Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Dining Out

Originally published in Phobos Magazine, Issue 3: Troublemake

When his bribe had not been delivered a full ten minutes after the deadline, Jasper Montgomery sighed and shut off the banking app on his phone. He had honestly tried to be reasonable; Fuamnach’s Fine Dining looked to be a genuinely good restaurant, and it would be a shame to give it a scathing review. But business was business, and if Fuamnach couldn’t be bothered to make the suitable contribution he had requested, he would have to make an example of her. Otherwise, other restaurateurs might withhold their donations as well, and then where would he be?

Jasper settled back and adjusted his suit as a waitress arrived with his dishes. He wondered if Fuamnach would next try to beg him, threaten him, or even post employees to forcibly prevent him from entering, but whatever she tried it would be too late. He had already done his homework, looked up reviews to find the worst dishes, even sent in his employees a week earlier to spy for him. All that remained was to record a few off-the-cuff criticisms to post on his website, and she might as well close her doors that night.

"Food doesn’t look anything special," he said into his phone while taking a few discrete photographs. It was too bad that Michael, his waiter plant, wasn’t there; he could have told Jasper whether the ingredients were local (and thus inauthentic) or shipped to Philadelphia from Ireland (and thus not fresh), as well as any other problems Jasper might want to taste in the food. But they could just meet up later when Jasper wrote his review, and besides, after the brilliant job Michael had done staging a cockroach infestation at the otherwise flawless Morelli’s Italian Bistro, he was entitled to a little slack. Jasper continued, saying, "In fact, it looks rather plain. You could get food like this at any cheap Irish pub…but at $20 an entree, with the menu promising upscale Irish cuisine, I expect a little more." He picked up his fork and pushed it into the shepherd’s pie, making sure his phone recorded the soft crunching of the crust. "Still, to be fair, it might taste better than it looks. Let’s see."

In truth, the food looked and smelled delicious. The crust on the shepherd’s pie was wonderful—flaky, crispy, and a beautiful golden brown—and now that he had cut it open, Jasper could smell succulent lamb and fresh roasted vegetables. The coddle next to it, with its gleaming potatoes and juicy back bacon, as well as the side of smooth, creamy colcannon, also looked perfect. Even the soda bread smelled like it had finished baking within the last five minutes. It was too bad it all had to go, Jasper thought as he picked up a forkful of his main course. He said, "I’ll start with the shepherd’s pie," he bit down, and…

His eyes widened at the most delicious food he had ever tasted.

The meat wasn’t just juicy; it was so tender that it almost melted in Jasper’s mouth. As for the potatoes, they were incredibly light and fluffy on the inside of the pie, but crisp on the outside, making an excellent contrast to both the meat and the vegetables. The rich, deep, and wonderfully savory seasoning was unlike anything he had ever tasted before. It was the perfect shepherd’s pie.

Jasper realized that he had swallowed without saying a word. After taking a sip of water to clear his head, he repeated, "Shepherd’s pie," into his phone and prepared to try again. He could savor the food later, he told himself, but for the moment, he had to eat a mouthful and then immediately complain that the meat was greasy, the vegetables underdone, and that there wasn’t an ounce of seasoning in the lot. He fixed that critique in his mind as he took one more bite of the shepherd’s pie—but it tasted even better than the first, and all thought of criticism vanished from his thoughts.

Time slipped by in a blissful haze. Jasper devoured the pie, his critique forgotten, and no sooner had he finished than he realized how good the colcannon and coddle smelled. He only needed a single taste to confirm that they were at least as delicious, if not more so, as the shepherd’s pie, and he gobbled them down without a second thought. It was only when he dropped his fork and stared in dismay at the empty plates in front of him that he realized that over an hour had passed…and that he hadn’t said even a single sentence for his review.

Jasper shifted in his seat, thinking that he had to be completely full, yet finding himself wondering how long it would take to order a dessert course or two. After a few moments he pushed that thought aside and tried to come up with something negative to say. "Well, that was…I mean, all in all, I thought…"

"Excuse me, sir?"

Jasper turned to see his waitress smiling down at him. She had long, dark hair and green eyes that didn’t quite seem to reflect her pleasant smile. "The chef-owner would like to speak with you. If you would please follow me?"

"Why?" Jasper asked, but the waitress was already darting away towards the back of the restaurant.

The critic hesitated for a moment. Rationally, he knew this could only mean one thing: he’d been identified, and nothing good could come from confronting the chef that he’d just tried to extort. But at the same time, the waitress was heading towards the kitchen. His stomach rumbled at the thought of obtaining samples of a few more dishes. After all, the owner had said she wanted to see him, surely the chefs would want to make him happy…

Jasper found himself hurrying after the waitress.

It was an ordinary kitchen; chefs were cooking and plating just as Jasper had seen in dozens of other restaurants, though the food smelled a hundred times better. He looked for his chef plant, Karen, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That did annoy him; as far as he was concerned, she still owed him for hushing up that she was fired from a major steakhouse for stealing two years ago. He expected her to be in the kitchen, observing any health code violations—and creating a few of her own—and reporting the results to him. He expected—

A cook crossed the room with a pot of mashed potatoes, and as the scent wafted past his nose he was struck by such a pang of hunger that he could think of nothing else.

The waitress smiled and nodded through a large door. "Please hurry, Mr. Montgomery. We wouldn’t want to keep Mrs. Fuamnach waiting." And then, when Jasper instead found his hand slowly drifting towards the pot, she seized it in an iron grip and yanked him towards the door. "Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll have a snack for you if you’re hungry."

"What?" managed Jasper, before he was dragged out of the kitchen.

His first thought when the wind blew past his face was that the waitress had taken him into a back alley or side street. But then, as he felt the grass crunching under his feet and saw tall, dark trees pressing in on the small clearing, he realized that he couldn’t possibly still be anywhere near downtown Philadelphia. He looked over his shoulder and saw that several of the chefs had followed him, but as for the door he had taken—or the restaurant itself—there was no sign. There was only the forest.

Turning forwards again, Jasper saw two people in rough brown robes kneeling at the foot of an ornate wooden throne, upon which a tall woman with bright red hair, gray eyes, and a cruel smile was sitting. She wore a dress that seemed to shimmer and sparkle despite the sky being overcast. The waitress approached her, bowed, and then moved off to the side, no longer bothering to hide her smirk. Jasper would have demanded an explanation if not for his painfully empty stomach. "Do you have any food?" he managed.

The woman on the throne grinned. "We’ll get to that," she said. "First, it would be proper to introduce ourselves. You may know me as Fuamnach, wife of the demigod Midir. And you are the famous Jasper Montgomery, no doubt." She nodded down at the two people kneeling before her. "These two you know."

Jasper looked again and realized that it was Michael and Karen kneeling there. Threads of silk were wound around their ankles, wrists, and necks, and the lines led back to the throne. "Michael, Karen, tell me what’s going on!" Jasper demanded, but the two made no response.

"I haven’t decided to let them talk yet," said Fuamnach. "Maybe in a couple of decades…but anyways. I’m so glad we’ve met at last. I have so many servants and servitors already, but none with quite the…platform that you do." She rose to her feet and swept her dress behind her as she stepped down onto the grass. "You’ll be a big help."

"Listen, you’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on—" Jasper stopped talking for a moment as Fuamnach burst into laughter, but then made himself continue. "Do you know who I am? I could ruin you! People listen to me, and I could destroy everything you have!"

"Yes," said Fuamnach. "You could. You could say anything you like about me. Or…" She snapped her fingers and the waitress stepped forwards, scattering a bag of what looked like breadcrumbs on the forest floor. "Or you could eat."

Jasper’s mouth watered as soon as the first crumb left the waitress’s hand. The scent was intoxicating, and his stomach felt emptier than it had ever been before. He had dropped to his knees and begun gobbling up the dirty crumbs before he any idea of what he was doing.

"You see?" asked Fuamnach. "I knew you didn’t want to stop me from cooking."

"You…I don’t know what you’ve done to me," yelled Jasper, around the crumbs and dirt he was cramming into his mouth, "But you have no right! You can’t do this!"

"Well, it’s true that I’m not really supposed to," drawled Fuamnach, "But let’s just say I was offered a suitable contribution to bend the rules." She pointed over Jasper’s shoulder, and the critic found himself turning to look at the chefs who had followed him. Now that he examined them more closely, they looked vaguely familiar. The first one in particular was a short man with a dour face…

It was Morelli! The man whose restaurant Jasper had last ruined was standing in the clearing, a pleased smirk on his face. Behind him were Yi, and Anderson, and a half dozen others. All of them had the same eager expressions. None showed even a hint of pity.

"You all may start your terms of service tomorrow," said Fuamnach. "For now, my handmaiden will show you out. As for you, Mr. Montgomery…" The critic found himself looking back to the woman on the throne. "You’ll be entering my service as well, though for a rather longer period. Please, do put these on." She tossed several silken threads at him. "Just like your friends, if you would."

Jasper tried to keep his face still. Between his terror and his raw, animal hunger, it was almost impossible, but he felt he managed fairly well, all things considered. Marshaling up all his anger and every bit of resistance he could muster, he yelled, "Why would I do that?"

"Because, if you do, I will pay you." Fuamnach opened her palm, though Jasper couldn’t see what she was holding from where he was kneeling. "I think you’ll find it’s a…suitable contribution of my own.'"

She turned her palm over and let a single breadcrumb tumble to the ground. Jasper’s eyes locked on it as his stomach screamed that he had to eat that crumb, that it was the only thing that could satiate him, and that if he didn’t eat it he would starve to death right there. Drool began to spill out of his mouth.

"Well, Mr. Montgomery?" asked Fuamnach. "You have ten seconds—"

Jasper got the silken chains on in five.

A Most Unusual Patriot

Originally published in Tales of Tellest: Volume 1

Light and laughter spilled out from the Sapphire Square and over its patio, extending all the way to the edge of the Spirit River. Clusters of people moved through the inn’s backyard, some having stepped outside to enjoy the flowers and the cool breezes, while others were about to return to the inn to revisit the buffet tables and—more likely—the open bar. Nobility mingled with merchants, tradesmen laughed at the jokes of gladiators, and even the servants seemed willing to chatter with their esteemed guests. It was, truly, a perfect night.

One of the putative servants, unable to stifle her grin any longer, put down her tray of drinks and turned away from the crowd to hide her smile. Jadie Rivers had never visited Atalatha before; her whole life had been spent in Westwick, studying at the hands of stern, unyielding masters, and having little to do with her moments of leisure save watching pigs scampering around their market pens. But now, at last, she had completed her apprenticeship. She was a full member of the Westwick Thieves Guild, out on her first mission ever, ready to do her city and her teachers proud. How could she do anything but smile?

But she did have a job to do, and so, after a moment, she got herself under control and turned towards the next table. Jadie’s ultimate target was the Lady Trefaer, whom rumor had indicated would be wearing her famous set of diamonds—a personal gift from the Duke himself—at the party. She had not yet arrived, but several other specimens of the wealthy-and-hapless variety were there, and as her teachers always said, there was never a bad time to practice her skills. The very next table, for instance, held three people with empty glasses and more jewelry than was good for them. Jadie smiled to herself and approached.

No sooner had she reached the table than she took stock of her targets. The first, a Maquis by the looks of his robes, was wearing several large gemstones of poor quality, likely the victim of an unscrupulous jeweler and his own ignorance of what such stones were truly worth. The merchant next to him wore a dozen cheap rings on her fingers as if she was trying to show off wealth through sheer quantity. But the third, Baron Orthlo, flashed an expensive emerald on a bracelet as he gesticulated. Now that was a stone worthy of Jadie’s attention. The thief—unable to stop her smile from returning to her face—moved near him.

“…I’m just glad they finally worked out the treaty,” Orthlo was telling the others. “Warus isn’t even a nation, not really. Just a mob of competing tribes. Completely impossible to settle; you put up a city one year, some band of gnolls or kobolds razes it the next.” He shook his ale mug in protest. “But now that we have some allies over there, I think we’re finally on track to start stabilizing that territory. Maybe adding some of it to our own.”

The Maquis frowned. “I heard a bunch of feral kaja overran a human settlement in western Warus,” he said. “It might be more difficult than—”

“Mere rumors.” Orthlo laughed. “Even if they’re true, our ambassadorial delegation will include a full complement of soldiers. They’re more than a match for a few half-crazed kaja. No, I’m certain things will be easier, at least in the political sense.”

“In the economic sense too,” the merchant added. “An entire untapped market—and we’re in the best position to reach it. Once the ambassadorial team arrives, my caravans will be right behind them. As will most of the others in Raleigh, I imagine.”

“And as a member of that ambassadorial team, allow me to say that you have my full support!” said Orthlo. “Here’s to new opportunities!”

As he rose his glass, his other hand leaned against the bush behind him. Jadie moved up behind him and let her hand touch the leaves of that bush. Grab his hand, Jadie told the bush. Just a few branches. Come on. She smiled to herself. It’ll be fun.

The bush slowly shifted, Orthlo’s hand slipping inside the bush as a few of its branches rearranged themselves. Orthlo, in the middle of toasting, said nothing.

“Excuse me!” said Jadie, stepping between them with her tray of drinks. “More sweet wine?”

“I’ll have a glass,” said Orthlo. He tried to move forwards but stopped as his hand pulled at the bush. The other two members of his group laughed as he tried to extricate himself. “Just give me a minute…”

“Allow me,” said Jadie merrily. She leaned over and reached into the bush with one hand, telling it, Thanks! You can let go now! Between them, unseen by all, her other hand flicked up the clasp of his bracelet and swiped it—as well as a few rings he was wearing for good measure—into the large pocket of her uniform. But then she gently pulled Orthlo’s hand from the bush, and drinks were served, and she retreated knowing it would be a very long time before Orthlo even noticed the theft.

There were people, Jadie knew, who had staggeringly powerful magical gifts—the ability to summon fire from their hands, or drain health with a thought, or cause a forest to sprout in moments and tear through city walls like damp parchment. Jadie was not one of them. She could coax plants into helping her out just a little: releasing pollen, for instance, or twisting a few branches when needed. It might not have been a terribly powerful kind of magic, but it was hers, and she liked it. And she couldn’t deny that it did come in handy in her line of work.

She crossed the garden, stealing two coin purses, one set of earrings, and a gorgeously wrought ceremonial dagger along the way, until she noticed a small group clustered on the bank of the Spirit River. Curious, Jadie headed towards them, directing the moss on the bottom of her shoes to muffle her footsteps. The moss took a few moments to respond—it was the laziest plant in the world, in Jadie’s experience—but it finally did so, smoothing over the bottoms of her shoes so they didn’t make a sound. Jadie served her way to the bank of the river, moved closer to the group, and listened.

“I already told you, pay up front,” growled a voice that sounded almost like a series of barks. Jadie stiffened as one of the figures straightened and she saw a distinctly dog-like head. A gnoll? Really? Woah. “Do you mind hurrying this up? I’ve got places to be.”

“Sure you don’t want to stay longer, Hwarl?” drawled one of the other figures in a rough voice. “Can’t imagine gladiators eat like this often.”

“Food might be worse, but the company’s better,” snarled Hwarl. “Least there the people aren’t whispering to each other ‘bout which of them I’ll eat first.”

“I nominate Stebbins Hartley,” said another of the figures. “I owe him money.” And the group laughed.

Jadie looked around and saw several rows of flowers growing on the bank. One row—she noted with a smile—was full of chrysanthemums, flowers which could produce truly staggering amounts of pollen. She knelt and picked a few, slipping them into the drinks on her tray like overly frilly garnishes.

“Look,” the gnoll was snarling. “I brought the merchandise. Are we doing this or not?”

“Show it first,” said someone who had an air of authority around him. “No deal until we see it work.”

The gnoll took out something that glinted in the light. Jadie stepped closer, keeping behind a tree and making sure the moss shut out all sounds of her footsteps on the cobblestones, and saw that it was a knife. The gnoll picked a copper off the table and dropped it on the blade.

It split cleanly in two.

Jadie’s mouth dropped, and the leader whistled as the others murmured. “And you can get us, what, fifty of these things?”

“More than that. They don’t care if gladiators are importing weapons, since we’re professional fighters. Got a hundred in town already, and if you need more I can get another shipment. Price is ten gold per.”

“That’s outrageous,” said one of the men. “Ten gold for a knife? I—”

“Do you want a dagger that can cut through the armor of the Duke’s personal guard, or don’t you?” asked the gnoll. “Because if not, just say so and I’m out of here.”

“Deal,” said the leader, before his men objected again. Jadie heard clinking as a bag of coins hit the table. “There’s your money. Next time, we’ll have a thousand gold for you—if you have the weapons to sell us.”

Jadie froze as the impact of what they were saying hit her. This wasn’t just a weapon deal. They were plotting some kind of attack on the Duke.

The Westwick Thieves Guild had instilled in her many values—chief among them loyalty, cleverness, and a love of money, not necessarily in that order. But patriotism was in there too. Westwick survived thanks to special dispensation from Victor Raleigh himself, and no man, woman, or child within it would stint anything in upholding the kingdom. If there was a plot against the nobility, she owed it to her town—and her Guild—to stop it.

Her grin returned, fiercer than ever. This was going to be an even better mission than she’d hoped for.

She walked up to the group and offered the chrysanthemum-garnished drinks. “Would you like any?” she asked, bowing her head as a good servant would. “Special vintage. The innkeeper’s best.”

“Sure it is,” muttered Hwarl, but he nodded anyway. Jadie’s finger brushed the chrysanthemum in his glass as he took it, and she just had enough time to focus on her magic. Quick! Release your pollen! It’s urgent! Then she lost contact as he took the glass and drained half of it in one gulp.

Which was when the flower blasted pollen into his face.

Jadie’s plan worked better than she could have guessed. He let out a mighty sneeze and dropped the glass, spattering his ill-fitting tunic with sweet, sticky wine. Jadie was by his side in an instant, wiping him down and pretending not to notice his retreating companions. “I’m so sorry!” she said. “Please, allow me.”

Hwarl looked at her, then shrugged. “Like I care,” he muttered.

“Sir, if I might make a suggestion, the fruit flies will be attracted to the wine.” She tugged at the tunic. “We have excellent laundry facilities. Please, allow me to have this cleaned. It will be returned to your quarters tomorrow morning. I promise.”

The gnoll scowled but eventually stripped the tunic off. “More comfortable like this anyways,” he said, raising a mocking eyebrow at the men who were now standing several paces away. “Fine. Send it to the gladiator quarters by the Coliseum. Room 318.” He turned and walked away.

Jadie watched him and his companions leave in different directions, then headed back towards the inn. She still needed to wait for Lady Trefaer and so could not pursue right away. But the next day, Jadie Rivers, newly minted Thieves Guild member, was going to save the country.

Best mission ever, thought the thief, before chuckling and returning to the crowd.

The Coliseum was one of the star attractions of Atalatha. A towering structure of marble and granite, it was easily the largest building in the city, and it could be seen from almost any road within Atalatha’s walls. The fights were attended by large crowds of people, and those people had equally large amounts of money for gambling, concessions, and souvenirs. Pickpocketing her way through the Coliseum was definitely on Jadie’s list of things to do before returning to Westlick.

But not yet. At the moment, she had a tunic to return and a conspiracy to deal with. She just had to get into Hwarl’s room, she thought, and uncover his weapons cache. Then she could expose the conspiracy and save the day. There would be time to loot the city later.

Truth be told, she was slightly annoyed that Lady Trefaer had never showed up at the treaty party the previous night. It surely wouldn’t be held against her that the rumors of her appearance were inaccurate, but the very idea of returning to her teachers without completing the mission rankled. Still, she was going to stop Hwarl and his conspiracy. That would hopefully outweigh her failure.

The gladiator quarters, a four-story building with dozens of rooms and a courtyard for sparring, were located two blocks from the Coliseum. Jadie reached it just before lunch, having checked to make sure that Hwarl was scheduled for a duel at that time, and made her way to his room. She reached his room and examined the lock for a moment before knocking to make sure nobody was home. Her right hand was already fingering the silver lockpick in her pocket.

But footsteps sounded from within the room, and Jadie only just managed to fix a smile to her face before the door swung open to reveal a massive human. She saw two more guards in the room behind him, sitting and eating sandwiches, but the man at the door moved to block Jadie’s vision. “You’re not Stebbins or Rawlston.”

Who? Jadie passed Hwarl’s tunic to the man. “Laundry for Mr. Hwarl. Is he in?”

“He’s dueling,” said the man. And he began to shut the door.

“Sorry to disturb you!” Jadie managed to chirp just before it closed. “Nobody told me he had people here. I was just going to leave the tunic on the door—”

“We’re new,” snapped the man. “And we’re just here for the week, so if you have any more laundry you won’t need to worry about ‘disturbing’ us after that.”

New? He must have got them while he’s waiting for the deal to go through, thought Jadie. “Actually,” she began, but the door had already shut in her face.

She stared at it for a moment. Okay. He has guards in his room, and it sounds like more are guarding him personally. If I want to search the room, I’ll have to fight them. She paused. That could be a problem.

Jadie wasn’t bad in combat, at least as far as thieves went. She knew about fighting like a thief fought—a push at the top of a ridge, a knife in the back from the shadows, a few drops of poison into an unguarded chalice of wine. But if she broke into Hwarl’s room, she’d be stuck in a heads-up fight against several brutes. She wasn’t likely to win that one, magic or no.

Sighing, she left the gladiator quarters and walked to a local park. Sitting with her hands nestled in the flowers, nudging them into pleasing patterns as she rested, she went over her options. Fighting all his guards wasn’t an option. Nor was going to the authorities. She wasn’t that well versed in politics, but even she knew that the government would be reluctant to arrest a gnoll from Warus the day after signing a treaty with one of the most influential gnoll packs in Warus. She’d need hard evidence before risking that, and she didn’t have it.

But she still had to do something. The entire reason that Westwick was permitted to exist without paying taxes to the crown was that, as her teachers had drilled in to her, the Thieves Guild had another duty besides simply enriching themselves and their community. It was their job to deal with threats to Raleigh, its cities, and its people that couldn’t be handled by the authorities. If she failed, she would let down her whole community—and the Thieves Guild, which had permitted her to join their ranks at an unusually young age, proclaiming that they believed she would be an asset to their team. Giving up was not an option.

I could try to surprise Hwarl and his bodyguards in an alley, but what if Hwarl just goes straight between the Coliseum and his quarters for the next week? thought Jadie. Or I could try to pick off his bodyguards. But then he’d just get more, and he’d be alerted. I need some way to isolate him from them. Does he go anywhere without them?

And then it hit her. The Coliseum. Duels are one on one. He can’t bring his bodyguards into the arena with him. And I could sign up, challenge him…

She’d still have to beat a trained fighter in a fair fight, but at least she wouldn’t be outnumbered. And she did have some advantages. He might underestimate her, for one. She had magic, for another.

A rose curled around her hand, the thorns nestling between her fingers like a gauntlet, and she allowed herself to smile. She could make it work, she thought. Do her Guild proud, and her community too.

And score a great victory while she was at it.

“And now, a warrior who needs no introduction!” roared the announcer. “He’s won his last seven matches and is considered to be one of the strongest rookies we’ve had in months! I present to you—Hwarl, of Warus!”

Peaking out from her archway, Jadie watched as Hwarl strode onto the arena floor. Despite the general apprehension that Atalathans felt towards gnolls, the crowd seemed to love him. The cheering and clapping was deafening as Hwarl twirled a long halberd in front of him and flexed.

“And challenging him, a newcomer from Viscosa! Please, give a big welcome to—Lady Thorn of Raleigh!”

Jadie smiled. Lady Thorn might not be the most inventive name for someone with her powers, but she liked it. Maybe, she thought, she might find a need to keep this secret identity longer. Having a persona that fought in duels could certainly be a useful cover in particular situations…

The crowd’s cheering ushered her out into the sunlight, and Jadie took a moment to absorb the scene around her. She stood on a field of sand. Around her were marble walls, carved in intricate detail at what had to be exorbitant expense, and above them sat thousands of cheering and clapping people. Tourists and locals, commoners and merchants, soldiers, mercenaries, and even some nobles were packed into the stands. A great crowd, she thought, for what she hoped would be a great victory. Jadie gripped the dagger shoved haphazardly into her belt and strode towards Hwarl.

She had already, she thought, gotten everything set up. She had forged the paperwork declaring herself to be ‘Lady Thorn,’ inexperienced but skilled warrior from Viscosa, and had filed it with the Coliseum. She had broken into the Coliseum offices and reordered the matches to make sure that she would be dueling Hwarl. She had come up with her costume. And, of course, she had bet all the money she’d stolen at the party on herself. If she lost the duel, it wouldn’t matter, and if she won, she’d get a nice windfall. Since it’s money I’m sort of earning and not stealing, I wonder if the Guild will let me keep my winnings? She chuckled. I hope so.

Hwarl laughed at her as she approached him. “What are you wearing?” he barked. “This isn’t the theatre, girl. Maybe you should run along home.”

Jadie made a show of looking over herself. She was dressed in bright greens and dark browns, looking more like a jester than a trained warrior, and wore a mask over most of her face so he wouldn’t recognize her. Flowers, bright daisies and chrysanthemums, were woven into the shoulders and arms of her shirt, and vines were wrapped around her wrists. She knew she looked ridiculous, but she squared her shoulders and called, “Run home? I’m a trained graduate of the Dueling Academy of Viscosa. When I’m done with you, you’ll be running all the way back to Warus!”

The crowd roared its approval, but Hwarl’s smirk just grew, and when she saw it Jadie smiled behind her mask as well. There were many fine venues for learning the art of combat in Viscosa; the Dueling Academy was not one of them. A school for the children of merchants and nobles, it taught how to ‘duel’ with style and panache. The students learned flashy moves to show off at balls and parties, they felt like they were becoming mighty warriors, and since nobody would ever be so foolish as to attack the heir of a feudal lord in a dark alley, they would never know how useless their sword-dancing was in a real fight. But Jadie knew—and so did gladiators like Hwarl. He’d never take a graduate of that school seriously, and that was just what she wanted.

A cannon blast started the match. Hwarl swung his halberd at Jadie in a few lazy arcs, forcing her back as she parried with her dagger, and his blade clanged off of hers with no real weight behind it. He was testing her, Jadie thought, or maybe just toying with her for the benefit of his fans. She let him swing a few more times, then ducked under a blow and dashed up close to him. When she reached him she slashed at his arm.

He shifted to one side and kicked her legs out from under her before the blow connected, sending her sprawling in the sand. She managed to roll out of the way before he struck his halberd down where her neck had been a moment ago. She got to her feet and managed to get her blade up in time to deflect another swing, but found herself forced back again, overpowered by his superior strength. Hwarl trotted after her, probing at her defenses with his halberd, a wicked gleam in his eye.

Jadie dodged and retreated halfway across the Coliseum floor before attacking again. She deflected his blade, using all her strength to push it up, and then ran at him. This time, she didn’t strike at him directly, but grabbed at his arms as if trying to grapple. The vines wrapped around her wrist began to writhe as she mentally prodded them, but before they could do anything, he swung his halberd around and struck her with its shaft. She stumbled, and by the time she recovered he had twisted the blade straight up and was stabbing it down at her.

Jadie instead jumped towards Hwarl, allowing him to push her down so she fell directly in front of him and inside the range of his halberd. She leapt to her feet faster than he seemed to be expecting and grabbed at his hands again. At the same time, she called to the vines around her wrists, Grab his halberd! Come on, let’s do it!

The vines twisted and writhed, seeming to relish a chance to release some of their energy. Hwarl shifted his halberd to one hand and curled the other into a fist to attack the enemy four inches from his face. Jadie made a show of grabbing at him as the vines snapped at the weapon, and suddenly his blade was flying clear across the Coliseum.

She grinned to herself, and then Hwarl decked her.

Jadie’s vision flashed red for a moment, and she felt her dagger slipping out of her hands. She managed to stay conscious, however—she had learned how to take hits as part of her training—and instead grabbed at his arms. He pulled out of her grasp, then moved in close—like she wanted—and seized her around the neck with one large hand.

Spray him! she urged her flowers, but seconds ticked by and nothing happened. There was an inertia in them; she had picked the flowers hours ago and they had already started to fade. She cursed in her mind as she gave it everything she had. Come on!

“Victory number eight!” Hwarl roared to the crowd as he began choking Jadie. She choked, but even when she strained she couldn’t break away from his grasp. He grinned and hefted her into the air by her neck. “Just like I said!”

Jadie continued pushing at the flowers. She could feel them sluggishly moving and starting to open, but her vision was starting to turn red again. She strained, fixing wonderful images in her head—of saving the nation, of returning to Westwick a hero, of the pile of gold she stood to win in the match—and used them to motivate her as she forced all her magical power into the flowers on her shoulders.

The chrysanthemums opened all the way and sprayed Hwarl with pollen.

He began coughing immediately, and his grip slackened enough for Jadie to wriggle out. She grabbed her other knife, the one hidden in a fold of her clothes, and moved in close to the hacking gnoll. Before he could do anything, she stepped behind him and slit his throat.

Just like she was trained.

As Hwarl collapsed, she realized what had happened. She had won. She, a member of the Thieves Guild for about two weeks, had taken on a trained gladiator and defeated him in combat.

She was amazing.

Jadie raised her dagger up to the crowd and joined in their cheers. This is the best mission ever, she told herself. And once I loot his room and get proof of this conspiracy? It’ll be even better.

Hwarl’s room was a lot sparser than Jadie would have expected.

She had returned to his chambers after the duel, stopping only to change out of her costume, and had then waited for a few minutes until Hwarl’s bodyguards came back to tell their companions that their employer was dead and they wouldn’t be getting paid. After a great deal of cursing, all the thugs left, and Jadie was able to break into his room without trouble. Once inside, she saw that it had only a few pieces of furniture, and indeed barely looked lived in. However, there was one large, ornate chest with a fancy lock near the weapons rack against the back wall, and that was what she wanted.

“Let’s see,” she chirped as she set her pack down. It slammed to the ground hard despite her best efforts; all the gold she’d won at the Coliseum was weighing it down. She allowed herself one moment to picture herself back in the Sapphire Square, or maybe the famed Stately Lady in Viscosa itself, living in the lap of luxury as she watched the visiting nobles for her next big score. But then the moment passed and she told herself she had to get back to work. She could celebrate after she found the proof she needed.

The lock was good, but Jadie was better, and it yielded after only a minute or two of work with one of her lockpicks. She snapped it open, then raised the trunk lid.

Something big and thorny swept up at her.

Jadie jumped back, but not fast enough, and the thorny vine was able to snap around one of her arms. Her eyes widened as the thorns poked at her sleeve. Don’t hurt me! she sent to it. I’m a friend!

But the vine kept tightening. It wasn’t like bush branches, which liked to grow and could usually be persuaded to stretch a little and catch an unwary arm, or like flowers, which liked to spread their pollen and would generally do it if she just gave them a little push. Whatever this was, it wanted to rip and tear with its thorns, and Jadie couldn’t get it to stop. Her sleeve began to shred as thorns cut through it.

STOP!! She pushed at the thorns with everything she had. Get off my arm! Now! But it kept tightening.

The weapon rack was in reach. She reached as far as she could and grabbed one of the halberds with her other hand, then dragged it to her and pressed the shaft against this vine. You want to kill something? Kill this, she urged. See? Arm about as thick as mine. Come on, please, you’d much rather kill this one than me…

After one more awful moment, she felt the thorns yielding to her magic. It unwound from her arm and wrapped around the halberd’s shaft. After a few minutes, she was free, and the halberd was almost covered in a small forest of thorns.

Jadie took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then let out a whoop as joy overtook her. Made it! Even Hwarl’s best trap couldn’t stop me! She grinned and dashed back to the chest. If the weapons were there, that was evidence she could arrange for the guards to obtain.

But the weapons weren’t there. The chest was empty.

Jadie felt like something in her was deflating, but she shook her head. “No way. I’m not leaving without some loot, not after all that. Besides, Hwarl wouldn’t have his room guarded unless something was here. I just need to find it.”

She searched every inch of the room, just as the Thieves Guild had taught her. She checked for loose floorboards, pulled apart the bedding and furniture, and tapped every brick in the walls to search for hollow spaces. And, after almost an hour of searching, she found one. A single brick reverberated oddly when she hit it, a flast-sounding echo that indicated an empty space behind it. Jadie took her dagger and pried the brick out, then set it aside while she looked through the hole. Inside were several papers.

Jadie took the first one and began to read. “Hwarl. Inform us of the arms and armaments of the Raleigh soldiers, and their approximate troop strength in Atalatha. Also, describe any mages of note in Atalatha or Raleigh.”

The next one read, “Hwarl. Describe the other Coliseum warriors. Determine if they could be bribed or threatened into working with us.”

And then, “Hwarl. Tell us the key political figures in the city. Which of them are the most critical?”

So Hwarl wasn’t a smuggler, then. He was a spy. Jadie could understand that; as a gladiator, the gnoll would meet the people his bosses seemed to want to know about—warriors who trained with him, merchants who bet on him, nobles who watched the games. But then why, Jadie wondered, had he tried to sell weapons? Was he branching out?

When she reached the last letter, things became clearer. “Hwarl. Take this dagger and sell it at the Sapphire Square in three days; there are men there who wish to attack the Duke and will pay well for it. Tell them you have a hundred more just like it to sell at the same price. Once they collect the money, we’ll send you the weapons and you’ll make the exchange.” A list of passwords followed to help Hwarl identify the people he was supposed to sell to.

It made no sense for the deal to take place as written, of course. There were more private places where a gladiator could meet with some people to sell weapons if he chose. The only reason for doing it at the Sapphire Square was…

“They wanted him to be caught,” murmured Jadie.

Hwarl’s superiors had tricked him into revealing himself in a public place so that he could be overheard. And someone had also tipped off the Thieves Guild with the false rumor that Lady Trefaer would be at the same location with a famous jewel they wanted. Assuming the thief were at all competent, she’d overhear the deal…and would feel obligated to stop it as part of the Guild’s deal with Raleigh. The only way to do that would be to kill Hwarl. Then just set a trap for the thief to tie up the last loose end, and that would be it. Hwarl would be dead and nobody would be able to trace it back to the instigators.

That only left one question—why kill Hwarl? He seemed to be a good spy; the letters, at least, never complained that he was sending insufficient or inaccurate information. Did they just not need him anymore?

Wait, Jadie thought. The treaty. Ambassadors and merchants are going to Warus to cement the alliance with one of the largest gnoll tribes. What if the conspiracy includes some of the people on those teams? That would probably be preferable, having a spy that isn’t at risk of dying in the Coliseum every day. And they could write back and forth using sealed diplomatic correspondences, protected by Raleigh’s own soldiers. Not to mention, they might even be able to use the death of a gnoll as a bargaining chip to get a better political position. One of theirs just got killed in Atalatha, maybe they say they’ll abandon the talks unless they’re paid off…

Jadie blushed. She’d been used, manipulated into getting rid of a gnoll for the conspirators. In fact, the Thieves Guild as a whole had been used. It was embarrassing, and certainly not how one would want their very first mission to go.

But, after a moment, she let herself smile. She’d still dealt with Hwarl, who was an enemy and needed to be taken out. She had proof of the conspiracy which she could show her superiors back in Westwick. She’d successfully robbed several wealthy nobles and merchants, justifying her position as a member of the Thieves Guild. And, thanks to her wagering in the Coliseum, she’d made a lot of money, enough that she couldn’t help but beam when she thought of all those gold coins clinking in her pack. On the balance, things had worked out quite well.

Plus, if she played her cards right, her superiors might assign her the task of rooting out the rest of the conspiracy. After all, she’d already cleaned up one end of it, and had a pretty good idea of where to look for the other traitors. Taking them down would help fulfill Westwick’s deal with Victor Raleigh—and it would be fun besides. One brilliant thief against the evil forces that would topple her nation if they could. Now that was an adventure.

Jadie stuffed the letters into her pack and left Hwarl’s apartment, unable to stop herself from whistling. It had been a successful mission, and she was hopeful that she’d have many more. After all, she was Jadie “Thorn” Rivers, who would be known one day as one of the greatest thieves ever. Whatever obstacles came her way, she knew she could handle them.