After that less than restful night within the clocktower, Garrett scraped together a measly breakfast from whatever rations had survived his long absence.

The clocktower had stood strong for over a century, and would remain strong for thieves to come, and just as she always had, the clocktower remained a bastion against the miserable weather of the city. Garrett should not have been so surprised to find that the stores of rations he had stockpiled well before his impromptu departure were still edible, the jerky was as tough as leather, the dried nuts… Well, dry. But nothing had rotted away, so Garrett took his blessings and contemplated his next move as he ate.

Lady Luck must have finally begun to take note of the thief's plight as upon the wings of the familiar magpie came direction.

Guinevere landed on the windowsill, ruffling her feathers, flicking rainwater onto the floor before she fluttered her way to the ground and hopped over to Garrett's side, a new box of matches pinched between her beak. Garrett traded a bone-dry cranberry for the box, a deal Guinevere could not refuse.

Basso had written a single word within the matchbox. An invitation, as well as an order; "Knock."

The missive was etched deep within the matchbox, heavy handedly. Garrett of course knew exactly what Basso was trying to convey with the single work, he had known the fence for long enough.

Basso was a large, loud man, the sort of man who couldn't go anywhere without a cacophony of sounds to follow. Whether it was the sounds of his boots against the ground as he walked, the unconscious whistling of his too-many-times-broken nose, or even just his ability to talk endlessly about nothing in particular, wherever he went, Basso brought noise.

And that noise was the perfect cover for a thief.

According to Artemus, Basso had been one of the first people he had sought out to begin the search for his wayward children, and while the fence had not been of much help then, Basso was both a long-time friend of the thieves and, more importantly, very much in the know regarding happenings and gossip.

Two things Garrett was sorely lacking at that moment, and two things Garrett would undoubtedly need to begin his hunt.

Garrett bid Guinevere farewell with trailing fingers along her back and a small scattering of dried berries and seeds across the table before he slipped from the safety of the clocktower, down, down, down to the bloody streets below.

Basso's base of operation wasn't all too far from the clocktower, merely a courtyard and two streets over, or six rooftops and an alley for a thief. The path was familiar, though Garrett remained cautious, it wouldn't do him well to slip on rain-slicked shingles and break his neck at the bottom of some rot stained alley.

Regardless, the Crippled Burrick was nearly just as Garrett recalled. Living quarters on the upper floors, Basso's kitchen window 'garden' looked just as sad as ever. Business in the basement, with a grander than typical entrance leading down a flight of stairs that to the day, Garrett had no idea how Basso had yet to deal with flooding.

Now however, Garrett found himself with far more pressing matters… Basso had been very clear with his wording on the thief's invitation, and Garrett, thief as he was, was inclined to follow the missives directions as best he could, but certainly not the meaning.

Basso's spare key was tucked away along the top of the doorframe and as soon as the front door was unlocked, Garrett reached over to bang his fist against the basement door. As much as he would have loved to stick around and listen to his fence crib and curse at whoever he thought was banging their fists at his door at such an hour, time was precious, and Garrett only had a few moments to get to where he wanted to be.

As Garrett slipped into Basso's apartment, heavy footfalls stomped towards the door. As Garrett made his way through the house, taking note of little changes here and there, different mug, new vase, same kind of dried flowers beside the same urn on the mantle, Basso threw the door of his shop open, most definitely expecting some guard or inspector.

Garrett managed to make his way down into the basement through the inner door and make himself comfortable on the workbench, right beside Basso's current project, just as the Boxman slammed the door, muttering about 'damn kids' as he locked the bolt and turned around.

Luckily for Basso, Garrett was one to leave the lording to the nobility so the undignified shriek of terror the Boxman let out at the sight of his surprise guest would remain between them.

Besides the scream, Basso also attempted to throw his jack at Garrett, it went wide, Garrett didn't even have to try and avoid the little tool as it soared safely past his head.

"Garrett!" The fence scolded as he tried, and failed, to appear as the ever-stoic fence. Garrett however could see relief easing weight off of Basso's shoulders, professional or not, Basso cared for the thieves in his employment. Basso was a good friend.

"You son'ov a bitch." The Boxman cursed as he not quite stormed over to the thief, the far larger man would have been intimidating with his stone cut expression and furrowed brow, but to the thief, the Boxman looked so worried that it almost made Garrett feel guilty.

Basso stopped just shy of the thief, dragging his eyes over every inch of Garrett, looking for any signs of injury or duress. Upon finding none, the Boxman replaced his concern with very understandable fury.

"I see you still can't work a door." Basso huffed, crossing his arms, puffing out his chest before he abruptly turned on his heels, stalking past Garrett to retrieve his lost jack.

"You don't come see me. You don't write…" The Boxman muttered under his breath as he stooped low to pick up the jack from whatever dusty corner it had landed in. When Basso spun around quick enough to have the thief fight the urge to flinch, Garrett knew that their reunion was not going to be as quick or as pleasant as he had hoped.

"I thought both you and Erin had been killed in the mansion attack!" Basso shouted, chest heaving as he jabbed the jack in Garrett's direction. "It took that weird scholar in the cloak to tell me that you weren't dead Garrett. Where the hell have you been?"

Garrett averted his eyes sheepishly before he slipped from his seat atop Basso's workbench. Tugging his hood down, Basso hissed.

"I had to go to ground." Garrett replied quietly.

"For…?" Basso trailed off, gesturing broadly to his own cheek and eye, exactly where the scar sat across Garrett's face.

"Yes."

"Shit Garrett…" Basso blew out with a heavy breath, moving back towards the thief, the workbench between them. "And that creepy cloak guy looking for you?" The Boxman asked cautiously.

"My father." Garrett answered easily, honestly, Basso merely nodded. Tense silence settled between the two, steadily growing heavier and heavier until Basso finally found his voice.

"She's gone then?"

Garrett shook his head silently, Basso sighed.

"Garrett…" Basso began solemnly, "Your old man, when he came by asking about you, he came by asking about both of you… And between you and Erin, you're the only one I've seen."

"She's not dead." Garrett said firmly, pinning Basso's retort with a sharp look. The Boxman raised his hands in defeat.

"Fine, fine… Forget about it. Now, unless you want to tell me what the fuck you've been up to for the past year, I have a business to run and money to make." Basso muttered as he made a 'shoo-shoo' gesture to the thief, ushering Garrett away from the workbench.

Garrett made a show of lugging the workbench stool to the opposite side of the room for himself before he turned and sat to face the fence, Basso merely rolled his eyes at the thief.

"Real mature Garrett." Basso huffed as he turned his attention back to the safe atop the bench, irritation bled back into his voice as he set the jack and reached for the hammer beside him.

"I don't have time for this. Especially with the Baron's new duty on opium thanks to this whole gloom sickness running amuck." Garrett did not flinch with the first fall of the hammer, but he did blink with every consecutive strike.

"Not. To. Mention. The. Thief. Taker. General's-" Basso enunciated each word by bringing the hammer down onto the jack until the door to the safe finally gave way as the jack slipped snuggly in.

"Black-Tax squeezing us, entrepreneurs." The Boxman concluded bitterly as he busied himself with prying the lid off the safe.

"If you got a job for me, let's hear it." Garrett replied. Basso paused his prying to look at Garrett.

"You sure you're up to it? Been a while." The thief gave the fence a dry look, drawing a wry huff from Basso.

"Okay. So here's the gig." Basso sighed, "I need you to obtain a ring for me." The fence explained as he meandered across the basement. Garrett followed him with his eyes, and a raised brow.

"Getting married?" The thief asked coyly, earning himself a hearty chuckle from the fence; "Never again." It was then that darling Guinevere decided to make her grand entrance, fluttering down from the stairwell, swooping past Basso's ear, beak at the ready to clip her master's ear.

Basso made some high sound of surprise and pain as he swatted at the displaced air of Guinevere's passing, the magpie trilling a almost smug noise as she seated herself on Garrett's shoulder, drawing Basso's glare towards the two of them.

"You mangy bird!" Basso cursed with a pointed finger; "I swear, one day I'm gonna have you made into a hat!" Garrett chuckled at that, raising a finger to trail beneath Guinevere's chin.

"And lose the brains of the ah… Outfit?" The thief taunted lightly as he slid from the stool to trail after the fence, Basso brushed off Garrett's jab with a ring-ladened hand. "I'm running out of fingers."

Garrett rolled his eyes as he joined his fence's side; "The job, Basso?" He pressed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, right." Basso huffed as he waved for Garrett to follow him over to the small shelving unit beneath the stairs.

"Belongs to a guy named, uh, Cornelius Greaves. One of those hoity-toity types who doesn't have any shit on his boots." Basso began as he peered through the shelves.

"Ah-ha. Here you go." The fence declared as he passed a single page of the newspaper, a two days old given that the paper only ran on Sundays, and that was if the paper ran at all…

Still, Garrett skimmed the page, gaze narrowing the closer to the bottom he got; "What's the catch?" The thief asked.

"Eh…" Basso winged, "He's dead." Garrett gave the fence a very unimpressed look as he lowered the paper; "I'm a thief Basso, not a graverobber."

"Only recently deceased!" Basso assured, tapping against the date on the paper, one day before publishing, totaling three days. "My sources say he never took the ring off." Basso finished the pitch with a grin.

"Doesn't seem very challenging." Garrett countered.

"Ah the challenge will be getting to him before the carters pick him over." Basso said; "And besides, you haven't been around for the past year, gig like this? Walk in the park for you." With that, Basso took back the newspaper, folding it neatly to exchange it for a map of the city.

"Now, rumor has it that they're taking bodies to that old uh, foundry near Cinderfall?" Basso hummed as he laid the map out on the workbench; "Crawling with the Baron's guards for some reason"

Garrett peered over the larger man's shoulder, keeping far enough back to deny Guinevere another opportunity to peck at the fence's ear as he looked at the map.

"Now… Best way to that place…" Basso began as he set his finger on the map, trailing from where they were at the Crippled Burrick; "Is through the Old Chapel."

Garrett resisted the urge to shudder at the mere mention of the Old Chapel. His Indebtment to the Queen and her beggars as he was merely a fraction of his desire to avoid the place. The Queen was wise well beyond her years, and Garrett had little doubt that her blind eyes would somehow manage to peer through the glove he wore and the bandages he had woven to conceal the blasted mark still seeping ink on the back of his hand.

Still… Garrett nodded to Basso, pulling his hood back up as he stalked towards the door. It was no lead on Erin, but Basso always had his ear pressed to the social grapevine, and guards always had loose lips on patrol. So if Basso said the old foundry was crawling with the Baron's guards, then, on the off chance that someone was feeling particularly chatty that night, to the old foundry Garrett would go.

"Oh and Garrett." Basso called just as the thief reached the back door; "Don't screw this up yea? Some of us need to pay our dues."

Garrett huffed, rolling the shoulder Guinevere was sitting on, coaxing her to return to her perch as he offered the fence a wry little smile; "You can't tax what you can't catch." Was all the thief replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Basso muttered heatlessly as he waved the thief off; "Get outta here. And use the door? Please?"

Garrett pulled his mask up over the bridge of his nose as he cracked the open the window on the basement door.