'The Glove of Shadows' Chapter Two- Guild Business

Annabelle Deus, in her role as William Deus, renowned Rogue, stepped through the open doorway and into the meeting hall of the Hoods.

Her and Flint’s arrival started a volley of hails and cheers. Several men, and a couple of female agents, shouted above the din, “Oy, William!”

She met and greeted many of them on her way up to the elevated platform at the opposite end of the hall, where she always gave her speeches and handed out members’ assignments.

Stockholm stood ready at his post on the platform as Anna and Flint tried to part the sea of members and agents.

“Clear the way!” Stockholm’s booming command silenced almost the entire crowd, and Pickpockets, Rogues and Strong Arm Thugs made way for their leader and her second, the Guild Prime.

Anna hopped easily up onto the stage.

Flint took one large step up, and the three stood for a moment of silence before the Guild. On Anna’s right, Flint held the post of Prime. On her left, Ignatious Stockholm held the post of Chief. Together, they led and governed this crowd of thieves from day to day, making certain that some semblance of order held.

Anna smiled broadly at nearly two hundred men and women, holding her hands up for their total attention. Their side conversations slowed, and ultimately stopped as she felt a swelling of pride in her bosom. True, theirs may not be a noble profession, but at least the Hoods retained a code of honorable conduct. Nobody got hurt, they didn’t shake down merchants for ‘protection’ money, and they didn’t take from those who had nothing. On rare occasions, these rules were broken, usually by new members of the Guild. That led to disciplinary action, and the Guild Chief’s primary function was to enforce the Hoods’ code of conduct. Stockholm believed in harsh, firm punishment, so most members kept their noses clean.

“All right, ladies and gents, let’s do this quick and get to business,” she began, speaking loudly and directing her voice at the back of the room, where her voice would echo back and around to everyone present. “I’ve got a lot of tasks to assign, paperwork to go through, and oral reports to listen to tonight. First order, of course, is the recitation of the Code of the Hoods. Mr. Stockholm! If you would please do the honors?”

The massive Red Tribe Werewolf took the center stage, clearing his throat audibly. As he opened his mouth to speak, somebody in the audience whispered to his neighbor, and both chuckled just loudly enough to be heard. Stockholm closed his mouth and glared meaningfully in the jokers’ direction. A moment of tension passed as he pulled his lips back just a small bit.

The front row of agents tried to push back away from the stage at that snarl, and Anna thought on the nickname many of them used behind Stockholm’s back: ‘The Red Menace’. She supposed more members feared him than respected him, but Ignatious Stockholm gave good reasons to be afraid of him. She also knew of his kinder nature, the true persona he hid beneath his gruff, battle-worn and tested exterior. She believed she knew a great deal more about him than even he knew, and she intended to keep it that way.

Once more he cleared his throat, and brought his left hand to his forehead in a salute. Every agent in the hall, Flint and Anna included, followed suit.

“These rules I shall vow ne’er to breach,” he began, “as a member of the Hoods! Firstly, I shall never take that which is necessary for survival from those who do not deserve theft! Secondly, I shall never steal from a Hoods brother or sister, for reasons other than jest or official Guild tests of advancement! Thirdly, I shall never cause harm when it can be avoided.”

He continued reciting the rules of the Guild alone. This, Anna had discovered, proved much more efficient than trying to have two hundred men and women repeat every word.

“Fourth, I shall never follow orders blindly. I shall question judgments handed forth that do not seem sound. Fifth, I shall honor and obey the Guild Headmaster,” he said.

Anna nodded, raising her salute hand skyward for a moment.

“The Guild Prime,” Stockholm said, and Flint raised his hand.

“And the Guild Chief,” he said, raising his own hand. “Lastly, I shall do nothing to bring shame, or the authorities down on the Guild!”

The assembled Guild members brought their hands down and stomped their right feet once.

Stockholm stepped back, and took his position on Anna’s left hand side.

Before Flint stepped forward, the Red Tribe had one final statement to make. “Ignatious Stockholm, Guild Chief!”

Flint remained planted to his spot, but raised his head a couple of inches. “Flint Ananham, Guild Prime!” Anna then stepped forward into the center of the stage.

“William Deus, Guild Headmaster to the Hoods!”

Cheers rose up from the crowd, the agents taking heart in once again seeing their leader after a month-long absence. She had popped in from time to time over the weeks, but only infrequently, to take reports from her Prime and Chief. She hadn’t addressed the entire Guild for too long, and they had become dispirited by William Deus’s long absence. Now, the agents all exhibited a sense of energy.

She stepped back and faced her two best men. “Gentlemen, I’ll be in my office. Flint, I’ll see you first for your reports, then you Stocky."

The Red Tribe rolled his eyes and murmured something under his breath.

Anna spun on her heel and stalked off through a second smaller, wooden door to the right of the stage.

“Cheer up, mate,” Flint clapped Stockholm lightly on the back. “He gets to all of us. It’s what makes him great.”

“You know I don’t like that nickname.” He narrowed his eyes as he once again spotted the two agents who fancied themselves comedians. They had spoken out of turn. He would have none of that. “Go on, Flint. I’ve got a couple of smart-asses to flay.”

* * * *

Annabelle Deus made her solitary walk to her office with a certain bounce in her step, one she hadn’t possessed for nearly a month. She opened the door to her office, which appeared to be an ungodly mess.  In truth, however, it remained just as she had left it. What appeared to others as wholly and completely destroyed made total sense to her. She walked easily around the desk to a small wardrobe in the back left corner, and started to take off her tunic top. Before she had it half off, a knock sounded at the door. She hastily pulled the shirt down and called out, “Enter!”

The tip of a brown snout poked through the door, a toothy smile plastered to the owner’s face. Flint slipped into her office and locked the door behind him, doing the chain latch as well. He sauntered up to the chair across from Anna, who took off her tunic shirt and rummaged through her wardrobe for her shears.

“So, tell me about the last few days. Only the big stuff.” She took hold of the shears and cut the straps of her bra.

“Your husband was accosted by a couple of goons at the close of business. I suppose he already told you about that.”

He nearly guffawed with laughter when he saw the trouble Anna was having trying to reach behind her and cut the straps in the back. He got up from the guest seat and came around the desk, taking the shears from her and cutting away the straps just above the tape wraps that held down her breasts. “He came to no harm, and he lost no profits,” he said, returning to his seat and pulling out one of his daggers, cleaning under his nails again. “As for the harm, well, let’s just say one of the fools stuck around and got quite a bit from ol’ Stocky.”

“Yes.” Anna pulled on her shirt once more. “I imagine he taught the goon quite a lesson.” She drew a leather vest from the wardrobe, one she commissioned from a local Alchemist, Jonah Staples.

The young Alchemist constructed the vest with the use of a Focus Site, enhancing its durability through his powers of science.

She did up the zipper, and smiled with satisfaction. It creaked and bent like real leather, but she knew from experimentation that the vest protected her better than iron plate armor. "Stocky mentioned that Lee is here?”

“Yeah, he is ol’ boss.” Flint did not look up from his distraction. “I doubt it’s anything too important, regardless of how he chooses to state the situation. It never is. Although—” he grinned. “—he did get us that job a few months back in the Manor District. That paid off well.”

“Ha ha! Yes it did.” Ann finally took a seat and put her feet up on her desk. “Isn’t that one of Lord Falco’s rings, in fact?” She pointed to Flint’s right hand.

He looked at the solid gold ring and chuckled.

“In any event, he can wait until I get the rest of your and Stocky’s reports. So, what else do you have for me?”

Flint rattled off a few menial reports, promising Anna that he’d have the treasury report ready and on her desk in a couple of days.

She thanked him for the information and discretion, and instructed the friendly Wererat to send in Stockholm on his way out.

Flint opened the door after undoing the locks, and, as expected, found the hulking Red Tribe leaning against the wall outside of her office.

“He’ll see you now, Chief,” he said.

Stockholm glared at him, a hint of pent-up aggression in his fiery, crimson eyes.

Flint hoofed it away from the Red Tribe Werewolf as quickly as his legs could carry him, and Ignatious Stockholm ducked through the doorway and into William Deus’s office.

As soon as Anna saw his lumbering form squeeze through the door, she brought her feet down off of her desk. She didn’t have to—after all, she was the Headmaster of the Hoods, not he. But Stockholm conveyed a heavy aura of power and authority, and always had. As far back as Anna could recall, he always filled the position of Chief. Perhaps, she thought, part of her reaction was still instilled by his once being her superior.

Stockholm stood a couple of feet behind the guest seat and saluted smartly. “Sir, Guild Chief Ignatious Stockholm present,” he announced, taking a deep sniff of the air.

She laughed to herself and relaxed, remembering their positions.

“Sit down, Stocky. And don’t worry, I had Norman construct that chair with you in mind.”

Norman Adwar, one of many Gnomes in the Hoods’ ranks, held the honor of being the Guild’s only scientist, a Tinker without equal in the city.

Stockholm eyeballed the chair with heavy suspicion. The last chair collapsed under his great weight, and he didn’t trust Norman’s engineering in the slightest. He’d seen better in his long years. Still, he shrugged his shoulders and sat easily in the chair.

It held, much to his surprise. He took another sniff of the air.

“Sir, I know I’ve hammered this in as hard as I can, but I still think someone makes your cologne with traces of silver in it,” he said, wrinkling his snout.

“We’ve had this discussion many times, Stocky. I like this scent,” she said, lying through her teeth. When applying the musk cologne, her eyes always watered, and always would.

“One more thing before we get started, sir,” Stockholm shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Could you please refrain from calling me that?” His voice was like an overcast sky. “It’s humiliating.”

“It’s endearing, mister Stockholm.” She leaned forward and planted her elbows on the piles of paperwork that comprised her desktop. “At least, it’s always been meant to be. Now, on to business, Stocky.” She twisted the nickname like a knife in a wound.

Stockholm growled and made a fist, but he dutifully rattled off a slew of oral reports and statistics, handing her matching documentation all the while. When he handed her the last piece of paper, she spun in her chair and opened the top drawer of a filing cabinet clearly marked ‘Stockholm’s reports’. The top drawer she normally kept nearly empty, as it was reserved for those reports she hadn’t read yet. Now, however, she had nearly and inch and a half of papers to stuff in there. She sighed wearily—Stockholm made a great Chief, but sometimes, he was all too thorough. If he ever left the Hoods, he’d make some police captain very happy.

“That’s everything, sir,” he rumbled, getting up to leave.

Before he got to the door, Anna remembered a standard question.

“Wait, Stocky. Any disciplinary problems?”

The Red Tribe turned around and gave her one of his trademark grins, the kind that turned lesser men’s intestines to gelatin.

“Three of them, sir. The Saurenson boys tried to break into Styge’s room without permission. When we found them, they were about four clicks south of the city. They thought they were being chased by a pack of Dreadnaughts, sir.”

Ah, Styge, Anna thought.

“The Saurensons. They’re the triplets that joined near the end of last month, aren’t they?”

Stockholm nodded, mercifully dropping his smile.

“So they don’t know the old man’s an Illusionist?”

“No sir. They’re near the end of their time in punishment, so I’ll send Styge to inform them. A little scare should do them some good. Especially from, as they call him, an ‘evil miser of a Necromancer’, sir.”

Anna smiled despite herself.

“See to it, Chief,” she said. “When you find him, by the way, send in Lee Toren. I’ll read your reports while I’m waiting for him, so take your time. And Stockholm?”

Once again, the Red Tribe turned to face his Headmaster.

“Get some rest. I can see the bags under your eyes.” Even canines get bags, she thought, and his fairly drooped. However, he never slept much, so the shapes under his eyes could just be permanent markings now. I’d rather err on the side of caution, she thought.

He nodded his acquiescence, even though she knew that was a load.

“I’ll go and fetch the little pest first, sir,” Stockholm called over his shoulder as he squeezed out of the doorway. He closed the door softly behind him, and once again, Annabelle Deus was left alone in her office.

“Business as usual,” she muttered to herself, taking out one of the Chief’s reports.

* * * *

Flint leaned easily against the wall of the Guild’s taproom, a small, private lounge that the Guild had for its drinking agents. Not all of the Guild’s members drank, but most did, and heavily when they saw an opportunity. The Wererat was no exception. He seldom actually sat down, keeping his drink on a nearby table, a hand-rolled cigarette in his hand, smoke pluming up out of his snout. A single smoke ring hovered up past his face and he looked down into the face of Lee Toren.

Lee stood nearly four feet in height, large for a member of his Race. But he also maintained a decent girth, much more appropriate for the men of his peoples. He blew another ring after taking a drag of his own cigarette, and smiled widely up at Flint.

“Hey there, little man,” Flint said. “Long time, no see,” he said.

“Oi, ‘ow’s it goin’ me mousy lad?” Lee took a sip of his drink, and set the mug down next to Flint’s.

Before the Wererat could clout him one, the Gnome Pickpocket waved his hands defensively. Flint hated being called a mouse. “Sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn’t ‘ave said it. Just couldn’t resist, ya know? Anyhow, when’s Will gonna see me?”

“Oh, I imagine he’ll send Stocky after you shortly.” Flint took another pull of his drink. “How’s things been for you? Seen or heard from Amon lately?”

“No.” Lee held a drag of his smoke for a long moment, then puffed out four little rings, each smaller than the last. “Ran into his nephew not long back, though. Gave him a little help as was needed at the toim.”

Tiberious Amon, Flint thought. Thirty or so years had gone by since Flint and Lee had helped the crippled Khan get to a safe location in the southern lands. “Why you ask?”

“Oh, just making conversation. Figured I may as well, seeing as you’re about to be hauled out of here.” Flint caught Stockholm’s scent from down the hall. The taproom had no door to maintain an environment of privacy, because nobody thought it necessary to lock up a taproom in a hidden sewer-based compound. People tended to get loud when they drank anyway, and every drunkard likes to have an audience, Anna reasoned. However, she also had plans to install a vault door and implement the taproom as a last resort refuge.

“Hauled out? By whom, exactly?” Lee grinned smugly. His harsh laughter echoed through the room until he saw a streak of crimson fur approaching down the hallway, towards the taproom.

“Oh Gods,” he whispered, almost to himself. Stockholm had never much cared for Lee, and the Gnome Pickpocket knew it. Everybody knew it, because Stockholm never held back his opinions of people. Lee had essentially been branded ever since he’d barged into the Chief’s private chambers one evening. Without knocking, Lee amended mentally, because that had been the biggest problem. That alone had created a chasm of a rift between he and the Red Tribe, a rift nobody liked to talk about.

Stockholm fairly exploded into the room, but Lee got lucky for a moment. Stockholm’s attention turned immediately to one of the female agents at the bar, and instead of laying right in to the Gnome, he stalked up to the woman.

The taproom fell deathly quiet, like a funeral parlor.

Stockholm barged up to the bar, and snatched the girl’s hand up in his own huge paw. “What the hells do you think you’re doing,” he growled at the stunned young Human woman.

“I was just having a glass of wine,” she blurted, tears welling behind her eyes.

For the first time, Lee noticed a slight bulge in the front of the woman’s shirt. “It’s nothing,” she almost whispered.

“It’s not nothing, Sara,” Stockholm growled, pulling her off of her stool as gently as he could without losing his grip on her wrist. “You are not allowed drink, remember? Get to the infirmary right now, young lady. We’ll discuss appropriate punishment later!”

He growled menacingly, turning to face the current server. “As for you…”

The Wererat tending the taproom bar shrank back as far as he could against the racks of booze.

“You and I shall have a little man-to-man in a few minutes. I have something else to tend to first.” He left the Wererat to sweat and seriously consider his immediate future.

Lee thought with a grimace, he doesn’t have one!

Stockholm approached him slowly, easily. He tried to keep his temper in check, because for once, Lee wasn’t the one doing something stupid, or unwelcome.

“Lee Toren,” Stockholm rumbled, towering over the Gnome at an impressive seven and a half feet in height. “William wishes to see you. Now,” he said, letting the word hang there for a moment, daring the Pickpocket to make any kind of wisecrack.

Discretion, Lee recalled someone saying, is the better part of valor. “Yes, of course.” He put his smoke out in the available ashtray near his drink. “I’ll just pop on over there. Good seeing you, Flint,” he said, heading for the hallway.

Flint watched him go for a minute before he turned back to the Chief. “You know, you terrify him.”

“Comes with the job.” Stockholm snatched the cigarette out of Flint’s mouth and stubbing it hastily in the ashtray.

Flint raised an eyebrow at his red-furred cohort.

“It’s a disgusting habit,” Stockholm said without looking at Flint. “Now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of discipline to administer. If you don’t mind?”

Flint shook his head slightly, and Stockholm threw him a salute. “Prime,” he said.

Flint returned the salute half-heartedly. Best to humor the woof-dog, he thought.

“Chief,” he said, and watched as Stockholm leaped over the bar from a running start, landing heavily on the Wererat barkeep.

* * * *

Away from Stockholm, Lee’s attention turned to the news he had for William Deus. Excited, he burst into his office without knocking, flying into the seat across from the Hoods’ Headmaster, watching the thief’s eyes widen with surprise as Lee landed in the chair.

“Oi, Will! How’s things?”

Anna looked at the Gnome, noticing the vague signs of age that had marked his bushy beard since last she’d seen him.

A Gnome’s beard grows naturally white, and only darkens when they get to their upper years. Spots of brown and black peppered Lee’s scraggly facial hair now, present when they had not been a few years before. Smile lines formed on his once flush face, the yellowish hue of his skin slightly lighter along the lines.

“Just fine, Lee, just fine.” She set aside the report she had been working over from Stockholm, surprised to find that he had started making charts of the pregnant female agents, connecting them to the prospective fathers where and when he could. No Guild rules restricted such relationships, and it appeared, from the nature of the reports, that the Chief was trying to make certain none of the fathers tried to shirk their responsibilities. When a father was confirmed, Stockholm filed the necessary forms and made requests for her to approve of a transfer of Guild wages. Fathers had a portion of their monthly cut taken out and given to the expecting mothers. She’d already signed off on twelve of these forms.

“Will, have I got big news fer you.” Lee broke Anna’s drifting train of thought. “You’re never gonna’ believe this!”

“You’re right,” she said bluntly. “I probably won’t.” She knew Lee had a penchant for exaggeration.

     “I’ve got this informant, roit? Human fellah, name of Townshend,” Lee began.

Anna found herself paying attention immediately. Lee may not be very honest, but his informants always got paid well for their services, and never withheld anything from the Gnome Pickpocket. Not when the pay was as good as it was.

Lee continued by telling Anna, or rather William as he thought her to be, about Townshend’s allegiance to a Paladin by the name of Reynaldi. Townshend had related the events of the Paladin’s escapade into the ruins of a guild outpost of some sort, and his discovery of the fabled Glove of Shadows.

This discovery sent Anna reeling. The Glove of Shadows. The mere name blazed a familiar tingle in her thieving fingertips. Oh, what an artifact! The Glove allowed anybody to take whatever they wanted, and somehow nobody knew anything had happened when the Glove was used. The Glove stood as all thieves’ Holy Grail, an object so profoundly useful, in the right hands, that whoever might have it could honestly proclaim themselves the best thief in all the lands. With it, she would be the undisputed king of thieves. And it now sat in the hands of a Paladin.

“He told me that Reynaldi intends to find a way to destroy it, Will! We can’t let that happen!”

“No—no we can’t.” Anna’s mind raced to formulate a plan. With the glove in their hands, the petty wars between guilds could be ended. “Lee, did anybody else hear this informant of yours?”

“Well, yeah.” Lee looked away from Anna, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I was in a tavern in Vershak, south of ‘ere, when he rushed in to tell me. One of me mates was sharin’ a friendly drink wif me, and he’s sort of in our field of expertise, Will. ‘E took the information, er, elsewhere in the city.”

A twinge of fear streaked up Anna’s spine.

“Oh no.” She sighed deeply. “He didn’t, did he? Please tell me he didn’t.”

“He did, Will. He’s gonna sell off the info to the Midnight Suns.”

Anna ground her teeth and sat back in her chair, mulling over anew her hastily formed plans. The Midnight Suns, she thought. Those bastards’ll take his information and kill him. The Midnight Suns resided chiefly in Desanadron—the Hoods’ rival thieves guild. Their organization consisted mostly of Ninjas, Strong Arm Thugs and mercenaries of several other Classes. They employed the most brutal tactics of theft, resorting to armed mugging and outright murder to attain coinage for the Sons. Their Headmaster, a Black Draconus by the name of Thaddeus Fly, came directly from the Obura Clan of Ninjas in the southeast of Tamalaria. Anna had had a few scraps with the dangerous martial artist, coming away with many more wounds than she ever inflicted.

The Midnight Suns also resorted to a time-honored Ninja tradition for the bulk of their business—assassination. They killed the target without fail, sure, but they often left everyone else in the immediate vicinity a corpse as well. Anna despised their methods and their ways, but she knew they were capable and highly skilled at what they did.

“So, they’re going to know about the Glove, too. Well…” she put her chin on her palm. “That’s just great. Fly will no doubt get ready to set out after our good Mr. Reynaldi as soon as he finds out. Thank you, Lee. Send Flint in when you find him, but don’t be taking off.” Pulling open one of the lower drawers of her desk, she heavily thumped down four small sacks on her desk, and looked from the sacks to Lee.

The Gnome’s eyes had glossed over with greed.

“Advance payment for your help, my friend. You’ll be coming along with us.”