As Ras, Goran and Jormund woke, they noticed that Armand had vanished, his empty bottle of alcohol laying silently on the floor of the Rusty Barnacle. After the previous discussions regarding sticking together to make something more of themselves, it was Ras who threw the idea around of Armand being a moody child bloodthirsty foreigner.
Weeks passed without a sign of Armand. Goran, Ras and Jormand all still dwelling in the rooms of Sweaty Olaf’s establishment, filling in their time with odd jobs and the occasional outward venture. Goran had taken to spending most of his time on watch across the waterways, constantly observing the cave entrance given to them by their would be murderer. Jormund has stuck with Ras, attempting to learn the so called secret language of the thieves that was spoken throughout not only the city, but from what Ras had demonstrated, the Marshlands as well.
It was the end of the second week when Armand Rusty Barnacle, the look of disappointment on his face obvious. Jormund was the first to inquire as to his whereabouts. Returning north in search of his Swordmasters, his journey was pointless, unable to find them ,instead spending much of his time drinking and gambling, taking out his frustration with his poor fencing performance by drinking himself into a stupor.returned to the
Goran had regaled the crew with the comings and gings of the cave, several different boats would randomly enter and exit, constantly moving things in and out, yet never more than three men at a time would enter or exit. Rikkert had made himself scarce, rarely entering the tavern, when he did, it was little more than guard work on offer that several different crews would fight for as the pay, even small in amount, was still pay.
Ras had decided to turn his attention to the waterways, observing the comings and goings of the docks of Suiddock. There was an obvious feud between the guilds of the water, the pilots who controlled much of the large ship docks, and the rivermen, the men, like Ras who transported goods in smaller and harder to detect vessels.
The jobs being brought in were small barely enough to see any profit for the four who were now living rough in Sweaty Olaf’s lodgings.
Goran was the first to start the discussion regarding the cave. As the four sat in a quiet corner of the tavern, the discussion was quiet, how best to infiltrate the cave, so many unknown factors causing Ras the most concern, even the might of a dwarf would prove useless when potentially met by a small army if that was indeed the case. As the four conversed, Free, one of Sweaty Olaf’s men was struggling with a disheveled man who had walked into the tavern. The distance between the door and the booth where the four sat making it hard to hear what was being said, however it clear that the man was motioning towards Goran and Jormund. After his refusal to leave, Goran eventually moved towards the man. Enquiring as to his intent, “Rikkert sent me.” His only response.
After clearing it with Frey, Goran escorted the man to the booth where Ras, Jormand and Armand were seated. The man reeked of filth, as if his days were spent sitting in filth and muck.
Ras probed with questions, “Why hasn’t Rikkert come himself?”
“He is busy up north and as a trusted friend, I have been sent.”
The discussion was drole, Siemon demanding food and drink in order to pass on the information, the entire time, Jormund’s hands were fists of stone, while Armand flicked the hilt of his sword constantly in annoyance. Goran moved from the table to where Sweaty Olaf had been tending the bar.
“Do you know this man?” he asked Sweaty Olaf.
“Oh yes, he is a member of the Beggars Guild, we use them from time to time, you can trust him.”
Mildly satisfied, Goran returned to the table, allowing Siemon to be heard. Firstly he negotiated hard for his price, gold for valuable information, a bargain was stuck, providing the information was worth the price.
“There is a house up north belonging to one Frederick Den Euwe, an avid collector of whale bone scrimshaw. His collection resides in the west wing of the first floor, he is away for some time and the collection is ripe for the taking. You must take care, he has a small number of guards and some rather large dogs, but once they are dealt with, the spoils will be numerous.”
Siemon spilled his ale down his shaggy beard with every chew of
his cold meat, his plate constantly catching the remnants that failed to make it fully into his mouth as he spoke.
“Head to Three Penny Bridge, there is a Jeweler who works with us by the name of Crispin, he will be your fence, he pays 75% on the coin and will know the location of the Den Euwe house.”
The price for the information was 20 gold, a hefty price for such a vague description. With Sweaty Olaf’s assurance that Siemon was trustworthy, the following morning the four set out for Three Penny Bridge to the north of Suiddock.
By late afternoon Jormund, Ras, Goran and Armand stood at the far side of the bridge. It was a strange sight, across the walkway, a heavily built up area, as if houses had been built on top of one another, overhanging the narrow streets and suffocating the air with their mould and mossy odor. On the streets, thieves were rife, on every corner stood prostitutes and beggars alike. Each of the crew tied their purses to their belts extra tightly, making sure that nothing would be lost through this slow march. The area was void of the patrols known as the black hats, Armand, able to read the hand painted sign boards, it was clear that this place was not friendly to the maw, having driven the Black Cap presence from the area and its near by surrounds.
After walking a short distance once across the bridge, a narrow yet tall, three storey building appeared, a small sign with a picture of a ring hanging above the solid oak doors. It was agreed that Ras and Armand would enter, Goran and Jormund were on guard duty, not knowing who was watching or if indeed this was a trap of some kind.
 |
| Crispijn Van Oosserijcker |
The location was obtained by Ras, Goldleaf Street in Goudberg, the merchant district filled with middle to upper class families.
Crispin’s gaze was slightly unnerving, he seemed very guarded and cautious when discussing the details with Ras and Armand, his experience dealing with thieves always proving to be treacherous business.
Satisfied with the information, Ras and Armand re-joined Goran and Jormund outside, both looking nervous at the activity of the street urchins who glared and snarled at everyone who seemed out of place. Goran’s first concern, the dogs, he didn’t like dogs, especially big ones, and from what they had been told, there was more than one.
Loading themselves and Goran’s freshly bought drug stash into Ras’s boat, the crew set off across the water to the district of Goudberg, the horizon transforming in front of them, the dank and degraded docks of Suiddock replaced by elegantly designed wharfs of ancient Tilean design. Newer architecture also present, displaying the Winged Victory wherever a sculpture or banner could fit. Once ashore, it was clear that the four men did not belong, the streets bustling with many different classes of citizen, Courtesans replaced the street walking prostitutes they had seen in Three Penny Bridge, the street urchins replaced by Artisans, duellists, sculptors and aristocrats, and of course regularly patrolled by the Black Hats who’s garb was finer, newer and ever so slightly more sophisticated.
As the four made their way through the busy streets, they caught the eye of a Black Hat patrol, the garb and appearance of the four clearly a sight these men were not accustomed to. It was Armand who tipped his hat politely, causing the black hats to pass slowly, whispering to themselves as they walked, the points of their halberds never lowering.
Breathing sighs of relieve, the four found their way slowly to Goldleaf street, a suburban district filled with walled mansions of stone freshly cleaned and displayed with pride. As the four approached the house of Frederick Den Euwe, a small guard house was visible, an open gate sporting a sleeping guard causing Jormund to let out a snort of humour.
Passing the house without stopping or breaking their stride, it was decided that Armand, the most foreign looking of the group would return and ask directions. Approaching the guard casually, Armand woke the guard with repeated calls of “excuse me sir.” The smell of alcohol emanating from the guards breath as he gave directions to the closest port.
Night was going to be the best option, Ras and Goran, both gazing upon the wall and assessing their ability to climb it would be more than enough. If the guard on duty was anything to base their assessments on, the dogs would be the only concern.
Goran returned to the bustling market, locating a butcher and purchasing several small pieces of meat with the intent of lining them with the concoction purchased at the apothecary to deal with the dogs.
*
As night fell, four dark shapes emerged from the shadows between the walls of Goldleaf street, two of which scaling the 10 foot high stone wall of the manor of Frederick Den Euwe. Ras took the lead, peering over the wall, the flickering light of candles emitting from the guard house by the gate as well as several rooms in the house. Within the grounds, four sets of eyes caught the moonlight and the low
growls of canine malice filled the air. Goran took his position on top of the wall, throwing pieces of meat to three monstrous beasts that were slowly advancing towards the would be intruders. Two of the dogs snapped up the food, within moments stumbling and releasing groans as they lay on their stomachs and closed their eyes. The third however continued its gaze on the intruders, again Goran threw the tainted meat, again the dog ignored.
“Enough waiting” Goran whispered, releasing a bolt from his crossbow at the hound, striking it on the hind leg, causing it to whimper and limp away towards the far end of the yard where small kennels could just be made out in the darkness.
The fourth set of eyes also growled lowly at the intruders, its growls followed by the sound of clanging chains. The beast thrashing to try and break the bonds that secured it to a stump outside the guard house. Hitting the ground softly, Ras and Goran advanced on the dog, Goran throwing more meat at its feet. The dog, like the previous two snapped it up without a sound, again stumbling shortly after before curling up and breathing deeply. Letting out clear signs of relief Goran moved to the gate, slowly opening it silently to allow Armand and Jormund to enter without alarm.
Armand flung the door open and dove boldly into the guard house, Goran shouldering his crossbow as his view caught the sight of two guards sitting at a small table by candle light throwing dice and shuffling cards. “Halt!” Goran’s voice rang out. The guards paying no heed and both moving to the far side of the room where two swords and a crossbow lay on a small side table. Armand wasted no time, lunging at the first man, his blade slicing straight through the guards neck. Goran loosed his bolt at the other, catching him squarely in the shoulder, causing him to spin and hit the floor. “I Surrender!” the wounded man cried.
“Who and how many?” Jormund breathed angrily at the guard, his eyes sharp and his fist clenched around the chain connected to the axe head he wielded.
“Four! There are four of us!” The guard squeaked.
“Thank you.” Replied Jormund, smashing the man’s face with his fist, knocking him out cold.
Moving silently across the grounds towards the house, the light coloured stone of the walls showing their silhouettes brightly as they trudged single file towards the windows of the ground floor. Approaching the doors, everything was locked up tight, peering through the windows, a single candle burned on a table in the centre of the room, bathing the main room in dull light. Ras attempted to pick the lock, with minimal effect, and after Goran attempted it and failed, Ras cracked the window with the butt of his pistol. All hunched silently waiting for an alarm or guard to emerge, all except Jormund, who remained on his extended toes.
After a few minutes of silence and no guards investigating, Ras reached through the broken glass and released the latch holding the window closed. Within moments all were inside, moving silently towards where brighter light was visible.
A staircase moving up, at its peak a guard stood gazing out a window, leaning against the wall, Ras released his pistol from his waist, taking aim at the mans head as he moved as silently as he could up the stairs. Armand in tow, his sword still showing signs of blood from his poor attempt to wipe it clean after skewering the guard outside. Goran was also brandishing steel, his crossbow slung across his back, Jormund, still at the base of the stairs gripping his axe, knowing that his footfalls were not the most silent of the group.
Ras launched himself at the guard, holding his pistol to his temple, the guard stunned threw his hands in the air.
“Where is the scrimshaw?” Ras whispered.
The guard shocked and on the verge of tears pointed to a closed door along the corridor branching to the left of the stairs, “In… in there.”
Ras lead the way with the guard at gunpoint, opening the door to reveal wall to wall elegant scrimshaw, a fantastic collection from different eras and showing multiple designs.
“Where are the others?” Ras whispered again.
“The captain, in the main bedroom.” The guard responded through whimpers. Again Jormund swung his fist, knocking the guard out for Goran to hogtie in record time.
Getting to work quickly, within 10 minutes, all of the scrimshaw had been placed into cloth bags that Ras had been carrying, each full to bursting. Armand and Goran both inquired as to other valuables in the house, opting to investigate the main bedroom and the captain of the guard within.
Jormund was unsure, happy to take what they came for and be gone as soon as possible. The argument was brief as Armand and Goran both set off down the hall towards the main bedroom door.
Inside was a dimly lit room, the large four post bed revealing two occupants, what could only be described as one of the female servants, and the large, fat captain of the guard, both sleeping soundly. Goran took position above the captain, Armand the servant. Striking down hard, the captain was instantly rendered truly unconscious, the servant, shocked at the sound of the blow rose violently, only to look down and find herself run through by Armands blade that had been hovering above her. Armand’s face both shocked and alarmed that he had slain the woman by accident.
Ushering the four upstairs, Crispin began unpacking and assembling the displays of scrimshaw, within an hour, everything was laid out and appraised. A wonderful collection. Crispin then took his leave to collect payment, allowing the four to drink and warm themselves by the fire.
Something was wrong. Ras hissed a warning to prepare.
The sound of steel and heavy boots thundered from above and below, the stairs became alive with movement as Ras and Jormand readied themselves towards the stairs upward, Goran and Armand towards those descending.
Men in full armour brandishing swords and shield emerged, circling the four. Ras fired his pistol to no effect, taking a chunk out of the stone wall behind the head of one of the shield bearers. Armand managed to disarm one man only to have two others place swords across his throat. Gorant held his finger from the trigger, aiming at the face of the closest man as Jormand barrelled into the shield wall
only to be cast back on the floor within moments.
“Throw down your weapons!” boomed a single voice from the staircase leading up. A tall, older man with an eye-patch over his left eye came into view, his face solemn and stern.
Jormand rose to his feet again, “Make me!”
A crossbow appeared from behind the shield wall, its bolt catching Jormund in his left arm, throwing his axe head in retaliation. It struck one of the men in the shoulder, but failed to penetrate his thick leather armour.
“Alright, now that we are even.” Jormund began, however he was interrupted by the sound of Ras’s pistol hitting the floor, followed closely by Goran’s crossbow and Armand’s rapier.
The four were bound tightly, secured in the centre of the room. The man with the eye patch dictating the conversation. “Who sent you? Who are you? Who do you work for?” Over and over, Jormund offering feeble replies designed to only infuriate the man more.
Nodding his head towards the dwarf, one of the soldiers raised his sword, poised to strike at the neck of Jormund.
“Wait!” Armand began.
Looking towards the other three, Armand began to speak, informing his captors that this was their first visit to the area, the beggar who sent them, everything except the names of the men who they worked for, Rikkert and Olaf.
The man with the eye patch did not believe the explanation, this was a trap laid carefully as several houses in the area had been hit recently, all under the protection of the Thieved Guild. The Thieves Guild, the guild who had just captured four thieves.
“We will find out what you all know. Take them to Solomon…”
The four were gagged and cloth bags placed over their heads, led away across Three Penny Bridge. Coming to a halt, the four were cast down stone stairs into a dark room, their blindfolds removed, they were in a basement, a cold, wet and dark basement.
Left alone, Jormund was the first to break the ropes that bound him, snapping them as if they were string before untying the others. All disarmed, stuck in a room with no light, only time, time to think, with no way out.
Hours passed in the cold and empty room before voices and footsteps held their attention from the top of the stairs. The door swinging open to reveal Rikkert standing tall, “What in the hells have you been doing?”
The eye patch wearing man also appeared, Rikkert explaining that we were with him.
Taken upstairs, the four were sat down at a table and fed. Rikkert explaining that the man with the eye patch, Willem had laid the trap, a crew had been knocking off houses under the protection of the guild, word was sent out of an easy target, whoever showed up to Crispin’s with the Scrimshaw must be the right crew. Ras retorted, explaining about the beggar sent on his orders.
Rikkert silenced Ras, concluding that any jobs would come from Rikkert in person, not a beggar. As the four had been fooled, it was now time to repay their mistake, “You will sort this out, and you'll do it quick. As it stands, you're all dead. As dead men, your job will be to find out who has been doing this, you have no choice. Once you've figured that out, we'll see what we do with you. The best place for you lot to disappear into, is Doodkanaal...” Rikkert's words cut deep in the minds of the four.
It was time to hunt, but hunt who, and how?
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