Off the Books (short story)

### Synopsis

After leaving the Sunday Manor, Ali returns home to find a special visitor- the Medjay recruiter who initially 'discovered' and trained her. As it happens, he has a job for her.

### Author(s)

Vincent

**Off the Books** is a short story that takes place in the home of Thurku'ali, where her mentor Tarek Osman informs her that he has a secret mission for her.

## Text

All eyes were on Thurku’ali, trudging through the Commons Ward of Topaz, lugging her belongings along. She hated the attention; though she certainly had something of a local reputation before her exploits with the infamous Five Medjay, she rather enjoyed the lack of attention her bad rap used to merit her. These days, it seemed like nobody knew how to mind their goddamn business. The street was unusually silent, and she could feel the scores of eyes on her back, beholding her with a silent mix of awe and intimidation. Normally, she would lash out, tell them all off, something. Right now, she didn’t have the energy.

Simmering with a cauldron’s worth of complicated emotions gone sour beneath the hot sun, she arrived at her house- if you can call it a house. The structure more closely resembled a tenement, but its free-standing structure ruled it closer to a glorified shed. The entire building was smaller than her room at the Sundays’ manor. She tried not to think about that too hard. With a gravelly huff, she slung her heavy backpack (which she had been carrying with her off-hand) over her back and, cautiously palming the knob on her gladius’ hilt, used her free hand to pull aside the bead curtain at the entrance.

As soon as she stepped inside, she could tell something was amiss. In an instant guided purely by instinct, she turned the corner, shortsword drawn, expecting to scare away a very foolish thief.

However, she instead found her intimidating display met without so much as a flinch by a very intelligent thief.

“Thurku’ali!” The human man exclaimed, his excitement apparent as he sprung to life at her bedside.

Ali scowled, rolled her eyes, and stowed her weapon. “I need to get a new fuckin’ door.”

The man threw up his hands, feigning guilt yet unable to conceal his massive grin. “If it’s any consolation, a deadbolted door probably wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“I know,” she snarled. The man began laughing uproariously and stood up to greet Ali on his feet. When she stepped into the light, visibly scarred from her prior altercation with Gahni’zu, his smile grew strained yet did not disappear. “’s part of why I don’t have one. I didn’t get a whole lot of unwanted visitors besides you before.”

The human gave her a solid pat on the back, taking another moment to marvel at how tall she’d gotten before sitting back down. Tarek Osman had known Ali for long enough to know she wasn’t a hugger, which relieved him because, for all his good spirits, neither was he. Tarek was a Medjay Recruiter- one of the very slim few in Topaz- and it was through this line of work that he met Thurku’ali.

He had met her close to, if not exactly one decade ago, on the Second Dawn of Summerset. The sun beat down on Waziri Reach with scorching intensity unusual even for Aestas Fore, yet even more intense than the heat that morning was a roving game of street cudgelball snaking its way through the district. It was frankly nothing short of a miracle that the rowdy gang of teens playing a wild game of ‘launch that projectile’ in the middle of the residential streets didn’t break a window earlier than they did. Still, when the ball eventually flew through Tarek’s window, Thurku’ali had the incredible luck of being the person holding the cudgel, deeming her responsible for retrieving the thing.

Breaking into the home of a retired master thief is no small feat, and though the process was deliberately arduous, she made it inside within the hour. While most reasonable adults would have been furious with a Commons Ward hooligan forcing themselves into their home to recover the implement they used to damage it, Tarek couldn’t help seeing a spark in this one. It was difficult for him to articulate, but perhaps it originated from a sense of kinship. In a young Ali, Tarek saw his own younger self- a tenacious, troubled, and arrogant burglar- and felt a mysterious compulsion to offer a guiding hand, to hone her potential, lest she turn out the way he did. He wouldn’t wish a life like his upon even--

“So, uh, what brings you down here?” Ali’s raspy voice ripped Tarek’s wandering mind back into the present. When he looked up, she was on the other side of the room, removing the topmost layers of her padded leather armor.

“I’m sorry,” he started, feigning offended astonishment, “am I no longer allowed to check in on my protégé, and make sure she’s doing alright?”

“You were never really the-” Ali groaned, rolling her now bare shoulder blade, blood smeared across an hours-old gash from Ira’az’s talon. Without the pressure of the armor over it, it stung like a bitch. “- type.”

Tarek averted his eyes, half from the shame he felt for the truth in her words and half to look away from the wound. “I suppose that’s true. What of Osiris?”

“He’s staying with the Sundays.” Ali wrapped some loose bandages under her arm and around her shoulder to cover the wound. She then pulled her loose-fitting off-white blouse back over her shoulders and buttoned it about three-quarters the way up before turning to face him. “I was, too. Bit too cushy for me, though. I started to miss these mean old streets.”

The poorly-masked pain in her voice made it evident to Tarek that she was lying through her teeth, and while he took mental note of this, he didn’t pry. Not yet, anyway. “Right. You always did feel more at home among the rough-and-tumble sort. I respect it.”

Ali’s ghost of a smile completely vanished. “Look, it’s great seeing you, Tarek, but… what do you want?”

He stared at her momentarily before sighing, clasping his hands together, and looking down at his feet. “Fine. You are correct, Ali. I am here on business.” He looked up at her, his demeanor suddenly colder. “I have a job for you.”

Her expression soured, and she looked away. “I’m not doing any work for the Conclave right now, Tarek. I’m taking a break.”

Her dismissive tone did not deter him. His voice lowered even further. “This isn’t Conclave work, Ali.” He watched her falter and then pause. Once she had been silent for a few seconds, he continued. “I’d actually thank you to keep this particular job off the books.”

She remained halted, processing his last words. The notion of doing any sort of work during the second-only break from her real job she’d gotten all year filled her with a sense of miffed angst, but the hushed, surreptitious proposal had undoubtedly piqued her interest. Tarek could tell she was considering it, which seemed to relax him slightly.

“Of course,” he continued further still, making sure to select his words delicately, “you have every right to refuse. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, lately, especially that would warrant your description in the paper. Just know that-”

She abruptly looked up at him. “What’s the job?”

Tarek was stunned, but a grin began to pull lightly at the corner of his mouth. “Fairly standard heist. It’ll be difficult, but it’s nothing I haven’t drilled you on.”

Ali squinted at him. “If it’s ‘fairly standard,’ why can’t you do it?”

“With these old bones?” Ali huffed, and he chuckled before pressing further. “I would only entrust a select few with this responsibility, Ali. Few can match your level of dedication, skill, and- I mean this as a compliment- lack of regard for policy. You truly are my only choice.”

She grinned. “Compliment accepted. When should I expect the details?”

“Very soon,” he said, once more standing up from her bedside, this time in order to leave. “Likely by tomorrow. I’ll have them delivered, assuming you’ll be staying here for the week.” He strode up to her, his confidence and bravado having returned upon her agreement, and placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Thank you, Thurku’ali.”

Desperately trying to kill whatever warm, fuzzy feelings were building in her chest, she simply returned a curt nod. “I’ll be seeing you, Tarek.”

He smiled at her, patted her on the shoulder a few times for old times’ sake, and walked outside, quickly disappearing into the now-decently populated streets of the Commons Ward. She trailed behind him at a distance, stopping just outside the bead curtain entrance to her home. The evening sun beat down on her with a nostalgic intensity, but no more intense than the newfound sense of purpose radiating in her breast.