Chapter 3: Chapter 3: 50 Copper Rooks

The darkness parted to a deep chill. Eyelids fluttered open as Symon was clutching the thin blanket. The first thing he noticed was he was shivering. Eyes slid to the side, seeing the bare outline of the lantern, his tiny means of keeping warm, was long cold. He shivered in the dark, knowing the last of the oil was gone.

Shifting his gaze to the mouth of this little cave, the light of a new day glowed. Thin shafts of light punctured the darkness from the bushes outside. It was enough so stir him further from his morning mental fog. A hand reached out and grasped the waterskin of soup. Pulling open the stopper, he lifted it up and began drinking the nearly frozen soup broth. The young man ignored the chill from the broth, happy that it will help break his fast.

When the last of the broth drained down his throat, he put the stopper back on and put it down. He snatched up the wrapped chunks of meat and began unwrapping it. When the meat was visible, he began placing a chunk at a time in mouth and chewed, enjoying the taste.

Despite the meal, the cold within him had not abated. His heart worked a little harder, but it was slow to push out the chill in his bones.

Chewing on the last piece of rabbit, his hand slid down to his leggings. He clawed down the top part to expose his hip. Dirty fingers ran along his bare hip, not feeling or seeing the slash he acquired from his daring escape.

Thank you natural regeneration.

Symon pulled the top edge of his leggings up and sat as the last piece of rabbit had finished its journey to his stomach. Blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he shivered as he sat in the near dark.

Serafina and her home filled his mind. A promise of work hopped along his thoughts, like a rabbit in the tall grass. 

Time flowed on as the young man stared at nothing in the dark. When his mind was made up, he reached for his boots and his clothes as the sound of morning birdsong carried on with their collective symphonies.

***

The kitchen was filled with the scents of cinnamon and the sounds of sizzling butter. Serafina hummed as she moved through the kitchen like a dancer on stage. She picked up a pan with several flat cakes in them. She moved to the island and turned it over, the cakes falling on a wide plate, stacked high with them.

The woman in black glanced to a bowl with a little batter left. She then looked at the large stack of flat cakes and then back at the bowl.

“You will not go to waste,” she smiled as she put the pan back on the iron stove.

Serafina whisked through the kitchen, lifting up the bowl and spinning back to the stove. She tilted the bowl and poured the last of the batter into the hot pan. The sizzling came back as she added another small chunk of butter to the large flat cake. She continued to hum when there was a knock at the front door.

The woman in black smiled to herself before lifting the pan and flipping the flat cake within. When the wet side landed back in it, she put it back on the stove and made her way out of the kitchen and into the gathering room. She stepped to the door and opened it.

Symon stood in his own clothes, which consisted of a dirty white shirt and tattered brown leggings. In his hands was the outfit Serafina had loaned to him, the pair of boots, and the empty waterskin.

“I thought you would be here an hour ago,” Serafina laughed.

Symon blinked. “I wanted to return…” he was cut off before he could finish his explanation.

“You cannot return what is yours now. Keep them, and if you need to, change into them again. I can mend them when I have a moment,” Serafina smiled and stood to the side.

Symon remained still, unsure what was happening. His nose did catch the aroma of flat cakes and his stomach cried out for more.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in and break fast with me,” Serafina said with affectionate sternness.

Symon couldn’t hold back his smile as he stepped in. Serafina closed the door and marched back to the kitchen. The young man followed. Once he was inside, his eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the high stack of flat cakes.

“Have a seat. I’ll get you a plate,” Serafina said as she lifted the pan and crossed the small area to the kitchen island.

Symon sat down at the kitchen table as the strange woman dropped a large flat cake on the pile. She tossed the pan onto the island and moved about, picking up plates, utensils, and a glass bottle of syrup.

“Thanks to you, I was able to trade the last of the stew to a neighbor. They were so happy, they gave me the mix, eggs, and milk to make flat cakes,” she said as she prepared two plates and walked over to the table.

Symon couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips as a heaping stack of flat cakes begged him to eat them.

“It’s better with syrup,” Serafina said as she poured some honey syrup onto each stack in turn.

The moment she pulled the syrup away, Symon snatched up his utensils and attacked his stacks of flat cakes.

Serafina sat down with a warm smile as the young man feasted like he had never eaten a proper meal in his life.

“Try not to eat the plate,” the woman chuckled.

Symon nodded with a full mouth and tried to stuff more in.

The woman in black slowly cut up her flat cakes as she talked, “I’m sure you’re not here for just my flat cakes.”

Symon glanced up at her for a tiny moment before continuing his feast.

Serafina continued, “I do have an errand that needs to be done. It will benefit us both greatly, if you can accomplish it.”

Symon slowed down his ravenous flat cake attack and looked at the woman in black. “What kind of errand? Do you need me to fetch or deliver something?”

Serafina kept an amused gleam in her eyes. “You could say, it is a fetch and deliver errand. But I do have to make some things clear about what needs to be done.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table with her plate of flat cakes between them. She laced her fingers together and continued.

“I spoke on several things last night, things that should not be said to those who are not properly introduced to them. It makes it difficult to say more, unless there is a proper introduction.”

Symon stopped eating and looked at Serafina. “I don’t understand?”

She nodded. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, not at this time. The errand I require accomplished may be a little troubling when I speak of it, but fear not, it will help us greatly. All I ask, is for you to take a chance.

“If you do not wish to take said chance, we may part ways, with no ill-blood between us. But if you take this chance, you will be rewarded with more than coin. I cannot say more, not until after you complete the required errand.”

Symon eyed Serafina. He noticed the intense gaze, barely hidden by her jovial attitude. He sensed she was to ask something that he may disagree with. Memories of this morning were still crystal clear, shivering in the small, cold cave. The sunlight outside had warmed him up a little. The flat cakes warmed his soul. He could feel he was reaching a point of no return. But instead of hesitating, he embraced it because there was nothing left of his former life to hold him back.

“Tell me this errand, and I will ensure it is completed,” the young man said without hesitation.

Serafina’s eyes gleamed with a satisfied knowing. “I require you to go into Old Town, not as your fox self, but as you are now. You must acquire fifty copper rooks, and bring them back to me. Once I have them, we can speak of rewards and secrets.”

Symon put a piece of flat cake with dripping honey in his mouth. He slowly chewed as he looked at the woman with the white lock of hair and raven feather blended with her natural hair.

“Is there someone you have a mind who I must rob?” Symon asked plainly.

“Not one person in particular. No, I don’t care how you gain the copper rooks, as long as you acquire fifty and bring them back here, to me.”

Serafina’s gaze shifted to Symon’s clothes, “You will have to change into the clothes I gave you last night. The city guards will not let you into Old Town looking like that. They won’t look as closely if you can pass as a normal visitor.”

Symon lifted a small stack of cut flat cakes to his mouth, but didn’t eat it. He kept it close to his mouth, but his gaze was firmly on the woman across from him.

“Is this some kind of test?” Symon asked.

Serafina smiled wider. “If it was, would you change your mind?”

Symon smiled. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”

“It’s settled then.”

“How long do I have to complete this errand?”

“As long as you need, but I must tell you, do not come back here until it is completed. And should you be captured, there will be no one to help you at this time. It is not as bleak as it may seem, but there must be a leap of faith, if you understand my meaning?”

Symone nodded, understanding her meaning all too well.

“I’ll have it to you, today,” Symon stated.

Serafina gave a single nod. “Good to hear, but don’t let the need to impress overwhelm your reasoning. Be alert and study any details you come across. I’ll give you a few more tidbits of advice, as you finish your meal or course.”

“Of course,” Symon smiled as he dug back into his flat cakes as Serafina talked, the morning rays streaming in from the window and bathing the kitchen island in warm light.

***

The air was cool and crisp as people went on about their day. Old Town was a bustling hive of activity. Many discussed and laughed as they strolled in small groups. Street performers juggled, sang, or made onlookers laugh. People in fine robes gathered in eateries. Shops with shelves of books left their doors open so people on the street may wander in and spend their coin.

It was at a peak time of the day, where the citizens and visitors to Old Town enjoyed the clear, sunny day.

At the edge of the Book District, a lone figure in black stood by an alley. Eyes scanned the area just beyond the street entrance to the district. When a pair of Shield guards walked by, the figure looked away to a poster hanging on a wall.

The curled parchment poster read “Join us as the Play Actor’s Caravan presents, A Time for a Dark Spell! For limited time! Come see the magic before it’s gone forever. Taking place at the Dream Light Theater, in the Theater District of Old Town!”

Symon studied the poster. Underneath the words, was a witch over a boiling cauldron and an impish demon on her shoulder. The poster was well-drawn and placed at the entrance to the Book District for many eyes to see as they walk by it.

Old Town was filled with districts. Just like the Merchant District, and many others, they brought all manner of people from different backgrounds and races together. Dreamed up by the ancient mages who first ruled Gray Gate, each district had a specific theme and purpose. It was often talked about how wonderful it was to go to a place that had everything you were looking for. Most visitors were never disappointed. There was a richness they hardly enjoyed in other kingdoms. Many other kingdoms tried to copy or emulate Old Town of Gray Gate, but none of them could get it as focused and expansive as the mage city.

Symon shifted his gaze from the poster and back to the district entrance. The city guards were gone and people moved about with their day.

Why am I here? Stealing meat from a butcher is easier than stealing coin from a person. Maybe I was being too overzealous, promising Serafina that I would have it to her today? I thought this would be easier, but with the number of guards I’ve seen pass by, even if I snatched a purse, I wouldn’t get far.

Symon sighed as he leaned against the wall edge.

The Book District seemed like a likely choice. Only the wealthy and well off can afford buying books. Unless they are young mages, where they get books as a discount, from what I’ve witnessed as I snuck around in my fox form. The whole area smells of coin, and I haven’t worked up the courage to simply walk in like I was a regular. Which is laughable, because I’m not a regular in this form.

Symon thought back to when he first arrived. He spent many evenings in his fox form, easily sneaking past guards and people. Spying as he went, to get the lay of the city. Those first few nights were magical, seeing the grand city he often heard about and actually spending time in it. If not for his hungry stomach and lack of coin, he thought he would truly enjoy what the city had to offer.

He glanced down at his black clothes and a sense of foreboding took root.

I’m not dressed like most people in the district. If I take anything, I will be quickly found out. Serafina made it clear, if I’m caught, I’m on my own. But if I give up, I have to return to my den with nothing to show for it and a hungry stomach.

There must be another way I can acquire fifty copper rooks. Serafina hinted at something more and I would be lying if I didn’t want to know what she meant. She has a warm home and great food, but there is a shadow there, something below the surface. She wanted to tell me, but held back. She needs to know I can be trusted and get the job done. If I prove myself, maybe I can get another meal. Maybe I can spend a night in a warm bed and not in a small, cold cave. In any case, I have to get those copper rooks before sundown. The Shield Guard have increased their patrols in the evening and at night. They are preparing for a new crop of young people who wish to join the mage academies. It’s celebrated throughout the city and they will not take kindly to any distributions.

An idea formed and Symon absently nodded to himself.

There might be areas where disruptions are more commonplace. I know of such a place and it may help me acquire the coin I need to prove myself for Serafina’s secrets.

Symon woke from his thoughts to an elf in blue armor, standing about forty feet away and in the Book District. His dirty blonde hair was tied back and his hawkish gaze squarely on Symon.

A nervous spike stabbed down Symon’s spine, but he didn’t show it. He simply turned away from the district entrance and started walking in the opposite direction.

The elf continued to stare with intense eyes. His pointed ears were bare for all to see. He watched the young man in black walk further away and turn a corner. Once he was gone, the elf turned slightly to continue his patrol, when he hesitated. Something whispered along his senses, telling him to follow.

“Excuse me, elf, can you help me?” a woman in a robe asked as she walked up to the Shield Guard elf.

The elf woke from the moment and gave the woman a half-smile.

The woman was all smiles as a hood was over her head and shadows covered her features slightly. “Can you tell me, where is the Theater District? I’m new in town and I’m trying to find my way there.”

The elf nodded. “Stay east on Magus Street, until you reach Mask Street. Walk a little further and you should see the main entrance to the Theater District.”

“Thank you, kind elf,” the woman bowed.

The elf gave her a tired look for a moment before doing a weak, half bow himself. It wasn’t the first time he was simply called elf, and it would not be the last time.

The robed woman turned and walked off. The city-guard elf turned and continued his patrol, forgetting the odd young man in black.

***

The Drunk Apprentice was sparely populated. The tavern, often home to locals, poets, and off duty city guards, was in the midst of preparing for the evening rush. Bartenders and barbacks moved about with practiced ease, stocking barrels and wiping down empty tables, while a few regulars drowned their thoughts in various spirits and ales.

At a table in the back, a man sat. A large book was open on the table, accompanied with an inkwell and three wooden mugs. Two were empty, and the third was filled halfway. A feathery quill waved over the open book as the man was hunched over with a focused gaze.

The bartender glanced over to the man. Visitors often came early to the tavern for the atmosphere. They would have some drinks, talk, and be on their way with their plans. The man in the back corner was not acting like a normal visitor to the city of Gray Gate. He had spent the last five days, hunched over his open book and writing like a demon was looking over his shoulder to ensure he was still writing.

The visitor had a black cloak, pinned with a simple silver clasp at his neck, holding the cloak to him. He wore a dark red shirt and black leggings. He had dark blonde hair, combed to the side and with enough of a curl to reach his eyebrow. The bartender likened it to a wave as it crested before it actually fell.

“Brilliant!” the writer chuckled to himself as he continued to write.

The bartender shook his head. The man often muttered loudly to himself, especially after a few drinks. It was fine the first day or two, but it was beginning to irritate others nearby. The tavern was a place to relax, drink, and engage in casual conversation. The writer was none of those things. The bartender remembered a few times in the past week, how the more the writer drank, the louder and belligerent he became. It was reaching the point where his silver knights were not enough to allow it to continue much longer.

The writer lifted up his gaze and looked directly at the bartender, who happened to still be staring at him.

“Another!” the writer shouted like he was lord of a great land, gracing their presence.

The bartender muttered something to himself as he grabbed an empty mug and began pouring ale into it. Once it was filled to a frothy top, he marched over and nearly slammed it down on the table.

Some of the froth splashed out. The writer’s eyes widened as he snatched his book up and white foam struck the table, missing the book by half an inch.

“Careful you goon!” the writer growled. “I’m writing notes to my next masterpiece. It will cause many readers to weep in joy and you nearly destroyed my day’s work!”

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The bartender looked down on the man with unimpressed eyes. “Maybe a tavern isn’t the place to the write? There is always the Book District to pen your thoughts to paper.”

The writer looked up at the bartender with annoyed eyes. “Book district? I doubt it has the muddy and chaotic flair like your establishment. Why would I spend time where other writers have already completed their works, when I can be here, writing among the people and allowing my elegant prose to be absorbed by my mere presence.”

The bartender simply blinked.

The man let out a tired sigh and he put his book down, inches away from the dash of foam on the table.

“You didn’t understand what I just said, did you? No, it’s silly to inquire, because of course you don’t.”

The bartender’s eyes flashed with heat.

The writer ignored the bartender’s reaction and lifted his hand, giving it a slight wave to him.

“Off with you! I have deep and meaningful work to return to, and your presence is muddying the songs from my muse.”

The bartender stayed his ground, hands curling into meaty fists at his sides. “It’s bad enough we have to contend with higher than thou mages, but your ilk is even worse. You think you can string some words together on paper and the world will fall to their knees because you think it.”

The man placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers before him. He looked up with cool eyes and an edge of disdain in his brow.

“I don’t have to think it, I know it. I have written three books, and each one has had praise from lords and ladies across the Summer Lands to the south. It has allowed me to travel. It is the reason I am here, to take in the mystical time where young mages join the academies and begin their adventures into the realms of magic.

“As for the people falling to their knees, yes, they do indeed fall to their knees as they cry and wail for more of my written prose. Tell me, Barkeep, when was the last time you picked up a book, any book, for that matter? And just to be clear, reading the labels on the sides of barrels doesn’t suffice.”

The bartender’s brow wrinkled in subdued rage. His hands tightened further as he glared at the smug writer polluting his fine establishment with pompous nonsense.

“We’ve endured your presence long enough. Pay your tab and take your business elsewhere,” the bartender said through gritted teeth.

The writer’s eyes narrowed. “We? You couldn’t possibly mean the royal we? As for what is actually happening, I’m only insulting you with my razor wit. I had questioned to myself if you had the mental armament to bandy words with me, but clearly, you are unarmed and drowning in our discussion.

“Instead of hurrying me out the door, bring me a few more drinks so I can continue with my work, and have a drink, on my tab, so we can sooth out the rough feathers between us, friend.”

The bartender’s glare was unmoved. He made a sharp whistle out the side of his mouth.

The writer glanced to the sides of the hulking bartender, as several bulky men who were helping with cleaning and stocking, stopped what they were doing and walked in his direction.

“I see I have taken things a little too far. It is my curse. When you have no limitations or filter, you tend to think others share such traits,” the writer said with a small smile.

The bartender leaned over the table, uncurled his large fists, and placed them on the edge of the table. His menacing stare was like two boiling cauldrons with demonic violence dancing around them.

The writer shifted his gaze to the four mean, two on each side of the burly bartender. They all shared the same, angry stare. Thick arms and shoulders flexed as they appeared ready to do something they were very good at, which was throwing out tavern patrons who caused too much trouble.

“I can purchase drinks for all of you,” the writer said with a timid edge.

“Find another place to spend your coin,” the bartender said with a hard tone and harder eyes.

“Is this the end of Cedric Voxx?” Cedric grinned. “Let me gather my items, and I will be on my way.”

The writer closed his book and quickly gathered his inkwell and quill. He placed them in a case and stuffed them in his satchel, which was on a chair beside him. He put the satchel strap over his head and let it rest on his shoulder. He stood up and held the large book to his chest.

The bartender and fellow workers, backed off. They gave the writer enough room for him to circle the table.

Cedric had a clear path through the tavern and the front door, but something needled at him. Seeing the large men, glaring at him like he had stolen their daughter’s virtue, was too much to let well enough alone.

“Gentlemen, it has been an honor to share the same space with you over these last few days. It saddens me that we must depart on such uneasy terms. I will be sure to add you all in my next book!”

The large men glanced at each other, not sure what to make of what Cedric was saying. A few patrons are the bar had already turned around to see what was going to happen next. The tavern grew silent as Cedric leaned forward with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“I shall title it, The Ballad of Oafs! An exploration of the dim-witted in a time of mages and kings!” Cedric winked.

The air took on a primeval edge of rage, before the five men quickly rushed the lone writer.

Cedric kept his snarky smile as pushed out his book and turned it. The bartender reached for him, when the binding of the book slammed into his nose. Blood blasted out of nostrils as the bartender stumbled back, clutching at his face.

Chaos whipped into a frenzy as Cedric moved with expert and skilled ease. Hands reached out and were quickly met with a hard binding on their exposed wrists. Cedric spun away, the mean stumbling after him. He grinned as he turned his book as a fist came at him. When knuckled struck the book, the large barback grunted in pain before the book was pulled away and smacked against his cheek. He stumbled to the side as the other men tried to rush him.

Cedric moved like a skilled acrobat, the men leaping and missing him as he continued to spin away. A barback crashed into a table, and another tripped over his fallen comrade and hit the floor.

The patrons at the bar, lifted their drinks and cheered on the violence, as a tall, thin man stayed just out of reach of angry hands and fists.

Cedric back-peddled as toward the entrance of the tavern as the burly men growled their fury. The bartender spit out a glob of blood as more of his crimson life leaked from his broken nose, and over his lips. One helped his fallen comrades to their feet as the bartender and another barback cautiously approached the smiling writer.

“Should have just delivered the drinks and left it alone,” Cedric grinned as he walked backwards to the entrance.

The bartender and barback roared as they charged. Cedric shifted his weight, lifted a leg and slammed it down on the bartender’s knee. He listened for the familiar crack of bone or tendon, but it didn’t come. Only a grunt filled the air as the bartender didn’t fall as he was expected to.

“Strong and dull-witted. A dangerous combin…” Cedric didn’t finish as a fist slammed into his cheek.

Cedric stumbled back until he hit the edge of the tavern entrance.

The bartender with the bloody face grinned as he reared back his large fist again and charged.

“We should discuss this like civilized people,” Cedric said as his eyes reflected the incoming fist.

The street outside the Drunken Apprentice was filled with people walking, taking in the sights, and looking for a place for a mid-day meal. The air held a hushed calm as sunlight bathed the tops of towers, sides of structures, and along the cobblestone streets. The Spirit District was a home for many different taverns and eateries. Here, a visitor could find any manner of place to have a drink, from elegant to dark and shadowy. Each tavern had a theme, or presence, making it a place for subdued adventure and lively discussion.

The calm mood of the street shifted quickly as the doors to the Drunken Apprentice, burst open and bodies fell out. The groups of people quickly moved to the sides as a bloody nosed bartender, and several of his fellow workers, advanced on a tall, thin man touching his cheek and then his hand to see if there was any blood on it. To the writer’s relief, there was only a throbbing sensation and no broken skin.

Cedric backed off as he held his book in one hand and lifted his other hand out as if keeping the angry men back with some unseen spell.

“I have exited the establishment. We don’t have to carry on like this,” Cedric said quickly as he took another step back.

The bloody nosed bartender grinned with blood continuing to leak over his lips and chin.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” the bartender said and launched at the thin man.

“Damnation!” Cedric said as he lifted his book and blocked the incoming fist.

The bartender continued to push forward, his fellow men at his sides, corning the writer.

Cedric glanced behind him as he was rapidly losing room, the wall on the opposite side of the street looming closer.

“When I write about this moment, I will be very unkind to all of you!” Cedric shouted as he used his book to block each incoming fist in turn.

The crowd clamored over each other, straining their necks to see the brawl in the streets. Symon approached and quickly slipped into the crowd, craning his own neck to see. He could barely see what was happening, with so many bodies in the way. When he glanced down to see if he could find a way to move in closer, he spotted a hanging coin purse. A man was yelling for blood and striking his fist into the air like some crazed creature. He wasn’t the only one, for much of the crowd was calling for more violence. Judging from the mood, the thin veneer of polite society was quickly cracked when blood and violence was involved.

This is much too good an opportunity to let it pass!

Grunts and shouting filled the air as Symon flexed his hands. He had never stolen anything in his human form. Nor had he every pickpocket a person.

Now or never.

Symon glanced over his shoulder to see more of the crowd more interested in the street brawl. When he felt sure no one was watching, his hand reach over and snatched the coin purse and pulled down. The thin leather strap tugged, but didn’t break. The man stopped shouting and was turning his head when another man in the mob pushed him aside for a better look. The man angrily shouted and, in that moment, Symon pulled harder and the strap snapped.

Heart beating like a drum in the thick of battle, he turned and pushed through the crowd. Shouting and yelling filled his ears, expecting someone, anyone, to grab his shoulder and stop him. He quickly stuffed the pouch in the inner waist top of his leggings. The tiny moments felt like hours as he pushed through the crowd and reached the edge of the onlookers of the street brawl.

Symon watched as the thin man in the black cloak moved like trained fighter. With the book in his hand, he blocked and parried incoming punches. When a fist would glance off, the man lifted his knee and slammed his heel on an exposed knee. He then shifted his attacks, slamming the binding of the book into unguarded throats. One by one, the men fighting him began to fall. The cheering onlookers behind Symon continued their blood thirsty chanting. The fight was turning, and it looked like the man with the book was winning.

“Take heart in knowing you all fought well!” the cloaked man with the book grinned before using both hands to slam his thick book into the side of a head of the bartender.

The bartender moaned as he was knocked to the street and clutching the side of his head.

The man with the book stood over them with a tired, and amused expression. He turned to the crowd as they stopped cheering, looks of disappointment filling their ranks.

Symon glanced past the thin man, seeing the other side of the street was less populated.

If I get past him and make a run for it, I can get away.

Cedric bowed to the crowd. “Thank you for enjoying our production of Street Brawl Theater!” the writer cackled.

Boos and moans filled the crowd.

Symon edged forward, and in a blink of courage, he darted forward.

Time slowed down as Cedric slowly stood up. The crowd was booing him, but that wasn’t what caused his eyes to narrow. A young man with black hair and reddish tips along his temples came running in his direction.

For a brief moment, it looked like the young man was trying to get across. A man in the booing crowd started yelling at the top of his lungs, he had been robbed.

The bartender looked up from the street with a deep fury in his eyes. Massive hands slammed down on the cobblestone street and arms bulged. He launched himself upwards, his fist cocked back and his gaze purely on the side of the thin man’s head.

Symon stared ahead to freedom, when he noticed the bloody-faced bartender rising up like a wraith from a grave, ready to slam a cocked fist into the slowly standing man who laid him out.

Cedric eyed the man yelling and pointing at the young man trying to run past him, calling him “Thief!”

Symon and Cedric glanced at each other, time standing still for a breath, when it flashed forward into quick reality.

“Look out!” Symon shouted to the cloaked, thin man.

Cedric turned his head to see an incoming fist. He side-stepped, lifted his book and brought it down on the bartender’s head. The fist missed the writer by inches. The bartender felt the shadow of the book overhead, before it slammed onto his head so hard, he crashed down to the street instantly.

Symon’s boot slammed onto the back of the downed bartender and he launched off of him.

Cedric had a slight grin as he glanced at the young man landing before the crowd on the opposite side of the street and disappeared into them.

“Thief! Thief!” a man from the crowd complained loudly.

Cedric kept his grin as he shouted to the crowd. “As you can see from our demonstration, books can be the greatest weapon of our times!” he said loudly to drown out the man yelling in the crowd.

Hearing the writer, the crowd lost interest. It began to break up as several people talked with the man who was visibly upset. In the distance, the sound of racing boots and clanking armor echoed off walls.

“Time for a hasty exit,” Cedric muttered to himself as he turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction of the approaching city guards.

The writer vanished into the crowd, but the sight of the young man lingered in his mind as the sun shined brightly high in the blue sky.

***

Serafina rummaged through a chest. She was on her knees and bent over the open chest. Hands dug around through small, velvet sacks of various colors, from a deep read to a royal purple. When he pushed one way and spotted a small sack with a raven emblem on it, she smiled to herself. She reached down and grabbed it.

The woman in black sat on her ankles before the chest. She pulled open the stop and peered in to see a small crystal vial, a knife small enough to fit in her palm, and a small, weathered book.

Seeing everything within the small velvet sack was in order, she rose up and kicked the top of the chest lid down. It fell into place, the lock latching tight. Serafina turned and made her way out of a backroom and toward the main room of the large home.

She stepped from the hallway and looked at the table she set up in the middle of the room. Two chairs were opposite each other of the table. Velvet couches and chairs surrounded the center table. Despite it being early afternoon, the chill hadn’t left the home and Serafina had earlier placed a few logs in the fireplace.

The woman in black placed the small sack on the table and then stepped to the fireplace. She picked up a fire stick from its little metal box on the mantel and struck it against the edge of the stony fireplace. She placed the burning edge to the fire stick to the kindling under the logs and it took, instantly.

When she stood up, there was a knock at the door.

Serafina smiled to herself before smoothing out her features, turning, and walking briskly to the door. When she reached it, she opened it and looked upon Symon as she stood, his arm outstretched and a sack in his hand.

Serafina’s hand whisked up and touched his wrist, gently pulling it down.

“Don’t bring any attention to yourself. Come in,” she said and stepped to the side.

Symon stepped in and noticed the table, the velvet sack, and two chairs in the middle of the main room.

Serafina glanced around outside, ensuring no was watching or following. When the coast was clear, she closed the door and locked it.

She turned and looked at the young man. He had a worried look in his eyes, but it didn’t take away much from his calm demeanor.

“You came back earlier than expected,” Serafina grinned. “Let’s see what you’ve brought and maybe, we will speak of secrets and histories,” she said with a wicked edge and a gleam in her eyes.

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