best opportunity he would have all year. As bad as times were, people still managed to put together tremendous loads of money on Nobility Day for various trinkets in the marketplaces and pawnshops (the boy found this especially bewildering, since these trinkets almost immediately found their way back into these exact same shops when their owners needed money to pay the rent or buy food). Revelers would be so lost in the merriment of the feasts and excitement of the games that they would not notice, or even care, that they were missing a purse. The City Watch would present little trouble. Even the by-the-book Sheriff Mosley loosened her uptight ways once every year. The only service the Watch performed on this day occurred after the festivities as they removed the remaining drunkards from the city streets as the Department of Public Works cleaned up the rest of the debris. As long as he did not make any blatantly stupid mistakes, he should walk away unscathed and at least temporarily richer.

The boy moved to a relatively dark, isolated area under a roof and began to scout for potential targets. Even with the lax security, he could not get near the nobles. Aside from the fact that they all sat in the great plazas in full view of the entire city, even today they would notice a missing purse and ensure that he ended up on the gallows or the stocks and pillory. The boy scanned the crowd until his eyes came upon a dark cloaked figure winding through the hordes away from the hysteria into an alley. He moved rather swiftly, but still appeared to be an older man, one who would not put up much of a fight should the robbery turn bad. He walked with a paranoid step, determined to avoid contact with anyone. The boy glimpsed a rather large purse on the old man's belt. He drew a crooked dagger from his belt and advanced on his victim.

The boy followed the old man through a dark, twisting alley. When he passed the last of the drunkards and beggars, and was sure nobody could come to the old man's aid, he charged forward reaching for the purse with his left hand while brandishing the dagger with his right. He could see the old man turn his head slightly, but he had no time to escape. Suddenly, the old man dropped from his view, and the boy felt a shoulder clip into his shins. The ground rushed up to his face, and suddenly went blue. A split second after the boy realized he was on his back looking up at the sky, the old man's head appeared over him, his eyes still hidden under his hood. The boy turned his head to see his dagger a few inches from his face. By the time his mind processed this thought, a boot shot into the picture, sending the dagger clattering across the street. The boy looked back up to see another blade resting on his jugular, that of a sword. A voice cold as ice and hard as granite issued forth from the old man's lips. "Did someone send you to kill me," he inquired as he leaned forward to confront his assailant "or do you just have a death wish?" The boy looked up at the old man's face. He wasn't particularly old, but he wasn't young either. He seemed to hold a certain wisdom, the wisdom of the streets, that could only derive from the same life experiences the boy grew up with. His demeanor seemed calm, he had obviously survived countless others' blades and arrows in the past. A mixture of amusement, inquiry, anger, and hate danced in his eyes…or was that…his eye. His right eye was obviously a fake, with a dull metallic gray iris, covered by a glass lens, in which swam a bluish-green fluid. The boy had heard of this eye, its origin one of the most famous stories in The City. Only one had ever been made, and the recipient had later killed its creator. The boy instantly realized he had made a possibly fatal mistake, yet simultaneously marveled at finally learning the legends were real. It was him.

"You! Y…you're…you're Garrett!" the boy stammered. The man kept his cold, hard stare on the boy in his good eye, while his mechanical eye projected a chillingly similar hostility. "You do exist!" "Hmph. I guess you just have a death wish," Garrett replied, slightly easing the pressure from his blade once he realized his assailant was not an assassin sent by one of The City's many inhabitants who would spare no expense to see him dead. Garrett looked down on the boy. He was a tall, skinny youth, around two or three years younger than he when he attempted his fateful pickpocketing on his eventual mentor. He had attractive features, longish blond hair, and pale blue eyes, which, though frightened, held a strong sense of determination and will. "Please," the boy said, "Don't kill me. I had no idea it was you. Please, Mr. Garrett, sir, it's Nobility Day. I'm just a pickpocket trying to survive. In fact, I'm a lot like you."

"Oh, really?" inquired Garrett, with a tinge of venom upon hearing of the day celebrating those he continuously victimized.

"Yes. You see, my name is Harlan. Just like you, I lost my parents as a young child, and had to live on the streets. Every day, I live off of what I can steal, and when I can't steal gold directly, I'm not guaranteed I will get paid the worth of my loot. I've heard the stories about you around the fires. Your life was very similar until you became a master thief, when you met your teacher." Suddenly a thought crossed Harlan's mind, one that could possibly save his life, in his future as a thief as well as at this very moment under Garrett's sword. "Hey! Why don't you teach me? I can carry on your legacy in The City!"

At this, Garrett pressed his sword even harder against Harlan's throat. "You must really have a death wish," he grumbled.

"Please wait and listen," Harlan urged. "When you received your training, you left this life. You stopped living cold, hungry, and scared that all you worked hard to steal that day could be snatched from you in your sleep, or another thief would put a dagger in your side, or one mistake and you would end up in Prisongate or Cragscleft. I'm sick of living that life, especially when the nobility only gets richer and richer. Every time I see them walk by with their newest silk cape imported from Cyric, when they hit me on the head with their jeweled scepters, when I walk outside the gates of their mansions and look up in the windows and see all they have, all that space that the average person in The City, let alone a street urchin like me could only dream of, all that food that can feed so many starving children, and I get so mad I can think of nothing better than to walk around in those mansions, in every beautiful room, and take all those stupid vases and jewels and fancy silverware they spend their money on, just like you did. And today, Nobility Day! The day people celebrate the fact that a few people in The City who kiss the Baron's hand get rewarded with money and a seat in the City Council. The nobility puts out all these feasts and games and throws around their money to show everyone just how great they are while I can't enjoy any of it because I'm just a damn thief! I want to make them pay. And if I learn from you, the greatest thief The City has ever known, I know I will."

"Forget it," Garrett replied as he finally sheathed his sword. "I'm retired. I'm not teaching anybody. I do steal occasionally to make ends meet, but I'm through creeping through the sprawling mansions. Every time I do, I learn something major is going to happen in The City unless I stop it, or someone comes after me, and then I have to be a hero, and people have to build things like that." Garrett points down the alley in the direction of the gigantic statue. "That's not me, and I don't want that kind of recognition and responsibility anymore. Besides, if you get mixed up with me, chances are you will have a very short life. Everyone, from the nobility to the City Watch to the Hammerites to the City Wardens, not to mention every other thief in The City wants me dead. And those who trained me are going to make me do something huge some day soon. And I made a promise to myself I won't let anyone else get mixed up in it."

Harlan sprang to his feet as soon as Garrett returned his sword to its sheath. His light blue eyes still burned with intense ambition, and now he aimed it directly at his hero, inches from his face. "I don't care. My life can end just as easily out here on the street from starvation or disease as from a blade or arrow in the throat. I'll take my chances against guards, where people can at least say, 'he died standing up to the nobility and making a statement against their greed,' just like they said about you. I could go on picking pockets rather than breaking into mansions, I'd be a thief either way. But aside from the thrill, I would feel much more justified taking money from fat merchants who exploit their workers and abuse their servants than from a poor commoner who did work hard to earn a living, only to have what little he made snatched away from him.

"Besides, you say you're retired, but you have to keep stealing. You want to quit, to leave it all, but because there's hardly any money in The City since the First City Bank and Trust collapsed, the thief in you keeps pulling you back in whenever you need to pay your rent. As much as you want to, you can't stay away, and you know it will get you killed. I can make sure that doesn't happen. If you train me, what you want I get. You'll never set foot in another mansion again, you'll get a solid share of what I take, and neither of us will be hungry again.

"I have one more reason you should take me in. I know why you didn't retire years ago. You could have easily pulled off 'the big one,' cleaned out the richest lord in The City, and retired in style. But you wanted fame, not just fortune. You wanted thieves to gather around their fires on the streets and in the back rooms of pawnshops and tell stories of Garrett the master thief who plagued The City's inner circle, crept through the halls of the extravagant mansions, outwitted the toughest guards, and stole the rarest, most secure treasures ever known to man. You accomplished this, and so much more, when you saved The City from both the Trickster and Karras. But now, what else is there to do? What else can you steal that people will tell stories about? How else are you going to save The City? Maybe that's why you still take the occasional job. If you train me, your stories will continue. You will go from master thief to master teacher. The thieves' tales will still be told, but the new chapters will be about how you trained the second-greatest thief in the history of The City. You will continue to plague the nobility, only by releasing a new breed of thief into their homes and after their trinkets. I can help you live on!"

Garrett stood and stared in astonishment. No matter what he said or did, this boy was not leaving unless he received a positive response. Personal history aside, he and Harlan did share many traits. They both loathed the nobility and lived for the act of taking both their possessions and their dignity. Like Garrett in his youth, Harlan had great potential that only a mentor could truly unleash. Garrett thought he had lost everyone in that crowd, yet this youth selected him, of all people, and tracked him to this alley to rob him. Had he fully understood the concept of stealth, the purse on his belt would have been merely a memory. And his determination was only further sharpened and supported by his astuteness. Garrett actually found it frightening that Harlan was able to get inside his mind. Nobody else had ever been able to read him with such accuracy except for the Keepers. For these reasons, Garrett decided he would much rather have Harlan as an ally than an adversary should their paths ever cross again. Furthermore, he was intrigued at the idea of an upgrade from thief to thieves-pawn, a profession that could see more money and less nightly risk. Finally, it was obvious that unless he gave the boy a chance, only one of them would leave the alley alive.

"Okay," Garrett said as he turned to walk down the corridor, "I'll train you, but only if you agree to abide by my rules. First, you will obey everything I say. If I say to steal something, you will steal it. If I tell you to kill someone, you will kill them. Second, you will only complete projects I give you. No…extracurricular activities. That's how you get the attention of the City Watch or the Hammers. Third, I will receive 30 of the profits from all jobs, subject to change at my discretion. Finally, you will work only with my associates. If you go to any fence or intermediate outside my contacts, or let anyone else know of my existence, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harlan replied. "I'm willing to do everything I can to become the greatest thief since you." He spied a drunken man waddling down the street singing a traditional City tune. He turned to Garrett excitedly. "Let me show you what I can do. I'll just grab my dagger and…"

"I've already seen what you can do when you attacked me," Garrett interrupted. You have to learn my way of thievery, otherwise that will happen every time. Right now you are not a thief; you are a robber."

"What's the difference?"

Garrett rolled his eye in frustration. "You have potential, and a desire to learn, I can see that. But you are obviously not ready to work for me. You don't even know the difference between stealing and robbing. Anyone can be a robber. Anyone can just hold a dagger to a defenseless man and force them to give you their money. Your… 'technique' is a disgrace to a fine and delicate art. True thievery, on the other hand, requires finesse, patience, and skill. The first thing you must learn is stealth. Your victim should never see or hear you under any circumstances."

"I understand," replied Harlan sheepishly. He did not tell Garrett that for his last "job," he accosted a minstrel with his own lute and made off with the money he made singing love ballads. "I think I can sneak up on that man over there. I just have to stay in the shadows to avoid being seen, and move slowly enough so he won't hear my footsteps on the cobblestone." Harlan slunk into the shadows projected by the setting sun. He gradually crept up on the drunkard with a silent gait. At a foot from his unwitting victim, Garrett's voice broke his intensity in the silent, dead air. "Hey!" he called just as he was reaching for the purse. The drunkard jerkily turned toward Harlan, who quickly shoved him down with a hand to the face and flew down the alley. When he realized nobody was pursuing him, he crouched in a doorway, bewildered. After a few minutes, Garrett joined his flustered, outraged student. "That was very good, you mastered stealth with almost no instruction from me. But could you have picked an easier target? Come on, it's Nobility Day. If you want to become a master thief, you must steal like one. No more amateur targets. From now on, you will only go after the big fish. And seeing what today is, they're all gathered in one place. Let's go get one." Garrett and Harlan turned back down the alley and at the edge of the Stonemarket square holding the evening's festivities.

Above the crowds, Harlan could see the banners of The City's lords and ladies flapping above the thrones upon which they sat, presiding over the throngs of peasants gathered in their names. He turned to Garrett, who began surveying the banners, reading for targets. "Lord Bafford, Lord Gervaisius, Lord Rumford, Lord Van Vernon, Lord Toby, Sir Christopher, Lady Caughlin, Lord Church…" Garrett recited the names of the nobility as if he were reading the menu at the feast table. Finally, his finger came to rest upon the red-and-gold banner of Lord Bassel, and he recited the name with a definite sense of finality. "Notice the crown on his head, engraved with that 'B' in sapphire between every jewel. He had that made so he could show it off today. He took half of the pay from the serfs on his farms and the workers in his factories to buy that crown. You starved so he could wear that today." Harlan needed no more encouragement. In fact, Garrett's speech provided a little too much encouragement as Harlan emitted a furious scream and dashed forward to elbow his way through the crowd and would have gone to snatch the crown directly in front of Bassel's eyes had Garrett not grabbed him by the back of his cloak and flung him back into the alley. "This test is to see if I taught you anything." Garrett said. "Apparently, you haven't learned as much as I thought you have. Stick to what you did to that drunken taffer in the alley. Stealth and silence are the key."

When Harlan regained his composure, he dissolved into the shadows and slowly navigated his way towards Lord Bassel's throne. Despite the immense crowds, he did not have to become truly invisible until he reached the nobles' area; at the moment he merely needed to blend into the crowd. He knew he would be noticed if he collided with someone directly, so he shifted his weight with anyone who brushed up against him. Once he reached the upper class' thrones, he quickly dashed behind them, and moved in towards Bassel, crouching behind the podium upon which the seats rested. When he saw an arm clad in red silk deposit the crown to its right on the table, Harlan quickly mantled up onto the podium. His landing produced a slight sound on the hollow wooden structure. "Hello? Is there anybody there?" came the weak voice of a nobleman accustomed to servants and guards doing everything for him save chewing his food. Harlan crouched back down and leaned forward slightly, anticipating a hasty escape. Fortunately, seconds later, Lord Bassel declared, "Guess it was nothing." Harlan began to stand back up, until he was eye level with the table and the crown. He saw that Bassel was fixated on some jugglers performing in the square, lost in his own thoughts, mumbling about the rat problem that even plagued Nobility Day. It was now or never. Harlan guided a trembling hand to the customized crown on the table.

"Hey, you! What do you think you're doing?" boomed a voice directly behind him. Harlan did not even need to hear the words. The commanding tone and touch of cocky triumph projected the unmistakable voice of a guard. He heard the guard unsheathe his sword and stomp up on the platform. He had not picked up his dagger after his attack on Garrett, and even if he had, the ancient blade would have been no use against this weapon of war the guard wielded. Harlan's hand quickly moved to the left, from the crown to a nearby bottle of wine. He would only have one chance, and he could not turn around for it, less he lose his head. "That's it, you're..." As soon Harlan heard the guard's voice again, he swung the bottle directly back over his head toward its source. The bottle shattered over the guard's head, sending him sprawling backwards into the mud behind him. A second guard, standing in front of Bassel, turned around to investigate. With no more weapons available, Harlan struck the second guard in the face, sending him flying over the table and into the crowd. Surprised by the incident, uninhibited by the ale, and violent by nature, the drunken revelers in the front of the crowd ran forward to investigate, bumping and shoving each other out of the way. The peasants inevitably struck each other in the face, leading to further violence. When he regained his balance, the second guard attempted to hold back the brawling crowd, but he merely became the recipient of more blows. The peasants spilled back behind the podium as well, attacking the first guard and his associates who by that time had come to investigate his noisy fall. As the wave of anarchy spread throughout the crowd, the City Watch marched into their midst to stem the riot. With everyone distracted and fearing for their lives, Harlan once again saw a tremendous opportunity to grab the crown. This time, as he reached, his hand connected with that of Lord Bassel. Both grabbed the crown, and both simultaneously dropped it. Harlan quickly spun Bassel's chair around and pushed the nobleman out to the ground. He quickly looked back to see a red-faced Bassel, his expensive red silk robe sullied with mud, screaming for his guard force. "Stop him! Thief!" However, as the guards were trained, they immediately descended upon Bassel in a circle to protect their master. Harlan noticed that amidst the chaos, other guards were doing the same to their lords. He quickly grabbed the crown, as well as various other coins, jewels, and trinkets that the guards and nobles had neglected and slid under the table. He crawled along under the table briefly, then, pretending to be struck, tumbled off the podium to the ground. He crawled on his forearms, using fallen bodies as shields and camouflage, until he came to the nearest alley. Finding a shadow, he spun to his feet and raced inside unnoticed.

Harlan had escaped the brouhaha he had caused, but he still needed to meet Garrett. Luckily, the life of a street urchin allowed him to navigate the alleys and side roads of The City with automatic ease. Unfortunately, he could not control who he ran into. Crossing an intersection, Harlan heard that voice again. "You won't get away this time, thief! I'm taking your hands as a trophy!" Turning, Harlan saw the first guard he attacked with the wine bottle. His face was cut from the broken glass, his black hair under his helmet was matted with wine and blood, and his eyes burned with the darkest hatred he had ever seen. Not wasting time thinking about any path or skill, Harlan immediately took off down the road. Despite the advantage of not wearing heavy armor, the money and goods Harlan stole weighed him down. Having been trained to pursue and eliminate any target, the guard swiftly began gaining on him. Luckily, Harlan eventually passed a ladder. Leaping backwards, he caught it in both hands and began to climb. Once he reached the roof, he began to run again. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop at godlike speed. Eventually, he came to rest in an arch to inspect the area. As he caught his breath, he realized he had no idea how to meet back up with Garrett. Surely he left their meeting place after the riot broke out. At least he was able to steal a decent haul today. As he looked down, he noticed the figure of the guard running down the alley, screaming obscenities up at him. He took one more deep breath and continued on, but noticed that the guard was running almost exactly alongside him down below. Eventually he came to a gap in the rooftops too large to jump, with a ladder down below. Harlan gave thought to climbing down, but as he hung his leg over, the guard sprang up and grabbed his foot. He struggled to free his leg, but the guard hung on with an iron grip, pulling himself up the ladder. He took several swings at Harlan's leg with his sword, but each time, he was able to kick out of range. Soon, the guard mantled up onto the roof. Harlan attempted to push him over, but the momentum sent both nearly tumbling over the edge. The guard stuck his foot in an uneven spot in the roof to stop his slide downward, but Harlan barely managed to grab onto the overhang, and dangled three stories up in the air. He looked up to see the red-eyed guard standing over him, his sword raised to thrust a final blow into his skull. "Say goodnight taffer!" he roared. Suddenly Harlan heard a dull thud and the guard fell forward. As he spilled over the edge, Harlan managed to swing his legs onto the ladder. The guard managed to briefly grasp his torso before losing consciousness and hitting the ground with a solid crash. Harlan began to fall backwards before a firm hand gripped his arm and yanked him back onto the roof. He peered over the edge to see the guard lying spread eagle on the ground, a small puddle of blood forming about his head, and then looked up to see Garrett with a blackjack in his hand.

"Did you kill him?" Harlan asked.

"Probably not, but it doesn't really matter," replied Garrett. "You did well for your first real job. Not the prettiest I've ever seen, but you made a good sneak, and you managed to get the loot and then some. I'll only get a share of the crown. Anything else you steal is yours. Anyway, I'll put you up somewhere tonight. Meet me in the bell tower at midnight."

Later that night, Harlan looked down over The City from the bell tower. Garrett had to show up. Why would he put him through all that and make him steal all he did and then not arrive to claim his share of the profits? Sure enough, Garrett flung the door open and emerged from the spiral staircase leading up to the massive bell. "Welcome to the Thieves' Highway," he announced. This is a great area for burglary, as well as the path you will take to your new home. Follow me." Harlan followed Garrett over rooftops, balconies, and even through apartments and estates (where he pilfered even more valuables) until they climbed a ladder to a massive, imposing, yet decrepit structure. "You'll be living here," Garrett said.

"The old Mechanist Tower?" asked Harlan.

"Yes, Angelwatch," Garrett retorted. "Nobody will look for you here." After the events of the Metal Age, when the Baron learned the truth about Karras' plans to bring about the Builder's Paradise, he quickly outlawed the Mechanist religion. The Eastport Seminary was razed to the ground, and the massive tower was ransacked and pillaged. All Mechanist symbols and statues were destroyed, and only the enormous stature of the building prevented it from being condemned. Soulforge Cathedral still stood sealed, but the inhabitants of The City were too scared to touch it. Rumors persisted that the Builder's Children still patrolled the rust-covered fortress, and on some nights, people have sworn they have heard them clanking about. The ghost of Karras himself was said to inhabit the cathedral, moving about in the rust, waiting to be unleashed upon the world. For these reasons, nobody dared break the seal. "You won't find anything valuable there, though," Garrett warned. "I cleaned them out a long time ago." He opened a trap door and told Harlan to step inside. "This will take you to the second floor," he said. You can have the tower to yourself. Nobody will bother you here. I'll be back tomorrow with your money and a new job for you." As Harlan jumped inside and shut the opening, Garrett made his way back to the bell tower. After exiting Lady Louisa's suite, he heard a commotion in the building ahead of him, and a noisemaker arrow came down from above. Garrett readied a broadhead arrow and mantled up into the room to confront his baiter.

"So, you have an apprentice now." Garrett turned to see two figures emerge from the shadows in similar black cloaks, yet Garrett recognized the keyhole rings on their fingers. "I remember teaching you those same techniques." "I tried to keep him away," Garrett responded shamefully. "I don't want him to ever cross paths with you. Remember what happened to me when I followed you, Keeper Marcus." The second figure laughed, before reassuring him. "Don't worry, Garrett. What we need involves you and you alone, yet the glyphs might have a role for your student. Keeper Nate and I have come to tell you about some important developments within the Keeper Council.

"The glyphs tell of an impending dark age," Keeper Nate announced.

"The Trickster?"

"We're not sure. But whoever, or whatever it is, it looks to be a great menace. Right now, we seem to be faced with more of a challenge than either the Trickster or the Mechanists presented. All we know is that it's coming soon, and we will need you badly."

"Need me to do what?" inquired Garrett.

"Like we said, we don't know yet," Keeper Nate responded. "Even the Keeper Council is split over what role you should play, if any at all."

"Some even think you yourself will bring about the Dark Age," Keeper Marcus added. "But some of us believe that you are the chosen one to prevent it. Second Keeper Orland has proposed allowing you full access to all Keeper libraries to prevent this dark age, something I support fully, as I believe that my former student is the only one who can preserve the balance in The City."

"The renegade who is both brethren and betrayer," said Garrett, reliving the writings about him in the Chronicle of the Metal Age. "How long until you need me?"

"We don't know, but soon," Keeper Nate replied. We will let you know. Until then, we will keep you informed." The two Keepers turned the corner and disappeared from view. With his mind heavy with the pressure of both Harlan and the Keepers, Garrett dropped back onto the roof and started back on the Thieves' Highway bathed in the moonlight.