Chapter 1
Orphan’s Port, Isles of Oceansoul
Her back to the corner in a shithole taproom slum-side called the Silver Hilt, Talia pulled down her wraps just long enough to inhale a pinch of Stardust through her right nostril, wheezing at the burning sensation that traveled down her nose and throat. Burning, then tingling, then release. Breathing out but more calmly now, her tongue numb and head swimming, she put her wraps back up before anyone noticed the tusks poking out from her lips; a rare trait of perhaps the only Half-Orc in Orphan’s Port.
"The only one not still in the dungeons, at least." she thought dryly, remembering the few she’d seen during her many, many run-ins with the town guard in her thirteen years of life. Shrugging, as if the matter meant nothing to her, Talia drew her Buzuq, a stringed instrument with a long, narrow neck, its strings thin metal rather than catgut. Running a basic scale through its three-and-one clusters of frets, her index finger surrounded by a thin horn plucker, she played a basic evening Maqam, beginning slowly, then picking up in tempo. Closing her eyes, inhaling the pipe smoke, she appeared lost in her melody to any onlookers.
In truth, however, she was listening carefully to the conversation three tables down, between a known contact of a rival band of thieves and a prominent merchant from neighboring Bloody Bay.
“...shipment prepared?”
“Not yet, ...”
“...Porters getting too curious, need an enforcer...”
Somewhere by the water, but not in the slums. Foreign quarter probably.
A few coins fell into the bowl left out to collect gratuity, and Talia opened her eyes just long enough to nod at a man, who leered at her a moment before noticing her yellow eyes and backing off, disturbed. Another obvious giveaway of her heritage, one she’d long ago given up on trying to conceal. Closing them again, she strained to again hear the cautious thieves, who spoke well under the general din of the taproom.
“...Can’t be too careful, Maharaja’ golden heralds...”
Good deal of heat. They wouldn’t take these risks with a small haul. Artifacts? Jewels? Slaves?
A few more coins went into the bowl. She did the best to appear lost in her music to avoid another lapse.
“Agreeable. Double the watchers. Round up a few orphans for good measure. Maybe Riyad and his little band...”
"Grandfather Riyad doesn’t share a haul.” Talia thought with a grin. If her group were getting involved, it would be to seize shipments or sell the information to the right parties. Probably the latter. Maybe bringing the royal palace down on these bunglers would clear a bit of territory for them to take over, a few more streets for Riyad’s “children” to ply without angering the larger guilds.
“I expect results soon, Gadi. Don’t disappoint.” The merchant concluded, finishing his drink and departing.
In no real hurry and not wanting to blow her cover, Talia waited until the fires burned low before finishing her rounds, eyeing the bowl and the not inconsiderable sum inside left by a few of the taproom patrons. All that practice had to get her something, after all...
Carefully dodging all the groping hands in her path to the door, she slipped outside and into an adjacent alleyway...right into an ambush.
“You there! Girl!” a man shouted behind her, to which she ignored, scanning the shadows for others. She found two.
Fucking wonderful...
“We heard you play, my friends and I. How about you come with us...” he said, closer now as she turned to face him, “Maybe give us a little private performance.”
Head was still buzzing from the Stardust, the hairs on her skin going erect. When this mood took her only blood fixed it. If they wanted trouble it’d be their funeral.
“Do all the lowlife’s in this shithole go for children?” she asked, setting her Buzuq down. No need to ruin it and piss Riyad off. He’ll already be annoyed as it was...
“You’ve got quite the mouth, little orc.” he replied, and it occurred to her he was the man from before, the heavy tipper who’d seen her eyes, “But how are your other lips, I wonder? How about you lose the scarf...and maybe the rest too?”
“And all that coin you got tonight.” added one of the men hidden in the alley, stepping into the torchlight, “Little appreciation. Or maybe if you’re good enough we’ll give you coin.”
Her expression hidden beneath her wraps, Talia made a show of doffing it, all the while pulling her hairpin out; a sharp length of iron that doubled as a shiv. Hiding it up her sleeve, she scowled at the muggers, “There; it’s off. Happy?”
“Very.” he said, his grin widening, “Now come over here.”
“I’m thinking not.” Sayed, one of her cohorts in Riyad’s band, echoed from above, “Four crossbows trained on your balls, and one each for your associates there. I don’t like your odds, friend.”
The mugger, definitely more circumspect, glanced up, though Sayed wasn’t visible, “Didn’t think they made crossbows in waif size.”
A bolt sank into the ground at his feet, and he jumped, cursing. The distraction was enough for Talia to grab her Buzuq and dart back into the alley, away from the light. Hands grabbed at her, but she stabbed out with her hairpin and felt a wet pop as it plunged into flesh. Not caring to wait and see exactly who and where she hit, she slung her instrument over her shoulder, scaled a gutter, and took to the rooftop, following the edge where the buildings conjoined. Curses and shouts trailed in her wake, but she paid them no heed, following Sayed more by scent than sight, for he was as adept at blending into the shadows as she was. When they were out of sight and out of earshot, they stopped, laughing.
“I could’ve handled that, you know.” Talia said, still out of breath, “Nice bluff though. They thought a whole army was up there by the looks on their faces.”
Sayed, a full-blooded native of the Isles about four years older than her, smirked, “Three itchies with a hairpin? If you say so, boar-face.”
“I did say so, beak-nose.” she replied, completing their usual routine of halfhearted mockery, “Good thing Grandfather thought enough to give me a spotter, though. Came in handy. I have enough to bring back, by the way.”
“Good. Maybe we’ll get an extra share if it’s a good enough find. How’d you know they were coming here?”
Talia blinked, “Jimmied his lockbox a tenday ago and got a few things for Hadya to look at before he got back. Poor blackheart still had the letter to arrange the meeting. Should’ve burned it, I think.”
Sayed tsk-tsked, “Better for us.”
Carefully skirting main streets, passing muggers, dealers, and prostitutes, all plying their trade from unwary visitors that strayed too far from the foreign quarter, Talia and Sayed approached Grandfather’s safehouse a little before first light. It’d been an armory once, abandoned after the Three Banner’s War when the Royal Navy out of Bloody Bay sacked the port and nearly leveled it with thunderpowder cannons. Boarded up at the front, there was a loose hatch along the side leading to a narrow shaft, at the bottom of which was the fortified bunker where weapons had once been stored. Shimmying down, each took up a key hanging from their necks and inserted them into the lock at the real door at the end. They always went out in pairs, and only two sets of keys could open it.
Nobody entered Grandfather’s domain uninvited...and if one ever did they’d find themselves swiftly outmatched.
Sealing the door behind them, they were met by the rest of the band, who’d already finished their duties for the night and holed up in the lounging room. Richly cushioned divans and carpets, all red with golden thread, filled the room, with hanging drapery making it feel less isolated, even though it was well below the city streets. Hookah and hashish smoke clouded it, vented out through shafts far too narrow for a body to pass through.
Mahmud was closest to the door, watching it like a well trained hound. The oldest and biggest of Riyad’s children, more a man at the age of nineteen, he served as a spotter and enforcer, a well-worn saber at his belt. Nodding brusquely, he motioned them to the next room; Grandfather’s office. They passed the twins, Farah and Farideh, who offered brief words of greeting before returning to their card game. Not much for talk, they preferred solitude, being the best infiltrators among the group, impressive since they were only a year older than Talia herself. With their bland appearance; brown hair, darkly tanned skin, brown eyes, and stocky frame, they could pass as any peasant’s daughters and dismissed just the same. A handy trick on swift escapes from heists gone bad. She didn’t have the luxury, since they always just blamed “That half-orc in the slums”, often for crimes she never actually committed as opposed to the ones she did.
Lufti, the youngest of their group at the tender age of eleven, wasn’t so soft-spoken.
“Hey! How was the job? You lose your scarf?” he blurted, squinting at her, “And your hairpin?”
He really didn’t miss anything. Good quality.
“It was nothing, brighteye. Just some itchies looking for trouble.” Talia replied, smiling, “We got what we needed, so a few rattled drunks isn’t too bad a spot. I’ll just have to lie low a couple days. Leave the Buzuq here.”
“Shame. You’re really good at it. You gonna’ play later?”
Tousling his hair playfully, Vala passed him, “Maybe. We’ll see how things go.”
Riyad’s office was more of a study; he always prided himself on being an “learned” man. There were shelves of books reaching to the low ceiling, all in various stages of distress, a big metal astrolabe, maps, and something called a telescope for stargazing. All discarded by nobles and recovered, or stolen as an added benefit to a burglary well done.
Hadya, their numbers girl, sat at a side desk, more an end table really, scribbling something down. On her forehead were two dots, a tattoo few possessed which symbolized being literate. None of the others really got that training; all Talia knew was “Contact”, “Meeting”, “Buyer”, and “Wanted”.
Last one had been a good word to know when she saw her posters lining the slums one day. Still kept a few as a memento, each with an ever increasing list of offenses.
And at his rosewood desk, stacked with parchments copied from merchant ledgers, guard post assignments, and other relevant documents, sat the Grandfather himself. Well into his forties but not yet as old as the name suggested, he was a hard man, unshaven and scraggly, his dark-lidded eyes intense and forbidding. They softened at her approach, if only a little, “Welcome back, child. What of your assignment?”
She clued him in; a rival band was moving hot goods through the foreign quarter. A small operation, but suspiciously so if they were looking to recruit others. The Maharaja usually didn’t care about smuggling; business was business, after all, so it was either slaves or special goods. But if they started small, she guessed the latter; quietly moving captives who’d rather spoil your whole operation out of spite was risky, and not the best venture here. They could just have easily made port in Murkwood Cove or Musa’s Scale and done business openly. But magic...well, nobody liked dealing with magicians. After all, they’d made their crystal tower on a remote island long ago just so they wouldn’t have to deal with mundane sorts.
“I think maybe they’ve got a magician leading them.” She added, “Maybe their thinking of setting up shop here. All kinds of mischief to be had, and who would notice?”
Nodding, for he’d long ago learned to trust her intuition, Grandfather smiled, “Very good. And other channels provided evidence to support your claim. Hadya intercepted a recent bill of sale of a dockside property to parties that have no business here, paid in more coin than any guild we know of could muster. So I can say we know where their goods are being held.”
Hadya beamed at that, “I also had the twins scout out that area. The manor looks abandoned, boarded up, but then so does this place. There were schematics left in the city archive, detailing a series of tunnels leading to an old quarry. The whole reason people started living on this miserable speck of land, actually.”
A quarry could store a whole treasure trove of goods. The thought had her salivating.
“I bet the palace would pay a hefty price for this information.” she blurted, earning a tinge of amusement from Grandfather, “True, but without evidence the claim would hardly be substantial enough to raid a building. We could go in and recover some evidence.”
“And if anything else, anything particularly valuable was lost in the process... Gold... Jewels... Weapons...”
“Then all’s well that ends well.” Riyad finished for her, “I suggest you sleep well today; I have no intention of letting this opportunity go to waste, magician or no.”
Tomorrow then...
“I will. Goodnight, Grandfather.”
“And you, Talia.”
Laying down in her sleeping cushion, a few drinks and a few songs later, Talia dozily considered her last pinch of Stardust. She wouldn’t want to risk withdrawal mid-heist, so it was best she took it now with some time to sober up. The symptoms were...unpleasant.
“Grandfather doesn’t like it when you take that, you know.” Sayed noted dryly, opposite her and eyeing her critically.
“Yeah, so what?” she retorted, belching up a bit of wine and hastily swallowing it, “I can spend my share on whatever I please.”
“People who take that for too long...they don’t end up quite right.”
“Not like I’ve got plans. Maybe after this I can rake in enough to not have to worry about my next fix ever again.”
Watching her sadly, Sayed didn’t say anything else as she snorted it, licking the wax paper it came in clean of residual.
“So...” she said with a cough, as the burning went down her throat, “What are you aiming for, beak-nose? Gonne take that crossbow of yours and join the royal navy?”
“Don’t think they’d take me.” he replied, “Maybe I’ll join a privateer ship and fight the raiders in Witchwood. Get myself a ship of my own.”
“Good way to get your head on a pike.”
“Well, whatever. I don’t think about it either, I guess.” he conceded, “You ever regret it? Running away?”
Her hand reflexively went an inch towards her groin, to where the Orphanage had sewn her up in wait for her husband-to-be, married off at the age of nine, and scowled, “No. Never. That old man that bought me was as shady as they got.”
“Maybe if you asked they could have gotten you someone more your age. Someone nice. Someone to start a family with.”
“And maybe geese shit golden eggs.” she snapped, rolling over, “Night, Sayed.”
He paused, as if there was something else he was going to say after, then, “Night. Even when its day. Maybe after this we can spend some time in the sun for a change, not darting around in the shadows.”
Fat chance; she was still wanted by the guards and anyone could pick her out of a crowd, disguise or no. Bitter, she let herself slip into dreamless slumber. Another nice side effect of the Stardust; she took it in the first place because dreaming just wasn’t for her. It either got you killed or brought you to the point you wished it would.
The hangover sucked, but at least the Startdust kept her alert. She woke up around midday, probably fifth hour or so. Breakfast was a few day-old rolls, onions, and cheese curds. Not bad, actually; she made a note to thank Lufti later. With his silver tongue and a disguise or two he’d managed to get food before at no charge, posing as a poor waif without a chance in the world.
Not too far from the truth, she thought bitterly. If it weren’t for Riyad none of them would have a chance in the world.
There wasn’t much to do today but wait for nightfall, so Talia pulled the dagger out from under her cushion and drew it from its beaten scabbard. Leaf-bladed and about the length of her forearm, it was more for breaking in through windows or digging a little hole to stash something or lay a tripwire than actual fighting, but she could strike with the pommel and guard with some effectiveness too. Opting for a standard grip; elbow bent, point leading, she considered a little practice dummy affixed to the ceiling, little more than blocks of wood tied together with thick rope.
Since it was proportioned to an adult man and towered head and shoulders above her, she went for the legs first, feinting and striking low with the pommel, hitting the side of the kneecap, turning with the dummy, jabbing the groin, sidestepping an imaginary counterattack, targeting that same spot with a swift kick, knees bending and keeping her center of gravity low, then stabbing up, into the underbelly.
Thunk.
Her dagger struck home, but she pulled it out faster than needed, only drawing a shallow wound, bobbing and weaving, presenting as small a target as possible, sweeping her other hand out to deflect a clumsy swing and pulling that arm forward and out, then stabbed up again, into the armpit.
Thunk.
Twisting the dagger, Talia pulled it out, all fury now, kicking at the wounded leg out again, picturing a man crying out, bleeding but not out of the fight.
Not for long.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Three successive strikes, all to the underbelly and groin.
Taking her dagger in a reverse grip, Talia shrieked, swiping across the underbelly, which, sufficiently cut, would spill bowels, then up, across the throat after kicking the leg out a final time and knocking the torso section loose, that it tumbled down to her level.
Knock them all down to her level. See how that evened things out.
She stabbed down now, a sea of faces imposing over the dummy; the captain of the guard, a slew of his insults echoing outside her cell. The orphan patron, sneering at her as his apprentice applied another stitch. All those worthless shits in the slums, chanting “Half-Breed! Half-Breed!” as she was led to the stocks again.
“Talia.”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
“Talia...”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
“Talia!”
She jolted, blinking. She could feel a great many eyes on her.
“I think it’s dead, sweetie.”
Looking down, her dagger planted halfway to the hilt into its forehead, she grimaced, pulling it out, not meeting anyone’s gaze, “Sorry, Grandfather.”
Clearly not amused by her antics, Riyad set the dummy back into place, “If you break it again you’re paying to have it replaced.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Am I going to need you to take some time outside, to cool your heels?”
She nearly said no out of hand...but the thought of being stuck in here for another four hours grated, “Actually, that sounds good. I’ll go do the rounds today.”
Eyes low, she couldn’t read his expression, but he tousled her hair, “Go ask Hadya for an extra seventh-share. Get yourself some baklava or some of those foreign sweetcakes. Just be ready by the tenth bell.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
Letting all the tension drain out of her, Talia got out her cloak, sheathed her dagger, and poignantly didn’t look at any of the other children as she went back into the office, got her share, and left without a word.
Her head low, carefully slipping between larger bodies so she was mostly shadowed by passerby, Talia made her way to Humayd the Magnificent’s stall in the bazaar. The air was filled with voices, some excited, some hushed, thick with the scents of spices, leather, and animal dung. Minstrels like her plied for coin or to bring attention to particular stalls, some serving food, others clothing, others far stranger goods. Blindingly bright fabrics surrounded her; in the ornamental hangings at each stand, the curtains in all the nice flats lining the foreign quarter, and all the garments of nobles and traders that made visitors think Orphan’s Port wasn’t a complete shithole.
She knew better. Anyone who went too far from this street, which led right to the Maharaja’s Palace, knew better; most of the city festered with addicts and beggars, kept alive more by illicit goods than honest living.
If there was such a thing... Maybe someday the tides would wash the blemish that was her home from the world.
Deeply uncomfortable and knowing her plain garb betrayed that she didn’t belong here, well aware there were at least a few bounties in her name, Talia didn’t stop for anything but Humayd’s, searching for his bright purple tent. How he kept the thing clean was beyond her.
Finding it a few lots down from a last time, she quickly slipped inside, to find the portly merchant bartering a blue silken shawl with a pair of women, who appeared to be vying for the purchase. Likely, one of the women was a plant, to force the price higher and earn a bit more coin. Having no patience for his antics, she studied his wares, making a show of considering some well-crafted rope, good for mundane situations. Let any onlookers think she was someone’s dutiful apprentice from dockside, off to fetch something useful.
“And sold, for forty-five, to the enchanting lady in black!” Humayd cheered, his mirth genuine, likely because he just sold something for more than its true worth, “May it bring you great happiness.”
Oblivious, the noblewoman procured the payment, and left with a smug expression towards her “rival”, who, after a conspiratorial glance at the seller, followed suit. “I am so sorry I could not serve you today.” Humayd called after her, “May you find better luck next time you enter the Bazaar Bizzaro!”
Turning to her, his expression softening, he cleared his throat, “And so good to see you today, little one. What can Humayd the Magnificent procure for you?”
“Cut the shit, Humayd...” Talia replied, not as unkindly as she might to someone else, “Show me the stuff.”
Tut-tuting, he went behind his counter, more a small table with a cloth thrown over it, and opened a cumbersome chest, filled with pouches of thunderpowder, vitriol, acid, and other alchemical material useful for breaching secure doors or other obstacles, and anything else a thief might need. “One Avoidant Special, two Fairyman Tokens.” he said softly, naming a smoke bomb and two deadly explosives, “And something for Entering. On tab, as usual. Anything else?”
“Any luck on that back-order?” she asked, referring to a personal request for a new instrument called a viol, which was played with a bow rather than fingers or a plucker. Humayd sighed, twirling a well-greased point of his moustache, “Alas, no. Can’t seem to get one imported from the bluffs. Lot of demand but not many suppliers yet. Give it a year, I’d say, and I should have one for you.”
Nodding, Talia slung her pack, now laden with supplies, over her shoulder, “Guess I’ll go see if Maya’s making those sweetcakes. She still over by the smithy?”
“Indeed she is. Good day and good fortune, my girl. If life brings you fortune, maybe come see your good friend Humayd, yes? I have a wonderful selection of new dresses you would look very good in once you fill out a little.”
Grimacing, she left at that, hardly imagining spending her coin on dresses or silly things like that; she wanted less attention, not more.
Speaking of which...
Quickly stepping into an adjacent alleyway and into the shadows, Talia hugged the wall, backpedaling as a pair of guards shouldered their way through the crowd. They hadn’t spotted her yet, they might not even be looking for her, but she’d learned a long time ago not to take chances.
“Fuck the sweetcakes.” she decided, turning away, knowing she couldn’t take to rooftop by day but that there were several ways back to the safehouse that didn’t require it, “Let’s just settle in until tonight. Get out of this shitting city with the fortune we’re about to make...”
