No one had sent the beggar, Rikkert began the explanation of the circumstances that had led the crew to this particular predicament.
Over the course of the last few months, several homes belonging to merchants under the protection of the Thieves Guild had been ransacked by a group of considerable skill. Every month, after a gathering of sorts, within a few days of the event, a house would be targeted. This led the guild to believe the culprit was someone who either attended or organised the gatherings. The Captain of the Suiddock branch of the Thieves Guild had arranged for the sting to take place, putting out the word of a house that was vulnerable for a scrimshaw haul. Rikkert seemed surprised that the four had come across this information at all, low and behold at the hands of a beggar, especially one connected will within the Beggars Guild that had been a trusted source of information previously.
It was decided that the crew would lay low in the Doodkanaal region, the darkest and dankest region of all Marienburg. A place where no one would look, a place where so one dared to venture.
As night fell, Rikkert arrived to collect Ras, Jormund, Armand and Goran, loading them onto a strange vessel designed to ride low in the water and navigate canals with ease. The journey was not long, however the canals being traversed seemed to get darker and dirtier with every inch they drew closer to Doodkanaal. Arriving at their destination shortly after midnight, the dock was bare, the timer rotting slowly from the putrid waste that riddled the water. The air was thick with smog, the fowl scent of excrement filling the nostrils of all who dared breathe deep. Jormund seemed the most offended, being lower to the ground a clear disadvantage in this neighborhood.
Rikkert led the men down a series of alley ways, winding left and right several times before arriving at what looked like a once normal establishment, however now its boarded windows and mud smeared exterior making seem more fit for rats than men, ironically, the sign on the door read “The Rat and Pipe Inn”.
“This is a place we use sometimes,” Rikkert explained, “Keep your mouths shut, no one needs to know you are here.”
The five entered with Rikkert in the lead, pushing the creaking door open the interior of the main hall was soft underfoot, the lack of floor boards apparent, the soggy dirt a mixture of spilled drinks, animal excrement, blood and of course drunken urine of patrons.
Behind the barely standing bar, a dirty individual greeted by Rikkert as Albert, his apron almost black with grease, blood and dirt, his face pitted from a lifetime of brawls, alcohol and poor life choices. Albert’s demeanor however was a strange relief to the travelers, pleasant and unphased by new faces. After a brief exchange between Rikkert and Albert, the barkeep led the four down a flight of stairs to a dark basement, explaining that this was to be their lodgings. The floor was again dirt, the straw bundles that lay around the room were stale and rat infested, the air thick with the stink of all things rotten.
“Surely there is something better!”, Jormund exclaimed.
take it, or take your chances with the swine in the streets that would cut your throat just so they could wear your tattooed skin as a trophy before discarding it as pig leather after an hour!”.
Jormund shut his mouth at the retort, this was Doodkanaal, no law, no honour, no rules, what happens in this district goes unseen, all of the men in the room knew that few who venture into these streets without purpose, seldom return.
His face returning to its pleasant, former self, Albert began again, “Food? Drink?”
All four nodded at drink, however Armand was the only taker for the Pie Albert was offering. The ale was horrible, what was once a fine brew now riddles with floating mould, its colour closer to black rather than the clear brown that was common. Armand, not thinking about anything but his stomach began to chew the semi cool pie, its soggy bread pastry oozing brown slime that he considered meat of some kind. Goran, Ras and Jormund looked on, concealing smirks as thy slowly watched Armand turn green, within minutes, hunched in a corner, more spewing out of him than went in.
The night was long, cold and uncomfortable, Rikkert taking his leave and leaving the four to sleep, sleep that only came in moments few and far between.
As the sun slowly lit the smog soaked sky, the four began to discuss their plans for the day. They all knew, the longer they stayed in this place, the more likely they would never get out, if the street roamers didn’t murder them, surely the food would.
Goran and Armand decided to go in search of better lodgings for what would hopefully be a short stay in Doodkanaal, Ras and Jormund would begin their search for beggars, hoping to find someone willing to point them in the direction of Siemon, the man who gave them the information for the scrimshaw.
It was mid morning when Armand and Goran walked through the barely standing door of the Jolly Boatman, from the outside, the tavern looked similar to that of an abandoned dive, on the inside, not much of an improvement. Walking down the two step entry way, the entirety of the patronage of the bar stopped and stared at the short Estalian and tall bearded Goran. The air was thick with tobacco
smoke and the aroma of Doodkanaal itself. Making their way to the bar, a tall white haired man emerged demanding to know the reason for the two being in his tavern. Ordering two beers, the barkeep was satisfied and produced two steins of liquid that smelt similar to sewage.
Repulsed by what was in the tankard, Armand and Goran looked over the interior of the establishment, both deciding that this was far from an improvement on their current lodgings.
Getting up to leave, a small and slender youth approached from a booth in the corner of the main room, inquiring if he could be of assistance, Goran however felt as though this entire endeavor was a waste of time, shrugging of the youth and exiting with Armand in tow. As they walked down the narrow streets, Armand and Goran both decided to wait, leaning against a somewhat stable wall to make sure they were not being followed out of the Jolly Boatman, something was off about that place, something was off about that youth, however after several minutes, no one emerged, allowing Goran and Armand to continue back towards the Rat and Pipe inn.
Meanwhile, Ras and Jormund had headed west, towards the cluttered market district of Doodkanal, stopping at random walkways in search of anyone they thought looked like a beggar or could know anything.
It didn’t take them long, a beggar by the name of Jaap, producing the information of where to find Siemon, Jormund was disappointed by the ease of which the information was obtained, not even getting the chance to crush a walnut in his hand as a show of force. Ras handed the beggar two gold, the price of learning that Siemon was a regular at ‘The Hounds Den’, a gambling den only open after dark.
Ras and Jormund took directions from the beggar and scouted the den, closed to all during the day, a hole in the wall of an entrance the only sign that it may be what they were looking for. Retracing their steps in order to recall the correct paths to take, they too returned to the Rat and Pipe Inn, discovering Goran and Armand both struggling to drink whatever the contents of their tankards was supposed to be.
*
The Hounds tooth was a busy place after dark, Jormund and Ras were first to enter, electing for Goran and Armand to wait a short time before entering to avoid suspicion. Ras was nervous, looking around the slowly filling establishment, many of the occupants were already involved in throwing coin around their respective tables. Many of the men sitting were, from what Ras could see, all associated with each other, members of the Hounds, all brandishing similar tattoos that covered their bodies and tight chain necklaces from which dangled an assortment of what looked like dog teeth.
Taking a seat at one of the tables, they began looking around the room, not paying attention to the small amounts of coin they were bleeding across the table, it was clear to them that they were also being watched, a keen interest taken by the tattooed occupants.
As time passed, Siemon finally made his entrance, sitting towards the back of the room, engaging immediately at his table with the scraps of coin he had managed to secure from his day of street begging. One by one, Ras, Jormund, Armand and Goran all made their way to the table Siemon had come to rest at. Recognising them instantly, and greeting them with a big smile, it was not long before Goran, Jormund and Ras escorted him to a quieter table where their conversation could be had with minimal risk of being overheard. He admitted he hadn't been sent by Rikkert, but, he had acted in good faith, following the strict instruction from someone of the Thieves' Guild.
Armand electing to stay at the table with Siemon’s associates, again slowly cleaning them out of their hard-gotten gains. It wasn’t long before Jormund was standing next to Siemon who was refusing to give any information with some form of payment, Jormund’s fist giving away his intention, Goran too was slowly massaging the hilt of his dagger that draped across his lap, Ras on the other
hand, full of talk, speaking in his version of Marsh and Thieves language in an attempt to pry information from Siemon.
“If you want the name of who set you up, you will have to do me a favour.” Siemons request was always the same.
“The favour will be your life”, Goran cut across him, “You think you are protected, well not in here, not right at this moment.”
“Your other favour will be your nuts,” Jormund whispered as he cracked a walnut in his hand, letting the shell fall to the floor.
Siemon swallowed hard, the obvious attachment to his life and testicles proving to be a good place to focus the attention of the threats being made.
“If he screams, you die first.” The man across from Armand whispered, Smiling at the threat, Armand silently welcomed the challenge, three on one, their daggers against his rapier, he only saw one outcome, three slit throats around a table, none of which were his own.
After a lengthy discussion, Goran finally shook the hand of the filthy Beggar, the blackened nails of Siemon scraping across the callused palm of the former soldier, “If the information is good, you will get your favour.”
“The name is Cees, he is the man you want.”
Before leaving the establishment, Armand could not help but realise that the alcohol being served at the hounds den was a vast improvement over any other in Doodkanaal, using his winnings to purchase several large bottles for the crew to drink.
As the four men returned to the Rat and Pipe Inn, they were surprised to find Rikkert sitting at the bar talking to Albert. Tapping him on the shoulder Ras ushered him into the basement they had been staying in, pulling the curtain closed as they all entered.
*
The four allowed themselves a small smile as the air began to clear through their nostrils as they breathed deeply, savouring the difference as they drifted back towards Suiddock, leaving Doodkannal behind. Jormund’s face had returned to normal from its previous shades of white that had occupied it since their arrival. Ras seemed the most unphased, his Marsh background proving to keep his
constritution strong against the putrid nature of the Doodkanaal pestilence, a fact Goran and Armand would exploit as ridicule to his familiar surroundings.
The barge passed towards the norther area of Suiddock, the district of Riddra, where Willem had taken the four upon their capture on
Three Penny Bridge, one of the bases of operations for the Thieves Guild in the area.
Rikkert explained that Cees, the man mentioned by Siemon was a Lieutenant within the guild based out of Suiddock, someone that had been under scrutiny before by Willem amongst others.
Rikkert then went on to explain that the four would be attending a dinner on Riddra the following evening, they are not to acknowledge him, nor anyone they see, they were to only know each other, sent to the dinner by Marenus, the local Lieutenant from Doodkanaal.A strange request, Goran felt that this was moving faster than he liked, first lay low, then within 36 hours of that instruction, dinner at the Thieves Guild, something was amiss in his mind. The five men passed by the doors of a large stone building, a tavern of sorts where familiar faces guarded the door, Willem’s men, men who had brandished sword and shield at Crispijn’s Jewellery shop.
Permitting Rikkert and the four access, they moved down to the basement they had previously been thrown in, only now made somewhat liveable by the fresh stray, blankets and food provided.
After a good nights rest and full bellies, Ras, Goran Jormund and Armand sat and discussed the events that had transpired, they had been told to lay low, they must have impressed someone with their speed and tenacity having found what was required within two days, now a dinner invitation, maybe they had found some luck. Early afternoon saw Willem arrive with a beautiful woman in tow, Loretta, a member of the guild with a very particular set of skills.
“This is Loretta, she will make you presentable for this evenings festivity.” Will spoke with a sombre tone rather than his previous interrogation voice.
Loretta was an expert at disguise, explaining we would not be attending the dinner as ourselves, but as something different. Looking at Jormund, he had two options, shave his beard, or colour is hair, the dwarf gripped his axe at the very mention of a razor touching his face and the red bearded dwarf soon became black. Goran on the other had was shaved, his bushy beard transformed into a styled moustache and matching goatee, his hair slicked back and clothing that of a merchant. Ras was tougher, his rugged appearance and marsh smell hard to mask. Loretta however had experience, setting small plats in his hair and grooming his face to be clean, something he had seldom seen
on himself. Armand was a challenge, already not having much to work with, his hair c
oloured, his face made up to reflect a different skin tone, the four were complete, ready to dine.
Loretta led the way as the evening arrived, a short walk to a large red brick building, the design was similar to that of a food hall, however build upon in a skyward direction. Upon entering a thick wooden door, a small foyer presented itself, a place to hang cloaks and hats.
Entering the main hall, all of the furniture was stacked against the walls, all but a large “T” shaped series of tables with long benches at either side. Looking around the room, several men stood casually chatting among themselves, taking notice of the new entrants.
Behind the bar at the far end of the room, Rikkert was wiping down tankards and Olaf, the boatman was serving drinks, his attire changing from his boating garb to a respectful yet simple jacket. Above the hall was a small balcony, accessible by stairs close to the bar, currently vacant, but a clear view of the entire room visible for any who stoop atop the railing. Ras, Goran, Jormund and Armand all moved towards the bar, each man thirsty from the tiring process of being transformed by Loretta.
Olaf attended each man, before serving drink, relieving them all of their weapons, the only arms allowed, personal daggers many often used to cut food rather than the knives placed on the
table.
As the four moved around the large room, explaining they were here at the request of their Lieutenant in Doodkanaal, they learned that there were three to four factions of the Thieves Guild Present, Willem and his men, Oldrik, a bald man in conversation with Willem along
with two others, a dark skinned man, Martinus and Cees, a weedy looking individual, the Lieutenants of whom belonged the rest of the men around the room. After a short time mingling with all in the room, Olaf ushered all to sit, the four sitting across the table from the men belonging to Cees, five men in total. Another man appeared from close to the bar who had eluded all view, a hooded man who sat separately at a single table with a single chair.
A door could be heard opening from above, looking up, all could see a tall, gaunt man appear, his clothes fine but faded. As he approached the balcony, all around the table began thundering with their feet and cheering the name“Titus!!!”
Titus made his way down the stairs towards the head of the T shaped table where Willem and the other Lieutenants were standing, also moving to the hooded man and shaking his hand before taking a seat at the head of the table.
“For those of you who are new here, I am Titus, I oversea Riddra, if there is anything you need, you come and see me.” Titus moved slowly with his motions, tired, yet sharp, something strangely fluid in his movements. “Now please, eat, drink, enjoy my hospitality.”
The food started to arrive, each man enjoying themselves with every bite and mouthful.
After a time, the hooded man at the single table stood, commanding silence in the very act of rising.
“You overstep Titus, recruiting new faces without approval can be frowned upon by Grossbart, our master in Suiddock.”
Cees, drunk as could be, barked: "If you don't like the way we work here, why don't you fuck off back to the Long Dragon!"This resulted in a few sharp intakes of breath among the lower ranking members, apart from Cees' men, who chuckled at it.
Titus smiled at Cees "Please Cees, mind your manner to our guests, that's not the way we do things here." Then he turned to Rolf.
“Yes Rolf, my dear friend, however there is always reason to every action, please take your seat.” Titus replied calmly.
Rolfe was right hand to Grossbart, head of the thieves guild in Suiddock of which Riddra was a district.
Titus continued, “ Cees, what is the most important rule?”
“Cees stood from his seat, “Never steal from your guild, never hold out on your guild!”
Titus also rose from his seat next to Cees, swinging quickly with his cane, slamming Cees in the back of the head with the large silver knob, sending him face down on the table. Drawing a long and slender dagger, Titus then pinned Cees to the table as if he was made of bread with the dagger through his shoulder,
“Then why did you steal Cees? Why did you hold out?”
Cees men were in shock at their Lieutenant being accosted in such a way. Titus motioning for Rikkert to come closer, without hesitation Rikkert leant over Cees, slicing his throat, spilling blood all across the table. Looking up from Cees body to the four who all gripped their daggers, Goran more than anyone, Rikkert motioned for his men to act.
"What are you waiting for!"
Not having to be told twice, Armand lept across the table lunging at the closest of Cees men who in shock, scrambled to defend himself.
Goran and Ras followed, diving across the table, each picking out a man to attack, Jormund however, far slower stood atop the table, revealing his chained axe head.
upward through the chin of his target. Goran finally saw his opening, headbutting his man twice in the face, breaking his nose, driving down with his dagger and stabbing the man through the right eye.
Each man rising from their battles, the rest of the table remained still seated, watching with intent, some small coin changing hands as Rikkert stood by his men.
“Welcome to the Guild.” Titus smiled.
Rikkert returned to Titus side, dragging Cees body from the table and taking his seat.
Apologizing to Rolfe for the violence, Titus explained that the culprit for the breaches in security had been found and now dealt with. The rest of the evening, more food, wine and ale, all told stories of their exploits and achievements as well as their favourite spots for drink and women. Before the dawn, many of the men had disappeared back to their origins, all that remained were Titus, his staff of Olaf and Loretta. Rolf had retired for the evening, Rikkert and the four the only men left.
Titus addressed them all individually, explaining the rules, anything taken, a share must be paid, no exceptions. After conversing with all, it was Armand who went to Titus, with his first question.“Sir, do you know of a man names Miguelito Nunez?” Armand enquired.
“Little Round Head, of course,” Titus replied, “What of him?”
“Where can I find him?” Armands face alight with intrigue.
“He is one of our Northern Captains, he runs the Thieves Guild in Handelaarmarkt.”
Armand’s face dropped, those were the rules, do not steal from the guild, do not harm the guild and do not fight within the guilds, there had been a steady truce between all Thieves Guilds across Marienburg for the last six months, to break it would mean war.
A war in the gutters, where water turned to blood and soldiers wore no armour, soldiers who you never see coming.
