City of Jade

31

BURGLARS

LATE AUTUMN, 6E6,

TO EARLY SPRING, 6E7

As they trekked along Argon Way to the center of town, “Lor, lor,” said Binkton, “there are people everywhere. How does someone stand to live in such crowds?”

“On their two feet,” said Pipper, grinning.

“What?”

“You asked how someone could stand to live in such crowds, Bink, and I said-”

“Oh, Pip, you know what I mean. People all jam-packed together. No wonder this is a lawless city, what with folks all banging and bumping into one another.”

“I don’t see a lot of jostling,” said Pipper.

“Well, if there isn’t any, there should be,” snapped Binkton.

With their duffle bags over their shoulders, the two buccen sidled their way through the throng, and Pipper said, “I don’t see how we’re ever going to find Tark and Queeker in this mess.”

“I don’t know either,” gritted Binkton, “but find them we will.”

They wove their way a bit farther, and then Binkton burst out, “Aargh! I’ve got to get away from this horde.”

“Bink, it’s no different from any jammed common room where we’ve performed. I mean, we draw packed houses and-”

“That’s different,” growled Binkton. “I mean, in a crowded tavern or inn we could always go to the outside. But this is the outside, and it’s worse than any common room we’ve ever been in. Come on, let’s go down one of these side streets and get free of this mob of towering Humans. I mean, we’re like minnows swimming among trout, and I’m like to get swallowed up.”

Pipper sighed. “All right, but we’ll have to come back into the stream and swim with the fishes, if only to find a place to stay. I mean, I doubt if there are any inns whatsoever outside of this street.”

They turned and made their way onto one of the twisting lanes leading off to the right. The narrow street was laden with shops of various sorts-curios, books, clothes, boots, and other such.

The route became less congested the farther they went, and finally Binkton heaved a great sigh of relief, glad to be able to walk without stepping this way and that to avoid being run over.

“I don’t understand you, Bink,” said Pipper. “I mean, they shackle you in chains and lock you in fetters and shut you up in little boxes and tie you up in ropes, and you don’t seem to mind that a bit. But stick you in a crowd and it’s as if you can’t breathe. I would think it’d be the other way ’round.”

“Maybe if it were Warrows instead of Humans,” said Bink, “I wouldn’t mind it so much. But the Big Folk, the Humans, well, they are just a menace, I think. I mean, how can they live that way, all bumping elbows, so to speak?”

Pipper said, “I am put in mind of what Uncle Arley said when I asked him to name the gifts of the various folk.”

Binkton looked at Pipper, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.

Pipper smiled. “He said the gift of Elves is grace and ageless life, and that of Dwarves is never to lose their feet, for once they tread a path, it is with them forever. And he said the gift of Warrows is heart.”

“Heart?”

“Yes. It seems we have the courage and will to follow through, once we take up a cause.”

“What about Humans, then?”

“Uncle Arley said their gift is fecundity, and that’s why there are so many of them.” Pipper gestured back toward Argon Way. “So, you see, Bink, in this place we are witness to the Human flair.”

Binkton turned and looked back toward the center of the city, and though the twisting street they followed blocked his view, he said, “Well, if they continue to try to fill up the world like they did this city, I think there will be no room for the rest of us.”

“That’s what the Elves say, Bink, or so Uncle Arley told me.”

They strolled a bit farther, but finally Pipper said, “Bink, we’ve got to go back, ’cause we need a place to stay.”

“Go back, Pip? Never.”

“Well, are we just going to sleep on the streets like those urchins back in Argon Ferry Town?”

“No, Pip.” Binkton pointed. “We’re going to stay right there.”

Pipper’s gaze followed the direction of Binkton’s outstretched arm, and above a small shop proclaiming itself to be Lady Jane’s Millinery-Fine Hats for Fine Ladies-a sign in a second-storey window declared, “Room to Let.”

“Well, I never had any of your folk ever stay in one of my rooms before,” said the matronly woman, silver glints here and there in her hair.

“We won’t be any bother, Lady Jane,” said Binkton.

“Oh, it’s not that I think you would be,” she replied. “I mean, I am honored to have Waldana live here, heroes of the Dragonstone War and all. I mean, my Grady-that’s my boy. Wounded in the war, he was. Took an arrow in the leg, he did. Walks with a limp, he does. Kept on fighting, though. Made it all the way to the Red Hills for the final battle. Anyway, my Grady, he says that when the Dragons came, all the Host were like to bolt, but then the little golden-armored Waldan blew on her silver horn, and the men looked to see the entire company of Waldfolc standing fast, and the Host took heart and stood fast as well.”

“That was our cousin Triss who sounded the call,” said Pipper.

“Was it now? Well, then, I’m doubly proud to have Waldana taking my room. Wait’ll I tell-”

Pipper threw up a hand to stop her words. “Ma’am, I wish you wouldn’t let anyone know that Warrows are in residence here. You see, we are on a mission of sorts. One that we’d rather keep quiet.”

With a puzzled look, Binkton stared at Pipper, but Lady Jane peered about as if to spy eavesdroppers and, seeing none, she whispered, “Ooo, a mission. One for the High King, I suspect.”

“We’d rather not say,” Pipper replied.

“Well, then, mum’s the word,” said the woman. “Oh, and if I might, and to help keep your presence secret, I’ll make you hats-caps, really-to cover those pointed ears of yours.” Then she frowned. “But I don’t see how to disguise those jewel-like eyes of yours-sapphire blue, emerald green.-Oh, wait, I know: hats with tall crowns and brims. They’ll shadow your faces. I have some lovely fabric.”

Pipper snapped his fingers as if at a sudden thought and said, “We’d rather look like urchins.”

Binkton’s jaw dropped a fraction.

Lady Jane frowned. “Urchins? Oh, I see. The better to blend in, you being so small and all. Well, then, I’ll find something to make do.”

Lady Jane bustled off, and Binkton looked at Pipper and asked, “What in the name of Adon was that all about?”

“Look, Bink, we can’t let word leak to Tark and Queeker that we are in town. I mean, they might just hie out of here.”

Binkton frowned a moment but then brightened. “Ah, I see. They probably heard about us dealing out swift and sure justice to those brigands, eh?”

“No, Bink, I was thinking more along the lines of-”

“Here we are,” declared Lady Jane, rushing back into the room. She held a cloth tape measure in hand, and she wrapped it around Binkton’s head. “Hmm. . For one so small you have a considerable brow. All right. All right. Don’t wiggle so. There now.” She jotted a note on a pad from her pocket, and then turned to Pipper and made another set of measurements.

As she rushed out again, Pipper said, “Come on, let’s unpack and then get something to eat.”

“Without our urchin disguises?” Binkton snorted, and then added, “We have to blend in, you know.”

“Oh, right,” said Pipper. “We’ll have to wait.”

With dark, wide-brimmed hats pulled down over their ears to keep the tips from showing, Pipper and Binkton stepped out from the side entrance of the millinery and headed for the small inn Lady Jane had recommended as being one frequented by people of limited means. “The food is good, and you’ll fit right in with other urchins who gather there. Just keep your hats on and don’t let them see your eyes, and don’t flash any silver or gold.”

On the street, Binkton paused a moment to examine Pipper, who peered out from under his jammed-down hat like a mouse peeking out from a hole, and said, “Gah, Pip, but we look like a couple of simpletons.”

“Simpletons or no, Bink, I think we need some seedier clothes. Right now we look too prosperous.-Oh, wait, all we have to do is smear a bit of dirt here and there and on our faces too; then we’ll fit right in.”

In distaste, Binkton stared at the gutter, running as it did with a thin layer of water over a grayish sludge. “Dirt?”

“No, Bink, not from the gutter. We’ll find a better grade of mud.”

A quarter candlemark later, a pair of street urchins entered the common room of the Yellow Lantern.

“Two bowls of your stew,” said Pipper as they passed the barkeep on the way to a table.

“I need to see the color of your coin, lads,” replied the man.

Pipper tossed two coppers onto the counter; then he and Binkton sat down and waited to be served.

“When are we going to get some weapons, Pip?” asked Binkton. “You a sling and some bullets, me a bow and some arrows.”

“Bink, I don’t think an urchin bearing a bow and a quiver full of arrows would blend in.”

“Barn rats! You’re right.”

“But we can both carry slings and bullets,” said Pipper.

Binkton sighed and said, “I’m not as good with a sling as you are, Pip, and not nearly as good as I am with a bow. But I suppose a sling’ll have to do.”

The buccen fell silent as their stew and bread were served. But as soon as the man walked away, Pip said, “Now, here’s my plan. . ”

Every day and part of each eve they spent on the streets of Rivers End, and over a fortnight they made friends with “other” urchins, at times springing for a meal for an underfed kid at the Yellow Lantern, and at other times sitting quietly in doorways and watching the traffic flow-pedestrians and carts and carriages and riders and the like. And idly they chatted with their newfound acquaintances-cadgers all-occasionally bringing up the subject of Queeker and Tark, but none of the urchins knew anyone by that name, though descriptions of the pair sounded familiar.

Most of the talk, though, was about the number of shops that had been damaged, burglarized, or set afire, and the fact that the city watch seemed helpless in the face of these deeds. Many businesses had begun paying someone for “protection” from such unfortunate events, which gave rise to the idea of a shadowy, so-called crime lord of Rivers End, yet none of the urchins knew who he might be. And just that morning another store had been broken into and the merchandise strewn about.

“It’s the crime lord’s doings, right enough,” said Cricket, the smallest of the urchins, who stood about Pipper’s height. “Wos a warning to pay up.”

“Maybe it’s Tark,” said Binkton. “He’d do such a thing.”

“The rumor is that the crime lord hisself, well, he’s someone in high circles,” said Weasel, the skinny lad pointing a finger straight up toward the sky for emphasis.

“Well, that lets Tark and Queeker out,” said Pipper.

“Wot is it y’ve got agin this here Tark and Queeker?” asked Tope, wiping a sleeve across his ever-running nose.

“They stole our bindle,” said Pipper. “Took nearly everything we have.”

“The dirty rats,” growled Cricket. “No wonder you’re looking for them.”

Weasel nodded and said, “Me and my friends, we’ll all help you.”

“Ri’,” agreed Tope.

“We’ll keep an eye out,” said Cricket.

“Ri’,” again agreed Tope.

But six full months passed altogether with nary a sight of either Tark or Queeker, and the buccen were quite discouraged. The reports of some shadowy crime lord continued to circle, but as to just who he might be, neither the urchins nor Warrows came across even a rumor as to his name.

Even though disheartened, Pipper and Binkton had never considered making their way back to the Bosky. Still enraged in spite of the lack of success, Binkton often declared, “We can’t let those Ruck-loving, rat-eating, thieving bullies win, Pip.” Pipper would sigh and nod his agreement, though his own anger had long since vanished. Even so, a pledge was a pledge, and Pipper was a Warrow through and through, and, as was the wont of his kind, it was ingrained in his very fiber that a mission undertaken was to be finished. After all, it took a millennium for Gwylly and Faeril, the Lastborn Firstborns, to finish the mission begun a thousand years before by Tomlin and Petal, distant ancestors of theirs.

And so they continued their surveillance of the streets, cadging a few coins from passersby, to pay for the rent and food. .

It was Binkton who finally spotted Queeker, the small, skinny man just entering a leather-goods store.

“Come on, Pip,” snarled Binkton, fumbling in his pocket for his sling, “let’s get that son of a Spawn.”

“No, Bink, no!”

Binkton whirled on Pipper. “What?”

“We need to follow him so that he’ll lead us to our chest.”

Binkton stood glowering at Pipper, but then took a deep breath and slowly let it out and nodded. “You’re right, Pip. We’ll deal out swift and sure justice in good time, then.”

“Right,” said Pipper. “And surely he will lead us to Tark, too.”

Again Binkton nodded, and then scowled. “Speaking of Tark, there he is.”

Outside but looking in the window of the leather-goods store stood the burly man.

“Come on, Bink. Let’s see what they’re up to.”

Like a couple of disinterested street children, the buccen meandered down the opposite side of the crooked lane. Inside the store they could see Queeker talking to a young woman, who had a look of distress upon her face. Queeker pointed over his shoulder at Tark. Moments later she handed the skinny man a small pouch, and Queeker stepped out into the street. Laughing, the two went on down the way and across the street to the very next establishment, where once again Tark hulked at the window, while Queeker went inside.

Opposite the leather-goods store, the buccen could see the woman inside weeping.

“You watch them, Bink,” said Pipper. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Right, Pip, but you and I both know what they’re doing.”

Moments later, Pipper was back at Binkton’s side. “As we suspected, they’re collecting protection money.”

They followed the pair the rest of the afternoon, always keeping to doorways and alley openings and other such concealment. Finally, Tark and Queeker seemed finished for the day, for they headed down a twisting street and entered no more establishments. At last they came to a small yellow house and unlocked the door and went inside.

“That’s where our chest will be,” gritted Binkton.

“Perhaps,” replied Pipper. “But we need to wait and see.”

They took station where they could watch the front of the dwelling.

A candlemark later, as evening fell, Tark and Queeker emerged. Queeker locked the door, and then he and his burly companion went back toward town, Tark whistling a tuneless air.

“Now what?” whispered Binkton. “Follow them some more? Me, I’d rather get our chest if it’s in there.”

“So would I, Bink. But if we can, I’d also like to find their stash of ill-gotten gains and give it all back to the merchants.”

“Good idea,” whispered Binkton, and he pulled the long piece of wire out from his belt.

As soon as they were certain Tark and Queeker were well out of earshot and sight, the two buccen slipped through the shadows and across the street. Binkton peered in the dim light at the lock. It was a new one, made of brass hanging through the hasp shackle. Moments later- snick! – the lock sprang open.

Quickly, they were inside, and they softly closed the door after. Pipper found a candle and a striker, and he lit the taper, its soft light barely illuminating the parlor. There were three other rooms within: one a little-used kitchen, as evidenced by the dust on everything but a table and chairs, on which sat a deck of cards; and two bedrooms, one larger than the other, but none held their flame-painted chest.

“Barn rats!” spat Binkton.

Pipper sighed. “I couldn’t have said it better. Even so, if they hide the money they took from the merchants, well. .”

“Say no more, Pip.”

They went into the largest bedroom. Clothes fit for a burly man hung in the freestanding wardrobe against one wall.

“This has to be Tark’s room,” said Binkton.

“Then it’s more likely to have the coin,” said Pipper.

But a thorough search turned up nothing.

The same was true of Queeker’s room.

And they found nought in the parlor.

Finally, in desperation, they went to the kitchen.

As they searched this chamber, Pipper frowned and glanced at the hooked rug under the table. “I say, Bink, what with the dust over everything but this-”

“Right!” said Binkton.

The two Warrows moved the table, and under the circular rug they found a loose floorboard, and under that-“Aha!” Binkton exclaimed-were sixteen pouches altogether, each holding five silvers.

“How many stores did they rob today?” asked Pipper.

“I would say sixteen,” replied Binkton, grinning in the wavering light of the candle.

“Let’s hie out of here,” said Pipper, taking up half the pouches, while Binkton took up the other half.

They carefully replaced the floorboard, and then the rug, and finally the table. Pipper blew out the candle and put it back where he had found it. Moments later they were outside in the darkness, with the front door relocked, and off toward their own room they went.

On that night they had become burglars, though they made no profit from their deed, all monies being anonymously returned by urchins to the merchants who had been robbed.