The Fakers’ Game

Humming a song under her breath, Lupin slipped an inquisitive hand into the corpse’s purse. It was an old trick her mother taught her; it took the mind off the scent of rotting meat and dulled the instinctual gag reflex. A valuable skill to have, when your profession included stealing from the dead. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t truly matter, that the deceased had little use for worldly things and really, she was just doing everybody else a favor. Why not give the valuables a home with someone who could truly appriciate their worth?

As a sense of shame settled somewhere in her marrow, however, Lupin knew she couldn’t lie to herself for long. What she did was a dirty business, a stinking thing whose immorality was outweighed only by its necessity. Thievery, be it from the dead or living, was one of the few stable methods of income left. For a poor city dweller, at the very least. At the end of the day, her main method of rationalization was that she and her family needed the money more than the corpse needed its dignity. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was an organ stealer or body snatcher. She’d heard tales of the Necromancy College’s graveyard dives, how they handsomely lined the pockets of those who provided them with “experimental materials”.

Her mother often joked about selling her to them when she “wore herself out”.

At least, she hoped it was a joke. Her mother was a capricious woman, who could change between impish delight to catastrophic rage in mere moments. A woman skilled in her art, no doubt about it.

Lupin withrew her hand from that death-scented bag. Avoiding the hollow gaze of the body, she silently counted the coinage in her pale hand. 4 silver asps, a paltry sum to be expected of a plague-riddled peasant. It would be enough to cover dinner, at the very least. Not sparing a glance back, she slipped her way from the ominously creaking shack, leaving the scent of disease and rot behind.

She stepped into the alleyway, leather boots striking the cobblestone with feather-light step. In the dark from overhanging, crooked buildings, she was shadow, nothing more than a faint shape in the umbra. This cloak of invisibilty was a honed skill, one perfected and tempered by many failures and painful tribulations.

The city, like always, carried the scent of human misery in its air. It was an unique aroma; it haunted the streets of Macropolis like the ghost of a jilted lover. Strengthened by years of abuses, the smell had reached its peak with the arrival of the plague. It now took on the quality of rot, of festering infection spreading like wildfire through the slums. Something of little concern to the aristocracy, as long as it remained in those pockets of poverty that they liked to forget about.

Lupin could only count herself lucky that she and her family were immune. A trait passed by her absent father, apparently, as her mother was prone, in her drunken ramblings, to speak of how he was “healthy as the finest of the king’s steeds”. She supposed it was the only gift the man could have been bothered to give her.

Well, that and her eyes. Quite wolfish in their appearence, the striking amber hue was often the first thing noticed about her. This, of course, Lupin despised, as in her line of work being noticed was the least desirable thing.

Head down, she stepped into the main street. Hardly wider than the alleyway, it was packed with people, most with mouths and faces covered in hopes of evading infection. Though, judging by the boils covering the hands of many, this was for naught. Lupin kept to the edge of the unwashed crowd, silently urging herself into invisibilty.

It was more from shame than anything. Technically, what she had just done was not illegal, or at least not enough to attract the serious attention of law enforcement. Nobody cared what happened to the last asps of some nameless beggar living in a hollowed out shack. Lupin tried to assure herself that that meant she shouldn’t worry either, but found her consciousness slow to calm.

The man had had a life, possibly even a family, and Lupin had honored this legacy by robbing his festering corpse. No matter how hard she tried to objectify her targets, it never worked. At the end of the day, she was reminded of their personhood, of the crime she had committed against a fellow human being. But that was just how things had to be, wasn’t it? In a world like this, there was always somebody on the chopping block, and it was up to you to be the executioner or victim.

Besides, her family was still the most important thing. Reminded of the weight of the asps in her hand, Lupin was drawn back to present matters. With her newly acquired funds plus those from previous jobs, she could buy dinner, enough to feed her, her siblings, and mother. A shank from a wild animal, perhaps, with bread and potatoes to complete the meal. Her family had gone far too long without solid food, reduced mostly to daily breakfasts and suppers of thin gruel and rust-flavored water.

The grocer was, thankfully, hardly more than a short walk. Lupin weaved through the thick crowds with practiced ease. She was a native of these streets, after all. All her life had been spent navigating this urban maze, learning of every shortcut and secret the city had to offer.

The buildings looming around her were slanted, a wooden shanty town dry as kindling. The smallest spark, metaphorical or otherwise, would send this place up in flames. The slums had already ignited twice in the past, once in hellfire and another in revolution. Both had the same end, however. A city left in ruins, blackened husks remaining for the survivors to rebuild; yet at the same time, everything remained the same. Identical hands held power, and the slums were rebuilt to the way they looked before.

It took little time for her to arrive at the shabby oaken doors of her destination.

They swung open with a satisfying thud, the wood rough under Lupin’s outstretched palm. Marked with ash and scorchmark, the doors were artifacts of one of those blazes, though she did not know which. Judging by the rather heretical flyers and documents preaching revolution that the shopkeeper had on hand, however, she could guess at which one.

Stepping into the store, she was instantly greeted with the scent of unknown spices. They wafted into her noise, alien in her sinuses and sending a curious thrill down her spine. All had names she couldn’t pronounce, hailing from some distant continent of sun and sand. The flowering bushels of herbage hanging from the rafters were more for atmosphere and perfume than anything, a testament to the owner’s rather eclectic sense of style. The rest of the store was decorated in similar fashion, vibrate and flaking paint adorning the cramped quarters, though the windows covering all four walls lended to making the room seem larger than it truly was.

“Ah, it seems my favorite pup has returned! What can I interest ye in today, Lupin?”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that. I’m 18, for fey’s sake.”

“What, Lupin? I wasn’t aware ya changed yer name.” The burly redhead behind the counter grinned at her, broad smile exposing more than a few silver teeth.

“You know what I mean. How much for a loaf of bread, some meat, and half a pound of potatoes?”

“Oh? What’s the special occasion?”

“If I wanted bad jokes I would have asked for them.”

“Alright, alright, yer no fun anymore. 20 silver asps for the lot.”

“20? I could have sworn it was 10!”

“Ay, it was. ‘Course, the crown sees fit to fund a war instead of feeding her people, can’t do anythin’ about it. I gotta make end’s meet somehow, pup.” Lupin glared down the behemoth of a man, whose returned smile seemed somehow more intimidating than her venemous glare. But, at last, she relented.

“...Fine.” She fished the coinage from her purse, adding the corpse’s coins to her own. “This is practically a robbery.”

“I suppose ye know a lot about that?” The grocer hummed cheerily, taking the asps with the same smile. “Listen, lemme make it up to ye, pup. I’ve got some good info ye might be interested in.” He leaned against the counter, dark wood creaking ominously under his muscled weight. “Think of it as an apology fer chargin’ ya so much. Deal?”

Lupin mirrored his gesture, leaning near close enough to smell the man’s breath.

“Maybe.”

“Knew ye would be. Word is that there’s some noble lad ridin’ through here with his entourage in three days time, the type with more money than common sense. He’ll prolly stop by The Scraped Scallion for a nice sit down, might be a good chance to redistribute some of that wealth of his.”

“How much are we talking here?”

“My source told me he’s aimin’ to stay with the royal family for a month, so prolly a nice chunk of change. A step up from yer usual haul, pup.” That grin remained eternal, even as the man turned away to get Lupin’s food. “...So. Ye gonna do it?”

“...Maybe. What’s it matter to you?”

“What’s it matter to me? Fey forgive me fer not wanting my info to go to waste!” The shopkeeper says in mock offense, plopping down the requested items on the counter with a solid thud. “All I ask in return is a lil’ finder’s fee, ya know? Nothin’ big, jus’ somethin’ to let me know I’m appreciated. Who knows? Maybe I’ll give ye a discount sometime.”

“You? A discount? When the Aegyrian Desert freezes over, maybe.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be so certain, pup. I’ve heard it’s awful chilly in that part of the world this time of year.”

Lupin grabs her things, bags a welcome weight in her arms. By now, she had a smile mirroring the shopkeeper’s stretched across her face. What a queer effect this man had on her, able to coax a grin even in the darkest of hours.

“Ah, why don’t you go down there to tell me for certain? I’ll be seeing you, you dirty rat.” Fighting words turned playful from familiarity.

“Feeling’s mutual, pup!” The man waved her off, Lupin shoving her way back out to the weak sunshine. Now that she thought about it, the air did have a nip to it that was sharper than the year previous. Perhaps it would not only be the Aegyrian to freeze over, but the whole damned country.

It couldn’t make things worse than they already were, at least.

With a promise of treasure lingering in her skull, Lupin began her journey homeward.