Bottom Rung, CH 47 (Patreon)

Tibs moved through the crowd of what was becoming known as Merchant’s Row; the long street that intersected Travel Road, but wasn’t paying attention to the tempting pockets. His attention was divided between not letting the chafing of his new armor drive him crazy and studying the way his essence showed within the people around him.

He wanted to get out of the armor, but Darran had reminded him he needed to move in it for it to become more comfortable. The shopkeeper had been happy to see him; he’d heard Tibs had gotten seriously hurt and had been worried one of his favorite customers wouldn’t come back.

Losing Tibs armor had hurt Darran as much as it had Tibs, or it had seemed to. Tibs knew the merchant well enough now to know much of the interactions between the man and his customers was an act, but he was good enough Tibs couldn’t always tell when he did it, and even if Darran told Tibs he never bothered with him, the level of friendliness the merchant showed was so much more than other merchants did, Tibs forced himself to remain cautious.

When Tibs had told him he needed a new armor, Darran had explained that he had to pay what he owed first. As much as he wanted to help Tibs, he couldn’t let him add debt on top of debt.

The man had been surprised when Tibs handed him the coins to cover what he owed, and a little of the act slipped. Tibs called him out on it and Darran admitted he’d expected Tibs to ask for special treatment, which he would have granted for a little more interest.

The merchant had seemed embarrassed to make the admission. But Tibs was simply pleased with himself for not having been entirely taken in by the merchant’s acting. The next morning he’d returned and left an hour later wearing his new armor and owing forty silvers to the merchant. Which, this time, included a set of twelve throwing knives.

He looked at a Runner he passed, the essence inside her body a pale golden. Void essence, like Tammy. Every runner had a tint to how he sensed their essence—and how something he sensed had a color, utterly escaped him, but he accepted it. It was easier to do than accepting essence was and wasn’t at the same time.

They weren’t all pale either. From observing the trainers, which he knew to be high rank, he’d decided that the stronger the color, the further along with their training they were. Harry nearly blinded him when Tibs saw him in a discussion with a group of his guards. In reaction, Tibs had discovered he could dampen his sense of others without affecting his sense of the other essences.

The nobles varied. Those he knew were going into the dungeon had tinted essence going through them, same as the Runners. Tibs couldn’t bring himself to call them Runners. Runners were him and the others who had been forced into it; who had proven they had what it took to survive the dungeon. The nobles were just wealthy people who had paid to come here. Why they did, Tibs didn’t understand, they had wealth, what did they care for essence.

The townsfolk and nobles who didn’t go into the dungeon were different. Even his sense of the essence in them was weak; as if they had only a little of it. And for most of them, the faintness had no sense of color. The new blacksmith, a man with skin almost as dark as the soot on the side of the forge, had the bare hint of red. And a woman who baked amazing bread hints of green.

He wanted to ask them, or anyone, what it meant. But his ability was part of something no one knew about, and Khumdar wasn’t the only one to believe the guild would use Tibs, instead of helping him understand. Alistair was the one person Tibs wasn’t sure of. His teacher wanted to help him, he knew that much, but his allegiance to the guild was strong, maybe stronger than his desire to help Tibs.

Tibs entered the shop and let his nose guide him to the boxes of sweets. He didn’t come to the Caravan Garden often. Anytime the girl that had been here that first time worked, she smiled at him in that way that Tibs didn’t like. A few times she’d offered for him to come upstairs where she could show him some of the goods she had. Tibs knew what she meant, even if she seemed to think he didn’t, giggling like she had.

Today he wanted something sweet, and a scent reminded him of his street; orange. He hadn’t smelled the sweet and acidic scent since arriving in the town, and even on his street, it hadn’t been common; oranges were things the nobles enjoyed. The few times he’d tasted one had been in the homes of the wealthier denizens of his street, a not entirely rotten one that had been secreted away, or left on a table, thinking the thugs guarding the building meant no one could get in.

“You can have four for a copper,” someone said, and Tibs clamped down on the urge to jump. He was a Rogue. He was the one doing the surprising. He was always aware of his surroundings. If Bardik found out how startling the shopkeeper had been, he’d rename Tibs ‘Jump easily’.

“Can I get five?” he asked, forcing his breath to steady. “I’d like one for everyone in my team.”

The man was older, his beard gray and well-trimmed. His eyes were a normal blue and his suntanned skin wrinkled. “You’re a Runner? Are you with the nobles?”

“No,” Tibs replied, offended. “I’ve been here since the dungeon opened.”

“I didn’t know there were any Omegas left from that group,” the man said, taking a handful of the candies and heading to the counter.

Tibs almost explained, but the merchant hadn’t made a big deal of it, he’d just been surprised, so he didn’t bother.

“I’ll be a copper,” the merchant said from the other side of the counter, and as Tibs reached for the slot in his armor where he kept three of them—he so missed his pouch—he froze noticing something on a shelf. He didn’t understand what that was doing there.

“Quite the work, isn’t it?” the merchant asked, chuckling. He was looking at the wooden box too. “It’s from a city far from here, MountainSea. It’s the work of an artisan there.” The man took it off the shelf and placed it on the counter.

The last time Tibs had seen it, he’d been enjoying an ale at the Long in the Tooth tavern. He’d placed it on the table, and then it was gone. He had seen no one come take it, it had simply vanished. And now, here it was.

“Try to open it,” the man said.

He hadn’t while carrying for Bardik. You never look at what you were hired to take or get. You only did the work. To do more was asking for trouble you might not be able to pay for. Tibs took it and pulled on the lid, then frowned when it didn’t lift. He felt along the seam from one side of the delicate hinge to the other, there there were no holes for a key, no hidden latch.

“It’s a puzzle box,” the merchant said, as Tibs turned it over, running his fingers over each surface. The lines were faint. If not for how straight they were, he’d think they were the wood’s grain. He found one that moved and slid it, smiling as he felt for the next one.

“Do you know what it is?” the merchant asked, surprised.

Tibs shook his head as he moved to the next one. “I’m a Rogue,” he said, on the hunt for the next one. This was like a trap or a lock. It was all about the right pressure at the right place. Push here, pull there, to the side on this one, and press there, so you can slide that part over there. Another pull, this one went at a diagonal, this one up, that that one down.

Click.

Gasps made Tibs looked up. People were watching him, standing between the display cases. Suddenly Tibs was embarrassed, and he placed the box on the counter. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Open it,” the merchant said with a chuckled.

Instead of lifting, the cover slid off the box. The inside was empty. Tibs’s disappointment was short-lived. Of course, whatever had been in it when he’d brought it from MountainSea wouldn’t be there anymore.

“Now I’m happy you were so fast to start,” the merchant said. “I was about to say that if you could open it, I’d give it to you.”

“Don’t give something locked to a Rogue,” Tibs said, closing the lid. “The dungeon makes us very good with them.” He marveled at the work as he relocked it. Moving each piece of wood back in its original positions. The kind of skills it took to make something like this. “Do you know who made it?” Tibs wondered if the artist made them to keep things safe, or for the beauty of making something so intricate and simple.

“No, just the merchant who sold it.”

Tibs offered the copper piece, and the merchant was taken aback, then looked at the candies. “Tell you what, you take them and keep the coin. Watching you unlock the box was worth them.”

Tibs only hesitated a moment. He didn’t know this merchant, he didn’t have to make sure that was what he wanted. He said he could, so Tibs slid the five pieces in his hand and headed for the exit, pushing his way through the people.

At the door, he nearly collided with a woman entering. With a curse, she raised the leather tube at the end of the strap over her shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, kid, some of us are holding fragile packages.”

He watched her as he entered. Watch that tube. He’d seen those before. There had been at the platform, when Alistair left, among the arrivals. He’d seen someone with one like it at the inn, then there had been—

He shook his head to clear it. She was a messenger, they’d all been. Plenty of people working in the guild had leather tubes like them, some held papers, other items. He’d see more of them as the town grew and more nobles moved in. Nobles loved their messengers, Tibs was certain of that.

He hurried to the room to share the candies with his team.

* * * * *

Tibs walked the roof carefully. His armor was still stiff, even after three days of moving and training in it. Now that he had throwing knives, Tandy was showing him how to throw them between his team taking on hers.

Tonight, his roof walking wasn’t about getting in a house, or even just being high and looking into the distance. The roof he’d picked was only three stories up, one of the townsfolk’s home, so he wouldn’t enter it even locks were what he wanted to practice. There were enough nobles in the town for him to do that.

He reached the end and stopped. The next house was a dozen feet away. It was too far for him to jump it, and that was why he’d picked this house, that and the fact there were bales of hay against the other house all the way to the middle of the alley. He didn’t know what they did with those, but it meant that if he was wrong, he should manage to land without breaking anything.

Carina probably wouldn’t approve of what he was about to do.

He backed away, then ran for the other house. He jumped, and as he began falling, he pushed the air essence under his foot. Willed it harder.

He felt it move, and he thought the air had felt harder as his foot came down on it, but he kept falling. He rolled and landed in the hay. He needed more work with it.

* * * * *

He looked up at the lightening sky from the hay.

Maybe this couldn’t be done. Either he didn’t have enough essence in his reserves, or air simply couldn’t be made hard enough to push himself off it and reach to next roof.

He debated giving it another try before heading to the inn for his breakfast as he untangled himself from the mess his fall had turned the bales into. They were more piles than bales now.

“Hey,” a man called. “What are you doing there!”

Tibs ran in the opposite direction. Had he broken any rules? He didn’t know of any preventing someone from jumping into hay, and they had been outside, so he hadn’t broken into places. He had broken a few bales, but that wouldn’t be a crime, would it?

* * * * *

“Do I want to know what you’ve been up to all night?” Kroseph asked, placing a plate of sausages, bread, and eggs before Tibs.

“Nothing,” he answered, breathing in the aromas.

The server picked hay out of his hair. “You need to work on your lying Tibs, even I see through that one.”

He smiled at the man. “Just practicing Rogue things.”

“And would Jackal approve? No, never mind.” Kroseph rolled his eyes. “It’s you, I think he forgot how to say no to you.”

“Is he up?”

“He’s running. I have no idea how you Runners do it. I’d think that the dungeon was stressful enough. You’d take it easy the rest of the time, but Jackal runs, fights, trains. If he isn’t with me, he isn’t resting either.”

Tibs studied the server. There had been a hint of exasperation in his voice. “He does it for you.”

Kroseph chuckled. “Tibs, that man known I don’t care how he looks. He’d make me feel the way he does, even if there was fat over those muscles.”

Tibs shook his head. “He does it because he doesn’t want you to lose him.”

Kroseph was quiet. “Oh.”

“He told you how dangerous the dungeon is.”

“Tibs, it’s Jackal. You have to take what he said lightly.”

“Not that. You know how many people the dungeon ate. How many of us were left with you arrived?”

Kroseph shrugged. “I don’t know. We were busy, but we were the first inn to open, so everyone wanted to eat and drink, and…” he grinned, “other things.”

“He runs, and he fights, and we all train, because we don’t want the dungeon to eat us. He does it harder because it’s going to hurt you if it happens.”

“If what happens?” Jackal asked, stepping to the table. His shirt stuck to his chest from the sweat and his hair dripped as if he’d been in the rain.

Kroseph was kissing him hard enough Tibs looked away.

“You need a bath,” the server whispered.

“Yeah, well, I have been running.”

“So you have.”

“Kro, what is going on?”

“I’m going to help you wash.”

“I—”

Kroseph pulled the fighter to a door leading to the baths. And Tibs looked up in time to see Jackal’s confused expression as they vanished through the doorway.

* * * * *

“That’s an ‘a’,” Carina said.

“That’s chalk on a board,” Tibs grumbled.

“You’re right, but it’s chalk on a board in the shape of an ‘a’. Come on Tibs, you have to learn your letters.”

“No, I don’t. I have to practice my essence,” he snapped. “Letters are for nobles. I’m a Runner, I’m Street.”

“The guild uses letters. Don’t you want to be sure Darran doesn’t cheat you out of your coins?”

Tibs took the chalks and drew the numbers. Those had been easy to learn. There were only ten of them. Carina had already shown him twice that in letters and he had a sense it was just the start.

“Good, you know your numbers,” she replied, exasperation in her tone. “Now what are you going to do when he writes something next to them, like this?” she took the chalk and made scratches next to his numbers. He recognized the ‘a’ she’d just written and one looked like the ‘t’, which was the first letter of his name. The rest he couldn’t make you.

“I’m going to ask you or Khumdar to tell me what it says.”

“Damn it, Tibs.” She stood. “You can’t constantly depend on us.”

“You’re my team. Who else am I going to depend on?”

“That’s not what I mean.” The door opened and Jackal entered, smiling. “You deal with him,” she told the fighter, shoving him aside and leaving.

“What’s got her in a mood?” Jackal asked. Tibs showed him the slate with the markings on it, and the fighter winced. “She is trying to help you.”

“I’m not seeing her sitting you down to learn letters,” Tibs replied bitterly.

“I’m a lost cause, and she knows it.”

“It’s hard. Why are there so many letters?”

“Because people have a lot of stuff to say. Can I ask you something?”

Tibs shrugged.

“What did you tell my man? And can you tell him that every morning?”

Tibs stared at the fighter. Was he that dense, or just purposely oblivious? And suddenly, Tibs didn’t want to deal with the man. With how he took nothing seriously, not even the people his actions affected.

He headed for the door. “Figure it out yourself.” He slammed it shut on Jackal’s question.

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