Pinewatch was an old, derelict farmhouse – at least on the outside. One end of the roof had fallen in completely; the stone bricks dislodged and the masonry crumbled away. The door had no lock and was holding by one badly rusted hinge.
Last time Nefasteri had been here, it had been the height of summer twenty four years ago. The farm had been owned by friends of the family - back when she'd had one - and she had spent a few summers here. It almost broke her heart – not only the derelict farmhouse, but all of Skyrim, still waging an old war no one cared about. The people, ones she had left either young and wild or respectable and wise, they all continued on their legacy while she was off. For Nefasteri, now, it seemed as twenty years had gone in a heartbeat.
Her affair with Brynjolf had been a short one and had ended in a bloody mess – literally speaking. After the business with Esbern and the Thalmor they had met up for a drink or two. Of course, it ended up being about forty, though accounts of that day were still fuzzy. Two months later found Nefasteri at an apothecary's, getting a potion for an unwanted child and Bryjolf being thrown out of Jorrvaskr with a broken nose, ribs and jaw, courtesy of Farkas. Their last encounter had been the day Nefasteri left for Solstheim and it had been a very short one. She wasn't sure if she managed to break anything before Delvin and Vex pried them apart.
But now she needed allies everywhere for her great undertaking. Friends had to be made in every layer of the society. The two little thieves had told the Guild had fallen, but Nef doubted it was quite that bad. Thieves had a way of surviving and popping up when you least expected them.
The door creaked so badly Nefasteri cringed. For a moment she thought someone would surely come running, then she wondered why no one did. They couldn't be this careless, could they?
There was straw and wood and other debris on the floor where the roof had collapsed, but the damage had not touched a small ladder that led to the floor below. There Nefasteri found her guard, an Argonian of indeterminate age, who was sleeping in her chair, legs propped up on a table. Her attire showed that their lives were not so bad – it was a sturdy leather cuirass, one that Nef could see was made by measurements for this particular Argonian. Her greaves and boots matched to it, and there was a leather helmet on the table next to her. Nef left the Argonian sleeping and looked around. A tunnel led down into the mountainside, and a cupboard was standing next to it. Either the mechanism that hid the passage had broken down, or they just didn't care. Probably the latter.
Nefasteri sneaked down the cave in a half-crouch. The draft whistled in her ears and made it hard to hear anything, but she thought she heard the sound of voices raised in argument. The passage was short and ended on a platform, beyond which Nef could see a massive cave, no doubt made by the ancient Nords. It was decorated in the traditional style of linen wraps lying about and coffins everywhere.
Her reveries concerning the questionable Nordic decorators were interrupted by a hand pulling her hair back and a sharp pain at her throat. Blood trickled down.
An unmistakably Argonian voice hissed by her ear, "The lady doess not want to greet uss? The lady will diee."
A moment later the Argonian was laying on her back before Nef. It had been a simple matter to reach back swiftly and flip the light body over her, after years and years of enterprising thieves had tried the same move on Nef to meet the same end. Killing this little chit wouldn't be a good first impression, but Nefasteri had to make an example somehow. She aimed her foot precisely and stepped on the girl's left hand. She felt the bones crunch under her boot and the same time the Argonian screamed so miserably as if someone was killing her. There came shouts of surprise from further down the cavern and Nef already could see movement. The footbridge started rocking. Someone was coming and Nef had to find an excuse fast.
So she hauled the Argonian up by her collar and whipped out her blade, which she held against the Argonian's neck.
The first person to emerge on the platform, where Nef still stood, pressing her blade in the whimpering Argonian's neck, was no other than Jole. He shouted angrily and called for others to come before recognizing Nef. Then he just stood gaping until 'the others' arrived.
The bunch were a deal more miserable than Nefasteri had expected. They really were all children, the youngest being a girl of about twelve. She in particular wore a very ragged dress, but the rest weren't much better off. Only Jole and a startlingly red-haired girl had actual armor, and that too was only leather, scuffed and scratched.
At the sight of Nef, the older girl drew a long dagger. The children followed her lead, producing knives and throwing blades and daggers from boots, clothes and in one case, hat.
Jole all stopped them. "I know her. We got the dragon scales from her." He said to the party behind him calmingly. To Nef he turned angry again. "I thought you were going to help us! And now you come and try to kill Neeus!"
"Who is she?" The red-haired girl asked, but Jole and Nef disregarded her.
Nef let Neeus go and raised her hands apologetically. But she said, "If I had tried to kill her, she'd be dead. I was just returning the favor, so to say," she gestured to her still bleeding throat, "and teaching a little bit in extra."
"Okay," Jole helped Neeus up, who was still on the floor, cradling her broken hand. "I guess you'll want to speak with Bryn."
"Who is this old crone, who barges in on us and acts as if she were invited?" The girl asked again, more insistently. She twirled her dagger about – a harmless gesture, but certainly suggestive.
"I'll have none of your lip, girl." Nef pushed past her dismissively. The rest trailed behind Jole and Nef, the children disquietingly silent and deft in their movements.
Jole led Nef through a small maze of caves, where some youths joined their party and some left. Deep in the cave system, they emerged through a door and into a cavern, which held stacks and stacks of barrels and crates in a rough circle, between which a table sat. At the table three people had leaned in in muted discussion. Their features were shadowed sharply by the lamp that hung from the cave ceiling.
One of them was unmistakably Brynjolf, though much of the red in his hair and beard had been replaced by white. Another was Vex, who seemed unchanged after twenty years, if not for a wrinkle or two. The third, who sat with her back to Nef, was certainly younger and more heated in her discussion. The three all perked up at the sound of Nef's footsteps – they certainly couldn't have heard the rest of the ragtag band, whose movements were quieter than snow falling. Brynjolf's already pale face grew almost white and he stood up.
He started to speak, cutting short Jole's introduction. "I think we should speak alone."
Nef chuckled and stepped closer. "Why? My proposition is for all of you to hear."
Vex leaned back and smiled broadly. "Huh? So not sex then?"
Nef laughed outright and glanced back to see most of her followers blush of look down with embarrassed smiles.
"No, though I'm willing to negotiate."
Laughs from behind and Brynjolf stood up, saying, "That's the Neffie I remember. Alright – what are you offering and why?"
Nef sat down on a barrel. "I'm getting complaints about the war. But, I can't do anything before I know what to do. You are thieves, which means you are quick and silent, with fingers in a lot of pies. I need information, and I'm willing to pay for it."
Jole stepped up and spoke, "Why not just join a side and help them win?"
"Why should I? I don't care which side wins, but I'd like the war to end. It's bad for my public image."
"Fair answer." Brynjolf chuckled and crossed his arms. "Well, lass, you've come to the right place. The question now is – just how much are you offering?"
Nef reached down her cuirass and drew out a bag. It was not a big bag, but it bulged and clinked suggestively and the eyes of all the thieves in the room followed it.
"No. The question is – how much do you want?"