From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison)
Subject: [P8] Pieces of Eight 3: Thief
Organization: Intel Corp., Hillsboro, Oregon
Date: Fri, 11 Dec 1992 22:54:35 GMT


"This will NEVER do, dahling.  You MUST do better.  You KNOW my requirements."
The backlit, shadow silhouette of a woman moved langourously in front of the
translucent screen.  She began to pace, slowly, turning to admire the fine
detail of a pearl inlay on the screen.  She raised a long-stemmed, fine-handled
pipe to her lips, touched a coal from the brazier to the delicate bowl, drew
a deep, voluptuous breath.  An aromatic puff of incense and drug commingled,
drifted down the dias and washed over his head.  He flinched.

"I tried, but it's just not possible to get this stuff right now.  Someone
just blew away the warehouse, turned it all into sludge."  The weaselly man
shifted nervously, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard kneeler.

The woman reached one of the long, thin wands from the smoking brazier.
A character glowed, redly, at the tip, cooling slowly.  She stepped down
from the dias.  The weaselly man fidgeted, watching with mounting fear as
the glowing dot approached his face.

"I do not tolerate failure, dahling.  You will find me a supply of this
'joystix' drug.  I have a schedule to meet, you see."

The man nodded, swallowing, sweat running into his eyes.  The woman returned
the wand to the brazier.  "By tomorrow, I want the name of the man who runs
the 'joystix' business in this quaint little city.  If you get it, I will
spare your miserable life.  If you find me even one dose of the drug itself,
I will reward you ... amply.  If you fail, I will, ha, 'Play' with you."

The man bowed, and grovelled out of the chamber.

"Tiresome, but he has a cute tush."  The woman rang a crystalline bell.

"Yes, mistress,"  a short, nondescript man bowed to her.

"Wong, I would like you to expand my quarters here.  These tunnels are
pleasant enough, but I am not happy about those dwarf-creatures.  They
are too close, and they attract the crocodiles."  She put the pipe to
her lips and drew in a long breath of scented smoke.

"Also, I want the Parlor moved.  The Guards almost found it again.  We
would not like to have our profits reduced by a forced siezure of our
various ... medicinals."

Wong nodded.

"Have the pickpockets been working well?"

"Yes, mistress.  We have paid the tithe to the Benevolent Ones, and they
leave us alone.  The Alms-Takers-By-Night have also been successful, but
to a lesser degree.  The Merchants on the Hill use more sophisticated
defenses as their wealth increases."

"Have we lost anyone?"  She removed the silk gown, revealing a network
of thin leather straps caressing her alabaster skin.

"No, mistress, but one was close."

"Well, we are doing well enough where we are.  The merchants rule this
town, we mustn't over-reach, lest we be noticed."  She removed the leather
harnesses, and allowed the smoke from the brazier to wash across her body.
A drop of exotic perfume in four exotic locations, and she pulled on another
silk gown, this one more revealing, though it covered more skin.

"Mistress Ale?"  The servant was bowing apologetically.

"Yes, Wong?"

"That man you warned us about, has been spotted in the Low City.  We think
he has made the mistake you warned us he would make, and he seems to be
searching for you."

She frowned, vexed, and drew on a cloak made of exquisitely soft furs.

"He will find me eventually, I cannot prevent it.  Send one of the
cutpurses out, have him brought to my public offices."

She applied a hint of smoky brown to her eyes, a red the color of forbidden
fruit to her lips.   She stepped behind the screen, and up the concealed steps
to the secret entrance to her public life.

-------

Errol walked with a sort of nervous step that made one think that he was
being pursued by bill collectors and tax agents.  A carefully nondescript
man, he had a forgettable face and unremarkable presence, slightly pop-eyed
and right now, rather moist looking.

He checked the directions again, nervously.

This had to be it, this elegant-appearing, but unexpectedly small house, at the
border between the Low City and the Merchant's Hill.  It wasn't impressive, as
Merchant Hill went, even less as the noble houses went.  But impressive wasn't
important - anonymity was more the key for this kind of a place, a quiet and
pleasant environment for gambling, assignations, and ever-so-discreetly, for
the satisfaction of those illicit vices that one never admits to one's more
well-to-do, respectable friends.

He went to the door, tipping the hired muscle at the entrance as he went
inside.  The inside was filled with a sweet, slightly narcotic smoke, the
lighting subdued except over the gaming tables.  A crowd of maybe twenty
people was exclaiming as a red-haired merchant's wife bet her husband's
next three months' income on the green 0.  They had cheered her on as she
won, they were momentarily disappointed when she lost.  Behind her, a tall
black-haired woman in a skin-tight silk sheath and fur cloak, made the
polite sounds of sympathetic understanding, directing the woman to a quiet
corner where a helpful (and attractive) young man soothed her fears and
comforted her with the terms of the easy payment plan.

Errol sat at the small but well-stocked bar.  The bartender mixed him
a martini, dry, without the vegetable matter.  He sipped, trying to relax.
The black-haired woman draped herself on the chair beside him.

"What do you want, Errol?"  Her voice was cold - he felt the chill in
the air increase as he met her uncaring gaze.  "You're in trouble, right?"

"Yes, well, I inadvertantly came into some diplomatic dispatches, something
to do with illicit trade with Rameshan, and they took umbrage."

"What has this to do with me?"

"I thought you might be willing to hide me, for old times' sake."

"No, Errol.  I have not made my position in this town secure.  Until
I have my place secure, I stick my neck out for nobody, and especially
not for you."  She gestured towards the bouncer.

Errol smiled weakly, and swallowed the rest of his martini.

"At least, show me an escape route."

The bouncer arrived, a twin to the hired muscle at the front door.

"Show our friend here the exit we keep for our special customers."

The hired muscle led him to a secret stairway, leading down.  He gave a
shove, and the little man found himself in a dimly lit tunnel with a stone
wall behind him; he followed the light to a cul-de-sac.  A grating overhead
could be reached by the ladder set in the wall.  Errol smiled a brief, wry
grin - the ladder was, of course, a trap.  He looked around - a loose stone
in the wall of the tunnel revealed a pull cord.  He gave a tug, and the wall
opened to a dark, dingy sewer tunnel.  He lit the tiny flame-wand he used to
light his cigarettes, and followed the tunnel easily a mile, to an opening.
A beach, or something close enough, at the mouth of the river.

He stepped out.

The five immense Rameshander gentlemen waiting for him could have been the
sailors they pretended to be, but the identical scars branded into their
hairline marked them as secret police belonging to the Sha'n.  Errol stood,
resigned, keeping a careful eye on the very sharp curved swords they carried
in a ready manner.

A palanquin came up, was set on the ground.  A pampered-looking gentleman
with a delicately oiled and scented beard and many rings on his fingers was
helped down onto a continuous carpet placed by the palanquin-bearers.

"You've been a very naughty man.  I would like the letters back, please."

Errol stood still as one of the guards first patted him down, then reached
inside his outer robe, pulling out an ivory tube.  The well-oiled gentleman
gestured and the guard opened the tube, holding the contents out for his
master.  The man took the letters, then stepped aside as the guard, with an
expression of surprise, pitched over face-down into the mud.  This displeased
the gentleman, as did the count of the documents from the tube.  He stepped
over the convulsing body of the guard, which suddenly spasmed and lay still.

"There are letters missing.  Tell me where they are."

"Anything, just don't kill me."  Errol was beginning to whine, sweat was
beading on his brow.  He reflected on the nature of pain - he didn't enjoy
it at all.  The oily man gestured, and one of the guards kicked Errol in
the back of the knee, then pushed him into a groveling position.

"Vile cur of a spy, you have murdered my guard, with your unholy poison.
You will be killed - it is the proper end for an assassin.  But if you tell
me where you hid my letters, then I will kill you quickly."

"I left them in the Gray Dawn - the pleasure-house run by my sister."

"You are a liar.  Your sister is the one who told us where to find you,
and we have already searched her establishment.  Sink him into the bay."

The man returned to his palanquin, ignoring the sound of Errol's screams
as his guards began snapping bones preparatory to sending him on a short,
one-way boat trip.

The man watched with an aesthetic interest, enjoying the patterns of water
and sunlight and shadow as his guards rowed the short boat out to the
middle of the bay, and dropped a bundle of stones and netting over the
side.  The sunset was beginning to be very beautiful.  A lone sail skipped
across the water, vanishing and reappearing with the waves.  It went out of
sight behind a swell, and did not reappear.  The boat returned.

----

Errol felt the water close over his head.  He held his breath, trying to
hold out as long as possible - he might be able to wriggle free of his
bonds, but he wasn't sure he could swim well with arms and legs broken.

A surge of bubbles surrounded him.  He gasped, and found he could breathe.

"Errol.  What a surprise."

He opened his eyes - the water was clear, filled with thousands and millions
of tiny bubbles.  A shadowy figure swam in the water near him.

"Rafe?  Is that you?"

"Who else would bother to save someone like you in a place like this?"

"What are you (ow!) doing here, Rafe?"  he hit the bottom of the bay, feeling
the slimy coral crusted stone beneath him.

"I came here for the waters."

"But there's nothing special about the water here."

"I was misinformed."  A few moments' pause.  "What are YOU doing here?"

"I found these letters, just lying around, you understand, and it occurred to
me that there might be someone who would purchase them, say, someone with a
vested interest in their contents."  He reflected for a moment on how the
eunuch had struggled as he garrotted him in order to  'just pick up'  the
letters.  No reason to bring that up right now, though.

"You were reading other peoples' mail?  For shame."

"Well, how else am I going to know what their secrets are?"

"Errol, you see where this sort of thing gets you."

"Ha-ha, very funny, are you going to get me out of this?"

"I don't know.  What's in it for me?"

"I can tell you where the others are."

"I already know where the others are."

"Oh."  Errol paused for a moment, thinking.

"You despise me, don't you, Rafe?"

"I would if I gave it any thought."

"Well, I know something that the others don't know, that could help you.
If I tell you, will you get me out?"

"No deals.  I'll get you out, but on my own terms."

"All right, but please, this is beginning to hurt."

The dark figure moved towards him, and everything spun into blackness.

The nets and stones sagged to the bottom of the bay, empty.
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