The roar of the crowd is deafening. Kashvi circled working to keep her breathing steady. The sand that scrapped between her boots and the stones below hadn't been changed in too long. In places it was pebbled by clumps of black blood and other less identifiable matter, several times she had to adjust her footing to avoid human teeth. With a roar, her opponent charged, reaching out with bear like arms to enfold her in a crushing hold. She pivoted right, slapped his left wrist aside and ducked under his hairy arm, driving her elbow back hard into his kidney, dropping to a mobile crouch and delivering a second blow to the side of his knee. The brute, a vast tattooed bruiser with thinning hair howled like a wounded bear. Kashvi came up out of the crouch and twisted into a spinning kick that landed on his hip. Unlike the first two strikes this was a low percentage shot, it felt like kicking a slab of beef but the momentum carried her clear of his lunging fist as he spun to follow her.

"Ox! Ox! Ox!" the crowd roared in blood thirsty enthusiasm. It wasn't suprising, almost all of them had money on 'Ox' to easily dispatch a slip of a girl with nothing to recommend her but the prospect of a good thrashing. It wasn't likely to be a fatal beating, these fights weren't to the death, but that didn't mean bones couldn't be broken.

Inspired by the crowd, Ox charged again trying to use his bulk to pin her against the seven foot stone wall that encircled the arena. Kashvi shifted right, as though she were about to repeat her previous trick. Ox was ready for her and swung to intercept. She caught his wrist and vaulted over him, landing with both boots on the rim of the arena before twisting and flipping backwards to land between the brutes shoulder blades. Kashvi didn't weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds, but a that much weight focused on a small area couldn't be ignored. Ox staggered and smashed into the stone wall with a crunch that added a few more teeth to the carpeting. His bulk bounced off the stonework and she sprang back, landing on her hands and spring backwards to land in a fighters crouch. Ox wheeled around, blood streaming from his mouth and nose, eyes blink with pain. Seeing no reason to be charitable she kicked sand and grit into his face, ducked his bear like arms and rabbit punched him under the armpit. He kicked her with his trunk like leg and she sprawled away, narrowly avoiding the follow up kick. She set herself again, waiting for his charge, but the brute was finished, he staggered and sank to his knees with a sound like a blacksmith bellows gusting out. Kashvi hesitated for a half second, analyzing for a desperate sham and then danced forward to deliver a crushing kick to the side of the Brutes head. Blood and teeth flew in a tight arc and the Ox faceplanted into the dirt. The crowd errupted in fury, a good portion of them having lost considerable sums and filled with the understandable desire to beat it out of those few who had taken the long odds. A hail of bottles and refused rained down on Kashvi as she retreated to the iron grated entry gate, a pair of guild guards pulled it open and yanked her through out of the shower of improvised missiles.

The guild guards escorted Kashvi back to the book keepers 'office' the office was little more than an alcove fronted by a wooden desk. Behind the desk a dirty little man with bright brass spectacles sat on a pay chest in which the official guild wagers were kept. A sheet of slate was chalked with wagers and odds, including Kashvi's recently completed bout. Twenty to one.

"I guess you can dance girly," the book keeper wheezed. He pulled a pouch from under the desk and tossed it to her underhanded. She snatched it from the air like a cat intercepting a tidbit.

"I took the guilds cut, I'd get the rest to the Nightmaster, dues in two days," he wheezed and then guestured her away. The two guards didn't exactly drag her, but they would have shoved her if she hand't headed for the exit. She hefted the bag. It clinked pleasingly, it wouldn't be enough to cover her dues, but it would buy her a little extra time.

Not everyone in the Thieves Guilds were thieves.

Enforcers, Conmen, Camels, Sailors, Bookkeepers, Tax Collectors, Assassins... even some Wizards called a Thieves Guild their home. Each played their part, keeping the cogs turning discreetly and on time to keep the law from overlooking their bribes, or the civilians to overlook their fear, so that the guild could continue to remain profitable and safe. To the city, even one such as Nox-Khalas, all criminals were thieves. It was complete horseshit, of course.

A thief was a criminal or rogue who stole what was not theirs, not through coercion or force, but right out from under someone's nose. It took skill to be a thief. It took wits to remain a thief. It took unquestioned loyalty to rise the ranks. And it took unquestioned results to be valued. Low grade thieves volunteered by the dozens, thinking because they nabbed a few lemons from the market or could sneak through their childhood home without creaking the floorboards, they were ready to be a thief. Most didn't make the cut, and more thieves were caught in their first month than every other job in the guild combined. The guilds were thieves guilds, because nearly everyone who was hung from such organizations were petty thieves, and there were always more upstart recruits.

Galt wasn't one to boast, unless he was joking. And he did joke a lot, so perhaps he was one to boast. But he knew he had been one of the lucky ones. Lucky not only in surviving the trials, but in being able to keep his life after he had turned his back on the guild once before. Something he didn't really talk about unless he was forced to, or someone had some very good leverage on him. Luckily for him, the person he now spoke to was already privvy to most of his life story, at least the bits that were possible to learn.

Sorlaka Vespers sat in her plush chair, amber eyes weighing the coin Galt had just produced for her from a profitable jaunt around town. Some cobbler with a bottle in his hand had sang danced all night long at Oakhollow. making fast friends with the singer of the evening, a young one named Blackrunner. He had introduced Galt to all of his friends, their fat purses bulging and their mouths expunging fumes of alcohol that nearly got him drunk as well. He truly didn't know if they would wake up tomorrow and blame him for their stolen gold. Those lads had been fun, and a few of them had some very good looking daughters and wives.

Sorlaka's daughter was good looking too, though Sorlaka was not so easily manipulated or drunk to let him get near her. She hadn't risen to the rank of Lieutenant in the Guild for being gullible, and he truly wished she stopped riding him so hard on every little bit of gold he brought. It was the woman's mission in life was to tease him until he screwed up again. Her thin lips curled in a smile as she nodded slowly, as if pained to accept such money.

"Excellent Galt, and this time I will not penalize you for taking from one of our own."

"I don't do that, and you know that. I always check for the Raven Sigil if I'm not sure."

"Like last time?"

He tried not to sigh. "Yes, like last time. Now might I go? The night still has some life in it."

"You may, but not where you want to go. Because I have another job for you, boy. Oh, stop that look. I'm helping you, believe it or not. Do this and you're in good with the Old Crow." She said, dropping the sack of coins in her left drawer. He would have bet all of the money he hadn't given her that those drawers subtly switched from within when pushed closed. "Do you know one called Kashvi? Likely not well, but you both seem to be some of our most trusted courtiers. There are some papers that need to be displaced from a certain office, and I would like them to get lost all the way to my desk."

Galt raised an eyebrow, half intrigued and half worried. He knew 'trusted' meant 'expendable.' "Where do I go and meet her?"

"You both have the planning room. Get there as quickly as possible. Dawdling might serve you ill, and you can use all of the luck you have."

Kashvi's time with the Nightmaster had been brief. He had been happy to toke her money but he had refused to give her a writ. Writs were official guild permission for burglary. Word was that they came down from the big three, another tool in their seemingly infinite arsenal of influence and power. Immunity from robbery was probably a more profitable stream of income than the twenty five percent cut the guild took from thefts. Burglary was Kashvi's stock and trade and a good score could set her up for a week or more. Normally it wasnt a problem to get a writ, but tonight she had been sent to the planning room for some kind of assignment. Such assignments were rare, but as a service to the guild it would clear her dues for the month which in turn would net her a substantial profit.

Cooling her heels was not how a woman who had once been known as the Tigress of Maharastra cared to spend her time. She wasn't made for idleness, but obviously had been the first to reach the planning room. The room itself wasn't impressive save for a large table with a raised lip which had been filled with witch sand. Witch sand was painstakingly enchanted so that it could be formed by a practiced user into any image one could imagine. In the planning room it could be used to create models of buildings or streets that were of interest for a particularly tricky heist or job. Kashvi had amused herself creating miniature elephants trampling even more miniature men for several minutes before giving it up as a bad bargain. Even such minor use of magic was taxing and her skills were that of a dilettante rather than an adept.

She had no idea what the job was or who she would be partnered with. To make matters worse she was exhausted from the fight, now that the adrenaline had faded she was tired and her fists and feet ached from the blows she had delivered. She wanted to be back home and getting some sleep. It was already too late to pull a job in darkness tonight and she doubted whatever she was about to be asked to do would be a daytime job.

Some Guilds were clever enough to have fronts. Other Guilds were able to remain hidden in various locations. Most Thieves Guilds hid in plain sight. The Guild of the Seven Crows was no exception. What appeared to be an abandoned complex or storage area, with the windows boarded shut and the 'doors' perpetually locked was actually a cunningly placed guildhouse in the middle of the mercantile district of the city. One could only get in either from the sewage tunnels or the roof, or a few secret passageways in three key alleys.

Galt waltzed down the well furnished corridor, always able to see the riches a successful thief or guild master might one day obtain, but always out of his reach. Various doors were archways into large, sybaritic rooms with canopied beds and cushioned couches. Most of them owned by the highest ranking or most successful of thieves. The Master even had his own harem, though a few of the women were likely members of the silent sorority and could likely give Galt a run for his money in a fight if their own guild leader gave the word. Likely the Old Crow knew it as well, but there was a web of espionage there Galt wasn't about to question or delve too deeply into.

As he turned into the next corridor, just outside the planning room, a familiar face halted him. Galt had nearly bumped into the thug.

"If it isn't Jack Prick-Finger," Korlam the Rough scoffed, sporting his vest of knives and his weaponized breath. He and Galt had been at odds ever since they had met nearly a decade ago; always trying to one-up one another. Galt had gotten the better of him a thousand times over, but he never forgot or forgave the two times Korlam had bested him. One was in front of a girl he had fancied, and the other indirectly caused him to lose part of his finger. Korlam grinned. "I saw that lass you're meeting with. Hope you don't slow her down. We both know you aint cut out for stealing."

Galt smirked, flipping a knife he had slipped off of Korlam's jacket, much to his rival's annoyance. He continued to flip it casually. "I don't know about that. I can steal your heart easy enough. And not in the romantic, symbolic way. I'm meaning the bloody, murderous way."

"Is that so?" Korlam responded, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Maybe we can take each other up on that offer."

"Later," Galt agreed, as violence in Guild halls were strictly prohibited. He tossed the knife back at Korlam, not caring how he was going to catch it. To his credit, he plucked the knife out of the air with ease, albeit slightly less gracefully than Galt would have. It didn't matter, Galt had moved past him as he caught it, using it as a distraction to make it into the planner room. As he closed the door behind him, he locked it with the three anti-pick locks in place, and spun to lean on the door to survey his 'partner.'

"Ah," he said, recognizing the girl's face from vague recollections, having never pinpointed her face with the name Kashvi. He reached into his black jacket and pulled out their orders. He had tried to read through them earlier, but they required a magical activation key from this very room, which would then unlock the witchsand and it's movements. He offered her the papers since she was just beside the table. "Ready for a bit of fun?"

Kashvi sized up the newcomer. There were alot of reasons why the guild might tap too particular thieves for a job. Not all of them were good. This one might be a minder, an enforcer, or just a rube plucked off the street. Fortunately The last did not seem to be true. Kashvi had a knack for guaging people, the skill had carried her to great heights in her distant homeland, heights from which she had crashed down from before fleeing to the west. He looked vaugley familiar, but that wasnt too strange. Members of the same guilds tended to visit the same places. Taverns, alchemists, fences, all tended to have an afilliation with the guild that controlled the nearby streets, even if they weren't paying protection, which most of them were.

"So long as it pays," Kashvi replied, her Indran accent clipping the words much more sharply than a local.

"'ats the spirit," a new voice interjected. Both thieves turned to see a heavy set man with sandy blonde hair pushed his way through the door like a giant shrugging his way out of a cave. He was muscular but the bulge of his biceps was accented by the fact that every inch of his arms was covered with glypic tattoos. Some of those tattoos could shatter rocks, others allow the wielder to leap a dozen feet in the air. It was all very expensive.

"Joe Shipwreck," Kashvi said, her voice certain.

"Aye somen' call me that," he replied with a grin that showed several golden teeth. Joe Shipwreck was a ledgend among the thieves of his cities for punching his way out of a prison hulk and sending it to the bottom of the bay. A hundred thieves had escaped that day, though another hundred or so had drowned. His exploits since were the stuff of legend. Kashvi had never met him, nor met anyone who claimed too outside of drunken boasting. Word had it he was high up in the Guild, even among the big three. One of the Thirty Three Worthy Gentlemen.

"I got a littl' job for ya," he said with a spreading grin.

Galt sobered up, recognizing the man from a guild meeting four years previously. Even back then, his reputation had preceded him.

Both thieves leaned on the table, intent to listen to the veteran.

"This job has a time limit." He said crypticly. "A one day time limit. You see, one of our camels got sent to gaol, or taken to where he thought was gaol before he was dumped right here. He was taken care of, but before that he told us about why he was arrested." Shipwreck said, shrugging like it mattered little. Galt hid a grimace. Camels in Nox-Khalas were what they called 'mules' in the northern cities. People who found small time employment at thieves guilds and were essentially contractor couriers; usually lowlifes or men in debt. The open secret was that while a camel or mule believed otherwise, everyone knew they were never meant to make it into the guild, and that they would all eventually be killed for knowing even the slightest information on where the guild liked some of its goods dropped of, or knowing certain clients. In the last twenty years, Galt only knew of three camels out of tens of thousands that were deemed worthy of being allowed into an organization. The rest became corpses, just like his father.

"Seems he apparently stumbled on something the Count Dimascu out of Movgod didn't want known. Poor fool didn't even find out what it was, but just being close enough to the clerk's office was enough, so we did a little digging and found out about some papers that had been delivered just the other day, lord's eyes only. Papers you're going to get for us." Joe concluded.

With a wave of his hand, the witchsand shifted in its entirety, erecting itself into the layout of a large fortified manor. Galt didn't know if he recognized the place, but no doubt it would be easy to find if he was right on his guess of location. He was intensely jealous around guilders that could perform magic. He could make a loaded wand work sure enough, but even the lightest dwemor was a bit too much for him, no matter how much he liked trying. He believed he made a pen float once, if that counted.

"A snatch and grab in the Old City?" Galt asked professionally.

"That's right boy," Joe smiled. "You've been here longer than most at your rank, so I know you know where to look. And that might make you think you're better than this one-" He said, indicating Kashvi. "-But you're not. You were born here, boy. But she was chosen, and that's no small thing. You've both been chosen for this because you're good at what you do, and you haven't started a rivalry yet. Do us a favor and don't start any petty vendettas until you're off the assignment. So, any questions, ladies?"

"What's it worth?" Kashvi asked as she watched the witch sand. She lifted her hand and the view of the manor twisted and reformed at a greater remove. The Count was clearly no fool having kept some considerable areas clear between his manor and the teeming streets of the city. The spell wasn't a reproduction of reality per se, rather it was an abstraction of Shipwreck's understanding of it. That understanding was considerablely greater than Kashvi's own. There were several routes she could see that might allow access, with greater or lesser degrees of risk. Shipwreck snorted.

"That is the right question, this month and next months dues, plus a years access to the Kitchens." The Kitchens were not, as they might first sound, eateries or places of food preparation. Rather they were a series of alchemy labs, fabrication shops, forges and other manufactories that the guild maintained to equip its members. In theory any thief above a certain rank could rent access. Most new members tried it out once, only to learn that the cost usually prohibited what you could make back. A skilled artisan might use the tools to his or her advantage tough, even sell on what they made.

"Ok, body count?" she asked. Joe sucked in a breath, not in shock, but in consideration.

"Well we don't want a blood bath, but we don't want to avoid killing so bad we dont want the job done," the elder thief replied. Kashvi frowned at the equivocal answer. She had killed, more than once, but she wasn't a footpad or an assassin.

"Well I don't have other questions, need to see the ground before I can make a proper ... before we can make a proper assessment though," she continued, casting an eye across at her new partner. Working with others mitigated some risks and multiplied others. Still this seemed like it was more than a one man job.

They had agreed to meet on the adjoining building away from the guildhouse twenty minutes later to discuss their plans for the job. Galt had chosen that time to gather every item and tool he would need to bring with him. They might have the time to pull the job off tonight, but likely not. Surveillance was imperative, so they could at least scope the place out; checking patrol movements, side doors, the manner of brick or stone the manor consisted of.

He got to the roof early, his lower face swathed in dark cloth to match the rest of him. He set his pack down, taking out the parts to his collapseable crossbow, along with twenty bolts. Six normal broadheads for lethal use, and fourteen 'Stone Biter' bolts, specifically designed to peirce soft stone like brick or sandstone. Next to it was three climbing daggers, a length of sharkskin, some civilian clothes along with a false sling for disguise and weapon concealment, something he would likely use tonight, a housebreaker's harness, catstink, a glass cutter, limewood strips, and two ordinary daggers.

There was more, of course, but he wasn't going to insult her by providing lockpicks, oil, or acid to her. She would have all of that, and if she didn't, she was the type not to need it. Either way it was redundant.

He decided to wait for her, overlooking the city and taking out a pipe to light. Galt lowered his mask, his face the purest representation of cunning wiles. The knave lit his pipe, expelling the flame instantly and inhaling the tobacco. He manuevered his throat subtly, exhaling a smoke ring into the moonlit night air just before he began to softly sing.

A Caelman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair,
And one could tell by the way he walked that he'd drunk more than his share,
He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet,
Then he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street,

Ring-ding diddle-diddle-addie-oh ring die-diddly I oh-ho!
He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street

Around that time two young and lovely girls just happened by
And one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye
See yon sleeping Caelman both strong and handsome built
I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt

Ring-ding diddle-diddle-addie-oh ring die-diddly I oh-ho!
I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt-

It was a bawdy, suggestive song. The rest told the tale of the women tying a bow around the man's cock to show they had seen it, and he wakes up and asks his 'lad' what he won first prize for. Truth be told, Galt had a lovely singing voice. The song almost lost its raunchiness the way he softly performed into the darkness.

"It is a shame that we cannot rely on the good Count to hire you as a minstrel," Kashvi remarked as she emerged from the darkness.

"Come," she gestured and took off at a run, vaulting up onto the edge of the roof and launching herself across the gap to the next roof, landing quietly on the glazed tiles, her soft shoes muffling her falls. Galt followed without comment, leaping across the gap with his lit pipe still trailing smoke in one hand. Well he was a thief and if he wasn't up to the job it was better she learn in advance. Without comment she took off again, leaping from roof to roof as they traversed the Thieves Highway through the darkness. This was the last night of the waning moon and there was only a dull glimmer of moonlight to suplement the torches and lanterns in the street below. That made the following night the dark of the moon, which was too the good as it provided the most darkness, but also a problem as it was the night when the common folk new to best guard their valuables.

It wasn't possible to reach Dimascu's manor via the Thieves Highway. By the time they reached the more opulent sections of the city the jump between roofs was growing too wide for easy leaps to cover, and the likelyhood of being spotted was increasing. Worst of all the manor itself was in the so called Green Quater. This was an area beyond the old walls in which nobles had constructed detached manor houses amidsts modest gardens and over groomed woods. The area was heavily patroled by the footmen of the various nobles who had houses there, and there was very little in the way of natural foot traffic. Passing the Garden Gate and into the Green Quater would have been obvious, even if they weren't both dressed rough, so Kashvi instead curved north to the Old North Tower. The old tower had been a cornerstone of the defences when the old walls had been the outermost ring of defences, but since the city had expanded and the new walls had gone up it had been left to crumble, a haunt for ravens and for the occasional couple who wanted a romantic view over the city at night. Fortunately there were no such romantics tonight.

The top of the tower did provide an impressive view of the city though, from its crumbling pinnacle they could see all the way to the Black Harbor and glimpse the Ducal Palace with its thousand glass windows. The streets below bustled even at night and the steady fog of a thousand fires waved in the cool night air. Kashvi reached into her cloak and produced a small glass spy tube. She extended it with a snap and trained it on the distant manor. Staring through it for several seconds. The tube had been enchanted so that it rendered the scene as though it were daylight, albiet a slightly greenish and unnatural looking daylight. Finally she pulled the tube from her eye and passed it to Galt.

"A difficult nut, as you people say."

Galt peered through the enchanted lens, sweeping his gaze across the walkways that circumvented the manor, reviewing any chokepoints where any men-at-arms might hem them in if they were discovered. He found four areas, two by the gardens and two by each 'wall' if they could be called such. There was a 'barrier' barely as tall as a man, mostly for show and to keep out the riff-raff and common loiterer. The foot traffic did little to ease his mind as well, though it would not be too difficult to make it through the crowd. Their exit was another matter.

"Agreed," He said, doing his best to count every guardsmen he could see within twenty meters of the manor. So far there were thirty two in all, though doubtless some of them weren't in the particular employ of this Count Dimascu, but they had to be cautious and expect the worst. Thieves often had the reputation of holding a devil-may-care attitude, and while it was true in most cases, that did not mean they were not thorough, prepared, and above all careful. What was the point of paying dues if you weren't alive to enjoy your extra bit of freedom?

He moved the spy glass to the windows, viewing a well furnished hall with expensive ferns. The desk was being dusted by maid. The next hall was empty, save for a great painting of who had to be Count Dimascu in stately garb; wherever someone looked, the eyes seemed to follow like any painting facing forward.

"I say we go in tomorrow night an hour after sunset." He said, wholly aware at how gung-ho and insane the idea sounded. Any thief would wait until at least midnight, when the guards were the only ones awake within the grounds. He didn't look at her, but he still explained his reasoning just in case. "If we can get in there, grab it, and leave without being seen, then they'll be less likely to raise an alarm. Files the lord would have seen earlier that day suddenly missing would seem more like he simply misplaced them, and any door we leave open or footsteps heard could be attributed to any number of servants. Plus, even if a thief is suspected, they'll suspect amateurs rather than guild-rats."

He placed the lens back in her hands, raising his brows to see what she thought.

Kashvi watched the manor for several long minutes without speaking. Dark eyes cataloging every detail. The place was a fortress and no mistake. The cleared ground around the manor making any kind of approach almost impossible. Given enough time it might have been possible to have themselves smuggled in, but Joe Shipwreck had made it clear that time was not a luxury they enjoyed. An idea kindled in Kashvi's mind and it brought a low grin to her face, her teeth flashing in the moonlight.

"If you can get us out Mr Galt, I think I have a way in..."

_______________________

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Galt said the following evening as the two thieves reconvened at the old watchtower. Kashvi passed the second bundle to Galt even as she slipped her arms into the leather loops that held the bamboo to her arms.

"Is this even safe?" he demanded as Kashvi pulled the leather straps tight. She was dressed in her working clothes, dark black leathers festooned with pouches and equipment. All of the pouches had been tied securely as had the sheath which held her various blades. The preperations for this had taken her most of the day, but she was confident that they would be sufficient.

"It's not very safe," she admitted. She was pretty confident they would be sufficient. Without waiting for further discussion she leaped off the tower. Wind rushed past Kashvi as she plunged downwards, but before a few heartbeats had passed she spread her arms. There was a jarring shock as the thin membranes of fabric which stretched from the bamboo to her belt opened and caught the wind. She soared upwards over the darkened city like a bat, her smile widening she flew through the night sky. Ordinarily the fabric would never have taken her weight, but she had spent hours meticulously inking them with arcane glyphs designed to slow a fall. It wasn't true flight, that would be magic on an order much higher than Kashvi could manage, but the effect was impressive none the less. She leaned forward controlling the glide as she angled herself towards the distant manor, the sound of rushing wind loud in her ears. The glyphs were already starting to burn away, their potency rapidly being expended. She hoped that Galt would be able to manage the feat, but it wasn't as though she had time or they money to let them practice. The manicured woods rushed past below her and the manor loomed up, its spires and steeples seeming to grow up out of the ground. At the last moment she pulled her arms back, flaring herself up to slow her approach. It had to be fast, because there was no concealment other than darkness and the tendency of men on guard not to look up at the sky, but darkness was usually all the concealment she needed. She hit the roof harder than she had intended, the glyphs failing at the last moment and driving her knees against the slate. She skidded over the tiles and only just managed to snag a weather vein to prevent herself from plummeting down into the courtyard, a fall which would have broken bones and possibly her neck, an embarrassing situation for the few moments it would take for a guard to deliver the coup degas. No matter she was down. She unhooked the bamboo splints and hung them from the weather vein, turning to see how Galt was handling the unorthodox approach.

"This crazy..." He began, watching her figure shrink into the night sky until he saw her drop onto the top of the manor. He couldn't see if she landed safely, but he imagined she had. She had a reputation for survival, which he could appreciate. He too often lived by the skin of his teeth. He prayed to the great raven to keep him alive, as he looped his arms around the straps and backed up. He didn't remember the run or the leap, but he would never forget the flight.

His stomach lurched as he fell into the thin air, but the membranes caught the wind and what seemed like a fatal fall was reversed into a smooth glide. Galt had certainly never attempting something like this before, he had balanced enough in his life to align his weight and spread his arms to grab just the right currents. After nearly getting snagged on a flagpole, he cleared the top of the manor and dropped down. He had a worse experience in flight, but he looked to have landed a bit easier. Of course, as he landed in front of Kashvi, he made a show of his landing to show off, hoping she hadn't seen him nearly die coming in.

"Nice contraption. I'm glad it's not Guild Issue, though." He joked with a smirk. "Thieves falling from the sky isn't conspicuous in most circumstances."

Glancing around, there was an arch with a tinted window about twelve paces away. He motioned for Kashvi to follow him to it, creeping over beside the window. He made sure every movement was as quiet as the padding of a mouse, so he felt a bit safer taking a peek into the window. Only the barest hint of light showed through the glass, and with his good eyes he saw two figures in a bed, entwined in one another. He couldn't see who it was, or if they were asleep, but a single candle in the room was lit. This was certainly the easiest way in, but he did have his glass cutter. It was no trouble swinging down to a lower window by the creases in the stone and silently slicing his way in.

"What do you think?" He mouthed to Kashvi.

Kashvi hung upside down from the line, gripping the knotted rope with her thighs. The street below was filled with crowds in a state of near riot. A naked woman giggled as she tossed handfuls of flowers at a group of drunken youths purusing her with good hearted cheers. The streets were hung with blazing paper lanterns in bright colors that obscured Kashvi's position by ruining the night vision of those below. The Festival of Light was a three day revel that marked the beginning of a new year. By custom no writs of theft were to be issued by the Nightmaster during the festival, which meant if she were to be discovered the Guild would take a dim view of her exploit. A thief who stole without a writ was liable to be whipped or worse, but although the Festival prohibited working, it didn't excuse one from Guild dues.

"Gishra's teeth," Kashvi muttered as she wiggled the thin metal probe between the window panes. She was glad she had bound her hair back into a tight bun, though the weight of it pulled down on her scalp already flushed from pooling blood. The pick contacted something inside and Kashvi worked it around, slowly lifting the latch till she felt it click free. Carefully, she eased open the window and twisted herself in, feeling the rush of blood to her feet as she touched down. She pulled the window closed behind her and then traced one of the tattoos on her forearm. The dark interior of the building was suddenly lit with sourcless light. The magical light was in her mind rather than a physical luminance, a charm of dark vision that would last for twenty turns of the glass. The office of Galdor the Gemseller was a far cry from the oppulent show room down below, but it also lacked the elaborate wards which protected the glittering jewelery. Kashvi took out a black silk bag and began to loot the place, slipping handfuls of uncut gems into the pouch. With any luck these would cover her dues for the next two months. Maybe Galt would do well enough that they would both be off the hook for a few weeks.

A sudden creak made Kashvi freeze. Someone was moving about out in the hallway. Lantern light spilled from beneath the doorway as someone passed outside. The light faded as the night watchman passed by, too lazy to check a room he knew was safe. Breathing a sigh of relief she quickly finished her looting and tied the sack to her belt. Time to go. She slipped back out the window and climbed her line, jumping to the next roof, she pulled a slate from the ceiling and tossed it through the window with a crash before vanishing over the rooftops.

______________________

Kashvi playful pushed away one of the cavorting youths as she made her way through the cowd. Her black working clothes had been turned inside out to reveal the burgandy and gold street clothes she had stiched inside. Her braids had been unbound and allowed to hang down, looking for all the world like a prosperous young merchants daughter, or perhpas a minor palace functionary. She turned onto Feather Alley, heading for tavern which concealed the entry to the Seven Raven's guild house. It was still a few hours shy of dawn, but she wanted to get something to eat and find a warm bed before the sun came up. Suddenly, she became aware of an unusual number of people in the alley. They weren't dressed in the bright colors of the Festival, instead they wore gray over leather and chain. They looked like heavies, the muscle of the thieves guilds, but they weren't Seven Raven's muscle. Something was wrong. Her eyes cut to the daw of the Daybreak tavern. The Doormen were gone, replaced by gray clad thugs. Fear knotted in her gut. Something was very wrong. She turned to find a gray cloak standing behind her with an evil look in his eye and a compact crossbow leveled at her chest.

"Goodbye Raven," he chuckled and began to squeezed the trigger. The brick wall beside the man exploded outwards in a shower of dust and debris. Joe Shipwreck smashed his way through the wall, arcane sigils glowing. Kashvi knocked aside the bow and slapped the trigger mechanism, sending the bolt thudding into the guts of another of the gray clad attackers. Chaos reigned all around.

"Up Ravens!" Joe Shipwreck bellowed in a voice that rattled the window pains. Screams and howls filled the alley as the gray clad attackers surged into the guild house. Kashvi heard the sound of a lantern smashing and the whumph of exploding oil. One of the whores at the end of the alley leaped to her feet.

"Up Ravens!" she shouted a moment before several swords struck her down. Kashvi pulled the bag of gems from her belt and smashed it into the face of one of the heavies, then whipped her short blade from its sheath and gutted another.

"Scarper!" Joe Shipwreck shouted and drove a fist into the wall, arcane tattoos flashing bright as his great fist smashed the stone to powder. He dived through, followed by Kashvi who deflected two swords, one with her blade and the other with her sack of gems. They were in the back of the wineshop on Geth street, the clientelle already scattering as an enraged and bloody Joe Shipwreck bolted full speed through the shop. Kashvi rushed after him, lifting her hands to blast bright light into the eyes of her pursuers. A moment later they were out on the street and fleeing into the crowd.

"That's criminal," Galt said, apparently unable or unwilling to see the irony in the statement. He snatched back the golden chain of the amulet, running the attractive noose through his fingers, wounding it around his palm. The fence, a tall man by the name of Warde, shook his wild head of hair in a mixture of consternation and resignation. The gall on this man had Galt fuming. He should have realized a fence bereft of the guild was a bad idea, but Aldahan had told him he might fetch a better price in more competitive markets.

"Only if the jewel is real, and it's not." Warde replied.

They were in a small den, almost a cubby within a cantina down the street from the Daybreak tavern. The only barrier between them and a raucous crowd was a small curtain. The wooden desk between them was old and in disrepair. Galt was afraid to put his weight on it lest it collapse quicker than his patience. The man was good. He hid his smile well, the glint in his eyes was muted, and he even kept his arms crossed. But Galt knew he was trying to be played.

"It is real, and you'll give me a good price for it. Ten thousand crowns or I leave." Galt warned.

"I have seen gem after gem in my time, boy, and that's not a real one." Warde assured him derisively. "What makes you so sure it is?"

"Fake gems are not guarded by six armed men behind a locked vault." Galt quipped.

"Could have been a ruse; a distraction." Warde reasoned. Galt bet if he asked Warde to explain why it was fake, he would say he need not explain such trivial things to him.

"I'm the one who makes distractions, I do not fall for them." The thief reiterated.

"If that's true, then how come you've fallen for the Guild's scheme to distract you with petty theft rather than help you ascend to lieutenant?" Warde said, cutting Galt to the quick. It was a misleading statement, of course. Galt knew full well what the guild was doing, but he had little choice but to fight the decisions through less direct means. But it was still enough to have Galt put the amulet back in his pocket and turn.

"Thanks Warde, you were a great help. May your business be honest." He said by way of a farewell, which was as insulting as one could get in their life. Galt pulled the curtain back and shouldered past a drunken patron stumbling his way back to his table. A woman carrying a tray high up above her shoulder turned suddenly, Galt leaning backwards even as his feet continued forward to duck under the iron tray and the half a dozen drinks atop it. Slinking through the crowd, he stepped out into the slowly lightening street, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. He heard a distant yell, and a woman's scream. A few heads turned and a handful of people were running across the street.

He blinked, and lithe woman nearly leaped into him. On instinct, Galt ducked and rolled as the woman flipped over him, both landing in a steady crouch, the dust on the street puffing from the sudden scrape of their feet. Once again, he was impressed with her acrobatic skills.

"You!" Kashvi exclaimed, her cheeks reddened from some unknown physical stress.

"Kash?" He asked aloud. He vaguely recalled she had told him not to use that name, but he was too surprised to really think on that at the moment. "What in the hells are you doing?"

“Galt?” Kashvi breathed, not knowing whether to thank Vishna or curse Halleth. Since the affair at the manor they had worked together on a few of the higher risk jobs that they had needed to keep their dues paid.
“What is going…” Galt began before a dozen gray cloaked thugs rounded the corner.
“We are!” Kashvi shouted. Plucking a throw tube from her sleeve and firing it at the on rushing thugs. The tube made a high pitched note as it launched a four inch metal spike into the chest of one of the gray cloaks. The man squealed and clawed at his stomach as he went down under the boots of is fellows.
“It’s Lucky Galt” one of the thugs cried with obvious relish. Kashvi cursed inwardly, wondering what card game or contest of affection Galt had cheated the man at. In any case, it was obvious he recognised him as a member of the seven ravens.

An invisible hand shoved Galt into motion with the force a kicking horse as Joe Shipwreck, clad in an unbelievably expensive invisibility spell, shoved the thief into motion. Kashvi grabbed the edge of a street vendors cart and pulled it over with a shout. Cheap jewelry fell in a clatter, causing passers by to dart in to grab at it, further tangling the pursuit.

“Go!” Kashvi shouted unnecessarily, vaulting over a crippled beggar who had been magically restored to mobility by the prospect of a quick score. Galt needed no further encouragement, taking off as fast as his legs could carry him. They bolted out of the alley and onto the Boulevard of Cherries. A crowd was lining both sides of the street to watch a parade of lantern twirling priestesses drawn up in ranks along floats depicting the passing of the seasons in abstract mythological design. Each float was drawn by a pair of white ponies, their manes braided with colorful ribbons.

“Going through,” Joe Shipweck growled and Kashvi fell in behind the sound of her voice. The crowd infront of her scattered as though struck by a colossal bowling ball. Screams rippled out as she ran through the gap, jumping up onto one of the floats. A trio of handbow bolts peppered he paper mache rendition of Yande, Goddess of the Sea with dull crumps. Apparently her earlier attack had reminded the thugs of their own ranged weapons. Kashvi rolled over an enormous clam shell and off the the other side of the float, momentarily shielded from further bolts. A guardsman who had been watching the parade a grab for her. Kashvi struck him open palmed, breaking his thumb the way her instructors in distant Hindia had taught her, then, for good measure, she drove her knee into the mans crotch the way Galt had taught her. A second watchman pulled his batton free from his belt and then collapsed in a limp heap as Galt cracked him across the side of the head with a koch. Attacking the watch meant a steep fine under normal circumstances but Kashvi was willing to hope that today might be an exception.
“Where are we going?” Galt demanded as they burst through he crowd and down another long alley. This one was given over to food vendors and was thick with the smells of roasting meat and hot oil. Hanging pots clanged with handbow bolts as the pursuing thugs cleared the crowd.

“Canal!” Kashvi shouted as she hurdled a rice sellers cart. Galt leaped up onto one of the food counters, ignoring the curses of a cook in a grease stained smock. His foot landed on the edge of a cauldron full of hot oil, upending it in a glistening sizzling spray. At first Kashvi thought he had lost his footing, but he tumbled past and seized a lantern, casting it against the wall of the alley. The glass cover shattered and the oil ignited with a dull whumph sending men and women screaming in all directions. A moment later they emerged from the alley on the edge of a canal. Joe Shipwreck, whose concealment spell had now burned out made a frantic gesture at one of gondola’s which floated a few feet from the paved edge. Kashvi and Galt leaped into it, startingly the pilot who had been dozing under a sheet of canvas awake.

“You can’t…” he began and then Joe leaped aboard, connecting hard with the gunnel, using his momentum to send the little craft skittering out into the canal.

“Paddle you beautiful bastards!” he shouted, grabbing the pilots long pole from his hands and shoving them off down river as fast as could be managed.

Galt hit the boat with an unsteady roll, jarred from the wriggling craft. He reformed into a crouch with the grace of an experienced thief, and he lifted up his left pants-leg to retrieve his collapsable short bow. Folded in half, the brace in the middle made it slightly weaker than your average composite bow, and it could barely be said to harm anyone wearing something thicker than a few layers of clothing. However the fold-bow was a useful weapon any good archer in the guild did well to buy. An arrow hitting any vitals was still potentially deadly. He reached into a small slide sequestered within the fold of his vest and retrieved an arrow.

With a deft movement, he loosed. His arrow caught one of the pursuers in the neck, and Galt fancied he could hear the gurgle from his bloodied throat from that distance. He wasn't used to killing, but somehow he felt less poor about it when he did it to someone who was looking to do the same to him. The man tumbled into the river as his compatriots decided to scramble for cover rather than chase them along the side of the canal, at least for the moment.

"Galt, row!" Kashvi snapped.

"Uh, right." Galt dropped the fold-bow and grabbed a paddle. He doubted the pilot cared, having leaped into the canal just after the dead man flopped into the drink.

The small craft slipped into another small canal, sliding under a bridge where the three found a couple of beggars to switch places with them with some hard looks and flashing a few coppers. It was barely half a minute before a different trio rowed out into the open again while Galt, Kashvi, and Joe huddled under the bridge next to a small iron grate that connected to the sewer. Galt held a hand out to keep his two companions there as he peered out, careful not to expose any of himself in the sunlight. At first glance all he saw were a gaggle of dandies and fops cajoling a handsome woman and a couple walking past for a day about town. He caught a glance at a few street toughs engaged in cards by another gondola, unaffiliated no doubt. But his keen gaze caught eyes looking his way just past them, a flash of red below them before they disappeared.

"We need to move," He said urgently. "We got Dogs of Disfavor on our tail now, too."

"Halleth," Kashvi sighed.

Galt groaned, dropping down next to the iron grate, guessing it couldn't be helped. He had spent months and months climbing out of debt and bartering for the best toys in the business, but here he was using it all up in one afternoon. He fished out a small vial from his pocket and plucked the top off, carefully bobbing his finger atop the bottle so two, clear liquid drops fell on the hinges of the iron. "So what trouble did you get me into?" Galt asked. Immediately the material began to sizzle and corrode, dissolving before his eyes. He firmly put the top back on and slid it into his pocket again.

"What did I do!?" Kashvi asked incredulously, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Someone is hitting our whole guild, you pennyweighter!"

Galt was up in a flash, a finger almost pressed into her nose. "That was one time!" He said, then realized they were still standing there. "Come on, help me pull this grate off. If we take the sewers we can at least get away from here before we're swarmed."

With the aid of the magical unguent the grate came away. They dropped into he shaft below where Galt paused for a moment to wipe away the fluid. Instantly the heavy grate was frozen in place once more. No one who lived he life of a thief was a strange to sewers and their stinks but even so Kashvi pulled her scarf up over her face. Fortunately Joe Shipwreck seemed to have a destination in mind, and they moved up hill until the flow of waste water slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Joe paused and placed his hand on a nondescript stone and a section of the wall slid back with a grind of stone on stone. The passed through and Joe repeated the motion, sealing the false wall as though it had never been.

“I love what you have done with the place,” Galt quipped facetiously. They were in an ancient burial vault. Row after row of coffins stretched along a wall of ancient masonry. Despite its grim purpose the space was oddly homey. Niche which had once held grinning skulls had been filled with wine bottles filled with glow sand. Wooden planks had been laid across the top of sarcophagi t create make shift beds and work benches. A half dozen thieves, mostly looking tired and worse for wear, watched the door with weapons in hand.

“Your alive then, and you brought some strays,” a handsome man with a knife scar across his lower jaw observed. Captain Sharp as he was called was the writman of the guild. The thief responsible for writing the name of a victim on a pottery shard before the order to kill him was enforceable. Either the other guilds had broken a lot of pots, or the sanctity of his office had deceased considerably.

“There might be more at the other bolt holes Sharp,” Joe said wearily. “but its messy enough out there and that’s the gods truth.”

“Every guild in the city is out for blood it seems,” Sharp agreed.

“But now we got some people maybe we should start figuring some stuff out,” Joe said, taking a seat and accepting a mug of what smelled like ale.

“Im sure my fine young friends here can be of assistance,” Joe declared. Kashvi folded her arms.

“Maybe not,” she replied causing Joe and sharps eyebrows to raise in curiously identical expressions.

“Seems to me the Seven Ravens might be finished,” she replied, hooking her thumbs around he knives in her belt. Joe Shipwreck rumbled a good natured laugh.

“And you think, seein’ you owe us a bunch of coin, this might be a good time to explore your options? Kind of get out on the ground floor? That about the size of it?” the Nightmaster asked.

“That’s exactly the size of it,” Kashvi replied. Sharp had moved slightly to the side of Joe, ready to draw down should he situation require.

“Well you can rest assured that however planned this took the Bakery first, so whoever ends up on top here will come looking for the money eventually, and if it is us… well wed have to take it personally. Besides where are you going to go?”

“Back to Kush, you’d never find me there,” Kashvi declared defiantly.

“Show me a Kushite who cant be bough for the price of a tup’ny shit and I’ll faint dead away, and besides you’d be strangled with a golden cord within a week through the passes. What’s say you do the right thing and Old Joe will see to it that when this is over we do something about your debt eh?”