Saturday, May 31

86. (The Best Damn Thieves: Chapter One)

Duke Thieren of Pikely was in a foul mood. He stormed through the halls of his keep, teeth clenched, muttering under his breath. He wore little more than his underthings and a thick robe, along with a thick gold chain with an amulet dangling from it. He had been dragged, figuratively, from his bed by what had sounded like a very large, heavy object crashing into his keep, coming it seemed from somewhere in the west wing of the structure. As he strode purposefully in that direction, his majordomo stepped from an intersecting passageway and fell into step beside him. "Report," snapped the Duke. He was a big man, broad of shoulder and thick of arm, and when he addressed you, it was always in such a way that made clear he demanded respect.

"A small airship," Rickards replied, "Piloted by a pair of... brigands, it seems, crashed into the western tower, near the ground level. We have them bound and awaiting you at the crash site." In a stark contract to the Duke's fury, Rickards remained cool, unphased by the large man. He was fully dressed, as if he had been awake already, despite the fact that it was well past midnight; his rich clothing reflected his position in the Duke's wealthy household.

Thieren's eyes narrowed slightly. "The brigands--"

"I believe that their trajectory must have been intentional--they crashed into your keep in just the right spot to gain access to your treasury. They were apprehended before they could so much as disembark from their craft. It appears the man's leg was pinned down somehow, and his female companion was interrupted while trying to free him."

"Then their little heist has been stillborn. Excellent. See that there is a pair of cells in the dungeon ready within half the hour. Within earshot of each other, but neither neighboring nor visible." It was not an unusual arrangement; Thieren had a penchant for torturing his captives. He had found that the sound of one's companions screaming in agony, out of sight, was nearly as effective as direct torture itself.

"As you wish, my lord." Rickards broke stride and vanished down another intersecting passageway. He knew the keep almost as intimately as the Duke did, as he had served Thieren's father in the elder duke's last years, after Thieren's mother had fled the country.

The Duke had always wondered about that--relations between his parents had always been tense; Thieren and his sister had grown accustomed to it. His father had been an old warhorse, a general in the late king's army before the kingdom had fallen apart. His mother was a sorceress. Their marriage had been arranged by Thieren's grandfather on his mother's side, and she had never been particularly pleased with the arrangement; but nine months had passed and a daughter, Rose, had been born, and Thieren himself not long after. It was because of the children that she had stayed.

Then, fifteen years back, the elder duke had hired Rickards, a fellow officer of lesser rank, to act as his right hand. The very next day, Thieren's mother had come to his bed-chambers, begging him to come with her and his sister when they fled--but Thieren took after his father, and refused. His mother had been furious. The next morning, she was gone, along with his sister and a sizable portion of the family treasury. Maddened, the elder Thieren pursued her, but she sought refuge in Merriam. Five years later, his father was dead. Thieren inherited the duchy, and Rickards as his right-hand man.

A matter of minutes brought Thieren to the western tower, and quickly down the central staircase to the ground-level chamber, where a blue-painted metal craft was wedged tightly in a hole in the wall. "Do you know who I am?!" he roared before even so much as sighting the so-called brigands; when his eyes finally fell upon them, he saw a slightly-built redhead of moderate looks and a tousle-haired man nearly as large as himself. They sat on the ground opposite the fallen craft, their hands tied behind their backs.

"Duke Augustial Thieren, of Pikely, son of the late Duke Marius Thieren, also of Pikely, and the Lady Elizabetta Thieren, of Merriam, estranged, and brother to one Dame Rose Thieren, of Bilox," the woman replied coolly, a smile on her lips as she recited his immediate family both living and dead. "I wish I could tell you it was a pleasure to meet you. I say--where's your man Rickards?"

Thieren ignored the oddly-phrased question. "Then my reputation precedes me, and I find myself at a loss as to why you would attempt such a hackneyed break-in." His own smile was cruel. "For sure, to crash such an... antique, personal craft into such a specific location is no accident. Clearly you're not intoxicated, nor idiots, nor incapable of flying it in the first place." Their blue ship looked old enough to be a first-generation flyer--built, probably, in the first decades after the Impact Cataclysm, a century ago.

"My wife asked you a question, mate," the bound man asked without a hint of humor in his voice. "I suggest you'd do right to answer her."

Thieren sneered. "Preparing your cells. Your average lord might turn you out with a beating, or simply kill you, but I believe I'll enjoy you more if I prolong your stay and your... punishment."

"So he's not hereabouts?" the woman asked.

"Indeed no," the Duke replied.

"Within earshot?"

"What kind of fool would I be if I placed the treasury within earshot of my holding cells?"

"The best kind." The woman seemed positively elated. "Now then--" she stood up, and in a single fluid motion brought her hands from behind her back and let fly a dagger directly into one of Thieren's men's forehead, "--we can get on to business, without anyone interrupting us." In almost the same motion, she produced a second dagger and cut the bonds on her companion, who quickly moved to defend her from the remaining guards--who did not last long. The man was clearly a skilled fighter, easily turning back and then vanquishing Thieren's men with his bare hands.

The Duke had little time to react before the woman had her weapon pressed to one side of his throat; on the other side rested one of his soldier's swords, held easily in the male brigand's hand. "Easy, big guy. Now, let's get down to business," the woman said, that damned cheerful smile still gracing her lips.

Thieren's teeth ground so hard in his jaw he thought they might be crushed to powder. "No," he replied. "I'll have your heads spiked on my front gate by dawn. I'll find out who sent you here and have your hands sent back. But I will take my time. You will rue this day, fools."

"That's unfortunate."

"That's the truth. Your deaths will be slow and excruciatingly pain--" He stopped, quivering with fury. The woman was opening and closing her hand, mimicking a talking mouth. "You dare not only rob me, but mock me?!"

"We're not actually here to rob you--or, well, kill you," the redhead said, turning to walk away from him casually; her large companion kept his blade trained at Thieren's throat. "We're here for one thing specifically, which, we've been told, isn't actually worth that much--which is a little weird for us, you understand, being thieves and all."

"Whatever you want I'd rather see you skewered," the Duke growled.

"Not really surprising," the woman continued. "All we want, really, is this pendant here--" she used her knife to lift the amulet from his chest, tugging slightly at the chain, "--and the only reason we haven't simply killed you and taken it is because we want to try and bargain with you."

"There will be no bargain."

"That's really a damn shame," the woman muttered. "Well then, I guess we'll just be taking it--" She lurched forward, pressing her dagger against his jugular once more--then stopped. "Wait, wait. I'm forgetting something--oh, right: your mother and sister send their regards."

The woman winked at him impishly, then shifted her blade around and smashed the hilt of the weapon into the side of his head.

An instant later, or so it seemed to the fallen duke, someone splashed cold water across his face. He opened his eyes to find Rickards standing over him, his mouth twisted with concern. "Your grace--"

"The brigands--"

"Made good their escape," the majordomo finished, "Complete with their craft, before I returned from the dungeons. Some half-dozen of your men are dead, but it appears they did not breach into the lower treasure chambers, or even lift anything from the neighboring chambers."

"No, you dolt," Thieren snapped, rising woozily to his feet. He did not need to feel about his neck to know the amulet was gone, stolen. "They were in a hurry--you. They feared you. Find them. Bring them back alive if you can, kill them if you must--but find them, and find the keepsake they have stolen. Whatever you do, cut off their hands; I wish to send a message to my loving mother."

"As you wish, your grace. Our ships should have no problem catching up to them, I will see to it personally." Rickards bowed and made his way to the Duke's own airship hangers, leaving Thieren standing alone, quaking once more with rage.

***

By the time the brigands' airship cleared the tops of the cloud-cover, it was starting to spew dark billowing smoke from the nose, where the propulsion mechanisms were housed. "What the hell did you do?!" Fergy yelled over the ruckus, trying in vain to keep her long red hair out of her face. The small ship lurched and decelerated sharply, and she steadied herself on one of the handrails running along the side.

Marcus slammed one of the levers on the control board forwards; the only response the ship gave him was a shudder; then it began to slowly rotate as it sped through the heavens. "Oh, that's not good," he muttered under his breath. He wrenched the steering column against the spin, but it was non-responsive. The noise from the propulsion device grew steadily louder.

"Baby, seriously, what did you do to my bluebird?" Fergy shouted at the top of her lungs; she could barely hear herself over the roar. As if the ship understood her difficulty, there was a sharp crack, and the mechanism went completely silent. They were drifting, spinning and sliding across the sky on momentum alone.

"At least the lift-stones aren't shattered or nonfunctional," Marcus murmured, mostly talking to himself. "I think we busted up the propulsion in the crash. Yeah, that was one of your better ideas."

"You said it could take the impact."

He looked across at Fergy and grinned. "I was wrong, love. Were you actually going to bargain with him?"

Fergy shrugged. "It seemed worth a shot. Depended on what he offered us."

"That clod wouldn't have made good on any deal we hashed out--and the last thing we want is his mother pissed off at us."

The woman smiled; "Is it the mother you're thinking about, or his ox of a sister? Rose, the Iron Widow? She was sweet on you, I could tell right off. I bet she doesn't see many men of her stature around Merriam."

Marcus chuckled. "I have to admit, it would be an... experience to be with a woman like that."

"What, I'm not tall enough for you? Or was it the muscles? Do you remember her arms?" Fergy laughed and stuck her tongue out at her husband. "She'd've torn you in half, baby."

"You gotta admit, though, this is sorta romantic--clear night, stars in the sky, just the two of us..." Marcus slipped out of the pilot's seat and moved across to her, sliding his arms around her stomach from behind.

Fergy rolled her eyes and leaned back against him. "And that Rickards fellow."

"Rickards?"

"His airship is awfully quiet," she continued.

"That must be useful," Marcus replied, with a sigh. "Your vision's always so much better than mine, why is that?" He could make out, just on the horizon, a shining silver aircraft cutting towards them rapidly, a single figure at the controls.

Fergy grinned and patted him on the cheek. "Fewer blows to the head on my part. I love you, you know. Think you can take him?"

"Love you too. No. But I have a plan. You're going to get a kick out of this." He kissed her on the back of the head and grinned.

"You going to tell me about it?"

"And ruin the surprise?"

They waited in silence as Rickards' airship drew closer. He brought his smaller craft up alongside the duo's and stood up on the deck, a rather large crossbow in hand. "Hands up, then," he called out across the gap, "I'm assuming that you know what I'm here for."

Fergy tilted her head to the side, arms raised; their airship was still slowly rotating, but it had stopped moving forward. "Payments for the property damage? Compensation for the men we killed?"

"No games. Just toss me the amulet and save me the effort of searching your bodies for it. I know you waited until I was away to attack the Duke, so I know my reputation precedes me as much as my employer's does him."

"I locked it in the hold, mate, gimme a sec, and I'll get it for you." Marcus started to bend over, to open a panel in the deck of their craft. Fergy raised an eyebrow at that--the ship didn't have a hold, the entire underbelly was used for the operation mechanisms.

"Ah, ah, no," Rickards said with a sneer. "Keep your hands up and step back, I'll come aboard." Holding the crossbow with one hand, he reached down and grabbed a pair of grappling hooks on ropes and tossed them across; then, using one hand, he pulled the thieves' craft close enough to jump aboard. The crossbow remained carefully aimed at Fergy.

She smiled. "It's locked, you know," she informed the majordomo as he boarded the craft. "He said so. Did you hear him?"

"Then you've bought yourself a few minutes to live. Tell me how to unlock it." Rickards squatted down over the hatch, his weapon still pointed at Fergy's face.

"If you're going to kill us anyways, why should we bother?"

"Common courtesy?"

Fergy tilted her head to one side. "But what difference does it make to us how convenient your time is--after all, Rickards, you're going to kill us."

"This is not a philosophical discussion," Rickards snapped.

Marcus moved to stand closer to Fergy, his hands till raised. He said, "Twist the handle 'round three times, then pull up, and twist it back the opposite direction. Three times again. No reason we can't be civil."

"Right-o." Still using only one hand, Rickards twisted the handle three times. Then he pulled up, and twisted three times in the opposite direction--and the lift-stones holding the ship airborne deactivated; Rickards had unwittingly shut them down. The blue craft dropped like a rock.

Fergy let out a little squeal as Marcus threw an arm around her waist and grabbed the handrail. The muscles in his arm went taught as the weight of both his own and Fergy's bodies hung there. "If you'd oblige--" he muttered between gritted teeth.

Fergy nodded and, kissing him briefly on the cheek, climbed around onto his back, her legs around his midsection. Below them, Rickards was dangling upside-down by one leg, having just barely caught himself on the opposite handrail with his foot. He hung over empty air; below, his crossbow fell and vanished into the grey murk, a tiny swirl of cloud marking its wake. Even as Fergy was shifting around to accommodate her husband's wishes--and allow him to grab on with both hands--the majordomo was gripping the rail and pulling himself on top of it.

One of the ropes snapped and Marcus let out a grunt as both airships shuddered, their own blue craft dangling end over end now, swinging with the momentum. The two ships began to slowly sink, spinning lazily through the air towards the clouds below. "Hey you know what?" Marcus shouted.

Fergy replied, "What's that?"

"As shiny as it is, I don't think his ship can carry ours." Marcus reached around behind him and grabbed Fergy's belt, then easily flung her upwards towards the silver craft above them. She hands slipped off that craft's hull but she snagged the remaining grappling rope. A moment later she was balanced precariously on Rickards' airship's deck.

"No shit?" she shouted down, grinning. She watched as Marcus pulled himself onto the rope; beyond him she could see Rickards scrambling up the blue ship's deck, reaching for the control panel he had unwittingly deactivated.

Fergy watched Marcus climb aboard as she fished a dagger from her belt. "Rickards, I really like my bluebird," she called out, looking down at him.

The majordomo didn't respond; he had reached the lift-stone control and repeated the deactivation process in reverse--Fergy's bluebird started to emit a low hum, but did not right itself.

"But, I'm betting this baby is a lot nicer," she continued. "Not as much sentimental value, but whatever! Probably doesn't take nearly as long to get started as our old one! Thanks for the shiny new toy." With a cheerful smile, she cut the grappling rope. For a brief instant, she could see an unspeakable fury on Rickards' face, and then he and the blue craft plummeted out of view. The silver airship they hung from shot up into the air, freed of its burden, and the motion sent Fergy and Marcus toppling to the deck.

For a moment they lay there, still, catching their breaths. "You were right," Fergy said after a moment.

"Oh yeah?"

She grinned and shakily got to her feet, then held out a hand to help him up. "I did get a kick out of that. You think he'll make it?"

The big man shrugged. "Probably. But he's off our asses for now--he knows he can't catch us in that old thing, so he'll have to report back to his boss and retrieve another one of these."

"It'd be better if we were leaving a corpse behind."

"Hard to kill a guy like that. I'm sure we'll get our chance down the road. Won't take much to figure out where we're going, after all. You did tell them who we're working for."

Fergy laughed at him, still holding onto his hand. "You think it was too much?"

Marcus tugged his wife over to him and kissed her, grinning. "Never."