n a tradition stretching back into the Ancient Days, custom held that travelers entering the seaport of Tamaril were judged by the time of day they entered the city, and through which gate. It was held to be highly propitious for a traveler to enter by the West Gate or the docks, and by day, ideally at dawn.  Travelers who came to the city from the Northeast Gate, especially those who entered after dark, were held by some to be bad luck to associate with.

Though no one living had any real idea how this tradition began, it was all but engraved into stone by the time of this tale.  Knowledgeable travelers and those leading caravans would, when approaching Tamaril from the north or east, detour around the city walls, bypassing the open Northeast Gate to travel a wide road that wound around several marshy spots as it circled the city walls.  After an hour or so, depending on road conditions, they would reach the large Western Road and merge onto it, thus entering the city through the West Gate.  This practice created some interesting traffic flow problems, as there were generally bottlenecks of carts and travelers jostling to get in from the west, while the Northeast gate stood open and clear, with only a slight stream of foot and wagon traffic leaving the city that way, as well as returning Tamarilers who had lived there long enough to pay no mind to this superstition, at least when they'd only been gone on a short trip.

The unofficial but universally know aversion to entering the city after dark was less important than the choice of city gates, but it was not uncommon for a large party of travelers to reach Tamaril at dusk, and pitch camp outside the city walls to wait for dawn, that they could make a proper entrance the next day.

When Klavaise, the dishonored rogue, came to Tamaril, she passed through the Northeast Gate, at midnight.

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Sender's Pub was packed, even at ha'past midnight. And this was no festival night either, mind you.  To be out drinking at this hour, a man had to either work for no business, or own the business.  Most of the fat fellows in this assembly fell into the latter category.

The upper crust of Tamaril society met at Sender's Pub, to drink, talk business, and complain about the Magistrate, that last usually occurring in hushed voices in the private booths.

Nils O'Conner, who with his two sons ran the largest shipping business on the coast, was bellied up to the bar, nursing a chilled pint of ale.  He drank very cheaply, and tipped like his drinks had been spit in, but most knew that he had grown up very poor, and faced bankruptcy a few years ago after a fire at his main warehouse, so it was overlooked, and his tosspot youngest son often made up the difference.

The owners of the three largest banks in the city were seated in a corner booth murmuring to each other, their heads close together, beards all but igniting over the low candles on their table.  Merchants cast uneasy looks towards them, wondering what might become of interest rates on the morrow. Everywhere else in the pub you could find the rich and richer of Tamarilian society, mingling and soaking up each other's jealousy.

There was no official policy at Sender's to keep out the less well off, but when a mug of ale was 6g, and something a little stronger would set you back over ten marks, that was plenty to keep the riff-raff out.  What was the point in hanging around a pub where none of the rich would speak with you, and you couldn't afford the drink either?  Of course there were at least half a dozen giant men in black chest plates, keeping an eye on the patrons at all times, and pickpockets were known to be dealt with in the harshest manner, which together with the drink prices pretty much sorted the clientele.

So when the tall thin woman with the grotesquely scared face slipped through the front door, her dusty black traveling cloak ripped up one leg far enough to reveal tattered leather leggings and well-worn thigh high boot, the eyes of the security men were instantly upon her. She didn't appear to look at anything other than her feet as she slowly made her way through the crowd to the bar, where she took the only open stool.

Looking her up and down, the bartender moved over to stand in front of her and cleared his throat.

Without looking up from her hands, which were heavily callused, and missing both middle fingers, she said in a raspy voice, "A glass of water and a boiled egg."

"That will be seven gold." the bartender replied.

An outrageous figure, but seven coins were instantly in the woman's damaged right hand, and she dropped them into the surprised bartender's palm without a glance. The man looked the coins over carefully, stopping just short of biting them, before stuffing them into his already bulging purse and moving off to get her order.

A group of three men in green cowled robes stood in a tight circle at the far end of the bar, observing everything in the room.  The attention was now on the scarred woman, and they studied her as she sat motionless, her eyes on her hands, which probed and pushed at one another restlessly.  A fat mercantilist moving behind her gave her a healthy bump with one hip as he passed, but she merely swayed forward with the impact, and continued staring at her scarred hands, taking no affront at his rudeness.

"What do ye make of that one, Brother Phillip?" The Brother known as Augustine asked him comrade. They spoke in low voices.

"Hmm, I have yet to hazard a guess.  Her wounds look ceremonial to me, but I have never seen nar heard 'a such mutilations in any sect."

"Ceremonial?" the third man, Brother Octavious scoffed. "Them scars running down her face warn't made in no ceremony.  Lookit the biggest one. Right over the forehead, down the side of the nose, then off to the side. T'other two scars don't even match them. One's across the nose and off t'other side, while the little one comes from the ear and down across the mouth. I'd wager they all came about around the same time, judging by the healing and width 'o them all. Twas combat 'a some sart what ruined the face of the lass. And was na combat with any human adversary! Them's too ragged fer a sword. Twas some sart 'o demon I'd wager ye. Some horrid beastie 'o the dark that near took out her eyes."

"Nay, what demon or any other sart 'o beastie attacks with but one claw?" Augustine interjected.  "And how about the hands?  Scarred all over, and both middle fingers missing right up to the nub?  Could not some ceremonial injuries be ragged?"

The debate was ended as the men turned quickly towards the door, a faint yelp from the street outside calling their attention.

"Oh for the love of... 'ere comes the fool with his damned mutts again." Phillip muttered low.  For though every man in the bar would have agreed with his words, none dared utter them aloud.  Magistrate Chalaran was quite possibly the most powerful man in Tamaril, and had to be tolerated, no matter how loathsome his pets.  In fact he was largely tolerated because of his pets, as they were among the most effective guards any man could have.

As crowded as the pub was, a wide path to the far end of the bar was instantly cleared, and the crowd drew back as the Magistrate entered the large room.

Through the commotion the scarred woman had remained still, starring down at the glass of warm water and the half-boiled egg she had been served.  Her hands, though both short the longest finger, were dexterous enough, and she quickly and neatly shelled and ate the egg, though it was runny and barely warm in the middle.  The water was murky and room temperature, worse than she had gotten from a public fountain outside, but she drank it all in two long swallows anyway.  The glass drained, she set it back on the bar and returned to staring at her hands, the fingers playing over one another endlessly.

She didn't appear to even look up when the Magistrate moved into the pub, two dog-like creatures straining at their leashes ahead of him.  They were ugly beasts, hairless except for coarse bristles like pigs.  Acid dripped from their over-wide mouths and sizzled on the wooden floor, and their broad, tusked faces seemed to smile as they whipped their heads side to side and led their master down the cleared path to his normal seat at the far end of the bar.

The Magistrate was an ordinary looking man.  A bit of a belly, average height, balding on top, but his clothes were exquisitely tailored, and of the finest silks and leathers.  Even the leashes to his acid hounds' necks were stitched with an elaborate design, the collars studded with precious stones.

As the crowd near the door was about to resume their normal places, a foul aroma filled the tavern, and those nearest the door jumped as though goosed. The three men in green robes wrinkled their noses up.

"Gah, what unwholesome beast could emit such a stink?"

"I ca' not imagine, but I'm sure yon Magistrate could enlighten us."

Brother Phillip was just about to speak, but paused with his mouth open, as he happened to be looking directly at the scarred woman when she moved with a speed he couldn't believe.

She stood up slightly, her right arm moving to her belt, then flashing out across her body.  She was back in a sitting position before whatever she had thrown found its target, but her eyes were no longer on her hands.  She was now glaring across the room at the Magistrate.

The other two men in green were watching Magistrate Chalaran as he settled in, arranging his foul acid beasts at his feet and enjoying the looks of disgust on most faces as the crowd surveyed his pets.  Thus only their eyes were quick enough to see the small object pass between several heads in the crowd, and thunk into some unseen object, a few feet to the Magistrate's side. There was a flickering, as the invisible creature faded partially into view.  It was horrid, far worse than the acid beasts.  Tall, hunched over, grayish mottled naked flesh, face like a funnel, long arms, fat belly, huge hands and claws; those were the details the two men in green, and any other pub patron unfortunate enough to have been looking in that directly for the instant the monster was visible, saw.

As quickly as it had appeared the monster vanished again, but many had seen, and others soon heard in whispers what had been seen.  Magistrate he was, but the sight of that demon was too much for many, and a large amount of those in the bar signaled for their tabs to be added to, and made their exit quickly.

The Magistrate showed no reaction to the events, but used as he was to being universally begged of and engaged with business proposals once he seated himself at Sender's, he could not have been pleased by the number of early departures the partial revealing of his pet had caused.  He sat leaning back against the bar, entertaining a few supplicants, turning the small shiny stone over and over in his fingers.  He had never bent to the floor to pick it up after it bounced off of the monster, and yet now it was in his hands.  Almost as though some invisible creature had picked it up and handed it to him.  The Magistrate had scanned the room intently the moment after the rock had made its entrance, but he had not seen the scarred woman.  Nor did any of the three brothers, as she had vanished while all eyes were on the beast her skillfully-hurled stone had revealed.

Only Brother Phillip had seen who had thrown the stone, and he was filling his fellows in on the details at that very moment.

A motion was forwarded, agreed upon by all three, and as Brother Augustine settled their bill with a small pile of 3g coins, the other two separated and moved through the large tavern, looking for the scarred woman.

Ten minutes later they met outside, past the public fountain and in the shadowy facade of a bank.

"Any luck brother?" Augustine inquired of Phillip as he joined him in the darkness.

"Nay, I caught no sight of her, either in the tavern or out front.  Chalaran gave me a murderous look as I passed by his spot, that I did notice."

Augustine met this report with a sigh.  "I fear he has at last divined our influence in that little ship-master insurrection last year.  We Brothers will have an upstream struggle to gain any new contracts while Chalaran is Magistrate, I suspect."

"True, but we must remember always, Chalaran is only Magistrate for life."

The arrival of Brother Octavious brought a moment of silence, while the brothers shook hands ceremonially and made the certain gestures their sect required.

"Fair luck, brothers.  I spotted the scarred one to the rear of the pub, nearly hidden in a shadow.  She leaned out of it just when I was looking past that corner and dismissing it as empty.  Glad though I was to catch sight of her, I felt certain that she had allowed herself to be seen.  "I passed her the card, and a 10g rock, and whispered, 'half an hour',  so we had best be on our way."

Phillip and Augustine murmured their congratulations, and all three moved off to the east, walking arm in arm, in the fashion of their sect.

The walk was not long, and they were soon in a small courtyard, black flagstones beneath their feet. All three looked around warily, and only once they were sure the courtyard was deserted did they approach the massive door set into the wall. Moving with deceptive ease, each man produced a long key, and slipped it into one of the seven keyholes set into a thick brass plate.  With a smoothness born of long practice, the three men turned their keys at once, triggering the mechanical and magical wards to open the rear door.  The door and especially lock were ingenious pieces of mechanical engineering, supplemented with strong magical charms.  This door was imposisble to pick, nor could it be charmed open.  And it wasn't possible to open it by yourself even if you knew the trick, since all three keys had to be turned simultaneously.

They were to meet the scarred woman around the side of the building, in a small public room, and were just entering here as it was shorter than walking around the outside.  The moment the door was unlocked, Phillip and Octavious leaned into it, moving the massive portal open, while Augustine kept watch in the street behind them.  All was shadows, but as he backed into the opening, one shadow detached from the rest, and streaked at the door like a diving hawk.

Augustine scarcely had time to squeak a warning before the dark figure drove a fist into his stomach, knocking his wind out and doubling him over.   The other two brothers had heard his warning, but the assailant had moved with incredible silence and speed that the stranger was past them and inside the building before they could react.  The figure streaked down the hallway inside and around a corner, vanishing just as the two brothers raised their hands over their heads and sent bright white light glowing from their fists, bathing the wide corridor in light. There was no sign of the intruder.

Augustine pulled himself to his feet, managing to gasp out, "Twas her.  From the Pub." and together he and Phillip pushed the door shut, the locks clicking back in automatically.  It was as hard to open from the inside as the outside, so their uninvited guest would find no escape that way.

"Come out little thief, we mean you no harm.  We have a business proposition to make of thee."  Octavious spoke clearly, his deep voice resonate in the corridor.

"Name your proposition then."  Her voice came from down the hallway and around the corner.  The brothers knew that the other end of the hallway ended in the central courtyard, which was as large an area as Sender's Pub, and with even more shadows.  They would never find the thief if she choose to hide herself there.  There was also a high, barred skylight, but it seemed likely that such a clever creature could find some way to get past that and out of the compound if need be.

"We will speak face to face or not at all.  This is business, not divination." Octavious' voice was quite assured.  Augustine rubbed his sore belly and wished he felt half as confident as Octavious sounded.

Five seconds passed, and then the thief appeared around the corner.   Her traveling cloak was open now, and a curved long sword hung at one hip, a heavy bag of what looked like stones at the other.  She wore a man's chain mail tunic that was too large for her and fit awkwardly, and ragged leather leggings that hugged her muscular legs.

"So speak then." she said, and leaned against the side of the corridor, her gaze fixed on the brothers.

Phillip found himself staring avidly at her horribly scarred face, and tried to tear his eyes away.  It was rude, but the damage was just so horrible. He was glad Octavious was able to do the talking.

"We need someone removed from this city.  Someone important and very powerful.  Someone who is ruining the business here with his graft and greed.  Someone who has no human bodyguards at all, but numerous demons for pets.   Someone you caused some trouble for already this evening."

"Assassination?  How quaint.  And how very simple."   She sounded bored with subject.

"Ah yes, merely killing him would be very simple.  Questions would be asked, but he has too many enemies for the blame to fall anywhere certain, and alibis could be prepared in advance.  No, the question is more complex than that.   See there are certain official seals, stamps, files, contracts, papers, and more in his office, and if he were merely eliminated, without someone securing those in advance, it would be better if he were still alive.  Business would grind to a halt while a successor was chosen as Magistrate, and there would be no telling if the new one was any better than this one."

Octavious paused a moment, but there was no response, so he continued.  "You see the Magistrate lives and works alone, except for his pets, and they are the perfect guards.  He has a whole pack of those cursed acid mutts chained up in his courtyard.  Anyone enters uninvited and they'll drown in acid before getting five steps.  Plus those invisible things.  Rumor is at least half a dozen of them are running around his office.  And there are two doors at least as securely locked as the one behind us, and only he holds the keys and knows the sequences to insert them."

At this the thief was silent for a moment, then asked, "Can you three, or any of your sect, assist me directly in this endeavor?"

Octavious answered.  "We can not assist in the entry of his compound, for if we were to fail and be discovered there, it would be a total disaster for our sect.  However if there were some other sort of assistance we might provide, it could be possible."

Again the thief was silent, looking down at her mangled hands as she pondered the situation.  "It can be done, but it must be done tonight.  And you three will be much needed immediately.  We must capture the man in question and dispatch the pets he has with him.  Only if that goes smoothly is there any point in discussing the rest of the plan."

"We must discuss this for a moment." Octavious said, then turned to his two Brothers and murmured a few words.  Phillip and Augustine seemed less convinced that it was worth pursuing, but with some persuasion they agreed.   This was very sudden, but they had been hatching secret plans to dispose of Magistrate Chalaran for over two years, and having found no success on their own, they were willing to let this thief have a try.  Chalaran seemed to be on to them anyway, so better he was killed now, before his attention came squarely on them, and brought blame with it if he should meet an unfortunate accident.

Octavious gauged his Brothers' attitudes, then turned back to the thief. "We will assist you in any way we can.  Anything is better than the current situation, where all commerce through the city is slowed and taxed by the Magistrate."

A half smile crossed her lips, and she replied in her lilting voice, "Then let us move quickly, before he tires of that dreadful tavern and departs.  Would any of you Brothers know the time he usually leaves by?  And the route he takes back to his home?"

"We would." Octavious replied, a half smile of his own on his face.  They had followed the Magistrate on his way home many a time, and knew the man never varied from his route.

On to Part Two -->

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