A Holiday Tale of Thievery from Melza
(C) 2020 P. Molnár
(C) 2020 Knight-Errant Studios
BLESSED BE THOSE WHO GIVE
A Holiday Tale of Thievery from Melza
- | - | - | -
Melza, 25th of Rainen, afternoon, four days before Saint Nikenos Day
The winter solstice was due in some three weeks time, along with the
Pilgrim's Eve. The nights were getting longer, the days getting shorter.
Perfect time o' the year for those thieving magpies, thought sergeant Háván Enša of the City Watch's Municipal Patrol and Security Bureau.
Warmly dressed, he was standing at the corner of a street, not too far
from his native Watch station. As usual this time of the year, though it
was still the last week of Rainen, the snowfall was already plentiful.
There wasn't much love lost between sergeant Enša and the snow, and he
had even less love for the frost and cold. Even with warm clothing and
warm boots, walking his beat in the winter, for much of the day, wasn't
something he looked forward to. Strangely, he felt that the snow often
calmed down his nerves and made him less stressed while he was
patrolling and checking up on subordinates in this precinct of the
Watch. As much as the heaps of snow in the city streets were an
annoyance to virtually everyone, the positive feelings snow sparked in
Háván's mind steered him towards a more ambivalent opinion.
Last but not least, his two children loved to go sledding on the hills
on the outskirts of Melza, as soon as there was enough snow. That was a
definite positive in favour of all this snow. Saint Nikenos Day was
coming up soon and his two kids would be overjoyed for some humble
presents and a day or two of sledding with their mum and daddy. Háván
was looking forward to a few days off. Spending time with his family
properly, beyond the long dark evenings of early winter and a measly
free Restday or Setday every two weeks. Hopefully, he won't have to work
on Pilgrimas either.
About half a least to go, he thought. Still a good long while,
but he'll soon move to another part of his usual beat. Standing at the
street corner, he stomped in place for a little bit, just to add some
extra warmth. Winter's rather pretty, but it's a pity it's also this harsh, he pondered.
Aside from the occassional passerby, he was mostly alone in the street.
The majority of people seemed to be at home, many of the windows glowing
with one or more lights. One of the shopkeepers at the upper end of the
street was shovelling snow. Enša noticed a thrush land on a signboard
of a nearby shop, and ruffle its feathers impatiently.
"Yeah, we're all rather cold, birdie," the sergeant muttered. He adjusted his sword scabbard.
A little later, he noticed an approaching figure that seemed familiar
already from a distance. Though wearing his badge on a warm coat like
Enša, other uniform details instantly gave him away as a fellow
watchman, including the "pine-and-blue" colours on the trousers. It was
roundsman Terkelín, one of the newer people in their precinct.
"Hey, Hávi ! Haven't seen you today... How are you doin' ?" Terkelín called cheerfully as he approached.
"Hello there, Iver ! Not that badly, I must say. All this snow's always a fuss, but I've learned to bear it."
"I'm getting the hang of it too, though it wasn't exactly fun the first time... back when I joined two years ago..."
"Keep up the good work and you might make it to sergeant, like me." noted Enša, an icy vapour leaving his mouth in the cold air.
"Yes, and then I'll spend many years at the rank of sergeant, never
getting a promotion, even if I'm offered one," grinned Iver
mischievously, nodding towards Háván.
"You've eaten some jokey porridge for breakfast, haven't you ?" frowned the sergeant.
"Do you want to hear something more serious ?"
"Like what ? I'm all ears."
"You know the orphanage on Mulberry Street, right ? The fairly big one ?"
"Yes, I know. My neighbours, an older childless couple, are raising three orphans they adopted from there."
"Oh."
"Nice children, well-behaved and humble. Frankly, I don't envy them
their early years, but I'm glad some of them end up in good families. Or
find their own way through life. You know..." he elaborated,
punctuating it with a shrug.
"Then you probably won't like this bit of news..." said Iver. "The staff
were collecting money for the orphanage, wanted to invest in teaching
the older kids some trade skills, buy them new clothing and better beds,
make sure they can put food on the table regularly. The works... And
they were pretty successful, they collected two whole coffers of
griffins from the citizens."
"Nice !"
"Yeah. Even the Baroness consort herself visited recently, as part of
her annual pre-holiday tour of the orphanages. From what I heard from
others, she was very supportive of the effort."
"Yes, I've heard about that recently, I think. Did something bad happen during the visit ?"
"Not then, but just yesterday, or in the small hours this morning...
Someone stole those coffers from the orphanage. Just like that... poof."
"Well I'll be... Ugly stuff ! I'm hardly the most charitable person in
town, but a theft like that, straight from the orphanage, with the
holidays looming... See, Iver ? This is why I don't like the whole
criminal lot. Hardly an honest soul among them, they're all the same.
Stealing from impoverished kids ? Stealing the money meant to help those
kids start their own independent lives ? Tsh... What do you even say to
that ?"
"Yeah, ugly stuff. Hope the people from the other bureaus nab whoever's responsible."
"And where did you get this bit of news ?"
"A guy from the burglary bureau told me when I was having my morning tea
at the station. They already sent a few watchmen and detectives to the
orphanage. The thieves were pretty thorough, not much of a trail left
behind, even after the guys from the BTI snooped over the building, top
to bottom."
"Maybe they had an accomplice in the staff ? Have they thought of that ?"
"I didn't ask, but everything's possible."
"Hm," hummed sergeant Enša. "A damned shame. An orphanage getting robbed
like that... Thank the Maker I grew up with a family of my own, not
orphaned or rejected." he paused. "I only need to think about the
children taken in by my elderly neighbours... They'd be really
disappointed if someone robbed them of a chance for a better life."
Roundsman Terkelín gave a thoughtful nod.
Those poor kids and the staff at the orphanage... They could sure use a miracle right about now... he thought to himself.
- | - | - | -
Melza, 25th of Rainen, late evening, four days before St Nikenos Day
Ravan Hrámer was lying on his belly, atop one of the large joists connecting the rafters and holding up the roof of the warehouse. Concealed by the shadows near the roof, he was eavesdropping on the thieves below him.
"Some work you fellas did," whistled a tall, slightly balding human thug.
"Not to brag, but I was pretty important when we were getting to those coffers," chuckled a stoatman, in a typically mischievous stoatie voice.
"Yeah, yeah, that's him all right... Always ready to praise his own pelt," laughed another thief heartily, walking in on their conversation, drinking some beer from a hardy wooden mug. "You and the boys should watch those coffers. It's a pretty pile o' griffins. We don't want no one to find out we were behind the theft and that we have it here. This city's full of squealers, servin' the Watch, other thieves, or both sides."
"Eh, you always worry too much..."
Though there were only three of them now, by Hrámer's estimates, they were a gang of some nine to ten people. A new upstart gang, apparently. Little thieving outfits like this one are ten a griffin. There's a sucker born every four thankers, and each year, gangs like this pop up and disintegrate. Several times a year. If the Watch doesn't bust 'em up, they're done in by more skillful competition, or most likely of all, by their own petty infighting. Ravan Hrámer always felt it takes more to be a professional thief than just gumption and subterfuge.
Ravan himself was no brave and daring vigilante, fighting criminals and righting wrongs where the City Watch couldn't reach (either due to inability or due to corruption). Oh no. Ravan, a martenman, was a thief, just like the men below him. At the same time, he was not one of them, nor fond of them, nor did he share their attitude and methods. Ravan often thought that while the City Watch might have the impression thieves are all the same, the real differences were vast, with a lot of chaff and not that much wheat. Ravan wasn't one for judging, but he didn't feel this new gang has much of that necessary wheat, to keep on going. Another ten a griffin gang indeed...
The conversations of the upstarts below were starting to bore him. Luckily, he won't need to spend much more time here. As soon as they'll be more dispersed, with maybe just one of them nearby - sleepy, possibly drunk - he'll crawl out of this warehouse and head home.
This evening, he already did as much intel-gathering as he possibly could.
A good thing about the placement of the two coffers stolen not a day ago was that they were fairly close to the warehouse entrance. With a bit of luck and skill, one could slide them to the entrance, outside, and...
But he felt this is something he should leave for tomorrow. There was no use speculating too much about any further actions.
Looking at the height differences of the gang members below, just for comparison, he did a few basic estimates by eye about the size of the two identical coffers.
Soon, he carefully snuck out of the warehouse, the same way he entered, without laying a foot on the floor. Climbing was easy for the martenfolk, it came natural. And Ravan had the advantage of years and years to train these skills, ever since he was little.
After leaving the warehouse, he climbed and occassionally jumped from roof to roof, but after a few buildings passed, he started to climb back down to the street. He jumped down carefully into the fresh snow, looking around instinctively if some locals didn't see him. Honest people, criminals... in a place like this, he never felt too safe. Seems there were no watchmen here either. He began walking home.
Getting those two coffers looked promising... but also difficult. The warehouse, even though filled with all maner of cargo, was fairly easy to navigate and hide in. But that wasn't his main concern. He was worried about the weight of the coffers.
There's just no way I'll be able to get both of them out of there on my own, he pondered as he walked the night streets.
Though deep in thought, he payed attention to keeping distance between himself and any patrolmen of the Watch, or the Watch's guards with halberds at various gates, passages and other chokepoints.
Carrying it out of there piecemeal is a no-go from the outset. Freelancer or no, looks like I'll have to stoop to some... unorthodox methods this time. But I owe them one. It's been years, but part of why I'm still here is thanks to them, went his train of thought.
- | - | - | -
Melza, a few decades ago
The boy, a street urchin, was sitting near the facade of a house, on a busy street.
He had woken up just a short while ago, his dream interrupted. Like many dreams, it was just a vague jumble of shreds and pieces of past memories. Memories that were fairly recent, but might as well have been years old. Clambering up through one of the dormers of the orphanage, onto the roof, all under the cover of night... Shimmying down a drainpipe along the back facade of the building... And he was free, suddenly free again. Then he was attacked by a dragon or something. Oh well, dreams...
Sleepy eyes open, now he was back on the streets. The thing he knew best since early childhood. This was his third escape from the orphanage. He didn't understand why he needed to be there. He's old enough, twelve years or so, why should he stay there ? He's more comfortable out here. This is what he knows best.
He'll save some money first, then he'll find proper work, move up in the world sooner or later. Yes, that's it. There were many skillful marts like him in Melza, plenty of them living the good life, even if not all were wealthy. He looked at his own two furry hands. He was a cutpurse for now, but sooner or later, he'd have some money to start doing more honest work.
As he sat there, not long after noon, he decided to attempt some earnings for the day. He noticed an older human man passing by, one dressed like a craftsman or workshop worker, nothing fancy... and the pouch dangling from his belt. He got up and followed the man quietly in the crowd, sneaking ever more carefully as he approached him.
Finally, he layed his furry little hand on the simple unadorned pouch, ready to tug it off...
...and within an instant, felt the trained grab of the pouch's owner.
"Gotcha," said the man. The boy was struck by the man's speed... and the strangely dispassionate way he said that. As if he was bored.
Holding him tightly by the forearm, the man smiled at him, and raised his eyebrows with a hint of curiosity.
"My, my... It's been a while since I've come across a martie pickpocket as good as you. Most of the younguns who fall for the pouch are manfolk."
"Let me go, sir..." said the boy, no longer dazed with surprise. "I won't steal from you anymore, just let me go."
The man looked at him calmly, still having an iron grip on the boy's furry forearm.
"You certainly have talent, boy. There might be something in ya, some potential. Me and my friends, we have a need for people like you..."
"What ?" asked the boy, confused enough for three.
"We have a need for gifted people, such as yourself. Especially young people. If you want to learn an interesting trade, earn enough for a good life, you could try it at us. If you're willing to leave this life behind and start a new one, one that might be better, we'll welcome you."
"Sir, let me go... No. I don't think I need you to teach me a trade. I'll earn money myself."
"By pickpocketing, child ?" smiled the man. It was a somewhat sad smile. Though he seemed tough and grizzled, some of his hair already graying, he also seemed honest and cordial.
"Let me goooo !" the boy let out a slight but irritated growl, some of his non-human nature briefly coming to the fore.
"As you wish, boy," shrugged the man and complied.
The boy ran away, empty-handed.
After a few paces, he stopped to catch his breath, almost colliding with some local couple. He was scorned, told to watch where he's running.
Maybe this is what it will always be about, he thought. Being little more than a beggar and pickpocket. Something stirred in him.
He turned around, looking for the strange man he had just ran away from. He was already quite far away, nearing the other end of the street.
The boy hesitated a moment or two more, then sprinted after the man, dodging the crowds on the street.
He caught up with the man. The graying fellow heard his cry, turned around nonchalantly and nodded at the boy.
He offered the boy a handshake.
"Name ?" he asked dryly. "What do they call you ?"
"Ravan."
"Welcome."
The martenfolk boy didn't understand it yet, but he was the latest find of a recruiter from the Old Ditch Street Thieves' Guild.
As time passed, he had to admit that the accomodation and food at the guild were more satisfying than the best conditions at the orphanage.
Though what he would become an apprentice in wasn't exactly the honest trade he had hoped for and dreamt of...
- | - | - | -
Nikenos of Ryma was born into a fairly wealthy merchant family in the city of Ryma, famed for its sea-going trade.
Though he was raised in a comfortable life, his parents also taught him the importance of honest work, perserverance and not living idly.
(...)
One day, while he was walking the streets of the city, headed for the marketplace to buy olive oil, he came across an elderly woman.
The good-natured crone told him of a local family that were in need of help. Their son was sickly and needed a doctor. The family had fallen on hard times. They could not raise the money they needed to get the boy a skillful doctor, one that could help cure the worst of his unfortunate health. Worse yet, their daughters did not have an adequate dowry to get married and start their own families with their husbands. All seemed hopeless for the future of the family.
Nikenos was saddened by the old woman's bit of news, but he was also unsure what she wanted from him.
"Are you a relative of their's ?" he asked the woman.
"Oh, my dear lad... We are all each other's relatives... You still have much to learn. And you can make your first step now. Today. Help them."
"What would you want me to do ? Give you the money and you'll give it to them ? What if you are lying and wish to steal from me ?"
"I have no reason to steal from you, lad. I am just a weary old woman. I couldn't steal anything even if I wanted to. And I wouldn't steal, because it is not right. I wouldn't steal even for that family in need. But they do need help. I hear your family has enough wealth to share. Maybe you could spare some of your coin to help that family, good lad."
"Well, that would be rather noble, but can I trust them ? What if they misspend the money on something else ? What it they trick me ?"
"It is good to be prudent, young man, but it is also very important to trust in your fellow man and woman. Especially those in need."
Nikenos hesitated. He wasn't sure how to answer.
"You never know when you might need help yourself, lad. Giving is good. Especially if you have little yourself and show generosity."
"Perhaps. However, I don't take commands from you, old woman. When I'll be in the mood to help someone, to give to someone, I'll do it."
"I understand. Good luck to you, lad. And if you remember that family in need, don't be afraid to help them. They will be very grateful."
The old lady walked down the street towards the marketplace, vanishing in the crowds of people selling and buying wares.
Nikenos never saw her again. But it would not be the last time he was challenged to offer generosity.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 26th of Rainen, evening, three days before St Nikenos Day
From the corner of his eye, Ravan noticed the man enter the small alley from behind the corner. He heard the quiet unsheathing of a sword.
He looked back at the member of the Swiftfingers. Waiting there, watching him patiently, sword in hand. Then he looked forward again.
She was already standing there, near a dimly lit light source, but initially obscured by shadows. There was a subtle sound of unsheathing and Ravan stared at the blade pointed towards him from a short distance. Though the woman wore a warm cloak with a hood, appropriate for this weather, he could still recognise her face.
"Well, well, well..." she smiled at him. "I haven't seen you around in quite a while."
Ravan shrugged.
"Nice, fancy messer. A new one ? Love the clam shell guard on the nagel."
"Hm, I reckon you like it. But I doubt you've come here to compliment my new sword. What would you want from my guild ?"
"Théka, I wouldn't bother to contact you or anyone of the Swiftfingers if I didn't feel I needed... help. Yeah, yeah, I know."
She nearly laughed out loud, but like all thieves, she had a habit of avoiding being too loud outside of safe locations. So, she chuckled instead.
"What's the matter, Ravan ? After all these years as a dogged, stubborn freelancer, you suddenly come begging other thieves for assistance ? I'll admit, I'm not affronted. Just perplexed. Why now, all of a sudden ?" as if to punctuate her question, she slid the blade of her elegantly hilted messer back into its scabbard.
Théka Abaúja was one of the few female leaders of an organisation of professional thieves in Melza. Women leading guilds or even just fellowships of thieves were still a rare sight, and Abaúja was an outlier in both regards. In her late thirties or maybe just above forty years of age, she had already led the Swiftfingers guild for a number of years. A guild she herself patiently and painstakingly founded. She commanded respect without being arrogant or resorting to predictable charm, and she had some rough-and-tumble credentials of her own, as evidenced by a faint scar running down one of her cheeks.
"Why now ?" retorted Ravan, almost cheerfully. "Because I feel now's the right time. What I intend to pull off is a very small job in the grand scheme of things, but this is one job where I could use a helper, if not an outright partner."
"So you've come to beg for reinforcements, numbering a single person..." Abaúja smiled.
"There are more charitable ways of stating that." Ravan grinned at her.
"Next thing you'll tell me is that you want to recruit me for this little effort of your's..." she paused. "Tell me, is it something personal ? I wouldn't expect you'd go to such lengths, just because of a small job."
"Personal ? Well, you could say so."
"Honestly, I'm rather surprised. I thought I heard you state, already years ago, that you don't like making any job too sentimental."
"The reasons behind that job are none of your business."
"Oh, indeed. And it's none of your business to ask any of my guildsmen to help you with this tomfoolery of your's," she replied, somewhat sternly, before mellowing out. "Look, Ravan, you're a pro, I have no doubts about that... But I just don't have a single person I could lend, not even for a day or two."
"What ? No one at all ?"
"I'm sorry."
"And the reason ? Has your guild had a shortage of manpower lately ? Or is it something I did ? Oh... Let me guess... That whole hullabaloo between your guild and me last year ? Yep, that's got to be it. You fine gents and ladies weren't thrilled that I beat you to the punch, ey ?"
"I'd say it's a factor in our refusal, yes," sighed Théka. "Though not the only one, believe me. To cut to the chase, we're planning some big things for the upcoming months and to run a tight, happy ship of a guild, we need all hands on deck. I will tell you no more. Again, I'm sorry, but now is not the time. I'm not in the mood to lend you any of my fellow guildsmen, not even for a small job. You'll just have to get resourceful."
"Thanks for nothing."
She sniggered a bit, walked over to him and looked him in the eyes. She raised her palm and touched his face gently.
"Ravan, Ravan... Pity you were not born a human. I've often wondered whether you'd be a handsome man if you were..."
"Very tedious teasing. I thought you were an opponent of womanly wiles, Théka. Doesn't suit your fiercely independent and capable image."
"Oh," she did a pretend-affronted face. "Capability is about using the right tools in the toolbox, deary. Sometimes, even teasing..."
"Yeah, but I get the impression you like to tease others for the sheer fun of it."
Théka grinned at him, mischievously.
"All right, thieving maestro... That's all I've got to say. Have a nice winter."
She turned her gaze to the street, nodding at the underlings, and started walking away. Ravan thought there was only one other member of the Swiftfingers behind him, but no, another one quietly emerged from the shadows, near-perfectly hidden. Skillful... Maybe shadowblade training... thought Ravan. He stood there for a while longer and weighed his options.
- | - | - | -
(...)
Some two weeks after meeting the old woman, Nikenos walked to the marketplace to buy some new goods for the family business.
To his unpleasant surprise, he found a human man beating someone up with a wooden club. The man was beating a biped. One with clawed paws instead of feet and legs with nails, the head with a pronounced dog-like muzzle, the body covered in fur, but clothed, in humble attire.
"You mangy goodfornothing ! This market is reserved for real people, not vile monsters like you !" yelled the angry club-wielder.
The beastman was exhausted, his wounds betrayed a harsh beating. His voice, though somewhat gruff, sounded weak and desperate.
"No, sir, I beg you, I don't mean any harm... I am not here to steal anything..."
"Liar ! You are a lying monster ! Cry all you want, no one will help you."
"Ohhh..." breathed the beastman in pain, clearly feeling hopeless.
Nikenos wasn't quite sure why he made the decision he did. He decided to speak up.
"Stop ! You must not kick a man when he is down. You've nearly killed this poor fellow !"
"So what ?! And man ?! Poor fellow ? He is no man, but a monster ! His presence brings shame to this fair city !"
"He didn't do anything wrong."
"He's a bag of fleas, a filthy beggar ! Twisted and bent, not to be trusted ! Why, he isn't even a man, he's a mere beast !"
Nikenos ignored the thuggish man's words and walked over to the wounded beastman. The thug walked away, laughing dismissively as he went. Though people had turned to watch the commotion for a short while, most of them had already turned their backs on the scene.
"Don't mind me, lad. Maybe he is right. I'm a bag of fleas, bringing shame on this marketplace and on this city. Look around. They fear me."
"Well, I'm not so sure. You are wounded. Maybe I could help you. If you can, please follow me and I'll provide you with the things needed to treat your wounds. If you're hungry, I can also offer some soup."
"Oh, you good lad... Truly ?"
"Yes, truly. I don't think you deserve to get a beating merely because you're... a different thinking breed."
"Ah, if only more people thought like you, in this city and many others. There are many good souls here, I know that, but many are clouded..."
"Follow me, then."
Nikenos allowed the beastman to follow him home. The beastman waited patiently at the door, then Nikenos let him in and showed him the atrium at the other end of the entrance hallway. He allowed the beastman to sit down at the table in the atrium, with some healing items placed on the table. The beastman didn't hesitate and began to quietly and patiently tend to his wounds.
A short while later, Nikenos brought him some tasty soup. The humble beastman ate quietly, made no remarks. Once he was finished, he stood up from the table, gave Nikenos a friendly handshake and thanked him. He said he needs to be on his way. As soon as he was back on the street, he turned to Nikenos one last time and said: "Many blessings on those who help and give. Blessings on you, kind Nikenos."
As the beastman left, Nikenos frowned, for he had not introduced himself by name. How could this man have known his name was Nikenos ?
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 27th of Rainen, evening, two days before St Nikenos Day
There was some muffled commotion in the hallway. Temav Arpols, leader of the Old Ditch Street Thieves' Guild, looked up from his desk.
The wooden door swung open rather swiftly, with a faint creak.
Ravan calmly walked inside the humble office, comfortably wrapped up in his winter clothing and cloak. An exasperated-looking guard of the guild compound stood behind him, shaking his head.
"Well, well... Haven't seen you in a while," intoned Temav, sounding almost bored.
"Thanks for the warm welcome, Tem," replied Ravan, with a hint of bemusement.
"Famous loner that you are, what brings you 'ere ? Let me guess... This is one of those rare moments, ey ? You need help and you've come to beg for some support from your old friends."
Ravan chuckled. Arpols raised his eyebrows, rather unimpressed.
"Ravan, give me one reason why I shouldn't call a few more guards and have them chuck you out into the snow. Oh, and on top of that, I might send one of our field agents to give the City Watch some... interesting details about your whereabouts..."
"Temi, Temi boy... You and the other ladies and gents of this fine establishment do that, and I'll be very open to giving the Watch some tips on your compound and many of your safehouses. What a present they'd receive..."
Temav giggled, then laughed heartily.
"Snap, snap, puppy..." he smiled at Ravan mischievously.
"The holidays are coming. St Nik's Day in a few days time, the Irim community's Holiday of Light a little later, then there's Pilgrimas in three weeks time. Tis' the season to be jolly, and all those other well-worn phrases. Where's your sense of generosity ?"
"Ravan, I'll humour ya, ol' fool that I am, but answer just one question: Why do you need a helper ? Why now ? What's the urgent job ?"
"A job I consider important, and with loot that needs a helper to deal with. Bear in mind, if I gather any intel that could benefit you Ditchers in the future, I'll gladly share it."
"Something for something. I like that." Temav smiled. "Whatever your mysterious job, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."
"I need someone who's good at sneaking out some coffers. Warehouses, storerooms, moderate amount of guards last time I snooped around... If you can spare a single helper, someone technically inclined. We'll need to get them out of there quietly, swiftly, maybe with some alternating cover."
"I might have just the thing. He's a bit green, but a very talented fella," pondered Temav, elbows propped against his desk. He nodded at the patiently waiting guard. "Call Frodikshin to my office. I think we have a real learning experience for him."
While they waited for the guard to return, Ravan tried to figure out who the surname Frodikshin could belong to. It sounded Ursanian-influenced.
The guard returned soon, accompanied by a young man shorter than Ravan, but more than a head taller than Temav.
A face without a clear chin, a pointy nose, subtle fur, spines instead of hair. A hedgehogman.
He introduced himself as Mürtli. Ravan nodded and shook his hand.
"Mürtli. Mürtli Frodikshin," said the hedger. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," replied Ravan. "Mr. Arpols here tells me that you're a promising new member of the guild. A bit of a technical wizkid even, bar none. One of the best in the city's thieving underground," he elaborated, partly to test the reaction of this Ditcher greenhorn.
Mürtli looked at Temav, seemingly flattered. "Oh, Mr. Arpols, what did you tell him ? Sure, I'm pretty good in a number of areas, but... Well, I'm not exactly that amazing."
"He's a humble boy, that Mürtli," chuckled Temav, stood up from his desk and walked over to the hedgehogman. As a rarach, Arpols was still almost a whole head shorter than Mürtli. It wasn't that unheard of to have rarachs in leading positions in the thieving world, but much like Théka, a man as short as Temav being the boss was not that frequent a thing. "Seems you might have your first bigger assignment, lad. Mr. Hrámer would need an assistant for a smaller job, but a job he considers important."
"Ooh ! A proper heist ?"
"Not quite," explained Ravan. "I think it would be best to call it a..." he searched for the right expression, "...an 'economical caper', yes."
"Could you be more specific ?"
"Basically, just me and an assistent, we try to nab the goods in the simplest way possible. The planning should reflect that. Oh, yeah, and we're doing a warehouse in this job, a bit further from the northern docks at Oldport. Two larger coffers, griffin lucre. Ideally, ghosting it as best as possible."
Mürtli whistled briefly, raising his eyebrows.
"Not bad... Sounds like a challenge for just two people."
"To an extent, yes. On the upside, there's also a lowered risk of getting caught, given that we'll handle it ourselves."
"You're saying that as if you were already determined to hire me for the job, sir," said Mürtli
"He's a perceptive type," Ravan looked at Temav. "You should keep 'im, he might get far among you Ditchers. Maybe even become a new boss one day, once you retire."
Temav did a sour smile, then looked at Frodikshin.
"So, what say you, kid ? Are you going to team up with Hrámer for this one job ?"
"I haven't done that many big assignments yet, this would top everything so far. Would be a baptism of fire, for sure..."
He hesitated thoughtfully, then offered another handshake to Ravan.
"All right, Mr. Hrámer, I'll take it. I'm sure it'll be a great learning experience."
"Glad to have you as a helper. I'll pay you well. Not from the loot, I have certain reasons for why it needs to remain intact, but I'll pay you from my own iron reserve."
"Sounds good to me."
"Then good luck, lad," intoned Temav, looking upward. "And don't forget to return to your fellow guildsmen once the job's carried out," he grinned at Mürtli. "And you, Ravan, I hope you won't lure this young talent away from us. Understand ?"
"I have no such intention," remarked Ravan, with a faint smile. "I'm not in the mood to recruit any helpers full-time."
- | - | - | -
(...)
Under the cover of night, young Nikenos left the house of his family for a secret excursion.
He was carrying a pouch filled with valuable coins he had gathered from his own savings.
After passing through about a third of Ryma, he found the street with the house the old woman had told him about.
The house of the unfortunate family.
Only one window of the family's house was accessible from the street. Nikenos made sure no one was watching him and peered inside.
Several days before he picked up the courage to carry out this deed in secrecy, Nikenos walked around the city and gathered knowledge on the doctors of Ryma from people in the know. He was determined to learn of the most skillful doctor in the city, a doctor that could help the family's ill son, as well as learn how much money it would likely cost to cover the necessary expenses for the whole treatment.
During the last day, Nikenos became hesitant about his plan. He wondered whether the whole plan isn't mere folly. But deep down, something pestered him. The old woman's warm-hearted reminescenting about the family, the beastman's humble and grateful nature... Some recent events he had experienced told him that he had made the right decision.
Now that he was looking inside, seeing the dark outlines of a room, he noticed faintly that there was something beneath the inner side of the windowsill. He couldn't make it out clearly, but it seemed like a pair of sandals or shoes. He also noticed that the window wasn't entirely shut, opened slightly to provide cool air flowing in during the night. However, the rest of the window was latched shut.
Looking around and unsure where else he could leave the pouch with money without someone else taking it, he decided for the only option.
Nikenos carefully pushed the pouch with the money through the slightly open window, and when he couldn't hold it any longer, he let go.
The pouch fell straight onto the footwear under the windowsill. Nikenos felt surprised by this unusual place of delivering a gift, but felt at ease.
Slowly and quietly, he walked back home and snuck into his bed. Though he still had some doubts, they were subsiding. He felt calm and pleasant.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 27th of Rainen, evening, two days before St Nikenos Day
They arrived at Hrámer's flat. It was a predictably humble, but rather cosy and tidy abode. A table, a small fireplace, a desk, a bed, some storage spaces... Whitewashed walls slowly turning yellow, two windows providing all the light inside.
"Make yourself at home," said Ravan, sounding tired. He leaned down to the fireplace, flint and firesteel in hand, and started making sparks to light the fire bundle he already had prepared.
Mürtli sat down on the small wooden bench next to the table.
"Ah, there we go !" proclaimed Ravan and started subtly blowing air into the fire bundle until it was burning nicely. He put it back in the fireplace and placed some kindling on top. "Admittedly, it's not much, but it's home..." he said, standing up and gazing into the growing fire.
"It's not bad."
"Would you care for some food ?" he looked at Mürtli. "I have some leftover goulash in the kettle, if you're hungry."
"Thank you, but it won't be necessary."
"You don't have to worry. I might be an old bachelor, but I've never acquired food poisoning from my own cooking. Yet." he proclaimed, adding a bit of levity.
Mürtli shrugged.
"Frodikshin..." Ravan pondered the family name. "Does that name have some Ursanian roots ?"
"Oh... I myself was born in Melza."
"A native Cittan, like me and the others, then ?"
"Pretty much... Well, and my parents immigrated to Melza before I was born. They're originally from Upper Lokytia. And on my father's side... From what I remember, his side of the family has some ancestors either in Ursania, or with Ursanian roots. Or ones in the Hetmanate, maybe. But since at least the great-grandfather, the family's been Lokytian. And now it's also Melzan." he explained, smiling.
Ravan nodded with appreciation.
"All right, Mr. Frodikshin, let's get down to business. I wouldn't like to bother you for too long, it's already evening," continued Ravan, then walked over to a section of the wall and unlatched a secret compartment. He shoved his hand inside and pulled out a map of the city. He spread it across the table. It was a fairly old map, but updated by hand where possible. Ravan weighed down its edges with some items that were lying around. He pressed his clawed index finger against one of the structures built a little further away from one of the city's main ports.
"Hm, so that's the warehouse with the coffers..." nodded Mürtli.
Ravan took a piece of paper and started sketching out the rough appearance of the warehouse facade, loading area and entrances.
"It's going to be a bit tricky, given that the loading area isn't level with the ground around the warehouse. But if we can sneak those coffers outside, getting them down shouldn't be that big an issue."
"I'm sure you're already brainstorming ideas, kid."
"If you provide more intel, they'll get more and more specific," remarked the young hedger. "One of my main concerns right now is transporting those two coffers out of there after we get them outside the warehouse..." he looked at the sketch again, then at the map, then back at the sketch, furrowing his eyebrows. "I suppose using one of the new-fangled motorwagons is out of the question..."
"Yes. They're not seen that often around that particular warehouse cluster, so aside from the noise, it could raise suspicion by its presence alone."
"At the same time, I doubt you want to haul those two coffers by hand, wherever you want to take them."
"Certainly not. And, honestly, a cart could be rather rickety and unwieldy at this time of the year."
"That settles it. We'll use a sledge. There's plenty of snow everywhere in the city, an ordinary sledge should be able to carry two coffers and do it relatively silently. Certainly quieter than even a decent cart would be, in either summer or winter."
"I agree. Though I'm not sure where we could get a sled. Any ideas ?"
"Sure. We might have one at our guild's compound. I also have an acquaintance in one of the northeastern boroughs, he might have a smaller freight sled he could lend us. You know, a flatbed, or the hornsled sort, used by some of the woodcutters out in the countryside, in the mountains."
"I'm hardly an expert on sleds, so I'll take your word for it. Try to find us a good pair of runners, ones that can carry two heavier coffers on snow, and we'll be golden..."
"Consider it done ! I have a few questions of my own."
"Go ahead..."
"Getting the coffers down from the loading platform. If we get the sledge in front of it, a little further away, parked horizontally, we could slide the coffers down onto the sled. But we'll need something that could serve as a temporary ramp. Wooden planks or something similar..."
"When I looked around during my last recon, there were plenty of longer, thick planks in the vicinity of the warehouse. Two or three propped against the loading platform..."
"Sounds good," said Mürtli. Though he was trying to hide it behind his typical calm demeanour, one could still sense a bit of excitement in the young thief's voice. Clearly, he was looking forward to using at least some of his mechanical knowledge and skills for the upcoming caper. "Mr. Hrámer..."
"Just call me Ravan, kiddo... It's briefer."
"Right... Concealment. It'll seem awfully suspicious if we're hauling around two coffers on a wooden sled. Not that people wouldn't sometimes do that at winter time, but it's still a very rare sight. We need to hide those two coffers either before or during their loading onto the sled."
"You have a smart noggin on your neck, kid. So, what do you suggest we use for concealment while hauling them out of there ?"
"Did you take any measurements of the coffers ? At least roughly, by eye."
Ravan hummed, pondering.
"I did a rough estimate, though I obviously couldn't measure them up close. I didn't even touch the floor of the warehouse, it was safer topside," he explained.
"I'd like you to write down the dimensions of the two coffers. Once I get back to our guild compound, I'll try to fashion a crate with a lid. We'll put the crate on the sled, load the two coffers in there, cover them with the crate lid, and haul the coffers out of there on the sled."
"Great ! I'll write you down the dimensions."
"What about disguises ? You probably won't need one, but..."
"Good point. I don't think I can contact anyone on time to acquire one, but feel free to look around your Ditchers' compound. Maybe you can dig up some dock worker or warehouse worker clothes that might fit you."
"Will do."
"Also, I think we need to talk about the signals we'll use and the timing. As you've no doubt surmised by this point, we'll be doing this in a very minimalist way."
"Avoiding even a chance of alerting that band, right ?"
"That's the idea. We'll ghost it, as we say in the business. You can treat it as a live exercise for a heist. Get in quick, get the goods, get 'em out quick, leave the premises, leave as little evidence behind as possible."
"I approve of us doing this as clean as possible, but at the same time, what about any backup plans ?" asked the hedger.
"One or two knockout arrows in my quiver if things go south. I'll also take a single flashbomb, have it on my belt. To tell you the truth, if we'd have to resort to dazing anyone or putting them to sleep, we've already failed a bit. I really want this to go as smoothly as possible. Difficult, I know, but I have my reasons."
The hedgehogman's expression was inquisitive, even if he didn't say anything.
"To cut a long story short," said Ravan, "I want to teach those guys a lesson. I think they crossed a line by stealing those two full coffers, did a thing that's dishonorable of any true thief worth his salt. You might think I'm being vague right now, but if the whole job goes well, you'll see what I mean. All in due time."
"All right. I trust your word on that."
"Did you learn the hand signals properly at your guild ?"
"Fairly sure I did..."
"Right. I'm going to give you a little exam straight away, just to see whether the Ditchers have any divergent signals I might not know."
Wordlessly, he started showing Mürtli various gestures, waiting for the hedger to answer quickly. As the impromptu exam went on, Ravan's confidence in their little warehouse caper grew...
- | - | - | -
(...)
A week after the beastman departed, Nikenos looked out into the street from his doorstep, early in the morning.
Suddenly, there was the sound of baskets falling and some pots getting smashed.
"Oh, no !" he heard the sigh and slight sob of a woman.
He ran to one end of the street, a few houses away, and saw a young woman sitting haplessly on the paved surface, as if she had just fallen. There was a large basket lying next to her, with backpack straps, and some of its contents had fallen out onto the street. Jugs, mugs, simple plates and other humble pottery had been smashed, its shards spread nearby.
The young woman held her face in her palms, sighing, and wiping off a tear from under her eye.
Nikenos leaned down to her.
"Madam, are you all right ? Are you injured ?"
"No. Thankfully, I am all right..." she sighed.
"I am sorry your pottery has been smashed. Such accidents sometimes happen. Can I help you with anything ?"
She looked him in the eyes. There was something about her face he found rather striking. She was a young lady with a rather thin figure. Her hair had a dark brown colour, though somewhat lighter than his. Strangest were her dark blue eyes. Such eyes were a rare sight in his homeland. Perhaps she had ancestry somewhere further in the north or even the wild steppes and arid mountains of the west and northwest. Her face was very ordinary, but gave a gentle impression. She blushed and smiled bashfully while he tried to make sure she's all right.
"Thank you, sir, you're a kind-hearted lad. Please help me stand up and we'll see what we can do with that pottery."
He brought an old sack from his family's house, collected the broken shards in the sack. He put the basket on his back and promised to accompany the girl to where she was originally headed. She didn't allow him to carry the small sack with the shards, and kindly asked him to give it to her. They set off.
He couldn't help but notice her steps were lithe and effortless. When she walked, it was almost as if she wasn't touching the ground with her feet.
During their walk together, they talked. To his surprise, Nikenos learned that the young woman was a relative of one of the three daughters the old crone has spoke of. The daughters from the same family as the ailing, unfortunate son that he had already given a secret gift to. Nikenos decided not to tell her about this gift-giving. Deep inside, he felt it should remain a secret.
"Do you think someone could help those unfortunate young women ?" asked the girl at one point, seemingly deep in thought.
"Who knows," remarked Nikenos. "I am sure there are a fair few kind-hearted people in the world who might consider it."
"I feel the same. Though, sometimes, I have the impression people will just stand by idly and wait for someone else to help. Maybe some are afraid to commit good openly."
Eventually, Nikenos and the girl arrived to the border of a poor quarter of the city. The girl let out a bashful giggle.
"Well, here we are. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day and I'll be able to sell more wares at the market. Thank you so much for helping me with the load."
"Oh, it was no bother at all, don't mention it," replied Nikenos, and hesitated for a moment. "I'm very sorry your relatives have such misfortune. Hopefully things will change for the better."
"I hope so too. Though with good people like you in this world, I am very confident that there will be a good turn of events."
"Someone will help them, surely," Nikenos did a somewhat sad, but hopeful smile.
To his surprise, the girl did a step closer, took him gently by the hand and fondling it, smiled at him. She still seemed bashful.
"Blessed are those who give to others. Especially those who give selflessly."
Nikenos thought of her as plain but pretty, but he did not feel any lust in her presence. He felt a strange peace, like few times in his life. His parents would no doubt pester him about the pretty girl he met, if he'd ever mention her. Lament about finding a bride and keeping the family line going... Whatever they'd think, he felt a great inner peace as she fondled his hand and looked him in the eyes. As if they were old friends, since time immemorial.
"Those who give to others with an honest heart, without showing off, give far more than they could ever fathom," she told him in her gentle, bashful voice.
He didn't quite know what to say, and merely nodded. She smiled at him and gave him a kind hug. He hugged her back and felt great inner peace.
As he walked away from the place where he parted with the kind girl, he thought long and hard about the events of recent weeks.
He felt that, though no one or very few would ever learn of it, he would repeat his act of gift-giving.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 28th of Rainen, late evening, one day before St Nikenos Day
The ringing of a few ship bells occassionally echoed through the cold night air, spreading from the nearby dock area.
The masts of various riverine cargo ships could be seen from afar, standing defiantly tall. Almost like the trunks of lone, dried up spruces in a vast winter forest. Some of the ships and large boats were trapped among the frozen ice floes on the wide Melza river.
They met up not too far from the warehouse. Both of them went to the meeting place by a separate route, to minimise the chances of getting caught. Mürtli brought along a decent wooden freight sledge. He was wearing warm clothing, and beneath it, the clothes of a warehouse worker.
"Pulling it all the way here was pretty easy. There's loads of snow, and though I put some extra grease on the runners so that pulling the coffers will be easy, the runners were sliding with complete ease when I headed here," explained the young hedger, talking quietly.
"I've noticed you've also built the crate for the coffers and lashed it to the sled. Great work. Did it take long ?"
"Not that much, though I was still putting the finishing touches on it this afternoon."
"Let's hope it'll work well... Per plan, I'll sneak ahead, and once I reach the vicinity of the warehouse, I'll leave you a few planks and other aids, and hide behind some crates. You do your stuff, then I'll give you the signal, etcetera..."
Mürtli nodded and started pulling the sled in the direction of the warehouse.
Ravan ran a bit ahead, hiding as he went along. He eventually reached the pile of planks near the loading area. The loading platform in front of the warehouse entrance was lit by a burning lamp, though only from one side. Ravan scooped off snow from three planks of adequate size and two heftier blocks of wood, then dragged them a bit closer to the warehouse. He was very careful to avoid approaching the lit area, staying in the shadows. He could have put out the fire from afar, but the plan called for things developing as incospicuously as possible. Once Ravan was done with the initial preparations, he quickly hid behind some large stacked crates and wooden barrels.
Mürtli arrived at the scene soon, pulling the sledge with the attached crate, whistling some tune and murmuring some pleasantly-sounding nonsense. It was all an act, of course, to raise the chances he'd seem ordinary if someone stumbled upon him outside the warehouse. Humming, the young hedgehogman pulled the sled in front of the warehouse's loading platform, a short distance away, but parallel to the platform. He then strolled around the area a bit, carefully looking around as he went. It seemed all was clear...
Mürtli coughed three times in close succession, though doing his best to pretend these were natural coughs. Then he started whistling the melody of a popular local folk song, The Muddy Banks of Melza. A favourite of local fishermen, especially ones who've had a bit more mead, wine or beer than necessary. That was the signal for Ravan.
The martenman thief turned the bowcase he carried on his back to a more accessible angle, and pulled out his shortbow. Mürtli had previously noticed a latchet crossbow stashed away in Ravan's flat and was surprised to see him bring a bow instead. But as Ravan explained to him, though that light crossbow was fast to span and reload, he wanted something a bit more powerful and with a slightly higher rate of shot. As good as his crossbow was, this wasn't a job where it would be all that useful compared to his shortbow.
Now, still hidden behind the crates and barrels, he pulled out a dousing arrow. Even while it was still in the quiver, he could easily recognise it in the shadows by its feather fletching, dyed to a faint blue colour.
Under usual circumstances, he only used dousing arrowheads filled with ordinary water, nothing fancy. But on occassions like this one, when he needed to douse a fairly large open fire, one that was perhaps harder to put out due to chemical substances used on the lamp, he needed something more powerful. This particular dousing arrow had its glass arrowhead filled with a special, nearly see-through fluid one could buy on the black market from certain alchemists. It was a good deal more expensive than using water. But against potentially stronger outside light sources powered by fire, it was far more of a sure bet...
Holding the bowstave with his right hand, Ravan nocked the dousing arrow against the bowstring with his left hand, quickly estimated the distance, took aim. He had a little flip-up metal sight attached to his preferred side of the stave for aiming, but this evening, he didn't intend to use it. The distance wasn't too great, he could cover it by eye alone. He breathed in, held his breath, and finally pulled the bowstring back along with the arrow. He released the arrow right away. It flew in a shallow arc and hit the wall just above the burning lamp. There was a slight shattering sound of glass and the liquid, falling from above, washed over the lamp. The lamp went dim almost immediately, its final light dimming like a candle put out by someone pinching his fingers against an already dim wick.
Mürtli crouched down and started slowly walking up the loading platform, stopping at the warehouse entrance. With the one prominent light source in front of the warehouse extinguished, they now had a certain amount of time to get the job done.
Ravan was looking around from his hideout, spying if none of the gang members or anyone else was approaching. Seems they're alone after all... His left hand was on the back end of another arrow in his quiver, this one with fletching dyed to a greenish colour. If anyone would approach and start getting nosy, he had a knockout arrow ready. It wouldn't be the cleanest possible result, leaving behind a napping gang member after he received a face full of sleeping gas from the button-tipped cylindrical arrowhead... But it was still a more desirable and professional outcome than killing someone and making things even worse. Thankfully, if everything goes well, no one will be getting knocked out or injured tonight. And no one will have a clue that someone stole the two coffers.
Ravan put his bow back in the slim bowcase on his back and carefully sprinted over to the blocks and planks. First, he lifted the blocks and weighed down the front and back end of the sledge, propping the blocks against the ground and snow to prevent the sled from tipping over. He also lifted the lid of the wooden crate attached to the sled. Then he turned to one of the planks, picked it up and carried it to the sled.
In the meantime, Mürtli was hard at work picking the lock of the entrance door. They were only going to open the door, fiddling with the main gate would draw too much attention. Ravan waited patiently, but hoped the hedger would get a move on. Every lost moment made things potentially worse...
He didn't have to wait for long, Mürtli put away his lockpicks in a rather worn looking pouch on his belt, then carefully opened the door. He peered inside, then turned towards Ravan and showed him a series of all-clear signals, just as they had discussed yesterday evening. He sneaked over to the edge of the loading platform and grabbed one end of the plank handed to him by the martenman. They put it into place, with Ravan's end placed at the edge of the crate on the sled. Ravan brought the second plank, then the third one, and they put them into place in the same manner. Ravan then showed Mürtli several signals to notify him of coming to help. The hedger complied with a few gestures.
Ravan often felt that the various popular "griffin awfuls", as they were called, tended to greatly exaggerate certain aspects of thievery, heists and capers. Sure, it payed to be prudent, plan ahead, mind the environment and adjust it to your advantage... But unlike what the griffin awfuls claimed, good thieves never wasted too much time on any caper. As he had reiterated to Mürtli yesterday evening, before they parted:
You can't be speedy and rush it, but you need to be swift and fluent. The longer you take, the more you rush, the more mistakes you make. You've gotta get in, get it done, get out, leave the premises. The larger the loot and the harder it is to get it out of some location, the swifter you've gotta be. And we need to be really swift on this job...
Knock on wood, time-wise, they were doing well. The two coffers hadn't been moved much from where Ravan saw them a few days ago, so him and his helper from the Ditchers didn't have to move the coffers all that much, with the loading platform only a short distance away. They had to be more careful while passing through the somewhat narrow door, but soon enough, the first coffer was outside. Ravan and Mürtli checked if it was locked, then placed it on the upper end of the planks, and shoved it downward. The coffer slowly slid to the lower end of the planks and landed near-perfectly in the crate. They quickly returned for the second coffer, carried it outside and slid it down the planks.
Mürtli shut the door into the warehouse and ran down to adjust the coffers in the crate. Ravan ran under the lamp. He picked up the spent dousing arrow, as well as any glass shards of the arrowhead he could find in the snow. Ravan took off his bowcase and quiver, put the shards in the bowcase and the arrow shaft in the quiver, then walked over to the sled and placed both cases in the remaining empty space in the crate. They closed the wooden lid of the crate, threw a tarp over it, then removed the planks and blocks from the sled, putting them next to the storage crates and barrels nearby. Ravan grabbed the reins of the sledge, nodded towards Mürtli, who grabbed his set of reins. Both of them started to pull the sled, with the two coffers concealed inside the crate, leaving the warehouse behind.
When they were at a safe enough distance, several streets away, Mürtli suddenly burst out into a chuckle.
"What ?!" whispered Ravan impatiently. "Keep it down, kid."
"Oh, nothing... I just thought..." he giggled quietly. "I just thought that we're a bit like St Niky right now. You know... The folk tradition, with him and the sled, or sleigh, delivering presents to happy children."
"Hm, all right."
"Who would have thought two thieves would be doing such a delivery to... erm, to wherever we're delivering it. You still haven't told me."
"Don't worry, kiddo, you'll see. I think you'll have a pleasant surprise. Trust me, there's no double-cross in this. I'm not that kind of thief."
Mürtli nodded approvingly. And then asked a question...
"Did you know that in some countries, the tradition goes that St Nikenos' sleigh is pulled by reindeer, but in others, it's pulled by horses ? Here in Melza, it's horses... Often white, often grey, but any old horses will do when the holiday's celebrated in public."
"You and your trivia. Yeah, yeah, I know..."
"Oh, oh, and in some countries, though not here, there's a tradition that St Nik apparently enters people's houses for gift-giving through the chimney. Imagine that ! The chimney. Not just putting some presents on the windowsill or into shoes, or... shoes put on windowsills. Ha !"
Ravan sighed.
"Wait, good old St Nik goes down through the chimney ? Really ?!" he scoffed. "I suppose I'm not fond of modern trends, then..."
Mürtli chuckled quietly.
"Ultimately, all traditions are invented," he noted, in that slightly intellectual way of his.
"What's next ? Some clockwork doll of St Nik, clapping out Pilgrimas carol melodies and wishing everyone a fine winter solstice ?"
"Actually," said Mürtli, sizzing a bit awkwardly, then smiling. "I recently read an article in a newspaper about some enterprising inventor in... Dumnonia, I think... doing just that !"
Ravan sighed again.
"Almost as bad as those wind-up music box clockwork carps that one of our local inventors made a few years ago," Ravan sighed again and grumbled a bit. "Musical fish to hang on a wall, good grief... I'm no artiste, but that's some Grade One kitsch. You couldn't even fence the stuff..."
"I think my uncle twice removed bought one of those, for his cottage..." chuckled Mürtli.
- | - | - | -
(...)
To his surprise, the shoes seen beneath the window seemed to belong to the women of the house. The young women.
Nikenos was surprised at their placement, but did not ponder it too deeply. The shoes had all been cleaned recently. Though the family was poor, it was still cleanly.
He had padded the bottoms of the three pouches, to prevent the coins from ringing. One by one, the pouches fell on top of the young women's shoes. One pouch for each daughter, each pouch with a handsome sum that should be more than enough for their dowry.
As Nikenos snuck away and quietly walked the darkened streets of Ryma, he once again thought about the events of the last month.
He was now much less wealthy, having given three quarters of his personal savings to help this family in need. If his parents found out, they would be furious and disbelieving. Why be so generous to others, and do it in such a sneaky manner ? Why not exclaim it loudly ? Why not hire members of the family to earn their own coin, like Nikenos' family had earned ? Weren't these mere handouts, rather than gifts ?
Many questions gnawed at him and he silently wrestled with them as he walked home...
However, in the depth of his heart, he knew he had made the right decision.
Somewhat later, he would chance upon news that the family had found enough money for their daughters' dowries. Receiving a gift once more from a mysterious benefactor.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 28th of Rainen, approaching midnight, shortly before St Nikenos Day
"Ah, so that's it..." whispered Mürtli as they reached the orphanage on Mulberry Street. "I heard about the theft at this orphanage. Not something any of my guildsmen would do. I didn't realise the coffers are from there. That's actually nice of you, working so hard to return the money to the children."
"So you're skillful and you've got some basic morals... All right, I'm now pretty confident the new generation of thieves isn't entirely hopeless."
"With all due respect sir, I don't really believe you're that jaded about us younger thieves. Or most other thieves, for that matter."
"Right. It's been many years since I've last been inside that building, but I still remember the inner layout pretty well. See that alley ? If we pull the cargo there, there should be a service door for maintenance staff in the back of the building. Unless they rebuilt the place, the door should still be there."
They reached the courtyard behind the building.
"Please, if we're carrying these back inside, please let me lockpick... Please !" he whispered, though with clear excitement.
Ravan sighed and chuckled.
"As I told Temav, with your enthusiasm, you might make it to new guild boss one day."
Mürtli was no slouch when it came to lockpicking. Ravan didn't say a word, watching him patiently as he opened heavy tumbler after tumbler, instinctively looking around after every loud click of another one picked. He was remarkably swift and professional, even with a heavy and well-secured outside lock like this one.
These young people and their tech skills... he thought. I'd rather not ask whether Mürtli's also one of the first clackers for the Ditchers... He might be !
The final tumbler clicked. Mürtli exhaled, patiently put his hand on the handle, then pressed it down and pulled the door slowly. It moved.
"Great job, kid," nodded Ravan. "A freelancer I might be, but I'll give you some good references at the Ditchers, especially to your boss."
Mürtli smiled briefly at Ravan.
"Thanks, sir," he muttered.
Ravan felt his voice sounded like that of a pupil or student flattered by praise from a strict but fair teacher.
Well, he won't be getting a huge reward for all this help, but if I can help out a relative newcomer, why not. Two birds with one stone... thought Ravan.
Ravan put on his cloak and with minimum gear, snuck inside, while Mürtli hid from sight at another part of the courtyard. A short while later, the martenman returned and waved at his hedger helper to return to the sled.
"Seems everyone's asleep and the staff isn't frequenting this part of the building. Let's go."
They lifted the lid on the crate and carefully started to unload one of the coffers. Mürtli made one of the sides of the crate hinged, so they only needed to lower that side, put one or two short planks next to the sled and slide the coffers down. Before they got to work, they disguised the more exposed side of the sled with a tarp and various larger objects they found at the orphanage's back courtyard.
The two of them weren't of equal strength, and as a consequence, hauling the heavy coffer through the maintenance rooms, hallways and stairs wasn't exactly easy. They had to rest regularly. Finally, they reached the storage room where the coffers were originally stored and put it back in place. They walked back silently to the outside, Mürtli quietly walking ahead, Ravan closing in the back, looking around whether some staff member with a night shift hadn't spotted them. So far, so good. One more coffer to go.
They slid down the second coffer, lifted it and repeated the whole route. For whatever reason, both of them felt the whole ordeal went a bit faster and easier this time around. Once the second coffer was in place, Ravan locked the storage room and carefully put the key back on the hanger he took it from. He even made sure he hung it in nearly the exact same position.
If you're gonna ghost, you might as well ghost properly, went Ravan's personal motto.
Once Mürtli was outside, waiting at the sled, Ravan shut the back door of the orphanage from the inside, locked it with a key he found there, put it back, then opened the window and quietly climbed outside. He slipped a bit and fell into the fresh snow. Mürtli heard a muffled sigh.
"Oh, well... Shut the window and let's go..."
"Everything all right ?"
Ravan stood up, shaking off the snow from his cloak and face.
"Don't worry, kid. I'm made of sterner stuff and I've had my fair share of falls, even off roofs," he paused and grinned at Mürtli. "Part of why I don't frequent the thieves' highway in winter, if I don't have to. It can get damned slippery !"
Mürtli smiled, bemused.
Ravan picked up his archery equipment. They prepared the sled and started pulling it back on the street, putting some distance between them and the orphanage. After they were far enough away, they stopped and Ravan offered the young hedgehogman a parting handshake.
"Thank you for helping so dilligently with all of this. I doubt your future assignments by your fellow guildsmen will be this unusual, but hopefully it was a good enough training exercise."
"I'll say."
"Just don't get used to the idea of being a sidekick. I work alone. Part of my personal principles."
"I understand, sir. But you're not bad at team work either."
"What a flattering assessment. Thanks. Oh, and as a gesture of my gratitude, I have a little present..."
Mürtli raised his eyebrows.
From a hidden pocket on the inside of his cloak, Ravan pulled out a finely made leather pouch, handing it to Mürtli.
"That covers about a third of your pay, the other two thirds will be payed out by your boss. I'll bring him the griffins in the days ahead."
Mürtli took the belt pouch, intended for lockpicks and other small tools. He was impressed by its fine quality.
"Mr. Hrámer, you're almost like Nikenos himself. Thank you for the kind gift."
"I figured you could use a present, and a proper pouch for your lockpicks seemed a logical choice. May it serve you well."
"You didn't exactly earn much in this whole thing, sir..." opined Mürtli, looking back at the orphanage.
"Eh, kiddo..." said Ravan, already setting off, "It's not always about the loot, or the art of stealin'... Sometimes, it's about keeping honour and helping."
"Thanks again, sir. Happy holidays."
"Same to you, kid. Happy holidays," went the mumbled reply, Ravan already some twenty steps away, walking back home.
Mürtli started pulling the sled back to Old Ditch Street. He couldn't wait to reach the secret entrance into the compound and get back inside a warm room.
Aside from a few late night stragglers in the streets, Melza was fast asleep. Including the unsuspecting children and staff at the orphanage.
"Ah, so that's it..." whispered Mürtli as they reached the orphanage on Mulberry Street. "I heard about the theft at this orphanage. Not something any of my guildsmen would do. I didn't realise the coffers are from there. That's actually nice of you, working so hard to return the money to the children."
"So you're skillful and you've got some basic morals... All right, I'm now pretty confident the new generation of thieves isn't entirely hopeless."
"With all due respect sir, I don't really believe you're that jaded about us younger thieves. Or most other thieves, for that matter."
"Right. It's been many years since I've last been inside that building, but I still remember the inner layout pretty well. See that alley ? If we pull the cargo there, there should be a service door for maintenance staff in the back of the building. Unless they rebuilt the place, the door should still be there."
They reached the courtyard behind the building.
"Please, if we're carrying these back inside, please let me lockpick... Please !" he whispered, though with clear excitement.
Ravan sighed and chuckled.
"As I told Temav, with your enthusiasm, you might make it to new guild boss one day."
Mürtli was no slouch when it came to lockpicking. Ravan didn't say a word, watching him patiently as he opened heavy tumbler after tumbler, instinctively looking around after every loud click of another one picked. He was remarkably swift and professional, even with a heavy and well-secured outside lock like this one.
These young people and their tech skills... he thought. I'd rather not ask whether Mürtli's also one of the first clackers for the Ditchers... He might be !
The final tumbler clicked. Mürtli exhaled, patiently put his hand on the handle, then pressed it down and pulled the door slowly. It moved.
"Great job, kid," nodded Ravan. "A freelancer I might be, but I'll give you some good references at the Ditchers, especially to your boss."
Mürtli smiled briefly at Ravan.
"Thanks, sir," he muttered.
Ravan felt his voice sounded like that of a pupil or student flattered by praise from a strict but fair teacher.
Well, he won't be getting a huge reward for all this help, but if I can help out a relative newcomer, why not. Two birds with one stone... thought Ravan.
Ravan put on his cloak and with minimum gear, snuck inside, while Mürtli hid from sight at another part of the courtyard. A short while later, the martenman returned and waved at his hedger helper to return to the sled.
"Seems everyone's asleep and the staff isn't frequenting this part of the building. Let's go."
They lifted the lid on the crate and carefully started to unload one of the coffers. Mürtli made one of the sides of the crate hinged, so they only needed to lower that side, put one or two short planks next to the sled and slide the coffers down. Before they got to work, they disguised the more exposed side of the sled with a tarp and various larger objects they found at the orphanage's back courtyard.
The two of them weren't of equal strength, and as a consequence, hauling the heavy coffer through the maintenance rooms, hallways and stairs wasn't exactly easy. They had to rest regularly. Finally, they reached the storage room where the coffers were originally stored and put it back in place. They walked back silently to the outside, Mürtli quietly walking ahead, Ravan closing in the back, looking around whether some staff member with a night shift hadn't spotted them. So far, so good. One more coffer to go.
They slid down the second coffer, lifted it and repeated the whole route. For whatever reason, both of them felt the whole ordeal went a bit faster and easier this time around. Once the second coffer was in place, Ravan locked the storage room and carefully put the key back on the hanger he took it from. He even made sure he hung it in nearly the exact same position.
If you're gonna ghost, you might as well ghost properly, went Ravan's personal motto.
Once Mürtli was outside, waiting at the sled, Ravan shut the back door of the orphanage from the inside, locked it with a key he found there, put it back, then opened the window and quietly climbed outside. He slipped a bit and fell into the fresh snow. Mürtli heard a muffled sigh.
"Oh, well... Shut the window and let's go..."
"Everything all right ?"
Ravan stood up, shaking off the snow from his cloak and face.
"Don't worry, kid. I'm made of sterner stuff and I've had my fair share of falls, even off roofs," he paused and grinned at Mürtli. "Part of why I don't frequent the thieves' highway in winter, if I don't have to. It can get damned slippery !"
Mürtli smiled, bemused.
Ravan picked up his archery equipment. They prepared the sled and started pulling it back on the street, putting some distance between them and the orphanage. After they were far enough away, they stopped and Ravan offered the young hedgehogman a parting handshake.
"Thank you for helping so dilligently with all of this. I doubt your future assignments by your fellow guildsmen will be this unusual, but hopefully it was a good enough training exercise."
"I'll say."
"Just don't get used to the idea of being a sidekick. I work alone. Part of my personal principles."
"I understand, sir. But you're not bad at team work either."
"What a flattering assessment. Thanks. Oh, and as a gesture of my gratitude, I have a little present..."
Mürtli raised his eyebrows.
From a hidden pocket on the inside of his cloak, Ravan pulled out a finely made leather pouch, handing it to Mürtli.
"That covers about a third of your pay, the other two thirds will be payed out by your boss. I'll bring him the griffins in the days ahead."
Mürtli took the belt pouch, intended for lockpicks and other small tools. He was impressed by its fine quality.
"Mr. Hrámer, you're almost like Nikenos himself. Thank you for the kind gift."
"I figured you could use a present, and a proper pouch for your lockpicks seemed a logical choice. May it serve you well."
"You didn't exactly earn much in this whole thing, sir..." opined Mürtli, looking back at the orphanage.
"Eh, kiddo..." said Ravan, already setting off, "It's not always about the loot, or the art of stealin'... Sometimes, it's about keeping honour and helping."
"Thanks again, sir. Happy holidays."
"Same to you, kid. Happy holidays," went the mumbled reply, Ravan already some twenty steps away, walking back home.
Mürtli started pulling the sled back to Old Ditch Street. He couldn't wait to reach the secret entrance into the compound and get back inside a warm room.
Aside from a few late night stragglers in the streets, Melza was fast asleep. Including the unsuspecting children and staff at the orphanage.
- | - | - | -
(...)
One day, when Nikenos arrived home, he was surprised that his mother had called on him.
"Son, my dear son, there's some man who wants to see you."
"Good day to you, mother. A visitor ? I wasn't expecting anyone today."
"Neither was I or your father. Our sudden guest is an older man, he arrived a few moments ago and is waiting in our atrium. He says he knows you, that you two share a good friend," she explained.
"What ? How so ? I doubt I know who this man is."
"Well, he said that your shared friend brought you together..."
"Talking in riddles... Thank you, mother, I am off to talk with this man."
The person was a man maybe twenty to thirty years older than Nikenos. He seemed humble, but there was a fierce intelligence in his eyes, and he seemed well-traveled. He introduced himself as Confid.
"Confid ? I am not sure I have ever met you, sir," admitted Nikenos. Then, it dawned on him. "Are you, perchance, the Confid disliked by the imperial court ? The prophet disliked by the empire's ruling class ?"
The older man smiled.
"The same. My good lad, disliked that I might be, I have more friends and allies throughout the world, including within the empire, than the imperial court can fathom. Because, though we must give to the ruling class what is their's, there is a much higher power ruling over our world."
"What power do you mean ?"
"One that needs no earthly power or empire, one that does not desire them. And that power is the Maker, the one and only Creator of us all and the entire world. Our Good Lord, watching over us and guiding us through life. He'll be ruling this world, with love and wisdom, long after the empire is gone, long after all empires and polities had turned to dust."
Confid and Nikenos spent quite a while talking about what brought Confid to Nikenos' household.
"Our Creator needs people of your qualities, people as gifted as you, Nikenos," concluded Confid.
Nikenos sighed and shrugged.
"I am afraid I do not follow any gods. Me and my family, we have no trust in gods. Nor any trust in worshipping others."
"The words of a wise man. But I do not wish to ask you to worship any gods. I'd like to ask you to do good work in the name of a single one. The only one. The Creator."
"Who is this shared friend you told my mother about, Confid ?" asked Nikenos, halfway between incredulous and curious.
Confid smiled.
"The friend I had just mentioned."
"Wait, the Creator himself ?!"
"Of course. He told me about you, he told me to go to Ryma and seek you out. For, as disbelieving as you might be now, you are the twelfth prophet of the Creator. Of the faith that me and my ten other brothers and sisters have worked hard on establishing."
"I am a prophet ? And of your faith ? But how can this be ?!"
"My own ancestors came from multiple people," continued Confid. "Some of my ancestors were Elladic, east of here... And some were Irim, a people also known to some as the Nodaadim. The Irim are a humble, hardy and pious people who live further south from this land, quite far. Long ago, the Creator revealed himself to them and they have followed him since. Sometimes, the empire's authorities have disliked their piousness. Many years ago, the Creator told me the time has come for other peoples to join the Irim in their faith. Not by adopting the same faith, but by creating a brotherly offshoot to follow. He said our paths would all converge one day, but for the time being, our paths will often split and divide, even when we focus on unity. We all have our roles to play in the story of this world and the stories of our lives. And the Lord has chosen you a major and fulfilling part to play, good Nikenos."
"What part ?"
"Your generosity."
"How would he know about my generosity, if I showed any ?"
"When he told me to undertake this journey and visit you, dear lad, he told me about you, your deeds... You have already been tested."
"Tes... Tested ?" Nikenos asked.
Confid nodded and smiled wisely.
"He sent his future child into your life. A child of kindness, not yet come, but present in our world, if our hearts and souls are open. You've met the child."
"I have ?! I don't understand." objected Nikenos.
"Maybe they were young, maybe old. Maybe a man, maybe a woman. Maybe human like you and me, or maybe a near-human person. You've met the Pilgrim."
"Rather difficult to grasp," opined Nikenos. In his mind, he thought of the caring old lady, the suffering but polite beastman, or the gentle girl.
"Those were all physical guises, but the inner essence was the same. All of them were people in need, all of them in need of kindness and generosity. And you, whatever flaws you may have, just as I and everyone else have flaws, you repeatedly showed great goodness. Through them, the Creator spoke to you. You might not think too highly of yourself, but you have greater inner potential than you'd be willing to believe."
Nikenos fell silent and pondered Confid's words for a long while before he spoke again. That day, Nikenos' life would take a different path than he had anticipated up until then. It would be a long and difficult journey, but ultimately one well worth it.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 1st of Frosten, Saint Nikenos Day, before noon
"Hey, ya heard about the news ?", said Iver as he entered the office at the Watch station.
"What news ?", Háván looked at him.
"The whole case with the stolen money at the orphanage. Remember ?"
"Yeah, yeah. Terrible, but we've grown to live with that in this city. Still, damned shame after all that effort."
"Well, you need to pay more attention to the latest news."
"Why ?"
"Because this morning, the orphanage staff found the stolen coffers and lockboxes of money back in their storerooms. Like that."
"Iver, are you saying this in jest or did this really happen ?"
"I swear by the Prophets, I'm not making anything up. We caught wind of it rather quickly, little more than half a rinclang after it happened."
"Well, who would have thought... I really wasn't expecting this turn of events, not at all." breathed Háván, sounding genuinely surprised.
"On the eve of St Nik's Day, no less," noted Iver. There was a tiny hint of awe in his voice.
Háván slowly nodded.
"A miracle worthy of saint Niky, right ?"
"You could certainly say so..." opined Iver.
"Truth be told, I don't have a good explanation for what might have happened. What do you think ? Whoever stole it got remorseful ?"
"Seems unlikely to me. Why steal so much money, then return it a few days later ? Remorse ?"
"You know my low opinion on thieves, Iver. They're not a remorseful bunch. Maybe some small fry among them have more of a conscience, but the bigger fishes ?" he waved his hand dismissively.
- | - | - | -
(...)
Even three days after leaving his home, Nikenos still felt unsure whether he made the right decision. His heart felt spirited, but also anxious.
Sitting on a rock, close to the road he was travelling with Confid, Nikenos sighed and asked his new friend and teacher.
"But I don't understand. Why me ? I don't think I am that exceptional, that great, that wise. Why would the... Creator... choose me ? Why ?"
Confid, sitting on another nearby rock, smiled at him.
"The Lord has his mysterious ways. I asked the same questions as you, but now that years have passed, I have received answers to them, gradually, when I least expected it. Trust in the Creator, dear Nikenos. He does not make decisions lightly. He has a plan for me, you, all our brothers and sisters."
"I must confess, I currenly have rather mundane concerns. My shoes are fine enough, my feet don't hurt too much, but walking some of these rocky slopes and hills, up and down... One could use a walking stick."
"Should I give you my walking stick, Nikenos ?"
"Perish the thought, Confid. But it would ease my mind if I had a walking stick of my own just about now."
As they talked, a local shepherd was passing them, driving a small flock of sheep forward, along the road. An old man, older than even Confid.
He looked sad, almost dispirited. They noticed why. In his hands, he was carrying two parts of a broken shepherd's crook.
Nikenos felt compelled to speak up. Why, he did not know, but he felt as if he would be able to help.
"Good man, what is the matter ? Some misfortune ?"
The old shepherd turned, greeted them and nodded.
"Nay, not a great misfortune, but still a minor one. My shepherd's crook broke in half when I tripped, fell, and the staff hit a big rock by accident. I will have to fashion a new crook to drive my flock. My sheep and lambs do not respect me unless I carry one, like a king would hold a sceptre."
"I am Nikenos. I have started to travel the world, accompanied by my teacher. I want to help other people. Perhaps I could help you. I will try."
"Young lad, here is my broken staff. I know not what you could do to repair it, but I will trust your word."
Nikenos accepted the staff. He placed his hands near the middle of the broken staff, close to the point where it broke, and held the staff together. Closing his eyes and breathing calmly for a few moments, he suddenly opened his eyes, then sighed, as if deep in thought.
"I know not why I did this," he exclaimed. "But I felt I am doing the right thing."
Then he turned his hands, propping the bottom end of the staff against the parched ground. He lifted one hand, grabbing the staff at a higher point, then lifted the other hand. Lo, the staff was whole again, without a single crack, dent or scratch !
The old shepherd had nodded, impressed. Smiling, he told Nikenos:
"Thank you, dear lad. Now I know you are not only a generous helper, but you'll make a great shepherd. You will be a shepherd of men, and a helper of the needy, desperate and downtrodden. Nikenos, you can keep my staff. May it serve you well," the old man smiled at Nikenos and Confid and then walked away, returning to driving his flock forward.
Nikenos had many questions, but rather than asking, he understood. Without a word, he nodded towards the old shepherd, and smiled.
He looked at the crook. From now on, it would be his walking staff.
Confid smiled at Nikenos.
"You craved a walking stick, young man. Now you have one."
"It seems so. But who was that old shepherd ? And how did I mend this crook ? I don't understand."
"You might not understand yet with your mind, but... you do already understand with your heart. You might think you have done magic, Nikenos, but that was not magic. That was simply a miracle. And most of the miracles we do on a daily basis are simple deeds of goodness. Selfless goodness. Including your generosity. You heard the old man. This crook was given to you so that you could travel far and wide, gather new flocks and show them your generosity, wisdom and faith."
"And what if I feel foolish and unwise ?"
"Many truly wise people feel so. I am certain you will do much good in the life you have ahead. They will call you a Miracle-worker, a Thaumaturge."
(...)
Later in the evening, Confid and Nikenos were camping under a starry sky.
Confid pointed up to the sky and explained to Nikenos.
"Many generations ago, the Good Lord made himself known to the Irim, the people from which some of my ancestors descend from. He told their men and women to gaze up at the stars in the night sky. There would be more followers and believers in him, the One, than the stars in the sky. The humble flocks of the humble Irim would multiply, and even people beyond the Irim would know the Lord's wisdom and follow him."
"Does the Lord have such grand plans with you and the other Prophets as well ? And with me ? I am just one man, just a single person."
"Nikenos, the Lord has more friends and allies than even me and my brothers and sisters could dare imagine. I started alone. Now I have ten siblings who are helping me establish our faith throughout the empire and beyond its borders. You, Nikenos, are my latest sibling. Now we are twelve prophets of the Creator. But our numbers, of those who travel and preach the good word of the Creator, will grow tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold... Like our Irim brothers and sisters, the followers of our faith will be as numerous as the stars above."
"I trust your word. I still feel uncertainty about my ability, but I no longer feel uncertainty about my mission."
And it was thus. Nikenos became the twelfth and final prophet of the Maker. In the years ahead, he would meet with the other Prophets, travel the world, learn much, do many more generous deeds. He would live for many more decades, grow old and become famous for his white beard, white greying hair and shepherd's crook in hand. He would be the only Prophet to become one of the first bishops in the emerging early church. He is thus one of the few Prophets whose role in church history partly overlaps with the early church fathers. He became known under several epithets, particularly Nikenos the Generous, and, just as Confid himself had predicted, as Nikenos the Thaumaturge ("Miracle-worker"). His best known symbol, a shepherd's crook, became the common symbol of bishops in the Olankalian and Alithidromic churches, the churches of east and west.
(...)
- excerpts from The Lives of the Adherents, chapter The Life of Prophet Nikenos
- | - | - | -
Melza, 1st of Frosten, Saint Nikenos Day, evening
It was snowing heavily again, wispy, dusty flakes of snow falling from the night sky.
Ravan was walking home on the snow-covered streets, his boots leaving clear prints in the ankle-deep cover in the middle of the street. The snow under the shop fronts and windows was sometimes up to one's knees. He rarely had any deep thoughts while walking the night time streets, but this time, he was in a more contemplative mood.
Job well done, I suppose, he thought. The kids at the orphanage have their coffers back. Hopefully all those griffins will serve them well.
He had had a nice ale at The Clumsy Dart. Though he wasn't feeling tippsy, he was quite tired at this point, and was looking forward to the warmth of the fireplace in his flat.
The snow kept quietly crunching beneath his boots, his steps slow and rhytmic. And then...
"Sir, sir..."
He suddenly heard a voice. A child's voice, a little boy's voice. He turned around immediately to face the figure.
It was, indeed, a little human boy, with a curious but innocent expression on his face.
How odd ! It's been many, many years since someone, anyone, had snuck up on him. And that was clumsily. Not anywhere near with this level of stealth. Odd indeed.
He wasn't quite sure whether the boy was a child of the bigfolk or of rarachs, as the boy was rather short, all things considered. He was maybe seven years old, maybe as old as ten, but he seemed quite diminutive. Dressed in an old, but rather well-fitting child's coat, his trousers seemed shabby but warm, and he wore a simple knitted wool cap on his head. The boy's brown eyes seemed thoroughly ordinary, but he could have sworn there was... something in them... some hard to describe quality.
"Sir, sorry to bother you, sir... But I needed to tell you something."
"Oh. Well, go on. And don't think of pickpocketing me. I know all the old cutpurse tricks in and out. You wouldn't have a chance."
"I don't intend such a foul thing, good sir," said the boy, and his voice was genuinely filled with child-like sincerity.
"You certainly have talent, young man, I'll give you that. It's not exactly easy to sneak up on a thief. Aren't you the least bit afraid ?"
"Why would I be fearful, sir ? I know you are a good-hearted man on the inside. Maybe you don't like thinking about it, but I know it to be true."
"Are you from the orphanage ?" he asked politely, with just a slight hint of curiosity. "If you're here to thank me, then don't mention it. And I mean that rather literally. I don't know how you learned about what I did, but let's keep it a secret, shall we ? I don't like others making my life harder. I'd politely suggest you should avoid making it harder than it needs to be. Understood ?"
The little boy shrugged and smiled at him. It was a profoundly innocent smile. Without a single hint of mean-spirited irony or malice.
"The Lord has many orphans, many overlooked and unwanted. Some people think they can lock the needy away in orphanages, poorhouses, madhouses. They say 'It leaves our sight, it leaves our minds...'. But the orphans and the needy will not go away, even if they vanish from others' sights. They will still be living in everyone's conscience, sir. Even in the conscience of those who steal. "
"Awfully poetic of a little tyke like you..."
"I am not sure I would call myself a poet, sir." said the little boy, with a somewhat embarassed look on his face, and shrugged.
There was something about the simple honesty of that reply that struck him. He smiled at the child, a thing he didn't share often with others.
"I hope this isn't an ambush, boy."
The little boy seemed almost offended.
"No, good sir, I didn't come to deal you any harm."
"You work for any fellowship or guild ? As their general-purpose snooper ? Or you're in some band of urchins ?"
"I don't work for thieves, sir. Not for lone ones like you, or any gang. I am with all, though often with no one, sir. Many people turn their backs on me, but even when that saddens me, I don't want to turn my back on them."
"Hm, very noble of you, sonny. And I suppose you don't want me to turn my back on you either, right ? Would you care for a warm meal ? Should I buy you some soup at the inn ? Something else ?"
"Oh, that's very, very kind of you, sir. Thank you. But I'm not really hungry or thirsty. I only came to thank you."
"You're a humble kid."
"Being humble isn't something to be ashamed of," said the little boy with cheerful conviction.
"Huh... Maybe you could remind certain people of that, every now and then," remarked Ravan.
"Blessed be those who give," said the little boy and offered a hand to him. He pulled down the worn fur mitten. His hand was entirely ordinary. No strangeness to it, just the hand of a child. "That's what the Creator told St Nikenos, that's what St Nikenos took to his heart."
Somewhat perplexed, Ravan nevertheless stretched his paw-like, furry hand towards the boy. They shook hands.
There was something strange about it. He couldn't put it into words, but the boy's touch felt oddly soothing. There was a fulfilling warmth to it that lifted one's spirits even in this freezing, snowed-in time. He nodded at the boy.
"Blessed be those who give," he repeated. "Have a good and peaceful St Nikenos Day."
"Oh, sir, thank you," smiled the boy. "I certainly will ! And I'll rest easy knowing those other children were helped by a good soul like you."
The boy sniggered happily, as if he was given an incredibly precious toy and didn't even know what to say. His expression was half-way between happy and embarassed.
Ravan smiled back at the boy.
"Are you sure you don't need anything, sonny ?"
"Thank you, sir, but I don't need anything more. I have all that I need. You are a thief, but being a thief doesn't mean you must be heartless."
"If you say so..."
"I must go now, sir," said the little boy in his calm, peaceful voice. "It's been wonderful talking to you. Thank you for your time."
"All right, kiddo. See you around, and have a nice holiday," he straightened his back, looking down at the strange urchin, then turned around, and continued on his way.
After some twenty or so paces, he stopped and paused. Turning his head back, he looked at the place where he had talked to the boy. He was no longer there. Between the shadows, light from the fires and the dust-like snowflakes billowing in the cool wind, he could still make out a tiny, short figure in the distance. Barely a silhouette, walking away... A few moments later, the distant and barely visible figure of the boy walked down a passageway under one of the townhouses, then turned a corner.
Whoever that boy was, he was gone now. He had walked away like any mortal, but it still felt like he had nearly... vanished.
Strolling through the night streets in ankle-deep snow, Ravan was soon approaching his tenement.
After some second-nature work with a firesteel, in a short while, he was warming his furry legs next to the humble fireplace of his small flat. He never felt too religious, and despite some strange things he had seen in his time, he wasn't superstitious either.
But maybe there are things between heaven and earth, as people tended to say. On this snowy St Nikenos Day, maybe generosity had won at least a minor victory over the frigid cold. Maybe, just maybe, on this day, heaven really did lean down a little closer to earth.
- | - | - | -
Melza, 20th of Frosten, Pilgrim's Eve
A knock at the door of the townhouse.
Rumlaaž Baltabols walked over to the entrance door, his wife Paidrkoa picked up the basket with goodies and followed him a few moments later. Upon opening the door, the aging couple were greeted by a group of carolers. The leader of the carolers spoke up.
"Let your eve be peaceful and holy ! We come to your doorstep, in peace, good cheer and with praise for the Maker ! May we praise the Lord at your doorstep ?"
Rumlaaž and Paidrkoa smiled.
"Yes, you may praise him."
"This holy day and this holy eve, the Pilgrim is closer to us than usual. The Pilgrim comes in many guises, man or woman, child or adult, he comes in all guises of the Lord's children and his followers," recited the carolers by heart, as part of the annual caroling custom.
"Yes, we know you have come to praise the Pilgrim honestly at our doorstep. Friends, young and old, please sing in the Lord's and Pilgrim's praise."
Rumlaaž didn't need to insist twice, they had already started singing in unison. Their voices carried one of the many Aporuean carols...
Twas in the moon of winter-time
All creatures had fled from the cold
To warm them, the Good Lord sublime
Sent angel choirs, as foretold...
As the carolers sang, Paidrkoa and Rumlaaž picked goodies from the basket and handed them to the carolers.
Paidrkoa noticed that the small group of carolers included some children from the orphanage that was robbed a month ago. Then the coffers with the stolen money returned mysteriously back to where they came from. From the rumours she had heard, the City Watch were still unsure what had happened. Magic was ruled out, as was a turf war between gangs, though some had entertained the possibility of an elaborate practical joke played on the hapless staff of the orphanage. Whatever the cause behind the sudden turn of events, the Watch ultimately ruled: Case closed. Whatever the cause, the orphans were now guaranteed to eat well this winter and learn a trade to forge their own future in a few years time.
Maybe St Niky had, once again, done his bit of miracle-working, thought Paidrkoa. Either himself, or through some other kind and courageous soul. As they say, miracles aren't about magic. Miracles are the selfless acts of kindness we do every day.
----
- | - | - | -
Copyright
(C) 2020 P. Molnár
(C) 2020 Knight-Errant Studios
- | - | - | -
Story notes
In central Europe, the Saint Nicholas tradition involves him giving well-behaving children presents in their shoes, put out on or under windowsills. Hence, as an in-joke, the legend about the Aporuean equivalent of the saint has Nikenos accidentally dropping the secret gifts for the family onto their footwear, through a window that is slightly ajar. ;-) St Nicholas in central Europe has often been depicted as bearing gifts in a large basket carried on his back. The incident with the mysterious girl, where my fictional Nikenos helps her carry the basket with the pottery home, is another little wink at this legendary/folkloric popular portrayal of Saint Nicholas. Though I don't depict it in the story, the Saint Nikenos tradition in central Aporue often has him accompanied by a kind young maiden and a friendly beastman, to reflect the whole saintly legend surrounding the figure, specifically, the two mysterious individuals he helped. This is meant to reflect the fact that many cultures often depict St Nicholas and his variations as having some companions, usually two. In real world central Europe, it's usually an angel and a devil, often played by a lady and a man in costumes (though this can be switched or they're played only by either of the two genders.)
The part with Nikenos secretly gifting money to the daughters, for their dowry, is based directly on the legend surrounding the real world's St Nicholas of Myra (who is said to have done just that, sparking the later "give gifts to loved ones on St Nicholas Day" tradition in various Christian churches). Obviously, my fictional Nikenos of Ryma, despite also being an early and popular saint and serving as a bishop, is also rather different in several aspects. He's the last of the twelve original founders of the Christianity equivalent in this fantasy setting, he's regarded as the first bishop (the real world Nicholas certainly wasn't either) and some events and elements are invented as well (giving a gift to the ill boy in addition to the daughters, the crook he received from a shepherd as the in-universe "explanation" for why my fictional religion's bishops also carry symbolic shepherd crooks, etc.). The "Adherents" mentioned in the title of the book are the fifth to twelfth prophets of the faith, including all of the female ones except one. The Adherents were added to the roster of prophets who founded the religion after they were sought out by the original four prophets, known as the "Crux" (named as such because they were "crucial" to the founding of the faith, and also a bit of an in-joke of mine, for why the religion uses a four-pointed, regular-shaped star in a manner similar to a Christian cross). As the last of the prophets, Nikenos was also the last of the Adherents to join. The story mentions that he is an accepted saint by both the Alithidromic churches (i.e. Orthodox) and the Olankalian churches (i.e. Catholic). I'll add that, purely out of a sense of popular tradition, even many members of the Redeemer churches (i.e. Protestants) acknowledge and celebrate him, even if not all title him a saint. This is not unlike the real world, where plenty of Protestant communities celebrate Saint Nicholas as a Christian figure, even those that do not acknowledge saints at all. Yes, even Calvinists do this.
Mürtli's mention that in central Aporue, St Nik's supposed sleigh is pulled by horses, while in the northern countries, it's reindeer, is also a jokey nod at the real world St Nicholas traditions. The only nod I left out was how the Dutch apparently have Sinterklaas arrive aboard a steamboat ! At least per the tradition of recent centuries. :-p Funnily enough, this would work in this fictional setting too, as they already have early steamships in addition to sailships. Ravan's disdain for kitschy holiday season novelty items (wind-up St Nikenos dolls, etc.) rather reflects my own annoyance with the unfortunate modern tendency towards kitschy and gimmicky holiday decorations. :-p The music boxes equipped with tail-flapping mechanical carps that Ravan complains about, are a wink at this silly novelty item. ;-)
For more on the fictional winter holidays from the setting, you can read PRE this overview.
Mürtli at one point notes that one type of sled that could be useful would be the "hornsled" used by woodcutters. He's referring to a traditional type of rural sled that, in the real world, was/is used by woodcutters in Austria, parts of Germany, in Czechia and Slovakia. The front ends of the runners have high, oversized, somewhat horn-like protrusions, and these were used historically for auxilliary pulling of the sled, or as impromptu control levers while sliding down a hill with some supplies of wood. In the German-speaking countries, this style of sled is known as Hornschlittern or Horner ("horned sledge"), in the Czech lands as rohačky (same meaning) and in Slovakia, as krňačky or krne (the latter comparable to sane, the general term for "sled"). Ultimately, Mürtli goes for a more common flatbed rural sled, without those protrusions (albeit with maybe thinner runners).
The opening four-line stanza of that "old Aporuean carol" is actually a somewhat paraphrased version of the opening lines from the English lyrics version of the Huron Carol. Canada's oldest carol, written by Brebeuf for the Huron (Wendat) people in the 17th century. The most popular English version of the lyrics was only written in the early 20th century, the original Huron and French lyrics are from the 17th century. The melody of the carol was adapted from an existing French carol of the 1600s. Obviously, Pilgrimas is only a loose analogue of Christmas, as the Christianity analogue of my setting doesn't have a direct Christ figure. The iconography, terms and festive carols associated with the holiday are therefore certainly different, even though its themes of love, peace and perserverance are similar to themes of our world's Christmas.
The unnamed Baroness consort visiting the orphanage before the holidays is baroness Oroliana, wife of Lord Baron Dortan IV, the ruler of Melza. More on the ruling royal... erm, baronial... couple PRE in this article. Dortan IV is the 18th baron of PRE House Terlo, the third ruling dynasty in Melza's history.
I imagine the little thrush seen by the watchman early in the story was a fieldfare, a common European thrush, often seen in winter.
You might feel confused about the fictional calendar and units of measurement. Least, thanker, rinclang, etc. PRE Here's a complete overview.
In the Orbis Furum, east is west and west is east, in terms of the coastlines of continents. So western equivalents are in the east and eastern ones in the west. Ryma is to the west of Confid's homeland, but the Myra of the real world would be to the east of it.
Concerning the City Watch, their ranks and how that police force is organized (into "bureaus", i.e. departments), see PRE this article.
Théka's messer sword, that makes a brief appearance in the story, looks similar to this one or this one.
For more on some of the trick arrows used or mentioned by Ravan (the dousing arrow, knockout arrow, etc.) see PRE this article. For more on the flashbomb, taken along but not used by Ravan, see PRE here. As for what the lockpicks and accessories look like, see PRE this article.
There's a brief mention of Ravan owning a small, light, fast-shooting "latchet crossbow", though for this caper, he opted to take his bow instead. The crossbow in question can be seen here and here. In our real world, it's a weaker, but fairly versatile smaller crossbow, with a built-in spanning lever. It can shoot as fast as one shot every ten seconds, in the hands of a person skilled at spanning and reloading. In a fantasy world like my Orbis Furum, this is a pretty ideal short-to-medium range crossbow for the enterprising professional thief.
The "griffin awful" cheaply printed novels, mentioned briefly in connection to how they misrepresent actual professional thievery, are a Melzan variation on the "penny dreadful" novels and magazines of our own history. Well, if the penny dreadfuls were made with 17th century printing press technology, for the most part.
Rarachs, briefly mentioned a few times and represented by Temav, are the variety of humans in my setting that are naturally shorter in stature (not due to any health issues). They are not a distinct species from the humans of usual height in the setting, and are often analogous in their role to Tolkien's hobbits, their various "halfling" imitations, or folkloric imp characters. Rarach is a Slovak folk term that means "imp". Rarášok, the diminutive, is often used as a synonym for a "gnome". The rarach was originally a darker figure in pre-Christian Slavic folklore, and rather than a dwarf-like character, was a cheeky or even evil house spirit. Over time, it drifted to mean the more typical fairytale imp or gnome, though the term is not used that much synonymically in modern fantasy lit. Part of why we chose it.
Our mental image of Temav, the rarach guild leader, is similar to this fellow.
Aside from the rarachs of Aporue, there are also the permons (who do not appear in this story). Biologically, they are identical to rarachs, but the differences lie in culture and lifestyle. The name of the permons is derived from the permoník dwarfs of central Europe (mainly medieval Slovak/Hungarian folklore), who are essentially a more Slavic/Hungarian equivalent of the more famous dwarf miners and smiths of German or Scandinavian folklore or fairytales. Unsurprisingly, where the rarachs are the rough equivalents of hobbits/halflings in this setting, the permons are my similarly central European answer to the dwarves populating modern fantasy fiction (that are often just unimaginative imitations of Tolkien's approach to his own dwarves). In a sense, the Orbis Furum has halflings and dwarves in it, but they're not distinct species from humans, and they have plenty of their own quirks. Not the least of them being that we try to add various real world history based explanations for their material and social culture and give it all a 15th-17th century undertone. ;-)
For the British popculture afficionados, there's a tiny, tiny hidden reference to Doctor Who at one point in the story. It's very subtle, a paraphrase of a quote from the series. And no, it's not one from one of the Christmas specials, but from a far different episode.
Whether you celebrate these holidays or not, we wish you all pleasant reading and a pleasant end of the year. 8-)
Žiadne komentáre:
Zverejnenie komentára