The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - On the Honor of Thieves

On the Honor of Thieves

Larson and Garrett Adventure the Eighth by Aaron Dennis

Published by www.storiesbydennis.com March 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Late at night in the city of Xorinth, Garrett sat at the counter of Rowdy's Bar; a rather seedy tavern close to the homes of laborers. While Xorinth lacked a defined poor district, and there were no mines in the vicinity, the city was still home to farmers and construction workers, small shop owners, seamstresses, bakers, and the like. Rowdy's Bar was where they spent their coin during troubling times, and these were certainly troubling times for Garrett.

Rolas had been murdered, the libratoreum had been ransacked, the Lagos artifacts were stolen, and though the city guard had originally suspected Garrett, he had been recently cleared, yet his troubles were only beginning. His friends were nowhere to be found, and detective Mathew was off investigating the whereabouts of the thieves or assassins who had broken into the libratoreum. Though warned to keep his nose clean for the time, Garrett had other plans. Sitting at the grungy tavern, under magickal lighting, the fencer ran his hand over the wooden counter before rubbing his fingers together. There had been but a little grime.

"'Nother ale?" Rowdy, a gap toothed, red-headed gentleman asked.

Garrett nodded. As he drank the frothy beverage, he kept his head down and his ears open for any word of what had recently transpired. The city folk were in an uproar to be sure; they made claims that the guard were incompetent, that such a major attack on such a prominent building was unacceptable, that certainly the thieves' guild was to blame. Thieves' guild? Garrett wondered.

It was no surprise that Xorinth, a major city in Ruvonia was home to a thieves' guild, but he had never ran across a group of organized thieves before. A dwarven couple next to him were making ludicrous claims that the thieves' guild operated the whole of Xorinth from the sewers beneath the city, but Garrett knew that if such a thing were true, Prince Roan would have to be involved, and he was no thief; he was possibly the last remaining, redeemable ruler in the entire country. Besides, no thieves would have been able to get past Rolas's magickal barriers, much less stab him in the back. It's rare to meet a thief that murders a dozen guards, a dozen citizens, and a famed magick user such as Rolas, and only to steal the Lagos artifacts...nothing else was stolen, and even I couldn't find where the artifacts were stashed...Mathew had mentioned a safe room. I wonder if he'll turn up any evidence.

Garrett prodded his chest. The pain from the bolt of magickal lightning that destroyed his armor yet ached. Still, the thieves' guild is a concept worthy of consideration, he surmised. Thieves were privy to information, which was easily bought and sold. Furthermore, in order to survive and function within a city such as Xorinth, a group of thieves had to be united.

Thinking back to the young man who had literally ran in to him during his departure from the temple of Tarielle, Garrett decided then and there that approaching the thieves with a purse full of coin was a great way to start his own investigation. But where to start? He wondered. It would take days to roam the extensive sewers, supposing that's where their stationed. If I could at least contact everyone else, we could split up and cover the city in only a day or two, but as it stands, I've no clue where to search for ruffians.

"One more?"

Rowdy's call startled Garrett. He hadn't noticed he'd polished off his third drink. His head was too woozy for another round, and he waved the barkeep off before plunking down a few coppers. Then, he quickly snatched them back. Since Rowdy was reaching for the payment at that very instant, the action took the barkeep by surprise.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, " Garrett smiled. "I'll pay you extra if you can tell me something."

"You'll pay extra with yer' teeth if you don't gimme' my money now."

"Easy, mate, " Garrett said and pulled two silver coins from his pouch. He placed the coins on the bar, and Rowdy scooped them up quicker than greased lightning. "I need to know something."

"What?"

"Is there somewhere private we could chat...for just a moment?"

Rowdy placed his fists on his bulging hips. The apron over his greasy tunic didn't help to hide his saggy midsection, which jiggled when he motioned with his head to the door next to the booze shelf. The barkeep shuffled to and then through the door. A second later, Garrett followed suit. In the kitchen, while a fat woman toiled over dirty dishes and a young girl worked the grill, Garrett and Rowdy shared a quiet conversation.

"People are saying the thieves' guild is responsible for the recent attack, " Garrett started.

"Aye, what of it?"

"What do you think?"

"It's not my business; I run a bar and likes it that way."

Garrett nodded slowly. He scrutinized the hairy-knuckled brute.

"Should one be so inclined to make thieves his business, " Garrett smiled, brazenly. "Where might one begin his search?"

"Rowdy?" the fat woman squealed.

"Pipe down, Marietta. I'm talkin' to a customer!"

"Oh, well forgive me, " Marietta said, sardonically. "Leave it ta' the head of the house ta' waste time jawin' when there's work ta' be done."

"Shut up, woman, or so help me–"

"Sir, " Garrett interrupted.

"What?! Oh, sorry...right, you wanna find some thieves. Look, " Rowdy trailed off and cleaned his hands on a damp rag. "Alls I know is that on occasion a man comes by here, sits in the last booth at the rear of the bar, and he gives people money."

"Gives people money?"

Rowdy rolled his eyes, peevishly. "I think he's a fence, but no one actually gives him anythin', see? So ya' can't prove he's involved in anythin'."

"Well, when does this guy come in, " Garrett pried. Rowdy shrugged. "What does he look like?!"

"I dunno', " Rowdy waved his hands. "He's about yay tall, has a thick mustache, wears a leather vest, and a pocket watch made o' gold."

"That shouldn't be too hard to spot. Thanks, Rowdy."

Garrett started to walk through the kitchen in order to exit through the back and into the alleys. Before he made it outside, Rowdy and Marietta were yapping at each other about dirty clutter. Once the fencer shut the door behind him, he looked up at the stars, which caused him to wince in pain; the impact of magickal lightning did not wear off quickly.

Since the southwestern edge of the city was closest to both the larger farmlands and the warehouses where the construction companies stored their resources, Garrett moseyed around Rowdy's tavern, through the alleyway, between the tavern and a dingy inn built of wood, and over to a fountain of sculpted stone made to look like a voluptuous woman pouring water eternally from a carafe. The fountain was small, so the statue was only about three feet tall, and across from it, in front of a local grocer, were two, wooden benches. The crystal obelisk next to the grocer's door provided ample light, which reflected off the water. Garrett plunked down on the bench and sat, patiently awaiting the appearance of the mustachioed man with the leather vest and pocket watch.

There was no way to know if the man was coming in that night, or when he might choose to present himself at all, but there was nothing else for Garrett to do. Gritting his teeth and fretting over the death of his friend, he gave himself fully to the task at hand.

He sat for hours. His eyes glossed over the architecture; though many of the buildings near the outskirts of Xorinth were built mostly of dark wood, the architecture was rather sublime, polished oak and mahogany glinted in a dazzling array of refracted, magickal light. Taking a deep breath to relax, the young fencer found himself a bit morose. Watching people of all kinds and races walking into and out of Rowdy's reminded him of his childhood.

For hours, while his father conducted business, Garrett sat on the edge of the supply cart or on a horse and watched people go by as his father charismatically bought and sold wares. He had been happy then, carefree. It was different now; he had a purpose, a vengeful calling. Unfortunately, none of the citizenry fit the description Rowdy had given about the man. Finally, the sound of pouring water from the nearby fountain proved too much. Garrett needed to pee. Damnit, it would be when I need to relieve myself that he'll show up. Oh, I know.

"You there, " he called out. A portly, elven gentleman with a wooden pipe between his teeth turned around. His arm was linked to his wife's bread dough arm. "A favor, please?"

"I haven't any money, vagabond, " the elf snarled.

"I have money, and I want to give it to you, " Garrett chuckled.

"Are you daft?" the elf barked-removing the pipe from his teeth-but his wife smacked him in the belly and yelled at him to be polite.

Garrett approached the couple, who were beneath the crystalline light above Rowdy's sign. "Here, take a few coppers. I need you two to sit at the bench over there, " he said pointing. "I need to relieve myself, I'm afraid, but I'm waiting for a particular person to walk inside this bar."

"Listen, you mongrel, " the elf bellowed, but again, his wife smacked him in the belly. He gave her a dirty look then whispered something to her. She whispered something back, and the man huffed. "Pay for our dinner, and you have yourself a deal."

"Fine, here's five." Garrett pulled the coins from his purse. "I'll be right back."

After making certain the elves were doing as they were paid, he darted off into an alley and peed. Upon returning, he asked if the man he was looking for had appeared, and they shook their heads, so he bid them a good night, and returned his rump to the bench. The bittersweet smell of whatever leaf the elf was smoking hung in the air a moment.

It was a while yet before his back was stiff and his tuchas was numb, but by then, the sun was starting to rise, and the obelisks were starting to dim. A new insight came unto the fencer. He stood, arched his back, rubbed his cheeks, and marched back inside Rowdy's. Most of the patrons had come and gone, leaving the bar desolate. The young woman was sweeping the floors, and Rowdy was turning stools upside down.

"We're closed, " he said without turning around.

"Then, I suppose the fence isn't coming by anytime soon, " Garrett posed.

Rowdy spun around. "Oh, it's you. What now?"

"I'll give another couple of coins if you can send someone to find me when the man does show up. I'll be–"

"I'll not do yer' dirty work, " Rowdy huffed.

"Sorry. Do you know anyone who will?"

"I'll do it, " the young woman squawked.

"You'll not do anythin' o' the sort, young lady, " Rowdy accosted her.

"I'll do as I please, " she yelled and stomped her foot. "Sir?"

Garrett moved his eyes from Rowdy to the woman, her looks made it evident she was his daughter, and so Garrett slowly looked back to Rowdy. "This is important, and she'd just be sending me a message." Before the barkeep answered, he spoke to the girl. "I'll pay you a few coins, Ma'am."

Grumbling, Rowdy returned to his work, and the woman walked up to Garrett, pushed her rusty hair back from her forehead, and held out an open palm upon which Garrett placed a few coins. He then gave her the instructions; to send for him at the inn next door when the man in question showed. She grinned a yellowed smile and went back to sweeping.

With that settled, Garrett left the establishment and rented a room at the inn, Larry's Sleepery. The owner was a bald, dark-skinned man missing too many teeth. After giving payment, Garrett also let Larry know that someone might be sending a message for him and to wake him if the message did arrive. Naturally, Larry agreed to do so for an extra copper to which Garrett obliged.

Up the stairs in a room with a door that didn't close properly, Garrett eyed the cloth sheets; they were clean enough, but looked as though they had seen better days and less moths; tiny holes were rampant throughout them. Too tired to care, he collapsed on the bed and went out like a candle.

****

"Shouldn't we be, I don't know, more active at a time like this?!" Larson complained.

Mathew gave a subtle wince in reply. Since they had relocated to Sara's farmhouse just southwest of Xorinth, Mathew had been in and out mostly due to his investigation concerning Rolas's murder, but Larson and crew had been relegated to the sidelines, which seemed to make everyone extra fussy. Mathew removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I'm with the ox, lad, " Seanessy said.

"I understand, I do, " Mathew replied, replacing his glasses. "This is a delicate matter, though; you have to consider everything...."

It was getting very late and what little moonlight shone in through the shutters of the spacious attic was unfavorable in promoting conversation. Mathew and Sara, an aged woman of lighter complexion with cascading, gray hair, went around the loft, lighting candles. The new illumination better revealed burlap sacks filled with apple seeds, rakes, shovels, saws, and other implements; Sara owned an orchard. Lyalla was leaning against the banister protecting the stairs into the main house; while she tapped her foot impatiently, Fortha paced, and Seanessy spun his hammer in his grip.

"Tell us again what you think you know, " Larson demanded, but without making direct eye contact.

Edgy as Mathew was, he made a painstaking effort to recapitulate. Upon investigating Rolas's body, and the safe room from where the Lagos artifacts had been stolen, his conclusions were that at least two people had attacked Rolas. Two very disconcerting details gave rise to that belief.

One thing that bothered Mathew was the magckal signature still present in the safe room; it was indicative of teleportation magick, and there were two, similar signatures; one from where the thief entered, and one more from where he left, but Mathew had, as of yet, been unable to discover from where the attacker came, or where he went. The other problematic detail was that Rolas had been stabbed in the back, something which should have been impossible since his robe held an enchantment of invulnerability; it didn't make Rolas invulnerable per se`, but there was simply no way for a standard dagger to penetrate the robe, and yet it had happened.

"But the person who teleported in could have stabbed Rolas, " Lyalla interjected.

"It's possible, but that would mean that person teleported into the safe room, exited the safe room, maneuvered through magickal traps, and then stabbed Rolas without his being aware of an intruder, " Mathew explained. "Besides, there were trickles of blood implying that Rolas had been stabbed by a glass case; he appears to have fallen there and was then moved to the table. There's no real reason for a single thief to do that. Details like that usually imply an assassin, but then again, an assassin wouldn't have left the blade in Rolas's back. He or she would have most likely removed the blade."

"Besides, " Larson jumped in, "assassins aren't usually hired to steal things...although, this might the kind of stuff they would steal, " he added as an afterthought while rubbing his beard.

"Thas' fer' sure, " Seanessy nodded.

"The most likely scenario is this; assassins were hired to ransack the libratoreum, and one of them had his eye on Rolas. I think that the assassin eying Rolas gave some kind of signal to a mage, who upon receiving the signal, teleported into the safe room, stole the items, and then teleported back out, but this has to be one special magick user; the safe room should have been both undetectable and barred against teleportation spells, " Mathew elucidated. "This is all conjecture, anyway...."

"But why kill Rolas, " Larson asked.

"And why leave the dagger?" Fortha added.

Mathew shook his head, ran both hands through his hair, and glanced at everyone. "I'm not finished with this investigation yet, so for now, please just follow my orders, and stay put."

"Garrett's out there, and the guards pinned the entire disaster on him, " Larson argued with an aggravated motion of his hand.

"No, he's been cleared."

"Why then is he not with us?" Lyalla snipped.

Sighing, Mathew answered, "He's a resourceful one. While I figure out one part of this puzzle, he'll unwittingly figure out another."

"Then, we should be helpin' him!" Seanessy pouted.

"No, damn it, " Mathew grumbled. He then cleared his throat. "You're all under suspicion. Just try to relax for a night. Enjoy Sara's cider. When the time is right, and I have more information, I'll send you out to do something."

They all either sighed, puffed, or griped, but Mathew remained resolute. Having given his orders, he marched down the steps and out of sight. The group passed uncomfortable glances. Sara tried to smile, but she wasn't a very cordial woman; she was a worker.

"The cider turned out good this year, " she finally said.

"Heh, " the dwarf grinned. "Pour one fer' me!"

"Yeah, me, too, " Larson acquiesced with a dismissive hand gesture.

Nodding to her guests, Sara moseyed downstairs, leaving Larson and the gang to find a way to get comfortable. They moved around some of the small crates and barrels or relaxed on the wooden floor with their backs against seed sacks. Eventually, Sara returned with a pony keg, already tapped, and a tray of mugs. The smooth cider was enjoyed by all.

"Why are you helping us, " Larson asked her. "I mean, I know you're an acquaintance of Mathew's...."

"No, " she said, shaking her head. "I'm a distant relative of Prince Roan."

The group made faces of shock, of disbelief, and Seanessy spat, "Then what're you doin' in a shack like this?!"

"Seanessy!" Lyalla chastised. Larson chuckled while she turned to Sara. "I apologize on his behalf."

"Yeah, " Larson agreed. "A be-half is all he's got."

"A short joke?" Seanessy yelled and stood from a barrel. "How's about I put half o' me boot in yer' arse, eh?"

"Would you two stop it?" Fortha complained. "My word, such boorish company. Please, Sara, since we've little else to do, will you be so kind as to tell us of yourself and your lovely home?"

"Which isn't a shack at all, " Lyalla remarked. "It's a lovely two story, " she chirped with a smile. "Very rustic."

The aged woman plopped down on a crate; the cider in her mug nearly sloshing out, she took a swallow of the delicious beverage, and obliged them with her story. "The Magickal Prince's mother, Gods rest her soul, was my cousin. Our family had settled in Xorinth years ago, and when King Roan deferred rule of the city to his son, we were all offered promising positions on his court, but I'm not built for that kind of life, nor was my sister, Gods rest her soul, but my half-brother did take Prince Roan up on his offer.

"Anyway, when I told my cousin that all I ever wanted was a peaceful life that let me do as I please, she offered me some land and money, but money never really concerned me, so my sister and I took the land and used just a bit of money to start our orchard; the idea of brewing cider was mine, of course."

"Huzzah, " Seanessy interrupted with a raised glass.

Lyalla and Fortha shot him a contemptuous look, but he was oblivious. Besides, Sara raised her mug at the cheer and Seanessy clinked it with his.

Chuckling, Sara poured another round for those willing, and added, "All our hard work has paid for itself. I love my trees, my land, and a bit of magick goes a long way, " she winked.

"Magick, " Fortha asked.

"My orchard is split into quarters, and each quarter has trees that produce during two seasons, that way I can harvest eight times a year and with 'narry a lull."

"Okay, so, back to why you're helping Mathew, " Larson said, waving his free hand.

"Oh, " Sara smiled and drank more cider. "Let's just say that he works for the prince. I know he's a good man, Mathew. The prince would want me to help him, and he wants all of you of safe, so here we are."

Larson shrugged. There was little need to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it came bearing delightful cider.

****

A knock at the door woke Garrett from deep slumber. Yawning and huffing, he rolled out of bed and opened the door. Larry was standing there, smiling.

"Got your message, " he said, holding up a small scrap of parchment.

"Thank you." Garrett took the note, and Larry shuffled down the hall.

Plopping down on the bed, Garrett looked the note over. It simply stated-although misspelled-that the man was at Rowdy's. Acting quickly, Garrett dressed and tied his hair back, exited his room, ran down the stairs, waved at Larry on the way out, and received the warmth of sunlight. A subtle breeze blew through the streets of Xorinth. The fencer made the quick jog to Rowdy's door, patted the wrinkles from his clothes, and stepped inside.