No Honor Among Thieves: Part 1

• Posted by Karver the Lorc January 20, 2016 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #"Karver"  #AMOST3  #TSC:Short  #No Honor Among Thieves  - 1,907 views

   

  Part 1

  “They say hope begins in the dark, but most just flail around in the blackness, searching for their destiny. The darkness...for me...is where I shine.”

  

  The sky was dark that night, moons and stars hidden behind clouds, obscuring the roofs of the Imperial City. Shadows were dancing on the white walls of houses - forced to dance by torches flickering in the cold breeze. Wasn't every shadow a slave? It had to obey light’s whim, every retreat of darkness, dancing between those two like a moth caught between candle and closed window, with nowhere to run.

   

  Sharrum gro-Durol hated the notion of slavery. No one should be made property of someone else, of someone who thinks himself privileged to own another living being. Thank the Divines there's no slavery in Cyrodiil. Not anymore.

   

  As he was sitting on the roof of Lorkmir's house, he was enjoying the quiet. It lay upon the Imperial City like a cool blanket on a hot night, save the loud footsteps of the Imperial Watch patrolling the streets of the Elven Garden District.

   

  Quiet. Quiet was good. That meant that Thrattia was doing her job well, and that's how it should be. Poor Lorkmir will find himself much poorer after tonight. That's what happens when you sell skooma to the poor, you bastard. His prices were much lower than usual, probably because his skooma was mixed with some shit that made the beggars and kids squirm in agony. Beak - just ten years old, a boy living in the abandoned house at the waterfront - died in a few hours. He was begging his friend to kill him, the pain was that unbearable.

   

  What made you so crazy, Lorkmir? You know the Thieves Guild is watching over the poor. I think that tonight you might find some surprise in your cellar. Something that the Watch will be really interested in.

   

  A loud crash and a scream from Lorkmir’s house brought Sharrum immediately to his feet. The District suddenly came alive, the quiet from before broken by the sounds of trampling boots made by the Imperial Watch trying to figure out where the noises came from.

   

  He grabbed the rope and braced himself to pull Thrattia up. Yet she didn’t take the rope and he leaned over the edge of the roof to check. He saw a figure in grey leather jump from the window and take it instead. The surprise weight against the rope almost made Sharrum eat pavement. Almost. It would take far more than that to make an Orc like him fail in the field of sheer strength.

   

  The figure looked up and Sharrum met a pair of red eyes - only thing that was visible under the hood and mask covering the lower part of the face. Dunmer!

   

  The Dunmer began climbing up the rope towards Sharrum and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. That's a bold move. He let go of the rope, but the Dunmer seemed to predict that and grabbed the edge of the roof just seconds before the rope fell on the street.

   

  Sharrum raised his leg, ready to stomp on the Dunmer's fingers... and stopped. If he did that, the Dunmer would have most probably fallen to his death. And-

   

  Mister Red-eyes pulled himself up and as he climbed, he managed to sweep the Orc off his feet. Sharrum landed hard on his right shoulder and immediately rolled down the roof, over the edge. His hand moved quicker than his thoughts and he managed to grab it in time. Now the Dunmer was towering above him, his feet raised to stomp on the Orc's fingers. But this person was going to really do it, Sharrum saw it in those eyes. That cruelty and pleasure in inflicting pain.

   

  “Hey!” sounded a girlish voice from below and a ball of fire hissed behind Sharrum's back and exploded above his head, in front of the Dunmer. It was small explosion, meant just for distracting opponents. Sharrum managed to look other way but the Dunmer was now blinded for a few seconds by the flame’s glare.

   

  He felt someone grab his ankle and his hand felt the strain of more weight.

   

  “Would you mind for fuck's sake?” he growled.

   

  The hand now moved higher and grabbed his belt. Then he felt warm fingers on his shoulder and half-turned around to see Thrattia's face under the hood.

   

  “What does that even mean? You sure you're talking Tamrielic?”

   

  She climbed on the roof and he pulled himself up. “What happened?”

   

  Thrattia was looking around, but the Dunmer was gone. She cursed and hit her thigh with her fist in frustration.

   

  “Shit! No time, we have to get out of here. Watch is on alarm. We´ll meet as usual. Watch yourself!” And with those words, she jumped off the roof to the gardens on the other side.

   

  “Shit!” Sharrum cursed. It was easy to say for her. She was a small Imperial girl, she didn't have any problems getting around unnoticed. She wasn't a big ugly Orc. Some people were just lucky.

   

  “Alright. Time to play cat and mouse. Why do I have to be the mouse every time?” he moaned.

   

  

  “My lord?”

   

  Venhen whirled to see his servant standing behind him and raised his eyebrows. He was so focused on his work that he didn´t hear him approach. He said to Suneus many times that he should at least try not to sneak around. It was unpleasant when that old Dunmer appeared behind him out of nowhere. And he certainly was old. One of the oldest Dunmer Venhen knew. How old was he anyway? He must be close to his third century. His wrinkled face clearly suggested that.

   

  “My lord? Are you here with me?” asked Suneus, grabbing Venhen’s attention again with his gruff voice.

   

  “Yes, Suneus. What is it? Can´t you see I´m busy? As you´ve told me many times, alchemy is delicate business so-”

   

  “Someone is knocking on your window, my lord,” interrupted Suneus, pointing towards the window leading to the garden. Venhen hesitantly took his eyes from the alchemy tools on the table and saw a figure in leather armor crouching on the parapet. “And why haven´t you opened the window?”

   

  “Because someone is knocking. On your window.”

   

  The young Dunmeri noble rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I feel that you´re trying to imply something.”

   

  “Well, the thing is, my lord... people usually use the door.”

   

  “Mephala´s arse, Suneus,” whined Venhen. “Just open the window. It´s one of my men.”

   

  Suneus moved painfully slow towards the door, scuffing on purpose and Venhen heaved a sigh. Old Suneus was testing his patience and the worst thing was that he did it on purpose. Nevertheless, Venhen didn´t want any other servant. At this pace, it will take him ages to reach the window. He looked around his room to check if everything was in order. He hated it when he had visitors and there was a mess.

   

  He was using the attic as his personal room, because he had privacy there. Fathys Ules rarely went up there, so he could do his experiments in peace. It was a modest room, with a bed, dining table, four chairs, three wardrobes, an alchemy lab, and several bookshelves. Very modest.

   

  After what seemed like an hour, Suneus arrived at the window and opened it. He looked at the figure in the dark and then turned around to face Venhen. “It´s your cousin.”

   

  “Damn it, Suneus. Not so loud. Uncle Fathys is downstairs. We don´t want him to know what we´re doing here, remember?”

   

  The old servant shrugged and moved aside so that Venhen´s cousin could enter. He pulled back his hood and removed the mask covering his lower face, revealing a Dunmer with short grey hair and a face older than Venhen´s.

   

  “Suneus just pointed out that normal people use a door when they want to visit their family-”

   

  “I said that normal people usually knock on doors, not on windows. Nothing about family.”

   

  “- so why were you knocking on my window, Bevaes? And why are you dressed as if you were working?”

   

  Bevaes shook his head in disbelief - though Venhen didn´t know what was so hard to believe. “I was working, cousin. I´m here to report.”

   

  The Dunmer noble raised one of his eyebrows and smiled. “Well... report then.”

   

  “I just returned from Lorkmir´s house-” started Bevaes but Venhen immediately interrupted him.

   

  “So what does he think of the new product?”

   

  “He sold it to beggars and children at the Waterfront,” replied his cousin calmly, watching for any reaction.

   

  Venhen was deep in thought for a second and then he spoke: “And did they like my product?”

   

  “They are in pain and one of the kids died. The agony was so intense that the boy´s heart gave out.”

   

  After these words Venhen needed to sit. That´s... horrible. He had really hoped this batch would be perfect. But he made a mistake somewhere again. Making a new drug which wouldn´t have the damaging brain effects that skooma had wasn´t really easy. But the money he could make if he pulled this off... That would be the perfect capital for him to take over the criminal underworld of the Imperial City and then of all Cyrodiil. Maybe I shouldn´t have used Ogre´s Teeth. I will have to try something else. Maybe Elf Cup Cap.

   

  Suneus approached Bevaes and put a hand on his shoulder. “It might better if you come some other time, Mister Bevaes. It seems that my lord is completely saddened by the ill-state of those beggars and children-”

   

  Venhen dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Oh, screw the children. The important thing is that the drug is still imperfect.” He rose and started pacing across the room. “Correct me if I´m mistaken, Bevaes. We sold Lorkmir this batch for him and his friends to test it. He probably did and didn´t like it, so he decided to sell it to the poor to, at least partially cover his loss. And they got sick, so you went to the house to sweep the evidence?” His cousin wanted to say something, but Venhen stopped him with a raised hand. “Let me guess. Thieves Guild. Those bugs are more annoying than Bal Molagmer on Vvardenfell. They found out who sold the new drug and went to Lorkmir´s house to teach him a lesson. You clashed with them, they are dead and so is Lorkmir. Right?”

   

  His cousin shook his head. Venhen sighed and stopped pacing. “Well, that´s unfortunate. At least they can´t link Lorkmir to us, but they´ll be looking for the ones responsible. It is possible they might get four if they put two and two together, which means they will be looking for whoever sold Lorkmir that stuff.” He ran his fingers through his black hair and made sure his ponytail was holding. “I didn´t expect a clash with the Thieves Guild so soon, but never mind. Let´s cripple them. Baveas, I would like you to arrange for Armand Christophe to be removed from the game. Without killing him, please. Find something... legal. Let´s see how the Gray Fox will like that. Oh, and after you make that arrangement, take a week off. Lay low.”

   

  Baveas nodded and was about to leave, when he turned towards Venhen again. “And what of Lorkmir? He sold everything, so the Watch didn´t find anything that would put him behind bars. Want me to kill him?”

   

  Venhen thought about that for a moment. “He might talk. Find a way to kill him. But be creative about it. Nothing that would link the death to us.”

   

  His cousin nodded and vanished through the window. Venhen looked at Suneus, who had a strange look on his face. “You want to say something, Suneus?”

   

  “Yes. You talk a lot, my lord.”

  

  Getting through the city wasn´t easy, Imperial Watch was on alert and every exit was carefully guarded. No one could go to another district unnoticed. Yet, Thrattia wasn´t no one. Safest way was over the roofs. That´s where those tin-cans couldn’t go, or even pursue. Well, if they don´t look up. Then you´ll have to dance between arrows, girl.

   

  Luckily, they hadn’t noticed her, not even when she was scaling the walls between districts. Well, was it really luck? I doubt that. Let´s call it skill, shall we? Thrattia Leotcus. The Prowler, the Shadowstep, the Invisible Hand.

   

  Who got bested by some cursed Dunmer.

   

  That left a sour taste in her mouth. Everything went well, she entered Lorkmir´s house through the window, with Sharrum being her backup on the roof. Not really much of a backup though. But still, she was just about to plant several bottles of that shit Lorkmir sold to the poor when the Dunmer appeared.

   

  For the first few seconds she thought he was from the Thieves Guild, even when her instincts screamed at her, warning her. And she didn´t listen. What a fool you are. But when she saw that dagger aimed at her head, her instincts didn´t fail her. She ducked, the dagger flying over her head and shattering a bottle of wine on the other side of the room. That woke up Lorkmir.

   

  I bet he opened his eyes just to see me and that Dunmer trying to kill each other with our daggers. The bastard ran past them and locked himself in his cellar, no doubt. She lost focus at that moment and the Dunmer nearly pierced her with his dagger. Nearly. She twisted, the dagger only scratching her leather armor, but then he punched her and she was knocked out briefly. He then jumped out the window and found the roof. That big green oaf should have picked him up and slammed him onto the pavement, but no, Sharrum had to uphold his code.

   

  So, that was it. Thrattia Leotcus, beaten like a bloody amateur. She would have killed that Dunmer in a few seconds. She could have if she didn´t throw away her old life. She was growing soft. That´s what happens when you´re around Mister Pacifist. He was lucky she was there. Her fireball saved him, it blinded the Dunmer and that was all they needed.

   

  Just be honest with yourself. You aimed for the Dunmer´s head, you wanted to kill him.

   

  Thoughts for some other time, because she now stood before the Black Rook Tavern. Tavern? It was more of a shack than a tavern. She entered and the stifling air struck her in the face like soaked paper. But not soaked with water. Soaked with piss. An awful stench.

   

  Bataz gra-Hagra was behind the bar, as always, watching her. There weren´t many people there, because the night was slowly nearing its end, retreating before the morning light of the sun. Everything there was made of wood - except mugs, those were earthenware - four tables with chairs all around the interior of the tavern, with one table in an alcove at the far end, a long way from the bar. And there were two people sitting there, waiting for her.

   

  Vermillia, the tavern wench, came to her and put both of her hands on her shoulders, giving her a deep kiss before pulling away and smiling. “How was the night, honey?”

   

  Thrattia looked at her, at her blonde hair just as long as hers, at her full lips and deep blue eyes... I´m the luckiest girl in the world. She was about to answer, when Bataz yelled at her: “Hey, gal! Where´s my poor excuse of a husband?”

   

  “You were drunk,” replied Thrattia with a grin.

   

  “What?”

   

  “You wanted a poor excuse for your marriage, right?”

   

  The Orc female punched the bar with her fist and growled: “I wanted to know where Sharrum is!”

   

  Thrattia kissed Vermillia on the cheek and smiled at her. “Later,” she whispered in her ear and the wench blushed. The young thief then turned to Bataz. “He´s on his way.” She ignored the Orc´s angry panting and headed towards the alcove.

   

  She sat on the chair with her back to the rest of the tavern and put her elbows on the table, leaning closer. “The job´s messed up,” she started and told them everything.

   

  Armand Christophe, a Redguard, looked at the She-Elf sitting next to him. “I told you, Methredhel, that the rumours were true. We have another Guild in the city and this one is quite unpleasant.”

   

  The Bosmer snorted. “I´m sorry, but a Guild of Dunmer seems like bag of bullshit to me. This is Cyrodiil, not Morrowind.”

   

  Thrattia looked at Armand and scowled. “Wait, you knew about them? If you´d had told me, then I could have been prepared for that bast-”

   

  Christophe raised his hand to stop her. “We didn´t know they were the ones behind Lorkmir.”

   

  “So you find out just now,” she murmured. “Who the hell are they? Selling drugs to children?”

   

  It made her sick. How could someone willingly harm children? Not even she could do that in her previous life. She remembered that moment. The eyes of the young boy watching her as she stood over the dead bodies of his parents. And she couldn´t do it, she couldn´t finish the job. So she ran away. And now she saw her father in every shadow.

   

  The door of the tavern then slammed and a huge figure walked in. Thrattia´s breath got stuck in her throat and she was unable to breathe. But then the figure entered the light and she saw Sharrum. He was soaking wet... and the smell coming from him was awful. If this tavern smelled of piss before, now it smelled of piss and shit.

   

  “Where were you, dumbass?” immediately yelled Bataz angrily. “You were supposed to work tonight.”

   

  “I was working,” he replied and headed towards the table at the alcove.

   

  “But not here, you idiot! I had to throw out one drunkard! You hear me? One! I´ll cut your share for that one.”

   

  “Be happy it was only one, female,” he murmured and Thrattia chuckled.

   

  “What did you say?” she growled, going around the bar, walking towards him with a rag in her hand.

   

  “One? Who? Amusei, I guess. That Argonian can´t handle drink,” he replied with an innocent look on his face and Bataz stopped her rag mid-swing, as if she was considering if it was worthy to whip him with it. Her nostrils widened when the smell hit her too. She took a step back.

   

  “Yes! That bloody Argonian.”

   

  “Come on, it can´t be that bad. What he do this time?”

   

  She looked at him with a dead serious face. A face that people usually had when they came to tell someone that their relative was dead. Or that their cat died. Frankly, when something died.

   

  “He was chewing a table.”

   

  Thrattia had to force herself not to laugh and she noticed Armand and Methredhel had the same problem. Sharrum turned on them and they resumed their stone-cold faces. He rolled his eyes and did the same before he turned back towards his wife. “Bloody bastard,” he said as seriously as he could. Well, he had to. Otherwise Bataz would have beat him senseless.

   

  Thrattia didn´t understand that really. Bataz was an Orc. That meant she was big, all muscle and tendon, but Sharrum...Well, in his sleeveless leather vest, he was one of the most impressive creatures that she ever saw. His arm was as wide as her chest, and he stood one head taller than Bataz, nearly touching the ceiling. And yet his wife had him henpecked.

   

  “I got something to discuss here with our friends, Bataz. I´ll be working in a minute,” he said with a reassuring voice and Thrattia would have given anything to see his face in that moment. He was always frowning…

   

  “One minute,” Bataz growled and Sharrum turned around and frowned. Yup, that´s the Orc I know.

   

  “Stop laughing,” he growled and sat on the chair, wide and long.

   

  “We´re not laughing,” said Methredhel, covering her nose. “You smell like a sewer.”

   

  “Because I was in a sewer!” he replied and pointed at Thrattia. “Because this little rat dumped me on a roof after alerting the whole city that there´s something going in the Elven Garden District!”

   

  She pointed at herself. “Me?” and shook her head with a serious face. “I don´t remember such a thing.”

   

  Sharrum leaned in closer and she had to scoot her chair away from him. Divines, that´s serious smell. He then leaned back on his chair, now satisfied, and turned towards Armand. “Can someone finally explain to me what in the Oblivion is going on here? Fucking ninja Dunmer threw me off the roof-”

   

  “There´s no such a thing as a ninja,” said Thrattia.

   

  “And then I had to swim through the sewers to not get caught by the Watch. Because of this little skinny rat,” he growled in Thrattia´s direction. “Sometimes I regret I found you all those years back and took you in,” he added and Thrattia froze. Then he winked. She laughed and punched him on the shoulder. The effect wasn´t as pleasant as she thought it would be. His shoulder was like a rock and she bet it didn´t even hurt him. But it hurt her.

   

  Sharrum said these things sometimes and she knew he was just joking. She made fun of him all the time too. And she loved him for that. When she was little, she heard people say ugly things about Orcs, how they were like animals, savage and violent. Those people didn´t know the truth. She wondered how many of those people would take a thirteen-year-old girl covered in blood to their house and take care of her. How many would tell that girl that everything is going to be ok? How many wouldn´t ask whose blood is that? How many?

   

  Sharrum and Bataz did just that. And her five years with them were her happiest. Sharrum was like a father to her. So why do you drag him into trouble all the time, lass?

   

  Armand cleared his throat to get their attention. “We found out that someone-”

   

  Someone stormed in and they all turned to face the individual. Amusei looked around and then half-shouted half-whispered: “Watch is making a bust. They´re after Armand.”

   

  They were now all on their feet, looking at each other, looking for a solution in each other´s faces. Bataz took charge, running from the bar to motion towards a door behind it. “Damn it, Redguard! The rear door!”

   

  Armand ran towards her, listening to her instructions. “There’s a boat there. Sail to the other side of the Rumare, go to Pell´s Gate. They´ll hide you. Hurry!”

   

  Armand nodded to thank her and disappeared through the door. Bataz looked at them and commanded: “Put your arses back on those chairs, idiots. Pretend like nothing’s happened.”

   

  Thrattia smirked, Well, you can´t deny Bataz one thing. She is quite a commander. She would be better off as captain of some mercenary company.

   

  Sharrum looked at her and smiled knowingly. “I know what you´re thinking of, lass.” He leaned closer and whispered: “Trust me, you wouldn´t want to serve under her in any army.”

   

  The Imperial lass smiled and that helped to ease at least part of the tension. She was preparing herself for the Watch. Just find the cold place in your stomach, lass. You still have it there, you just have to remember and it will come out.

   

  No! She yelled in her thoughts, going pale. Sharrum´s expression turned worried and she shook her head. He put a hand on her shoulder and she eased a little bit under that weight. It was... comforting.

   

  Methredhel lay under the table and began snoring. Was she playing dead? Oh, no, not dead. She´s pretending she´s drunk.

   

  Amusei was frantically running around the tavern, sitting on multiple chairs, sometimes a few at once. He noticed Methredhel under the table and did the same, lying on his back, arms spread wide, his tongue rolled out. He´s playing dead, and doing a terrible job of it.

   

  Bataz growled at the sight and kicked him in the head. Now he´s certainly dead, Thrattia thought. But they weren´t that lucky.

   

  The door opened and three tin-cans marched in. They immediately started searching the tavern, one even went upstairs to check the upper rooms, and Bataz yelled at them: “What do you think you´re doing?” They completely ignored her. Another descended towards the cellar and the third peered outside through the rear door. Thrattia held her breath, worried he might see a boat on the water. But he went back in. “Clear,” he shouted and his two comrades repeated the same.

   

  The door opened again and this time a man walked inside, in a plated armor of silver, red and gold shining like a bright sun in that filthy tavern. He seemed so out of place to Thrattia that she had to keep herself from staring. Sharrum stood in plain sight of the man, huge.

   

  “Hieronymus Lex,” he growled. “To what we do owe the pleasure of your visit?”

   

  “Save it, Orc,” young Imperial captain barked. “Where´s Armand Christophe?”

   

  “Here,” Sharrum pointed at Amusei.

   

  “This dead Argonian?” Lex snorted. “You take me for a fool?”

   

  “I don´t know. Do I?”

   

  Lex stepped over Amusei and approached the huge Orc. And that night, he became yet another victim of the awful smell, taking a step back immediately, pinching his nose with his fingers in an attempt to cover up the stench.

   

  “I want Armand Christophe. He´s charged for the theft of the Bust of Llathasa Indarys and we have a witness.”

   

  Sharrum tilted his head. “I´m sorry, sir, but I must have misheard you. Did you say the Best of Latasha Indarys?”

   

  The Captain of the Watch growled. “As you want, Orc. I´m here to collect taxes from the filth of this dump. Maybe that will untie your tongues, thieves!” With these words he turned around and walked out, followed by his men.

   

  Thrattia finally inhaled and looked at Sharrum. “Did you have to provoke him? Wasn´t funny.”

   

  Methredhel rose from under the table and chuckled. “I was laughing,” she shook her head and chuckled again. “Latasha.”

   

  “Who´s Latasha?” asked Thrattia.

   

  Sharrum looked at her and grinned, making his tusks more prominent. “Sexy ass female,” said and laughed. Thrattia joined shortly after.

   

  The big Orc then turned to Methredhel. “But now seriously. I want to know what´s going on. Who´s trying to frame Armand and what are we gonna do about it?”

   

  Bataz then whipped him with a rag. “There will be no talking now. You get a few hours of sleep, it´s already past midnight. You´ll be wiser in the morning.”

   

  “Come on, Bataz. I won´t be able to sleep until I know what´s going on,” he protested.

   

  “You go wash that stench off you first. I’ll tell you what´s going while you´re taking a bath in the lake.”

   

  He frowned. “In the lake? But the water is so cold.”

   

  She whipped him with rag again. “You´re worried your manhood will get any smaller? It can´t get any smaller, you oaf!” and then she hit him harder, making him squeal.

   

  “I´m going, female! Stop beating me!” he whined.

   

  Thrattia laughed and laughed some more. Bataz then laid her eyes on her and Thrattia stopped laughing. “You go to bed too, you skinny rat. Now!”

   

  Methredhel coughed. “I´ll be on my way, then. See you in the morning.”

  

  It was great to sleep so long. Shame that Suneus woke him up for lunch. Or was it breakfast? Well, if roasted beef could have been counted as breakfast, then yes, it was for breakfast. Fathys Ules, his uncle, was already gone, so he had the whole dining hall just for himself. Suneus was standing behind him as if he needed something.

   

  While he chewed the meat, he thought about recent events. Not everything went as smoothly as he imagined, but whatever did? Every plan crumbles the moment you clash with an enemy.

   

  “Any news on Armand Christophe?” he asked.

   

  Suneus made a step forward. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “Armand Christophe was framed for the theft of the Bust of Llathasa Indarys and-”

   

  “What?” Venhen turned around. “You know how difficult it was to steal it?”

   

  “Yes, my lord. You were chased by the wraith of Llathasa Indarys herself. You´ve told me that story at least six times,” answered Suneus calmly.”

   

  “Hmph,” snorted the young Dunmer. “Well, so Christophe is behind bars then?”

   

  “He escaped. But that means he´s out of the Imperial City, which leads me to the conclusion that Thieves Guild of the Imperial City is without their Doyen.”

   

  Venhen thought about that for a second. Christophe being out of Imperial City meant that the Guild was now without a leader who would otherwise pass the words of the Grey Fox. That was good. It could have been worse.

   

  “Very well. That´s sufficient.” He finished his meal, washing it down with some wine. He never understood Imperials and their taste for wine. It tasted all the same to him. Where can one find a bottle of good sujamma?

   

  “Alright, then let´s head out. I think I´m ready to win some money in the Arena today. Yellow Team. I have a hunch that Yellow Team will be lucky today,” Venhen smiled at his servant as he rose.

   

  “I´m sorry, my lord, but you have some work to do first. Remember that alchemy shop? Main Ingredient?”

   

  “What of it?” Venhen raised his eyebrows and then slapped his forehead, remembering. “Oh, I know. I let it get robbed, selling all those ingredients and alchemical equipment to a fence.”

   

  “Thank the Three for your unwavering memory, sir. But you wanted to invest that money for a share of that shop, remember?”

   

  “Of course. What would I do without you, Suneus?”

   

  “Good question, my lord. I have no idea.”

   

  “Don´t be so grumpy, Suneus. Let´s be on our way then.”

  

  Contrary to what he said, once he bathed in cold waters of Lake Rumare, he fell into his bed and slept like a baby. He didn´t dream that night and he was thankful for that. The river of blood that was his old life in Orcrest often took away from him the comfort of sleep. He opened his eyes to the dim light of the morning, and the tavern was silent. He propped up on his elbows, looking for Bataz, but she was already downstairs, making sure the tavern was at least a little bit clean.

   

  He heard noises from room next to his and growled. Damn girls are doing it again. He punched the walls few times and yelled: “Take the voice down, damn witches! The wall is thin and we have no door, remember?”

   

  Giggles from the other room and he sighed. So no oversleeping for good old Sharrum. This is what you get for raising that little rat. If you even can call it raising. She´s stubborn just like Bataz. It´s you who is weak-willed in this messed up family. He rose from his bed, got dressed and went downstairs.

   

  Bataz was sweeping the floor and she looked up when she saw him approach. “I thought you´d be sleeping much longer. You were snoring so loud that it felt like you´d bring down the whole tavern with it.”

   

  “Yeah, good morning to you too,” he murmured. He looked around room and noticed that Methredhel was already waiting in the alcove. “Good morning to you as well.”

   

  She waved and continued eating her breakfast, which consisted of bread and cheese. Speaking of which, Sharrum couldn’t refuse a good meal. He noticed a plate of bread and cheese waiting for him at the bar and shook his head. Bataz was a really complicated female. One day, she was all about shouting at him, insulting him and trying to kill him and the next day she had his breakfast waiting.

   

  “Where´s Amusei? Did you throw him into lake?” he asked Bataz. She frowned at his question.

   

  “I did, but then that lizard woke up. I had really hoped he was dead.”

   

  Sharrum grinned, grabbed his breakfast and went to sit next to Methredhel. “You know we´re not that lucky,” he said over his shoulder. Methredhel measured his every move with her eyes and he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

   

  “What?” he said with his mouth full.

   

  “I´m just wondering if you´re in,” she said.

   

  He frowned, confused. “Of course I´m in. Why I shouldn´t be?”

   

  “Come on, Sharrum. You´re in the Guild only because of the lass. You´re not really a thief, you´re just a bouncer.”

   

  “So that´s what I am?” he asked and continued eating. I should probably be angry now, smash the table, a few chairs, her face. Show her some true Orc rage. But I just can´t. Because she was right. He wasn´t a thief, he couldn´t sneak in the shadows like Thrattia, couldn´t hit a damn barn with bow and arrow, and couldn´t pick a lock. That all was true. But Methredhel was wrong in one thing.

   

  He wasn´t just a bouncer.

   

  He chewed, deep in thought and watched Methredhel watching him. “I will tell you this, Methredhel. You probably think you´re the one who calls the shots now that Armand is gone, and that may be right. But you don´t speak with the Grey Fox, right?”

   

  Silence was his answer and he nodded. “Just as I thought. Armand is in contact with the big boss and there are certain reasons why I´m in the Guild. So yeah, I´m in.”

   

  In that moment there came a trampling sound as Thrattia ran down the stairs. Her blonde hair was tousled, and she was clad in only a long tunic and no boots. This way she looked more girl-ish than in her leather armor. That thing gave her almost boy-ish appearance. He noticed a bruise on her right cheek. That must have been a mark from that other thief, not from Vermillia. At least he hoped so. Thrattia sat at their table and proceeded to steal most of his cheese. He should have been angry or at least pretended to be, but instead he smiled.

   

  How did we pull this off? Two Orcs raising Imperial girl. A girl that could probably kill everyone in this room in mere seconds. It wasn´t easy, for any of them. He and Bataz did what they could, being firm and all that. Who are you trying to fool, Orc? You were always soft on her. Just look at that skinny rat. She grew up to be a thief. But that was actually a good thing. She could have grown into something else. Yes, she was getting into trouble often, but this way her hands remained clean, while actually helping people.

   

  “What?” she murmured when she noticed the way he was looking at her.

   

  His smiled broadened. “Nothing. Just take the whole bread. You need to eat, skinny.”

   

  She punched him into arm and he rubbed it, pretending it hurt him. “I´m not skinny!” she moaned. “I´m not little girl anymore. I have tits.”

   

  “That what you call those little things?” he laughed.

   

  “Surely they´re bigger than the thing you have in your pants,” she barked back.

   

  He leaned closer and winked. “So you were watching? I thought these things didn´t interest you.”

   

  “I...w-well…” she stammered and then punched him again. “You´re terrible!”

   

  “If you two are done...” said Methredhel coldly, letting the sentence hang in the air.

   

  “Yeah, we´re done,” nodded Sharrum, sticking out his tongue at Thrattia.

   

  “I think you´re not, but I´ll ignore it from now on. While you slept, I´ve been quite busy, you see. There´s been several robberies this week. Shops were robbed clean. Main Ingredient, Mystic Emporium, Copious Coinpurse. Normally, I wouldn´t dig, but considering what we found out yesterday, I asked around. All our thieves swear on the Shadow that none of them did it. So we either have an independent thief in the City, or another guild.”

   

  “Robbing them clean?” mused Sharrum. “That´s really bad business.”

   

  Methredhel nodded. “Yeah. But I´ll be honest. I think we have a spy in our midst.”

   

  “And you´re telling that to us, because…?” frowned Thrattia.

   

  “Because Armand trusts you. So I trust you.”

   

  “Thanks. I guess,” said Thrattia, looking at Sharrum. He nodded. Yeah, girl. Seems like we got ourselves into some real trouble if we´re the only ones who can be trusted.

   

  He looked at Methredhel and put a serious expression on his face. “Alright, Methredhel, what´s the plan?”

   

  “You, Sharrum, are going to find out who robbed those stores and why.”

   

  “Me?” he raised his voice in surprise, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “That will be really discreet.”

   

  “You know people and people know you,” explained the Bosmer. “Besides, Thrattia will be busy with something else.”

   

  “With what?” she asked eagerly.

   

  “Untaxing the poor,” proclaimed Methredhel with a smile, as if she was really proud of that sentence. When she saw their confused looks, the smile vanished, replaced by her stone-cold face again. “Lex collected taxes from beggars and the other poor on the Waterfront. You, Thrattia, will steal those taxes back, together with the records.”

   

  “Easy-peasy,” Thrattia said, but Sharrum wasn´t as happy about it as she was. This meant she would have to sneak inside the Imperial garrison and that wasn´t an easy task. He wanted to say no, he wanted her safe. But then he stopped himself. He was there for her, but… You know you can´t protect her forever. She doesn´t need your guiding hand, she has her free will. Don´t take that from her, foolish Orc. She can decide for herself.

   

  “And you, Methredhel?” he turned his attention back to the Bosmer. “I´m sure you won´t be sitting on your arse, while we do all the work.”

   

  “Of course not. We need to clear Armand´s name, so I will be looking for the Bust of Llathasa Indarys. And that spy,” she replied with her stoicism.

   

  Sharrum snorted. “Well, you´re perfect for that job. Half the Waterfront dislikes you already, so why not make that other half hate you too?”

   

  Methredhel shrugged and moved from her position. “We´ll meet here after sundown.” She walked off and Sharrum pitied her a little. Even he was a more pleasant companion than she was, and he was an Orc. That spoke volumes about Methredhel.

   

  He grabbed the rest of the bread and got on his feet. “Be careful out there, skinny rat.”

   

  “Stay out of trouble, green idiot,” she replied and he patted her shoulder.

   

  “I´ll do my best,” he said, a smile on his face.

  

  Thankfully, on that day the streets weren´t really crowded, most people were at their homes or in the local taverns getting their lunch. It just worked that way in the Imperial City and Venhen was still getting used to it. In Morrowind, everyone ate when they wanted, but here, in the heart of Cyrodiil and the whole Empire, everyone ate at noon.

   

  And he had just ate breakfast, not lunch. He wasn´t planning to eat again that soon. Maybe in an hour. You have to keep with local customs. Don´t be a stranger to them, be one of them. That was what his father was always saying. An accomplished businessman knows how to make his partner or rival feel relaxed in his presence. Act like them, study their customs, what they like and dislike. Use it to your advantage.

   

  “So tell me something about the owner of the Main Ingredient,” he said to Suneus while they were walking towards the Market District. They strolled behind the houses of the Elven Garden District first, through the very gardens which gave that district its name. Though Venhen didn´t quite understand why they called it the Elven Garden District. Nothing about these gardens were elven. Might be because mostly Mer live here.

   

  Suneus, hobbling beside him, leaning on his cane, began explaining: “His name is Ogier Georick, my lord. A Breton, born and raised in Cyrodiil. His family has been here for three generations. Quite a skilled alchemy practitioner, certainly better than his rival Claudette Perrick who owns the Gilded Carafe, also in the Market District. While he is a more skilled alchemist, Claudette is the better merchant, attracting more customers and selling better alchemical equipment.”

   

  “Well, this should be easy then,” smiled Venhen. “Now that his shop has been cleaned out, he’s hit the bottom. Literally. This certainly won’t be a challenge.”

   

  “That might be because you´ve arranged it to not to be a challenge, my lord,” murmured Suneus dryly. 

   

  “True,” admitted the young Dunmer. He remembered now. The people in the Imperial City had been so stubborn, desperately clinging to what was theirs. He was surprised when he figuratively hit the wall with the local shopkeepers. He had wanted to buy their shops for the Great House Hlaalu and they refused. They refused. They refused a very large sum of money, and even when he told them that they could still be in charge of the shop, work there and that he would pay them, they still refused.

   

  Well, you can´t always play fair. And the strategy worked nicely with Mystic Emporium and Copious Coinpurse. And Thoronir´s shop brought a steady flow of income, all he had to do now was to find a new and very clever supplier.

   

  They walked through the gate leading to the Market District and Venhen noticed a large crowd of people. He frowned and when they neared, he observed that all of them were gathered around the Copious Coinpurse. He checked the crowd, looking for angry faces and raised fists, but no, nothing like that. People seemed quite enthusiastic instead, engaged in lively conversation with each other.

   

  “Seems like the new merchandise is up for sale,” he laughed.

   

  “It seems so, my lord. But won´t there be trouble with Thoronir selling goods under the prices of the other merchants? I heard that they had made an agreement about prices, forming an alliance of sorts,” wondered the servant.

   

  Venhen nodded and continued walking towards the Arena District. “Yes, the Society of Concerned Merchants. But they won´t be able to do anything with that. They might think that his inventory is stolen, but we know it isn´t. They won´t be able to prove it, and the Watch won´t listen, because there is nothing missing.”

   

  “As always, my lord, I am blinded by the bright light of your genius.”

   

  “As am I, Suneus. Sometimes I think that my genius is so vast I can outwit myself.”

   

  “As you say, my lord.”

   

  They neared the gate to the Arena and turned right. “Ah, here we are,” proclaimed Venhen, noticing the sign above the door. “Let´s be done with it then. I´m looking forward to betting on few matches. Light is waning-”

   

  “It´s shortly after noon, my lord. I bet you´ll have plenty of time to enjoy the mindless slaying and butchering that happens in the Arena,” interrupted Suneus.

   

  “Well, you´re grumpy today. I hope you control yourself while I strike a deal with that...hmm, you know...merchant-”

   

  “Ogier Georick.”

   

  “Yes, that one. Just behave yourself.”

   

  With that, Venhen entered the shop, immediately noticing how empty that place was. Everything was missing from the counters and shelves and he imagined that the cellar full of ingredients was completely cleaned-out too. Well, they certainly were thorough.

   

  A Breton appeared from the stairs leading to an apartment and looked at the Dunmer. “Shop is closed!” he yelled. “There is a big sign on the door. Or did you come here to mock me?”

   

  “Mock you, sir? Certainly not. Do you know who did this?” smiled Venhen.

   

  “Who? Thieves Guild, I´m sure of it. Why do you care?”

   

  “I was just wondering,” shrugged the young noble and winked at Suneus. “You see, I have a proposition for you. If you´d just come down, maybe we could discuss it.”

   

  The Breton frowned, walked down the stairs, and stood behind the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. Venhen kept his business smile on. The Breton´s stance clearly indicated that he wasn´t interested - at least that´s what it meant for most people. But for Venhen, it meant that he had to try persuade him. Suneus had said that Ogier wasn´t a very successful merchant, so it was hard to guess if he took that stance on purpose or if he really wasn´t interested. “I´m listening, mister…?”

   

  “Talare Arvel of House Hlaalu, at your service, sir,” bowed Venhen and he immediately noticed how the man´s ego grew. “I see that you´ve been stricken by bad luck, good sir, and I would like to offer you a helping hand. My House would actually like to offer you a helping hand. Should I continue? If you are not interested, than just say the word and I´ll be on my way. I don´t want to bother you, sir.”

   

  Ogier leaned closer and shook his head. “No, mister Arvel, continue, please. You´ve got me interested in what you have to say.”

   

  Venhen nodded and smiled. “As I was saying, House Hlaalu would like to offer you a helping hand. You see, we´re trying to expand our trade from Morrowind to this great pumping heart of the Empire. What if I told you that House Hlaalu would be interesting in investing in your store for a share of the profit?”

   

  The Man frowned. This was a crucial moment. Venhen saw he was interested, but he had to aim for the right price, for the right balance of investment and profit. If he asked for too much, the man would refuse and Hlaalu would be without a chance in future. “How much profit and how much money?”

   

  Venhen thought for a second. “Five thousand golden drakes.” He saw how the Breton´s eyes popped up in surprise and Ules continued. “Five thousand… for thirty-five percent.”

   

  The man scowled and Venhen could see him thinking. “Fifteen percent,” he countered.

   

  It was Venhen´s turn to frown. “I´m sorry, sir, but I come here in good faith, trying to find more trading options for my House, and fifteen percent just isn´t worth the money Hlaalu is willing to invest.” He turned to leave, but the man stopped him, just as he knew he would.

   

  “Wait. I´m sorry, mister Arvel. You´re right, it´s low. But this was my family business. I have to make the most of it, just for the sake of my family´s name. Twenty percent then.”

   

  “I can understand that. That still isn´t enough though. Suneus, what was the name of the other store? Maybe we could invest our money there.”

   

  “Gilded Carafe, my lord.”

   

  The Breton suddenly went pale, maybe out of rage or fear, Venhen could not tell. Either way, it worked. “Alright, alright. Thirty percent, but I´ll need a little something more than just money.”

   

  Venhen then smiled. “I see that you are wise businessman, sir. And what would you like? Maybe I could throw in something more to sweeten the deal? How about I find you someone who could gather ingredients for you? I know how hard it is to find someone capable these days, so how about that? You would have to pay that person, but it would be worth it, trust me.”

   

  “Five thousand Septims and hireling for thirty percent share,” summarized Ogier and he extended his hand in agreement. “I think we have a deal, mister Arvel.”

   

  Venhen shook hands with him, flashing another smile. “Very well then. I´ll have someone drop by in few hours. One of my cousins probably. He will bring the gold and contract for you to sign. It seems like you have a chance at a new beginning, sir.”

   

  Ogier laughed and slapped him on back. “Yes, thank you. Thank you kindly, mister Arvel. I was prepared to quit, but you brought new life into my veins, giving me the chance to breathe some new life into this place. I thank you very much.”

   

  Ules slapped him on shoulder and said his goodbyes. Well, that was easy.

   

  Waterfront was quite lively that forenoon, with at least two ships just docked, their sailors unloading cargo. It was difficult to get past them, and then there were the insults they threw his way while he walked. Greenskin, pig, pig-face being the most prominent, but there were others.

   

  Men and Mer were so stupid. Why did they need to insult his kind? They were lucky it was him who they were insulting. He was past being offended by them, but others of his kind were much more...combustible. Other Orcs would have just torn them limb from limb. And because of that, Men and Mer were stupid. You don´t provoke someone who weighs almost twice as much as you and has the strength to rip your arm from the socket and beat you to death with it.

   

  He shook his head. Come on, Durol. Now you´re getting angry. Think about flowers or something. Getting angry was easy, it was the restraint that was hard. That was something other Orcs didn´t understand. Those Stronghold bastards thought that a hard life would make them stronger, but what was hard about getting pissed off and killing everything? There were other ways.

   

  He walked through the underpass leading from the Waterfront to the Temple District. Damn mouse hole dug up into the hill, connecting the harbor to the rest of the city. There was no natural light there, only the orange glare of torches and braziers. Here and there, he saw few people going inside doors at the sides of the underpass, carrying crates and sacks of goods. Yes, the underpass served as a giant warehouse too.

   

  He arrived at the Temple District, gave the Temple of One a hard look, and snorted. Temple of One, yet they worship dozens of gods in there. Imperials are crazy. Why don´t they worship just one? One would be much easier, no?

   

  It took almost an hour to reach the Market District because it was at the other side of the city, and getting through the crowds took some time. People were mostly moving out of his way when they saw him - was it because he was Orc or so big? Maybe because he was really big Orc, he thought with a smirk.

   

  The Market District wasn´t any better. There was a large crowd of people gathered in front of the Copious Coinpurse, and he noticed that every time a person came out, usually smiling and loaded with goods, only one came in. A quick scan of his surroundings revealed Jensine leaning against the wall of the First Edition Bookstore. She was frowning at the crowd and then her eyes found him and she waved.

   

  He leaned against the wall next to her and crossed his mammoth arms over his chest. “What´s the fuss about? I hear Thoronir was robbed clean a few days ago.”

   

  Jensine nodded. “Yeah, and after that he started selling new goods, but so under their established prices that they must be stolen. I wouldn´t be surprised if Thieves Guild now supplied him.”

   

  “Trust me, if the Guild was involved, I would have heard about it,” he murmured.

   

  She looked at him and smiled. “You think you could look into that? I know you usually stay out of things, but the Society of Concerned Merchants would pay you for your help.”

   

  “I might,” Sharrum shrugged. “I´ll go talk to him and see what I can find out,” he said as he headed towards the door.

   

  “You have to stand in line,” she shouted at him. He turned around and waved his hand, as if he was chasing off a fly. He started to wedge his way through the crowd, gently nudging people to the side and he heard a few insults, reminding him that he was to stand in line, but he didn´t pay any attention. When he reached the door, he noticed the sign on it and read.

   

  “Please, one at a time. Once you see a person leave, you may enter. Thank you, Thoronir, owner of Copious Coinpurse.”

   

  “What bullshit,” he grumbled and walked in. He was greeted by the stares of a small blonde Bosmer and his Imperial customer.

   

  “Excuse me, but you have to wait outside,” said Thoronir. “Can’t you read signs?”

   

  Sharrum ignored him and his eyes examined the store. Clothes, pottery, some paintings, one or two weapons. Not much, but if the prices were as low as Jensine implied... He walked towards the counter where Thoronir was standing and looked down at him.

   

  “These stolen goods, Thoronir?” he bluntly asked. Most of the time, his appearance intimidated people quite a lot, if he added to that his slightly-threating Orc voice, it did wonders.

   

  “I-I...what? No, they’re not stolen!” Bosmer shouted in outrage.

   

  “Then tell me how it is possible that you´ve been robbed and now all of a sudden, you´re doing even better than before, Thoronir?”

   

  “I have new investor! He found me new a supplier, investing quite a sum into my establishment for a share of the profits.”

   

  “Who´s the supplier?”

   

  Thoronir frowned, pointing at the door. “Get out of here! Or I will call the Watch!”

   

  Sharrum shrugged and walked out. He saw Jensine still leaning on the wall and walked towards her.

   

  “Well?” she asked.

   

  “He has new investor who found him a new supplier. All for a share of the profits.”

   

  “But why are the prices so low?”

   

  Orc thought about that for a second and shook his head. “I don´t know, but something doesn´t add up. I have some work to do now, but I´ll find out what´s wrong here, I promise. See you later, Jensine.”

   

  He walked away, ignoring Jensine’s words and headed towards the Mystic Emporium. Calindil’s story was the same; robbed by the Thieves Guild, an investor then shows up, offering him money for a share of the profits, plus he recommended a few names of people who were good at finding Soul Gems and other various magical stuff.

   

  So he was now heading towards the Main Ingredient. He accidently bumped into a young Dunmer and - apparently - his old Dunmer servant.

   

  “Move aside, damn beast,” barked the old Dunmer and Sharrum stepped aside so they could pass. Well, that was rude.

   

  Dunmer. Damn it. It was so hard not to be suspicious about every Dunmer he met. It was all about the circumstances. Knowing that there was an organization of Dunmer, it was hard not to look at them with narrowed eyes.

   

  He entered the store and saw Ogier behind the counter. Breton immediately noticed him and smiled. “Oh, hey, Sharrum. I´m sorry, but I don´t have any potions for sore joints right now. You´ll have to go to Gilded Carafe. Or wait few days and drop by, I´ll sell it to you for a discount.”

   

  “That´s not why I´m here, Ogi- Wait, you want me to come back in few days?” Sharrum raised his eyebrows. “I thought you´d be broke by now.”

   

  “Fortune has smiled upon me, my friend. A new investor, just now, would you believe it?”

   

  The Orc rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised. I guess you can´t tell me anything about the investor either, right?”

   

  “Actually, I can. I guess it´s a business secret, but I’ve known you for a long time, Sharrum. You see, some Dunmer showed up, talking about some House Hlaalu stuff, or something like that, being interested in buying a fifty percent share of my shop, but I managed to bargain it down to fifteen percent-”

   

  “Did he tell you his name, Ogier?” interrupted Sharrum.

   

  “A Talare Arvel, I think.”

   

  “Thanks, Ogier,” said Durol and walked out. Talare Arvel. The investor who visited Calindil was named Traven Darvos. Dunmeri name and the investor was Dunmer. So he was using multiple aliases. He´s good. That Dunmer certainly wasn’t a fool.

   

  He still had one lead, and that was Thoronir. I´m watching you, you little Bosmer.

   

   

   

  Part 2