Chapter 80: Thieves

Chapter 80 -080: Thieves

The mornings were cold enough to see one’s breath, but by noon, the cold carried with it a faint warmth.

Outside, the street was still wet where the night’s frost had begun to melt, and the few people about walked with their collars raised and their hands tucked away.

The tavern still had the same pungent odour: sour ale, beer, and wet stone, with a touch of sweat and iron from the adventurers, all of it hanging heavily in the air.

Mikael pushed the door open and stepped in, a bit grateful for the warmth it provided against the cold outside. The sun was high, but its light was dim, allowing the chilly wind to play.

As usual, he stood out like a sore thumb in that part of the city.

He was draped in a high-collared black coat tailored close to his body, its surface a deep shade of black, while black boots and trousers completed the outfit. And because of the cold, the human family he stayed with had offered him a pair of gloves made from black fleece, old but functional. These further accentuated his pure white hair, ever clean against the grime around him, and the pale skin that did not even flush red despite the cold.

Heads turned as he crossed the floor, then turned away again, the way heads do when they have decided a thing is not worth the trouble. Over the months since he had arrived here, he had learned that the beauty he had changed himself into after arriving was a kind of inconvenience in itself, no matter how much it was appreciated.

He headed straight for the bar, where the usual plump lady appeared almost relieved to see him.

“A good sight to see ya face again, boy,” the woman greeted him. “Aye, ya look so thin, too. How ’bout a free meal, eh? On the house.”

She turned towards the kitchen and shouted an order to her chef, which apparently startled whoever it was, because the reply came in the form of pots falling with a series of thumps and clangs.

The woman smiled before turning to Mikael again.

“Ya letter bore fruit. Looks like them finally sent ya some coins. I’ma go get it,” she said, and tried to leave.

“Hold that thought. I need something to drink first.”

“Aye.”

She went off towards the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and Mikael let the warmth of the room settle into his shoulders for a moment.

Mikael turned to face the place, which was slowly filling up with people returning from their jobs. Boots scraped, mugs knocked against tables, and the noise rose by degrees.

Finding the relics from the Old Gods’ Domain was the most important thing he had to do, much more important than the terms of his pact with the lad, Adrian. He had confirmed that they all existed here in this world when he had reconnected with the Cosmic Gate and sent out a pulse of energy around the world. He had received replies, return signals. But where they were, or what form they might have taken, he had not the slightest idea.

Adrian’s memories were pretty much useless. The lad was local, too local for the scale of what Mikael was planning. His own memories came in pieces, never complete and frayed at the edges.

He needed someone who could find things that didn’t want to be found.

A soldier could not do it. A scholar could not do it. They looked for things that were meant to be found, and the relics lay scattered across a world of more than ten billion inhabitants, with no one to say where.

The woman arrived with a special glass cup of some exotic-looking drink, which Mikael did not seem to pay any particular heed to.

If there was one thing he had learned over these months from his studies, it was that work of this kind was best carried out by the caste of society called criminals, who apparently committed acts deemed illegal by many moral codes and laws. They knew the quiet roads of a city, and they knew what was worth the risk of taking.

He studied the room: who moved with purpose, who was restless, who counted coins too cautiously to be the kind of criminal he needed. None of them fit. A cutpurse here, a smuggler’s runner there, nothing that could be trusted with the scale of what he wanted found.

A disappointing fact was that most of the humans here were at the Master ranks. That said, I’d like it if they were ranked a bit higher, Mikael thought as he took a sip.

The drink had the rich scent of rose and tasted like milk with a few different fruits. It was lightly warm, enough to heat up his muscles, and he pretended not to notice the individual who came to sit beside him.

“Looking for someone, kid?” the man asked in a voice that was very familiar. “Ale!”

“I am. Does it mean anything to you?”

“On the contrary, kid. Means nothing to me.”

The ale arrived in a large cup, and the man took a heavy swig.

“I am Konja. Nice meeting you again, was it…?” He brought his cup closer for a cheer.

“Mikael.”

This was the human from the other day, the one Mikael felt was on par with Duke Allen: a Sage-rank individual. There was no need to make an enemy of him, but there was also no need to make him an ally just yet.

“I’m looking for a thief. The best there is in the trade. Any recommendation, Mr. Sage-rank? If you’re not with the Empire’s officials, that is.”

“Oh, very perceptive, are we?” the man asked, surprised. He had masked his aura and would not have thought the lad could tell from just a few moments of their encounter. A prodigy?

“But information will cost you, Mikael.”

“What doesn’t?” Mikael asked, setting down his glass. The food had been brought and was waiting behind it, so he inclined his head in slight appreciation towards the madam.

“I want someone who’s good, the best. Not willing. Willing is cheap.”

“The best costs more, lad.”

“Exactly. Maybe that’s why they’re the best.”

Konja named a price, low enough to test him. To his surprise, Mikael agreed.

It was a small cost for something that mattered a great deal. Mikael had no intention of arguing over coins when his time was the thing running thin.

However, the deal Mikael brokered was that his payment would come afterwards, once he was sure of the information. That wasn’t how things were usually done here, but for some reason, Konja found it easy to believe the lad.

“Her name’s Kadre. Works out of this district, near the old bread factory up north of the city. You won’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found, though, so there’s no need to try being clever about it.”

“A dare, Konja?” Mikael cast him a sideways glance.

“Fact, kid. There’s an old, deserted building just ahead of here, very hard not to notice. There’s a boy who stays on the underground level. Leave word with him. He’ll get it to her if she’s interested. If she’s not, you won’t hear from anyone, and I assure you, asking twice is a good way to stop being able to ask anything at all.”

Mikael weighed the words. A thief who could not be found, a boy who kept her door, and a warning that was less a threat than a courtesy. It was how a careful trade protected itself, and he found that he respected it. Not that he wouldn’t be able to find the thief if he really wanted to.

Silence settled between the duo.

Around them, the tavern carried on, loud and indifferent, and nobody looked their way.

“It would seem we are greatly underestimated, wouldn’t we?” Mikael asked no one in particular before turning to dig into his meal. He had become numb to just how hungry he was. It was all he could do to prevent tears from flowing.

A strange bodily function, he thought. Shedding tears from eating.

He wiped them away with the back of a black glove and kept eating. The food was plain and hot, and it was the best thing he had put in his mouth in this mortal form. He did not stop until the plate was clean.

In reply to his rhetorical question, Konja chuckled, gulped down the last of his ale, and went off, saying he had a job.

—

The old building was far too conspicuous, standing in the midst of occupied homes and shops.

The boy underground looked much younger than Mikael had expected. What Adrian’s memories, as well as his own experience, told him was that the boy was eleven years old at most. But the chap was sharp-eyed, probably taught early that softness was an easy road to dying young.

The boy watched him descend without a word, one hand never far from whatever he kept beneath his rags. Nobody had taught him manners, but somebody had taught him caution.

Mikael crouched and said a name and a number: the boy’s price.

A terrifying glimpse into his soul with the Abysmal Gaze, which would probably leave the boy traumatised, along with an extra gold coin, was sure to get the message across. After that, he simply left.

He walked back through the streets with his collar raised against the wind, turning the name over in his mind. Kadre. A thief who could not be found unless she wished to be found.

It was probably the kind of person he needed, and exactly the kind of person who would not come cheaply.

He did not expect an answer that same day.

He got it, however.

See y’all tomorrow.

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