Tibs threw on the tunic over his doublet in annoyance. He hated these clothes twice over now. Once, because putting them on meant he’d have to deal with nobles; Galdain’s party this time. And a second time because Don had helped him get them.

Probably just another step in his plan to make Tibs complacent and trust him until he no longer questioned what the sorcerer said or did. He kicked the chest. Why couldn’t Don have been honest? Tibs liked the man he had pretended to be.

Which had been the plan; he kicked the chest again.

He should have known better. Don was nothing more than a self-serving asshole; he’d never change. Which Don had confirmed multiple time now. Anytime he came into the inn, he had nothing but sneers for his team and the other runners there.

He’d most certainly dropped all pretense of wanting to be better.

Tibs almost kicked the chest again. Instead, he snatched the overcoat from the back of the chair and put it on. He made a sheet of water, then, instead of willing it still, he etched lines and filigree of Fey. He didn’t connect the lines, so the essence he fed into them didn’t go anywhere, and Fey hardened it until the light, and his image, reflected off it. There were distortions. The straight lines of essence didn’t directly correspond to a smooth surface.

He looked… He pulled on the sleeves until they covered his bracers. Then he adjusted the doublet.

He looked like a street urchin hoping he’d fool nobles into thinking he was one of them.

He wanted to rip the clothes off and put his armor on. He was a Runner, not… whatever his reflection claimed he was trying to be. He sensed for the reserves in his bracers and was comforted. Metal replaced fire to avoid the temptation to burn everyone down. It also let him use it without risking the accompanying change in behavior. He hadn’t worked out what he could etch with it, but it was still useful as made metal for good protection.

He forced his shoulders to unsag, and his reflection confirmed it didn’t make him look like much more than what he was. Still, he had an act to put on for the benefit of the guild, so he might as well get on with it.

* * * * *

“Where do you think you’re going?” the voice asked as Tibs crossed the partially constructed wall. It ended on each side of the larger road, and a half a hinge was already in place at chest height. The door, that would close this way in, would be large; as would the other two. He’d surveyed the work in progress, and only the three largest roads into the noble’s neighborhood would allow entry. Each set to have a door that could be closed and bar them from the rest of the town.

Maybe Kragle Rock could bar the door on their side, and never allow them to bother anyone.

He faced the voice. An adventurer with fire for her element, and somewhere between Epsilon and Delta, in strength. He’d sensed her, in the shadows cast by the lanterns hung on posts on each side of the entry.

She stepped into the light, approaching. Her hand was on the pommel of the sword at her hip and her armor was metal, scoffed and dented in place, but there wasn’t as much metal essence as was normal for what it looked like. It felt to him as much of a costume as the clothes he wore, and would explain how she remained light on her feet.

“I’m expected,” he told her.

She snorted. “I don’t think anyone ever expects a thief to drop by their house.”

“I’m a rogue,” he said, and played the hunch. “So they expect you to be a rogue too?”

She smirked. “Like knows like, I see; and water is your element. I stopped peddling the guild’s crap when I left them. Those titles are only to make you think the guild makes better you than the rest of us. We’re thieves. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a…” she chuckled, “noble profession in and of itself. And yes, they know what they hired. Who better than a thief to catch other thieves.”

“The aren’t paying the guild for your services? I thought all adventurers had to work for them.”

“Only until you pay off what they screwed you over with. How about you head back the way you came and make your way back in where I won’t see you and feel obligated to stop you?”

“So there are way to pay what you owe?” Tibs asked, musing over the implications. “I thought they made it so you never managed it. That they kept us in servitude for always unless you got some other group to pay your debt, like the academies do with the sorcerers and the Attendants with anyone who has Void.” He’d considered what might happen if he’d dumped the coins he’d made from the sale on Tirania’s desk, and had expected she’d make up lies to justify how it wouldn’t be enough. This meant that if all he was interested in was his own freedom from the guild, all he had to do was find a way to acquire the needed coins.

He suspected the guild wouldn’t make that any easier than destroying it.

“I see you’ve figured things out. You have to get creative, kid, but it can be done.”

“My name’s Tibs,” he said reflexively, and recognition sparked in her eyes.

“Tibs Light-Fingers?” she looked him over anew

“Yeah.” He was surprised to note the lack of annoyance in his tone. When had he gotten used to the surname? He’d thought it had been because he was iced that he’d stopped hoping the town would forget about it.

“Do you know Galdain’s house?”

“It’s the one with the slanted roof of dark red tiles. Four windows on the top floor, with the largest facing the rising sun, and has a balcony. The walls are so whitewashed they’ll blind anyone walking by and have dark-wood pillars that make it easy to climb.” He’d surveyed it after Tirania told him which house the noble had bought. He’d been tempted to weaken the structure with corruption to keep them out, but all they would have done was buy a new house.

Unlike the townsfolk, nobles had no problem spending coins on houses they wouldn’t use, or, in the case of the family’s home Tibs had burned down, couldn’t use. Now that he understood that buying a house didn’t mean they’d paid all the coins for it they owed, and that they needed to continue paying that even if the house was destroyed, he had Darran looking for ways Tibs could fix that problem without bringing attention to himself.

“And do you know how to reach it? From the ground, I mean.”

He shrugged. “If I have to, I’ll run the roofs to get there.”

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“That’s a good way to get yourself shot. They have archers watching those.”

Tibs rolled his eyes. “They haven’t noticed me all the previous times I ran those roofs.” She studied him in a way that made him think he’d said too much. “Can I go through? I figure they aren’t going to be happy if I get there once the party’s over.” It was tempting. Tirania had said Galdain would never return if Tibs wasn’t in attendance. That would be one less noble to bother his town, and he wouldn’t have to act like he enjoyed their company. But Tirania wouldn’t be pleased and that would make getting information out of her even harder.

If only he had a justified reason not to be there? Where were the would-be assassins when he needed them?

“I’ll escort you,” she said. “Make sure you don’t get lost.”

He considered protesting. He didn’t need a minder keeping him on the path. But while she was there, he could ask questions.

“Do any of the adventurers protecting the nobles work for the guild? I know I saw some of them acting as guards when Sebastian was causing trouble.”

“I heard about the Siege,” she said in a serious tone that made Tibs wonder how much, and from where? Could the bards already be singing about it? “I can’t tell you about everyone the nobles are paying, but I doubt many will. Nobles don’t care for the guild, since it has more power than they do. I don’t know what happened during the Siege that took the choice away from them. Maybe the nobles became desperate, or,” she smiled, “those adventurers were being creative in how they got their money. If the guild doesn’t know you were paid, it can’t claim their cut out of it.”

“Doesn’t the guild check where every coin comes from?”

“Do they do that with you?”

“No, but I’m a Runner. They know where my coins come from.” He pointed over his shoulder at the mountain.

She chuckled. “What about the coins you get when you’re not pillaging the dungeon?”

“I don’t get a lot,” he said. “Just one to prove I got into the house.” And one or two extra to repay the people he hurt. But those didn’t count, did they?

“That one coin can still be worth a lot,” she replied. “One platinum from a noble’s coffer will cover a chunk of what you’ll end up owing.”

“I only take silver. I’d take copper, but nobles don’t seem to keep those.” And it would take a lot more than an extra here and there to help the baker.

“Why just one?” she asked in disbelief. “You could take a pouch full and they wouldn’t notice.”

Really?

No. He reminded himself what he took was only to prove it’d succeeded. And a little extra to help the town. He wasn’t doing that to make his pouch heavy with coins.

“Do you steal from them?” he asked.

“No, but I work for them. They pay me enough, it’s not worth the risk. Trust me, the guild isn’t going to care if you steal from nobles.”

Maybe not the guild. “Have you met the guard leader?”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen him come and go, but I haven’t met him.”

“The commander will care if a noble complains someone steals from them, and he’s going to make my life difficult because of it.”

“Because you’ve been caught doing it before?” She looked at him askance. “Or because the city’s thieves report to you?”

“They don’t report to me,” he replied.

“That’s not what I hear.”

He looked at her.

“Word is,” she lowered her voice, “That if you don’t clear your plans with Light-Fingers, he’d going to hand you over to the guards himself.”

“I’ve never done that.” He paused. “She wasn’t a Runner. And she was causing trouble. She tried to have me caught for her thefts. It was more payback than anything else by the time I made sure she was caught.”

They stopped, and she motioned to the guarded iron fence a house over. The walls reflected most of the light from glowing stones, while the beams seemed to vanish against the whitewashing.

“There it is. Story is he might have his children train in this dungeon.”

“I’ve heard,” Tibs grumbled.

“I won’t disagree with the sentiment. It doesn’t matter how well they pay. I do my best not to interact with them. Have a good evening. I promise to let you know if I decide to rob someone,” she added as she walked away.

“Don’t rob anyone,” he called after her. “You don’t need the training.”

“We always need to keep the fingers busy, Light-Fingers. You know that.”

And now, he’d have to worry about some Epsilon rogue causing trouble.

Later, he reminded himself. For now, he had a different set of trouble to deal with.

He had to convince nobles he actually enjoyed their company.

Where was that abyss cursed assassin? Why hadn’t he hired one in preparation for this?

Hmm, how did one go about it? How many coins would it take to get Marger killed?

“Light-Fingers?” the guard asked as Tibs reached them.

“Yes.” He forced himself to relax.

The guard unlocked the gate with a key he produced from a pocket and opened it for him. Tibs eyed the stone wall, barely half again as tall as he was, then the gate. What was the point of locking that when he could jump the wall without effort? There wasn’t even a weave through those stones.

Nobles.

The glowing stones were set atop poles by finely decorated metal bands. Those not placed along the winding path were among the landscape, illuminating a flowerbed, or next to a tree with a chair, or an arrangement of stones. Where ever a light was, a path broke from the one leading to the house in its direction. More broke to vanish in the direction of lights Tibs couldn’t see what they lit.

The well lit property would be the protection against someone who couldn’t reach the house by the roofs, but if the rogue could circumvent that, as well as the light-stones anchored on each side of the doors and windows at this level, then they would be able to find shadows higher since no such light was arranged for the other floors.

Maybe he should talk with Amelia about arranging this type of challenge for those he sent training through her house. She would probably advise using some other nobles’s home for that. He didn’t know how he—

“May I have your name?” A woman asked, standing in the open doorway. He’d sensed her, with her faint essence, but had the door been opened? He wasn’t certain, too lost in his thoughts.

“Tibs. Tibs Light-Fingers.”

“If you’ll come in, Mister Light-Fingers.” She stepped out of the way. “You are expected.”

The table at the side of the door had carved stones on it. Above was a mirror in a gold frame. The carpet that ran the length of the hall had brightly colored shapes through it. There was crowd on the other side of the wall to his left, and voices came from the archway halfway from the end on that side. He couldn’t tell most of the people apart. A few had elements, but not much essence, and he had to focus if he didn’t want to lose them among the rest.

One stood out. Earth element, Epsilon in strength.

“You’re here!”

Tibs froze. He’d been so focused on the essence he sensed he hadn’t realized he’d reached the archway. Or that there was one opposite it and a man running at him from there. He had Crystal as his element, Tibs saw from the eyes as he ducked under the arms. Fine clothing, with gems adorning them. The expression had been joyful, so Tibs fought the urge to make a sword as the man—was he a man if he barely looked older than Jackal?—turned, his expression becoming surprise.

“You’re fast.”

“Surviving the dungeon ensures that,” Tibs replied cautiously. The boy—there was something boyish about him despite looking older than Tibs—wasn’t armed. Only the knife in his boot, which had a weave through it. Something loose, so not powerful, with mainly metal essence. He sensed into the room on the right, but there was no one else there.

“I so can’t wait for you to take me in.”

Tibs swallowed his thoughts about that happening, but he couldn’t stop his narrowing eyes. “You shouldn’t be so eager to have the dungeon kill you,” he said instead of the thing that would make sure he’d get kicked out of the house.

The boy waved the comment aside. “You’ll be there, so I’m not worried.” He straightened, then gave a small bow. “I’m Lamberto of Fiashi.” He grinned. “Come on, the others are over there.”

Tibs stepped out of reach when Lamberto tried to grab his arm, and the boy chuckled.

“Come on.” Lamberto motioned as he ran for the left archway.

Tibs considered ice before following him. Or possibly fire.

All the nobles in that room made it a harder decision that he expected. He reminded himself of the monster ice turned him into. And that while nobles could burn, for all he cared, there were others in the house. Servants who had no choice in being here, and not because they were looking to leech power from those around them.

It was a good thing he didn’t have fire in his bracers; he decided. Essence without a worry about his emotions getting carried along with it would be too tempting when one of them looked at him like the urchin he was.

Releasing a breath, Tibs stepped into the large, crowded room.

“Everyone!” Lamberto proclaimed, and the conversations ceased as eyes turned in their direction. “I would like you to meet the Hero of Kragle Rock. The Savior of the Dungeon. Tibs Light-Fingers!”

He’d made a mistake in taking fire out of his bracers, Tibs decided. He should have burned the building down on sight and dealt with the guilt of the innocent he’d taken in the process.

That would have been an easier thing to do than dealing with what all those now hungry looks promised.