Trickery
Seven people stopped together. They had things in their hands. Until then they had not met, they had not looked up from their things, and they had talked to no one else. Now they met and showed each other their things. One had an arm crusted in scabs as if he had ripped something off of his skin hours ago. One was an insectile child who, despite their compound eyes, stared only at the thing they played with in their claws. Another still was a pair who might have been related by the look of them, but they came from different directions and didn’t seem to recognize the other.
They said nothing. Their only attention was for the things in their hands. They knew each other by their possession. Those who didn’t have them weren’t a part of them. Two of them traded their things, but as they did, their things began to bud. Were there any outside observers they would not have been able to define exactly how these undefinable objects changed, but such an observer would be certain that they did.
Then they departed. Spreading out just in opposite to how they came. A thing was left where they stood, just sitting there on the pathway. It was not a living thing. It was not dead nor mineral nor a working of known magic. It just was there waiting, though it had no desires or personhood, for someone else to come along and find it.
Meeritza and Yes
“Okay,” Yes said eagerly as they both emerged into the daylight, “I always had this thought, but I never knew how to go about doing this. But since you can be my body double of sorts, now we can pull it off!”
“I get that,” Meeritza said, a bit slower than she would like due to Yes’s rushed exit despite their heavy meal, “But did we have to leave so fast? We haven’t even talked over the plan.”
“No, no, you have to see this. I know they’re doing illusions, and you could bust it wide open! We could get rich off of it. They trick the people going through town out of their money every day.”
“You are jumping to some big... em... like... that’s just a guess! You don’t know that’s right. What if it doesn’t work?”
“Nonsense! My plans are perfect.”
“Oh yes? Then let’s make a bet. If your plan is perfect, you would just be taking me for a ride. What will it be if you lose against me?”
“I... no! Dragons do not deign to bet. We are above such petty nonsense.”
“Riiight,” Meeritza mocked, drawing the word out in her disdain, but saying no more as she followed. She would see what she would see.
They walked down a few streets, crossed an alleyway, and made their way to a boulevard where the road was split by rows of statues and monuments down the center. It was one of the grander places in Telvin’s Nest where generally only the wealthier people gathered. One end of the boulevard had the mayoral residence, a dozen guild halls, and several other important buildings of law and commerce. The other end was The Grove, an overgrown park that seemed like someone had transplanted a dense few hectares of forest right into the city. Trees grew there that many with the know-how would argue shouldn’t be there at all. Intermixed were boulders of immense size that also did not belong and had certainly been transplanted from far, far away but which no one in living memory could say they had seen them be delivered..
But along the split streets, usually near the lines of trees at the perimeter and not near the monuments, were the tables. They sold trinkets, talismans, blessings, curses, baubles, and bunk in abundance. Souvenirs, often just cheap little carvings of the monuments, or cheap handmade jewelry, or papers with complex-yet-reproduceable designs took up much of the rest, but tucked amongst them were the acts. Musicians busking, jugglers and acrobats contorting, and spread even fewer amongst them, the grifters promising riches and reaping their rewards.
Meeritza and Yes drew eyes as they moved out into the open. The people traversing this way were generally well-to-do and upper class. Their clothes were clean and fancy, their posture stiff and upright, and the air around them was scented with many exotic oils and perfumes. Even those of the lower classes were clean and suspicious of the waif with the big coil of rope around their neck. Meeritza, who lived her life on the fringes and staying out of the spotlight for everyone else, was aware how much she stood out.
She straightened up, changed her gait, put on a smile, and ignored the dirt on her clothes. Thinking up a little song in her head, she put on the charm. She dipped her flatcap, gave knowing winks, cheerily greeted passersby, and otherwise gave them what she wanted them to see; a cheerful scamp with no ill intent whatsoever. Your friend on the underside, a chippy lad who could shine your shoes or point you toward something or just fetch you a flower for your lady’s hat.
“That is... disturbing,” Yes whispered from her shoulder, “Their faces just changed like that when you did your little foot shuffle.”
“You gotta know how to let them see you. But I wish you would have let me clean up before we did this.”
“Washing,” Yes harumphed and said no more.
Yes was getting the hang of piloting Meeritza around. A tightening of one side or the other allowed for direction without words or much in the way of movement. Talented beyond measure at deceiving others with the incredible guise of a coil of rope, it was none-the-less a disguise that required near to total stillness. Rope didn’t talk. Rope didn’t move on its own. Thus the skill of stillness was one Yes had enhanced in a lifelong quest to improve upon draconic perfection. Luckily, draconic cleverness and superiority allowed for the direction of a minion who may or may not be actively carrying such an ostentatious personage.
But there was a moment. Something foreign that didn’t belong. It was unfamiliar. It didn’t work with an entire life of solitude and self-serving accumulation. Something had wormed its way into the peace of contentment... and in such a short time. It was compelling.
“Look,” Yes whispered with no idea why, “whatever happens, we meet back at the lair tonight if things go wrong.”
Meeritza said nothing, but nodded to show she had heard.
Obro
What wonder! What bliss! It was everything that he could have hoped for and more! The knowledge to seal magic away into the very weft and weave of reality itself. With words and gestures he could infuse the power within the objects that would become his progeny. His purpose would be fulfilled.
Megoluvi knew all the words, all the gestures, and had an encyclopedic knowledge of materials and conditions to truly draw power into something. He knew all of his suppliers, all of their stashes, and most importantly all of the clients he had already made things for. Clients like...
Obro-Megoluvi looked back at the slumped form of Erenthal the assassin. He was still alive, at least, but unconscious and severely dehydrated. Strangely enough, Obro couldn’t remember actually having been Erenthal as a person. He remembered riding him, deciding for him and moving him, but somehow he did not possess the actual thoughts and memories that Erenthal had locked up in his brain. Now it was all Megoluvi’s memories through his long, long life.
This host was old. He had spent decades as a child, far away in a forest. He had learned magic, which had been everywhere, and spent entire years practicing and reading, travelling the lands and visiting many strange places and trying many strange things. Pleasantries and suffering, sheltering through frigid winters and sweltering summers and visiting places that existed in perpetual spring or eternal winter. And above it all was how much had been ignored in an obsessive pursuit to learn exactly the things Obro now wanted.
When Obro thought about the things to be made, he felt Megoluvi perk up. Their interests aligned, quite unlike those of Erenthal who cared only about his luxurious life bought at the cost of the lives of others. It was practically repugnant, now that Obro considered it. What a waste of time when there were wonders to make!
Why wait? Why not start right now? Erenthal’s mantle was mundane, of excellent quality, and tied on only simply. It wouldn’t take any effort at all, and the ingredients he would need were in this very room. The deft removal caused only a groan from Erenthal’s dry and cracked mouth. Something would likely have to be done about that. Obro-Megoluvi didn’t want to think about killing him, but... if he happened to die on his own. If he got up and recovered he could become a real problem. He could interrupt the enchanting. Perhaps a simple binding, then throwing him out the window? Quick spell. Then it would be on to the enchanting.
The gestures came, easy and practiced... but not the words. The words failed to emerge from Megoluvi’s mouth! The mouth moved, but no sound!
A scream. A silent scream.
Obro-Megoluvi had a tantrum.
Woggel
A fine day it was. Sunny with clouds, warm temperature, air still humid from early morning drizzles, and a nice breeze. Wonderful for a shopping day in the city. The morning saw Woggel’s stocks replenished, his repairs seen to, and a fine lunch to cap it all off. A lot of set-up needed done, but that could wait til tonight.
For now, he wanted to just walk for a while. Danrozer and Einezier didn’t need to know that he was taking longer than strictly needed. In fact, when he thought about it, this was strictly necessary.
A group of frantic people, feeling out of place in such a well to do area, went from place to place checking for something. He had seen those of the same type in the market earlier. He idly wondered what was going on with them. Those types were normally extremely blissed out on chemicals that, while he could certainly have made, were not those of his specialty.
They would certainly not like his chemicals at all. Definitely the wrong kind of ‘mind altering’.
He chuckled at his private joke as he went down the line of performers and sellers. Mementos had been one of those simple joys in a life on the road, facing stretches of boredom punctuated by violent danger or the emergencies of nature. These little things let his mind drift back to those times and places where he had made a difference to people.
A young... person, Woggel just couldn’t be sure with non-reptilians, nearly collided with him as they capered by. What was shocking was that they hadn’t bumped. The waif ducked out of the way with a grace Woggel had only seen in a few instances, and most of those had been deadly fights. Lithe, agile creatures and finely honed assassins could move like that, not even looking at the thing they were dodging. Dirty and patchworn like most of the urchins in all the cities and large towns he had seen, carrying some kind of rope around their neck, and seeming out of place and in disguise all at the same time.
In the traveling mercenary adventurer business, it paid to pay attention to oddities. She, as Woggel decided it was a ‘she’ because she practically wore that rope coil like a fancy lady’s fur stole, was moving too purposefully, trying just too hard to look like she didn’t want to be remembered. Worse, she was meandering towards a specific area. It was almost like she was being guided to a place she didn’t know about.
At a little break from the bigger stands, a small crowd had gathered in front of one small table with a blotchy greenish mammalian-type man running a classic balls-and-cups grift. This was apparently the small girl’s target as suddenly she seemed to catch sight of it without actually seeing it, then lock in and head straight towards it.
This one was good. She went from charmingly awkward to just one of the crowd in an instant. In fact, Woggel found that suddenly the only way he could differentiate her as she moved in was that blasted rope. It made her stick out like a sore thumb. But the only reason Woggel could see it was because he was paying attention to her. looking for it specifically.
The game itself was one of those “old as time” sorts of sucker games. people placed small wagers for a chance to win the pot. The cups hid a ball, the dealer shuffled them. toughs were on hand if anyone got rowdy. a planted person was the designated winner... and all they had to do was participate in the performance. People gave away their money for their false belief that they, amongst the many, many losers, would find the ball.
the shuffler was a deft handed man with a wide, innocent smile. It was a face that begged the wrong sort of people to take advantage of him. His bodyguards were those sorts of people whose only thoughts were ‘be scary’ and ‘gonna drink at the pub. They guarded bags of coins of all sorts. Telvin’s Nest regularly saw the coin of a dozen local kingdoms and ever so often a few more distant mint marks. not that anyone at the table cared from whence their coin came. copper, brass, and silver all spent in the city, no matter whose face or language was on them.
The girl watched for a few rounds, dodging in small movements the crowd around her as if she could feel them without seeing them. She studied the shuffler keenly and seemed to be silently talking to herself. Woggel was no good at reading lips, being another ‘mammal’ thing, but talking was obvious. Maybe she was just one of those sorts who talked to themself? Someone who spent too much time alone if there was any guess.
Clearly she was planning on trying it out. She pulled a few cheap copper coins from a fold in her sleeve and bounced them in her palm. She made her way forward as losers moved aside. This Woggel had to see. He took a tiny perfume vial from his own sleeve and dabbed a couple of drops on his neck and moved forward into the crowd of watchers. As he had hoped, people immediately parted to give him space, mildly repulsed in a way none could adequately describe. There she was, squaring up to the grifter.
A few people laughed as she offered up her coins for a try at the game that many full grown folk had failed at. The grifter’s smile didn’t widen. He had cottoned on to the oddity of the moment as any experienced trickster should. Confidence tricksters had to watch out for their own confidence, after all.
There they went. The ball went under and the grifter’s hands were a blur. He threw in a few flourishes, even showing off the ball a couple of times just to show it was still there. Woggel himself quickly lost track of where the ball was, but that didn’t matter. His eyes were for the oddity of the out of place girl who was so confident.
Stop.
He waited, the crowd waited, and even the grifter waited.
The girl lifted her gaze up from the cups and stared at the grifter and he locked eyes with her. Woggel knew right then.
She put her hand on the cup. Tension from the toughs built. And the cup came up.
There was the ball.
Cheers erupted, and if only for a tiny break in his composure, the grifter even joined in. Congratulating the girl and putting his wager on the counter. She went to collect.
“Wait, wait,” the grifter said, baiting the hook, “You’re good kid, but luck is luck. You’re not walking away from a hot streak are you?”
Woggel rolled his eyes and then licked one clean when it felt gritty. Classic confidence trick. If she did it once, surely she could do it again. And look, he doubled the pot.
“What do you say? Do it again?” he said, the grease entering his voice.
The girl shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it, though her act felt quite forced. She cocked her head to the side, like she was listening to something.
“Alright, but I’m gonna put this down. I've been carrying it all day.”
“Whatever,” he said dismissively, and as she shrugged off the coil he asked, “why you carrying a coil of rope around all day anyway?"
“ Believe it or not, I lost a bet,” she giggled.
"Ain't you breaking the bet by taking it off?”
“You gonna tell Razz I did it? Besides, the bet was up hours ago, but you know, it's like wearing a hat. You get used to it until you remember it's there. Now, are we doing this or what?”
The cups swirled around the table once again. A few of the more annoying people started hooting as if they were trying to break the girl's concentration. Nothing seemed to be able to deflect her as her focus never left the cups or the man's hands. He mixed in earnest and stopped suddenly, a smirk on his face.
She got it right again. The crowd erupted in cheers. The plants in the audience and the toughs were now obvious from their tension and lack of participation. This time the girl went to sweep up her winnings, but the man’s hand chopped down in front of the stack of coins.
“Now, now,” the man chided, “no quitting yet. You do that again and I’ll double the pot.”
The girl hesitated, but Woggel was fairly sure it was an act. This girl sure did a lot of acting.
“But... no. I need that money. I won,” she said, “Please.”
The crowd resisted. They wanted to see more spectacle. They had no love for this girl who was looking to quit. She quavered and the grift smiled.
“Tell you what,” he said greasily, “I’ll triple it.” He reached down and added even more coins to the stack.
They were gaming each other. Both were playing an angle. A battle of wills. A game of scaredy-fowl. Who would break first? Did she think she would actually win? Did he think she would cave?
“Okay,” she said to a chorus of cheers.
The ball went under the cup and his hands were a blur. He made fake passes with his hands to conceal which he would move. He sent cups shuffling with mere touches so that all three were moving simultaneously. Then he would shift them and hit the table so the ball would visibly bounce out of one cup and be concealed under the other. And after the whole routine he set the three cups still, looking like a showpiece they were so evenly and precisely set. Now he sat back and smirked, crossing his hands across his chest.
Dead silence. Everyone watched as the trembling girl made a show of trying to decide. Woggel had genuinely no idea which one to pick. She reached for a cup drawing gasps of tension, but then pulled away to consider another.
“Well?” The man said, confident.
She held, hand up, eyes on him. This time he didn’t fully meet her eyes. Woggel couldn’t blame him. That was odd earlier. But, it occurred to him suddenly. That man was...
“It’s in your lap,” she announced, indignant, “wait! you’ve got two more in your armpits! There isn’t a ball in any cup! You’re a cheat!”
He froze. So did the crowd.
“Come now, don’t be a bad sport,” he purred, “You lost. Let me show you.”
He pulled both hands out from his armpits, fingers wide to show nothing there. Exaggeratedly, he rolled up his sleeves and made toward the cups. In a heartstoppingly fast motion she snapped her hands out and turned all three cups on their sides, showing them empty.
“Whu...” was all the man managed before she kicked one of the table legs, snapping it and tumbling aside as the toughs lunged forward and the crowd rushed in. He lost her in the scrum and retreated. For a moment he thought he saw some sort of serpent slithering away, but it was a corner of the eye glance. Then he saw her. Not a touch on her, as if she were a greased hog in a festival game no one could catch her, and good graces was she fast!
The last he saw of her was a dirty coat disappearing into the alleys of the city proper with pursuers giving up falling away behind her.
Perhaps that was enough fun for a day. He ought to get back to the cart.
The Lair
Laughing all the way back, Yes flew into the lair with the bags of coins. What a haul it was! It had almost been too much to carry, but nevertheless it had been manageable. Landing down in the bottom, in the treasury as Yes liked to think of it, a thought and gesture saw the bags untied. The ropes moved by Yes’s will, pulling open each satchel of coins. They were all copper, sure, and few of them were shiny, but that didn’t matter. This represented a significant addition to the hoard! It was these things that made dragons strong, and now Yes was truly mighty!
Compared to the meagre amount of coins from just a few days ago, there were now hundreds! And if Meeritza was to be believed, these coins could be used to gain even more coins, and things too! Between the heist and the fortunes of this very day, the hoard was burgeoning. Meeritza had really come through from only a couple days ago when the bakery incident had happened. It was such a short time, but it felt like they had been together for years.
Yes suddenly wondered how it would end. It couldn’t be this good forever. Despite draconic will and prowess, not every heist could go this well every time. And what if... what if someone took her away? What if part of the hoard was lost?
This sort of thing had never bothered Yes before. A lonesome life never risked betrayal. But all the exploits of the past now suddenly seemed so petty. A life lived in pursuit of completely selfish indulgence... a proper draconic life really... held no place for doubt like this. A perfect disguise and an advantageous placement had led to such indulgence and Yes had never before considered how it might be different. But now this person had forced her way in, and brought with her a wealth to share... SHARE. This wasn’t properly draconic. Dragons were selfish. That was the core of dragons. Accumulate, grow, maybe interact long enough to raise a nest or two when they were properly mighty, and ACCUMULATE!
Better go check the perimeter.
The dragon’s panicking mind threw out a paranoid suggestion. A distraction. A well worn instinct from years of protection of the treasures that now seemed so meager. Check the perimeter, check the traps, check the exits, count the hoard. These things kept a dragons home and hoard safe.
Fly up to the roof, check. The second story exit paths, check. Traps and wards, check. Downstairs now. Windows secured, strategic debris in place. Traps and wards. Hidden ropes and tripwires that would obey draconic will, check. That strange non-pattern the tiles made... no, don’t do that. That was for other, calmer times. Ground entryway... what was that?
There was a place where blood had been spilled. Someone had come in, just to the edge of the perimeter, there was blood. Only one trail of blood, leading away. But in the middle of the floor lay something metal. Brass, with cat’s eye gemstones, blood upon it as if it had fallen off whatever had been bleeding. It was as big around as a giant’s arm, and it looked like it was worn on a limb, coiled around like a spring. Far too big for Yes to wear, but... who cared about that? Someone had left a treasure on the doorstep!
Add it to the pile.
