From night to a few hours before dawn, I lay awake in the cold, breezy attic on my thin, grass-stuffed bedroll. An occupational hazard of the burgling business is the infrequent bouts of insomnia. The stress I'm feeling, and the looming heist probably has something to do with my restlessness as well, however. I may be a veteran of the trade, but that's only made me better at handling the pre-heist jitters, not that they're gone entirely, or that it's miraculously removed my ability to freak out about the house of cards I'm balancing atop of.

Ever since I put the kids to bed I've been thinking hard about every possible way that this could end catastrophically for me. As it turns out, I'm quite imaginative when it comes to creating potential self-fulfilling prophecies of doom.

I want to get up, go outside and go for a walk, but I'm still sluggish from the climb up to the vantage point I ate my lunch at yesterday, and I really need to get at least some sleep so I don't just pass out from exhaustion in the middle of vaulting the Dwast manor walls.

Now there's another doom scenario for the pile, with multiple points of progression, like being chewed on by whatever animal they might have patrolling the grounds, or drowning in a little garden pond, too tired to move my head above water.

Gods, why does Yemesv-

"I swear I'm going to punch the Yemesvel out of me at this rate," I mutter under my breath.

Why do I do this to myself?

God, if my sister were here she'd tell me to stop being a whiny little brat. I miss her, actually. Never thought I'd say that about the foul-mouthed old glacier. I swear, when she went off to the Police Academy they subjected her to an experimental procedure that sucked all the smiles and humour out of her. Never got along with her after that, but imagine my surprise when the world's pre-eminent power couple the Jennings use this game to lure me into a reconciliation with her as an apology for stealing my recipe book for their project.

Or at least, they tried. But she was too busy perving on that weird guy with the pancakes from the top of the stairs to come talk to me. She should be glad I never said anything to him about it, he'd have choked, and that would be a shameful waste of good food. I mean, it'd suck for him, but I'm a certified first aider, so he'd be fine. Probably. He was really shovelling them down...

I should stop avoiding the thing that's really bothering me.

Which is how do I convince myself to stop worrying so much about the heist and the political intrigue that's snared me in its much-storied web of lies and deceit for long enough that I can get some fucking shut-eye?

The one thing I keep coming back to is how perfect it all is for me on the surface. I desperately want to go fish the Boss out of whatever brothel he's wallowing in and grill his flabby ass over a brazier until he squeals like a pig, but if I'm right and this is a trap, then I'd only be tipping whoever is pulling the strings that I'm wise to their game. And if it's me that's the target of their scheme, they'll come back with a more subtle plan.

I growl. This is so frustrating. My intuition is screaming at me to get as far away from here as possible, but I just don't have enough information to know if skipping town at all is a good idea.

"You know what? Sod It - Old Human Philosophy. Yemesvel has already accepted the Job, Yemesvel is just going to get on with it and see what happens. There's no point in thinking about it to a point where Yemesvel loses valuable sleepy-time."

I wake up sometime around midday, and head out into the street, leaving through the front door, since it's business hours and running across the rooftops in broad daylight is just going to attract the attention of the city guard and gawkers.

The guard can be bribed for the most part, although I don't exactly have much coin on me, maybe enough to convince them to give me a headstart rather than to leave me along altogether. No benefits to putting on a tumbler's stage performance for the crowd though. I already have a hard enough time moving around without that being added to my reputation.

I avoid the narrow side streets as I make my way through the procession of Coal Bax-drawn wagons and pedestrians. The ground on the wider main road is muddy, despite it not having rained in days, and I'd prefer not to think too hard about the reasons why that could be. I count it a simple mercy that I'm wearing water-proofed leather footwear. When night comes, I can just wipe the muck off with a wet rag. Not leaving muddy footprints wherever I go in the heist is kind of important.

I'm not taking this route because I'm worried about running to other unsavoury types. I can handle myself in a back alley brawl just fine.

Redault is pretty much the definition of a sprawling metropolis. In the outer districts, buildings are continuously being built, torn down and rebuilt to accommodate the fluctuating yet ever massive population of slum dwellers, merchants of all stripes and thieves.

As such, what space does exist is probably occupied by several other people and their luggage. If you want to get anywhere in a city like this, you either take to the rooftops, which are for the most part flat to simplify construction, or you join the masses and the wagons in the wider main roads that lead from the gate to several crossroads and any one of the city's marketplaces.

These markets are the lifeblood of the city, and each one is controlled by one of the local Claits: Family run mercantile companies that employ and control the majority of the city. Their influence is so widespread that the actual ruler of Redault, Duchne Eisber, has to consult the heads of the Claits before making any decisions. Even though it is well within her rights to have the lot of the corrupt bastards hung from their bootstraps and bled like a rabbit - and according to rumour she'd love nothing better - the Claits own almost every single man and woman of power and despise interference in their businesses.

I think the closest real-world comparison would be Venice - if the merchant families were less subtle about their greed-fuelled brutality and didn't care as much about their public image. Pretty much the only reason the kingdom tolerates it is that nobody wants to admit how much money these scumbags garner them. If Redault was to be purged, the nation's economy would collapse on the spot.

Which leaves Redault to continue to fester.

I feel like I should quote Star Wars but that would be overstating things, and I've already arrived at my first destination of the day, the Thynnwirk-controlled Market of Mysteries. So-called because of the large open stage in the middle of the much larger plaza where washed-up low-level mages with no power or influence to their names put on performances of prestidigitation for the public. In essence, busking for coin by using crappy illusion magic and the like.

They're a pathetic lot, all-in-all. They have a certain amount of popularity in a way, but it's plainly obvious they resent the depths they've sunk to in order to feed themselves. They could probably qualify as adventurers just by virtue of having magic, but they're far too cowardly for that kind of life. Ironically, they often end up murdering their more popular rivals, which really just makes them even worse.

Bards have far more dignity, by comparison, although there are many who claim the title that are little more than wandering drunks and philanderers looking for easy company. Real Bards can demand the attention of a room just be clearing their throat to prepare for a performance. A pity I have no musical talent, or I'd consider disguising myself as one once the Job is over.

I'm here to speak to one of my few contacts. I'd hardly call him a friend, but the Runts know him to be fairly reliable with the information he provides. I can't guarantee he'll tell me anything useful, nor that the Thynnwirk Spies won't catch wind of it, assuming they've not been tailing me since I left the Hoard, but if anyone has information on the Dwast and isn't afraid to spread it around, it'll be an information broker in Thynnwirk territory.

The Dwast-controlled market, The Bolt Bazaar, is a couple of streets over, and the rivalry between these two Claits is only the worse for the proximity of their business interests. The Dwast have a near-monopoly on pottery and metalwork, thus the name, but both Claits have invested heavily in the local mining industry, so you can probably imagine how much it bothers the Thynnwirk Clait that the Dwast own so many of the smiths and metalwork shops.

Rather than one of the many stalls that segment the plaza into makeshift streets, I push through the throng of people behind a skewered meat stall where an inconspicuous travel supplies store sits. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure how the shops in the buildings that form the edge of the Market even survive with how hard the peddlers make it for people to get to their doors, but in this case I'd be more inclined to believe that Jokam does most of his business in selling information with the store itself serving as a convenient front for all the 'travellers' that come through to pass along rumours.

Pushing the metal braced wood door open, a dull tinkling bell rings from the back of a counter in opposite end of the small shop floor. Lining the wall are a few tables with examples of what Jokam theoretically sells. Bundles of rope, a large waterskin made from Glorram hide, and some boxes of firesticks - charcoaled twigs with a minor enchantment that causes them to burst into flame briefly after being snapped. All the staples of a financially sound vagabond.

"Jokam!" I call out, getting impatient, "Yemesvel knows you're back there, get your nose out of your skom bag."

An irate Gurn stomps out of the back room and slams his palms on the counter, "I don't have any fuckin' skom. I'll never touch that powdered death."

I'll admit the skom remark is fairly racist since it's a bit of a stereotype that the local Gurn members of the underworld are all hopelessly addicted to it but frankly, Yemesvel never really gave a shit since the first time she met Jokam he called her a 'long-eared mongrel'. So whether Jokam does or does not use skom is really not my concern. Yemesvel just brings it up because she knows it bothers him and makes him eager to prove the stereotype wrong. Case in point, he rushed out here to see me immediately instead of prevaricating like he normally would since he hates my guts.

As Gurn go, Jokam is pretty short at around 6ft tall, about a head taller than me, and lacks the muscle definition of those who live on Lirt, so Yemesvel strongly suspects that she isn't the only one with mixed blood in the room, even if the bald bastard would sooner admit he's projecting his insecurities with how the local Gurn gangs hold racial purity sacred. If he is a Half, then he's fortunate he doesn't look it, else his store would have been fire-bombed years ago, even with the Thynnwirk behind him.

He breathes sharply through clenched teeth, glaring, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, dear customer?"

"If you don't already know, your owners either don't trust you very much, or you haven't been doing your job very well."

Jokam straightens up, rubbing a sweaty palm over his beard, looking around, "The invitation to the Feast?"

I perk an eyebrow at his nervousness, "Yeah. You expecting company?"

He flinches, his arm drops a bit, hesitating, before resuming his former posture, then nodding slightly, "Would you be so kind as to throw the latch down on the door?"

I shrug, turning around and pulling down the latch, securing the entrance. During the motion, I focus my hearing for any oddities in the room. A breath that shouldn't be taken. Hearing nothing, I turn back around.

"What kind of guests? Anyone Yemsevel knows?" I ask, casually.

"Just being cautious," He grunts, relaxing again, "Whoever might have been listening, they can't listen anymore. And that's all you need to know, brat."

I roll my eyes, "Let's just get this over with, Yemesvel has places to be."

"Far be it from me to keep a customer waiting, even you. What do you want?" He folds his arms and leans onto the counter.

"I need a time. When is the Feast?"

"The chefs have been working since last night. They'll arrange the dishes for the fourth bell after Noon, and the guests will be escorted in at the fifth. That's not a guarantee, however. It depends on how long it takes for the Head to gain the representative's interest."

That leaves me with less time than I thought I'd have. I'll have to head straight to the manor after this and hide on the premises in advance. If I was to infiltrate any closer to the presentation of the Feast I'd waste too much time trying to get past the guards even with an entrance prepared in advance for me. Without a chance to learn the patrol patterns and the like I just have to already be inside if I'm going to get anything done.

"Where will the Feast be held in the building, and what kind of staff presence will be there for it?"

Jokam scratches at an elbow, thoughtful, "The main dining hall on the second floor, I'd imagine. Once the Feast is in the room there'll prob'ly be guards on the doors but I doubt there'll be anyone inside."

"Any open windows in that room?"

"Don't know if they open or not, but there are a few tall ones along the length of the wall. I don't know much about the layout of the place."

That could make getting back out complicated. If the second floor isn't too high up I can maybe jump out the window in a pinch, but even if I land without breaking my neck or legs it's going to be noisy and it's going to hurt like hell. I need something more reliable and quiet, but I don't have the time to arrange for a distraction nor anyone I can discuss my exit strategy with if I'm going to safely disappear.

I think my best option right now is to infiltrate the dining hall before the serving staff deliver the Feast of Rarities and the guards take their positions at the doors. Then, when the guests arrive and see the Feast already sampled, and the alarm is raised or they just leave, I can slip out.

"Alright. That's all I need to know. Talk to your owner about the payment, you ain't getting any extra from me for doing their dirty work," I tell him, promptly turning to leave.

Indignant, he shouts after me, but I'm already melting back into the crowd.

An hour later, at the second bell, I'm stood on a rooftop eating a vegetable wrap a few buildings away from the Dwast Clait manor. Like the rest of the city, it's pretty packed in amongst its neighbours, but they've spent a lot of money buying out their immediate neighbours so they can convert the buildings into a high-walled garden. From here I can see the trapdoor for the cellar that's supposedly unlocked on the right side of the fancy building, hidden amongst some hedges.

The grounds are quiet, and the only visible guards are by the main gate and front door. The lack of security presence by the right side of the building suggests to me the insider is one of the guards.

It's about time to head in, but I should give my equipment a check before I start the infiltration.

Steel Stiletto Quality: Common Weapon Type: Straight Dagger Damage: 12-23 Damage Type: Stab Enchantment: N/A Requirements: 11 DEX Integrity: 87% Durability: Great Abilities: Passive: Weak Armour Piercing

A long, thin blade, perfect for sliding between chainmail and deep penetration.

Made of decent quality steel, it retains it's point even when puncturing bone.

Guttersnipe's Throwing Knives(x12) Quality: Poor Weapon Type: Throwing Knives, Straight Daggers Damage: 7-9 Damage Type: Stab Enchantment: N/A Requirements: 8 DEX Integrity: 53% Durability: Awful

Cheap throwing knives created by a rank amateur.

Their balance is awful and hard to compensate for, but an expert might still find success.

If nothing else, they're still reasonably sharp...

Quilted Senior Runt's Hooded Cloak and Shirt Quality: Common, Magical Armour Type: Light Armour Value: 14 Enchantment: Meagre Durability Requirements: 11 DEX Integrity: 65% Durability: Good Abilities: Camouflage, Minor Impact Absorption Magical Affinity: 3

This tight-fitting shirt and cloak combo is designed to allow the wearer to move quickly while making their movements harder to notice, while also muffling the sound made by impacts.

Awarded to members of the Drag Street Runts who achieve the rank of Senior.

Iron-Tipped Klennock Grappling Hook Quality: Uncommon Rope: Slate Spider Silk Enchantment: N/A Requirements: 9 STR Integrity: 70% Durability: Great

Though carved from wood, the durability of the Klennock is assisted by the iron tips.

The result is a grappling hook that is light and durable.

Cat Burglar's Toolkit Quality: Uncommon Contents: Small Crowbar, Lockpicks, Pouch of Chalk Dust, Stick of Charcoal, Parchment Scraps, Spool of Wool String, Polished Steel Mirror, Phial of Adhesive.

A toolkit meant to be affixed to a belt which is equipped with just about anything an enterprising thief might need.

Mostly I just want to make sure that I still have everything in my toolkit. If I dropped something I don't want to have to replace it.

Checks done, and lunch eaten, I put everything back in its place and start doing some warm-up stretches, while also psyching myself up. Yemesvel has done tougher infiltrations before. I haven't, but I'm Yemesvel now, right?

I'm Yemesvel. I'm Yemsvel. Yemesvel can do all sorts of acrobatic bullshit. Like a ninja. Ok, not a ninja. More like a gymnast that does parkour every now and again.

I bounce in place, tug my thin leather gloves tighter, and exhale. Time to go.

The wall of the garden is 8 feet tall, rimmed with spiked metal to discourage less determined trespassers, and the height difference is about 10 feet from the top of the wall to the edge of the building at the edge of the row with a 5ft gap horizontally. From the wall to the manor is about 15 feet on this side. My rope is about 12 feet long, so I can use the edge of the building as a grapple point, rappel down, and jump the gap after building up some momentum by swinging back and forth on the descent. If i'm lucky I'll be able to dislodge the grappling hook when I land on the wall and use it to get down safely. If not, I can probably drop down, but it'll seriously hurt with my shitty Constitution and I might not stick the landing.

Route set and visualised, I unhook the grappling hook from my belt again, and start running.

My first obstacle is the gap between this first building and the next one, a little lower down. Nothing special, so I just take running jump across it, mindful of anyone below who might be looking up for some random reason. I also have to bear in mind that it's still daytime, so my shadow is certainly visible from below. Legs forward, feet angled; I land and roll over my right shoulder, and lurch with the momentum back into a run, concentrating on controlling my breathing to distract my mind from the danger.

The threat of missing a jump isn't the danger, at least not directly. Any schmuck can run and jump. The first difficulty is what happens when you stop and all that forward momentum rebounds back on you or carries you over an edge. Yemesvel learned a fair bit from the Senior Runt who held her current position before they retired, but Alexis didn't. So I have to trust in Yemesvel's instincts to get through this - thinking about it too much may ruin my focus.

I sprint across the remaining buildings, drop the hook, angle it into place and throw myself over the edge, gripping the rope for dear life, gravity carries me down and I feel the rope shudder and go taut, the hook firmly in place.

The rope follows a crescent motion, I swing my legs back and forth to change the angle I swing, dropping further and further down the rope with each repetition and kicking off the side of the building with most of my strength once I reach the end.

Rather than let go of the rope, near the apex of the jump, I whip my arm, sending a wave along the now slackened rope to free the hook, then pull it back.

Landing on the stone wall takes a bit of the wind out of me, and the lack of space means I can't roll to mitigate the impact. My knees and ankles scream, but I made it without breaking my legs. It doesn't look like anybody noticed me, so I use the rope to shimmy down the wall and enter the Dwast Clait manor grounds.

Quest Updated! Infiltrate the Dwast Clait's manor 1/1

That. Was. AWESOME.

I pull down the neckerchief I'm using for a facemask to breathe unobstructed. A little sore, perhaps, but I feel great otherwise. Is this what it's like to be Spiderman? Or wait, is Catwoman more appropriate? Yeah. Oh, wait, Spiderman had a Catwoman clone too. I forget what she's called, but she really liked to show off her cleavage, which considering all the acrobatic shit she did is just asking for a nip-slip. Small mercy that bras are a thing in Eden, come to think of it. Mine aren't all that big, but even so. Ow.

Done catching my breath and massaging my leg joints, I leave the rope behind the bushes here on account of how heavy and bulky it is, then run out to the cellar's trapdoor.

The cellar is dank and smells of stale alcohol. Descending the stone ramp after pulling the door shut behind me, I almost whistle, impressed at how large the space under the manor really is.

I remember going on a wine tasting trip a couple years ago with some friends from the production staff on my old cooking show and being in awe of the size of the barrels they had wine fermenting in, and here I find barrels of similar scale. I can't help but wonder how they got them down here when the trapdoor was only big enough to roll down a few kegs of ale I see stacked on a shelf to my right, though faintly, as the room is quite dark, but for the small slivers of light that reach the floor from the seam in the trapdoor. Along the opposite wall is row after row of wine bottles. If I end up using the cellar to escape, I might take a few on the way out as a small bonus.

No time to waste, though. It's still more than an hour before they start to arrange the Feast, but I don't know when they're going to come down here to pick out some vintages.

The staircase into the manor is between the two large fermenting barrels, and I can see a small amount of light leaking through a gap at the bottom of the door at the top of the spiral. Crouching down and leaning to peek through, I see a well-lit corridor.

I wait a few seconds, ready to drop down over the railing if someone approaches.

Confident that nobody is coming, I move closer to the door and lightly twist the door handle, pleased to find that it's unlocked. Next, I take out the small slab of polished steel and use it to check around the slightly ajar door. To the left is a long corridor lined with paintings, while to the right is another door.

Thinking back to my observations of the Manor's exterior, this should place me next to the main lobby on the ground floor. The Dining Hall is on the second floor, at the back of the building. Getting to the second floor could be problematic, but I have to stay positive and trust in Yemesvel's experience. It's not impossible.

Pocketing the mirror, I creep out of the cellar, carefully shut the door, and press myself into the corner adjacent to the lobby door. Now that I'm relatively exposed, I'll have to move quickly. Looking through the keyhole, I pick out a single maid carrying a tray under her shoulder move down the ostentatious, central marble staircase.

She yawns a little as she walks, heels clicking on the stone floor, then enters the door opposite this one. I wait 10 seconds, then open the door, shut it behind me and sneak across the lobby, ignoring the impressive decor, and creep up the wide staircase.

A manor like this won't have more than a dozen servants, and most of them should be occupied with the preparations in the kitchens on the ground floor, so the hope is that I have the run of the second floor and that any of the Dwast Clait who are home will stay in their rooms and offices.

At the top of the stairs is a long corridor, directly in front of me, past an elaborately gilded stone archway with fantastic small sculptures of magical beasts locked in battle adorning it. The corridor stretches back past an intersection with another hallway, but beyond that is a set of double doors flanked by empty suits of plate armour - my destination.

Along the length of it is a thick green carpet, so I break into another sprint, using the extra padding to help mask my footsteps. I pause briefly before the branching corridors, use my mirror again to check around the corner, then run to the end.

The dining hall is enormous. In the centre is a long table carved out of some sort of dark red stone reminiscent of amber, and inlaid with a silver floral pattern. The light from the 4 tall windows shines through, making the table almost glow as it drinks in the slowly descending sun's radiance.

A metre above the table hangs a 3 tier chandelier made entirely of some variety of purple gemstone, reflecting and diffracting a purple sheen across the walls. I suspect that each carved stone is enchanted to give light, and my appraisal ability can't even come close to comprehending just how expensive it must have been. I almost start drooling as I fantasise about what stealing and fencing it would get me in terms of cash.

"Focus, Yemesvel. Alexis. Whatever," I mutter.

Shifting my gaze, I note the presence of a number of rafters a little higher up. Unfortunately, I didn't bring the grappling hook inside with me, or else I'd be able to hide up there. Instead, I head over to a corner of the room on my left, where a tall statue of a naked dwarf with great muscles swinging a discus stands atop a plinth.

"Pardon me, sir, but Yemsevel requires your aid in remaining unseen," I tell the sculpture politely, squeezing into the corner behind it and activating Fade Away. I can wait here until the Feast is set. Unless one of the servants looks back here, it'll be next to impossible for any ordinary person to notice me.

Now, I wait.