“And you think I’m going to be able to retrieve this dagger of yours without bumping into Lyran?”

“For a person with your fearsome reputation, Grey Cat, such a feat would be a mere exercise in the basics of thievery, would it not?” Makarr said, a wicked grin etched into the features of his weathered face.

Sitting atop his throne, with the light from the lantern highlighting the sharp angles of his face, Makarr looked like some demonic predator, eyeing its helpless prey with wry amusement.

There’s more to this job than what the Beggar King has revealed. Years of experience have taught him to look for the subtle clues to see when a client or mark is hiding something; Makarr might think himself clever for trying to keep the truth of the matter under wraps, but the signs were there nevertheless. By the end of this, I’ll get him to reveal all his cards, even the ones that he keeps in his sleeves and thinks I know nothing about. Just you wait, Beggar King.

The man who styled himself King of the city’s slums and malcontents licked his lips devilishly before continuing on his honeyed path.

“Did you not manage to steal the sacred vestments from Arch-Magulus Raemon while the entire Lightning Brigade was stationed around the Blue Tower? Or how about the time where you stole King Ebucharizz’s royal crown during the Festival of the Summer Hay, while the besotted fool was dancing with that bastard mistress of his? And I’ve been hearing talk on the streets that it was you the Paladins of Shara hired to crawl into the Fortress of Netherex to disable the Tehnerim’s ancient defenses. With all those deeds and exploits under your belt, getting the dagger back from Lyran Canazzo without him noticing will seem like a 3-second fumble and pick job on some wine-addled sot in comparison.”

As Makarr was rattling off Eric’s so-called exploits, the slender thief paced around the small make-shift throne room – when he had first entered the room, something strange had caught his attention… but maybe it was just a case of his eyes playing tricks on him due to the dim illumination and the flickering shadows.

There was a pause in the conversation – Makarr was waiting expectantly for some sort of reply.

“Well,” Eric began, “the Lightning Brigade were suffering from a recent round of budget cuts, King Ebucharizz paid as little attention to his crown as to his Queen, and talk on the streets should always be taken well-salted.”

Though he replied to Makarr’s barely-concealed taunts with as flippant an answer as he could manage under the circumstances, most of Eric’s attention was focused on studying the statue in front of him.

Like the other statues that lined each side of the chamber, this one was chiseled out of grey solid stone. The woman stood there, clad in fashion that had been all the rage five years ago, clasping both sides of the voluminous lower half of her gown, her face pointed upwards, chiseled in a mask of enigmatic puzzlement. Eric had a discerning eye when it came to works of art, a must-have for someone in his line of work, and it was quite apparent that the artisan who worked on the statue was an expert in his craft – although the woman was clearly middle-aged, the artisan managed to impart a youthful vulnerability to her dignified features. He had done a superb job of the gown she wore as well, managing to coax an intricate layered pattern all along the bodice from the hard grey stone.

But it was her eyes that caught his attention. Eric had a certain weakness when it came to a woman’s gaze, although he admitted that it must surely be a first for him admire those belonging to a woman made from stone.

His admiration lasted for all of three seconds, after which Eric focused his attention back on Makarr, sensing the lull in the conversation had gone on for a touch too long.

“So do you have the plans for Lyran’s place?” he asked. “I’m sure a man of his stature and ambition resides in a grand estate that utilizes the latest measures in residential security. Any information you might have regarding his abode would be extremely helpful. You know how it is, Makarr – in my line of work, going in blind isn’t very conducive to enjoying a nice long life.”

“Well,” the Beggar King began, lightly tapping the fingers of his right hand on the wooden armrest, “we’ve run into a little problem, Grey Cat. And that’s why you’re been brought onboard – you see, this problem is one that you, as one of the most accomplished thieves in all the civilized cities, is uniquely qualified to solve. Why, it’s practically built for a man with your particular skill-set and talents.”

Eric raised an eyebrow ponderously. “Well, don’t keep me waiting in gut-wrenching, nerve-wracking anticipation.”

A very slight tremor around the corner of Makarr’s lips were the only indications of wry amusement, but he spoke the next words solemnly enough.

“The problem we have, Grey Cat, is that our newest Twelfth Lord does not appear to have a permanent abode in the city – he owns no properties, holds no shares or deeds on properties that belong to someone else and, within the period of a month, never stays at the same place twice.”

Makarr paused hesitantly, appearing to weigh his next few words carefully.

“My eyes and ears on the street call him a walking ghost.”

-To Be Continued-

© written by Timothy Nakayama

-          To Be Continued -

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