2. Cal #2
Bald Locke opened the sack, rummaging inside until he found the leather binder he wanted. That had been the true prize in the theater’s vault tonight. The other thefts were just more misdirection. And part of his payment, of course.
Bald Locke confirmed as much, waving a hand at Cal as he opened the binder. “You can keep the rest, like we agreed.”
Cal gave a half-hearted nod, returning the sack to his thief’s mark tattoo.
Between the past heists he’d squirreled away and some of the more legitimate business he conducted under his aliases like Lord Heneford, he had more gallants than he knew how to spend in a single lifetime.
These days, it was more about the thrill of the hunt than anything else: at pushing himself and proving that he could pull off the impossible.
Though even that had started to lose its luster.
After a few moments, Bald Locke closed the binder with a grunt and slid it aside. “Consider your contract fulfilled.” He pulled out a bag and tossed it on the desk between them with a heavy clink of metal coin. “Fifty gallants, as agreed.”
“Much obliged,” Cal said, taking the sack of coin with a quick bow of his head and tucking it away into one of the many hidden pockets in his cloak. “There is, however, still the matter of reimbursement.”
Bald Locke had already started to turn away, clearly ready to dismiss Cal. He paused, slowly turning back around. “Reimbursement?”
“Indeed. I had to expend several rather expensive runeflame scrolls to complete the job. Not to mention my ruined suit from the last job I did for you.”
Bald Locke’s eyes narrowed. “No one asked you to wear the most expensive get-up you could find. Or to dive into the ocean while wearing it.”
It was true, especially considering Cal could’ve just illusioned himself a comparable disguise.
But where was the fun in that? Besides, he made it a point to keep the true extent of his gift under wraps.
Only one person fully knew what he could do…
and after how that had turned out, he had no intention of letting anyone else in on the secret.
“I had to make the disguise believable,” he said. “And you would have jumped into the ocean too if you had a pack of arcane hounds chasing you.”
Bald Locke’s hands tightened around the leather binder as he stared Cal down. Cal felt certain that stare would break most people’s resolve in mere moments. But it took more than a glorified thug to give Cal pause.
Bald Locke must’ve realized the same because he grunted and said, “You’ve proven to be a valuable asset for the Brotherhood’s more difficult assignments.
I suppose I’d be willing to toss in a bonus.
Think of it as a retainer for future work.
I have a feeling we might need you again soon, so make sure you stay available. ”
That piqued Cal’s interest, though he tried not to let it show as he grinned and leaned back in his seat. “Of course. Always happy to do business with the Brotherhood.”
A knock came at the door. Bald Locke jerked his gaze up, seeming surprised. “What?” he called.
The barkeep stepped inside and moved over to Bald Locke, speaking softly to him. Cal strained to listen, doing his best to read their lips. He caught something about another contract and ‘the stone,’ whatever the Void that meant.
Whatever it involved, Cal could sense the immediate tension roiling over Bald Locke as he jerked a nod. The barkeep moved to wait in the doorway. Bald Locke rose and snatched up the binder, glancing at Cal. “I’m afraid we’ll have to finish this another time. Fergen here will show you out.”
The reasonable thing to do would be to smile and accept the dismissal. He’d already been paid, and he didn’t actually require reimbursement. The only reason he’d even asked was to see if he could get away with it. But when did he do the reasonable thing?
“Hold on!” he protested, the seeds of a terrible idea taking root in his mind. “We still haven’t resolved the issue of my payment.”
Bald Locke’s jaw tightened. “Yes. We have.”
“But what about my bonus? You said yourself that you need me.” He crossed his arms and conjured his best spoiled-noble impression. “I’m beginning to feel like you don’t appreciate how rare my particular skillset is. I don’t like being taken advantage of.”
When Bald Locke’s face darkened with rage, Cal feared he’d pushed the smuggler a step too far.
The crime lord’s temper was legendary, and while Cal knew he was good at what he did, he also knew he wasn’t so indispensable to the Brotherhood that they wouldn’t kill him and dump his body in the cove if they decided he had become too much of a liability.
“On second thought, how about I wait here?” he said quickly. “We can resolve the matter once you’re free. That way, there will be nothing to distract me from doing my best work for the Brotherhood moving forward.”
He held his breath as Bald Locke stared at him for several tense heartbeats, then exhaled in relief when Bald Locke glanced at the waiting barkeep and waved him away.
“Fine,” Bald Locke said.
Fresh tension ratcheted through Cal when Bald Locke’s fingers brushed over the stock of the runetech shotgun he wore strapped to his back.
The rare weapon was Bald Locke’s pride and joy, and from what little experience Cal had with Vantoric firearms, he didn’t fancy ending up on the receiving end of its magical blast.
“I and the rest of the Brotherhood value you, Blackjack. You’ve delivered for us on several occasions when no one else could. See that it remains that way.”
His hand falling from the butt of the shotgun, Bald Locke turned and left the office. The door slammed shut behind him.
Cal waited a couple minutes to ensure that Bald Locke was well and truly gone. Then, he went to the door and cracked it open, checking the area outside. The barkeep had left, and no one in the immediate vicinity seemed to be paying him any attention.
Perfect. That meant he was free to do something exceedingly stupid.
Knowing he’d stick out like a sore thumb dressed as he was now in his dark cloak, he scanned the area until he spotted a nearby dock worker hauling at some nets.
Then, he channeled his duskflame. This time, he let the flickering black fire sweep over him, coating him from head to toe.
As it did, he focused on the image of the dockworker, holding it in his mind.
While he could conjure disguises purely from memory, it was usually easier with new ones to start from a template.
Within moments, his clothes had shifted to match the grungy garb worn by that dockworker. He altered his face as well, not trying to perfectly mimic the dock worker but just changing his features enough that he wouldn’t be recognizable as his Blackjack alias.
His disguise in place, he slipped out the door and quietly shut it behind him. With any luck, it would be a while before Bald Locke returned. Cal could go assuage his curiosity and see what had the crime boss so on edge.
Affecting the demeanor of an exhausted dock worker, he set off across the cove, doing his best to mimic the gait and posture of the other workers he passed. He kept his head down and didn’t linger, glad for all his scouting during his previous visits since it helped him navigate with confidence.
He found Bald Locke back by that first dock with all the activity.
The Brotherhood leader was talking to a figure dressed all in black.
They wore a mask to conceal their face and gloves on their hands.
So, someone like Cal then who didn’t want their business being known.
Of course, that probably described most people who dealt with the Brotherhood.
Pausing off to the side, Cal made a show of fiddling with some nets hanging off the dock’s side. It wasn’t close enough to hear what was going on—with how quietly they were speaking, he’d have to risk getting far too close for that, and the figure’s mask made it impossible to read their lips.
From the snippets he caught watching Bald Locke, it sounded like they were in the middle of an exchange. Unsurprising, given that smuggling comprised a good portion of Bald Locke’s usual business. Cal’s gaze strayed to the ship tied at the end of the dock. Had some important shipment just arrived?
Desperate for more information, he focused on the masked figure, trying to get a better sense of them.
You could tell a lot about a person by how they held themselves.
In this instance, Cal judged them someone used to wielding authority and confident in a scrap.
A protector maybe, or else a private mercenary?
Either that, or they were suicidal since they didn’t appear the least bit intimidated by Bald Locke and his men.
Bald Locke held out the binder Cal had given him. The masked figure took it and tucked it away beneath their cloak. The two of them started walking, continuing to talk in low voices.
Cal’s pulse quickened when he realized they were strolling right toward him, where the lowered gangplank led into the ship.
He considered retreating, but that would likely draw even more attention to himself.
Instead, he stayed focused on the nets, holding his breath and praying to the Goddess that they didn’t notice him.
Thankfully, neither Bald Locke nor the masked figure seemed particularly concerned with their surroundings. They must think themselves well insulated, here at the heart of Bald Locke’s domain. Cal’s ears perked up as he caught more of what they were saying now that they were closer.
“—trust no harm came to it during the trip?” the masked figure was saying. They sounded male, speaking in a low growl as though trying to disguise their voice.
Crude, but effective—Cal was duly impressed. He’d encountered a distressing number of thieves and rogues in the course of his career who wouldn’t have thought to hide more than their face.
“Not to worry, your package is safe and sound,” Bald Locke replied. “Just arrived this evening.”