"The Glove of Shadows" Chapter Three- The Other Side of the Fence

Crash! Another tetsujin, or metal training dummy, crashed to the concrete floor of the basement in pieces. A large group of the lifeless puppets stood scattered around the dusty, cavernous chamber, a single Black Draconus in the middle of their faceless numbers.

Without flinching at the impacts, the dragon-kin kicked and wheeled at the dummies, lashing out with ferocious blows from his hands and feet. A single drop of sweat ran down his scale-covered forehead as he came to a halt, the remainder of the tetsujin destroyed.

Thaddeus Fly barely discerned the sound of another Ninja’s footfalls, an agent he knew well. His second in command, a gray-clad Human sans mask, stood in the wide stairwell opening, sneering mockingly at his Headmaster. The Human tossed him a towel, which he caught with ease.

“Thank you, Markus.” Fly wiped his brow. “What have you to report, Mr. Trent?”

The Ninja, Markus Trent, gave a brief bow before stepping onto the basement floor proper.

“An informant bears news for you, Headmaster Fly.” A sly smile played over Trent’s lips, revealing teeth yellowed by coffee and cheap cigarettes.

Fly flinched inwardly at the sight of Trent’s teeth. A true Ninja should take better care of himself, the Draconus thought.

“He won’t reveal his information to anyone but you, he says. I tried to tell him that as your first officer he could relate the facts to me, but he refuses to yield.” Trent’s lips turned downward with the last few words.

Fly had a good idea what that meant—it meant that Trent had grilled the man as hard as he could without using force.

Markus Trent held the position of first officer in the Midnight Suns, an unofficial title, as most in the Guild were. Only Thaddeus Fly held claim of an official position in the Midnight Suns, as its founder and leader. But Fly relied on Trent to act as his second in command, retaining their respective ranks from their days together with the Obura Ninja clan. Fly reasoned with people, and slowly added members to their little band of thieves in the beginning, while Trent used other, less subtle methods. While the Headmaster of the Midnight Suns did not precisely care for the disturbed Human’s methods, he turned a blind eye to them as often as possible.

“I assume you tried to, ah, persuade him he could talk to you.” Fly smiled wickedly back at Trent. True, he turned a blind eye to the man’s compulsions, but not to the scheming, plotting look the man always had in his eyes. Markus Trent had a Vision, Fly knew, and the Draconus played only a minor part in that Vision. He was cast as the first of many victims.

“I simply explained my position to him.” Trent lied poorly. He thought about Fly’s policy against outright torture of a civilian, and his stomach churned. Five minutes in my chambers, with my darlings, he thought vehemently. Just five minutes, and the Gnome would beg to give the information to him. But no. So long as Fly stood in the way, his darlings would have to content themselves to the few meager offerings Trent brought them.

He would bring Fly to them one day, he thought viciously. A handful of plans had been foiled over the years, leaving some of Trent’s loyal subjects dead and buried. But he would find an opportunity eventually, and he would lay Fly low. He had to, in exchange for what had been done to him because of the Black Draconus’s actions long ago.

“I’m sure you did.” Fly noncommittally removed his gloves. Hard, scaled hands fumed, clouds of heat coming from them in tufts. “Have Akimaru send him to my quarters when I’m ready, Trent.”

Markus Trent bowed once more before departing from the basement dojo, stalking up the stairs toward his room.

Trent mentally fumed, despising the way Fly treated him like a lapdog. “Who’s he, anyway,” he growled at one point during his walk down the corridors of the multi-storied building that housed the Midnight Suns.

A few agents turned their heads to watch his lithe form slip from hallway to hallway, chamber to chamber, not so much as giving them a second’s thought.

Finally, ascending to the second floor, Trent slowed his pace. He stood in a narrow hallway, the wallpaper dank and musty, forgotten in the midst of so many agents busy with more important matters. Trent moved almost woodenly to the third doorway on the left side of the hall, stepping into an open alcove where only one agent sat.

The agent wore a simple, body-covering Ninja uniform, all white from the face-concealing mask, to the short tabi boots covering the smallish feet.

“Akimaru,” Trent said, and the Ninja looked up from his book, his vibrant, purple eyes meeting Trent’s own.

Markus experienced much the same feeling at that moment that everyone got around the quiet, white-clad Ninja—it felt as though he was looking through you, not at you, and his eyes changed color often, between purple and gray.

“Yes, master Trent.” Akimaru’s quiet, whisper-like voice directed itself straight into Trent’s head.

Another queer observation most agents made about Akimaru, Trent noted. The man’s voice sounded like an echo in the listener’s ears, as though the words appeared in the mind without passing through the open air.

Akimaru sometimes put off even a sadist like Trent, but this feeling always passed. Akimaru was always, if nothing else, helpful and obedient.

“There is a Gnome informant here to speak with the Headmaster,” Trent reported flatly. “See to it that he goes to his personal chambers when the Headmaster is ready for him.”

Akimaru stood and bowed respectfully, and Trent exited the reading room, heading for his own personal quarters.

Up two more flights of stairs he ascended, his thoughts turning to his waiting darlings. The gray Ninja turned the knob to his room and entered in a rush, immediately closing the door behind him. He turned with a reverential expression plastered to his face to the wall directly opposite the door.

Flames of passion burned deep in the pit of Markus Trent’s soul, passion no amount of water or dirt could extinguish. He took slow, measured steps towards the set of tools hanging on the wall, his hands tingling as he removed his gray cloth gloves. He took one of the devices down off of the wall, and hit a button, activating a twisting, serrated knife blade. The baleful smile returned to his lips. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said to the device. “You and I, we’ll get to play with ol’ scaleface soon. You, and me, and all of our friends.” He spread his arms to take in the entire wall of torture devices. “Oh, we’ll have a grand old time!”

* * * *

Three floors below the warped conversation in Markus Trent’s chambers, Thaddeus Fly sat with his legs folded, wearing his official traveling and combat gear. His own chambers had been torn apart and remade from scratch, modeled after the Obura clan’s dojo. Simple, freshly scrubbed wooden floors shimmered with a recent coating of wood polish. He sat on one side of a knee-height table, laden with teacups, saucers, and a teapot with a floral design on one side, and a twisting dragon on the other.

A slat-style door stood opposite him, open to admit entrance to anyone the doorman saw fit to allow in. The doorman, at that time, was Akimaru.

Fly sipped his tea, and gave the white-clad Ninja a small hand gesture.

Akimaru bowed swiftly, and waved his own hand at a person standing on the other side of the paper wall of Fly’s room.

A small Gnome, decked in forest travel gear, puttered forward and into the chamber, smiling nervously at Thaddeus Fly. He remained just inside the doorway, until Fly gestured him forward.

The Gnome, his naturally yellowish skin made more so by the candles used to light the room, laughed a little as he shuffled slowly up to the table. “Um, where’s the chairs?”

 Fly smiled gently at him and shook his head.

“We don’t use them in my quarters.” Fly poured the Gnome a cup of tea. “Please, be seated or kneel.”

The Gnome informant knelt, taking the offered cup in his hands. He blew on the hot drink, and took a short sip.

“Hm. That’s quite nice.” The Gnome squinted his eyes at the liquid. “What is it?”

“It’s called ginseng, Mister...” Fly let the space hang for a moment.

The Gnome blinked his eyes rapidly, and then realized he was being asked his name.

“Oh, Brandon, sir. It’s Brandon,” the informant lied.

“It’s a traditional tea for Obura clan Ninjas, Brandon,” Fly said with that fake, gentle smile once again. “Myself and about one quarter of my men are Obura clan Ninjas. Most people think of us as thieves.” He took another sip of his tea, measuring the confused look Brandon wore.

“Um, I thought you were thieves, myself. No offense meant, sir.”

“Oh, none taken Mr. Brandon, I assure you.” Fly waved the statement off with a lazy hand. “It’s a common misunderstanding. Obura Ninjas are more focused on combat—ranged and melee—than stealth. A few of our number get good at the stealth, but we aren’t your typical Ninjas. We don’t traipse around in the shadows, taking money and lives whenever the urge hits us. We’re more disciplined than that.” Fly noticed the way the Gnome’s eyes kept darting from his face back down to his teacup. Nervous, he thought. And it’s not just Akimaru or me he’s nervous about. He’s got something big to tell me, and he’s afraid he’s made a mistake in bringing it to me.

“So, how do you’s make money, then? I mean, this is a guild, roit?” Brandon took the last of his tea into his mouth.

Without thinking, Fly responded almost immediately. If he had hesitated a moment, or if the Gnome had swallowed faster, nothing bad would have happened. But Fly responded punctually.

“Mostly through assassination contracts,” he said

Brandon choked, spewing tea all over the table, himself, and Fly’s face.

The Gnome thought for sure he was a dead man, but he watched Fly calmly wipe his face with a napkin, not even showing a brief sign of irritation. Unfortunately for the Gnome, he was no mind reader. Had he been, he might have bolted at that moment on the off chance he’d get past the white-clad doorman and out of the building.

Disgusting, low-class, foul little buffoon, Fly’s inner voice howled through the landscape of his mind. A vision of his claws tearing through the Gnome’s throat played in his mind’s eye. But he stayed his hands, and checked his temper with an effort. “Ask me no questions, Mr. Brandon, and I shall tell you no lies. Now,” he said, wiping the last of the spewed tea off of his dragon-like face. “You have some information for me, I believe?”

“Oh, roit, roit,” Brandon blurted, remembering himself. “Well, it’s big news, see? You ‘eard of the Glove of Shadows?”

Fly nodded, pouring Brandon tea in a fresh teacup.

The Gnome gladly accepted it, draining most of the warm contents right away. “S’real good stuff, chief. Anyways, this Elven Paladin, real holier-than-thou sort, he found it in an old ruins a couple of days ago. He’s going to lock it up and try to sort out how to destroy it once and for all, Oh, that would truly and surely be a dark day for all thieves, mister Fly.” He set down the cup and wiped his sweating hands on his wool pants.

“How reliable is your information, Brandon? How can I be certain of the Glove’s existence, and its discovery?” Fly raised one thick, hairless eyebrow. The Glove of Shadows, he thought. A marvelous artifact. If it truly had fallen into the hands of a Paladin, however, it wouldn’t be put to proper use, what a pity. But if he could confirm that it actually existed, and had been taken away from its prior location, he would immediately formulate a plan to take it for his own.

     “That’s the great part, gov,” Brandon said excitedly. “This Paladin, Rey-something-or-other, it’s ‘is job to go ‘round and seal away dark artifacts and ghosts and such for the Order of Oun. An’ one of his chaps, a member of his crew, told me about it. He’d been there for the discovery.”

Fly leaned back a little, mulling. He hadn’t detected deceit in the informant’s voice, but he sensed that something was being withheld, some crucial fact.

“A couple of days ago,” Brandon continued, “he popped in on me and one of my other occasional co-workers at a tavern in Vershak, to the south. Told us all about it!”

Fly’s cup had been halfway to his lips, and he set it carefully, slowly, back to the table.

“Your, ‘other’, co-worker? Where, pray tell, is he?” Fly’s smile was gone, his tone businesslike.

     “Oh, he says he don’t work wif you blokes, onna count of ‘im one time robbing this place blind.”

Fly silently fumed. Only one thief had ever managed to break into the Suns base of operations and get away wholly undetected until the next day, when the guild’s vault had been discovered—empty. Lee Toren. Of course, he would run right to William Deus and his blasted Hoods. Toren took to that weird little ragamuffin outfit and their charming con-man leader.  No matter, he thought. I’ll burn that bridge once I’ve crossed it.

“Very well. We thank you for your valuable service, Mister Brandon. Your payment…” Fly indicated Akimaru, whom Brandon hadn’t heard or seen leave, or come back with the small trunk in his hands.

The white-clad Ninja came into the room proper, and set the trunk down next to Brandon, stepping back and bowing deeply to Fly.

“Wow! You’re too kind.” The Gnome opened the trunk, and removed several sparkling jewels from the container. His eyes glossed with the drunken rapture that a barfly has when he managed to land a date for the night. “I’ll be sure to do business with you again!” The Gnome stood, performed a horrible parody of the Obura bow, and stuffed the jewels in his pockets as he darted out of the room, away from Thaddeus Fly and the silent Akimaru.

Fly finished his tea and wiped his lips daintily. He clapped his hands once, and Akimaru immediately set to clearing the small table as Fly stood up. “A nice touch with the teacup, sensei,” Akimaru said.

Unlike Trent and the majority of the agents in the Midnight Suns, Akimaru’s strange method of speech didn’t jar Fly in the least. Nor did his piercing gaze. Fly smiled smugly and looked at Akimaru, standing at the small washing sink, cleaning the dishes meticulously. Fly waited for him to dry the teacup that Brandon had used, and Akimaru dutifully held it out for him to take.

“Shall I see to the return of the jewels?”

“Please do, Akimaru.” Fly opened an overhead cupboard and pulling out a small glass jar. He set the jar on the counter, and opened the top gently, revealing a thin, white paste inside. The Black Draconus opened a drawer, withdrew a small brush, and carefully started applying a coat of the paste to the inside of the cup.

Within seconds of the brush’s passing, the paste dried over, and looked to be a part of the cup itself. “Remember though, my pupil, that this stuff takes an hour or so to run its course, so there’s no rush. Wait for the time, and then get the jewels.” Fly closed the jar of poisonous paste, and set it back in the cupboard. When he turned to dismiss Akimaru, he found the white-clad Ninja missing, the dishes already done and sitting in a rack.