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“We’re about an hour out,” muttered Oslo.
Asp pulled herself out of the daze of the long hours spent traveling these last three days. They had taken the cart from Thistlewade to a small port on the west coast of Eunax, boarded a ship and sailed through the night and the next day to the island of Strey, and were bumping along in a second cart to the city proper, passing huge fields of crops as the cart made its way to the city. Oslo had been silent throughout the journey, which suited Asp fine–she had had a lot to process from what had happened back home. I guess it’s not home anymore, she thought.
“Okay,” Asp finally said.
The cart continued to bump down the road, the horses ahead of the driver pulling them along, pitching in small jerks this way and that.
“Anything I should know before we get there?” she asked.
It had been a quiet ride. The cart driver was always alert, of course. It had been wise to avoid talking, as it had been on the crowded boat.
Oslo withdrew three very different-looking coins and held them before Asp. “Well, for starters, money’s different outside of Eunax. The coins aren’t all the same shape. Our smallest coins are just steel chits dipped in copper, not copper coins like you’re used to. We call them caps, like the copper part is a hat on the chit.”
“Okay,” said Asp. “Caps.”
“These silver ones with the little helmet stamped on them are not all silver,” continued Oslo. “They’re alloyed with steel so they’re easier to make. We call them helms. They’re worth ten caps.”
Asp nodded. “Gotcha. Just like copper and silver pieces back home.”
“Right,” said Oslo. “And the gold star-shaped ones with the steel center are crowns. They look like if you saw a crown from above. They’re worth ten helms, just like your gold pieces.”
“Will my money spend here?” asked Asp.
“Sure will,” replied Oslo. “But you might get them changed out if you like. Get used to the feel of these.”
Different shapes, thought Asp. I can’t pull a quick-change like I used to at the moneylender. Oh well. “Anything else I should know?”
“Only that the cats in my house are hungry. We’ll need to bring some fresh meat,” replied Oslo, glancing meaningfully at the driver.
Asp’s eyes lit up. Oslo had respected her obvious desire for silence as they left her old life behind, and she respected him both as a person and a criminal for being able to recognize it, but this first use of thief-tongue pricked up her ears. The journey really had come to an end, then; it was time for work.
“I’ve got some fresh meat with me,” she replied casually. “Rabbit, in fact.”
Asp smiled at her little joke–she did have some leftover rabbit for Iris, but in thief-tongue, their exchange had actually meant this:
Oslo: “My gang needs work. We need some before we can settle back down.”
Asp: “I have something saved. Jewels, in fact.”
But Oslo’s response was unexpected. “Not ‘fresh’ as in delicious, my friend. ‘Fresh’ as in newly made. Think of it as a baker’s routine.”
Asp slumped in her seat. Work for work’s sake, she thought. Ordinarily, an undue risk, but under the circumstances, I may have no choice. Still–I can try to push back.
“But you already said you know I’m a good baker.” He had, after all, recited a list of her achievements as a baker, or rather, a criminal.
Oslo smiled, but there was an edge to it that made Asp breathe in sharply. “Ah, but the point of the baker’s routine is that it’s routine. It won’t be so much to bake one more loaf.”
Asp closed her eyes and rolled them, a habit she had picked up from years of needing to appear deferential while inwardly needing to express her contempt.
“Fine,” she said. “It’s nice to have flour on your hands once in a while.”
-
The cart pulled into town, and Asp followed Oslo to a marketplace several blocks away. Bigger market than back in Thistlewade, she thought. This city seems huge–it takes up a lot of the island. I guess Strey is serious business. Merchants hawked their wares in confident tones, all manner of smells drifted this way and that, and colors one would never find in nature were everywhere to be seen. Asp smiled. I love a good marketplace.
“See that elf over there?” Oslo gestured with his eyes towards an old man in fine but worn clothes and a stately straw hat standing next to a grocer’s stand. The elf held a small book in his hand, and he seemed to be reading intently from it.
Asp eyed him. He seemed gentle, unassuming. An easy target. “I see him.”
Oslo spat out of the side of his mouth. “Go talk him out of his book.”
Asp groaned. “Seriously? What’s the book?”
Oslo grinned. “Hell if I know. Go get it.”
“But–why? Just to prove I can?” Asp managed to keep her frustration from her voice.
“Listen.” Oslo’s voice became serious, and Asp grew nervous. “I heard you can work. I need to see you work. Understand?”
Asp closed her eyes and rolled them again before smiling at Oslo. “Okay, whatever you say.”
She picked her way across the marketplace and drew within a few paces of the old elf. She stood there for several seconds, then pulled out a leaflet from her bag. She began reading the message about Delia’s arrival in Thistlewade, or at least, appearing to read it. Then, she began walking directly at the old elf, staring all the while at her leaflet. The two collided. The old man fell to the ground and scooped himself up, reaching for his book. Asp darted to her feet and helped him to stand, then grabbed the book and returned it to him. He thrust it into a pocket inside his tunic, and she watched it disappear within the folds of his robe.
“I’m so sorry, sir, I was just engrossed in some reading, and I didn’t see you. My most sincere apologies,” said Asp, faked concern dripping from her voice.
The elf looked down his nose at her. “Well, you should watch where you’re going. At least have the sense I have to stand in place while reading.”
Asp assumed an air of understanding. “You’re so right. I’m sorry. I just had to be somewhere and have this read and memorized before I arrived. But if I may ask, what has you so rapt as to be standing here reading in the market?”
The elf looked vaguely amused. “Tis my father’s copy of the holy texts of the Halian. Perhaps the most important book an elf can own.”
Asp prevented herself from looking as defeated as she felt. To talk a person out of coin when you can offer them something they want even more is one thing. But a personal religious text heirloom? And an elf’s copy of the elven god’s writings? She recognized the situation for what it was and made a decision. “I’m so sorry, again, sir. If there’s anything I can do to show you my genuine regret, please let me know. I’ll do anything to make this right.” She smiled and looked him over. “Let’s start simple. I see that I knocked your hair quite out of place. Would you bend down a bit so that I can fix it for you?”
The elf narrowed his eyes. “Thank you, I suppose. One cannot go through the world out of sorts–it can only lead you down the wrong path.” He knelt down to Asp’s height as though it pained him to bend his knees.
She reached up and fished several loose strands of greying hair back into the ponytail that he had fashioned. “There’s just one I can’t quite reach. Gimme a second–” She grabbed onto his tunic and pulled herself up, catching the hair and placing it away in its band. As she tucked in into the ponytail, she lowered herself back down his chest and onto the ground.
Now be as deferential and helpful as possible, she thought, pleased with herself. “Well,” she gushed, “I just moved to town, and I plan to be around a lot, so if you can think of anything else I can do to be helpful, just let me know!” She put on a big smile and turned to walk away.
The elf grumbled to himself and turned, walking off into the dense jungle of people and businesses. Asp returned to Oslo and furtively handed him the book which she had pilfered during her climb back down the elf. Oslo grinned for a moment, but then looked sour.
“You didn’t talk him into giving it to you,” he said, disappointed. “You stole it, like a common pickpocket. I already have two pickpockets, and I bet they’re both better than you. Why should I care that you stole it from him when I asked for something else?”
Asp swallowed her mounting frustration. “Because you gave me an impossible task. One which I suspect you knew more about than you told me. You just randomly want me to steal a family heirloom which is also a religious text? I call horseshit. You knew I couldn’t possibly talk him out of it. You wanted me to have to try something else. And I proved to you that I could improvise, on my own, to make it happen even when you do give me an impossible job. So, please, explain to me that this wasn’t a setup.”
Oslo looked at Asp and began to laugh lightly, then in great bursts. When he finally quieted back down, he said, “Part one of the test was seeing if you know when you’re in over your head. Part two was seeing if you could tell it was a setup. Part three was seeing if you could and would do it anyway. You passed all three. Congrats. Welcome to the gang.”
Oslo’s words dissipated Asp’s frustrations. She nudged Oslo’s leg with her elbow. “Do we have a catchy name?”
Oslo laughed again. “Not yet. I think it’s better that way. Harder to pin us down.”
Asp nodded. “Good. Now, do you have plans for me to meet the rest of the gang?”
Oslo nodded his head down a side street. “This way.”
-
Oslo led Asp to a small outbuilding at the piers. It appeared to have once been a repair shop for smaller sailing vessels, but better engineering meant better ships, and that meant less small boats to service. Oslo was finishing explaining how they had gotten control of the building those years ago, a story that involved impersonating highwaymen and building a scale model of a humble hamlet to the southeast of the city.
Oslo performed the story as if he had practiced it. “And so finally, he says, ‘If you’re not the shopkeeper, who are you?’ And I says, ‘I’m your worst nightmare, buddy.’” Oslo’s voice was a frightening growl, but then he laughed and softened. “And wouldn’t you believe it–he just ran away. So I signed the deed, and here we are.”
Asp was focused more on the city around them than Oslo’s tale. “I didn’t want to interrupt your story, but it seemed like we went the long way to get here. Are we supposed to avoid certain parts of town?”
Oslo shrugged. “Nothing like that. You’ll understand when you meet the gang. C’mon in.” He pushed open the wooden door and held it for Asp, who took a few uncertain steps into the building. Inside was a large room with a small kitchen, a variety of armchairs and sofas which appeared to be in a wide range of styles, and doorways leading to two smaller rooms off to the side. Seated in the living space were a tattooed young dwarven woman, a goateed newtkin man, a greenskinned Ronan'el woman, a white-haired elven woman clad in all black, and a red-haired slightkin man with circular glasses. The dwarven woman waved while the others sat expectantly.
“Alright, everyone, here’s the new recruit,” said Oslo. “I’m proud to say she passed the tests. Meet–wait, what name do you want them to call you?”
“I’m Asp,” she said, trying to seem both intimidating and approachable at once.
“Hi, Asp,” came a familiar voice from behind her. She spun to see the old elven man from the marketplace who she’d stolen from standing in the doorway. She froze.
Oslo laughed like he did in the marketplace. “Don’t worry, Asp–he’s one of us. Meet Jehosaphat. He’s my counterpart in the outfit. Our counterpart, I suppose.”
Asp eyed Jehosaphat. He seemed quite friendly now.
“That was a good lift, little one,” he said, chuckling. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten it off me until I was a few blocks away. That hair trick was good. Have you used that before?”
“I just came up with it,” she lied. If you ‘re going to play with me, I’ll learn to play by the rules.
“Very nice,” said the greenskinned Ronan'el woman, “but no need to focus on that tactic anymore. That’s what me and Dancer are here for.” Asp considered the Ronan’el. She had met a few around Thistlewade and its environs before, and she tried to keep her eyes more on the Ronan’el’s reptilian slitted eyes than on her scaly green skin. She knew it was a matter of respect.
“Nice to meet you,” cried the newtkin. “I’m Dancer, and she’s Kyrn,” he said, thumbing toward the Ronan'el. Like the Ronan’el, Dancer had reptilian eyes, but scales only in a few patches on the side of the face and neck–and of course, newtkins, as with slightkins like Asp, were only two or so feet tall.
“Being well-rounded isn’t a threat,” said Asp gently. “But I get you. I’m no threat to you.”
“Welcome, Asp,” said the dwarven woman, her voice warm. “I’m Annabel. You need anybody roughed up, just ask.” She raised her mighty tattooed hand, clutching a massive weapon–an apparent mixture of a warhammer and a battleaxe. The gesture was intimidating, though it wasn’t clear whether Annabel meant it to be.
“Thanks!” chirped Asp. “I hope I don’t need to make use of that offer.”
A burst of the slightkin language from the far sofa interrupted the proceedings in the common tongue. “A snake that kills kindly still kills,” said the red-haired slightkin uneasily, adjusting his glasses.
Asp returned his slightkin speech. “Better to kill kindly than cruelly in a world that demands one or the other.”
He seemed assuaged by this for a silent moment, then spoke in the common language. “I’m Gregorio. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I guess I’m last,” said the white-haired elven woman. “I’m Candace. I have the same policy on all recruits. You earn your right to be here. Let me ask you something, Oslo.” She turned to face the leader of the gang. “You said she passed the tests. But how many of the trials did she pass?” She turned her limber body away from Asp as if to cut her out of the conversation.
Asp had bristled at Candace’s tone, and when Candace finished speaking, Asp blurted out, “I passed all three, for your information.”
A series of reactions occurred in the room. Oslo winced; Candace laughed spitefully; Annabel looked down.
“Actually, Asp,” said Oslo, his eyes roving about the room, “there are five trials. You recognized the job was impossible and knew it was a setup and did it anyway, yes, but you also didn’t realize that Jehosaphat was a plant, and you didn’t read the contents of the book, either.”
Asp felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She hadn’t checked the book. What could be in it?
Oslo produced the small volume and frowned. “This contains all our research on you. It’s enough incriminating evidence for you to go to prison for lifetimes. You had it in your hands and you gave it away. That’s important too.”
Candace snickered. “You’re good, Asp. But you’re self-taught, right? There’s loads you don’t know. What we can offer is not just safety and stability–we can also offer you training. If you can’t spot a plant or know what you have, you’re just a good mouth, and frankly, who cares?”
Annabel began to speak before Asp could answer. “Candace, let’s face facts. We’ve had no one get more than two out of five trials for over a year. Every recruit you’ve endorsed has been more liability than help. And let’s not forget that you yourself only got three out of the five trials when you started.” Candace opened her mouth to speak, but Annabel raised a finger and silenced her. “Give Asp a chance. Not because you want to, but because we all have to.”
Asp’s eyes glittered. “You’ve got a job? And you need me for it? That’s why I’m here?”
Oslo struggled to find his words, so Jehosaphat spoke. “We’ve had a need for a while, and this new potential job makes that need more urgent. We’ll fill you in tomorrow. For now, just settle in.”
Kyrn spoke next: “I’m gonna run to the tavern and bring back some ale. There better be a party going by the time I get back, or I’m drinking it all myself.”
“Not again!” shouted Dancer, prompting laughter from everyone, even Asp. The night descended into raucous celebration in a way that desperate people joined together always seem to.
-
Asp arose late the following morning. She had not felt the security she needed to truly unwind for years, maybe not since she had chosen this life as a child. But she had found it here already. They seem to have something good going here. What else is in store in this new life?
The smell of breakfast wafted over from the kitchen. Jehosaphat was cooking, and everyone but Asp and Annabel was devouring some manner of sausage sandwich. Asp joined them at the table but didn’t eat.
“So, the job?” she asked.
Oslo sighed and wiped his mouth. “I can tell you’ll keep asking, so let’s get it over with.”
“Thanks,” Asp said self-consciously. Is it weird to want to get down to business?
“Okay,” began Oslo, “so here’s the deal. There’s a chest of treasure with some historical significance–that’s more Jehosaphat’s department–but it’s basically priceless. Which means we’ll be set for a good long while when we get it. Thing of it is, it’s just been moved into a museum. The museum has guards and a magical protection system. And fencing it will be complicated since it’ll be just about the hottest single take I know of right now. But we’ve got a plan.” Oslo smiled, rising, and began to pace.
“I’m gonna be working as a guard and watch from the inside. Jehosaphat will do maintenance on the relationship with our potential buyer, who is very cagey–understandably. Annabel is going to guard the entrance to the museum during the job and help carry our score. Dancer and Kyrn are going to lift the keys we need off of the museum staff; they have some system that requires two keys simultaneously turned to work. Candace will actually get the thing out, and Gregorio is getting us financing for some of the pricier measures we need to take.”
Asp was on the edge of her seat. “And me?”
Oslo was expressionless. “You’ve got to be a mulberry bush.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Asp laughed. “Haha, fuck you very much–what do you really have me doing?”
Oslo remained expressionless. “I’m sorry.”
Asp’s voice rose and revealed she was losing composure. “No, you didn’t bring me all the way here to be bait? I’m not sleeping with someone for the job.”
Candace cackled, and the rest of the gang sat silently, the fate of their job on the line.
“So you’re out?” asked Oslo, his voice strained.
Asp ground her teeth for a moment. “Not yet. There’s got to be another way.”
Oslo sighed again. “We need the cooperation of a specific person at the museum. He is a lascivious man. That’s all we’ve been able to discover about him so far, though admittedly it hasn’t been our focus.”
Asp breathed heavily, her eyes closed. “Go over the whole job again, this time in detail. Because I am not sleeping with some asshole so you can get treasure.” It was Asp’s turn to pace. “Fucking mulberry bush. You know, that’s the kind of thing you confirm I’d actually do before bringing me here.” She paced a bit faster. “I don’t judge anybody who would, but it’s not me. Now tell me the plan so I can figure out how to not do that.”
Everyone glanced around, anxious eyes connecting across the room. Then, methodically, Oslo explained the plan.
-
Asp was alone on a street corner. Across from her was the city’s museum, a grand building of a bygone era’s architecture. The squared stone pillars out front gave the museum an imposing look, and Asp inspected it. Inside was a man named Chester Gorman, and she needed to know what made him tick. Because if she couldn’t, she’d be out on her own with nothing, alone in a foreign city with no protection or stability.
“Back before sundown, Iris,” she whispered to herself, and she walked into the building.
Inside were scores of paintings, sculptures, historical artifacts, and other items of note. A loose throng of spectators made its way from room to room, looming over the scattered but beautiful past before them. Asp observed not the works, but the people. She knew from Oslo’s description that Gorman was a shortish middle-aged human with a large mustache and thick-rimmed glasses. She had seen a few men who looked something like that, but no one who matched it perfectly. She entered a smaller room toward the back of the museum where a new display was being erected. A few Ronan'el and dwarven men were moving pieces around, and Asp was about to leave when a side door opened to reveal a human man with a mustache and glasses carrying a clipboard.
The man barked orders at the workers.“Yes, yes, like that is perfect–ooh, careful with that vase, it’s worth more than your house!” The museum workers flinched at his shouted directions, but they followed the instructions to the letter. “Yes, and as I was saying, the new display will be just fine here.”
“Fine?” asked one of the several museum employees following Gorman. “We’ve labored over this for weeks and it’s just fine?”
Gorman stopped dead in his tracks. “An exhibit on the history of which feathers have historically been used as quills is hardly why I chose to work at this museum. Perhaps next month, I can convince the board to adopt my proposal for mechanical devices.”
Mechanical devices? she thought. Asp had been drawing closer to Gorman and his collection of attendants, and she noticed quite suddenly that Gorman had noticed her. She did not like the look he was giving her–or perhaps, where he was giving her looks–so she seized the moment.
“Did you say mechanical devices?” she asked.
Gorman looked surprised that she had spoken. “Hmm?”
“I say, did you just refer to mechanical devices? I’m practically obsessed!” Asp cried.
“Yes, yes, they are quite the object of fascination!” exclaimed Gorman. “From the practical devices of the dwarves to the fantastical contraptions of the newtkins to the elegant innovations made by the elves, it’s all worth our attention.” There was a light in Gorman’s eyes that seemed to overwhelm his desire for Asp.
She knew what she had to do. “Why, I have a friend on Eunax who is planning a visit out here, and he is–if you can believe it–an inventor! Would you like it if I sent him here when he arrives?”
Gorman looked surprised, then conspiratorial. “Yes, yes, that would be wonderful.” He looked back at Asp and returned to his more animal self. “And you are, my flower?” He extended a hand to hold hers and kiss it.
She withdrew her hand decisively. “Delia Violet, reporter. I was just deciding whether or not to write about the museum. I think it’s time I go write to my friend for you, though.” Asp walked away despite Gorman’s shouts that she should return.
Asp strode down the street in the way that anyone who has just gotten away with something does, leaving behind the chance of being caught with each step. She smiled as she headed toward the humble south docks, and when she arrived at the building on the pier, she pushed the door to the warehouse open and said, “I’ve got a plan that’s better than a mulberry bush. Now, does anyone know any inventors?”
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