The Old Chapel was exactly as it had been when Garrett left with Artemus, if somehow worse.
The crumbling cathedral's stonework was as dilapidated as ever, a window had doubled in size as its frame fell apart, a wall had given way to a new door, yet all the same, the masonry still standing strong, weathered by time as it were, still bore the faint indentations of delicate chiseling, sculpted from devout hands long dead who's work still stubbornly refused to allow their masters to die.
The old grounds were cold and wet, hardly a field, more a mud pit better fit for swine yet instead, brimming with beggars huddled beneath frail shelters of cobbled together wood and whatever else they could scrounge up. Fires were few and far between, guarded fiercely against the storm by countless backs, all desperate for a flicker of warmth.
Garrett meant not to linger, and if he had his way, he would have passed through the courtyard as a shadow and nothing more, unseen and unheard. But of course, the Queen of Beggars saw all who passed through her territory, and when two of her rats came to him with word that the Queen was waiting, Garrett could not turn away.
Tucked away in the heart of her lonely empire, with nothing but a chess board for company and too few candles to keep her properly warm, sat the Queen of beggars. Eyes as pale as the full moon, skin paper-thin, hair white as snow, just as Garrett remembered upon their first meeting nearly a decade prior.
The City was not kind to its inhabitants, least of all the old and young, yet she remained where many others had died before.
She should have died ages ago, long, long before he or Artemus should have been born. So naturally, the thief was beyond grateful that she had clung to life so vehemently. Garrett would be lying if he claimed to not feel the slightest affection for the old woman, infuriating as she was. He would miss her bitterly when she finally passed, not that he believed she would.
The Queen of Beggars would outlive the City itself.
"It's a lonely night." The Queen said in lieu of a greeting as Garrett made his way down the steps to the still intact basement of the old church the Queen and her beggars had taken residence in.
"The best kind." Garrett replied gently, the old woman hummed, unblinking as she reached out to the small table beside her chair, grasping the teapot's handle and spout with hands far steadier than her frailty should have allowed.
"Ah Garrett, you walk a path few would wish." She mused calmly, pouring a cups of tea, tinged copper with dried leaves, steaming warm, smelling sweet. Someone had made quite a generous donation to the Queen it seemed, Garrett could guess who.
"It's the only one I know." Garrett hummed as he peered around the cathedral, candles flickered all around, casting soft light and long shadows across the alcove. They were at least shielded from the wind outside, the rain would inevitably crawl down the steps and pool along the floor, the cold however had slipped its way in all the same, and the candles did little to deter the chill.
"Quite." The Queen quipped lightly, setting the pot back down as she plucked a saucer and held out the freshly poured cup to the thief. Garrett accepted the steaming cup without a word, drawing a huff from the old woman before him.
"You know what they say about me…" It was not a question, but Garrett knew the answer.
"That you know everything that happens in this city."
The Queen actually laughed at that, pouring her own cup of tea, her hands jerked in time with her laughter, yet not a single drop of tea missed her cup;
"Not everything." She assured as she took her own cup between her hands, simply holding it in her lap, enjoying the warmth; "Just the important things."
Behind the Queen appeared one of her beggars, a gentleman, younger than herself, older than Garrett who, without a request or order given, offered his arm to the Queen, helping her rise from her chair.
"What brings you here?" The Queen asked as Garrett moved around her to set his cup and saucer back on the table, "Seeking my counsel?" She queried lightly, almost jokingly.
Garrett pursed his lips, turning away from the old woman to peer into the nearby shadows; "I have sought your counsel before." Garrett murmured, "You offered me nothing."
"Nothing?" The Queen repeated bemused as her beggar guided her over to a salvaged vanity, the mirror missing, "Or nothing that you wanted to hear?"
"Does it matter?" Garrett retorted coolly, the old woman merely hummed.
"The balance has shifted Garrett, you can feel it, we all can feel it. The city grows sickly, but it will tell you all in due time, if you choose to listen." Garrett scowled at that. Among the most detestable things in the world, prophecies and riddle-speak were chief among the Queen of Beggars and the Keepers' specialties.
Perhaps that was why Garrett avoid the two so insistantly.
"Careful Garrett…" The Queen called as the thief begam making his way back to the stairwell; "There are worse things in the shadows than you."
As the bell tolled twice in the dead of night, the thief took to shadows as a raven did to flight.