.

FALNAS

Loud and Clear

City of Riften, the Cistern

"Well, the other two deadbeats came through," Brynjolf said to Falnas as they stood in the dark of the Ratway. "Nice work, ashface, didn't think you had it in you."

Falnas permitted himself a grin. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Don't take it personally," the man said back. "We've had so many hopefuls bungling simple jobs lately that I've gotten a bit sceptical."

"Well, I'm not here to bungle."

"Indeed. Come on, let me introduce you to Mercer, and we can get you initiated."

Finally. After being rebuked time and again by the only guild member he knew, the iceberg known as Sapphire, he was in! And once you were in the Guild, you were in the money. He'd doubted himself at times, wondered if he'd ever get invited and accepted, but now it was finally the time. Let the good times roll.

He followed Brynjolf through the Ratway, and then through the large open space where he'd met his new employers for the first time. The other man was waiting at the door, the man with the shaven head and Breton accent. Mallory.

"So. 'E dun' good?"

"He has," Brynjolf said. "Mercer in?"

The Breton chuckled. "Mercer's always in."

"Yeah, he is, isn't he," Brynjolf chuckled back. "Come on, newbie."

Falnas followed as Brynjolf unlocked the door to the Thieves' Guild headquarters. "Always stick your key in the crack between the door boards," Brynjolf explained. "Never in the actual lock unless you're anxious to know what your own broiled flesh smells like."

"Noted." No, that wasn't something he was curious about.

A click and the Thieves' Guild headquarters was open, and Falnas was led inside.

It was a room like the one they'd just stood in, a large circular platform in the middle with moderately foul-smelling water running around it in broad canals, but this place was actually furnished and made habitable. Torches hung on the walls, spreading a low but comfortable light. The canals carved the floor into platforms, four on the edge of the dome, and they'd been fitted for various purposes. One had beds on it, the other training dummies and chests. One of the four platforms had been expanded with shoddy wooden carpentry, and that one held barrels and sacks of food, a few tables and chairs, and even a bar.

The other thing that was very tavern-like was the signboard hanging from a pole in the wall, depicting a foaming mug of beer, and with the subscript, "The Ragged Flagon."

They had made themselves a cosy, if not terrific-smelling home here.

"C'mon in lad," the Breton said, tapping him on the shoulder. "We just need to get you vetted by Mercer."

As they walked through the Ragged Flagon, they passed by Sapphire, who gave Falnas a badly-acted look of dismissal.

On the walked, and a blonde woman with a narrow, waspish looking face shot them a look of barely repressed fury. Falnas was about to feel really, really unwelcome here, before he realized that the look wasn't aimed at him at all, but rather at his shaven companion.

"What'd you do this time, Delvin?"

"Uh... I'll explain later, yeah?"

Brynjolf chuckled behind Falnas. "Did you get caught again?"

"Listen mate, 'ow 'm I s'posed to know she's in there at that particular hour?"

Falnas had no idea what it was about.

"Alright, Falnas," Brynjolf said. "You're about to meet the head of the Guild. I assume you know how to conduct yourself respectfully?"

"Of course," Falnas said. "I'm the picture of courtesy." Mallory, meanwhile, had sat down at a table with a flagon of ale.

"Good. Because I'm your sponsor in this, anything stupid you do reflects on me. Mercer, here's the new guy."

The man they'd addressed stood behind a counter, but it wasn't the bar – that was against the wall a ways to the right. This looked more like a shop counter, the man behind it tall and angry-looking, with unkempt red-brown hair and a horseshoe moustache of the same colour. Falnas immediately got an untrustworthy impression from him, but then again, these were thieves, and they weren't supposed to be moral paragons.

"Huh, you're the new recruit, huh?" the man asked, his voice rough and sharp, clearly used to carrying authority. "Welcome to the Guild. You dick us over, and you'll end up without a single copper to scratch your arse with, but play by the rules, and you get very, very rich."

"Odd," Falnas remarked, "that there are rules in a place called the Thieves' Guild."

This man did not like being talked back to, that was instantly clear when he leaned forward and growled, "Since you're new, I'll let that comment slide. But let me make one thing very clear to you: you do what we say, when we say, or the only way you'll ever make a copper is by begging. That clear?"

Falnas knew when to back off and defer to the people who had the authority. "Of course, I was just wondering."

The man was somewhat satisfied, standing upright again, though the suspicion in his eyes remained. "Well, don't. Don't try to be smart, that's my job. Brynjolf your sponsor?"

"That's right."

"Good. Learn all you can from him. There's probably a job lined up for you already, so get to it."

Hm, this one wasn't much for wasting time. Or having a conversation. "Understood."

"C'mon newbie," Brynjolf said, "I've got a job for you indeed. Just one more introduction and then you can start with the money making."

The guild leader didn't even say goodbye and went right back to his ledger.

"He'll warm up to you," Brynjolf said, "after you've done a few big-money jobs, don't worry. Now, the last person I want you to meet", he went on, leading Falnas back to the bar platform, in the gloom of the flickering torches, "will be your biggest source of cash. You'll get paid by the Guild for doing jobs, but that's not where most of your money will come from. We encourage opportunism during jobs." The wooden platform creaked as they walked on it, to a young Redguard woman sitting in the shadows. "Meet Tonilia. No matter what you've stolen or where you've stolen it from, Tonilia can find a buyer for it."

"Ah," Falnas said, "the resident fence. I was always told that stealing is easy, it's actually selling the stuff that's the challenge."

"Truer words," Brynjolf agreed. "And Tonilia is nothing short of a miracle worker. Tonilia, meet Falnas, our newest."

The woman stood up and greeted him. She was shy, but had a strange sinister aura about her. "Welcome to the Guild. I'm looking forward to a prosperous and lucrative relationship."

"As am I," Falnas said back. "Whatever I can carry on my back, it's yours." He meant it. Being able to fence goods was a luxury he'd never had, and he intended to use it fully now.

"Now then," Brynjolf said. "We'll drink to your admission when you get back, but right now, you've got a job to do."

Brynjolf explained the details, the operation being part of one of Maven Black-briars bids to stamp out the mead competition, and then led Falnas to a small niche in the wall. Barely perceptible, was a ladder leading upward.

"You won't have to go through the Ratway anymore. From now on, you can enter and leave through here." He held out a strange, flat key. "Your copy."

Falnas took and pocketed it, then watched as Brynjolf ascended the ladder. There was a clicking sound and a mechanism made the stone at the top of the ladder grate out of the way, opening the way up. Falnas followed Brynjolf in climbing the ladder, and found himself in a small mausoleum in the Riften graveyard.

"Ah-ha," Falnas realized. "So that's how you get around so quickly."

"Indeed. I have to warn you though, it's not Thieves' Guild policy to kill anyone, but if you blab about this secret entrance, there's a good chance you'll get yourself a nice little space right here too."

Falnas grinned. "I didn't join this club just to blab about it. I've known Sapphire for a while now, knew she was a member too, and she knows I'm good for it."

"Yeah, she... spoke of you," Brynjolf said with an unreadable face. That could mean a lot of things. Falnas resisted the urge to get into it.

"So then, to Goldenglow Estate I go?"

Brynjolf nodded. "Listen. I know Maven is nuts. But she's got a lot of connections and I have a good feeling about her having a line on some good jobs down the line. Remember, you're there to bloody their nose, not drop bodies. No killing."

"If I wanted to kill," Falnas said, "I would have joined those maniacs at the Dark Brotherhood."

"Good. Now then, off with you."

Falnas began walking, off to Goldenglow Estate. His first real job for the Guild. If he did this right, it meant big money. The job itself didn't appear so complicated, of course, they never did before you were actually in the thick of it. Three beehives to burn, and a safe to raid. The safe might pose a problem, but the beehives would be a cakewalk. Just approach them and set them on fire, hopefully not suffering too many beestings in the process. Falnas felt a bit bad for the poor bees, but they were only bugs after all. Destroying the beehives would cripple Goldenglow's honey production, which in turn would make it impossible for them to brew mead. It was supposed to be a powerful message for Aringoth, Goldenglow's owner. He'd decided to try and make his own fortune instead of paying Maven off on a monthly basis. He'd even hired guards, and one of the Guild, the narrow-faced blonde, had almost gotten herself killed trying to break in. Maven had, predictably, not taken very kindly to that.

Falnas had been explicitly told not to level the whole estate, so he'd have to be somewhat cautious with the burning. Maybe set them on fire, then make sure the workers saw so they could put it out before it did too much damage. At any rate, with the new mercenaries there, it might be a somewhat hairy job. Which was probably why they sent the newbie. Still, they'd been courteous enough to relay the blonde's information to him. She'd used the old sewer tunnel to get in, and she'd only been noticed after gaining entry, so the sewer tunnel would most likely still be open and unguarded. It was supposedly on an island in a lake some ways off. He'd been given directions, and it was those directions he was following now. Past Snowshod Farm and then to the larger of two islands just offshore. He was about to swim the distance, but when he saw a small rowing boat concealed in the reeds, he borrowed that instead.

Night was falling, and it'd be an ideal time to grant himself access to the brewery. Rule number one of burglary: night time is the right time.

Good thing he'd found the boat, because the water in Skyrim tended to be ice cold, and hypothermia was not something he felt particularly interested in. He grounded the boat and jumped off, careful not to let the water get in his boots. It wasn't hypothermia, but soggy boots were not very pleasant either.

Indeed, there was a sewer pipe that emerged from the island, its mouth dripping into the water below. It'd be perfectly feasible to lower himself into the pipe from the top so he wouldn't have to get wet. He climbed onto the pipe mouth and lowered himself, carefully letting his body hang over the water until his feet found purchase. He let go and shifted his weight so he could duck into the pipe. And that was that.

The pipe up ahead looked pitch dark. Should have brought a damn torch. Too late now.

As his nose resigned to the smell of piss and poop and his eyes adapted to the darkness, Falnas slowly crept forward, hunched over in the low pipe. Banging one's head in the darkness could be extremely dangerous and even deadly, so he held out one hand in front of him, at the height of his forehead.

What was that?

Falnas stopped and listened. Those had been paws scratching on stone alright. Damnit, he hoped it was just rats. No more sound came, except his own heart beating in his ears, and Falnas carefully crept forward.

With a shriek, a ball of disgusting wet fur smacked against him, and as Falnas clawed at it, flailing in pure reflex, he felt sharp teeth grazing the side of his throat. Falnas let out a startled cry and hooked his fingers into the thing's fur, pulling the coarse, wet, clumpy hair as hard as he could. There was a tearing sensation as the things claws tried to find purchase, but it was too small to resist Falnas' strength, and he was able to throw it to the ground. He could see next to nothing in the darkness, but what faint movement he saw was enough: he brought his boot down on the fallen animal, stomping as hard as he could. There was a sickening crunch under his foot, and another shriek sounded as his boot broke the creature's spine. Falnas lifted his foot again and made it come down hard on where he thought the head was, crushing the skeever's skull like a wet paper bag.

"Almalexia's flaccid clam, that was close," he breathed, leaning against the wall of the pipe for support. A skeever was only a nuisance in normal circumstances, but one leaping you in the dark could very well be deadly. Skeevers could leap very high, and had strong, sharp teeth that were more than capable of crushing a larynx or severing an artery. Falnas touched the side of his neck, and the wet, warm stuff on his fingers confirmed the suspicion made by the pulsating, burning pain. He was bitten alright. The bite had been stopped by his sternomastoid muscle, but the teeth had broken skin and probably damaged the muscle tissue underneath too. And given the uncleanness of skeevers, he could safely assume he'd contracted an illness or two. The tissue damage wasn't debilitating and could probably be healed at a temple, but cure disease potions were pretty expensive lately, and until he could buy one, he'd have to sweat it out. His own fault for not remembering to bring a torch.

He got his wits back together and focused on the job. He skulked forward, uncomfortably aware of his blindness and any skeever's advantage in the darkness. It took him several minutes to cover the short distance, but when he reached the end of the tunnel, he saw light coming down from cracks in the ceiling.

No, not cracks in the ceiling, he realized when he came closer, but in a hatch. Nice, he was probably right under Goldenglow Estate. He ascended the ladder and gave the hatch a push. It didn't move, naturally, being locked from the inside. A few metres further, there was a splat-splash of fresh evacuate being dumped in the sewers. It stank like the Hells, but would have stunk a lot more if he'd been under the ghastly shower at the time.

Fishing his knife from his pocket, Falnas hooked one of his elbows around the step of the ladder, and inserted the blade into the crack of the hatch. A few hard pulls and the lock snapped with a measured and controlled tink.

He stayed on the ladder for a few seconds, listening for a possible reaction. Nobody had heard or seen. Good.

Carefully, he pushed the hatch open and peeped through, most likely looking extremely comical while he did so. Nobody there. He'd ended up in a small storage room, full of wheats and hops and barleys. Nothing worth stealing, sadly. Deftly, he hoisted himself up through the hatch, not sorry at all to leave the stinking, dark sewers behind him. Damn skeever had got him good, he saw now, the collar and left breast of his jacket red with blood.

But no time to mourn his cheap clothes. If he did this right, he'd be able to buy something much less haggard. He didn't know the layout of the estate, but it was most likely that the brewery itself was on the lower levels, and all the rest above it. Mead had to be brewed in dark places, didn't it?

As Falnas reached for the handle of the door that led out of the storage, he heard heavy-soled boots come down behind the door. Dammit, they hadn't been kidding about the guards. Thankfully, most people usually hired Nords and Redguards for this kind of job, and they usually walked loud enough to make the lanterns flicker three storeys higher. Falnas stayed quiet and listened until the footsteps were well out of earshot, then he granted himself access to the estate. First, the safe. Brynjolf had said it was on the ground floor, so one storey up. He sneaked down the hallway, and went up the stairs, the wood only slightly creaking when he ascended.

More boots sounded and Falnas froze, but the footsteps went away from him, and after a few seconds, it was quiet again. He was on the ground floor now, quietly moving forward while looking around. One of the doors was ajar, a stripe of light coming from the opening. Most likely the office, where Aringoth was, hopefully, working the books. It'd be ideal. All he needed was the safe key, so he'd be spared the misery of working the lock. Safes usually had really complex ones, and it'd take him a while to get inside. With the key, it would only take a second.

Carefully, Falnas crept closer and peered inside. The man standing with his back to him was Altmer alright, taller and more lanky than the Nords you kept running into in Skyrim. He had a rather ludicrous haircut, a voluminous fountain of grey hair that looked like an oversized helmet. Silly Altmer.

Still, this silly Altmer probably held the key to the safe, and that was what Falnas needed. He doubted he'd give it up quietly or easily, so some violence was probably required. After quickly looking up and down the hallway to see if no one was coming, Falnas quickly slipped inside, took a candlestick from a nearby table, and raised it behind the Altmer's head. He wasn't there to kill people, something he'd always told himself he would never do unless in self defence, but busting a few heads was perfectly fine.

He brought the candlestick down on the Altmer's grey coif. It struck with a dull thud, and the Altmer's knees immediately gave out. He hadn't hit the poor bastard too hard, because it wasn't like in the books, where people constantly knocked each other out with hard blows to the head. Hitting someone hard on the head was very dangerous and could very well be fatal. This little tap of the candlestick though, was controlled and light enough to just cause severe pain and disorientation. As soon as the Altmer fell, Falnas caught him and immediately pressed his hand to his victim's mouth. No screaming.

"Hmph?! Hmmmph!"

"Quiet."

"HMMMPH!"

"Quiet."

He'd gotten through to the man, and he stopped trying to make noise, only breathing hard through his nose.

With his free hand, Falnas drew his dagger and pressed it against the brewer's back. "Listen here. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. When I do, you don't make a sound, or my knife is going into your lungs. You don't turn your head. I see your face, you're dead. That clear?"

The mer nodded furiously.

"Good. No screaming now." He took his hand off the Altmer's mouth, and indeed, he remained quiet.

"The key to your safe. Now."

"Wh... what?"

"The key," Fanlas repeated. "Give me the key."

"Th... the key?"

He wasn't getting through, it seemed. Some swearing might jar his brain. "Give me the fucking key, you motherfucking cocksucker," he hissed, hoping the man wouldn't be able to recognize his voice if he ever had to indicate him as suspect and he had to repeat that little line. He pushed the knife a little harder to emphasize his point.

"Alright, alright," the brewer finally breathed. In my vest pocket. On the peg over there."

"Don't turn your head," Falnas threatened when he felt the mer was about to point to the clothes peg.

"Did M... did Maven send you?"

"Who?" Falnas lied. It was bad practice to blab about clients. If bitchy Maven wanted this guy to know she'd been responsible, she'd doubtless have ways of telling him that herself. "Now shut up."

Though he'd forgotten a torch, he had remembered to bring some basic incapacitating gear. With his free hand, he fished the pre-tied gag from his mouth and threw it over Aringoth's head, tightening it until it made it impossible for the mer to make anything in the way of noise. Then he slipped the bag over his victim's head, tightening the strings. He told the mer to put his hands behind his back, and he tied those as well. Lastly, he tied his legs, then fixed them to his hands. He'd have a hard time getting free of that, and all the noise he'd be able to make would be banging his head on the floorboards, and that in turn would be muffled by the ugly yellow carpet. He'd hopefully be gone by the time someone found him. Still, he threatened, "I'm coming back here a few times. You move, you're dead. Got it?"

The sack nodded furiously.

"Good. Stay still and all you'll end up with tomorrow is an aching head." It was a blatant lie, but it would serve its purpose for a short time, and that was all he needed. He got to his feet, fished in the vest pocket and took out a long metallic object. That was what he needed. Now to open the safe. The key fit perfectly in the small metal box chained to the wall, under the desk. Falnas took out the bill of sale in the safe. That was what Brynjolf had told him to bring. Excellent. Now for some arson, the easy part, and he was done here.

Just as he ducked out of the doorway, however, he heard boots stomping in the hallway, and he quickly pulled back inside. Dammit. If that guard came in, he was royally butt-fucked. He quickly shot a few looks around the room and saw the solution. The window opened into a nice garden, with hedges and flowers and all that. The hedges were very interesting indeed. He quickly moved toward the window, opening the latch and peering out. If a guard saw, all he'd think was that Aringoth had opened a window.

Only one guard stood in the garden, near the front of the house, but he had his back to him. Falnas quickly flipped over the window sill and landed outside, ducking behind a hedge.

"What's going on here? Alarm!"

Damn, the guard had discovered his tied-up friend. Falnas remained where he was, quiet and unseen.

"Alarm!" the guard shouted again. "Everyone! Inside! Search the house, the thief must still be inside!"

Through a hole in the hedge, Falnas saw the one guard at the front of the house leave his post and run to the house. Praise Nocturnal, this was too perfect.

"Amiel! Cyrus! Search the basement!" the guard barked. "You two, search this floor. You, with me, we're blocking the exits. Make sure nobody gets out of the house!"

Hah, too late, silly buggers. Amusing when guards actually made the job easier with their own blundering.

"Buddy system," the guard leader ordered. "Maintain line of sight with each other at all times."

That's it, keep on shouting orders. How these people didn't realize that the more noise they made, the easier they were to evade, Falnas didn't know. Then again, simple races...

He crouch-ran to the front lawn, where the beehives were. This was a great opportunity, and he wouldn't even have to return. The simplicity of it was almost ludicrous. Snatching a lantern from a nearby hook, he ran for the first beehive. He opened the oil reservoir and let some spill on the wooden construction. A tiny twig lit on fire did the trick as soon as it was brought close enough, and a small flame appeared, hovering over the oil, quickly expanding to form first a sizeable bonfire, and then a roaring inferno. By that time, Falnas had already lit the second beehive on fire and was running for the third.

"There he is! Fire, fire!"

Shit, almost!

"He's burning the beehives, get him!"

He knew the guard was running towards him, but he didn't have to time even to look up. This hive had to burn. The twig's flame again jumped to the oil, and off it went.

Now he did dare to look up, and he saw the guard rushing towards him, his longsword drawn. The second guard appeared as well, his crossbow ready. Balls! Time to make a run for it. Before he did so, though, he threw the lantern over the last beehive, making sure it caught enough fire for them to be unable to extinguish it. Then he ran, and just as he launched himself towards the front gate, a crossbow bolt zipped past him, carrying embers from the burning beehive with it, like the fireworks his compatriots sometimes lit back in Mournhold.

"Stop! Stop right there!" the running guard barked as Falnas sprinted for dear life. Another crossbow bolt flew past him, smashing apart on the wall ten metres in front of him. Falnas ran until he reached the gate, then propelled himself upward, grabbing hold of the jutting iron spikes on top of the gate and pulling himself up. He felt a hand claw at the leg of his pants, but the fingers didn't find purchase and he was over, smacking into the ground and rolling so he could immediately break into a run.

"Get him! Get him!"

As Falnas ran, he heard the jangling of keys. Hah, of course. No way that Redguard could climb the gate with all the ironware he had wrapped around him. A last crossbow bolt flashed past him, so close Falnas felt the air displacement, but by the time the guards got the gate open, Falnas was too far for any of them to have any hope of catching him. Still, he kept running as far and as fast as he could, until he reached a small forest, where he finally allowed himself to slow to a jog, and then a walk.

This job had gone so smoothly, and Falnas realized he'd had a lot of lucky breaks.

So many, in fact, that if he was a superstitious man, he'd probably believe some higher power was protecting him.