Chapter 3 – The Warehouse

With several hours to go before the Bazaar, the pair returned to Sir Roland's house in Middle Hill where the elder thief enlarged upon the matter of a Black Bazaar and named some of the key players and factions from Capitol's underworld who might attend the function.

"The Thieves' Guild might host the affair, but 'tis open to any who can aff'rd the fee. This", he pointed to the parchment now unrolled and lying on the table between them, "should be our pass to get in."

"And once inside," asked Daelynn her violet eyes bright, wide and shining?

"'Tis na uncommon to remain hooded or even masked. Many bidders will have bodyguards as they'll be carryin' a lot of gold or gems. Anything purch'sed thet night must be paid fer immediately afterw'rds. The transfer of goods and coin gen'rally takes place in anodder room away from the tradin' floor."

He paused, his eyes looking far away back in time. "I rememb'r one Bazaar where nothin' changed hands. Askin' prices were too high. An anodder where the highest bid object was a pound o' dried herbs from some fergotten jungle. Supp'sed to be a key ingredient to a powerful magical spell. Went fer a few thousand gold pieces. Rumor had it thet the plant ended up being used in some lord's stew!"

"Are many items traded at a Black Bazaar?"

"Lots o' side deals take place, but the main items to be bid on are usually few. Maybe two or t'ree. But worth big sums. Not unusual for some items to fetch, oh up to five thousand pieces. The highest I ev'r heard of were jest over twenty-thousand."

The elf's eyes widened even more.

"That is a small fortune! One could live comfortably for many years on twenty-thousand silvers!"

Roland smiled. "Nae. Twenty-thousand gold, lass."

Daelynn was left speechless by the figure.

"Well, we won't be biddin'! Oh, an' trade-craft will na' be tolerated by the Guild! Thems, the Merchant Guild, and I'll wager both Black Scar and Red Scar gangs'll have enforcers about. Best not get caught dippin' a pocket or liftin' a purse."

"I will behave myself, Sir Roland."

The elder thief mumbled something even Daelynn's sharp ears could not catch. "We should be off soon. Ye've got clothing and equipment here. Dress for Old Town. The Docks. Be prepar'd but bring nothin' too large or heavy. We leave on the short side of a quarter hour."

Daelynn took more than the quarter hour to change. It was approaching a half hour and still Sir Roland waited. It had been many years since he had had to wait for a young woman to change her garb. He was getting impatient. He heard a door shut. Ah, there she was. The elf came down the hall from the small room she used when at her mentor's. She had washed; hands and face now clean and free of the grime she had covered them in at the Market. Gone were the ragged skirt and blouse, replaced by non-descript but well fitted street clothes – a long sleeved, heavy linen shirt and long breeches; a vest and wide sash; well-worn but sturdy leather boots that reached to mid-calf. She wore a dark scarf around her neck and the same grey cloak she had worn the day she had first met Sir Roland. Her mane of shining black hair was tied back, covering her long elven ears. The knife she'd liberated from a thief at Lord Kessik's gala several months ago was strapped in a sheath to her left thigh.

As they settled into the coach, Roland indicated her knife with a nod of his head. "Any odder weapons?"

"Small dagger in my right boot. Four throwing stars in my sash," she answered. "Flash powder up my right sleeve."

"Good. Now, we're just out to take a look an' see, but if things get tricky follow my orders. And if I say "run", ye run like the Wizards o' Thay are after ye! Got it?"

Daelynn assured the old thief that she 'got it'.

"An' use thet scarf to make sure those pretty ears an' yer face stay cover'd. The longer ye can keep an enemy in the dark about who or what you are, the bett'r. Lots of elves in Capitol, but still a min'rity comp'red to humans. Stay in shadows so no one sees yer skin color. It may be quite some time bef're anyone identifies ye as a Moon Elf."

"Any other advice?" Daelynn asked a little tartly, annoyed at having the obvious stated.

"As a matt'r of fact, yes. Yer speech. Ye're well-schooled. Ye use a lot of High Common – what odders call 'fancy words'. And yer phrasin'. There's a rhythm to it thet tells me yer first language was an Elvish tongue. The way we talk tells a pers'n who listens, really listens, a lot about us. I'd suggest when out on the street working, like tanight, ye use a dialect. I often use a regional dialect myself, like Master Berwick's Southern intonations. It hides ma natural, sonorous tones. Ye managed the Eastern drawl just fine a few months back. What else can ye do? Try speakin' like a North'ner."

Intrigued by this exercise Daelynn and made a brief statement applying the clipped northern speech pattern that her friend Thurk used. Roland grinned.

"Na bad. Ye've a gift. If I were ye I'd save the Eastern drawl fer when ye play 'Lady Smantha' or some uppity snob. Use the North dialect for work on the street. Patt'rns of speech and wording are almost as effective in hiding the true ye as being able to use Voice," he instructed, referring to the vocal talent of being able to completely alter one's way of speaking used by actors, bards, and some confidence men.

"Are we not heading to the docks?" asked Daelynn, peering out of the coach.

"Aye, but not directly. We'll end up opposite the trading depot held by the Cross and Star Merchant house. They're little better than smugglers and fences but somehow they keep their chart'r. Used a lot by thieves so I'm suppose'n there'll be Guild boys n' girls present ta keep watch."

The coach stopped at a narrow bridge that spanned The Creek, the widest of several canals that ran through Capitol. The bridge was old, high arched, made of stone, and always seemed to be under repair. On the far side of The Creek was an area of warehouses, barges and granaries that serviced the lower part of the city. Beyond them was Capitol's river, The Silver, that flowed between Southern and Central provinces to the sea, fifty leagues to the east.

Light and movement could be seen on the far side of the bridge. It appeared that at least one warehouse crew was working late into the night. Sir Roland stepped from the coach with Daelynn following close behind.

"With no odder coach or cart traffic about they'll be sure to hear us crossin' the bridge," stated Roland. Daelynn nodded agreement; the combination of stone cobbles and iron banded wheels made for a terrible racket. "We cross on foot. As ye've no doubt guessed, our targ't is the lighted warehouse."

"Why such stealth? We have an invitation."

"Aye, but it's stolen. Best to have a little look 'n see bef're making an appearance."

"'Know your exit before you enter'," quoted Daelynn from another pain-filled lesson.

"Hmph. So, you do listen when I go on about things," was Roland's observation.

Daelynn walked at the man's left side. Both had their cloak drawn about them, hood raised. The skies were partly clear with the brighter stars visible. No torches lit the spans in this part of Capitol and the moon was masked by cloud. In silence and in shadow the two cloaked figures crossed the bridge.

The warehouse yard was filled with the paraphernalia of river commerce. Old barges, bales, stacks of barrels and piles of rope offered both obstacles and plenty of cover. Nearer the warehouse itself, some eighty yards distant, three small bonfires burned, lighting the area around the warehouse's large double doors, which were partly open. Although they could see light spilling through the doors, the two trespassers could not see what might be happening inside.

Roland spoke in a soft murmur. "See thet catwalk, just under the eaves, right corn'r?"

Daelynn grunted a soft assent.

"I'll meet you under it in a quart'r hour. Listen for the bells from the watchtower."

She turned to ask him why they would separate but he had already disappeared into the night. Another test? The elf moved silently, following a zig zag path, merging with shadows and using cover afforded by the larger items stored or strewn across the yard. Her path had taken her slightly past the corner of the building in whose shadows she assumed Sir Roland waited.

Damn any test! He could wait a little longer! Keeping to the shadows, the elf crept to the end of the warehouse's east wall where faint light flickered off the water of The Creek. A wooden pier spanning some two yards separated the warehouse from the dark waters of the canal. The sounds of heavy breathing, swearing and the rattle of chains and squeaking of pulleys told her that heavy objects were being moved about. Daelynn was about to peer around the corner when the sound of leather scraping over wood sent her scurrying to the deepest shadow. She flipped her cloak over her head an instant before a large man stepped out from behind the warehouse. He walked a few paces along the pier, stopped and looked around him. Satisfied as to his privacy, he fumbled with his breeches, straightened and relieved himself in the canal. Finishing his commune with nature, the man adjusted his clothing, and strode back along the peer and out of Daelynn's sight.

The elf slipped up to the edge of the warehouse, crouched low and peered around the corner. Torches set on the wall of the warehouse illuminated the space between the building and the canal showing her several men struggling to load casks, crates and bundles from the pier up a gangplank on to a long narrow, single decked, two masted ship. A pair of cranes positioned on the roof of the warehouse handled larger pieces of freight.

The ship was unlike any she had ever seen. Every surface, each spar and plank, was painted black. Though she knew little about matters maritime, the vessel looked weather-beaten. The sides of the ship were scarred and the ropes and lines that made up its rigging looked tattered and messy. On the ship's prow a large painted eye, half closed, glared out at the world. She assumed its mate was on the other side of the bow, glowering with an equal disdain across the canal.

The men moving up and down the gangplank and on the ship were all dressed in black. Whether robed, armored or tunicked, every piece of clothing was as black as the ship. They called out, spoke and swore in a strangely accented Common. Most were bearded. All were armed.

Finishing her surveillance, Daelynn was about to quit her post when her gaze was attracted to an odd movement at the ship's bow. The painted eye now appeared to be staring wide-eyed. What illusion was this? She would have sworn the design had been of a half-closed eye. She shifted her position slightly to afford a better view. At her movement the eye rolled up, then back down, finally settling at a point almost exactly where Daelynn skulked in shadow. She quickly pulled her head and shoulders back around the corner of the warehouse. Ùdun! What sorcery was this?

Quickly fishing in her belt, she pulled out a small pouch and took from it a round mirror no wider than the palm of her hand. Slowly, she positioned the mirror so that she could see the ship but remain hidden herself. Her breath came thin and fast as she again saw the eye move. It seemed to be searching for something. For her? After a moment, it returned to its original position, lid half-closed, glaring out along the pier and off into the distance.

Pocketing her mirror Daelynn moved to the corner of the warehouse, where beneath the catwalk, she found Sir Roland in deep shadow, seated upon an upturned rowboat. Quickly and quietly the elf described what she had seen. The elder thief shook his head.

"I'd ha' guessed a sea-farin' mage p'rhaps. Except for these men in black. There's somethin' familiar about 'em. Time to use our invitation an' see what's all about!"

Before she could reply Roland jumped up and walked briskly around the corner entering the circle of light thrown out by the closest bonfire. Daelynn pulled her scarf up over the lower half of her face, adjusted the hood of her cloak, and scurried to catch up to Roland. A large young man left the fire and walked toward them, holding out his hand as he bade them stop. His other hand rested comfortably on the hilt of a sword worn at his waist.

Daelynn noticed a jagged red scar tattooed on the back of the man's left hand. A Red Scar gang member. The hired help of which Roland had spoken. Her mentor nodded, drew the message tube from his belt, and handed it to the guard. While the Red Scar pulled out and confirmed the message, Roland idly played with the metal ring on his left hand. The shadows at the edge of the firelight grew darker and crept closer to their master.

"Good. And the password," asked the Red Scar guard?

"Ah. Yes," replied Roland.

The guard looked from one cloaked figure to the other. "Well?"

Roland turned to Daelynn. "Well? Give it to him you dolt, or have you forgotten that as well?"

Daelynn quickly looked at Roland, turned to the guard, then back to Roland. "Password?" she said in a hushed, confused tone.

"Yes. Yes. The password. Give it to him."

The guard was getting annoyed. He glared at the two imbeciles before him. Placing his hands on his hips, he fixed Daelynn with a glare and impatiently demanded, "The password, idiot. Give it to me!"

"Yes, sir. Of course. Here it is," she stammered. She leaned forward. Shadows closed around them, hiding the attack. Daelynn and Roland struck at almost the same instant. The guard's head was rocked by two solid blows; his eyes rolled up and he slumped forward, to be caught by the elf. The shadows still flowed around them, but now strained against the firelight.

Daelynn lifted the man, draping him across her shoulders, his weight causing her to bend forward at a very uncomfortable angle. She waddled off into the deeper darkness. Roland released the covering shadows that had hid them from a chance glance by any of the several people gathered at the other two fires some thirty yards away. Daelynn returned after several minutes to find him crouched and warming his hands at the fire.

He looked up and smiled at her. "Thet 'password' seldom fails me."

The elf shook her head. "He sleeps under the rowboat. No one should trip over him there. We need to get inside before they change the guard and his absence is noted."

"Aye. Secret invitations, guards, an' now passwords? They're makin' this little party a tad more secure than normal. Wonder what's fer sale t'night, eh? Look. People are movin' inside. Time to join 'em."