Page 10 of The Thief's Mark

Well, that was all right. No one knew these streets better than he did. He started toward the nearest alley, shifting his disguise to a nondescript worker the instant he was out of sight. If the masked man was still out here, Cal would find him.

Assuming that someone with so much money to toss around wouldn’t be used to navigating the back streets of the slums, he stuck to the main boulevard heading toward Derimay’s upper districts. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for him to spot his quarry.

The masked man was walking slower than Cal would’ve expected, moving in fits and starts. Perhaps he was wary of an ambush? That might make things more difficult, though at least he didn’t appear to be traveling with any sort of escort.

Cal considered and dismissed several plans before settling on a classic. Ducking into a nearby tavern that was decidedly nicer than The Last Drop, he snagged a beer from a table by the door and splashed it over his face and clothes. Then, he waited until he had the masked man in sight and made a show of stumbling from a nearby alley. Beaming drunkenly at the man, he held open his arms.

“Bert!” he cried, slurring his words. “There you are! I thought you left without me.”

The masked man spun toward him. “What—?”

Before the man could recover from his initial surprise, Cal pretended to trip. He collided hard with the man, nearly sending them both sprawling to the cobbled street. Clutching the man’s arm and lower back for balance, Cal laughed.

“Whoa, careful there, Bert! You don’t seem too steady on your feet. I think you might’ve had too much to drink.”

“Get off me!” the masked man snarled. He shoved Cal roughly away.

Cal stumbled back, pretending to almost go down again. He leveled a bleary-eyed glare at the masked man. “Hey, easy there, Bert. There’s no need for violence.”

“I amnotBert!” The man’s hand shifted aside his cloak to reveal a metal baton fastened at his waist. When he did, Cal also caught the faint gleam of a silver badge affixed to his chest.A protector!Cal had been right in his guess.

The man’s fingers lingered over the grip of the baton, his voice low and dangerous. “Now, get the Void away from me before I make you regret it.”

Cal raised his hands and slowly backed away toward the alley he’d emerged from. “Sorry, sorry. There’s no need for that. It was an honest mistake.”

Retreating into the shadows of the alley, he waited, watching the masked man to see what he did next. The masked man grumbled to himself, brushing off his cloak and wrinkling his nose. Then, he continued on in his odd, shuffling gait.

As soon as Cal was certain the masked man didn’t suspect anything, he flared duskflame to shift his disguise to a nondescript beggar and slipped away, making for his nearest safe house. He kept a half-dozen of them scattered throughout the city, along with numerous smaller hideouts and stashes he could fall back on in a pinch.

It never hurt to be prepared for any eventuality. Cal had learned a long time ago never to trust in anything…or anyone.

He changed disguises yet again when he reached the safe house, this time altering his appearance to one of his minor aliases who kept an apartment in the building. The elderly woman wasn’t much so far as covers went—anyone who looked too closely might notice her extended absences or odd hours. But in this part of town near the docks, most people knew better than to poke their noses into anyone else’s business.

The instant he was safely inside the small apartment, he let his disguise drop and reached into his pocket, extracting the miniaturized ornate box. He grinned as he studied its gilded exterior. It had been almost too easy to swipe it from the masked man when they collided. Hopefully, whatever was inside had been worth the hassle.

Patience wasn’t exactly one of his virtues. By the time the box’s enchantment finally faded and it had returned to its regular size, he’d about worn a hole in the floorboards with his pacing. Rushing eagerly back to his prize, he checked over its exterior.

It seemed unlikely there were any defensive wards in place since he’d seen Bald Locke and the man open it at the docks. Still, he pressed a finger to the second thief’s mark on his chest and extracted his thief’s tools in a brief flare of duskflame. The collection of thin crystalline lock rods inside had been a gift from someone he’d known long ago, and it had come in handy over the years to help him detect and disarm any magical traps.

When he was satisfied the box was clear, he tried to open it and was surprised to find it unlocked. Easing it open, his half-formed grin of triumph froze on his lips.

Nestled inside the box was a glass sphere of deep violet nothingness. There must have been some manner of protective wards woven into the chest after all because now that it was open, he could sense thewrongnessof the thing inside. It seeped over his skin like an oil slick, leaving it crawling. Though he’d rarely ever encountered voidflame, he knew at once that that’s what this must be.

No sane person would ever willingly work with a voidflame relic. Shivering, he sat back and stared at the orb while chewing on his bottom lip.

Just what sort of madness had his curiosity gotten him mixed up in this time…