Author: shawkat.farhad

Previous Chapter

“And then…and then…ahahah…would you believe, ahahahaha, he actually was wearing his, hahahaha, brown pants, ahahahah!”

A couple of other distinct voices joined in the merriment, making a total of at least three men present in the room. Squeaky Voice appeared to be the host, Lord Barker. The other two were Booming Voice, quiet in general, but with the loudest laugh, and Annoying Voice, who laughed nervously, and kept on trying to change the topic.

Iareth waited silently, hiding in the shadows, trying her best to stifle a sneeze. Infiltrating the mansion itself had been relatively simple. Now that she was inside, her task grew considerably tougher. To get to the safe, she had to cross the living room. Currently occupied by three men who appeared to have no intention of going to bed anytime soon.

Lord Barker got up, and opened another bottle of wine. A fruity scent wafted across straight to Iareth’s nose, once more forcing her to smother a sneeze. It was absolutely crucial that she not get caught in this mission. This was high-stakes, and after her last couple of failed missions, she was finding it difficult to retain her rank in the Guild. Her allergies were getting worse, which hardly helped, and were probably responsible for the last two failures.

She squeezed herself even more tightly into the corner next to the cabinet from which Lord Barker was selecting his drink. She was careful not to cast any extra shadows, and hoped her Camouflaging Cloak would help her out. She had been promised the manor would be an easy heist, with Lord Barker neatly tucked in bed at this hour. Her information had been faulty, and she would have to adjust. She’d had faulty information on her previous two missions as well.

“Oh, have you heard the one about, ahahhaa, the elf hooker? You know what they say about elvish women I hope. Otherwise you won’t get this one. Hahahaha”

Iareth frowned. Not this again.

Annoying Voice interrupted.

“I’m sure it’s a very amusing anecdote, Lord Barker, but I was hoping you would be discussing the Slinger issue tonight.”

Booming Voice agreed. He said, in a deep, rumbling voice, “I was about to suggest the same thing. What’s the latest update on the Slingers? How soon can we see them in action?”

Lord Barker returned to his seat and began to speak in a much lower voice. The other two pulled their chairs closer, providing Iareth with a little more space to manoeuvre.

“They’re close. Closer than you’d believe,” he whispered. “Everything is falling into place. The Mages don’t suspect a thing.”

The men drew even nearer, as Lord Barker’s voice dropped further. Iareth was tempted to eavesdrop – information was worth its weight in gold these days – but took the opportunity to sneak past the conspirators, edging towards her eventual destination – the master bedroom. This is where, if her recently unreliable informer was to be trusted, she would find the safe. She was not to peek inside, just collect the pouch, no looking, and bring it back to their client. No peeking, no looking, she silently repeated to herself, slowly glancing back towards the group, just to ensure they were all still quite captivated in whatever plot they were hatching. And she sneezed.

The three men all rose from their chairs, one of them knocking over a tiny table in the process. Quick as a flash, Iareth took out a vial containing a lime green liquid, and swallowed it whole. She shut her eyes and hoped the potion would do its trick. She double checked the label – Invisibility Potion, 15 sec.

“Did you hear that?” asked Annoying Voice.

“I bloody well did!” said Lord Barker. “Guards! Guards!” he squeaked.

No one showed up. Iareth held her breath. She slowly edged closer towards the bedroom door, thankfully slightly ajar, but not quite wide enough for her to squeeze through. She dare not push it open further, but she also knew the potion would soon lose its power. She cursed her Guild for not providing her with the 30 second version. Damn the budget cuts! They had refused to fund her further till her success rate improved. She hid next to a large suit of armour casting a convenient shadow, and realised the potion’s effects had worn out.

“Where are the damned guards?” asked Annoying Voice.

“I forgot. I gave them the night off, as I didn’t want anyone listening in on us. Or reporting your arrival. Don’t worry, it was most probably nothing. I still have patrols outside the mansion. Impossible for anyone to have snuck in.”

“Never mind all that” roared Booming Voice. “You said the Slingers have reached the North already.”

“Hush!”

After a couple of suspicious glances either way, he signalled them closer, and continued to whisper.

Iareth, now out of invisibility potion, and hoping her Camouflaging Cloak (Sneak +15) would be enough, slowly crawled on her belly, dragging herself towards the bedroom door. Bit by bit, she gradually squeezed through, pushing the door slightly further ajar in the process, hoping it wouldn’t creak and betray her presence. It didn’t.

Still on all fours, guided by the light creeping in from the other room, she crawled towards a large safe at the foot of the bed. At least her informer wasn’t totally wrong about its whereabouts. It was now a matter of having enough lockpicks. She had seven, four provided by the Guild, three from her personal stash. Just in case. You could never have too many lockpicks.

She stuck the lockpick inside the safe keyhole, and fiddled for a couple of seconds before the lockpick snapped. No problem, it helped her to identify the type of lock, and what approach was required. It was a Model SENQE. Rumoured to be waterproof. She wondered about its contents. As she manoeuvred her way through with her second lockpick, she smirked. Those gnomes built these Sentinel Safes, thinking each time they’d come up with the fool proof version. Idiots. Always acting too clever by half. She’d just need one more lockpick, would hang on to the other one. You could never have too many lockpicks.

As soon as it snapped, she quickly inserted her third lockpick to hold the unlocked pins from slipping back, forcing her to start all over again. Rarely ever happened to her anymore, and as she navigated her way through the rest of the pins, she managed to unlock the safe. Looks like you could have too many lockpicks after all, she thought, as she carefully opened the safe door.

Immediately, a loud alarm began to ring. Cursing the gnomes’ ingenuity, she hastily picked up the pouch inside. Wondering how on earth she would plot her escape, she distractedly gazed at the red pouch, tied up with gold string. No peeking, no peeking, the mantra ran through her mind as she slowly began to untie the knot. The alarm blared on, but she was oblivious to her surroundings, completely mesmerised by the contents of the pouch.

By now, all three men had entered the chamber, Lord Barker brandishing a huge fire poker clumsily. Iareth hardly looked up, gazing inside the pouch, fascinated by its contents.

As soon as Lord Barker raised the poker to give her a hefty blow to the back of her head, she stuck a finger inside the pouch and touched the black powder inside.

And disappeared.

“Anyone know what a bedizen is?” asked a soft voice, hardly able to pierce through the bedlam that reigned in the tavern at that moment. Loud music, lewd jokes, bawdy flirting, boisterous arguments, all successfully drowning out the faint voice of the enquirer.

It did grab the attention of a couple of thugs who happened to be sitting at the next table. They had been keeping a close eye on the barbarian, closely scrutinising his actions for the last hour or so. Most of which involved sipping from a mug of cocoa, which he held in his right hand, and flipping the pages of a book, which he held in his left. Quite the page turner, apparently, because he had been turning pages very consistently the whole time. Mostly though, their gaze was focused on the rings he wore on his fingers, bejewelled with large precious multi-coloured stones.

“Bedizen…bedizen. Hmm, I know what a citizen is, what a denizen is. I ought to know, I’m surrounded by a fair number of them.” He wiped cocoa off his beard, then coughed politely, and added, to no one in particular, “If it helps, the sentence goes – She decided to bedizen herself with colourful gems, intent on standing out in the crowd.”

He looked up quizzically at the pair of brigands, peering through a pair of spectacles that made him look perfectly innocuous. Which was quite an achievement, given he was almost seven feet tall, with long red hair and a matching beard. An intimidating prospect, but apart from his harmless demeanour, what had also caught the pair’s attention was a complete lack of any kind of threatening weapon in his possession.

“Yes?” he asked hopefully, “any idea? I feel like I ought to know this.”

One of the villains started whistling a nervous tune and looked up towards the ceiling. The other began to shake his head, with a guilty expression on his face, looking downward at the floor.

“I see the serried pattern on the ceiling has caught your eye. Clashes with the striated floor, doesn’t it? And then there’s the variegated rugs tossed all around the inn. It’s a wonder more folks don’t regurgitate their victuals upon sighting these anomalies.”

With no response forthcoming, he reverted to his book.

“Bedizen, bedizen. I’m sure I’ll get it soon.”

The tavern owner was keeping a nervous watch on proceedings. He was the one who had summoned the bandits, having sent his errand boy to inform them of a potential victim. They rarely robbed such physically threatening specimen in general. Perhaps the fact that the barbarian had absent-mindedly left his great axe on the counter while ordering his cocoa had emboldened the tavern owner and his team of bandits. There was just one golden rule. All robberies to be committed outside the premises. He himself, of course, was the exception. He hoped he would not have to share the proceeds from the great axe with his crew. It looked as though it would fetch a respectable price.

The barbarian, completely oblivious to this nefarious plot being hatched in the vicinity, finished his cocoa, wiped his mouth on his arm again, used the other hand to prop up his spectacles, left coins on the table, and got up, still peering closely at the words on the page. Completely unmindful of his surroundings.

The crooked pair surreptitiously nodded to their partners, sitting behind the barbarian, a bit further back, and, now a quartet, sneakily followed the tall, imposing figure heading outside the tavern, where they were joined by two others.

The group followed the barbarian as he headed towards an alley. One of them chuckled, before he was hushed by another. The barbarian, still apparently oblivious to all the unintended noise behind him, muttered ‘bedizen…bedizen’ as he headed further into the dark alley. And reached a dead end. This was exactly where the bandits wanted him.

He suddenly said, to no one in particular, “So now that you’ve got me here. What do you plan to do with me?”

The villains, over eager and stepping on each other’s toes a moment or two ago, now faltered.

The barbarian turned around and reached behind his back. He fumbled around a bit more, still searching for something, before muttering, “Oh bugger! I’ve forgotten my axe again. Left it in that tavern I suppose. Hope I didn’t lose it. It’s +15 Two-Handed.”

One of the thugs, hands trembling, was pointing an odd shiny object at him. The rest of the shiny objects they were armed with looked much more familiar.

Bandit One grinned and leapt forward, brandishing a dagger in a menacing manner, slicing and dicing the thin air for a few moments, before getting punched in the face. A punch that caused severe damage to his already tarnished looks, given the fist that met his mouth, nose, and right eye were well adorned with massive gems.

The rest of the horde hesitated. So did the barbarian. He gazed dreamily at the precious stones on his fist, raised an eyebrow, and exclaimed, “Got it! Bedizened. That’s brilliant. Bedizen. Bedizened. You live and learn.”

He looked up, grinning happily at the group facing him, two of whom were warily approaching him from either side, one wielding a sword, the other waving two daggers. The nervous hoodlum at the back still held that peculiar shiny object in his hands, focused on the barbarian.

The barbarian tut-tutted in disappointment.

“See, there’s street-smart, and then there’s textbook smart. You’ve probably memorised Shi Tzu’s Craft of Conflict. Can quote any paragraph from any page. But you haven’t really comprehended anything of significance. Brawling in this narrow alley is hardly conducive to classic pincer movements, such as this. Recipe for disaster, really.”

By now, the two thugs had reached him, just in time for Bandit Two to get punched on the side of the head, and Bandit Three receiving a hefty boot to the stomach. The barbarian stepped forward, stomped on the head of Three, smashing his face in, thought about stomping on Two, but decided enough damage had already been done.

Three down, three to go. He picked up the sword that had been dropped by Two, a sword that looked tiny in his hands, yet no less threatening. He took a couple of practice swings, causing Bandits Four and Five to flee in the opposite direction. That only left Six, currently experiencing a warm trickle that was fast dampening his trousers.

The barbarian kept approaching Six, fixated now on the strange shiny object in his quivering hands. It was relatively small, not sharp enough to cause any apparent damage. There was a grip to hold on to, pointing down, while the rest of the weapon, was pointed towards the barbarian. As he came closer, he noticed it also consisted of a cylindrical shaped part in the middle.

Now close enough to touch the object, the barbarian, still curious, reached forward to grab it. A loud bang sounded as he took it from the bandit, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his stomach, and suddenly collapsed.

And disappeared.

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