Some Mod inspired fiction I've been working on

[Maximius]

I've been writing this for a bit of fun the last few weeks, maybe it will serve as the basis of an FM some day. Im not a fiction writer usually so be gentle please!

 

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The Head Librarian squinted in the flickering candlelight, his ancient eyes barely able to discern the characters written in the book he had laid before him on his table. His spectacles were at hand but his head ached from wearing them for countless hours, poring over these tomes. He was exhausted, night after night spent digging into Brottelbees multi volume "A Faire And Objektiff Account of the Hunidian Spice Trade Treatisse" for the damned tables of the major currency exchange rates during the reign of the Grand Arch Duke Corellius V. Soon it would be dawn and he was no closer to his goal, his memory not being what it once was he could no longer recall the volume's number. The set had come with an Index of course...

 

Why, why had he left Index to the Brottelbees set at last convocation of Master Libriarians in the City? Why had he boasted of his finally complete set of Brottelbees books and why, thrice cursed to the Pit why did he leave it unguarded, trusting that illustrious company of adders to be above theft. He walked away for a minute to make a point to a colleague and returned to find his prize gone. That scurrilous rat Magby from the Western Free Hold Library had stolen it, no doubt, he'd gone out of his way to leer at the Head Librarian before slinking away guiltily. Drat the man! A fraud of a scholar, a sycophant who won his position by trickery and flattery, a cheat who stooped to base sorcery rather than read the texts himself....

 

"Bah!" He would get nothing more done today, best to sleep now. Get a fairly early start tomorrow. The Head Librarian creaked to his feet and pulled the knitted blanket closer around his frail frame. A sudden chill flushed through the room, had a window blow open? The autumn air was clean and crisp, he drew in a deep breath and yawned, stretched, and turned to the bedroom door.

 

A figure in black stood before him.

 

"GEEEYAH!" the old man shrieked and tumbled back into his chair. His heart was beating like a hammer, spots danced briefly before his eyes. He struggled to compose himself, obviously a thief, give him what he wants, oh dear, whatever he wants, sputtering

 

"Who, ah, who, please who are you and what do you wish with me? I have some coins and jewels, they are yours, please..."

 

The dark figure had not moved but to open his arms and hands wide and he now spoke in a low voice.

 

"Forgive my thoughtlessness Head Librarian Queltonne, I should have announced my arrival in some manner. I wish you no harm at all and want nothing of yours other than the use of your skills. Please take a moment to catch your breath and let me explain myself. I will get straight to the point of my visiting you at this odd hour sir.

 

The Head Librarian was still heaving in air but not as sharply now and he took a careful look at his guest. Hooded and masked, tools of the thieves trade secured around his waist, bow and dagger as well. "Please continue."

 

"I am a thief as you guessed. You are a highly respected scholar and librarian with knowledge of the Libraries deepest vaults. I've watched you for a few weeks now, noted your late hours and solitary study, habits we share in fact. I had another candidate but I've chosen you, I've read some of your letters in the Citys papers and something tells me you are worth the risk I'm taking. A man who thinks and speaks for himself in this current political climate is a man with enemies, and therefore has the need of friends. Resourceful friends who can help keep all manner of wolves at bay."

 

The Head Librarian started in spite of himself. "How.."

 

"Fear not sir, I have not been spying on you for long nor have I rifled through your diary. I deduced it from your sharp tounged political discourses, your senior rank at this esteemed Library, and the current climate in the City's leadership as they fancy themselves. All taken together, its almost guaranteed that you would have powerful foes. You stand alone and above them all and they cluster round your ankles, scratching and clawing. Eventually they may decide that words are not enough. This is where our interests intertwine, sir."

 

The Head Librarians lips twisted into an appraising smile. "An apt study of the situation, I salute your insightful gaze into human affairs. Please tell me more."

 

"My usual course is to steal what I want, but I cannot steal a lifetime dedicated to this Library and its collection, the ability to navigate through all these books and find what one needs in a timely manner. For that I need you. I have a question for you sir, or rather several of them about a single topic. I am interested in the history of a certain Church of the Builders, not an active church but, well, one that is active in another way. You see, its a fallen church, its been abandoned for about a three hundred and seventy years, and the Builders have yet to try to reclaim it. I have an interest in fallen churches and what lies within them."

 

"I was introduced to the existence of the church by accident, in a pile of old papers I came across. It was an old city watch account of an incident in an Old Southren district X. A fairly strange tale. The investigating officer wrote of a small riot on a mid-Fall night at about half past middle night. People spilling into the streets, in their nightclothes, crying out about a terrible dream, about fifty folk, and generally the stable city folk type not given to hysterics. The watch officers were able to quell the crowds anxiety with a few shouts of Order! The mob seemed confused and although none were actually harmed they were all terrified. Eventually the captain was able to interview them as a body and what I had found was his report to his superiors. He was a zealous officer of the watch and his account was detailed. It was a bit of strange reading, unique in my experience. And I've been to a few strange corners of the City."

 

The Head Librarian smiled grimly despite himself and muttered "Indeed." The thief continued.

 

"They spoke of a shared dream of some kind, of horrid organ music played as if by a madman with a hideous talent. More than the deafening noise, there was the echo, this was a repeated theme, an echo that gave one the sense of an organ being played in a void, an echo that seemed to stretch for countless leagues to the ear, its very size an assault upon the senses but one that at the same time transfixed the dreamers in place, paralyzed them for what seemed forever. The people interviewed were all in accord on these experiences, all had the same dream and the same reactions. Eventually they could take no more and awoke in a terror, all as a group it would seem. The watch noted that no one actually reported hearing an organ nor was there an organ known to be anywhere near the district."

 

" Someone in the group spoke out about the small old church,bounded by tall walls and long sealed by the Builders with chains and wards, at the far end of an alley that ran through the district. It had once had an organ but it that was nearly three hundred years ago since anyone had stepped foot into it.. The mention of this church brought a fresh round of excitement and terror from the group as the captain chronicled. Many seemed rather unfamiliar with the existence of the church although this could simply be the fact that it was sealed and generally shunned and had simply fallen from memory. The story was not well remembered even by those aged folk who knew it best, one grandmother told of not remembering the story of the church or the existence of its ivy cloaked gate since she was a young girl. The name of the church is St. Clabherds and although the details were lacking it proved an unhappy story. Something about a catastrophe, a demonic event that claimed several lives and that shut the doors of the church to its own founders. No one could recall anything more than this and with the church obviously inactive the watch had no incentive to delve any further. The captain made a note to contact the local Cathedral to request information about St. Clabherds but there was nothing like a reply in the pile of papers. He also noted that the night of the mob the Moon was especially full and bright, a benefit for his investigations."

 

"This was a long time past but there are more current stories. I have a friend whom I pay to drink in that district close to where the church lies and keep an ear open. In the last two months he has heard more than once of a strange music that haunts the neighborhood. Something again of an organ, a huge pipe organ, stories of walking past the church on certain nights, always with a full moon, and hearing wild organ music, faint but definitely there and strangest of all it comes as if from under the ground. I myself have visited the end of that alley and looked upon the sealed gate, there is no unlocking those seals and brands nor the massive chains that loop the doors. Whomever sealed the church did so with a thoroughness."

 

"You wish for me to find all I can about the history and nature of this Saint Clabherd's? That is certainly possible but it could take days, weeks perhaps to search the Library for all the known sources. Its not a task I could hand to you at the moment."

 

"I understand this. I can make this worth the time and effort. I have skills of my own to offer. Here is my offer to you sir. As you see I need to learn all that is possible about Saint Clabherds past. Any scrap of information is important. If you can do this for me, I offer you a favor in return, my services at your disposal. No time limits to the offer, I need you now but I can arrange for you to find me when you need me. Consider it. I need an ally here and I can return that favor in kind. Will you think about it?"

 

The Head Librarian had by now come to his considerable senses. This was an opportunity of the purest gold for both himself and his library. His reply was sure.

 

"I have a number of requests to make of you sir, to be sure. First and foremost, you must forswear ever raiding this institution or its grounds. We treasure knowledge and as I'm sure a concerned individual such as yourself knows there are many rare and powerful manuscripts stored here. We have wizards on staff to maintain security on those fronts as well as some of the mechanical engines from the Inventors lodge upon the avenue."

 

The Head Librarian paused, wiped his spectacles against his blanket, and then frowned again at the dark figure.

 

"But something tells me those guardians would not necessarily be a hindrance to you. Be damned, my eyes are old but they are not so old as to account for my difficulty in seeing you clearly even here and now. You are no clumsy pinchpurse, I'll wager, not even a merely competent housebreaker. Whoever you are, your simple existence is a threat to this place. So I need your word, yes the word of a thief, that you will always come to me directly when you need the resources of this library and that you will never take what is not given to you. Can we be agreed upon this fundamentally?"

 

The Thief laughed quietly behind his mask.

 

"We are agreed sir. I will approach you for any thing I need directly. You have my word I will not leave with so much as a quill. The word of a Thief is good, as long as it to his advantage. This agreement will hold between us as long as you will assist me with this task. Afterwards, perhaps we can negotiate a longer term arrangement. What are your other demands?"

 

"I have lost a book, a most precious book, an Index to an enormous history of the Southren Regions, the key to the set. I was exhibiting it and it was stolen. Its loss not only hurts our efforts here, it was a long lost text and we had scribes prepared to copy it for distribution, a great boon to the schools and libraries in the City. Its a thick volume bound in dark blue dyed leather, with silver clasps,very distinctive, like those in the set on that shelf behind you but much smaller, more like this one."

 

The Head Librarian held up a random book from his desk.

 

"I believe it was stolen by another Librarian, one Magby at the Western Free Hold Library. Can you find it and return it? Only another Librarian, or someone informed of its value to a Librarian, would have taken it and my senses tell me Magby. Will you do this for me as well? And can you do it with all possible haste? My work languishes without that book!"

 

"I will do it and very soon. I am well acquainted with the Western Free Hold's grounds and it's interior. I will find Magby's office. I'll start on the assumption it will be kept close by or in a secure spot. I will find it if it is there."

 

"That is all I have for you sir. In return, I will dig deeply into the archives and gather whatever I can about this Saint Clabherd's church for you. Give me at least one week before you return. When you return, come here and lightly rap upon the shutters before entering, I will await you at midnight."

 

"We are agreed then, thank you sir. I will speak with you in one week."

 

The figure melted into the shadows and the shutters swung close behind him as he slipped out of the window. The Head Librarian settled back into his chair. What a morning! This was a most unusual occurence, unheard of. What Librarian had ever made such a devils wager as to work with a thief? His reputation would be shattered if it came to the light that he was cavorting with the criminal underground. The risks were terrible. He was sure of that. Equally sure was he that the possible favors far too toothsome to pass by. Well, it was too late for regrets, the bones had been cast and the bets laid. This would at least prove interesting, he felt sure of that as well.

 

The Head Librarian rose, lifted the candle and turned towards his bedroom.

 

"Wait, must lock the shutters behind my new friend."

 

He turned again and went to the window. Then laughed and made his way to his bed. His new friend truly was skilled and apparently not completely inconsiderate of the old man. He had locked the bolt on the shutters on his way out. From the other side.

 

One Week Later:

The light tapping startled Head Librarian Queltonne from his nap. "My friend is here." he muttered and turned towards the shutters at the back of his study. The inky figure of the Thief formed out of the shadows and stopped at the edge of the sputtering circle of candlelight around the desk.

 

"Greetings Head Librarian, how does the weeks end find you?"

 

"Well, Thief, and you?"

 

"Quite well. I have the book you requested."

 

"Yes!" The Librarians heart leapt with joy, finally his work could move forward! Magby must be twisting with rage at this very moment! What happiness!

 

The Thief stepped forward into the light of the candles and placed the blue bound volume into the Librarians hands. Queltonne trembled with excitement as he leafed through it.

 

"No damage at first sight. What a happy day! This is an invaluable favor sir, you have advanced the good work of myself and countless other scholars. I am now truly in your debt."

 

"There is more. This book was also in the safe with the Index. I am not familiar with the language but its obviously very old, perhaps pre-City even? I inspected it for needles or other traps already."

 

The Thief handed the Librarian a small book bound in a strange glinting leather. Queltonne reached for the book, gasped at the glyphs worked into its cover, and turned instead to pick up a piece of parchment. He grasped the book inside the parchment as if avoiding its direct touch.

 

"This, this... do you have any idea what it is you have here?" he gaped at the Thief. He dropped the book onto his desktop, turned to burn the scrap of parchment in the candles flame, and leaned over to begin digging into an overflowing drawer at the desks base.

 

"None at all."

 

"This is...wait one moment please....oh good here...this is a sorcerers personal spellbook, a sort of magicians diary if you will." Queltonne sat upright pulling on a pair of slim leather gloves. "Did you handle the book without wearing your gloves?"

 

"No, I never handle anything without my gloves."

 

"Good, because that leather you see there is the skin of a Pit demon, I am not sure what one exactly, Ruther in the department of Supernatural History would know, but the touch of that skin can at minimum cause a horrendous rash to break out if one has not warded against it."

 

"Is it valuable? Or valuable for whats inside?"

 

"Both, both almost undoubtably. The skin alone is nearly a fortune, its impossible to work demon leather without harsh magics that injure the practictioner. Let me see what it contains....Oh my, yes, it's quite old, maybe not pre-City but early, early City when the Builders had but one cathedral. Its the personal spell book of one Mortrix Paleogisties Vernuum, a fairly well accomplished spell caster from the looks of these fragments and notes. I know a dozen sorcerers who would pay a hefty fee for this little volume. I wonder what that ribbon worm Magby was doing with it. It is better off in my hands than his, I can assure you sir. But are you sure you wish to give it to me?"

 

"Take it. I can always use a near fortune but I suspect working with you can yield more than one book ever could. Put it to good use or destroy it if it warrants it, it is yours to dispense with."

 

"Well, Thief, you have certainly lived up to and far above the grounds of our original bond. I pray my pursuits have turned up half as valuable a payment in return."

 

The Librarian paused, took a gulp from a cup of tea that was cooling by his elbow, then look questioningly up at his guest.

 

"Something to drink, Thief, I have hot tea and biscuits here."

 

"No, thank you though."

 

"With pleasure, let me begin. St. Clabherds has a quite interesting history. Its scattered but a rather chilling picture is taking shape. Would you care for a seat?" Queltonne waved towards a wooden chair which the Thief glided towards and took. The Librarian adjusted his seat towards his guest and laced his fingers together on his lap. He began to speak.

 

"St. Clabherds is quite old as well, not as old as this book but not much younger, maybe fifty or sixty years. Its exact date is lost, but I have crossed referenced it's existence in other texts from the period and it appears to have been consecrated roughly XXXX years ago. It was built during one of the first waves of Builder expansion after the local Pagan tribes had been brought under the hammer, so to speak. Like the first Cathedral, it was a fortress as well, albeit much smaller, and it had to hold off the occasional Pagan uprising or marauder band passing by. It did so successfully and held long enough for the City to grow to meet and incorporate it into itself fully, around one hundred years and some more on. No longer an outpost but now the holy meeting place for a new and growing district of a new and growing City. This is all from some very general early histories of the City, which have also provided me with a map to give to you that may prove interesting."

 

Queltonne slurped more tea from his cup.

 

"I then moved to the Libraries collection of Builder documents from the period. Nothing out of the ordinary or unusual in the archives up to that point about St. Clabherds. It was first a stout redoubt for the Builders as they moved to consolidate their hold over the settlements and small villages that would eventually marry with the City's growing core a few leagues away, now a district church with a strong and content flock. There were a succession of priests and assistants who lived and worked on the grounds but nothing is to be found beyond the mundane at the site. The high point of the reading was the account of the miller's wife who, having discovered her husband had a misstriss at his mill, and who overcame the pair as they were in a delicate state, bound them hand and foot and was proceeding to throw them into the mills great gears when the priest arrived and talked the stout woman out of such an outrage. That and some truly impressive ale house brawls were the worst of the early history of the Church and the district for that matter."

 

He paused.

 

"But that would change, drastically. After about another fifty years, a new priest came to St. Clabherds, a priest with a troubled background according to the accounts. This one Philatine Touren Veldemere, the son of a wealthy and powerful family who would play an influential and decidedly negative role in the history of the City in the century that followed this time, had become a Builder priest apparently to rid himself of a sordid past. Philatine had dabbled in the darker of the arcane arts and had been punished harshly by the authorities but spared death due to his families influence. After torture, he had originally been slated to remain a bond slave to the Builders for his crimes, living as a house servant within the walls of a holy site for the remainder of his days, boiling the bed linens and tilling the gardens. A shameful fate for the scion of an early City aristocractic clan."

 

"But history would prove a stronger force than the will of the Builders judges. A zombie plague struck the City a few years after Philitine's drudgery had started. Hundreds of people died on a monthly turn, a steady drain on the population and the Builders were not spared. The undead began to squirm up in patches around the City and it would only be a matter of time before its newly established limits would be shattered and forced back due to the spreading anarchy. The Church, desperate for bodies to take up the hammer, began to offer the office of priest to almost anyone who would listen to their pitch for long enough. It was not a desirable task, it meant either battling revenants in the streets or cleansing the cemetaries and paupers pits to try to stem the outbreak. But for a disgraced noblemans son, it meant opportunity. And Philitine took it."

 

"After swearing a number of heinous oaths and purging his body with rituals and trials, he was permitted to enter training at the Cathedral. He was a powerful fighter by all accounts, well read and eloquent to spare and his masters at the Cathedral noted his numerous proficiencies. He completed the training for priesthood, much shorter and less academically intensive in those grim days, and was ordained about three months after he had presented himself."

 

The Head Librarian stopped for another sip of tea.

 

"And something else besides all that that you may find of great interest. Philitine was apparently an organist of the first mark, trained by the City's musical elites."

 

The Thief's eyes narrowed at this but he said nothing.

 

"He must have adapted quickly to his new station and seized whatever chances Fortune placed before him, as he did quite well as a priest. He rose in power and favor quickly, as the archivist noted though there were whispers of family money influencing that ascendancy. It would not be unlike that particular family to first abandon their darkling child to the Church in a show of obediance then to reestablish ties with him when he had turned the situation towards his own advantage. Whatever the case, it seems Philitines dark past was soon washed aside in minds of the Church's fathers as his current value was well apparent and direly needed. The archivist is emphatic when he notes that this was to be a regretable decision on their part."

 

"The zombies were eventually suppressed. The City's had held together but the equally daunting task of rebuilding and reorganizing their lives loomed. Philitine had earned great honor and note during the fight. He fought like a beast from the Pit according to his comrades, showing no fear of the undead even when facing superior numbers. On more than one occasion he had rallied his brothers and sisters back from the edge of overwhelming defeat with cries and shouts and a near manic joy for the battle. Some called him an avatar of the Builder but this was never officially sanctioned. But those with authority did not forget his deeds either, his superiors declared him purged, cleansed, and a beloved son. As a mark of their favor and no doubt with a need to fill vacant positions, they presented him with a prize normally reserved for priests much more senior."

 

"Saint Clabherds?"

 

"Correct. This would prove a horrendous error on their part. The old archivist noted that the first few months of his tenure as the priest were almost without incident. But five months after Philitine took the vows and assumed his role, something happened in the church, something apparently horrible, an obscenity that afterwards the Church authorities would not allow those involved to speak of under heavy oaths. Several residents of the district, whole families, had been in attendance, but no one could account for their whereabouts. Only one person who had actually been in the church while these sad events took place made it into the light of day, it was the caretaker of St. Clabherds. After fleeing whatever horrors had unfolded in there, he had fled to the bell tower and screaming and tolling the bells he warned the common folk away and demanded they alert the Builders to send forces into the church. What they found in there and what the caretaker saw were completely suppressed by the Church fathers but the archivist noted in a personal aside that he had heard drinking stories during his long time of service in the Church that spoke of two interesting points."

 

"One was that preceeding the caretakers alarums, a hideous blaring organ music was heard throughout the neighborhood. As you know, St. Clabherds sits back a bit from the main intercourse but this noise was apparently somehow louder than the normal sounds made during service, for several folk came forward to testify to the terrible music. They were held then by the Church and warned in the direst tones of talking about the events with others. This is a fairly standard practice throughout the Church's history."

 

"The second was something that was overheard from the caretaker who had come down from the tower after the alarm had gone out and made his way into the walled street that served as a kind of courtyard for the church. He was pale and wide eyed with terror the accounts go and was croaking something over and over, something about the "mountain of snakes and lights" and the "floor ate them, ate them all." He was quickly taken into the charge of the Church and whisked away, never to be seen or heard of again as far as I can see. This information is probably available at one of the larger Church libraries but getting past the security would be the easy part. Finding the information would take months at best."

 

"This is all I have for you right now, Thief, come again next week and I'll have more I hope. Perhaps the picture can be drawn even clearer. In any event, my services are most humbly at your disposal."

 

"Thank you for your labors, Head Librarian, you have given me some answers and many many more questions, but that is surely the nature of these things. Please do continue your searches, I feel that this task could prove most challenging and I need any scrap of an advantage I can muster. Good morn to you sir."

 

"With diligence, Thief, with diligence. And good morn as well... Oh, and one more moment of your valuable time sir. Do you, umm, ever, in your travels, come across, ahh, old books? Even the scrap of paper that led you to St. Clabherds are tiny pieces of a bigger puzzle, that of the Citys past. We revel in solving such puzzles here. As a librarian, such a resource and the means to collect it, namely you, are nearly priceless. If you can, please consider keeping an eye alert for the odd bit of parchment or dusty scroll. I in turn can keep you appraised of information that passes through my hands that you may find useful. We not only deal in the past but we record the present and even forsee the future in our way. All that lies at your command in return for your labors for myself and my library."

 

The Thief paused in his departure and half turned back to the older man. "You may rest assured that what I find, if I can return it safely and without undermining my own goals, will make its way into your hands. In return, you will become my eyes and ears both here and in the past. We are well met indeed sir. In one week then."

 

And then he vanished like a wisp of smoke in a breeze.

 

The Head Librarian turned at once and snatched up his prizes with the appetite of a child at a sweetshop counter. And paused for a moment to savor the thought of Magby's rage, his furious rage. That alone was worth the time spent reading for the Thief. That alone and then all this! He giggled madly to himself and raced to the safe in the floor. His treasures secured, he pinched the candle and groped his way to his bed. Within a few minutes, he slept as soundly as he had in years.

Three Days Later:

The Head Librarian finished with his morning relief, secured his cane, and shuffled absently down the hallway of his quarters towards the main hall and breakfast. As he entered the hall, young librarians and old called out greetings and wishes of good health as the library went about readying itself for another day of work. He responded with nods and waves and fatherly advice.

 

"Yes children, good morn, yes, how are your studies Luddvick? Little Neena, have you finished your book on indexing as of yet? Master Instructor tells me you have some work to do, dearheart. Exams approach like a fast, cold wind for all of you, be prepared! Enjoy your studies and work hard, good morn!"

 

The crowd parted around the aged but wiry figure of the Head Librarian. Novices carried food to the tables in squads, ate their plates empty, cleaned them in turns and scrubbed the mess afterwards. Senior librarians of various middling ranks directed these operations and then packed all off to the classrooms. The Library's Council, composed of the oldest Librarians, moved off towards their various projects. The Head Librarian glided past the din and into the kitchen proper, where the Library's only hired laborer, the Cook, sat poring over a recipie book and stuffing his mouth with steaming, heaping bites of flat iron cakes soaked in honey and butter. The Cooks fat, leering face was absorbed in the book and the food in equal measure, leaving no room for the Head Librarian. Intermittently he slurped down hot gulps of kafi, scented with some unfamiliar sweet spice undoubtably supplied by one of Cook's unsavory sources in the local produce supply network. He waited until the cook had engulfed a particularly large bite before speaking.

 

"I hope you've spared a few of those cakes for me from your ravages." he snapped.

 

The Cook started, his eyes bulged for a second as a particularly large bite barely squeaked down his throat, and he turned and rose to his ponderous feet, his white apron billowing about him like the sail of a ship, and affected an elaborate if slow bow.

 

"Oh most exulted one, stalwart lighthouse against the storms of ignorance, your mornings sustenance awaits you in the oven. Piping hot, your worship, piping hot! Allow your humble servant to retrieve baked paradise for your grace."

 

The Head Librarian slid onto the bench opposite the Cooks seat. The Cook slid a healthy pile of cakes onto a dish and placed it in front of him with a puffy hand. Cutlery and hot kafi, minus the exotic spice, appeared a moment later.

 

"You greedy ape, think you can save all the new treats for yourself? Make with the spices, you miser."

 

The Cook's obsequiously happy face suddenly hardened.

 

"Bah, I truly did not think your withered senses could detect that delicate smell. I paid a pretty pile of coins for this smattering of Pithian dessert spice, I don't mind mentioning, from my own pocket."

 

He stooped and added a rich syrup to the Head Librarians cup, then stirred it. His ponderous weight settled back down onto the opposite bench, eyes stabbing into the book while fork stabbed an entire quadrant of a flat cake and raised it into his maw.

 

For his part, the Head Librarian barely looked up from his plate for a minute or so, except to sip the wonderfully fragrant kafi. Finally he spoke.

 

"Delicious, as always. Have you seen the morning papers as of yet? I want to get them read before I go into my study for the day."

 

"Here it is. Nothing of particular interest on the front sheet. Well, the bank down the end of the block was robbed last night, seems there was a real fracas, two guards seriously wounded and supposedly the thief took an arrow but still managed to slip away. With his haul, I should add. Rather exciting read."

 

The Head Librarian nodded absently over his food, then suddenly a thought hit him.

 

"I wonder..."

 

"Wonder what, oh guardian of Truth?"

 

"Err, nothing, umm, I'll finish this in my study in fact, I take it along, no bother, Ill let you get back to your next culinary debauch."

 

The Head Librarian gather his food and drink onto a handy serving tray, tossed the mornings broadsheets in a roll onto the tray as well, and headed back towards his quarters. He mused to himself along the way.

 

"Could it be him? I wonder, I wonder."

 

The door shut behind him, he deposited the tray on his desk and walked over to the shutters to let in the morning light. As he pulled them open, he noticed a bright drop of fresh blood on the floor at the base of the window. He froze, then realized he was not alone.

 

"My friend, its ok, I know you are here. I can help."

 

From behind him in the shadow of a bookcase, the Thief spoke.

 

"Please, then, lock your door so I may rest assured no one will disturb us."

 

The Head Librarian moved swiftly to do so. When the latch was thrown, the Thief materialized out of the darkness and stumbled towards a nearby chair. The Head Librarian realized that the broken shaft of an arrow was sticking from his left side at a shallow angle of penetration.

 

"Blast it man, it was you. Be still for one moment."

 

The Head Librarian quickly gathered some clean rags, a flask of raw alcohol, and a pitcher and washbasin. He gingerly inspected the wound.

 

"A bit of luck, if it was a degree or two more this way it would have speared you like a fish. I can remove this but it will hurt."

 

"Do what you can."

 

The Head Librarian glanced around the back of the wound and saw the arrow head had punch through cleanly.

 

"I can pull it through, then I must apply pressure. Are you ready?"

 

"Yes, do it." The Thief carefully shifted onto his good side.

 

The Head Librarian swiftly pulled the arrow through the wound and clamped down clean rags onto the holes. The Thief flinched, coughed in pain, and then placed his hands over the rags to hold them in place. The Head Librarian gestured to him

 

"I must secure that bandage, come, here follow me. Lay on my bed here, hold on.

 

He quickly worked a bandage around the Thiefs midsection, securing the rags over the wounds.

 

"Lay down, let me put a pillow under your side here, good. Dear dear my boy, what did you get into there at that bank?"

 

"News... news travels fast I see. I found a young country guard with a fast bow arm. I'll warrant he won't be that fast now though."

 

The Head Librarian paused at this grim statement, then continued his ministrations. He started to speak when a loud knock came from the door. He started up, called out for patience, helped the Thief to his feet and then faced a decision.

 

"Damnit, there is no other way. Follow me Thief, I have to show you a secret of our fair Library. If my predecessor saw me revealing this to the likes of you he would bludgeon me with his dissertation."

 

The Head Librarian dashed to the fireplace, pressed on two small stones on either side of the chimney, and behind the Thief by the bedside a small panel door opened in the wall.

 

"In you go, follow the small stairs up to the garret. Its cramped but there are chairs and such. Avoid lighting a fire until I give the all clear. Take this water to quench yourself, I'll bring more. Now go, go, I must see whats afoot."

 

The Thief paused as if to speak, then turned and limped through the doorway. It clicked shut behind him.

 

"Coming damn it all, coming!" the Head Librarian shouted to the door and ripped it open to find Novice Neena in a terrible state.

 

"Master, the City Watch are here, they say they are searching for a thief and that he is thought to still be hiding in the neighborhood. The thief who robbed the bank!"

 

"I'll come in one second, child, tell them Im coming, now run!"

 

The novice disappeared and the Head Librarian spun around and started looking wildly around the room. Not too many blood drops, he grabbed a rag and wiped those he found. His hands were trembling as he worked, for behind him he heard the tramp of booted feet. There, that looked like that was it, nothing more to see...

 

"Open in the name of the Baron!" the cry came with a pounding of an armored fist.

 

The Head Librarian steeled his heart, tossed the rag into the fireplace, and strode to his chamber door.

 

"Good morn, young captain, what brings you to our establishment of knowledge?" he inquired.

[Maximius]

"Stand aside, Master Librarian, we are in pursuit of a most dangerous criminal, a thief!" the Captain

barked in a hot voice.

 

The Master Librarian instantly assumed an air of shocked anger.

 

"A thief! In the heart of knowledge? Alarm! Come brave Captain, my resources are yours! Is this dastard about? Reveal the fiend, I'll smite him myself!"

 

The old man flailed his arms about him in an unconvincing display of might and continued to call racously for immediate engagement with the foe. With his robes about him he resembled a scarecrow buffeted by a storm, reeling about the room waving a walking stick. The soldiers were perplexed at this display and looked away from the Head Librarian somewhat embarrassed for him. Their eyes and weapons relaxed as they glanced about the room and saw that it had only one entrance and the window, which was locked. The Captain spoke, more to end his own confusion and sense of overreaction.

 

"Erm, yes sir, bravely said sir but we can probably manage to bring him to bay ourselves. Please no heroics Master Librarian. He was seen heading across the rooftops towards this tower but it seems unlikely he had time to get into here. Allow us to glance in the corners of this room for certainty and we will be on our way, sir."

 

The Captain and his sergeant quickly ducked into the room and looked about. With a nod from the Master Librarian he opened the water closet door then the old man's closet proper.

 

"All seems well, sorry for the interruption of your studies, sir. If you see anyone out of the ordinary, its probably him, alert us as soon as you can. He's all in black and moves like a watersnake, even with a shaft in his side, an unmistakeable figure. We will briefly look through the Library with your permission just for the sake of certainty."

 

"Immediately good sir," replied the now panting Head Librarian, "I will assist your investigations."

 

And so the party moved into the Library proper and spent another hour looking in boxes and behind clothing racks, the entire population of the place having been assigned to search. Finally the Watch took their leave and thanked the Library for its whole hearted assistance. The Head Librarian exclaimed his weariness as the squad departed and order that no one disturb him while he repaired for a brief nap. Oh, and a bit of food too. He scuttled into the kitchen. At the enormous stove the Cook hovered over a skillet the size of a small tub. Eight hunks of cowflesh were gently braising in a savory broth filled with roots and herbs. The Cook turned to the Head Librarian and affected a half bow, a mildly mocking smile.

 

"Ah Father of enlightened years, you are truly a model of citizenry for our youth. I had never thought a man with political views aligned as yours do would cling to our brave Watch with such zeal. Truly a marvel!"

 

"Fancy a dabble at my politics you gluttonous clown? Don't hope to divine my positions on matters of social import, you who would rather live in chains as long as you could reach the pastry cuphoard in them. Now, what have you got bubbling away there?"

 

"Beef-flesh most tender, sweet visiage of wisdom, allow me to plate some for your pleasure."

 

The Head Librarian waited then accepted a bowl of the savory broth with a healthy chunk of the cowflesh and a half loaf of fresh bread. He made as if to leave.

 

"Wait."

 

The Cook turned and pinched a bit of powder from a small bottle on a rack with hundreds of bottles of spices, herbs, and less easily identifiable things. He dusted the bowl with it and then abruptly turned back to glaring intently at the roiling broth as if to claim some image from it. The Head Librarian secured a pitcher of water, a spoon, and a tray and made his way to his chambers.

 

He carefully locked the door and set the tray down. With the two small stones pressed, the hidden door swung open gently. He picked the tray back up now with a fresh candle lit on it and entered the doorway. The door clicked shut behind him.

 

At the top of the short, steep set of stairs was a small room round room that came to a conicle peak in the middle. A small desk, a stool, a cot, and some chests were the only adornment. A small curtained area held a chamber pot. Four windows looked out across the City in the four cardinal directions.

 

The Thief was reclining on the cot and had dozed off while the Head Librarian had been leading the Watch on a wild chase. Apparently he was used to sleeping in his leather harness, boots, and mask as he still wore these all. He started to sit up as the old man entered the chamber.

 

"Stop sir! You'll unknit the wound. I'll prop you up with some of these cushions."

 

The Head Librarian set down the tray and opened a chest to reveal bed linens and such. He pulled out some pillows and gently heaped them behind the Thiefs head and upper back until he was high up enough to eat without discomfort. When he was in position, the Head Librarian set the tray in front of him on small legs and set out the meal. The Thief tucked into the stew without comment for a few minutes, gobbling down the food with relish under the front of his mask. After a long pull at the water pitcher, he set all aside and indicated he was done. The Head Librarian set the tray aside and pulled the stool up to the side of the bed.

 

"So not the most successful mission with the bank, eh?" he quipped.

 

The Thief looked at him for a brief moment and then carefully pulled a bag from his belt. He upended it onto the bed cover in front of him. Seven rainbow colored gems fell from the velvet bag, catching the light and sending glittering, multi-hued dots across the coverlet. The Head Librarian gasped aloud.

 

"A Miner's Rainbow! I've never seen a complete set! All identical in size and shape, with the colors of the rainbow, these only form in sites of intense magical energy. These crystals are very valuable but nearly invaluable to practicioners of astrology, properly installed they can be used in astrological surveying equiptment to distinguish fine grades of alignments amongst the spheres. Still, not worth your hide sir, I dare say. You had a close shave, as you well know."

 

"True, sir, true, I took an enormous risk to secure this prize. But I was unaware of its value to astrology, thats where I will focus my efforts to sell them. Not at the moment, however." and the Thief glanced down at his wound.

 

"No sir, take some time here if you can, I can cover for you and bring you food, a few days will do you well and you will be back on your feet."

 

"I don't see that I have much choice, Queltonne. Now it is I who must pay back your generosity, you put yourself and this place at some risk sheltering me. I will not forget."

 

The Head Librarian smiled and nodded.

 

"I'm not without my motives sir, you have done me a great boon and to return the favor in any way is a pleasure. Just assure me that you will not face down a room full of guards again for mere money, thats too much danger for even a master such as yourself!"

 

"The conflict should not have taken place. I misjudged a footstep and it was over. It had been better for all if I had not slipped on that step."

 

"The guards have survived as far as I know but they are grieviously wounded."

 

"Well, thats preferable to killing them."

 

"Do you mean to say you actually chose to injure, not kill them, with what, your bow?"

 

"Yes and yes."

 

The Head Librarian nodded.

 

"Hmph. No, I was correct, no mere housebreaker are you. You must have visited some incredible places sir."

 

"Yes again. And...some rather terrifying places too."

 

"Not something I would have thought to hear from your lips sir but pray continue."

 

"And why should that surprise you from my lips?"

 

"You, a skilled, nay a uniquely talented Thief, are the one that tends to strike terror I should not doubt."

 

"Oh I have seen terrors, sir. Things that still resurface in my dreams to taunt me from the Pit."

 

"Forgive an inquisitive mind sir but, could you perhaps, share one of these tales with one who can guard a secret? I must admit curiousity is powerful weakness of mine."

 

The Thief looked away for a second, glanced back at the Head Librarian, then returned his gaze to the sloping wooden wall close to his head. He spoke after a brief spell.

 

"The Witch."

 

"Eh? A witch?"

 

"No, the Witch."

 

"Who was this Witch?"

 

"An evil witch, but more a queen of evil witches, a creature of total malignancy towards life, one who had devoted herself to a course of vile witchcraft that other witches spoke of with fear and awe."

 

"I understand. Please continue."

 

"I encountered the Witch a few year back when I was in the middle of looting a long abandoned mansion in some decayed Westron district whose name escapes me. The mansion was haunted ,, ghosts of the family who had been murdered by their patriarch as well as the spirit of the old man, locked in battle for eternity. The patriarch of this clan had been a devotee of this Witch, a warlock in her service, and her wages were madness and death. He slaughtered his family and then himself, leaving behind a treasure of family wealth. Thats where I became an interested actor."

 

The Thief paused to drink from the pitcher again.

 

"I managed to make it into the family vaults. There I found a room within a room, a hidden safe within a hidden safe. And in it I found something...something that I cannot forget......it still comes to me. It was a child, not alive but not dead either, a zombie child no more than a year in age when it was turned. And it was apparent from its situation that its unlife was intentional. Its arms and legs were twisted behind it, its innards served as its bonds, it was covered in deeply carved runes, glyphs, that cut into its flesh to the bone in places. It was a living fetish, or rather an undead fetish, a tribute to.."

 

"The Witch. How horrific."

 

"I am a hard man, Master Librarian, when necessary. A very hard man. But this shook me to my core, the sight of this wretched suffering thing. One glyph was repeated over and over in its flesh, a simple one. I wrote it down for an acquaintance, one acquainted with magics, and she grew wide eyed when I showed it to her. She told me of the Witch, a legendary hag and one who commands other witches and warlocks, who was said to bathe in the blood of children and thusly retained her full youth and vitality many centuries beyond her years. This Witch had not been heard of for many many years, an intense battle between her cultish followers and the Builders had resulted in the cults destruction and her retreat to parts unknown. Not until she had laid waste to dozens of their picked troops was she driven from her cavern stronghold and away by a convocation of Builder bishops. The five bishops performed a dreadfuly powerful rite from their canon and gave a portion of their life energies to a hand picked warrior, a truly fearsome and zealous Builder soldier, who thusly infused was able to smite the Witch herself, wounding her terribly and sending her into some bolthole by which she escaped their fatal attack."

 

"I have heard tell of some of these events but never dwelled on them long enough. Its a chilling tale. But there is a lapse of time between your discoveries and those battles. This fetish was perhaps evidence of her reviving her powers and moving in the world again, I take it."

 

"That is correct, sir, acute as always. The Witch was not to return to my attention for several years after this affair. My acquaintance and I destroyed the fetish and I forgot about her, it, for a while. Until the time I was hired for a job, a different kind of job that my usual. A go between for some of the local aristos approached me and proposed a mission to rescue some kidnapped children. I was more than inclined to pass the job up but the money was good and I needed it badly at that moment. So I took it on."

 

The Thief shifted carefully onto his good side, his back now to the Head Librarian.

 

"Forgive me, I have to take my weight off the wound. I'll continue this way. I was to locate three missing childrens, triples, identical triple brothers, from the nursery of Lord and Lady Boerlaine, you may remember this from a few years gone by, taken from a private estate near the forest outside the Southron walls of the City. The parents were nearly hysterical with terror at the loss, a connected uncle arranged for my services. I met with him in secret at the estate mere hours after learning of these events. The young couple had good reason to be near to losing their wits.The scene of the abduction, the nursery, did not bode well for the children's fate."

 

The Thiefs voices stopped for a moment. The Head Librarian knew to wait.

 

"Such cruelty I have not seen before, not in the dungeons of the Barons keeps, not in the slave pits in some of the coastal towns Their nanny, an elderly woman, had been killed, butchered, by the intruders. But not merely murdered, rather, tortured, pulled apart by an unknown power while still drawing breath, disembowled and, as with the fetish, bound with her own innards. The womans body twisted and turned inside out and worse yet, her exposed stomach distended like a sack filled with air."

 

"By the Founder!" exclaimed the Head Librarian "This is a horrid tale indeed sir. The poor creature.

 

Again the Thief fell silent, for a bit longer, then he continued.

 

"The horror was only beginning. Real fear came next. While the uncle and I picked over the scene, it came to his attention that the corpse's mouth had something inside of it. Before I could stop him, he had reached out and snatched it from the lips of the dead woman. A bundle of twigs bound with what looked like a tress of hair from the victims head."

 

The Thief lay quietly now for several moments. The Head Librarian waited until he could not stop himself from speaking.

 

"And so...?" the Head Librarian urged him.

 

"And then.....then the body began to speak....."

 

"What?! A zombie of some kind?"

 

"No, not a zombie. A vessel rather, a container to hold a spell. As the body spoke, the air rushed out of her stomach propelling the words out of her throat and the stomach collapsed into an empty sack. Or rather the word, for she only spoke one, a name, over and over until the air had fled her body. Sabonne, Sabonne, Sabonne....."

 

The Head Librarian paused for a second then exclaimed "The Witch! Sabonne is the Witch! I have heard of that hag, truly a mighty servant of the Dark Mother! She has not been heard of for several years, the Builders maintain a group of scholars and magic workers dedicated to studying her and her devotees. I have read some of the accounts of their battles with her, she is always driven from her lairs but at terrible costs to their ranks. The Builder help us all when she rears her foul head again in the City."

 

"In that regard you may rest easy, friend Librarian, the Witch will not be troubling this City again."

 

"In truth? How can you speak of this with certainty?"

 

"For I have slain her. Or rather, a friend and I did."

 

"Sir! How can this be?! Forgive my incredulity but even a man of your gifts cannot hope to contend with that abomination, friends or no! Sabonne has slain dozens upon dozens of the Builders finest warriors, striking them with an affliction that dissolved the flesh from their bones in a matter of seconds! A hundred years ago she battled a powerful Bishop and his retinue, she turned the man into a hop-toad before the eyes of his forces and crushed him underfoot! I don't wish to doubt your word Thief but surely such a feat begs ...."

 

The Thief cracked a thin smile.

 

"It is a fantastic claim, yet it is true sir."

 

"I must learn how this came to pass, please, curiosity will drive me to distraction otherwise."

 

The Thief paused, then smiled grimly. "If its a tale you want, then you have found one, friend."

 

"Hold for a moment, sir, a fire is in order, the danger is past." The Head Librarian scuttled to the hearth and fumbled with the tinderbox on the small mantle. Soon a small fire caught and warmth began to diffuse about the tiny room. The Head Librarian regained his seat by the Thief's bedside.

 

"There, thats ready."

 

"Once the spell had run its course, the body was still. The uncle had collapsed at the sight of the thing, I roused him and we fled the nursery. I found my acquaintance again and gave her the name, she shuddered. I told her of the missing boys and she grew even more troubled. Something of a ritual, something to do with the triples...."

 

"I know of no such thing, sir." the Head Librarian offered.

 

"Oh yes, now I remember, its the...

 

Part II

 

"Ritual of the Al-Matriax!" spat the gnarled old woman into the air of her rotting apartment. Books mingled with houseplants of exotic natures waged a creeping battle to consume every inch of floor space. Tables crammed with jars of herbs, animal parts, powders and pastes, chairs filled with scrolls and lounging cats who seemed to wink and grin at the Thief. He sat in a dusty old chair and watched as one of the enormous felines sniffed his boot and then brushed its long body along his legs. Dusty golden light streamed through a high window illuminating an enormous parrot locked in a cage the size of a small toolshed. A kettle hung over the fire of an enormous hearth which the old woman would occasionally swing out on its arm and peer into intently. The Thief cleared his throat.

 

"Good mother, please explain yourself."

 

"The Al-Matriax boy, the Un-Mother, the Bloody Matron. In the battles of the heavens, a powerful being, not a god, not enough devotees, but rather a malignancy brought about by dark sisters of mine blood in ages past, a more primitive time after the Shaping of Things when magic swarmed through the world unchecked, not fully woven into things as now, when abrupt danger awaited practitioners of the witchery but also incredible rewards. Mine kin found conduits to the stars, found chains to pull and wheels to turn here that had effects there. The Al-Matriax was the culmination of their efforts, a heavenly champion in the arena beyond the material realm, an advocate for their foul interests."

 

"So who is this Sabonne?"

 

"A powerful, powerful witch, boy, old as the hills but yet youthful and lithe in form, one of the earliest students of those who raised the Al-Matriax. She appears throughout the City's history as a foe of peace and a killer of the innocent. It appears she is back."

 

"What was that....thing... she made in the nursery?"

 

"Not she, her minions, she would not stoop to such labor. It was an announcement, a calling card, the tragic humor of a being who consumes mortals as mine lovelies would consume a plump mouse."

 

The old woman bent to tickle one of her pets under its chin, cooing and clucking to it for a moment. The enormous feline rolled onto its back and curved in an arc of pleasure. The old woman began to babble to the beast in a singsong nonesense language as one might a babe. "Woobsie-woobsie wikes mamas tickle wickle, babsie wabsie boo-boo!"

 

The Thief resignedly lifted his gaze over her stooped form to look at a statue of luminous white. Resting on a pedestal in an odd angle of the many angled room, it was wreathed in a dark green rope of ivy that thrust up from a pot at the base of the pedestal. The statue, a beautiful beaming youth with an upraised cup in one hand and a twisting serpent in his other, was almost half covered by the dense leaves. The Thief gently spoke at the old womans back:

 

"So what does Sabonne and this Al-Matriax have to do with one another and the missing boys, good mother?"

 

"There is a ritual, a sacrifice to the Un-Mother, which confers a degree of her power to the practitioner. Sabonne uses this to replenish her strength periodically, to rally her powers when she wishes to move once again in the world of humans."

 

"I wish to rescue those boys. The money's damned good and it never hurts to have wealthy aristo friends."

 

"Heh! Boy, this would be yer last job, I assure ye.

 

The Thief glanced back at the statue at this last and his eyes bugged for a moment. The statue was now facing directly at him, its features still human but somehow not, somehow sharp and cold and utterly alien, smiling a smile like shattered glass and icy needles. Its ivy cover had mostly slid aside to accomodate its shifting. The cup was now lowered and hanging as if to be emptied onto the ground while the serpent was pointed towards him, rearing in the alabaster hand as if to strike. The Thief shivered against his will and looked back at the old woman.

 

"Ah, good mother, why is.."

 

"Silence boy, and listen closely! Sabonne is a foe ye have not a drop of training to face, I mineself could not hope to stand against her and would be hard pressed to escape to safety for that matter. This is a matter for the Church methinks, sad to say, there are but a few sisters who would care to band together to try to turn Sabonnes will, not these days when witches and warlocks are hunted without pause, without consideration of their deeds or characters. So many have fled for the wilderness or for far flung cities where the Church is unknown or as yet weak. And the time for this grievous act must be soon, as the stars have the Al-Matriax as rising in an ascendant cycle for a few days. That will be the time it happens, in a mere day or two."

 

The Thief looked again at the statue and found it in its original position, with not a hint of disturbance to it or its cloak of green.

 

"Ah, um, good mother, what is that thing..?"

 

"Stay on the points at hand, ye lackwit leapfrog! Next ye will want to know where to find this monstrosity. Another good question, stubborn child, whose answer will be yer doom. Sabonne imagines herself a royal in our clans, no city apartment nor wooden hut for her, she founds her lairs in fallen temples or lost caverns. Not a nice hole to die in boy."

 

"Can you tell me no more than that, good mother"

 

"Ah, its yer death after all. Hmmmm...."

 

Suddenly the enormous parrot screeched like a demon, sending cats tumbling about the den, and started to speak in a language the Thief had never heard before, one that seemed to ring in the ears. The old woman grabbed a handy quill, sought a piece of parchment, and failing the latter scrawled the parrots words on the table cloth of the desk she stood at.

 

"A moment, boy"

 

The Thief waited quietly while the bird spat out strange, somehow brassy words that tingled in the air. He avoided looking at the odd corner again. The old woman cackled to herself and wrote furiously.

 

"There, thats a good bit, here mine sweety, have some sweets."

 

She tossed a bit of dried fruit to the bird, who deftly snatched it from the air with its beak and snapped it down in one bite.

 

"Now, where were we, ah, yes, how to find Sabonne, and more importantly how to do it without getting caught, which could mean some trouble. Hmmmph. Ah, yes. I have it. Sit tight boy, have some refreshments."

 

The old woman trundled out of the room as an multi-hued figure marched stiffly through another door. It was a human like figure, made entirely of wood and cloth, rather like a jester but a mere three feet in height. It was held together with strings and springs and pulleys which peeked through its rainbow colored jerkin as it moved and atop its shoulders sat the plaster head of a grinning gnome with a curved nose and pointy ears stabbing towards the ceiling. A rainbow ringed conicle hat with a huge yellow tassle finished its attire. Oddest of all were the wires and simple wooden frame that rose, attached one to each and every limb with two for the head as well, straight above it rigid in the air to the frame a few feet above, but moving in moment with the movements of the little figure.In its simple hands it carried a tray with a steaming cup of something that smelled delicious and a heaping plate of delicate looking cakes with lovely pastel icings, blues and yellows, pearly whites and greens. The tiny being halted before him and held out the tray as if offering it to the heavens. The Thief realized he was looking at a marionette from one of the Theater districts, albeit one with a bit of a life of its own. But were the wires pulling it or was it pulling the wires?

 

The Thief started to shake his head at the proffered tray but the aroma and arrangement stopped him. He plucked a cake up and popped it into his mouth, where it melted on his tounge like a cloud of sweet goodness. The drink was similarly divine, warmth spread through his body, a kind of pumkiny spicey brew with chocolate. He selected one more cake, nodded politely to the little butler, and finished the cup. The butler nodded in return, waited for the cup, then turned with the tray and marched back the way it came.

 

"Ye made him quite happy boy, mine mannikin loves it when guests appreciate his sweets."

 

The old woman had reappeared in the room with such ease that the Thief was a bit startled.

 

"Good mother, you could teach me a trick about stealthing about, I suspect."

 

"More than one boy, more than one" she cackled and pushed aside a pile of strange looking bones to make a place on a nearby chair. Once she was seated, she closed her eyes, smiled to herself, and began to mumble something under her breath. The Thief watched silently as she gently rocked back and forth and then suddenly snapped her fingers. As he watched, a tiny shape suddenly appeared in one of the doorways, a rat, who made its way across the room to where they sat. The cats who had returned after the parrots outburst immediately leapt to their feet but the old woman deterred them with a wave of her hand. The rat scrabbled to the base of her chair and leapt onto its arm. The old woman smiled and tickled it under its chin, then turned to the Thief.

 

"This is the being who will assist your search. It can get close enough to smell Sabonne, which myself will tell it how to do, without raising alarms or triggering her acute senses. If we can get close, we can figure out where it is she must be holed up. And if not that, it will find out what we need through its kin, who crawl and scuttle through all the City and the Wild beyond."

 

She turned and leaned towards the rat, whispering in its one ear. It squeaked and abruptly jumped to the floor, then ran out of the doorway it had entered.

 

"Now, boy, return when mine voice summons, probably in a few hours. Mine work awaits, so shoo!"

 

 

The Thief nodded and melted into the shadows. The old woman, now alone, frowned to herself. She then whirled and tossed an accusing glance at the white statue, which proffered no response.

 

"If ye return mine boy, if ye return from that hags lair."

 

Part 3

 

The Thief seated himself once again in the old womans den. The butler appeared while he awaited the witch, this time with tiny sandwiches of rich cheese and tender venison and a hot cup of meat broth, seasoned lightly. The Thief ate everything and again nodded to the tiny manniken, who now bowed deeply and retreated to the kitchen with a somehow jauntier but still stiff legged step. The old woman was in her chair opposite him when his head turned back forward. The Thief started, then smiled.

 

"Good mother, you must show me that trick, its too valuable."

 

"Heh, boy, that trick requires the blood of a creature that lives only in the deepest trenches in the Deep Brine. Ye would have to go there for yer own to retrieve a bit."

 

"Has our friend brought us news?"

 

"Indeed. The hag is in hiding in an empty quarry a few leagues outside of the city, in a deep and treacherous pit."

 

"Then I must be off, to prepare for the nights journey."

 

"Hold, fool, no need to fly to yer screaming doom right away. Sit for one moment, ye and myself must speak at length."

 

The Thief sat obediently.

 

"Myself has a plan, that may halt that hag from opening the gateway and renewing her powers with the Al-Matriax, at least for this time. She is incredibly powerful and ye would have no hope to face her, no arrow or spell ye could bring to bear would distract her from eating yer flesh from yer bones. But there may be another way to fight her."

 

"But I wish only to find the boys and leave."

 

"Idiot, thou would be turned to ash before you could even set sight on those poor lambs! Ye should be able to penetrate her lair to a point without alerting her, ye have yer skills, child. But get too close and she will smell ye, taste ye, feel yer beating heart then tear it out to show ye. No, ye need another way, ye need an intermediary. A familiar to walk the way for ye."

 

"What?"

 

"Thou needst a familiar, jelly-wit!, an animal ye can control and send abroad to do yer bidding. By the Blood, it may even yet be yer undoing. Heh!"

 

The old woman leered at the confused Thief and began to squirm and pull at her voluminous robes, of which there appeared to be approximately a dozen although it was impossible to pin down for sure. Her labors opened a floodgate of randomness. Out of the bottom of her dress and onto the floor tumbled a small book, a mirror, two apples soft with age, a small shiny purple snake that immediately crawled under the chair, a set of keys, several quills, and a flask of what appeared to be sweet brandy. The Thief took this all in then looked back at the exploratory war she was waging within her robes.The old woman had half disappeared under the left wing of them, in fact she now digging into that side of them with her back to the the Thief and even seemed to disappear into them quite a bit. Suddenly she crowed with triumph and whirled around to fully face the Thief, gray curly hair bobbing madly with her excitement.

 

"As ye are no warlock, ye cannot summon one, so myself has done so for ye. Behold!."

 

The old woman held the rat she had summoned earlier in one gnarled, taloned hand. She sat it on her knees where it sat upright, licked its paws, and stared intently into the Thief's eyes.

 

"Probably recognizes ye, boy! Perhaps ye have crossed paths in the night? Stealing bread and cheese! Heh! Now, give myself yer hands."

 

The Thief swallowed the laugh he felt bubbling up and stretched his arms and hands out to her. The old woman grabbed them and spat squarely into each of his palms, then began to chant in an intense low voice. Her thumbs rubbed her saliva into his palms in time with the chant and an odd scratchy tingle began to beat in deep in his mind. The rat slowly began to move in rythm with the chant, rocking back and forth and transfixing the Thief with its eyes. Suddenly it leapt from her lap into his, clambered up his leather jerkin and perched on his shoulder. The old woman release his hands.

 

"Now, boy, repeat after myself"

 

The old woman spoke three short words, which the Thief repeated in a bit of a stupor.

 

"Now, take the creature in yer hands and close yer eyes."

 

The Thief did so languidly.

 

"Repeat the words, child."

 

The Thief did that too and suddenly, silently the world exploded and collapsed at the same time. Noises came from all sides, the hiss of cats breathing, the scuttling of insects, sounds from the streets far below. Smells rushed into him, of any and all descriptions. But his vision seemed distorted, lacking colors and the ability to focus his gaze straight ahead with his accustomed ease. "How odd." he thought and turned his head sideways to see directly in front of him. He did, and saw instead of his hands a pair of scaly, hairly paws with sharp nails. The sight was too much.

 

"By the Pits, woman, what have ye done to me!" he shouted. Suddenly the normal world returned to him, he could see clearly the old woman cackling with abandon across from his seat. The rat tumbled to the floor and quickly turned to clamber back up, screeching in disapproval and glancing at the cohort of cats which had gathered to watch the rodent.

 

"Ye have seen through the eyes of yer new friend, child, a friend who can pass unnoticed where even ye cannot. In a short time yer vision and its will merge more completely, more clearly."

 

"Wha? Oh."

 

"Tis not a small bit of magix to bind a familiar to one other than oneself either, boy, and not even a sister nor a brother you be..."

 

"Erm, thank you goodly mother for you, umm, gift?"

 

"Gift? No boy, ye will pay myself for yer extra eye and ear and even hand if need be, so to speak, that is."

 

"I see. What is your price, madam?"

 

"We can discuss that when ye return from this little adventure. For now its enough to try to slow the beasts efforts to rejoin the world of mortals.If ye can disrupt the ceremony with the rat as a shield to yerself and myself as well, together we can force her to wait, to sleep in dark and mucky holes, until the proper ascension is in place again a hundred years or so hence. No small feat, boy.Your friend there is our only available weapon, I'm afraid. Myself cannot summon the necessary numbers of sisters and brothers, the Builders would throw myself in chains and burn myself as soon as Sabonne. They would dawdle and dither anyways, fools."

 

"You are not one to usually bother with the comings and goings of mere mortals, mother. Why do you care?"

 

"We of the Blood have enough troubles what with Builders burning us and townsfolk chasing us with hoes and pitchforks. We do not need a massacre to make thinks even hotter. Once Sabonne devoured an entire village of simple farming folk in a region not too far from here, ten families, from grand grandmother to the tiniest tot. Ate their flesh and built an alter to the Al-Matriax with their bones as a tribute. The ground there was so soured to this day, two hundred years hence, nothing wild grow nor travels there. In the weeks that followed, dozens of witches and warlocks, dark and light, were burned or hacked to bits or driven into exile by armed gangs that formed after Sabonne. She must be kept down. It may be a disaster or it may be true fortune smiling on us that ye were picked to assist with this crime, if we may halt her rising in fury again."

 

"Can no one else assist us? There is the Mages guild, they must have a concern with this."

 

"There are others who could face her but its an enormous risk that would demand a fortune in repayment. Only a handful of the wizards and other magic users in the City and in the region have the power to present a challenge to her but none would stand guaranteed and all would demand some kind of return that neither of us could easily provide in the short bit of time we have. And then there is the simple fact that Mages hate the sisters and brothers of the Blood and have fought with us for years immemorial. There might be some of those tricksters who would listen but not enough and not in time. No, no, its evident as the morning sun. Ye are the only power, such as you are, child, who can be positioned against her. Ye cannot approach the hag, she can smell ye like a dog and she will be upon ye when yer hid yer best. But she sleeps in filth, in the rotten bodies of her victims, in worms and muck and gurgling green slime. Vermin by the score attend her in her lair, many drag the scent of magix from parts unknown so yer friend will not be noticed in the general ruckus. Ye can spy her out and see what yer next move must be. Ye can filch things that need filching. Gnaw things that need gnawing. Unfortunately, that is all myself can do for you, any spells or shields or such myself might cast upon ye would stink to her and ye would be lost"

 

"Truly a magnificent gift good mother, most powerful mother, true thanks."

 

"But care must be taken when communing with a familiar as an outsider. Its pain is yer pain, and if the pain is too great for it, ye may find yerself unable to break the connection. It can flood ye, fill ye, wither yer sense of ye and then ye are it and ye are dying and dead. This is the price paid for not taking the proper time to bind to a familiar and for most males its a precious rare feat besidestimes. So watch well yer surroundings and let the creature's instincts guide yer hand at times. Position yerself wisely when ye are under the spell, tucked away from harms reach or discovery, as ye will appear and act to be asleep if found. When ye need to break the spell, say the words again, yes, as the rat you can still mouth them sufficiently to make it work, after ye have positioned it in a safe nook. It will rest lightly there until danger threatens, at which time it will rouse and move to safety again where it will rest. Only then can you rejoin it, when it is calm and safe, so position yer friend wisely, boy."

 

"I hear your wise guidance good mother, many thanks again learned Magatrixis"

 

"Now off with ye, mine work to do and ye have taken mine whole after noontime away with yer peskering and poking. If ye live, return again to tell myself of yer exploits. And this time ye invade a witches den, mine master Thief, make certain ye don't let her catch ye, ye won't find Sabonne as forgiving as the last! Hah!"

 

The Thief stood up sharply, bowed, then gently leaned over to kiss the old womans leathery cheek. She huffed and patted his head affectionately. The Thief replaced his mask, flickered a last glance at the impassive white statue, then glided to the exit. He stopped in the doorway and turned back.

 

"But good mother, a moment, how then can I disrupt this vile ceremony somehow other than simply taking the children? If I cannot approach her how am I to claim the children? A rat cannot carry one babe letting alone the three. What is it I must do?"

 

The old woman turned to the Thief with a plain faced stare that split into a toothy wide grin suddenly.

 

"Of that, boy, myself has not a single whisper of an idea."

 

And the door shut of its own accord in the Thief's face.

Edited January 2, 2008 by Maximius

[Hewer]

Awesome

 

I'll get reading as soon as I get a chance.

[Crispy]

Pretty good. I enjoyed it.

[Maximius]

I did some minor plot editing, Im glad you guys liked it. More next week or so.

[Maximius]

Nothing like insomnia to get the creative juices flowing....

 

Part 5

The Thief slid as stealthily as a shadow along the old road leading to the abandoned quarry where Sabonne was lodged. The sun was just starting to peek over the hilltops to the east and bird calls filled the air. The road slowly started to rise and up ahead he could see the twin hilltops that marked the location of the quarry. Only another fifteen minutes ahead or so.

 

As he approached the hilltops the bird song faded off until there was nothing to make noise but the rushing winds through the trees. The Thief noticed as well that the tiny denizens of the wood, the mice and hares and such, were gone as well, though only a few minutes down the road they were abundant. Perhaps they know something is not right here, he thought to himself. They are smarter than I perhaps.

 

Finally, he stood before the yawning mouth of the quarry, still ringed by wooden scaffolding that slowly descended into the ground. There was his route inside. The morning light illuminated the floor of the quarry but the remainder of the bottom was shadowed. As he stood taking in the sight, the sound of voices came to him from behind, from the road he had just taken.

 

SIlently, he melted into some shadows near the base of one of the two hills that framed the quarry's mouth. Within a few minutes a strange party arrived, a rag tag collection of mostly women and a few men, covered in tattoos and bizarre jewelry, muttering dark sounding words or chanting to themselves. Their clothing was torn and tattered, those with hair had twigs and even bugs crawling about in it. The party came to a halt before the lip of the quarry. An especially foul looking woman stepped forward and fell to her knees before the pit. THrowing her arms into the air, she began to cry out in a strange tounge of which the Thief only recognized one word. "Sabonne!"

 

As the woman called out, three of the party stepped forward, each carrying a bundle. "The children!" the Thief thought but what could he do against what was obviously a half dozen witches and warlocks. The three held each bundle aloft while the woman continued her rant.

 

Suddenly, with a crackling and wrenching of wood, the wooden scaffolding around the inner wall of the quarry began to shift. Was it collapsing? No, the thief saw it was not, far stranger, it was forming into something, something rather like a large three fingered hand. Indeed, so it was, as the Thief watched the scaffolding, folding and twisting, with boards and ropes moving of their own accord to get into position, began to form into a gigantic hand and arm. Gingerly, the claw reached down and plucked one of the bundles from a witch and then turned and lowered it into the quarry. Again with the second bundle. Now it came up and took the third. As it did so, the group began to laugh and cheer and sing in terrible words songs of praise for their mistress. They looked jubilant, and more so expectant, as if something wonderful was about to happen. The claw had returned from its task and now reared above them one more time. The old woman who had fallen to her knees now rose and spoke alound in Common.

 

"Sabonne, avatar of the Al-Matriax, venerable mistress, dark lady of unknown paths and lost ways, we have your sacrfice! Accept these triplets, open the gateway to our most foul mother, and now remember your faithful, remember those who have brought you what you desires most, remember us now Sabonne we plead with thee!"

 

With this the groups roared in unison "Sabonne! Remember us!"

 

Apparently she had. THe gigantic arm reared back further then swept out in an arc from the left side of the quarry's mouth to the right. It smashed into the party without hesitation, breaking bones and tearing flesh as it neatly swept all of them, screaming and crying, into the mouth of the quarry. The Thief heard their fading wails as they plunged to the rocks below, then the sickening thud. Silence now ruled the quarry once again.

 

"Well, perhaps the scaffolding is not the way to get down." he though dryly.

 

No time was to be wasted. He drew his flask from his pack, pulled a good draught, then drew out a bit of hard biscuit and gnawed at it. As he did so, a pointy, furry snout peeked out from within his jerkin, aimed directly as the biscuit.

 

"Ah, my tiny friend, you are hungry? You will need it more than I, no doubt." The Thief broke of a bit of the biscuit and presented it to the snout. The bit and the snout disappeared immediately and the Thief could hear the sounds of chewing going on a moment later.

 

When breakfast was done, the Thief took another look around the quarry. It was then that he noticed a small pipe, running from inside the quarry to its lip, where it bent to run parallel with the ground and extending another dozen feet or more away from the hole. "Hmm." It looked about right, he thought, but where could it lead? There was only one way to find out, and since the scaffolding was obviouosly not a good idea it seemed he had no other choices at this point. He pulled the rat from his pocket and set him down. The rat sniffed around himself a bit but stayed put on the spot.

 

The Thief snooped around the foot of the hills a bit and found a nice crevice, dry and secluded, in which to hide. Before that though he quickly collected a pile of good size rocks at the mouth of the crevice. He crawled inside, slowly pulling rocks in behind him until the crevice appeared to be little more than a rock filled hole. Thus hidden, he relaxed, got comfortable as possible, and spoke the three words. The strange collapsing/exploding feeling and suddenly he and the rat were one. Without hesitation, the Thief dashed towards the open end of the pipe. It was to small to get down inside, but nothing stopped him from using it as a ladder. He made his way to the edge and then gripped the pipes surface. His new hands found easy purchase in the rusty old metal. Carefully he grabbed the pipe between all four of his paws and began to descend into the quarry.

[AstralninjA]

So far so good!

[Maximius]

Thank you astral ninja, heres a bit more:

 

The Thief continued to carefully descend the rusting pipe for several minutes. No signs of life from the scaffolding-creature, so he focussed on maintaining his grip. Silence and cold air flowed from beneath him. Finally, his tail brushed against the floor of the quarry. He was here.

 

He sat up on his haunches to take in the terrain. The shattered bodies and dashed brains of Sabonnes devotees were tossed about the quarry floor like so much refuse. Other than that, he could see little else. He began to scamper around the roughly circular pit looking for an exit into the quarry proper.

 

There. A large wooden framed doorway materialized out of the gloom ringing the quarry's floor. Cold air and a peculiar smell was emanating from it. It had to be the way. The Thief began to make his way into the forboding passage.

 

The tunnel ran along for about several hundred yards. Soon he found himself in darkness, but oddly enough that was not as much a problem as it would have been for him in his own body. He found himself relying more on his sense of smell, which clearly told him the directly to move forward. His hearing as well played a role in navigation, there were deep holes and collapsed pits every few yards along the path as well as side tunnels leading who knows where, to the Pit no doubt. One wrong step and he would plunge to his death. But his rat ears were so finely tuned, he could actually hear the echoes of his tiny footsteps bouncing back from the walls and the floor around him, when they stopped, it was certain it was because nothingness lay ahead. Never the less, the going became slower and slower, with more holes and occasionally collapsed piles of rock to navigate around in the inky darkness.

 

This went on for what seemed to be hours, but of course he had no way of knowing. Another mortal might have lost his wits in this pit, but the Thief was part and parcel of the darkness and he needed no animal instincts other than his own to keep his heart and mind in place. His progress towards the quarry's heart was slow but steady.

 

Then, suddenly, in the darkness ahead, a faint, faint noise. Was it? Yes! A baby crying! He must be closing in on his quarry. But the path grew harsher still, with more hole than path at points. "Patience, patience." he counseled himself. No use splatting himself onto the rocks in an effort to save time. He pushed on carefully.

 

Up ahead, a weird glow began to materialize out of the darkness. A bluish white color. Also, the smell, now a stench, was nearly overpowering. What was this ahead. The child's voice was joined by another and then another, crying and fretting. Suddenly a fourth voice, an adults voice, and furthermore, one the Thief had to admit was absolutely lovely, spoke "Hush, birthling, all will be at rest for you soon. "Sabonne." he thought and slowed down his pace to a careful crawl. The tunnel was coming to an end and the Thief could see an enormous chamber ahead, suffused with the weird light as well as the filthy stench. He came to a stop, scampered to the wall of the tunnel where it met the floor of the chamber, and carefully nosed his head into the room to see what lay within.