99. (The Best Damn Thieves: Chapter Five)

In Fergy's dream she was sitting on a stone floor, her back against a stone wall. The room she was in was square and small, and one side was made up of a series of metal rods--the bars of a cell. She was in a dungeon of some kind. Can't quite put my finger on it, she thought. Where am I?

A voice, echoing down the hall beyond her cell's bars, said: "Look, um, I'm really sorry I screwed up your heist," it said, sounding legitimately apologetic. "If I'd known someone else was going to make a grab for the statue at the same time I did--"

"It's not a problem," she heard herself reply; "It's not your fault, big guy." Big guy? I can't even--Oh. Oh! She realized where she was in a flash: Terrana. The hidden voice was Marcus', oddly distorted by the stone walls and the fact that she was, in truth, dreaming. "You strong enough to kick your cell open?"

"I'm pretty strong," Marcus replied, "But I'm not that strong."

Fergy frowned thoughtfully. "If you get me a knife, I can get us out of here."

There was a moment of silence from the other cell. "I'll handle it." Then, nothing.

Fergy rubbed the back of her neck, thinking. Most of the time people missed one or two of her daggers when disarming her; the Duke of Terrana's guards had been overly thorough. Judging by the looks of them, they didn't get many chances to paw at a woman. This was the first time in a long time that Fergy hadn't been able to just pull out one of her concealed daggers, pick the lock, and walk out. It made her uncomfortable. She stood up and paced the cell, ran her hands through her hair and tousled it a bit, fidgeting awkwardly.

Eventually, Marcus started talking to her again; "That was a pretty impressive, uh, rig, you had going back there."

"Thank you," she'd replied, smiling to herself.

"How long did it take you to get that set up?"

"Couple hours," Fergy replied. "Conveniently, your guard friends aren't allowed to actually enter the vault. Gave me plenty of time."

"You must have jumped rooftops to get up there," she heard him mutter. "And then cut a hole in the roof, somehow. I'm surprised no one noticed that."

"It's layered," she replied. "A dome within a dome. I crawled in at the bottom and shimmied up to the top."

"Oh, of course--" She heard what sounded like Marcus clapping his hands once. "Sturdy material on the outside, pretty material on the inside. It's very well made, I wouldn't have thought that just from looking at it. Must have been a tight fit."

"That it was." At some point, she fell asleep. It was a surreal feeling, because she was already asleep. The sound of a scuffle woke her up, or at least it did in the dream. For a moment she became disoriented. She could hear two bodies struggling, and someone shouting, "Ah, ah, shit, ow! Let go--damn it, you bast--", then something slamming heavily against the steel bars of a cell several times, then silence again. "Big fella?" she called out, after a moment of hesitation.

"Hang on," Marcus replied. "I think this idiot came down here unarmed."

"... What?"

"Wait, no, okay, here we go--" There was the sound of a body falling, a heartbeat of more silence, then the clatter of metal on stone, and a rusted, poorly-maintained dagger bounced to a stop in front of her cell. She scrambled over to grab it through the bars. "Will that work?"

"Oh, absolutely," she called back, then muttered to the blade, "You poor thing, look at the condition you're in! What a waste of good steel." A moment later she had picked the lock and was standing in front of Marcus' cell, grinning, the knife tucked into her belt. "You know," she said to the big man, "That worked out pretty well. I'm Fergy. You're a lot smarter than you look."

She watched herself meeting her husband for the first time and remembered, I really wasn't that impressed with him, at first, was I? Except for those arms--he looked like he could've taken down an ox with his bare hands.

"I'm Marcus," he said, extending a hand once the door was open, "And I'll take that as a compliment. Pleased to meow you."

"What?" What? Here memory wasn't matching up with the dream anymore.

Fergy's eyes opened hesitatingly to a bright glare coming in through the window. She was laying in a large bed, tucked in comfortably. Judging by how much sunlight was coming in the window, it was morning, just after dawn. The light was awfully white, she thought. She tried to sit up but a weight was on her chest--a warm weight, not heavy enough to pin her down, but foreign nonetheless. "Meow," said the weight.

She was eye-to-eye with the mage's cat, which had curled up on her chest. "Good morning to you too," she muttered, frowning.

Other than the cat and herself, the room was empty. Fergy sat up, moving the feline aside, and frowned. Unfamiliar room, unfamiliar bed--at least she was still wearing her clothing. "Marcus?" she called out, rising out of the bed.

The only response she got was voices in another room, two of them, speaking in turn to each other. Fergy frowned again and made her way towards the only door in the room. The room itself looked like your average, though underused, tavern room. Nervous, she reached down to her belt.

When it didn't find what she was looking for, the hand moved to her sleeve. Then she bent over and checked her boot, and reached around to check her back. It was when she was bent over, one hand on her calf, the other twisted around behind her awkwardly, that the door opened and she found herself face-to-chest with a stout figure. Her hair fell over her face annoyingly and she took a pair of quick steps back, before--"Oi, lass, s'good that ye'r awake, but what the bloody hell are ye doin'?"

She looked at the dwarf quizzically, standing to her full height. "Where are my knives?"

Brasskicker shrugged. "Some'ere safe?"

"That's not good enough," she said, her voice low.

"S'all we got fer now, though," he replied, pushing the door closed behind him. "Yer lad Marcus made sure with the big boss here that yer... effects're in good hands, before him an' Tater took off for th' library're whatever. 'Bout six hours ago, now, I figure."

"Tater?" She looked at him like he was speaking in a foreign language. "Oh, god," she muttered, losing her train of thought. "I really need to piss."

"Ye've been asleep for nigh on a day now, 'er most o' one. S'not a surprise. Pot's unner th' bed, there," he replied, turning his back to her. While Fergy relieved herself, he explained what had happened since they'd come through the portal in the mage's tower. "After the mage an' yer lad left, s'been quiet. That Isa fella's cookin' up some breakfast fer me, prolly wouldn' be too much t' ask 'im t' make ye some too."

"Do you know how to get to where Marcus and Tater went?" She'd picked up on the mage's new nickname pretty quickly.

The dwarf shrugged. "En't got a clue, lass. Been stuck here babysittin' a certain sleepin' lass and a cat, en't had a chance to go lookin' fer 'em. Not that that albino bloke would'a let me leave in th' first place."

Fergy frowned, and pulled the strap of her bag over her head and let it hang across her chest. With one arm she scooped up the cat and stuck it in the bag, then closed it; the feline poked its head out and let out an annoyed meow, but it didn't struggle to get free. She pressed past Brasskicker and out into the hall, then into the common room.

"Oh, you're awake," the oddly-proportioned man said, when he saw them. He was just as Brasskicker has described: pale and pear-shaped, with red eyes and absolutely no hair on his head. Fergy wondered how much different the female had looked. "I was making your short friend a meal--my understanding is that you've been asleep quite some time, would you like one yourself?"

Fergy eyed him warily before sliding onto a barstool. "Famished," she replied, leaning over the bar a bit. "Where are my knives?"

Isa slid a plate of eggs and sausage across to her, smiling. "Someplace, um, safe."

"Not a good enough answer. I'd like them back."

"Um, I'm afraid that's just not possible, miss. Hobber is a sanctuary--no one, not even our own residents, is allowed to carry weapons on pain of expulsion. As I understand it, you missed the trip in--expulsion into Vastness is not a fate you want to tempt." The odd man smiled awkwardly, then nodded over Fergy's shoulder. "I hope you don't mind, sir, I gave the lady your helping."

"Not a prob'em, lad," Brasskicker replied, climbing onto the neighboring barstool. "Now--let's talk about meetin' up wit' our compan'ons, now'at we're all up an' about, aye?"

Fergy added, "No reason to stay split up, as it is, what with me up and on my feet again."

Isa cleared his throat. "I thought you might have such an idea, so, um, I brought a pair of extra suits for you." He gestured to one of the far tables, where a pile of furs was laid out. "Whatever... magic brought you here without letting your limbs freeze off is out of the question, so you'll have to suit up to stay warm. The suits will also, um, conceal your identities. I don't want your presence to, um, cause a panic among the townsfolk, you see."

Fergy frowned. "Wah woo--" she paused, swallowed her mouthful of food, "Why would we cause a panic?"

"Ah," Isa replied, "It's less nefarious than it sounds, trust me. Pri took the map with her, so it's not here for your benefit--but imagine a broad, empty plain, covered entirely in snow, bitingly, bitterly cold. Smack, um, in the middle of this plain--of Vastness--is Hobber. There's nothing else. Just Hobber. There are a few cities just outside Vastness, along the coast, but no one else has moved inland. You can imagine, um, why."

Brasskicker asked, "I reckon ye don't get a lot o' travelers?"

"Less than one group a year, most of the time." Isa fidgeted slightly. "The same group, um, in fact. A group consisting of a dozen or so men and women in roughly their middle years--different people, mind you, but the same organization. Nomads, of a sort. They come from the outlying villages--Snowport and the like."

"That's great," Fergy interrupted. "Can you get to the point? I'm getting antsy sitting here."

Isa watched her for a moment; she thought she could see the gears clicking around in his head. "They come before the Walker," he finally replied, as if measuring their reaction to each word individually. "Heralds, if you will, of its path."

Fergy stopped, forkful of food half-way between her mouth and the plate. "The Walker?--no, wait," she interrupted herself, dropping the utensil. "Walk and talk, we're getting out of here."

Isa looked at her, non-plussed, and nodded at the pile of furs by the door. Fergy strode across to them and started rifling through them. "The Walker?" she repeated, her back to the albino. The clothing was simple enough--a thick, heavy fur coat and pants, thick leather boots and gloves, and a heavy hood and scarf. Each item was matched with a twin--two suits, one for Fergy and one for Brasskicker. Atop both piles were tinted goggles on leather straps. As Isa explained, the pair suited up.

"The Walker is... it's hard to describe," he said, speaking slowly. "It's... well, it's exactly, um, what it sounds like. It walks Vastness, blind, aimless, wandering from edge to edge on a seemingly random path."

"And it has heralds... why?" Fergy asked, adjusting the coat. She watched the dwarf for a moment, trying to figure out how the hood attached.

"Simply put, it's, um," Isa paused, watching them. "Imagine a tower, a castle. Now, imagine them as a child's toys at your feet, barely ankle-high. You step over them, or knock them aside. They're tiny beside you."

"Ye're pullin' our chains," Brasskicker muttered, adjusting his goggles uncomfortably. "Or ye'r crazy."

"If only, sir." Isa was pulling his own furs on again now, far more efficiently than his guests. "The Walker is large--so large, a wrong step would topple our walls, smash our roofs, end Hobber." He chuckled. "The Heralds let us know when to be ready."

"You don't run?" Fergy asked from within her bundling. Wearing the outfit, her hair and skin completely hidden, she looked like a smaller, slimmer version of Isa.

The albino regarded her for a moment; "Like a tall child, um, not bad. Kind of an odd fit. Where would we go?" he asked, opening the door to the street beyond. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing for the woman and the dwarf to precede him outside.

The road beyond was paved in grey cobblestone. It was a little less than straight; the town itself seemed compact within its walls, the road built to follow the spaces between buildings placed apparently at random--at least, that was the impression the left on Fergy. "So we know why we have to wear the suits," she asked, walking beside their host. "But it's not that cold out here. Unpleasant, yes, but--I mean, it's cold, but I'm not exactly at fear for my life."

"We have a certain sensitivity to the cold. It's part of our affliction--the skin, the eyes, and so on."

"So then," Brasskicker asked, "Why bother livin' out 'ere in the wastes? I figger ye lot could do a lot better fer yerselves."

"Hobber is a sanctuary for our kind," Isa replied. "We came here, we built it ourself, because we were called to do so. It is here that we found and find peace, and so it is here that we stay."

The streets seemed almost deserted. Since they'd left the tavarn, they'd only seen a handful of other people outside. Most of the buildings they walked past were dark, seemingly empty. The place put Fergy ill at ease. "I don't understand," she said. "What kind of peace requires you to stay in any place?"

"You really aren't from around here, are you?" Isa asked rhetorically. "The peace offered by the Boar. The Boar is here, and it is the Boar's presence that soothes the savage in each of us--travel to the coasts and you'll find hodge-podge villages of men and women like us, but in their red eyes you'll find not compassion, but bloodlust, rage, death. The people of Snowport and the like call us... call them ogres--and fight them tooth and nail. My people--the people of Hobber, left this behind and followed the call of the Boar, and came here, and built a town around it. It is here that we can be human--" He stopped, and let out a sigh. "Or at least humane."

"Ogres," Brasskicker muttered. "Like in the stories, aye? Monster's ye tell yer kids aboot t' get 'em to behave."

"I assume my kind has died out across the Yawning Sea," Isa replied, "Relegated to the annals of history and children's stories. Yet here in the south, we live and thrive. And here in Hobber, we live and thrive, and, um, don't eat babies."

A few moments later the trio found themselves standing in front of a stone-walled building, where the albino stopped. "Here we are then, um, if you'll give me a moment." Isa dug around in the pockets of his furs briefly, eventually finding a heavy steel ring with a series of keys on it. These he used to open the large wooden door, which he pushed and held open for Fergy and Brasskicker; "After you," he said.

Fergy furrowed her brows behind the tinted goggles, watching Isa; the artificial darkness made it impossible to see beyond the threshold into the building, but she was doing her best to hide her lack of trust. "Is my husband in there?"

"We will, um, get to that momentarily, but first, come in," the strange ogre replied, waving towards the open door. "I understand your lack of trust. Consider this, um, a peace offering of sorts."

"Eh," Brasskicker muttered, "We're far 'nough up shit creek as it be, lass." The short man strode past her and into the building. Fergy, still scowling, followed.

Beyond the door her eyes quickly adjusted, and Fergy found herself standing in a large room lined with cabinets and shelves. Closing the door behind them, Isa walked around her and gestured for her to follow. Eventually he stopped in front of one of the smaller cabinets and, using the same ring of keys, unlocked it and opened it.

Fergy let out a little gasp; without even thinking she pulled her hood off and slid her goggles up on top of her head. Inside the cabinet, resting delicately on soft cloth, was a collection of knives and daggers, each in its own space, carefully arranged. Her knives and daggers--most of them, at least. But before she could question the presence of the rest of her things Isa opened the neighboring cabinet, where they rested, as carefully-handled as the others.

"In Hobber," the albino said, his tone that of a teacher, "Our key tenant is respect: respect for the Boar, respect for each other, respect for each other's belongings. You'll find everything you're lacking from your personal effects here, cleaned and shined by myself, personally."

"Th--" Fergy paused, unsure exactly what to say. She was at once grateful and annoyed.

Isa held up a hand. "There is no need. All I ask is that you trust me, and trust that we bear no ill will towards you."

"I'm sorry for doubting you."

"It's an understandable thing," he continued. "You're knocked unconscious and when you awake you're in a strange place, separated from he who is most important to you. Speaking of--our next stop is the lib--"

He stopped, having been interrupted by the sound of the door opening again, then slamming closed. Fergy quickly pulled her hood and goggles back on, and then turned to see the newcomer--another local, panting and hunched over from having run to find them.

"Erna," Isa said, his voice low. How he could recognize the person under all of his or her fur was beyond Fergy. "What's wrong?"

Erna held up a hand, catching his or her breath, then spoke between gasps: "Smoke-- horizon-- Th'heralds--" The voice was decidedly feminine, though deep.

Isa visibly tensed up. "Are they coming?"

Erna shook her head. "No--not camp fire. Sent party to check--all dead, camp burned."

"Who?"

"They put up a fight," Erna replied. "Left a few dead. Greenskins."

Isa spat out a word that wasn't part of any language Fergy had ever heard. "Close the gates," he muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Close the gates, and sound the bells."

Nodding, Erna ran out again.

"Ye cannae fight, can ye?" the dwarf asked.

"We cannot even hold them back," Isa replied, pacing now. "The greenskins--the ogres, the ones we're descended from--they've never ventured far into Vastness. Not until now, that is. If they come here--"

"We can help you," Fergy interrupted. "The girl--Tater, she's a mage."

"If they've come in strong enough force to wipe out the Heralds, it will take more than a single mage, but--"

"But she can hide you. This place--if they've never seen it, never ventured this far, how would they know it was here? How would they even know to expect it?"

Isa clapped his gloved hands together. "Yes--yes. We need to get to the library."

With that, he shuffled past the pair and out the door. Fergy and Brasskicker followed.

"Ye sure about this, lass?" the dwarf asked.

"Not even a little."

***

"Sauerkraut shipping lanes bottled water," Tater muttered, letting her head fall onto the book she was scanning.

"I know the feeling, kid," Marcus replied, flipping the tome he'd chosen closed with a thump. The pair sat across from each other, separated by a large pile of books, none of which had had anything to do with anything that would get them home. "Look, there have got to be... hundreds of books here," he continued. "Somewhere in this incredibly dry, dusty, boring room has to be something that we can use."

The mage looked up at him, frowning. She stood up and held a book up; "Cousins? Utility!" she shouted. The book burst into flame in her hands. She picked up another for a repeat performance. Before she could destroy a third book in frustration Marcus had scrambled across the table and grabbed her wrists, restraining the girl.

"That was completely uncalled for," he snapped. She just glared at him and struggled free, dropping back into her soft-backed chair with a sigh, muttering nonsense under her breath.

"Your pretty young friend has a bit of an attitude, doesn't she?" Pri called from the other side of the room. She was the only other person in the library; when they'd arrived, she'd ushered out the building's caretaker so that Marcus and Tater could remove their hoods and goggles.

"Young and impetuous," Marcus replied, watching the mage. "I think young, at least. Hard to tell with her kind."

Tater glared daggers at him.

"Not finding anything?" the albino woman asked, walking over to them.

"Yellow errant hugs," the girl muttered under her breath.

"I have another idea, if you two are willing to listen and not, you know, set me on fire."

Marcus said, "I'm open to whatever. It's not like we're making any progress here."

"I'll take you to see the Boar. It'll calm down your hotheaded friend, if anything, and maybe you'll be able to get something out of it. Who knows." She had given them a similar explanation as had been given to Brasskicker and Fergy en route to the library.

"Couldn't hurt," he rumbled, standing and stretching his arms out.

It was a shorter walk than Marcus had expected: the structure housing the Boar was next door to the library. Pri explained that they were the first buildings the townspeople had erected, after they'd arrived and discovered the Boar. At least, that was how the story went. They waited outside until she had sent the small group of worshipers and caretakers home, then made their way into the drab, average-looking building.

The first room they entered was empty--an antechamber, with a door on one end. Pri immediately led them through this door and into a second antechamber, this one circular. In the center was a wide staircase, spiraling down into a basement of some kind. The entrance was curtained, and they could not see down into the room or rooms below. Pri stood between them and the stairs, and immediately began to remove her furs.

"Your clothes," she said, "You'll have to take them off. Not just what we've given you."

"You're kidding, right?" Marcus replied, awkwardly. "Tater, she's gotta be kidd--"

But when he turned to face the mage, she was already disrobing. She looked at him and blinked. "Peanut?" she said, and shrugged nonchalantly, casting off her long robe.

Marcus turned away before he could see how little she was wearing under it.

"Halibut oranges deskchair," she continued. Without being able to look at her, he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Fine, fine," Marcus muttered. "This is just the kind of dumb crap I knew this trip would turn into," he continued, shucking his own furs off, "And just wait, we're going to get naked, and then my wife is going to burst in. And with my luck, she'll find us right after I trip over my own damn feet and fall on top of you." He stood there, exposed, keeping his back to the mage, and his eyes locked on a point several feet above Pri's head. "Can we get this over with?"

"Of course," the woman replied. She started down the staircase, holding the curtain open for the trailing pair.

The basement was fairly bare, albeit spacious, stone walls and a stone floor. It was also poorly lit, so at first Marcus didn't know what it was he was looking at. Once his eyes adjusted, it became clear that the Boar was exactly what Pri had described, visually at least: a huge porcine beast. It slept leaning against the far wall, its massive snout blowing swirls through the dust. Even laying down the crest of its spine was higher than Marcus was tall.

But while it looked like any other wild pig blown to massive proportions, looking at it did something strange to Marcus' head: the longer he watched the Boar breathe, the calmer, the more at peace he felt. He turned and looked at Pri--no longer concerned with the albino woman's nudity--and said, "It's amazing. I've never felt so... so..."

"At ease?" she finished for him.

"Yeah," Marcus replied. "It's like... I could just sit here, and--"

"Pri!" someone above them was calling. "Pri, are you in here?"

The albino woman frowned. "Yes," she shouted up, walking over to the stairs. "What is it?"

"They're ringing the bells!" came the reply.

Pri's brow furrowed. "Why in the--..." she drifted off, confused. "Wait here. Sit. Rest. Enjoy the Boar's presence. I'll be back as soon as I know what's going on." Without waiting for a response, she hurried up the stairs and vanished through the curtain.

Marcus couldn't help but smile. He turned back to the Boar, and then to Tater. Her nudity didn't affect him either, in the Boar's presence. "Isn't it great?" he said, taking a deep breath.

The mage was blinking, a vaguely confused look on her face. While Marcus watched, she rubbed her temples with the ends of her fingers, watching the Boar--and then snapped, and let out a short laugh, as if she'd just figured something out.

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

"Cucumber grass root barely red," she said, grinning.

"I don't... I have no idea what you're trying to tell me, Tater," the big man replied warily.

The girl rolled her eyes, then held up one finger, thinking. After a moment, she pointed at the Boar, then held her hands far apart.

Marcus watched her, perplexed. "Yes, it's a very large Boar, I can see that."

Tater shook her head rapidly. She pointed at the Boar again, then held her hands close together, and then spread them far apart again. While she did this she watched Marcus expectantly.

"You don't know that," he replied, frowning. "For all you know it's always been that big."

The girl let out a groan, rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. "Perfumed strays," she muttered. Resolutely, she pointed at the herself, then wiggled the fingers on both her hands at Marcus. When it seemed like he understood what she was implying, she pointed at the Boar, and held her hands close together. Again, she waited for comprehension from her companion; once she felt he had it, she wiggled the fingers at the Boar, then quickly held them close together--and then spread them far apart. A look of quiet, annoyed desperation had entered her eyes by this point.

"Magic..." Marcus said, slowly, "Made it... this way?"

Tater let out another little laugh and clapped her hands together, gleeful. "Hairstyles!"

"But wait, so it's just--"

She nodded eagerly.

"But what about--"

Again, the girl held up a finger, silencing him. She pointed at the boar, then wiggled her fingers at the top of the stairs, at the curtain that hid the Boar's room--at the people of Hobber, Marcus assumed.

"But what about me?"

Tater just cocked her head to the side--then realized he meant that the Boar had affected him. She just shrugged, pointed at the Boar, and wiggled her fingers at Marcus.

"That's a great theory, Tater, but Pri told us herself--there's no magic here."

The girl rolled her eyes, then beckoned for Marcus to stand closer to her. He hesitated, but eventually did as requested. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed down, indicating that his much taller frame would need to kneel or squat. He did the former, dropping to one knee in front of her. Tater closed her eyes and put a hand on either side of Marcus' head.

"This is going to look reall--OW!" She interrupted him by snapping her fingers close to his skull, then stepped back, rubbing her hands together. Marcus felt like a bolt of lightning had flown directly into his brain. "That freakin' hurt, you little--Oh." Marcus stood back up, his brows furrowing, and turned to look at the Boar. It was suddenly very clear what was going on. "Well, damn. You're right," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But why in the world would anyone make a really big pig, and... and then enchant it to hypnotize a bunch of albino ogres?"

Tater just shrugged, pressing her lips together. "Alphabet cohesion willowy ducks."

He glanced up at the curtain above them, frowning. "Well, I think it goes without saying, we should act like we're not in on it, okay?"

The mage nodded quickly. She made a cutting motion across her neck.

"My point exactly. I mean... I don't get the impression that they would, but, we're unarmed and outnumbered. Better safe than sorry."